The Online Library of Liberty
A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• Home
  • Front Page
  • About Liberty Fund
  • Other LF Sites
• The Forum
  • About the Forum
  • Resources
  • Reading Lists
    • Sign Up
    • Log In
  • Search the Forum
  • Archive
• The Library
  • About the Library
  • Starting Points
  • Latest Additions
  • Authors (by Period)
  • Titles (by Subject)
  • Groups & Collections
  • Portable Library DVD
  • RSS
  • Advanced Search

Ancient Political Philosophy

Prerequisites

None

Synopsis of course content

The course will focus on five interrelated themes: agency and tragedy; violence power and morality; theory’s relationship to politics and as a practice; democratic politics and democratic culture, political speech and political silences.

Textbooks

• Homer, Iliad
• Aeschylus, The Oresteia
• Sophocles, Antigone
• Thucydides, History
• Plato, The Apology and Crito, The Republic, The Gorgias
• Aristotle, The Politics and selections from The Ethics

Other Online Resources

• Dept. of Political Science, Stanford University
• Stanford University Library Catalog
• The Complete Dialogues of Plato, Past Masters InteLex [Electronic Resource available only to Stanford affiliated users]

Term Papers

• Undergraduates - three 4-5 page essays
• Graduates - 20-25 page term paper

Grade to be based on

• 30% participation
• 70% essays

• Back to Top

  1: 1. Homer’s Iliad

  We will begin our discussion of Ancient Political Philosophy with Homer’s epic poem about the Trojan War “The Iliad”.

  See another online edition of the Iliad at the Perseus Project at Tufts University.

  Homer, The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury; Now First Collected and Edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart., (London: Bohn, 1839-45). 11 vols. Vol. 10. Chapter: HOMER’S ILIADS. TRANSLATED OUT OF GREEK by THOMAS HOBBES OF MALMESBURY.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/773/90072 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  HOMER’S ILIADS.
  TRANSLATED OUT OF GREEK by THOMAS HOBBES OF MALMESBURY.

  LIB. I.

  • The discontent and secession of Achilles.

  • O goddess sing what woe the discontent
  • Of Thetis’ son brought to the Greeks; what souls
  • Of heroes down to Erebus it sent,
  • Leaving their bodies unto dogs and fowls;
  • 5Whilst the two princes of the army strove,
  • King Agamemnon and Achilles stout.
  • That so it should be was the will of Jove,
  • But who was he that made them first fall out?
  • Apollo; who incensed by the wrong
  • 10To his priest Chryses by Atrides done,
  • Sent a great pestilence the Greeks among;
  • Apace they died, and remedy was none.
  • For Chryses came unto the Argive fleet,
  • With treasure great his daughter to redeem;
  • 15And having in his hands the ensigns meet,
  • That did the priestly dignity beseem,
  • A golden sceptre and a crown of bays,
  • Unto the princes all made his request;
  • But to the two Atrides chiefly prays,
  • 20Who of the Argive army were the best.
  • O sons of Atreus, may the Gods grant you
  • A safe return from Troy with victory;
  • And you on me compassion may shew,
  • Receive these gifts and set my daughter free;
  • 25And have respect to Jove’s and Leto’s son.
  • To this the princes all gave their consent,
  • Except King Agamemnon. He alone,
  • And with sharp language from the fleet him sent;
  • Old man, said he, let me not see you here
  • 30Now staying, or returning back again,
  • For fear the golden sceptre which you bear,
  • And chaplet hanging on it, prove but vain.
  • Your daughter shall to Argos go far hence,
  • And make my bed, and labour at the loom,
  • 35And take heed you no farther me incense,
  • Lest you return not safely to your home.
  • Frighted with this, away the old man went;
  • And often as he walked on the sand,
  • His prayers to Apollo up he sent.
  • 40Hear me, Apollo, with thy bow in hand,
  • That honour’d art in Tenedos and Chryse,
  • And unto whom Cylla great honour bears,
  • If thou accepted hast my sacrifice,
  • Pay th’ Argives with thy arrows for my tears.
  • 45His prayer was granted by the deity;
  • Who with his silver bow and arrows keen,
  • Descended from Olympus silently
  • In likeness of the sable night unseen.
  • His bow and quiver both behind him hang,
  • 50The arrows chink as often as he jogs,
  • And as he shot the bow was heard to twang,
  • And first his arrows flew at mules and dogs.
  • But when the plague into the army came,
  • Perpetual was the fire of funerals;
  • 55And so nine days continued the same.
  • Achilles on the tenth for counsel calls;
  • And Juno ’twas that put it in his head,
  • Who for the Argive army was afraid:
  • The lords to counsel being gathered,
  • 60Up stood Achilles, and thus to them said,
  • We must, I think, Atrides, run from hence,
  • Since war and plague consume us both at once,
  • Let’s think on how to stay the pestilence,
  • Or else at Troy resolve to leave our bones.
  • 65Let’s with some priest or prophet here advise,
  • That knows the pleasure of the gods above,
  • Or some that at expounding dreams are wise,
  • For also dreams descend on men from Jove:
  • That we may from him know Apollo’s mind,
  • 70If we for sacrifice be in arrear,
  • Or if he will for lambs and goats be kind,
  • And to destroy us from henceforth forbear.
  • Achilles then sat down, and Chalchas rose,
  • That was of great renown for augury,
  • 75And any thing was able to disclose,
  • That had been, is, or should hereafter be;
  • And guided had the Greeks to Ilium;
  • Achilles, said he, since you me command
  • To tell you why this plague is on us come,
  • 80Swear you will save me both with word and hand.
  • Of all the Greeks it will offend the best;
  • Who though his anger for awhile he smother,
  • Will not, I fear, long time contented rest,
  • But will revenged be some time or other.
  • 85Chalchas, replied Achilles, do not fear,
  • But what the god has told you bring to light:
  • By Phœbus, not a man shall hurt you here,
  • As long as I enjoy my life and sight;
  • Though Agamemnon be the man you dread,
  • 90Who is of all the army most obeyed.
  • The prophet by these words encouraged,
  • Said what before to say he was afraid.
  • ’Tis not neglect of vow or sacrifice
  • That doth the God Apollo thus displease;
  • 95But that we do his priest so much despise,
  • As not his child for ransom to release.
  • And more, till she be to her father sent,
  • And with a hecatomb, and ransomless,
  • The anger of the god will not relent,
  • 100Nor will the sickness ’mongst the people cease.
  • This said, he sat. The king look’d furiously,
  • And anger flaming stood upon his eyes,
  • While many black thoughts on his heart did lie;
  • And to the prophet Chalchas thus replies:
  • 105Unlucky prophet, that didst never yet
  • Good fortune prophecy to me, but ill,
  • And ever with a mind against me set
  • Inventest prophecies to cross my will;
  • And now again you fain would have it thought,
  • 110Because I would not let Chryseis go,
  • The gifts refusing which her father brought,
  • Therefore this plague was sent amongst us now.
  • With Clytemnestra she may well contend,
  • For person, or for beauty, or for art;
  • 115Yet so, to send her home I do intend,
  • For of our loss I bear the greatest part.
  • But you must then some prize for me provide;
  • Shall no man unrewarded go but I?
  • This said, Achilles to the king replied,
  • 120Atrides, that on booty have your eye,
  • You know divided is, or sold the prey
  • Which never can resumed be again.
  • But send her home. When we shall have sack’d Troy,
  • Your loss shall be repaid with triple gain.
  • 125No, said Atrides, that I never meant;
  • D’ye think ’tis fit that you your shares retain?
  • And only mine unto the God be sent,
  • That unrewarded none but I remain?
  • I thought it reason th’ Argives should collect
  • 130Amongst themselves the value (how they list)
  • And give it me before they did expect
  • This prize of mine should be by me dismist.
  • If they’ll do that, ’tis well. If not, I’ll go
  • To your, or Ajax, or Ulysses’ tent,
  • 135And take his prize, and right myself will so,
  • Wherewith I think he will not be content.
  • But since there’s time enough to speak of this,
  • Let’s ready make a ship with able rowers,
  • And th’ hecatomb, to go with fair Chryseis,
  • 140And, to direct, one of the counsellors;
  • Ajax, Idomeneus, Ulysses, or
  • Yourself may go, Achilles, if you please,
  • And do the business you are pleading for,
  • And, if you can, th’ offended God appease.
  • 145O impudence! Achilles then replied,
  • What other of th’ Achæans willingly,
  • Will, when you only for yourself provide,
  • Go where you bid, or fight with th’ enemy?
  • Against the Trojans I no quarrel have.
  • 150In Pthia plund’ring they were never seen,
  • Nor ever thence my kine or horses drave,
  • Nor could; the sea and great hills are between.
  • Only for yours and Menelaus’ sake,
  • To honour gain for you we came to Troy,
  • 155Whereof no notice, dogs-head, now you take,
  • But threaten me my prize to take away;
  • Which by my labour I have dearly bought,
  • And by th’ Achæans given me has been.
  • And when the city Troy we shall have got,
  • 160Your share will great, mine little be therein.
  • For though my part be greatest in the pain,
  • Yet when unto division we come,
  • You will expect the greatest part o’ th’ gain,
  • And that with little I go weary home.
  • 165Then farewell Troy. To sea I’ll go again,
  • And back to Pthia. Then it will be seen
  • When you without me shall at Troy remain,
  • What honour and what riches you shall win.
  • Go when you will, said Agamemnon, fly,
  • 170I’ll not entreat you for my sake to stay.
  • When you are gone more honour’d shall be I,
  • Nor Jove, I hope, will with you go away.
  • In you I shall but lose an enemy
  • That only loves to quarrel and to fight.
  • 175The Gods have given you strength I not deny.
  • Go ’mongst your myrmidons and use your might.
  • I care not for you, nor your anger fear,
  • For after I have sent away Chryseis,
  • And satisfi’d the God, I’ll not forbear
  • 180To fetch away from you the fair Briseis,
  • And that by force. For I would have you see
  • How much to mine inferior is your might,
  • And others fear t’ oppose themselves to me.
  • This swell’d Achilles’ choler to the height,
  • 185And made him study what to do were best,
  • To draw his sword and Agamemnon kill,
  • Or take some time his anger to digest.
  • His sword was drawn, yet doubtful was his will.
  • But Juno, that of both of them took care,
  • 190Sent Pallas down, who coming stood behind
  • Achilles, and laid hold upon his hair.
  • Whereat Achilles wond’ring in his mind,
  • Turn’d back, and by the terror of her eyes
  • Knew her; but by none else perceiv’d was she.
  • 195Come you, said he, to see the injuries
  • That are by Agamemnon done to me?
  • So great, O Goddess Pallas, is his pride,
  • As I believe it cost him will his life.
  • I hither came, Athena then reply’d,
  • 200To put an end to this unlucky strife.
  • From heaven I hither was by Juno sent,
  • That loves you both, and of you both takes care,
  • Drawing of swords and bloodshed to prevent.
  • But as for evil words you need not spare.
  • 205For the wrong done you he shall trebly pay
  • Another time. Hold then. Your sword forbear.
  • I must then, said Achilles, you obey,
  • Tho’ wrong’d. Who hears not Gods, the Gods not hear.
  • This said, his mighty sword again he sheath’d,
  • 210And Pallas up unto Olympus flew.
  • Achilles still nothing but choler breath’d,
  • And Agamemnon thus revil’d anew.
  • Dog’s-face, and drunkard, coward that thou art,
  • That hat’st to lead the people out to fight;
  • 215Nor yet to lie in ambush hast the heart,
  • And painfully watch in the field all night.
  • But thou to take from other men their due,
  • Safe lying in the camp, more pleasure hast.
  • But fools they are that ruled are by you,
  • 220Or else this injury had been your last.
  • But this I’ll say, and with an oath make good.
  • (Now by this sceptre, which hath left behind
  • The stock whereon it once grew in the wood,
  • And never more shall have nor leaf nor rind,
  • 225And by Achæan princes now is borne
  • By whom Jove’s laws to th’ people carried be.)
  • You hear now what a great oath I have sworn:
  • If ere the Acheans shall have need of me,
  • And Agamemnon cannot them relieve,
  • 230When Hector fills the field with bodies slain,
  • And Agamemnon only for them grieve,
  • They my assistance wish for shall in vain.
  • This said, Achilles threw the sceptre down
  • That stuck all over was with nails of gold;
  • 325And Nestor rose, of Pyle that wore the crown,
  • Wise and sweet orator and captain old.
  • His words like honey dropped from his tongue.
  • Two ages he in battle honour gain’d.
  • For all that while he youthful was and strong,
  • 240And with the third age now in Pyle he reign’d.
  • What grief t’ Achæa coming is, said he,
  • O Gods, what joy to Priam and his seed,
  • How glad will all the Trojans be to see
  • You two, that all the rest in pow’r exceed,
  • 245With your own hands shed one another’s blood!
  • I elder am, do then as I advise.
  • For I conversed have with men as good,
  • That yet my counsel never did despise.
  • Perithous and Dryas were great men,
  • 250And Polyphemus and Exadius,
  • Such as for strength I ne’er shall see again;
  • And so were Cæneus, and Theseus,
  • The strongest of mankind were these, and slew
  • The strongest of wild beasts that haunt the wood.
  • 255These strong men I convers’d withal and knew;
  • And with them also I did what I could.
  • With these no other could contend in fight.
  • Yet they from Pyle thought fit to call me forth
  • Far off; nor ever did my counsel slight.
  • 260Think not therefore my counsel nothing worth.
  • Atrides take not from him, though you can,
  • The damsel which the Greeks have given him.
  • Forbear the king, Pelides. For the man
  • Whom Jove hath crown’d is made of Jove a limb.
  • 265Though you be strong, and on a Goddess got,
  • Atrides is before you in command.
  • Atrides, be but you to peace once brought,
  • T’ appease Achilles I will take in hand,
  • Who is (while we are lying here) our wall.
  • 270To this Atrides answered again,
  • I nothing can deny of this at all.
  • But he amongst us thinks he ought to reign,
  • And give the law to all as he thinks fit.
  • But I am certain that shall never be.
  • 275He well can fight; the Gods have granted it,
  • But they ne’er taught him words of infamy.
  • Then interrupting him, Achilles said,
  • I were a wretch and nothing worth indeed,
  • If I whatever you command obey’d.
  • 280I will no more to what you say take heed.
  • But this I tell you, if you take away
  • The damsel which is mine by your own gift,
  • I do not mean for that to make a fray
  • Amongst the Greeks, or once my hand to lift.
  • 285Fetch her yourself, Atrides, but take heed
  • Against my will you nothing else take there.
  • Try; that th’ Achæans may see how you speed,
  • And how your black blood shall run down my spear.
  • Thus in disorder the assembly ends.
  • 290Achilles to his own ships took his way,
  • Patroclus with him and his other friends.
  • And Agamemnon then without delay
  • Launched a bark, and in go row’rs twice ten.
  • Aboard the maid and th’ hecatomb they lay.
  • 295Ulysses went commander of the men.
  • And swiftly then the ship cuts out her way.
  • And then Atrides th’ army purifi’d,
  • And threw into the sea the purgament.
  • Then sacrific’d o’ th’ sands by the sea side
  • 300A hecatomb. To heaven up went the scent,
  • And busy were the people. But the king
  • Still on his quarrel with Achilles thought,
  • And how Briseis from his tent to bring.
  • For what he threaten’d he had not forgot.
  • 305But sent Talthybius and Eurybates
  • T’ Achilles’ tent to fetch Briseis thence.
  • (Two public servants of the king were these,
  • Ordained to carry his commandments.)
  • If he refuse, said he, to let her go,
  • 310I’ll thither go myself with greater force
  • And take her thence, whether he will or no.
  • Which, angry as he is, will vex him worse.
  • The messengers, though not well pleased, went
  • Unto the fleet o’ th’ Myrmidons, and there
  • 315They found Achilles sitting by his tent.
  • Well pleas’d he was not. And they silent were,
  • And stood still, struck with fear and reverence.
  • Achilles seeing that, spake first, and said,
  • Come near. To me you have done no offence.
  • 320Go you, Patroclus, and lead forth the maid,
  • And give her to these men, that they may be
  • To Gods and men, and to th’ unbridled man,
  • My witnesses, when they have need of me
  • To save th’ Achæans, which he never can.
  • 325For what can he devise of any worth?
  • Or how can he the Greeks in battle save?
  • This said, Patroclus led Briseis forth,
  • And to Atrides’ messengers her gave.
  • She with them went, though much against her heart.
  • 330Achilles from his friends went off and pray’d.
  • And sitting with his face to the sea apart
  • Weeping, unto his mother Thetis said,
  • Mother, though Jove have given me so small
  • A time of life, I could contented be,
  • 335Had I not been dishonoured withal,
  • And forc’d to bear such open injury.
  • Thetis in the inmost closets of the deep,
  • Sat with the old God Nereus, and heard.
  • And not enduring long to hear him weep,
  • 340Above the sea like to a mist appear’d,
  • And by him sat, and strok’d his head, and said,
  • Why weep you, child? What is’t that grieves you so?
  • Tell me, speak out. Of what are you afraid?
  • Come, whatsoever ’tis let me it know.
  • 345Mother, said he, ’tis not to you unknown,
  • When we took Thebe, and had brought away
  • The captives and the riches of the town,
  • Chryseis fell t’ Atrides for his prey.
  • And how her father Chryses came to th’ fleet
  • 350With ransom great his daughter to redeem,
  • And having in his hands the ensigns meet
  • Which did his priestly dignity beseem,
  • A golden sceptre and a crown of bays,
  • Unto the princes all made his request.
  • 355But to the two Atrides chiefly prays,
  • Who of the Argive army were the best.
  • O sons of Atreus, may the Gods grant you
  • A safe return from Troy with victory;
  • And you on me compassion may shew,
  • 360Receive these gifts, and set my daughter free;
  • And have respect to Jove’s and Leto’s son.
  • To this the princes all gave their consent,
  • Except King Agamemnon. He alone,
  • And with sharp language from the fleet him sent.
  • 365Away the old man goes, and as he went,
  • Against the Greeks he to Apollo pray’d;
  • Who heard him, and the plague amongst them sent,
  • Which daily multitudes of them destroy’d.
  • Of which the prophet, being ask’d the cause,
  • 370Said, ’twas for th’ injury to Chryses done.
  • I mov’d to send her back. Then angry was
  • Atrides, though beside Atrides, none.
  • And though he too has sent her now away,
  • Yet what he threaten’d he has brought to pass.
  • 375His officers from me have forc’d my prey,
  • And Agamemnon now Briseis has.
  • And now, if ever, let me have your aid,
  • If you have holpen Jove with word or deed;
  • (For in my father’s house you oft have said,
  • 380That heretofore you stood him in great stead,
  • When other Gods to bind him had decreed,
  • Juno and Neptune, Pallas and the rest,
  • You to him came and from his bonds him freed.
  • For up you fetch’d Briareus, the best
  • 385Of Titans all, whom men Ægæon call,
  • The gods Briareus, with a hundred hands,
  • And set him next to Jove. No God at all
  • Then durst to Jupiter approach with bonds);
  • Put Jove in mind of this, and him intreat
  • 390The Trojan hands to fortify in fight,
  • And to repel the Greeks with slaughter great,
  • That in their goodly king they may delight,
  • And Agamemnon count what he hath won
  • By doing such dishonour to the best
  • 395Of th’ Argives, and that has such service done.
  • Ay me, said Thetis, would you could here rest
  • Unhurt, ungriev’d. For I have born you to
  • Short life. And not far from you is your fate.
  • And grievous ’tis to be dishonour’d too.
  • 400But I to Jove will all you say relate
  • When I go to Olympus. Till then stay,
  • And angry though you are, from war forbear.
  • To blackmoor-land the Gods went yesterday,
  • And twelve days hence again they will be there.
  • 405This said, the Goddess went away, and left
  • Her son Achilles with his anger striving,
  • For that he had been of his prize bereft.
  • And then Ulysses at the port arriving
  • Of Chryse, first his sails he furl’d, and stow’d
  • 410Them on the deck together with the mast;
  • And with their oars their ship ashore they row’d,
  • And out their anchors threw; and ty’d her fast.
  • And on the beach the men descending laid
  • The victims in good order on the sand.
  • 415When this was done, they disembark’d the maid.
  • And then Ulysses took her by the hand,
  • And brought her to the altar, where the priest
  • Her father stood, and to him spake, and said,
  • O Chryses, see, Atrides hath dismiss’d
  • 420Your daughter, and this hecatomb hath paid.
  • By Agamemnon we are hither sent
  • The same to offer, and t’ Apollo pray,
  • That he accept it will, and be content
  • The sickness from the Greeks to take away.
  • 425This said, he put Chryseis to his hand,
  • And he with great contentment her receiv’d.
  • Then all with salt and barley ready stand,
  • And Chryses pray’d with hands to heaven upheav’d.
  • Hear me, Apollo, with the silver bow,
  • 430That dost in Tenedos and Cylla reign,
  • And heardst my pray’r against the Greeks; hear now,
  • And from them send the pestilence again.
  • When Chryses had thus to Apollo pray’d,
  • Then pray’d they all; and salt and barley threw
  • 435Upon the victims; which they kill’d and flay’d.
  • But from the altar first they them withdrew.
  • And then the thighs cut off they alit in twain,
  • And round about they cover them with fat,
  • And one part on the other laid again.
  • 440The priest himself came when they had done that,
  • And burnt them on a fire of cloven wood;
  • And as they burning were pour’d on black wine.
  • Young men with spits five-branched by them stood.
  • When burnt the thighs were for the pow’r divine,
  • 445And entrails eaten, the rest cut in joints
  • Before the fire they roasted skilfully,
  • Pierced through with the spits that had five points;
  • And took it up when roasted thoroughly.
  • When ended was their work, began the feast;
  • 450Where nothing wanting was of what was good.
  • And having thirst and hunger dispossest,
  • And filled with sweet wine the temp’rers stood.
  • Then round the cups were borne; and all day long
  • Sitting they celebrated Phœbus’ might,
  • 455And magnifi’d his goodness in sweet song,
  • And he in his own praises took delight.
  • But when the sun had borne away his light,
  • Upon the sands they laid them down to sleep.
  • And when again Aurora came in sight,
  • 460Again they launch their ship into the deep.
  • A good fore-wind Apollo with them sent.
  • Then with her breast the ship the water tore
  • (Which by her down on both sides roaring went)
  • And soon arrived at the Trojan shore.
  • 465And there they drew her up again to land,
  • And ev’ry man went which way he thought best.
  • Achilles yet not able to command
  • The anger that still boiled in his breast,
  • No longer would the Greeks at council meet,
  • 470Nor with them any more to battle come;
  • But sullen sat before his tent and fleet,
  • Wishing to see the Argives beaten home.
  • Twelve times the sun had risen now and set,
  • The Gods t’ Olympus all returned were;
  • 475Thetis her son’s complaints did not forget,
  • But up she carried them to Jupiter.
  • Upon the highest top alone sat he
  • Of the great many-headed hill, and laid
  • One hand on’s breast, th’ other on his knee.
  • 480And in that posture thus unto him said,
  • O father Jove, if for you I have done
  • Service at any time by word or deed,
  • Repay it now I pray you to my son,
  • Whom Agamemnon hath dishonoured.
  • 485Short time the Fates have given him to life.
  • Atrides taken from him hath his prey.
  • Now victory unto the Trojans give
  • Till Agamemnon for his fault shall pay.
  • Thus prayed she. But Jove made no reply.
  • 490Nor took she off her hands; but pray’d anew;
  • O Jove, my prayer grant me, or deny,
  • That I may know what power I have in you.
  • Then Jove much grieved, spake to her, and said,
  • ’Twixt me and Juno ’twill a quarrel make.
  • 495For she before the Gods will me upbraid,
  • When she shall know the Trojans’ part I take.
  • But go, lest she observe what you do here.
  • I’ll give a nod to all that you have spoken,
  • That you may safely trust to and not fear.
  • 500A nod from me is an unfailing token.
  • This said, with his black brows he to her nodded,
  • Wherewith displayed were his locks divine;
  • Olympus shook at stirring of his Godhead;
  • And Thetis from it jump’d into the brine,
  • 505And Jupiter unto his house went down.
  • The Gods arose and waited on him thither:
  • But unto Juno it was not unknown
  • That he and Thetis had conferr’d together,
  • Who presently to Jove her husband went,
  • 510And angry him rebuk’d with language keen.
  • You that still in my absence tricks invent,
  • What God hath with you now in counsel been?
  • Though unto me you hate to tell your mind.
  • Juno, said Jove, you must not hope to hear
  • 515All whatsoe’er it be, I have design’d.
  • But what I mean shall come unto the ear
  • Of all the Gods, you first of all shall know.
  • But what from all together I shall hide
  • Ask me no more, I will not tell you, though
  • 520My wife you be. Juno then thus repli’d.
  • Harsh Chronides, what words of yours are these!
  • To ask you questions I’ll henceforth forbear,
  • And quietly let you do what you please.
  • But one thing I must tell you that I fear.
  • 525Thetis, I fear, has gotten your consent,
  • For her son’s sake the Argives to oppress.
  • Suspect you can, said Jove, but not prevent,
  • Which doth but give me cause to love you less.
  • Though it be true, ’twas I would have it so.
  • 530Therefore sit still and do as I would have you.
  • Lest when my mighty hands about you go,
  • Nor all the other Gods in heav’n shall save you.
  • Then Juno silent sat with grief and fear;
  • And all the Gods i’ th’ house of Jove did grieve.
  • 535But Vulcan, the renoun’d artificer,
  • Stood up his mother Juno to relieve.
  • O what will this come to at last, said he,
  • If you for mortals thus shall be at odds!
  • The tumult than the cheer will greater be.
  • 540What pleasure can this be unto the Gods?
  • And though my mother wiser be than I,
  • Yet thus much I’ll not doubt her to advise,
  • That with my father’s will she would comply,
  • That no such quarrel may hereafter rise.
  • 545For by the roots he can the world pluck up.
  • Therefore I pray you mother speak him fair;
  • He’ll soon be pleas’d. Then filled he a cup
  • Of nectar sweet, and bore it to her chair;
  • And to her said, mother, I pray you hold,
  • 550And do no more my father’s choler move.
  • If you be beaten I shall but behold,
  • And grieve I am not strong enough for Jove.
  • I would have helpt you once, when by the foot
  • He threw me down to Lemnos from the sky.
  • 555All the day long I was a falling to’t,
  • Where more than half dead taken up was I.
  • And there by th’ Sincians I was taken up.
  • When Vulcan had his history told out,
  • His mother on him smil’d, and took the cup,
  • 560And to the Gods he nectar bore about.
  • And then the Gods laught all at once outright
  • To see the lame and sooty Vulcan skink.
  • And all the day from morning unto night
  • Ambrosia they eat, and nectar drink.
  • 565Apollo played, and alternately
  • The Muses to him sung. When night was come,
  • Then gently Sleep solicited each eye,
  • And to his house each God departed home.
  • And Jupiter went up unto the bed
  • 570Where he at other times was wont to lie
  • When sleep came on him, and laid down his head
  • To take repose; and Juno lay him by.

  LIB. II.

  • The dream of Agamemnon. The tempting of the army, and the catalogue of ships and commanders.

  • The Gods, and princes of the Argive host
  • Slept all night long. Jove only waking lay,
  • And many projects in his mind he tost,
  • To grace Achilles, and the Greeks annoy.
  • 5At last a Dream he call’d. False Dream, said he,
  • Go, hie to Agamemnon’s tent, and say,
  • Distinctly as you bidden are by me.
  • Bid him bring up his army now to Troy;
  • For now the time is come he shall it take.
  • 10The Gods no more thereon deliberate,
  • But all consented have for Juno’s sake,
  • No longer to delay the Trojan fate.
  • Then with his errand went the Dream away,
  • And quickly was at Agamemnon’s tent.
  • 15And finding him as fast asleep he lay,
  • Up presently unto his head he went.
  • And in the shape of Nestor to him spake.
  • Sleep you, said he, Atrides? ’Tis not fit
  • For him from whom the people counsel take,
  • 20That sleep all night upon his eyes should sit.
  • But Jove looks to you. Listen then to me.
  • For ’tis from Jove that I am to you come.
  • He bids you lead the army presently
  • Up every man to the walls of Ilium.
  • 25For now the time is come you shall it take.
  • The Gods no more thereon deliberate.
  • But all consented have for Juno’s sake,
  • No longer to delay the Trojan fate.
  • And therefore when you wake forget it not.
  • 30This said, the Dream departed. And the king
  • Believ’d it as an oracle, and thought
  • To take Troy now as sure as anything;
  • Vain man, presuming from a dream Jove’s will,
  • Who meant to th’ Greeks and Trojans yet much woe,
  • 35And with their carcasses the field to fill
  • Before the Greeks should back to Argos go.
  • The king awak’d, and sat upon his bed,
  • Puts on his coat and a great cloak upon,
  • Handsome and new; his dream still in his head;

  • The dream of Agamemnon, &c.

  • 40And then his silver-studded sword puts on.
  • And then he took his sceptre in his hand
  • Which formerly his ancestors had borne,
  • And went to th’ ships whereof he had command.
  • And to the Gods with light then came the morn.
  • 45Then Agamemnon bids to counsel call.
  • The cryers call’d, the Greeks together went.
  • But first he had with the old captains all
  • Consulted what to do at Nestor’s tent;
  • And said he dream’d that one like Nestor spake
  • 50To him and said, Atrides ’tis not fit
  • For one of whom the people counsel take
  • That sleep upon his eyes all night should sit.
  • But Jove secures you. Listen then to me,
  • For ’tis from him that I unto you come.
  • 55He bids you lead the army presently
  • Up every man to the walls of Ilium.
  • For now the time is come you shall it take,
  • The Gods thereon no more deliberate,
  • But all consented have for Juno’s sake,
  • 60No longer to delay the Trojan fate.
  • And therefore when you wake forget it not.
  • This said, the dream went off again, and I
  • How to th’ assault the army may be brought
  • As far as we can safely fain would try.
  • 65I’ll first give them advice to go away,
  • As if there were no hope to gain the town.
  • But you must then be sure to make them stay.
  • This said, King Agamemnon sat him down,
  • And Nestor rose. Captains of th’ host, said he,
  • 70This dream, had it been told b’another man,
  • Feigned and foolish would have seem’d to me.
  • But since the king is th’ author (if we can)
  • Let us persuade the people to take arms.
  • And having said, began to lead away.
  • 75And now the people coming there in swarms.
  • For as the bees in a fair summer’s day
  • Come out in clusters from the hollow rock,
  • And light upon the flow’rs that honey yield;
  • So to th’ assembly did the people flock,
  • 80And bristling stood with expectation fill’d.
  • When they sat down, it made the ground to sigh.
  • The lords nine criers then amongst them sent
  • To make them silent, or to drown their cry,
  • And from the press their chairs to defend.
  • 85With much ado at last they silent were.
  • Then Agamemnon took into his hand
  • His sceptre (which was made by Mulciber
  • For Jove to carry when he did command.
  • Jove gave it afterward to Mercury;

  • The tempting of the army.

  • 90And Mercury to Pelops gave the same.
  • From Pelops it went down successively
  • To Atreus, and to Thyestes came.
  • From him it came to Agamemnon’s hand,
  • Who many islands and all Argos sway’d.)
  • 95And leaning now upon it with his hand,
  • Unto the princes of the army said.
  • Servants of Mars, commanders of the Greeks,
  • O what great trouble Jove involves me in!
  • Disgracefully to send me home he seeks,
  • 100Although he told me I the town should win,
  • And now (when I have lost so many men)
  • It seems to play with men he takes delight.
  • What towns has he destroy’d, and will again
  • Destroy still more, to exercise his might?
  • 105For both to us and our posterity
  • ’Twill be a great disgrace to go to Troy
  • With so great multitudes, and baffled be,
  • And nothing done again to come away.
  • If we and they should on a truce agree,
  • 110And one by one they muster up their men;
  • And we should count how many tens we be,
  • And make one Trojan fill out wine for ten,
  • Many a ten would want a man to skink,
  • So much in number we the town exceed.
  • 115But when upon their many aids I think,
  • I wonder less that we no better speed.
  • Nine years are gone; our cordage spoiled with rain:
  • Our ships are rotted, and our wives at home,
  • And children dear expect us back again.
  • 120Nor know we of the war what will become.
  • Come, then, and all agree on what I say,
  • Let’s put to sea, and back t’ Achæa fly.
  • We shall not win the town although we stay.
  • This said, the army with applauses high
  • 125Consented all (save those that had been by
  • In council of the princes of Achæa)
  • And moved were like to the billows high
  • That rolled are by some great wind at sea.
  • Or as, when in a field of well-grown wheat
  • 130The ears incline by a sharp wind opprest;
  • So bow’d the heads in this assembly great
  • When their consent they to the king exprest.
  • Then going to the ships cry’d Ha la la!
  • Great dust they raised, and encouraged
  • 135Each other to the sea his ship to draw,
  • And cleans’d the way to th’ water from each bed;
  • And straight unpropt their ships; and to the sky
  • Went up the noise. Then Juno sent away
  • Pallas. Pallas, quoth she, the Greeks will fly,
  • 140And Helen leave behind, for whom at Troy
  • So many of the Greeks their lives have lost,
  • And stay’d so long in vain before the town.
  • And then will Priam and the Trojans boast,
  • Unless you quickly to the ships go down.
  • 145Go quickly then, try if you can prevail,
  • With hopeful words to stay them yet ashore,
  • And take away their sudden list to sail,
  • And let the ships lie as they did before.
  • This said, the Goddess leapt down to the ground,
  • 150From high Olympus, and stood on the sand
  • Where lay the Greeks. Ulysses there she found
  • Angry to see the people go from land.
  • Ulysses, said she, do you mean to fly,
  • And here leave Helen after so much cost
  • 155Of time and blood, and show your vanity;
  • And leave the Trojans of their rape to boast?
  • Speak to each one, try if you can prevail
  • With hopeful words to stay them on the shore,
  • And take away this sudden list to sail,
  • 160And let the ships lie where they lay before.
  • Ulysses then ran t’ Agamemnon’s tent,
  • And took his staff (the mark of chief command)
  • And laying by his cloak to th’ ships he went,
  • Amongst th’ Achæans with that staff in’s hand.
  • 165And when he met with any prince or peer,
  • He gently said, fear does not you become.
  • You should not only you yourself stay here,
  • But also others keep from flying home.
  • Atrides now did but the Argives try,
  • 170And those he sees most forward to be gone
  • Shall find perhaps least favour in his eye.
  • For of the secret council you were none.
  • Deep-rooted is the anger of a king,
  • To whom high Jove committed has the law,
  • 175And justice left to his distributing.
  • But when a common man he bawling saw,
  • He bang’d him with his staff, and roughly spake.
  • Be silent, and hear what your betters say.
  • For who of you doth any notice take
  • 180In council or in martial array?
  • Let one be king (we cannot all be kings)
  • To whom Jove gave the sceptre and the laws
  • To rule for him. Thus he the people brings
  • Off from their purpose, and to council draws.
  • 185Then to th’ assembly back again they pass’d,
  • With noise like that the sea makes when it breaks
  • Against the shore, and quiet were at last.
  • Thersites only standeth up and speaks.
  • One that to little purpose could say much.
  • 190And what he thought would make men laugh would say.
  • And for an ugly fellow none was such
  • ’Mongst all the Argives that besieged Troy.
  • Lame of one leg he was; and look’d asquint;
  • His shoulders at his breast together came;
  • 195His head went tapering up into a point,
  • With straggling and short hair upon the same.
  • Ulysses and Achilles most him hated,
  • For these two princes he us’d most to chide;
  • And Agamemnon now aloud he rated,
  • 200And thereby anger’d all the Greeks beside.
  • What is’t, Atrides, said he, stays you here?
  • Your tent is full of brass; women you have
  • The best of all that by us taken were,
  • For always unto you the choice we gave.
  • 205Or look you for more gold that yet may come
  • For ransom of some prisoner whom I
  • Or other Greeks shall take at Ilium,
  • Or for some young maid to keep privately?
  • But kings ought not their private ease to buy
  • 210With public danger and a common woe.
  • Come, women of Achaia, let us fly,
  • And let him spend his gettings on the foe.
  • For then how much we help him he will know,
  • That has a better than himself disgrac’d.
  • 215But that Achilles is to anger slow,
  • That injury of his had been his last.
  • This said, Ulysses straightway to him went,
  • And with sour look, and bitter language said,
  • Prater, that to thyself seems eloquent,
  • 220How darest thou alone the king t’ upbraid?
  • A greater coward than thou art there’s none
  • ’Mongst all the Greeks that came with us to Troy.
  • Else ’gainst the king thy tongue would not so run.
  • Thou seek’st but an excuse to run away.
  • 225Because we know not how we shall come off
  • As yet from Troy, must you the king upbraid,
  • And at the princes of the army scoff,
  • As if they too much honour to him paid?
  • But I will tell you one thing, and will do’t.
  • 230If here again I find you fooling thus,
  • Then from my shoulders let my head be cut,
  • Or let me lose my son Telemachus,
  • If I not strip you naked to the skin,
  • And send you soundly beaten to the ships
  • 235With many stripes and ugly to be seen.
  • This said, he basted him both back and hips.
  • Thersites shrugg’d, and wept, sat down, and had
  • His shoulders black and blue, dy’d by the staff;
  • Look’d scurvily. The people that were sad
  • 240But just before, now could not choose but laugh.
  • And, oh, said one t’ another standing near,
  • Ulysses many handsome things has done,
  • When we in council or in battle were,
  • A better deed than this is he did none,
  • 245That has so silenced this railing knave,
  • And of his peevish humour stay’d the flood,
  • As he no more will dare the king to brave.
  • And then to speak Ulysses ready stood.
  • Where Pallas like a crier did appear,
  • 250And standing by him silence did command,
  • That also they that sat far off might hear.
  • Then spake he, with the sceptre in his hand.
  • The people, O Atrides, go about
  • To put you on an act will be your shame,
  • 255Forgetting what they promis’d setting out,
  • Not to return till Troy they overcame.
  • But now like widow-women they complain,
  • Or little children longing to go home.
  • To be from home a month, it is a pain
  • 260To them that to their loving wives would come.
  • To sea they’d go though certain to be tost
  • By many a sturdy wind upon the same.
  • But they have now lain here nine years almost;
  • I cannot therefore say they are to blame.
  • 265But certainly after so long a stay
  • ’Tis very shameful empty back to go.
  • Let us at least abide till know we may
  • Whether what Chalchas said be true or no.
  • For this we all know and are witnesses
  • 270(Excepting only those that since are dead)
  • When we from Aulis went to pass the seas,
  • And by contrary winds were hindered,
  • That there we to the gods did sacrifice
  • Upon an altar close unto a spring,
  • 275That of a plane-tree at the root did rise;
  • And how we saw there a prodigious thing.
  • A mighty serpent with a back blood-red
  • From out the spring glided up to the tree,
  • The boughs whereof were ev’ry way far spread.
  • 280On th’ utmost chanc’d a sparrow’s nest to be.
  • Young ones were in it eight, with th’ old one nine;
  • The old one near the nest stay’d fluttering,
  • And grievously the while did cry and whine.
  • At last the serpent catcht her by the wing.
  • 285And when the serpent had devour’d all nine,
  • He presently was turn’d into a stone;
  • That we might see from Jove it was a sign
  • Of what should afterward at Troy be done.
  • We were amaz’d so strange a thing to see,
  • 290Till Chalchas rose and did the same explain.
  • This is a certain sign from Jove, said he,
  • That he intends to do the like again.
  • For as the snake devour’d nine birds in all;
  • So nine years long we shall make war at Troy,
  • 295And after nine years Ilium shall fall.
  • But in the tenth year we shall come away.
  • This then said Chalchas; and all hitherto
  • Is come to pass. Therefore Achæans stay,
  • Since nothing here remaineth now to do,
  • 300But overcoming the old town of Troy.
  • This said, the people made a mighty noise,
  • Which bounding from the ships was twice as great,
  • Sounding of nothing but Ulysses’ praise.
  • And up then rose old Nestor from his seat.
  • 305Fie, fie, said he, why sit we talking here?
  • Where are your promises, and whither gone
  • Our oaths and vows? To what end did we swear?
  • Where be the hands that we rely’d upon?
  • What good will’t do to sit upon the shore,
  • 310How long soever be our time to stay?
  • Hold fast, Atrides, as you did before
  • The power you have; and lead us up to Troy.
  • A man or two you safely may neglect,
  • Though they dissent and secret counsel take.
  • 315For they’ll be able nothing to effect,
  • Before to Argos our retreat we make,
  • And know if Jove have spoken true or no.
  • For when we went aboard to go for Troy,
  • Jove light’ned to the right hand, which all know
  • 320A sign of granting is for what we pray.
  • Let none of you long therefore to be gone,
  • Till of some Trojan’s wife he hath his will,
  • And ta’en a not unfit revenge upon
  • The Trojans that have Helen us’d as ill.
  • 325But he that for all this is fiercely bent
  • On going home, and thinks that counsel best,
  • And lays hand on his ship, let him be sent
  • Down into Erebus before the rest.
  • But you, O king, think well, and take advice
  • 330First into tribes the army to divide,
  • And tribes again into fraternities,
  • That tribe may tribe and fellow fellow aid.
  • The leaders and the soldiers then you’ll know
  • Which of them merits praise, and which is naught.
  • 335And if the town you do not overthrow,
  • Whether on us or Jove to lay the fault.
  • To this Atrides answer made and said,
  • O Nestor, father, you exceed all men
  • In giving counsel. Would the Gods me aid
  • 340With counsellors such as you are but ten,
  • The town of Priam we should quickly win.
  • Nor had we now so long about it staid,
  • If Jupiter had not engag’d me in
  • A quarrel with Achilles for a maid.
  • 245But if we come but once more to agree,
  • The evil day from Troy will not be far.
  • Now take your food, that we may ready be,
  • And able to endure the toil of war.
  • Let ev’ry man now sharpen well his spear,
  • 350His buckler mend, and give his horses meat,
  • And look well to his chariot everywhere,
  • That we may fight all day without retreat,
  • For we shall fight I doubt not all day long,
  • And never cease as long as we can see.
  • 355Of many a shield sweaty will be the thong,
  • And spear upon the hand lie heavily;
  • And many horses at the chariot sweat.
  • But he that willingly to avoid the fight
  • Shall stay behind, or to the ships retreat,
  • 360His body shall be food for dog and kite.
  • This said, the people pleas’d with what was spoken,
  • Approv’d the same with shouts, as loud as when
  • Betwixt great waves and rocks the sea is broken.
  • Then from the assembly they return again.
  • 365And at their ships they sacrifice and pray
  • Each one to th’ God in whom he trusted most,
  • That he might by his favour come away
  • Alive, with whole limbs from the Trojan host.
  • But Agamemnon sacrific’d a steer
  • 370To Jove, of five years old, and to the feast
  • Call’d such as in the army princes were,
  • Or held to be for chivalry the best,
  • Nestor, Idomeneus, two Ajaces,
  • And the son of Tydeus Diomed,
  • 375The sixth Ulysses Laertiades,
  • And Menelaus thither came unbid.
  • For well he knew his brother would be sad.
  • About the victim then th’ assembly stands,
  • And in their hands they salt and barley had.
  • 380Then pray’d Atrides holding up his hands;
  • Great, glorious Jove, that dwellest in the sky,
  • O let not Phœbus carry hence the day
  • Till Priam’s palace proud in ashes lie,
  • And Hector sprawling in the dust of Troy,
  • 385And many Trojans with him. So pray’d he.
  • And Jove was with his sacrifice content.
  • But unto all his pray’r did not agree,
  • Intending still his labour to augment.
  • Whan all had pray’d, they salt and barley threw
  • 390Upon the victim which they kill’d and flay’d.
  • But from the altar they it first withdrew.
  • The thighs they slit, and fat upon them laid.
  • And burnt them in a fire of cloven wood;
  • The entrails o’er the fire they broiled eat,
  • 395The rest they roast on spits that by them stood;
  • And when they roasted were, fell to their meat.
  • When the desire of meat and drink was gone,
  • Nestor stood up, and to Atrides said,
  • Let us no longer leave the work undone,
  • 400Which Jupiter himself has on us laid.
  • Let’s call the Greeks together out of hand,
  • That we may make them ready for the war.
  • Atrides then to th’ criers gave command
  • T’ assemble them. They soon assembled are.
  • 405And then the princes went into the field,
  • And them in tribes and in fraternities
  • Distinguished. And Pallas with her shield,
  • (An undecaying shield and of great price,
  • Rais’d at the brim with orbs of beaten gold
  • 410An hundred, worth an hundred cows at least.)
  • With this the Goddess went, to make them bold,
  • Courage inspiring into ev’ry breast.
  • And now their hearts are all on fire to fight,
  • And vanish’d is the thought of their returning.
  • 415And such as of a mountain is the sight
  • Upon whose top a large thick wood stands burning;
  • Such, as they marching were, the splendour was,
  • And seemed to reach up unto the sky,
  • Reflected from so many arms of brass
  • 420Bright and new polished unto the eye.
  • As when of many sorts the long-neck’d fowls
  • Unto the large and flow’ry plain repair,
  • Through which Cayster’s water gently rolls,
  • In multitudes high flying in the air,
  • 425Then here and there fly priding in their wing,
  • And by and by at once light on the ground,
  • And with great clamour make the air to ring,
  • And th’ earth whereon they settle to resound;
  • So when th’ Acheans went up from the fleet,
  • 430And on their march were to the town of Troy,
  • The earth resounded loud with hoofs and feet.
  • But at Scamander’s flow’ry bank they stay,
  • In number like the flowers of the field,
  • Or leaves in spring, or multitude of flies
  • 435In some great dairy ’bout the vessels fill’d,
  • Delighted with the milk, dance, fall and rise.
  • The leaders then amongst them went, and brought
  • Them quickly into tribes and companies,
  • As ev’ry goat-herd quickly knows his goat
  • 440Whether it be another man’s or his.
  • And Agamemnon there amongst the rest
  • Was eminent. Like Jove in hea and face;
  • Belted like Mars; like Neptune’s was his breast.
  • Such beauty Jove upon the man did place.

  • The catalogue of ships and commanders.

  • 445Now, Muses, ye that in Olympus dwell,
  • (For Goddesses you are, and present were,
  • And all that pass’d at Troy can truly tell,
  • And we can nothing know but what we hear.)
  • Who of the Greeks at Troy commanded men?
  • 450The common soldiers you need not name,
  • For I should never say them o’er again,
  • Although I had as many tongues as Fame.
  • Boetia, wherein contained be
  • Eteonus, and Schœnus, and Scolus,
  • 455Aulis, Thespeia, Græa, Hyrie,
  • Harma, Eilesius, and Mycalessus,
  • Erythræ, Elion, Ocaliæ.
  • Hylæ, Eutresis, Thisbe, Peleon,
  • Platæa, Aliareus, and Copæ,
  • 460Coronia, Glisse, Thebe, Medeon,
  • Onchestus Neptune’s town, Nissa divine,
  • And Midias, and utmost Anthedon,
  • And Arne that great plenty has of wine.
  • The which in all made fifty ships. And those
  • 465Commanded were by Archesilaus,
  • And Prothoenor and Peneleos,
  • And Leitus, and with them Clonius.
  • The seamen in each one to six score rose.
  • Aspledon and Orchomenus besides
  • 470Did set forth twenty good black ships to sea.
  • Ascalaphus and Ialmenus were guides,
  • Begot by Mars upon Astyoche.
  • The towns of Phocis, Crissa, Panopea,
  • And Cyparissus, Python, and Daulis,
  • 475And on the brook of Cephisus Lilæa,
  • And Anemoria, and Hyampolis,
  • And other towns o’ th’ bank of Cephisus,
  • Made ready forty good ships for the seas,
  • Ruled by Schedius and Epistraphus
  • 480The sons of Iphitus Naubolides.
  • The Locrians the lesser Ajax led,
  • Of King Oileus the valiant son.
  • (For he was lower more than by the head
  • Than t’ other Ajax, son of Telamon)
  • 485A linen armour he wore on his breast.
  • But understood as well to use a spear,
  • Or better, than could any of the rest
  • That in the army of th’ Achæans were.
  • There went with him from Cynus and Opus,
  • 490From Bessa, Scarphe, Thronius, Aygiæ,
  • Tarphe, Calliarus, Boagrius,
  • Forty good ships well fitted for the sea.
  • Th’ Eubœans were by Elephenor led,
  • That dwell in Chalcis and Eretriæ,
  • 495Cerinthus, Dion (that holds high her head),
  • Carystus, Styra, and in Istiæa.
  • And by the name Abantes they all go,
  • Good men, and that in battle use the spear,
  • And love to pierce the armour of a foe.
  • 500And these on forty ships embarked were.
  • From Athens (who Erectheus’ people were,
  • Aurora’s son, by Pallas nourished
  • In her own temple, in which ev’ry year
  • Many good bulls and lambs are offered),
  • 505Under Menesteus fifty ships did pass,
  • Who for the ord’ring of a battle well
  • Of horse or foot the best of all men was,
  • Save Nestor, who in age did him excel.
  • From Salamis came to the Trojan shore,
  • 510And by the greater Ajax govern’d were,
  • The son of Telamon, twelve good ships more,
  • And lay at anchor to th’ Athenians near.
  • Argos, Tyrinthe, Trœzen, Asine,
  • And Epidaurus, and Hermione,
  • 515Mases and Ægina, and Eione,
  • Amongst them all put four score ships to sea.
  • Of which there were three captains, Diomed,
  • Euryalus, and Sthenelus. But they
  • By Diomed were chiefly governed.
  • 520For him they all commanded were t’ obey.
  • And from Mycenæ, Corinth, Cleonæ,
  • And Orthe, and Hyperesiæ,
  • From Sicyon, and Aræthuree,
  • And Gonoessa, and from Helice,
  • 525Pellenæ, Ægium, and all that shore,
  • An hundred ships were laid upon the sea;
  • And with King Agamemnon passed o’er,
  • And his peculiar command were these.
  • Amongst them he puts on his armour then,
  • 530Proud that he was of all the heroes best.
  • For of his own he thither brought most men,
  • And chief commander was of all the rest.
  • From Sparta, Pharæ, Messa, Brysiæ,
  • From about Otylus, with those from Laus,
  • 535Helos, Amyclæ, and from Aygiæ,
  • Went thirty good black ships with Menelaus.
  • Which from his brother’s forces stood apart,
  • And he amongst them heart’ning them to fight,
  • And breathing courage into every heart.
  • 540For to the Trojans he bare greatest spite.
  • Pylus, Arene, Cyparisseis,
  • Amphigenia, Æpy, and Thryus,
  • (Whereat a ford i’ th’ stream Alpheus is)
  • Elos, and Pteleus, and Dorius.
  • 545(Here ’twas the Muses met with Toamyris
  • The Thracian fiddler, which their art did slight,
  • And said their skill was not so good as his,
  • And they depriv’d him both of art and sight.)
  • The number of the ships those towns set forth,
  • 550In all amounted to four score and ten;
  • And led were by a captain of great worth.
  • ’Twas Nestor the command had of these men.
  • From Phene, Ripe, and Orchomenus,
  • And from Enispe, and from Stratiæ,
  • 555Tege, Mantinea, Stymphalus,
  • And those that dwelled in Parrhasia,
  • (Arcadians all, and in sharp war well skill’d)
  • Came sixty ships by Agapenor led,
  • And ev’ry ship sufficiently fill’d.
  • 560But then the ships Atrides furnished.
  • The men of Helis, and Buprasium,
  • And all the ground enclos’d by Hyrmine,
  • Myrsinus, Olene, Alisium,
  • Amongst them all put forty ships to sea,
  • 565Led by Amphimachus and Thalpius,
  • Diores, and Polyxenus, the son
  • Of martial Agasthenes, and then
  • Ten good ships were commanded by each one.
  • Dulichium, and th’ isles Echinades,
  • 570Sent forty ships. Messes commander went
  • The son of Phyleus, who for his ease
  • Liv’d from his father there in discontent.
  • Ulysses also brought out twelve good ships
  • From Ithaca, Neritus, Ceph’lonia,
  • 575From Same, and from Zant, and Ægylips,
  • And from Epirus, and Croæylia.
  • Th’ Ætolians with Thoas Andræmon’s son
  • Sent from Pylene, and from Chalcis, and
  • From Olenus, Pleuron, and Calydon
  • 580Sent forty ships, whereof the sole command
  • In Thoas was. For Œneus was dead,
  • And Meleager; all the royal race.
  • Andræmon’s son their men to Troy to lead
  • By suffrage of the cities chosen was.
  • 585From Crossus, Gortys (in the isle of Crete)
  • Lictus, Miletus, Phæstus, Rycius,
  • Lycastus, and some others went a fleet
  • Of eighty ships with King Idomenus.
  • And valiant as Mars Meriones.
  • 590And nine good ships went with Tlepolemus
  • (That was the son of mighty Hercules)
  • From Lindus, Camirus, Ialissus.
  • For Hercules Tlepolemus begat
  • On Astyochia whom in war he won,
  • 595And for her many cities had laid flat.
  • But after Hercules was dead and gone,
  • Tlepolemus, now grown a man and bold,
  • Licymnius (his father’s uncle) slew
  • By th’ mother’s side, a branch of Mars, but old.
  • 600Then cuts down trees, and rigs a navy new,
  • And many men together gathered,
  • And wandered till to Rhodes he came at last,
  • And there dwelt in three tribes distributed.
  • Fear of his kindred made him go in haste.
  • 605And mightily in little time they throve,
  • And ev’ry day in wealth and power grew,
  • And favour’d were continually by Jove.
  • For daily he unto them riches threw.
  • From Syme went with Nireus ships three,
  • 610Nireus that was the fairest man of all
  • (Achilles always must excepted be)
  • But weak was Nireus, and his number small.
  • From Casus, Carpathus, and Nisyrus,
  • Calydnæ Islands, and the Isle of Cous
  • 615Went thirty ships. Two sons of Thessalus
  • The son of Hercules commanded those.
  • And the Pelasgic Argives sent to sea
  • From Trechis, and from Hellas, and Halus,
  • From Pthia, and the port of Alope,
  • 620Commanded by the son of Peleus,
  • Fifty good ships of Myrmidons, which some
  • Achæans, others Hellens used to call.
  • But these would not to any battle come.
  • For sullen sat ashore their general,
  • 625Because Briseis they had forc’d away,
  • Which when he won Lyrnessus, was his prize,
  • And did Epistrophus and Mynes slay.
  • There sat he then, but shall again arise.
  • From Inon, Phylace, and Pyrasus,
  • 630From Pteleus, and Antron on the sea
  • Went forty ships, with Protesilaus,
  • Which he commanded while alive was he.
  • But he was dead. For as he leapt to land
  • From out his ship, he was the first man slain
  • 635Of all th’ Achæans by a Trojan hand,
  • And left his wife to tear her hair in vain,
  • His house at Phylace half finished.
  • His soldiers chose Podarces in his place,
  • His younger brother, who at Troy them led.
  • 640A captain good; but th’ elder better was.
  • And they that dwelt about Boebeis Lake,
  • Iaolcus, Boebe, Pheræ, Glaphyræ,
  • Put all together, ships eleven make.
  • Under Eumelus these were put to sea.
  • 645From rugged Olizon and Melibœa,
  • The towns Methone and Thomacia sent
  • Seven ships of fifty oars apiece to sea,
  • And Philoctetes their commander went.
  • But him the Achæans left in Lemnos isle,
  • 650In cruel torment bitten by a snake.
  • And of his ships medon took charge the while.
  • But better care of him the Greeks will take.
  • From Tricca then, and from Methone steep,
  • And from Oechalia (seat of Euritus),
  • 655Thirty good ships to Troy went o’er the sea,
  • By Machaon led and Podalirius,
  • Two skilful sons of Æsculapius.
  • From chalky Titanus Hyperia, and
  • Astirius, and from Ormenius,
  • 660Eurypilus did forty ships command.
  • And from the towns Argissa and Gyrtone,
  • From Oloosson, Orthe on the Hill,
  • With those that sent were from the town Elone,
  • So many went as forty ships did fill.
  • 665And had two leaders. Polypœtes one,
  • Son of Perithous the son of Jove,
  • And gotten by him was the day whereon
  • He and the Lapiths ’gainst the Centaurs strove,
  • And drave them from the mountain Pelion.
  • 670The other leader was Leontius,
  • Whose father was Capaneus, who the son
  • Was of the valiant Lapith Cœneus.
  • The Ænians and Perrhibœans bold
  • Did two-and-twenty good black ships set out,
  • 675From hollow Cyphus, and Dodona cold,
  • And other habitations about
  • The pleasant river Titaretius,
  • That into Peneus runs, but doth not mix,
  • But glides like oil at top of Peneus,
  • 680For Titaretius is a branch of Styx.
  • These Gonneus led. Then the Magnesians sent
  • From towns upon the banks of Peneus,
  • And sides of Pelion mountain eminent,
  • Forty good ships under swift Prothous.
  • 685These were the leaders of the Achæan forces.
  • O Goddess, tell me now who was the best
  • In battle of the leaders, and whose horses
  • In swiftness and in force excell’d the rest.
  • Eumelus, his two horses did surpass
  • 690(Though they were females) all the rest for speed;
  • Their colour, age, and stature equal was,
  • Sprung in Pieria from Apollo’s breed,
  • That terror drew about as swift as wind.
  • ’Mongst Greeks the greater Ajax had no peer.
  • 695For now Achilles had the war declin’d,
  • Whom none in prowess equall’d or came near,
  • Nor other horses could with his compare.
  • But at his ships he discontented stay’d,
  • And full of spite which he th’ Atrides bare,
  • 700Whilst on the beach idle his soldiers play’d
  • At who could furthest throw a dart or stone.
  • The horses loosely wander’d here and there
  • Amongst the people, and had riders none,
  • Or upon lote and cinquefoil feeding were.
  • 705But the Achæans to Scamander march’d
  • Swiftly as when a fire runs o’er a plain
  • Which Phœbus had with a long summer parch’d,
  • And going made the ground to groan again,
  • As when Jove angry lasheth Arimy,
  • 710Which men say of Typhæus is the bed,
  • The earth therewith is made to groan and sigh,
  • So groan’d the ground when they to Troy were led.
  • Then Jove unto the Trojans Iris sent,
  • Who old and young were then at Priam’s gate
  • 715Assembled with the king in parliament.
  • Over their heads stood Iris as they sate.
  • Her voice was like to that of Priam’s son
  • Polytes, that was watching at the tomb
  • Of old Æsuites, there to wait upon
  • 720The coming of the Greeks to Ilium.
  • Old man, said she, you love to hear men preach
  • As in a time of peace. But now ’tis war.
  • The Greeks no more lie idle on the beach,
  • But at your gates, and numberless they are,
  • 725As sands by the sea-side, or leaves in spring.
  • And to the city now they bring the war.
  • Hector, to you this counsel now I bring.
  • Within the city many people are
  • To aid you come of divers languages.
  • 730Let them that hither led them lead them here,
  • Arm, and command them each one as he please.
  • When she had done, dismiss’d the people were.
  • Hector to open all the gates commands,
  • And with great clamour horse and foot come out.
  • 735Before the city a high pillar stands,
  • To which the field lies open round about;
  • And Battiea called was by men;
  • Which ’mongst the Gods another name did bear,
  • Myrinna’s sepulchre. And there again
  • 740The Trojans and their succours muster’d were.
  • The Trojans were by Hector led. The best
  • In battle, and in number most were these,
  • With spear in hand, and brass on back and breast.
  • The Dardans were commanded by Æneas,
  • 745(Anchises’ son; but Venus was his mother;
  • Amongst the hills of Ida got he was.)
  • And joint commanders with him were two other
  • Brave men, Archilochus and Acamas.
  • And of Zeleia the inhabitants,
  • 750Which of Mount Ida lieth at the foot,
  • And on the river of Æsopus stands,
  • Under command of Pandarus were put,
  • Son of Lycaon, and that well knew how
  • To make an arrow in the air fly true.
  • 755Phœbus himself had given him a bow,
  • And how to use the same none better knew.
  • Th’ Adrasteians and the men of Apæsus,
  • Of Pityeia and Tereia hill
  • Were by Adrastus led and Amphius,
  • 760Two sons of Merops, that had mighty skill
  • In prophecy, and both of them forbad
  • Themselves to venture in the war at Troy.
  • But Fate a greater power with them had,
  • And made them go, but brought them not away.
  • 765The people of Percosia, and they
  • That dwell upon the banks of Practius,
  • Arisbe, Sestus, Abydus, obey
  • The orders of their leader Asius
  • The son of Hyrtacus, whose chariot
  • 770By horses great and black as any coal,
  • And on it he to Ilium was brought;
  • And of Selleis race each one a foal.
  • Larissa was Pelasgic by descent.
  • Under Pylæus and Hyppothous,
  • 775Two stout Pelasgic leaders these were sent,
  • Who both the grandsons were of Teutomus.
  • The Thracians on this side Hellespont,
  • Were led by Pirus and by Achamas.
  • O’ th’ Cycon who do these oppose in front
  • 780Trœzenus’ son Euphemus leader was.
  • From Amydon that standeth on the side
  • Of Axius, the fairest stream that flows,
  • The Pœons came. Pyrechmus them did guide,
  • And arm’d they were with arrows and with bows.
  • 785The Enneti in Paphlagonia,
  • From whence proceedeth of wild mules the race,
  • Parthenius’ brook and the town Coronia,
  • Cytorus, Sesamus, and the high place
  • Of th’ Erithius, and of Ægyalus
  • 790The charge was given to Pylomenus,
  • And of the Halizons t’ Epistrophus,
  • But not alone; join’d with him was Dius
  • Of Alybe, where is a silver mine.
  • The leaders of the Mysians were Chronis,
  • 795And Enomus. Both of them could divine
  • By flight of birds, though they foresaw not this
  • That in Scamander stream they both should die,
  • Slain by Achilles who there massacred
  • Many a Trojan, many a good ally,
  • 800Which to the sea the river carried.
  • The Phrygians from Ascania, far off,
  • Were led by Phorcys and Ascanius;
  • And battle lov’d. But the commanders of
  • The Mæones, Mesthles and Antiphus,
  • 805The two sons were of old Pylomenes,
  • Both of them born upon Gygæna lake,
  • (At th’ foot of Tmolus dwell the Mæones.)
  • Amphimachus and Nastes charge did take
  • Of those of Caria, people of rude tongue;
  • 810And of Miletus, and the hill Phtheiron,
  • And of the towns that seated are among
  • The windings of Mæander, and upon
  • Mount Mycale. And Nastes carried gold
  • Unto the battle, like a child or sot;
  • 815Wherewith his life he did not buy but sold.
  • For slain he was; his gold Achilles got,
  • And left him lying at the river dead.
  • The succours by the Lycians sent to Troy,
  • By Glaucus were and King Sarpedon led.
  • Far off they dwelt, and a long march had they.

  LIB. III.

  • The duel of Menelaus and Paris, for the ending of the war.

  • When both the armies were prepar’d for fight,
  • The Trojans marched on with noise and cry.
  • As in the air of cackling fowl a flight,
  • Or like the cranes when from the north they fly,
  • 5The army of Pygmæan men to charge,
  • And shun the winter, with a mighty cry
  • Fly through the air over the ocean large;
  • So swiftly march’d the Greeks, but silently
  • Resolved one another to assist.
  • 10And such a dust between both hosts did rise,
  • As when upon the mountains lies a mist,
  • Which to a stone’s cast limiteth the eyes.
  • (Which good for thieves is, but for shepherds not)
  • So great a dust the middle space possest.
  • 15When they were near to one another got,
  • Came Alexander forth before the rest.
  • A leopard’s skin he wore upon his shoulders,
  • Two spears in hand, his sword girt at his side,
  • Bow at his back, and brave to the beholders;
  • 20And any of Achæan host defied.
  • And glad was Menelaus to see this.
  • As when a lion finds a lusty prey,
  • A wild goat or a stag well pleased is,
  • And hungry seizes him without delay,
  • 25Although by hunters and by hounds pursu’d;
  • So glad was Menelaus him to see.
  • And soon as he his person had well view’d,
  • Arm’d from his char’ot to the ground leap’d he.
  • Assured, as he thought, revenge to take.
  • 30But soon as Alexander once saw that,
  • He fled into the throng, as from a snake
  • Seen unawares, trembling and pale thereat.
  • Then Hector him with words of great disgrace
  • Reprov’d and said, Fine man and lover keen,
  • 35Cajoler, that confidest in thy face,
  • I would to God thou born hadst never been,
  • Or never hadst been married. For that
  • A great deal better had been of the twain,
  • Than to be scorn’d of men, and pointed at
  • 40For one that durst not his own word maintain.
  • O how the Greeks are laughing now to see
  • That so absurdly they themselves mistook,
  • Supposing you some mighty man to be
  • That art worth nothing, judging by your look.
  • 45Was’t you to Lacedemon pass’d the deep,
  • And fetch’d fair Helen thence, the bane of Troy,
  • And now, when it concerns you her to keep,
  • You dare not in her husband’s presence stay?
  • For you would quickly know what kind of man
  • 50You have bereav’d unjustly of his wife.
  • Neither your cittern, nor your beauty can,
  • Nor other gifts of Venus save your life.
  • Were not the Trojans fearful more than needs,
  • You had a coat of stones by this time had,
  • 55A fit reward for all your evil deeds.
  • This answer then to Hector, Paris made.
  • Hector, since your reproof is just, said he,
  • And your hard language (as when help’d by art
  • A shipwright’s axe strikes deep into a tree)
  • 60Like rigid steel has cut me to the heart;
  • If with Atrides you would have me fight,
  • Object not Venus’ favours (’tis unfit
  • The gifts of the immortal Gods to slight),
  • But make the Greeks and Trojans both to sit.
  • 65And in the midst set me and Menelaus,
  • And which of us shall have the victory,
  • Helen be his, and all the wealth she has,
  • And ’twixt the Greeks and Trojans amity.
  • Let this be sworn to, that we may remain
  • 70At Troy in quiet, and the Greeks repass
  • To Argos and Achæa back again.
  • At this brave proffer Hector joyful was;
  • And stepping forth, the Trojan ranks kept in
  • With both his hands o’ th’ middle of his spear.
  • 75And to shoot at him the Greeks begin,
  • And many took up stones and hurling were.
  • But Agamemnon with a voice as high
  • As high as he could raise it, to the Greeks cried, hold.
  • Throw no more stones, let no more arrows fly;
  • 80Hector to us has somewhat to unfold.
  • This said, they held their hands, and silent were,
  • And Hector both to Greeks and Trojans spake.
  • May you be pleased on both sides to hear
  • The motion I from Alexander make.
  • 85Let arms, said he, on both sides be laid by,
  • And in the midst set him and Menelaus,
  • And which of them shall have the victory,
  • Be Helen his, with all the wealth she has.
  • And let the rest an oath on both sides take
  • 90The pacts agreed on not to violate.
  • When this was said, then Menelaus spake,
  • And both the armies with great silence sate.
  • Hear me too then, said Menelaus, who
  • By Alexander have been most offended.
  • 95If you’ll do that which I advise you to,
  • The quarrel he began will soon be ended.
  • Which of us two shall fall in single fight,
  • Let him die only, and the rest agree.
  • Bring forth two lambs, one black, another white,
  • 100To t’ Earth and Sun a sacrifice to be.
  • Another we will sacrifice to Jove.
  • And let the old King Priam present be,
  • (His proud sons think themselves all oaths above)
  • That what is sworn he may performed see.
  • 105No hold is to be taken of an oath
  • Which young men make, whose likings change like wind.
  • But old men can foresee what’s good for both.
  • ’Tis good for both that makes a contract bind.
  • These words did to both armies sweetly sound;
  • 110They thought the worst was past; and up they tied
  • Their horses; and their spears stuck in the ground,
  • With spaces left between them, but not wide.
  • Then Hector to the king two heralds sent,
  • To fetch the lambs, and Priam to implore
  • 115To take the oath. From Agamemnon went
  • Talthybius to the fleet to fetch two more.
  • Meanwhile to the fair Helen Iris came,
  • So like t’ Antenor’s wife Laodice,
  • King Priam’s daughter, that she seem’d the same.
  • 120Quickly she found her; for at work was she
  • Upon a double splendid web, wherein
  • Many a cruel battle she had wrought
  • The Trojans and th’ incensed Greeks between,
  • That for her own sake only had been fought.
  • 125Come nymph, said Iris, see one battle more
  • Between the gallant men of Greece and Troy.
  • They fight not altogether as before,
  • But silent sit, and from their arms away.
  • Shields are their cushions, planted are their spears;
  • 130Paris and Menelaus only fight.
  • Save these two no man any armour wears;
  • And you his wife are, that has greatest might.
  • Thus Iris said, and her inspir’d anew
  • With love to Menelaus as before.
  • 135Then o’er her head a milk-white scarf she threw,
  • And out went weeping at the chamber door,
  • But not alone; two maidens follow’d her,
  • Fair Æthre Pittheus’ child, and Clymene.
  • And quickly at the Scæan gate they were,
  • 140Where Priam sate; and in his company
  • Were the old lords, Lampus and Clytius,
  • And Icetaon, and Ucalegon,
  • Antenor, Thymetes, and Panthous,
  • Whence both the armies they might look upon.
  • 145Old men they were, but had brave captains been,
  • And now for consultation prized were.
  • As soon as Helen came into their sight,
  • They whisper’d one another in the ear,
  • I cannot blame the man that for her strives,
  • 150Like an immortal God she is. Yet so,
  • Rather than we should hazard all our lives,
  • I should advise the king to let her go.
  • Thus said they one t’ another. But the king
  • Call’d her and said, daughter, sit down by me,
  • 155(Not you, but the immortal powers bring
  • Upon the Trojans this calamity.)
  • And tell me who that great Achæan is.
  • I see some higher by the head than he,
  • But comelier man I never saw than this,
  • 160Nor liker to a king in majesty.
  • O king, then answered Helen, to whom I
  • Of all men owe most reverence and fear,
  • Would I had rather chosen there to die,
  • Than to your son’s ill counsel given ear,
  • 165Leaving my house, my child, and brothers two,
  • And all my sweet companions for his sake.
  • But since I cannot what is done undo,
  • Unto your question I’ll now answer make.
  • The man you point to Agamemnon is,
  • 170A good king, and a valiant man in fight,
  • And brother to the husband is of this
  • Unworthy woman, me, that did him slight.
  • And Priam then the man admiring said,
  • Happy Atrides, great is thy command,
  • 175Whose soldiers though now very much decay’d,
  • In such great multitude before us stand.
  • At a great fight I was in Phrygia,
  • And brought to Otreus and Mygdon aid
  • Against the Amazons. I never saw
  • 180Till then, so many for a fight array’d,
  • As were the Amazons, upon the banks
  • Of Sangareus, and yet they fewer were,
  • Than are contained in the bristled ranks
  • Of th’ armed Greeks that stand before us here.
  • 185Again Ulysses coming in his sight,
  • Tell me, said he, sweet daughter, who is this?
  • He wants the head of Agamemnon’s height,
  • But at the breast and shoulders broader is.
  • His arms lie still upon the ground; but he
  • 190In no one certain place himself can keep,
  • But through the ranks and files runs busily,
  • Just as a ram runs in a fold of sheep.
  • To this Jove’s daughter, Helen, thus replies.
  • Ulysses ’tis, the old Laertes’ son,
  • 195Of Ithaca; to counsel and devise,
  • In all the army like him there is none.
  • O Helen, said Antenor, you say right;
  • On your affair he once came into Troy
  • With Menelaus. I did them both invite
  • 200To sup with me; and in my house they lay.
  • I them compar’d. When at their audience
  • They both stood up, Atrides taller seem’d;
  • Sitting Ulysses won most reverence,
  • And was amongst the people most esteem’d.
  • 205And when they were orations to make,
  • Atrides’ words went easily and close,
  • For little he, but to the purpose spake,
  • Though th’ younger man. But when Ulysses rose,
  • Upon the ground a while he fix’d his eyes,
  • 210Nor ever mov’d the sceptre in his hand;
  • You would have thought him sullen or unwise,
  • That did not yet his bus’ness understand.
  • But when his voice was raised to the height,
  • And like a snow upon a winter’s day
  • 215His gentle words fell from him, no man might
  • With him compare; so much his words did weigh.
  • Then Priam seeing Ajax, ask’d again,
  • What Greek is that, that taller by the head
  • And shoulders is than all the other men?
  • 220And Helen to the king thus answered,
  • Great Ajax; who of th’ Argives is the sconce:
  • And he o’ th’ other side Idomeneus,
  • Who was the guest of Menelaus once,
  • And lodg’d at Lacedemon in his house.
  • 225And now I see the rest, and could them name.
  • But Castor I and Pollux cannot see.
  • Two princes are they, and well known by Fame,
  • And by one mother brothers are to me.
  • Did they not pass the sea? Yes sure they did
  • 230Come with the rest; but are asham’d of me.
  • And in the Argive fleet lie somewhere hid,
  • And will not in my shame partakers be.
  • Thus Helen said, because she could not tell
  • Whether her brothers were alive or dead.
  • 235But dead they were; and, where they both did dwell,
  • In Lacedemon they were buried.
  • The heralds now the two lambs had brought in,
  • That for their sacrifice appointed were,
  • And full of noble wine a great goat skin.
  • 240Idæus with the golden cups stood near,
  • And pray’d the king to go down to the plain.
  • There stay for you the Greeks and Trojans both;
  • A peace agreed on is; but all in vain
  • Unless you also go and take the oath.
  • 245For Paris must with Menelaus fight,
  • And he must Helen and her wealth enjoy
  • Upon whose side the victory shall light;
  • The Greeks return; and peace remain at Troy.
  • These words to th’ old man’s heart came cold as ice.
  • 250But straight he bade his coach made ready be.
  • The servants made it ready in a trice,
  • And up into ’t Antenor went and he;
  • And pass’d the Scæan gate into the plain.
  • And when they came near to Scamander’s banks,
  • 255From out the coach alighted they again,
  • And stood between the adverse armies’ ranks.
  • Then Agamemnon and Ulysses came,
  • And to the contract for the Greeks did swear.
  • And Priam and Antenor swore the same.
  • 260The heralds mix the wine with water clear;
  • And poured water on the princes’ hands.
  • Atrides at his sword a knife did wear,
  • And as he near unto the victims stands,
  • Cuts with it from their foreheads locks of hair,
  • 265Which by the heralds were distributed,
  • Till ev’ry leader part had of the hair.
  • The ceremonies being finished,
  • Atrides to the Gods then made this prayer.
  • O mighty Jove, the monarch of the Gods,
  • 270O glorious Sun, with thy all-seeing eye,
  • O Streams, O Earth, O you that hold the rod
  • Beneath the earth, scourges of perjury,
  • Hear me, and be you witnesses of this.
  • If Menelaus be by Paris slain,
  • 275Let Helen and the wealth she has be his,
  • And to Achæ we return again.
  • If slain by Menelaus Paris be,
  • Let Helen with her wealth to Greece be sent
  • With some amends made for the injury,
  • 280To be of th’ wrong done an acknowledgment.
  • If such amends the Trojans will not make,
  • I will pursue the war, and here abide,
  • Till I the town of Ilium shall take,
  • Or till the Gods the quarrel shall decide.
  • 285This said, the victims with his knife he slew.
  • And sprawling there upon the place they lay.
  • Then into golden cups the wine they drew,
  • And pour’d it on the lambs. Then prayed they
  • Both Greeks and Trojans; Jove, and pow’rs divine,
  • 290Who first to break this peace shall go about,
  • As poured on the victims is this wine,
  • So they, and their sons’ brains be poured out.
  • Thus prayed they. But Jove that pray’r did slight.
  • Then Priam said, To Troy return will I.
  • 295It cannot please me to behold the fight.
  • For none but Gods know which of them shall die.
  • And then into the char’ot went again
  • He and Antenor, and drave t’ Ilium,
  • And with them carried their victims slain.
  • 300Then in Ulysses and great Hector come,
  • And having measur’d out the lists, wherein
  • They were to fight, then the two lots they drew
  • For who to throw his spear should first begin.
  • And then the Greeks and Trojans pray’d anew.
  • 305O glorious Jove, whom all the Gods obey,
  • Let him that of the war the author was
  • Be slain, and all the rest firm peace enjoy.
  • Then mighty Hector shook the skull of brass.
  • The lot that was the first drawn out, was that
  • 310Which gave to Paris the right to begin.
  • Then down upon the ground the people sate
  • In order as their armour plac’d had been.
  • And Paris arm’d himself, and first puts on
  • His leg-pieces of brass, and closely ties,
  • 315That silver’d over were at th’ ancle-bone.
  • And then his breast-plate to his breast applies.
  • Lycaon’s breast-plate ’twas, but ev’ry whit
  • As just upon him sat, as it had done
  • Upon Lycaon when he used it.
  • 320And next to this his good sword he puts on.
  • And then his broad shield and his helmet good.
  • And last of all a spear takes in his hand.
  • And in like armour Menelaus stood.
  • Then come they forth, and in the lists they stand.
  • 325And one did on another fiercely look.
  • (The people stupid sat ’twixt hope and fear.)
  • And when they come were nigh, their spears they shook.
  • But Paris was the first to throw his spear,
  • And threw, and smote the shield of Menelaus,
  • 330But through the mettle tough it passed not,
  • But turn’d, and bended at the point it was.
  • Then Menelaus was to throw by lot.
  • But first he prayed. Grant me, O Jove, said he,
  • That this my spear may Alexander slay,
  • 335Who was the first that did the injury;
  • That they who shall be born hereafter may
  • Not dare to violate the sacred laws
  • Of hospitality. Having thus said,
  • He threw his spear, which Paris’ shield did pass,
  • 340And through his breast-plate quite, and there it stay’d;
  • But tore his coat. And there he had been dead,
  • But that his belly somewhat he drew back.
  • Then with his sword Atrides smote his head
  • Which arm’d was, and the sword in pieces broke.
  • 345Then Menelaus grieved at the heart,
  • Looking to heaven did on Jove complain.
  • O Jove, that of the Gods most cruel art,
  • Broken my sword, my spear is thrown in vain.
  • Then suddenly laid hold on Paris’ crest,
  • 350And to the Greeks to drag him did begin,
  • And Paris then was mightily distrest,
  • Choakt by the latchet underneath his chin.
  • And to the Greeks had dragg’d been by the head,
  • If Venus to his aid had not come in,
  • 355Who broke the string and him delivered.
  • Atrides’ conquest else had famous been.
  • Then to the Greeks the empty cask he threw.
  • But Venus snatcht him from him in a mist.
  • And whither she convey’d him none there knew.
  • 360A God she is, and can do what she list.
  • When Paris to his chamber was convey’d,
  • His chamber which of perfumes sweetly smelt,
  • Then puts she on the form of an old maid
  • That Helen serv’d when she at Sparta dwelt.
  • 365And in that shape went to call Helen home,
  • That stood with other ladies of the town
  • Upon a tow’r. When she was to her come,
  • She gently with her finger stirr’d her gown.
  • Helen, said she, Paris has for you sent,
  • 370And on his glorious bed doth for you stay,
  • Not as a man that came from fight, but went
  • To dance, or from it were new come away.
  • Helen at this was mov’d, and mark’d her eyes,
  • And of her lovely neck did notice take,
  • 375And knew ’twas Venus though in this disguise;
  • And troubled as she was, thus to her spake.
  • Venus, why seek you to deceive me still,
  • Since Menelaus has the victory?
  • Though I have wrong’d him, he receive me will,
  • 380And you come hither now to hinder me.
  • Whither d’ye mean to send me further yet;
  • To Phrygia or to Mœonia,
  • That there I may another husband get?
  • You shall not me to Alexander draw.
  • 385Go to him you, and Heaven for ever quit;
  • Grieve with him; have a care the man to save,
  • And by his side continually to sit,
  • Till he his bride have made you, or his slave.
  • I will not to him go (for ’twere a shame)
  • 390Nor any longer meddle with his bed,
  • Nor longer bear the scorns, nor mocks, nor blame
  • Which from the wives of Troy I suffered.
  • Then Venus vext, Hussie, said she, no more
  • Provoke my anger. If I angry be,
  • 395And hate you as I loved you before,
  • The armies both will to your death agree.
  • This said, the beauteous Helen frighted was,
  • And with the Goddess went, who led the way,
  • And by the Trojan wives did quiet pass
  • 400Unto the house where Alexander lay.
  • I’th’ rooms below at work her women were,
  • But up went Helen with the Goddess fair.
  • And when to Alexander they were near,
  • The Goddess unto Helen fetcht a chair.
  • 405Then sat she down, and look’d at him again.
  • You come from battle. I would you had there
  • And by my former husband’s hand, been slain.
  • You bragg’d you were his better at a spear.
  • Go challenge him again, and fight anew.
  • 410But do not though, for fear you should be kill’d
  • But rather when you see him, him eschew,
  • Lest he should leave you dead upon the field.
  • To Helen Alexander then replied.
  • Forbear; though he have now the victory
  • 415By Pallas’ help; there are Gods on our side,
  • And they another time may favour me.
  • Let’s go to bed, and in sweet love agree.
  • Your beauty never did me so much move,
  • At Lacedemon, nor in Cranae;
  • 420Where the first blessing I had of your love.
  • This said, to bed they went, first he, then she.
  • Atrides then sought Paris in the throng
  • O’th’ Trojans and their aids; but could not see
  • Nor hear of him the company among.
  • 425They would not have conceal’d him though they might;
  • But had to Menelaus him betray’d.
  • So hateful to the Trojans was his sight.
  • Then stood King Agamemnon up and said,
  • Hear me ye Trojans and your aids. ’Tis plain
  • 430That Menelaus has the victory.
  • Let Helen therefore rendered be again,
  • And pay your fine. ’Tis right, the Greeks all cry.

  LIB. IV.

  • The articles broken by the Trojans.

  • Mean while the Gods at counsel drinking sat.
  • Hebe the nectar carried up and down.
  • And Jove amongst them present was thereat,
  • And sitting had his eyes upon Troy town.
  • 5Then Jupiter puts out a word, to see
  • What Juno would unto the same reply.
  • Two Goddesses assistants are (said he)
  • To Menelaus, but sit idly by,
  • Pallas and Juno; but on th’other side
  • 10Venus gives Paris aid, and really
  • Has helpt him when he thought he should have died;
  • Though Menelaus have the victory.
  • But let us now think which the best will be,
  • To suffer war to make an end of Troy,
  • 15Or let Troy stand and make them to agree,
  • And Helen with Atrides go her way.
  • Juno and Pallas that together sat,
  • Grumble and plot; Pallas her spite kept in.
  • But such of Juno was the choler, that
  • 20Had she not spoke, her heart had broken been.
  • Harsh Jove, said she, what do you mean by this?
  • Shall I with so much sweat, and labour spent,
  • And horses tir’d, now of my purpose miss?
  • Do. But the other Gods will not consent.
  • 25Devil, said Jove, what hurt is done to you
  • By Priam and his sons, that you should so
  • Fiercely the ruin of the town pursue?
  • I think if you int’ Ilium should go,
  • And eat up Priam and his children all,
  • 30And every Trojan in the town beside,
  • Man, woman, child alive within the wall,
  • Your anger will at last be satisfied.
  • Do as you please. It shall breed no contention
  • ’Twixt you and me. But then remember this,
  • 35When I to raze a city have intention
  • That yours, and greatly in your favour is,
  • To let me do’t without plea or request;
  • Since to give you your will I lose my own.
  • For Ilium I love above the rest,
  • 40Though under Heaven be many a goodly town.
  • For I by Priam and his people still
  • Have honour’d been, my altars richly serv’d
  • With wine and sacrifices to my will,
  • Which is the honour to the Gods reserv’d.
  • 45To this the Goddess Juno then replied,
  • Three cities I prefer before the rest,
  • Argos, and Sparta, and Mycena wide.
  • Destroy you may which of them you think best,
  • If you see cause; I’ll not stand in your way.
  • 50Or if I do, what mends can I have so?
  • For since your power does mine so much outweigh,
  • It will be done whether I will or no.
  • But you ought not t’undo what I have done,
  • For I a Goddess am, and have the same
  • 55Parents, of whom you boast to be the son.
  • And further of your wife I bear the name,
  • Whom mortals and immortals all obey.
  • Then let us not in such things disagree.
  • But I to you, and you to me give way.
  • 60For of our two minds all the Gods will be.
  • Let Pallas to the army straight be sent
  • To make the Trojans first the peace to break.
  • And Jupiter to do so was content,
  • And did (as he was bid) to Pallas speak.
  • 65Pallas, said he, down to the armies go,
  • Let not this peace be by the Trojans kept.
  • When Pallas heard her father Jove say so,
  • Glad of the errand, from the sky she leapt,
  • Just like a falling star, which Saturn sends
  • 70To armies or unto seafaring men;
  • Which change of fortune, commonly portends.
  • The Goddess through the air descending then,
  • Splendid and sparkling on the ground did light.
  • The armies that were in the field array’d,
  • 75Both Greeks and Trojans wond’red at the sight;
  • And one unto another next him said,
  • This bloody war will sure return again,
  • Or else the peace be surer made than ’tis;
  • But which o’ th’ two Jove has not yet made plain,
  • 80Who both of peace and war disposer is.
  • Pallas the form took of Laodocus,
  • Antenor’s son, and went into the throng
  • O’ th’ Trojans to inquire for Pandarus.
  • At last she found him his own troops among,
  • 85That were of Lycaonia the bands,
  • And from Zeleia led by Pandarus
  • To Ilium. There Pallas by him stands
  • Like to Antenor’s son; and to him thus:
  • Lycaon’s son, says she, dare you let fly
  • 90A shaft at Menelaus? For I know
  • The Trojans all would thank you, specially
  • Paris, the son of Priam, and bestow
  • Great presents on you if you should him kill.
  • Shoot at him then, and to Apollo pray,
  • 95The God of archers, that he help you will.
  • And vow a hecatomb of lambs to pay,
  • When to Zeleia safely you come home.
  • For there your people to Apollo vow.
  • When this was said, the vain man overcome,
  • 100From off his shoulders taketh down his bow,
  • (Which did a lusty goat’s head once adorn,
  • Which with a shaft he killed had among
  • The rocks, and taken from his head the horn,
  • Which was no less than sixteen handfuls long.
  • 105And to a fletcher gave it to be wrought,
  • Shaven, and polish’d, and gilt at the hand.)
  • This bow he bent; and lest the foe should know’t,
  • He crouched down, and laid it on the sand.
  • But lest the Greeks should rush on him, before
  • 110He ready were to shoot, they that stood near,
  • Before him with their bucklers stood good store.
  • And being now delivered of that fear,
  • From out the quiver takes an arrow keen,
  • And new, well wing’d to carry mischief true,
  • 115Which shot before that time had never been.
  • But yet his vow before his arrow flew.
  • Phœbus, said he, if I Atrides slay;
  • As soon as I shall to Zeleia come,
  • I vow unto your deity to pay
  • 120Of my first-yeaned lambs an hecatomb.
  • Then to his breast he drew the leather string,
  • And to the bow return’d the arrow head.
  • Out leapt the shaft, and as it went did sing
  • Amongst the throng, as pleas’d man’s blood to shed.
  • 125And, Menelaus, now the Gods you blest,
  • And chiefly Pallas, that before you stood,
  • And turn’d the deadly arrow from your breast,
  • About as much as a kind mother could
  • From her child’s face divert a busy fly;
  • 130And made it on the golden buckle fall,
  • Where of his breast-plate double was the ply,
  • And though it pass’d through buckle, plate, and all,
  • And girdle which his coat unto him bound,
  • The shaft into his body penetrated,
  • 135And made, though not a great one, yet a wound,
  • The force it went with being much abated;
  • Yet out the blood ran. As when ivory
  • Is stain’d with crimson, to adorn the cheeks
  • Of the proud steeds, and please the driver’s eye,
  • 140Many a cavalier to have it seeks.
  • The dame that stain’d it then holds up the prize,
  • And keeps it by her as a precious thing;
  • So lovely seems the colour to her eyes,
  • As to be sold to none but to a king.
  • 145So look’d his body when the streams of blood
  • His iv’ry legs and insteps did defile.
  • But Agamemnon stiff with horror stood;
  • And so did Menelaus for a while.
  • But when he saw the arrow barbs appear
  • 150Above the nerve, his courage came again.
  • But Agamemnon, not yet out of fear,
  • Did of the Trojans’ perjury complain.
  • Brother, said he, and took him by the hand,
  • Dear brother, ’tis the oath that has you slain,
  • 155Making you thus before the Trojans stand.
  • But sure I am the oath cannot be vain,
  • Confirmed with so great solemnity.
  • They shall, though late, pay for it with their lives;
  • (For Jove ne’er fails to punish perjury)
  • 160Both they themselves, their children, and their wives.
  • For I well know the fatal day will come
  • To Priam, and to Priam’s people all.
  • Jove will his black shield shake o’er Ilium,
  • And for this ugly action make it fall.
  • 165This, Menelaus, is a thing to come.
  • But what if of your wound you chance to die?
  • The Argives straight will think of going home.
  • How by the Greeks then scorned shall be I!
  • How proud will Priam and the Trojans be,
  • 170When Argive Helen shall be left behind,
  • And your bones rotting in the ground they see,
  • Without effecting what they had design’d?
  • Some trampling on your grave perhaps will say,
  • Would Agamemnon thus would always vent
  • 175His choler, as he now has done at Troy,
  • Now gone with empty ships back to repent,
  • Leaving his brother Menelaus here.
  • Then should I wish the earth would swallow me.
  • But Menelaus, to displace that fear,
  • 180Fright not the army, brother, thus said he.
  • Not mortal is the wound. ’Twixt me and death
  • My armour and the clasps stood, all of brass;
  • Besides a good tough girdle underneath.
  • Pray God ’t be true, said he to Menelaus,
  • 185But we must send for a chirurgeon,
  • To mitigate with lenitives the pain.
  • Talthybius, said he, call Machaon,
  • And having found him quickly come again.
  • Tell him he must to Menelaus come,
  • 190Who by a foe is with an arrow shot,
  • Trojan or Lycian, I know not whom,
  • That with great grief to us has honour got.
  • This said, the herald went and look’d about
  • Amongst the troops of Tricca which he led.
  • 195Nor was it long before he found him out
  • With many targetiers environed.
  • You must, said he, to Menelaus come,
  • Who by some foe is with an arrow shot,
  • Trojan or Lycian, I know not whom,
  • 200That, with great grief to us, has honour got.
  • ’Tis Agamemnon calls you. Then they pass
  • Together through the host, and hastened
  • Till they were come where Menelaus was
  • With many other lords encompassed.
  • 205There Machaon the arrow first pulls out.
  • (The barbs were broken as they came away)
  • Then took he off his armour and his coat.
  • Then sucked he the wound the blood to stay;
  • And laid on unguents to allay the pain.
  • 210Meanwhile the Trojans arm’d were coming in.
  • And then the Greeks were forc’d to arm again.
  • And Agamemnon’s virtue now was seen.
  • He did not at their coming sleep nor start,
  • But speedily prepared for the fight,
  • 215And of a chief commander did the part,
  • His own commanders first to disaffright.
  • His horses and his chariot he sent off.
  • T’ Eurymeaon, the son of Ptolemy,
  • The son of Pirus he gave charge thereof,

  • The first battle.

  • 220And bad him with it always to be nigh,
  • To use when labour tired had his knees.
  • Through the great army then on foot he went,
  • And where them hasting to the fight he sees,
  • He gives them in few words encouragement.
  • 225On, Argives, and be sure Jove never fights
  • Against good men for such perfidious knaves,
  • But leave them will for food to dogs and kites,
  • And to their foes their wives and children slaves.
  • But where he saw the soldiers negligent,
  • 230His admonition was then severe.
  • Fie, Argives, what d’ you fear? To what intent
  • Stand you thus staring like a herd of deer?
  • Just like so many deer that had been chased
  • O’er some great plain looking about they stay,
  • 235So stand you here like frighted deer amazed,
  • Till to our ships come down the troops of Troy,
  • To try if Jove will help you there or no.
  • Thus he commanding went the host throughout.
  • And when the martial Cretans he came to,
  • 240Where armed stood Idomeneus stout.
  • (Meriones the rear led, he the van)
  • And Agamemnon look’d on them with joy;
  • And to Idomeneus thus began.
  • Of all the Greeks that me assist at Troy
  • 245I value you the most, both in the war
  • And otherwise. And when at feast we drink,
  • Other men’s cups by measure stinted are,
  • But yours, as mine, stands always full to th’ brink.
  • The King of Crete replied, I shall, said he,
  • 250Continue still your good confederate,
  • As heretofore I promis’d you to be.
  • But go, and th’ other leaders animate,
  • That we may with the Trojans quickly fight.
  • Then woe be to them, sure they are to die
  • 255Who of the Gods and sacred oaths make light.
  • Then on went Agamemnon joyfully;
  • And came to the quarters of the Ajaxes,
  • There armed both complete, and followed
  • With a huge multitude of Greeks he sees,
  • 260And ready to the battle to be led.
  • As when a shepherd from a hill espies
  • A full-charg’d cloud march tow’rds him in the deep,
  • It seems as black as pitch unto his eyes,
  • And makes him seek a shelter for his sheep;
  • 265So black the squadrons of the Ajaxes,
  • And horrible with thick and upright spears
  • T’ Atrides seem, and well it did him please,
  • And both of them he thus commends and cheers.
  • O Ajaxes, expect not I should bid
  • 270You hearten up your army for the fight;
  • ’Tis done so well already, there’s no need.
  • O Jove, Apollo, Pallas, that I might
  • Find all the other leaders such as you,
  • We should not need from Argos long to stay
  • 275Ere we the town of Priam should subdue
  • And rifle. And this said, he went away,
  • And came to Nestor, who was ordering
  • His troops and bands of horse and foot, each one
  • Against the enemy encouraging.
  • 280And with him stood Alastor, Pelagon,
  • Hæmon, and Chromius, skilful men in war.
  • I’ th’ front the char’ots and the horsemen were.
  • The most and best infantry placed are
  • (A hedge unto the battle in the rear.)
  • 285The middle ranks were filled up with those,
  • Upon whose courage he did least rely.
  • For these would fight because they could not choose;
  • Since they could neither back nor forward fly.
  • And Nestor to the horsemen spake. Let none,
  • 290Said he, before another go, to shew
  • His manhood or his skill. But all go on
  • At once. To single is to weaken you.
  • Further, If any of you should have need
  • To mount into another’s chariot,
  • 295There let him use his spear; but still take heed
  • That with the horses reins he meddle not.
  • Our fathers have before us us’d these laws,
  • And thereby many cities level laid.
  • Thus Nestor taught them. Glad Atrides was,
  • 300And with great approbation to him said,
  • O Nestor, that your arms were but as strong
  • As is your mind! But they’re decay’d by age.
  • Or could you give your age to some man young,
  • And with the youngest of the foes engage.
  • 305Atrides, then said Nestor, so wish I.
  • Would I were as when Eruthalyon
  • I slew. But Gods’ gifts come successively.
  • I then was young; and age is now come on.
  • But as I am I’ll ride amongst my horse,
  • 310And as becomes an old man, give advice,
  • While they that may presume upon their force,
  • With spear in hand charge on their enemies.
  • Atrides pass’d on to th’ Athenians
  • That by Menestheus commanded were.
  • 315And by these stood the Cephalonians
  • Ulysses’ bands. Neither of these did hear
  • The clamour of the battle new begun,
  • But stood unmoved, because they did expect
  • Some greater troops of Greeks should first fall on.
  • 320For this Atrides grievously them check’d.
  • Menestheus, said he, son of a king,
  • And you the crafty man Ulysses, why
  • When you your men should to the battle bring,
  • Stand you here shrinking from the enemy?
  • 325You hear the first when there will be a feast,
  • And stay for no man. For your messes are
  • Greater than other men’s; your wine the best,
  • And without stint. And therefore in the war
  • You should strive who should be the first to fight.
  • 330But now, though ten troops were before you there,
  • You would not be displeased with the sight.
  • These words came harshly to Ulysses’ ear,
  • And with a frowning look, what’s this, said he,
  • Are we not making all the haste we can?
  • 335Telemachus his father you shall see
  • By and by fighting in the Trojan van,
  • And that this reprehension needless was.
  • But Agamemnon smiling then replied,
  • (Seeing his censure did not kindly pass)
  • 340Noble Ulysses, I meant not to chide,
  • Nor to direct you, that so skilful are.
  • For we are both of us of the same mind.
  • What’s said amiss I shall again repair.
  • But let it now away go with the wind.
  • 345Then on he went and came to Diomed,
  • Whom mounted on his chariot he found
  • With Capaneus’ son accompanied,
  • And other lords that him encompass’d round.
  • Ay me, Tydides, wherefore stand you thus,
  • 350As if you for some bridge did look about.
  • You do not as your father Tydeus,,
  • Who still before his fellows leaped out.
  • So said they that had seen him at the war,
  • Which I did not, but take it upon fame,
  • 355Which him above the rest preferred far.
  • But certain ’tis, he to Mycena came
  • With Polynices, to desire their aid
  • Against the Thebans. And they willingly
  • Had granted it, but that they were afraid.
  • 360For Jove forbad them by a prodigy.
  • Then to the brook Asopus back they went,
  • Which doth the Theban territory bound.
  • To Tydeus the Greeks a letter sent
  • To enter Thebes, and terms of peace propound.
  • 365To Thebes he went, and with Eteocles
  • He found the chief o’ th’ Thebans at a feast.
  • And at all manly games the prize with ease,
  • By Pallas’ help, he carried from the best.
  • And when for spite they sent out fifty men
  • 370With Mæon Hæmon’s son, and Lycophon
  • To murder him as he went back again,
  • Slain by Tydeus they were all but one.
  • For he sav’d Mæon, warned by the Gods.
  • Such Tydeus was, but left a son behind
  • 375That less could do, but for words had the odds.
  • But valiant Diomed reply declined,
  • Who gave t’Atrides what respect was due.
  • The other answered him with language rude.
  • You say, said he, what you know is not true.
  • 380We than our fathers there more manhood shew’d.
  • For we with fewer men proud Thebes did gain,
  • By Jove’s help, and observances divine,
  • Whilst the Cadmeans for their pride were slain.
  • How from our fathers then do we decline?
  • 385But straight reprov’d he was by Diomed.
  • My friend, said he, are you more grieved than I?
  • Would you not have the army ordered?
  • Atrides, both i’ th’ loss and victory
  • Is most concern’d. Let us of battle think,
  • 390And down he leapt, as soon as that was said,
  • In complete arms, with such a sudden chink,
  • As might a constant man have made afraid.
  • As when the billows of the sea rais’d high
  • By some great wind, go rolling to the shore,
  • 495And follow one another to the dry,
  • There stopp’d and broken are, and foam, and roar:
  • So then the Greeks up to the Trojans come,
  • Obeying each his leader silently,
  • (You would have thought them, though so many, dumb)
  • 400In glittering arms, and glorious to the eye.
  • On th’other side, the Trojans made a noise,
  • Like ewes a milking kept off from their lambs
  • When in the field abroad they hear their cries,
  • And they again bleat back unto their dams.
  • 405But did not one another understand;
  • For few there were whose language was the same.
  • Some were of one, some of another land,
  • And most of them from far off thither came.
  • Pallas the Greeks, Mars Trojans favoured.
  • 410Then Fright came in, with (Mars his sister) Strife,
  • Little when born, but grew until her head
  • Was in the clouds; for she grows all her life.
  • But when the armies were together near,
  • Then man to man came close, and shield to shield,
  • 415And mingled in the front was spear with spear,
  • And horrible the noise was in the field;
  • Whilst some insult and others groaning die.
  • And th’earth they stood on covered was with blood.
  • As when great torrents from the mountains high
  • 420Pour down into the valleys a great flood;
  • The streams through thousand channels falling roar;
  • The trembling shepherds hear it on the hills.
  • So much the noise o’th’ battle the air tore,
  • And all the region with terror fills.
  • 425A Trojan was the first man that was slain,
  • Echepolus son of Thalysias.
  • He smote was with a spear into the brain;
  • Antilochus the man that smote him was.
  • His armour rattled on him as he fell,
  • 430As if some tow’r had fall’n. But then Elphenor
  • (To strip him of his arms that hoped well)
  • Dragging him off was killed by Agenor.
  • For whilst in stooping he his flank unhides.
  • Agenor quickly his advantage spies,
  • 435And pierc’d him with his spear through both his sides.
  • Then down he fell, and darkness seiz’d his eyes.
  • And then about his body rose great strife,
  • And one upon another falling on,
  • Antheman’s son, a fair youth, lost his life,
  • 440Slain by great Ajax, son of Telamon,
  • And Simoisius called was by name,
  • ’Cause born upon the bank of Simois,
  • Whither from Ida both his parents came
  • To view their flocks, lest aught should be amiss;
  • 445But had no joy of him. He was unblest
  • To be the first that came in Ajax’s way,
  • Who smote him with his spear quite through the breast.
  • There dead he fell, and by the river lay.
  • As when a man has fell’d a poplar tree,
  • 450Tall, straight, and smooth, with many fair boughs on,
  • Of which he meant a cart-wheel made shall be,
  • And leaves it on the bank to dry i’ th’ sun;
  • So lay the comely Simoisius,
  • Slain by great Ajax, son of Telamon.
  • 455At Ajax then a spear threw Antiphus,
  • Bright-arm’d Antiphus, King Priam’s son.
  • Death the spear carries, but of Ajax misses,
  • And deadly wounds the groin of Leucus bold,
  • And well beloved soldier of Ulysses,
  • 460Who dragg’d the dead, but now lets go his hold.
  • Ulysses, angry that his friend was slain,
  • Went out before the rest, and coming close
  • To th’ Trojan front, some fit revenge to gain.
  • Democoon, King Priam’s son, he chose,
  • 465(A lawful son where nature is the law).
  • The Trojans when they saw him look about,
  • Into the shelter of the ranks withdraw.
  • Then soon his spear Democoon pick’d out,
  • And through both temples forward went the head.
  • 470Then heavily he falls, his armour chinks,
  • His eyes with endless night are covered,
  • And Hector with his Trojans from him shrinks.
  • The Greeks then shouted, and drew off their slain,
  • And on the Trojans pressing further were.
  • 475But then Apollo cried out amain
  • From Pergam tow’r, O Trojans, what d’ye fear?
  • Go on upon the Greeks; no more give way.
  • Their bodies neither are of stone nor steel,
  • Nor able are the force of brass to stay,
  • 480No less than you the wounds it makes they feel.
  • Nor fights Achilles here, but angry lies,
  • And wishes that the Greeks were overthrown.
  • So Phœbus. ’Mongst the Argives Pallas flies,
  • Through ranks and files encouraging each one.
  • 485And then Diores slain was with a stone,
  • By Pyros, whom the Thracians obey’d.
  • Crush’d of his right leg was the ankle-bone,
  • And in the dust upon his back was laid,
  • Unto his fellows holding up his hands.
  • 490Ready to die he for assistance cries.
  • Pyros comes quickly in, and o’er him stands,
  • And wounds him in the belly. Then he dies.
  • But Thoas then slew Pyros with his spear,
  • That pass’d his breast till in his lungs it stopp’d.
  • 495Then coming in he drew his sword, and there
  • His belly ripp’d till out his bowels dropp’d,
  • But to disarm him could not stay, because
  • So many Thracians about him stood.
  • Then back retir’d he, and well pelted was,
  • 500Leaving two leaders wrapp’d in dust and blood,
  • One an Epeian, th’ other Thracian,
  • And many others lying by them dead.
  • This battle was well fought. Although a man
  • Through both the armies safely had been led
  • 505By Pallas, and protected by her shield,
  • He had no want of courage seen that day,
  • So many Greeks and Trojans in the field
  • Depriv’d of life by one another lay.

  LIB. V.

  • And Pallas now t’ ennoble Diomed
  • Amongst the Greeks, with force did him inspire,
  • Whereby his heart and hands were strengthened;
  • And on his shield and helmet stood a fire

  • The first battle continued, wherein Pallas strengtheneth Diomedes to supply the absence of Achilles.

  • 5Bright as th’ autumnal star above his head
  • And shoulders flaming. And straightway he runs
  • (Set on by Pallas and encouraged)
  • Into the throng, where were the two good sons
  • Of Dares, who was Vulcan’s priest. Well skill’d
  • 10They both were in the war. Idæus one,
  • The other Phegus. These seeing him i’ th’ field
  • On foot, and not far from them, and alone,
  • Met him; and Phegus threw, but hit him not.
  • For o’er his shoulder flew the spear in vain.
  • 15Then Diomedes threw, and Phegus smote,
  • Clean through the breast. When Phegus thus was slain
  • Down leap’d Idæus from the chariot;
  • But durst not by his brother’s body stay.
  • For if he had, the like fate he had got.
  • 20But Vulcan in a smoke took him away,
  • Not willing that his priest should childless die.
  • Tydides to the ships the horses sent.
  • To see these two, one slain, the other fly,
  • To the proud Trojans’ very hearts it went.
  • 25But Pallas then took Mars by th’ hand, and said,
  • Mars, bloody Mars, to what end stay we here?
  • Let’s neuters be. For I am much afraid
  • We both shall too much anger Jupiter.
  • This said, she led him out, and set him on
  • 30Scamander’s bank. And then the Trojans fled
  • Before the Greeks. Each leader killed one,
  • Pressing them at their backs uncovered.
  • Then Dalius first his char’ot turn’d about,
  • And open lay to Agamemnon’s spear,
  • 35Which in at’s back, and at his breast went out.
  • Down fell the Alizonian charioteer.
  • Idomeneus slew Phæstus with a thrust,
  • As up into his chariot he went,
  • The spear at the right shoulder passed just,
  • 40And back again unto the earth him sent.
  • And Menelaus slew Scamandrius,
  • That well the art of hunting understood.
  • I’ th’ hills and woods none was more dexterous,
  • But Dian, and his skill did him no good.
  • 45For Menelaus pierc’d him back and breast,
  • Between the shoulders with a deadly spear,
  • And down he tumbled of life dispossest,
  • His eyes with endless darkness covered were.
  • Meriones slew Phoriclus, the son
  • 50Of Harmonides, the great architect,
  • That, but by Pallas, taught had been by none.
  • But of his art unhappy was th’ effect.
  • ’Twas he that built those ships for Alexander,
  • That brought with him so much ill luck to Troy,
  • 55And to himself, and to his chief commander;
  • Not knowing what the oracles did say.
  • But he, as from the fight he fled, was here
  • O’ertaken by Meriones, and slain.
  • At his right buttock entered the spear;
  • 60And at his groin the point came out again.
  • Meges Pedæus slew, Antenor’s son,
  • Though not his wife’s, yet was his wife so kind
  • T’ Antenor, that she bred him as her own,
  • And look’d upon him with a mother’s mind.
  • 65Him Meges overtaking as he fled
  • Slew with his strong sharp-pointed spear, which lighting
  • Behind upon the noddle of his head,
  • Forward he fell, the senseless weapon biting.
  • And then Eurypylus, Euæmon’s son,
  • 70Hypsenor slew, new made Scamander’s priest,
  • That from him, but not fast enough, did run.
  • Eurypylus shav’d off his hand at th’ wrist.
  • For at his shoulder though he aim’d the stroke,
  • The quick sword finding there the brass resist,
  • 75Slipt down unto his hand with force unbroke,
  • And there in streams of blood his soul dismiss’d.
  • Meanwhile Tydides, like a man enraged,
  • Ran up and down the field. One could not know
  • With whom and where he was in fight engaged,
  • 80Whether amongst the Greeks, or with the foe.
  • As when a torrent falling from the hills
  • Distends itself with fury on the plain,
  • And suddenly the river overfills,
  • Supplied by Jove with mighty showers of rain,
  • 85And beareth down the bridges as it goes;
  • No fence of vineyard can against it stand,
  • But all the husbandry of men o’erthrows,
  • And uncontrolled passes o’er their land;
  • Tydides so brake through each Trojan band,
  • 90And made them fly before him as he went.
  • And Pandarus then took his bow in hand,
  • And a sharp arrow from it to him sent,
  • Which pass’d through the right shoulder of his coat
  • Of mail, and fetch’d the blood, and with great joy,
  • 95Trojans, cried he, no more stand so remote.
  • For wounded is the stoutest foe of Troy,
  • And long he cannot the sore pain endure,
  • Unless my faith in Phœbus be in vain.
  • Thus said he boasting. For he thought ’twas sure
  • 100The wound was mortal, and Tydides slain.
  • Tydides to his char’ot did then retreat,
  • And Sthenelus alighting on the ground
  • (For sitting he was on the char’ot-seat)
  • Drew out the cruel arrow from the wound,
  • 105And out the blood gush’d. Then Tydides pray’d,
  • O Pallas, Jove’s all-conquering child, said he,
  • If e’er you did me or my father aid,
  • Within my spear’s reach let me this man see,
  • That with his arrow me prevented has,
  • 110And boasting says, I have not long to live.
  • Athena to his wish indulgent was,
  • And to him did more strength and courage give.
  • Fear not, said she, to go into the throng,
  • And charge i’ th’ thickest of the enemies.
  • 115For I have made thee as thy father strong,
  • And taken have the mist off from thy eyes,
  • That thou mayst see who Gods are, who are men.
  • If any God oppose thee, give him way,
  • Except if Venus thou encounter; then
  • 120Spare her no more than mortals in the fray.
  • This said, away the Goddess Pallas went,
  • And Diomed went to the fight again,
  • And though before he were upon it bent,
  • His courage now was trebled by his pain.
  • 125As when a shepherd sees a lion come,
  • And wounds him slightly as he leaps the pen;
  • Then leaves his sheep, and frighted runneth home,
  • And dares not in the field appear again;
  • The lion now made fiercer than before,
  • 130Lays all the sheep one by another dead,
  • And back again the pen once more leaps o’er:
  • So rag’d amongst the Trojans Diomed.
  • Astynous there, and Hypenor died;
  • One through the breast he pierced with his spear;
  • 135And th’ other’s head did from his neck divide
  • With his broad sword. And slain he left them there,
  • And overtook Abas and Polyeide,
  • Sons of Eurydamas, who could tell what
  • Upon a dream should to a man betide,
  • 140And slew them both. No dream had told him that.
  • Thoon and Xanthus then he followed,
  • Phænop’s two sons, gotten when he was old,
  • And of them both the vital blood did shed;
  • Th’ estate to strangers came to have and hold.
  • 145Then Chromius and Echemon he slew,
  • Two sons of Priam, in one chariot,
  • Whom from the seat unto the ground he threw,
  • And till he had disarm’d them left them not.
  • But to the ships he sent away the horses.
  • 150Æneas seeing how he disarray’d
  • Before him as he went the Trojan forces,
  • Sought Pandarus, and having found him, said,
  • Lycaon’s son, where are thy shafts and bow,
  • And skill, wherein the Lycians yield to thee?
  • 155See you the man that rages yonder now?
  • Aim a shaft at him whosoe’er he be,
  • For many valiant Trojans he has slain.
  • (Unless he be one of the Gods above
  • Neglected by us) ’twill not be in vain.
  • 160Shoot boldly then, but first invoking Jove.
  • Then Pandarus replying, to him said,
  • ’Tis Diomed as far as can be guess’d.
  • His horses, and his shield I have survey’d,
  • And plaited horse-hair hanging at his crest.
  • 165Though it be he, as I believe it is,
  • Yet sure some God does on his shoulders sit.
  • For else of killing him how could I miss,
  • When I his shoulder with my arrow hit?
  • For I one arrow shot at him before,
  • 170And verily believ’d I had him slain.
  • His armour all besmeared was with gore,
  • But slew him not. Now here he is again.
  • I did not on a char’ot hither come,
  • Although Lycaon have eleven new,
  • 175With handsome curtains to each one, at home,
  • And horses fit to draw them not a few.
  • The old knight too advis’d me earnestly
  • That when to battle I the Trojans led,
  • I from a car should charge the enemy;
  • 180But to his counsel I not hearkened.
  • (Which I repent.) It came into my head
  • That when within Troy’s walls we should be pent,
  • My horses, which were us’d to be well fed,
  • Would there be useless wanting nourishment.
  • 185This made me come without a chariot,
  • And march, as far as ’twas, to Troy on foot,
  • And trust unto my bow, which helps me not,
  • But faileth me as often as I shoot.
  • For two of them I have already shot,
  • 190Tydides and Atrides, and good store
  • Of blood have drawn from both, though killed not,
  • But made them fiercer than they were before.
  • In an ill hour sure I took down my bow
  • To fight for Hector and the Trojan men;
  • 195But if I safely to my country go,
  • And to my house and wife get back again,
  • Let any man that will cut off my head,
  • If presently my bow I do not burn,
  • That never yet my hopes has answered.
  • 200For why not, when it doth not serve my turn?
  • To Pandarus Æneas then replied:
  • No, say not so, but first let’s to him go.
  • For by th’ encounter soon it will be tried
  • Whether he be indeed a God or no.
  • 205Get up into the seat, and you shall see
  • The virtue of my horses on the plain,
  • And if some God with Diomedes be,
  • How nimbly they will fetch us off again.
  • Come, take the whip and reins in hand, and I
  • 210Descend will from the chariot and fight.
  • Or if you please, when to him we are nigh
  • I’ll hold the whip and reins, and you alight.
  • No, no, said he, keep you the reins in hand,
  • The horses us’d thereto will you obey.
  • 215To me, it may be, they will restive stand,
  • And to the foe themselves and us betray.
  • Let me alight and meet him with my spear.
  • This said, they mounted both; and coming on
  • Towards Tydides, both observed were
  • 220By Sthenelus Copaneus his son,
  • Who warning to Tydides gave. I see
  • Two mighty men to fight us coming on,
  • Of which I know th’ one Pandarus to be,
  • The other Venus and Anchises’ son.
  • 225Come up into your chariot and retire.
  • But frowning he replied, I’ll ne’er do that
  • It not becomes the children of my sire,
  • When they should fight to double nor to squat.
  • I loath to sit upon a chariot,
  • 230And as I am I will attend them here.
  • For of my strength deprived I am not,
  • And Pallas has forbidden me to fear.
  • I doubt not but to kill them both, or one.
  • If both, your reins unto the two wheels tie,
  • 235And to Æneas’ horses quickly run,
  • And seize their reins, less frighted they should fly.
  • Then send them to the ships, brave steeds, well bred;
  • Of heavenly race they are, and got by those,
  • Which Jove, to make amends for Ganymed,
  • 240Was pleas’d to give unto his father Tros.
  • Anchises privily convey’d to these,
  • Six mares, and had a colt by ev’ry one;
  • Whereof he gave two to his son Æneas.
  • To take these horses now were bravely done.
  • 245While they were talking, th’other two came nigh,
  • And then said Pandarus, O Diomed,
  • Since my swift arrow could not make you die,
  • I come to try now how my spear will speed.
  • And as he spake the spear flew from his hand
  • 250And pass’d his shield, but in his armour stayed.
  • Y’are hit, said he, and long you cannot stand.
  • But Diomed, nothing at all dismayed,
  • No, no, cried out, your spear is thrown in vain.
  • But I believe before we have done here,
  • 255That one of you, if not both, will be slain.
  • And as he spake he at him threw his spear.
  • Which at his nose close by his eye went in,
  • And struck his teeth out, and cut off his tongue,
  • And out again it pass’d beneath his chin.
  • 260For Pallas from above it downward flung.
  • There dead he lay. Æneas to defend
  • His body, to him came with spear and shield,
  • And ’bout him went, resolv’d the man to send
  • To hell, that should oppose him in the field.
  • 265Tydides then took up a mighty stone
  • Which two men scarce could bear such as are now.
  • But Diomedes swinging it alone,
  • The same with ease did at Æneas throw,
  • And hit him on the huckle bone, wherein
  • 270Into the hip inserted is the thigh.
  • And torn was by the rugged stone the skin,
  • And tendons broken which the joint did tie.
  • Then down upon his knees and hands he fell,
  • And taken from him was his sight with pain.
  • 275That Venus saw him lying thus ’twas well;
  • Else by Tydides he had there been slain.
  • For then came Venus down, and with the lap
  • Of her celestial robe him covered,
  • Lest any of the Greeks should have the hap
  • 280To kill or wound him as from earth he fled.
  • But Stheneius rememb’ring well his order,
  • Tied his own steeds up to his chariot-wheels,
  • And led them out o’th’ tumult and disorder,
  • And to Deiphilus that was at’s heels,
  • 285(His friend) he gave the horses of Æneas
  • To carry them unto the Argive fleet.
  • But took Tydides’ horses, and with these
  • To try went if Tydides he could meet.
  • But he in chase of Venus now was gone
  • 290(Knowing that she a tender Goddess was,
  • And for the war commission had none,
  • Nor had as Pallas any shield of brass.)
  • And had when he came to her wounded her.
  • For through her robe, though by the Graces made,
  • 295Without resistance quickly pass’d the spear,
  • And at her wrist did her fair hand invade.
  • And from the wound out sprang the blood divine,
  • (Not such as men have in their veins, but ichor.
  • For Gods that neither eat bread nor drink wine
  • 300Have in their veins another kind of liquor,
  • And therefore bloodless and immortal be.)
  • And Venus screaming then lets fall her son,
  • But by Apollo’s hand preserv’d was he,
  • Convey’d thence in a mist perceiv’d by none,
  • 305For fear he should be by some Argive slain.
  • To Venus then Tydides whoop’d, and said,
  • Away, Jove’s daughter, from the war abstain.
  • Go practise how to cozen wife or maid,
  • For I believe if here you longer stay,
  • 310(So many such as these mishaps there are)
  • That you therein will have but little joy,
  • And troubled be when men but talk of war.
  • This said, away she went, not knowing where
  • She was; and great the pain was of her hand.
  • 315But Iris from the fight conducted her,
  • And set her hard by Mars upon the sand.
  • For there by Pallas placed he had been.
  • His horses and his char’ot by him staid
  • Hid in a mist, by man not to be seen.
  • 320And Venus there before him kneeling said,
  • Dear brother, let me your good horses have,
  • To bear me to Olympus from the fray;
  • This cruel wound mad Diomed me gave,
  • And would wound Jove if he came in his way.
  • 325Mars presently his horses to her lent.
  • Venus and Iris mount into the seat;
  • Iris the reins held, and away they went;
  • The time they spent in going was not great.
  • When they were there, Iris the steeds untied,
  • 330And set them up, and gave unto them meat,
  • Such as immortal horses use to eat,
  • Ambrosian meat, till they were satisfied.
  • But Venus fell into Diones’ lap,
  • Her mother, who embrac’d her lovingly,
  • 335Strok’d her, and said, how came this sad mishap?
  • Who used you thus? What a rash God was he?
  • What more could he have done, if he had found
  • You doing something openly amiss?
  • It was a man, said she, gave me this wound,
  • 340Tydides; and for nothing else but this;
  • I sav’d my son Æneas from his hand,
  • My dearest son, whom he was going to slay.
  • And now the war is all (I understand)
  • ’Twixt Greeks and Heaven, not ’twixt Greeks and Troy.
  • 345Daughter (replied Dione then) ’tis hard,
  • For we the Gods that in Olympus dwell
  • Many from men as ill as you have far’d,
  • And many no less wrongs have put up well.
  • Otus and Ephialtes, Neptune’s sons,
  • 350In a brass dungeon once imprison’d Mars,
  • And kept him in the dark there thirteen moons.
  • There like he was t’have stayed till now, for scarce
  • Could Hermes set him free with all his art
  • And Juno’s help. And when to liberty
  • 355He was restor’d, he took it in good part,
  • Though with his chains he gall’d was cruelly.
  • When Hercules shot Juno in the breast,
  • Though wounded sore, yet she reveng’d it not.
  • And Pluto by the same man shot did rest
  • 360Contented, and no reparation got.
  • But to the house of Jupiter he went,
  • And got the arrow pluck’d out from the wound
  • By Pæon; who with gentle plaisters sent
  • The pain away, and made his shoulder sound.
  • 365But though no God of any wound can die,
  • Yet of Amphitryon the peevish son
  • (Who little cares at whom his arrows fly)
  • Great mischief oft unto the Gods has done.
  • But Pallas ’tis that thus has wounded you,
  • 370Though with Tydides spear. Fool as he was,
  • What ’tis to wound a God he never knew.
  • Not long such wicked deeds unpunish’d pass.
  • Such men when they return from painful war
  • Shall seldom set their children on their knee
  • 375Pleas’d with their half-form’d words. Let him beware
  • Lest he provoke some stronger Deity,
  • And then Ægilia Diomede’s wife
  • Awake the household with her lamentation,
  • And cry, Tydides, thou hast lost thy life,
  • 380O my dear husband, best of all the nation.
  • This said, she wip’d the ichor from her hand,
  • And straight her hand was well, the pain was gone.
  • Then Juno by, and Pallas, jeering stand.
  • And Pallas thus to Jupiter begun.
  • 385Shall I say what I think? O father Jove,
  • Venus some Argive dame has courting been
  • To take the Trojan’s part, whom she doth love,
  • And stroking her, her hand scratch’d with a pin.
  • Jove smil’d at this, and then to Venus said,
  • 390Daughter, I gave you no command in war.
  • That charge on Mars and Pallas I have laid.
  • Of nuptials and love take you the care.
  • While they were thus discoursing, Diomed
  • Did with great speed and rage Æneas follow,
  • 395To gain his armour and his blood to shed,
  • Knowing he was in th’ hands now of Apollo.
  • Undaunted then, with shield before his breast,
  • And sword in hand, struck at Æneas thrice,
  • And thrice again Phœbus his rage repress’d.
  • 400But at the fourth time gave him good advice.
  • Retire, said he, Tydides, and beware
  • You not yourself think equal to the Gods.
  • They sway the heav’ns, on earth men creeping are.
  • ’Twixt mortals and immortals there’s great odds.
  • 405Tydides then retir’d a little way,
  • Not knowing what harm might from Phœbus come.
  • And Phœbus thence Æneas did convey
  • T’ a temple of his own in Pergamum.
  • There Leto and Diana cur’d his wound.
  • 410And then an image Phœbus like him made,
  • And in like arms, and set it on the ground,
  • For which the foes each other then invade,
  • And there they one another’s bucklers hew.
  • To Mars Apollo speaking, why, said he,
  • 415Mars, bloody, murd’ring Mars, why suffer you
  • Tydides at the battle still to be?
  • Mad as he is now, he with Jove would fight.
  • From Venus’ hand he made the blood run down,
  • And then at me he flew like any sprite.
  • 420This said, he sat o’ th’ top of Pergam town.
  • And Mars the Trojan bands encouraged,
  • Taking the shape of valiant Acamas,
  • Who to the war at Troy the Thracians led.
  • And as he through the armed ranks did pass,
  • 425Children of Priam what d’ye mean, said he;
  • Shall the Greeks follow killing us to Troy?
  • Fall’n is Æneas, the great man whom we
  • Like Hector honour’d. Come, let’s if we may
  • This good commander rescue. Thus said he.
  • 430Sarpedon likewise Hector sharpen’d. Where
  • Are now your kin you said enough would be
  • Troy to defend? I see none of them here.
  • Like hounds about a lion off they stand,
  • We your confederates the fight maintain.
  • 435The labour lieth all upon our hand;
  • And I myself amongst the rest would fain
  • Make trial of this mighty man in fight.
  • At least I shall, as doth a friend become,
  • My people’s courage all I can excite;
  • 440Since they are here, and very far from home;
  • And though from me the Greeks can nothing get,
  • Neither to carry nor to drive away.
  • But you to th’ Trojans have not spoken yet,
  • So much as to defend their wives in Troy
  • 445From being taken in the Argives’ net,
  • And plund’red be the stately town of Troy.
  • When chiefly you on this your heart should set,
  • And your confederates persuade to stay,
  • And not the fault on one another lay.
  • 450So said Sarpedon. Hector therewith stung,
  • Upon his chariot could no longer stay,
  • But armed down unto the ground he sprung.
  • And ’mongst the Trojan ranks and files he goes,
  • Into their hearts new courage to inspire.
  • 455And then they turn’d their faces to their foes.
  • Nor did the Argives from their place retire.
  • And then, as when on Ceres’ sacred floor
  • The winnowed chaff lies heap’d together white,
  • So white the troops of Argives were all o’er
  • 460With dust their horses rais’d had in the fight.
  • And then the Trojans boldly marched on,
  • And Mars to aid them dark’ned had the field,
  • As he was bidden by Latona’s son,
  • When Pallas from the Greeks removed her shield.
  • 465And from the Temple fetch’d Æneas out
  • Alive and whole, and bold, and made him stand
  • Amongst the troops, that joyful stood about.
  • But other work now lying on their hand,
  • (Made them by Mars and Strife) no time had they
  • 470To ask him questions. But encouraged
  • The Argives were by th’ Ajaxes to stay,
  • And by Ulysses and by Diomed.
  • For of the Trojans they were not afraid.
  • But as a cloud that resteth on a hill,
  • 475Which in calm weather there by Jove is laid,
  • Till boisterous winds arise it resteth still.
  • Then up and down went Agamemnon there,
  • My friends, said he, be bold, and fight like men,
  • Of one another’s censure stand in fear.
  • 480Of them that do so, fewer perish than
  • Of those that fly and never think upon
  • The loss of fame. This said, he threw his spear
  • And smote Æneas’ friend Democoon,
  • Who was unto the Trojans no less dear
  • 485Than if he one of Priam’s sons had been.
  • For with the foremost he was still in fight.
  • And at his buckler went the weapon in,
  • And through both that and belt it passed quite.
  • And mortal in his belly was the wound,
  • 490And with his armour rat’ling down he fell.
  • Æneas then two Greeks laid on the ground,
  • The sons of Diocles, descended well.
  • For of th’ immortal and fair stream Alpheus,
  • Orsilochus a great king was the son.
  • 495And he the father was of Diocles,
  • And he Orsilochus got and Crethon;
  • Brave men, who when they came to man’s estate
  • With Atreus’ son his honour to regain,
  • To Ilium sail’d, and there they met their fate,
  • 500And never to their country came again.
  • As when two lions in the mountains bred
  • And woods obscure, come down into the plain,
  • And sheep and cattle in the field leave dead,
  • Until at last by hunters they are slain;
  • 505So fell these two men by Æneas kill’d,
  • And like two fir trees straight laid on the sand.
  • And Menelaus then with fury fill’d,
  • With helmet on his head, and spear in hand,
  • Advanced boldly to Anchises’ son,
  • 510In hope to have deprived him of breath.
  • And Mars himself it was that set him on
  • To bring him by Æneas’ hand to death.
  • Antilochus then, Nestor’s valiant son,
  • Fearing lest Menelaus should be slain,
  • 515Resolv’d he should not fight with him alone,
  • And all their toil at Ilium make vain.
  • Went after him, and overtook him as
  • They ready were to fight, but nothing done.
  • Æneas then, as valiant as he was,
  • 520Retir’d, eschewing th’ odds of two to one.
  • And when they had brought off the bodies slain,
  • And left them in their fellow-soldiers’ hands,
  • Unto the skirmish they returned again,
  • And slew the Prince of Paphlagonians
  • 525Pylæmines. Atrides threw the spear
  • Which near the shoulder pass’d into his neck.
  • By Nestor’s son slain was his charioteer,
  • Mydon by name that did his horses check,
  • As he his char’ot turning was to fly,
  • 530Antilochus him wounded with a stone
  • On th’ elbow, and benumb’d his hand, whereby
  • The sense he had to hold the reins was gone.
  • The reins fell down, and then with sword in hand
  • Antilochus divides his head in twain,
  • 535And headlong fell he where it chanc’d the sand
  • Was very deep, and there he did remain
  • With head and shoulders sticking in the sands.
  • But upright in the air were both his hips.
  • The horses laid him flat. Which by the hands
  • 540Of Nestor’s son convey’d were to the ships.
  • Hector saw this, and in came with great cry,
  • Whom bands of lusty Trojans followed,
  • Mars and Bellona marching furiously
  • Against the Argives to the fight them led.
  • 545Bellona brought in tumult and affright.
  • And Mars a mighty spear had in his hand.
  • And sometimes after Hector went i’ th’ fight,
  • Sometimes before, and oft did by him stand.
  • Tydides when he saw him was afraid,
  • 550As when a man in haste has lost his way,
  • And running on is at some river stayed,
  • That’s deep and swift, he runs as fast away;
  • So he retir’d. And to his Argives said,
  • No wonder ’tis if Hector valiant be;
  • 555One God or other always gives him aid,
  • And near him stands from death to set him free.
  • Now Mars comes with him, like a mortal wight.
  • Retire. But turn your faces to the foe,
  • Forbearing still against the Gods to fight.
  • 560This said he, but the Trojans near were now.
  • And Hector there had slain two men that sat
  • Together, Mnestheus and Anchialus,
  • Both warriors good. But Ajax griev’d thereat,
  • (The greater Ajax, Telamonius)
  • 565Darted his heavy spear at Amphius.
  • Rich was he both in lands and goods, and dwelt
  • At Pæsus: and fought here for Priamus.
  • But by the spear which pass’d quite through his belt
  • Upon his belly took a mortal wound.
  • 570And as he fell, Ajax ran fiercely in
  • To strip him of his armour on the ground,
  • And stript him had, had he not hindered been.
  • For from the Trojans came a shower of spears,
  • Whereof his shield received not a few.
  • 575Then to be hemm’d in by the foe he fears.
  • His own spear he recover’d and withdrew.
  • Whilst they in stubborn war thus toiling were,
  • Unlucky fate Tlepolemus brought on
  • To charge Sarpedon; and when they were near
  • 580Together come, Jove’s grandson and his son,
  • Tlepolemus said then, what need had you,
  • Unskilful in the war, to tremble here?
  • Jove’s son men say you are, but ’tis not true.
  • No such weak men by Jove begotten were;
  • 585But such as Hercules is said t’have been,
  • Courageous as a lion; with few men
  • In but six ships, this strong town he did win,
  • And rifled it, and safe went off again.
  • But you are weak, your men a great part dead,
  • 590And can but little help afford to Troy,
  • And though from Lycia you were strengthened,
  • I mean to send you now another way.
  • To this Sarpedon answered, ’Tis true
  • That Hercules sack’d Troy, because the steeds
  • 595Laomedon kept back that were his due,
  • And gave him evil language for good deeds.
  • But you from me shall present death receive,
  • For which I shall have honour truly paid,
  • And you your soul shall now to Pluto leave.
  • 600And this Sarpedon had no sooner said,
  • Than from their hands the spears together started.
  • Tlepolemus clean through the neck was struck,
  • And from him presently his life departed.
  • But from Sarpedon Jove kept such ill luck;
  • 605Yet on his left thigh he receiv’d a wound:
  • For through it went the spear close by the bone.
  • Sarpedon, by his friends borne off the ground,
  • Was plac’d apart where battle there was none,
  • Tormented with the spear still in his thigh.
  • 610To pull it out they all had quite forgot.
  • In so great haste they were, the foe so nigh,
  • The time so little, and the fight so hot.
  • Meanwhile Tlepolemus his body dead
  • The Greeks fetch’d off. The wise Ulysses then
  • 615Within himself a while considered,
  • Whether to charge Sarpedon or his men.
  • But since by fate Sarpedon was to die
  • By other, and not by Ulysses’ hands,
  • Athena made him lay that purpose by,
  • 620And turn his anger on the Lycians.
  • Alastor then he slew, and Cœramus,
  • Alcander, Prytanis, and Noemon.
  • And Halius he slew, and Chromius,
  • And many Lycians more had overthrown,
  • 625But mighty Hector now approached near
  • In glittering arms, and brought with him affright.
  • But glad Sarpedon was to see him there;
  • And when he was come up unto him quite,
  • Himself lamenting, thus to Hector said,
  • 630Leave me not, Hector, to the Greeks a prey,
  • But let my body in your ground be laid,
  • Since I my country must no more enjoy,
  • Nor my beloved wife and tender son.
  • So said Sarpedon. Hector not replies,
  • 635But to the enemy he passeth on;
  • And as he goes the ground with blood he dies.
  • Under a beech, sacred to Jupiter
  • Sarpedon placed was upon the ground,
  • And gently Pelagon pull’d out the spear;
  • 640The pain hereof put him into a swound.
  • Lost was his sight; but by a gentle wind
  • And cool, that from the north upon him blew,
  • He soon recover’d both his sight and mind,
  • And all the company about him knew.
  • 645To Mars and Hector still the Greeks gave way
  • And still their faces to the Trojans were,
  • But for to charge none durst advance or stay.
  • For Diomed had told them Mars was there.
  • Now tell me, Muse, who slain by Hector was?
  • 650Trechus, Orestes, Teuthras, Helenus,
  • (Whose father Œnops was) and Œnonaus;
  • And last of all wealthy Oresbius.
  • In Hyla on Cephisses lake he dwelt,
  • The richest pasture of Bœotia,
  • 655And known was by the gayness of his belt.
  • This slaughter of the Greeks when Juno saw,
  • She then to Pallas spake. Pallas, said she,
  • If we let Mars still play the madman here,
  • Our word to Menelaus false will be,
  • 660That he from Troy return should conqueror.
  • Let’s courage take, and try what we can do.
  • Pallas contented, ’twas agreed upon.
  • And Juno ready made herself to go,
  • And quickly the coachwheels Hebe sets on.
  • 665Eight spokes each wheel had, and were all of brass,
  • And fixed round about at th’ axle-tree.
  • The axle-tree itself of iron was,
  • The circle gold, and wonderful to see.
  • But arm’d it was above with plates of brass.
  • 670The naves on both sides were of silver white,
  • With gold and silver wire extended was
  • The seat, which had two silver rings and bright,
  • In which the beam of silver fast’ned stayed;
  • At the other end th’ golden yoke she tied,
  • 675And on the yoke the golden reins she laid.
  • And Juno then no longer could abide,
  • But to the coach herself the horses brought,
  • From quarrels so impatiently she stayed.
  • Pallas threw off her robe, and took Jove’s coat,
  • 680And with the same she there herself array’d.
  • And then her breast with armour covered,
  • And on her shoulder hung her frightful shield,
  • Wherein Strife, Force, Flight, Chase, were figured,
  • With all the horror of a foughten field;
  • 685And in the middle stood out Gorgoe’s head.
  • Then put she on her golden helmet, that
  • Ten thousand men’s heads might have covered,
  • And to the chariot up she went, and sat,
  • And her great heavy spear takes in her hands
  • 690The spear wherewith, when she displeased is,
  • She scatters of proud kings the armed bands.
  • Then Juno with the whip was not remiss,
  • And of itself flew open heaven-gate,
  • Though to the Seasons, Jove the power gave
  • 695Alone to judge of early and of late.
  • And out the Goddesses their horses drave.
  • Jove on the highest of Olympus tops,
  • Sitting alone they found, and none him nigh.
  • The Goddess Juno there her horses stops,
  • 700And spake unto him thus, his mind to try:
  • Pray tell me, Jove, if you contented be,
  • That Mars thus raging in the field remain;
  • For what unseemly work he makes, you see,
  • And of brave Greeks how many he has slain,
  • 705While Venus at my grief stands laughing by,
  • And pleased is Apollo with the sight,
  • And set him on. But I could make him fly
  • (But that I fear your anger) from the fight.
  • Do’t then, said Jove; not you, but Pallas; she
  • 710Accustom’d is to vex him more than you.
  • Juno took this commission willingly.
  • Feeling the whip, away her horses flew,
  • ’Twixt heaven and earth, and went at every strain
  • As far as coming one can see a ship,
  • 715That from a hill looketh upon the main,
  • So far the horses of the Gods can skip.
  • Arriv’d at Troy, on ground they set their feet,
  • And Juno there her heavenly steeds untied,
  • Where Simois doth with Scamander meet.
  • 720And with ambrosia, Simois them supplied.
  • Then swift as doves, to give the Argives aid,
  • They went to where they saw the greatest throng.
  • There was Tydides, and about him stayed
  • Many as lions valiant and strong.
  • 725And Juno there in shape of Stentor stood,
  • And spake as loud as any fifty men.
  • Argives, said she, cowards, for nothing good,
  • Although you make a goodly show. For when
  • Achilles went before you to the fight,
  • 730Out at their gates the Trojans durst not peep,
  • So much they of his spear abhorr’d the sight,
  • But from your ships you scarce now can them keep.
  • When Juno thus the Greeks encouraged,
  • To Diomed went Pallas; whom she found
  • 735Hard by his horses sitting, wearied.
  • And cooling in the open air the wound
  • Given by Pandarus; which with the sweat
  • Under his belt afflicted him the more;
  • And lifting up his belt some ease to get,
  • 740He from the wound was wiping off the gore.
  • As at the yoke Athena leaning stood,
  • Like him, said she, your father left no son;
  • A little man was he, but warrior good.
  • Though I not bade him, he went boldly on.
  • 745And when to Thebes alone I bade him go
  • Ambassador, and with the Theban lords
  • To sit at feast, and not provoke the foe,
  • And at their table to forbear harsh words,
  • Yet he his native courage still retained,
  • 750And them defied at manly exercises,
  • And from them all the victory he gained,
  • And won, by my assistance, all the prizes.
  • But when I you, as I did him, defend,
  • And bid you boldly with the Trojans fight,
  • 755You are afraid, or weariness pretend.
  • Of Tydeus sure the son you are not right.
  • Tydides to her then replying said,
  • Daughter of Jove, Pallas I know you are,
  • ’Tis not that I am weary or afraid,
  • 760That I stand here abstaining from the war,
  • But in obedience to your own command,
  • Who gave me leave, if Venus in the wars
  • I met, to wound her; but not lift my hand
  • ’Gainst other Gods. Now in the field is Mars,
  • 765And domineering fights on Hector’s side;
  • And that’s the cause why I from fight abstain,
  • And others by my counsel here abide.
  • To this the Goddess then replied again,
  • Nor Mars nor any of th’ Immortals spare,
  • 770That shall advance against you in the field.
  • And for your safety trust unto my care,
  • And know you are protected by my shield.
  • But first to Mars drive up your horses close,
  • And strike the blockhead with your spear in hand,
  • 775That fights sometimes for these, sometimes for those,
  • And with the Trojans now you see him stand,
  • And yet to help the Greeks he promis’d me
  • And Juno, but a little while before,
  • And now amongst the Trojans fighteth he,
  • 780And thinks upon his promises no more.
  • This said, they mount into the chariot,
  • And Sthenelus descending left his seat.
  • The axle-tree groaned under them. Why not?
  • A great man he, she was a Goddess great.
  • 785And then to Mars directly they drive on,
  • Who had but newly slain great Periphas,
  • Of old Ochesius the valiant son,
  • And far the best of all th’ Ætolians was.
  • Athena then puts Pluto’s helmet on,
  • 790Lest she by Mars should be discovered.
  • When Mars there saw Tydides all alone,
  • He Periphas forsook, who there lay dead;
  • And turn’d to meet Tydides on the way;
  • And when to one another they were near,
  • 795Mars making full account the man to slay,
  • Over the yoke thrusts at him with his spear.
  • But Pallas with her hand the point suppress’d,
  • And made it light beneath the seat in vain.
  • Tydides then to Mars a spear address’d,
  • 800Which had he been a mortal had him slain;
  • For Pallas in his belly stuck the spear,
  • And presently the same pluck’d out again.
  • Mars roar’d as loud as if in battle there
  • Fighting had been nine or ten thousand men,
  • 805And frighted both the armies with the noise.
  • Then like a black cloud which some wind makes rise,
  • He left th’ unlucky field and went his ways,
  • And in a little time was in the skies.
  • And sitting down hard by his father’s throne,
  • 810Shew’d him the blood that from the wound did flow,
  • And grievously lamenting made his moan.
  • Father, said he, do you such work allow?
  • That we the Gods such harm from mortals take,
  • While some for Trojans, some for Argives fight,
  • 815And partial be for one another’s sake,
  • The fault is to be laid on you by right.
  • For you brought forth this mad, pernicious maid,
  • Whose study is her malice to effect,
  • When by us other Gods you are obey’d;
  • 820And this you saw, but never would correct.
  • ’Twas she that on the Gods set Diomed,
  • Who wounded Venus first, then flew at me.
  • And there in pain I lain had ’mongst the dead,
  • Or crippled been, had not my feet been free.
  • 825Uncertain Mars, then Jupiter replied,
  • Of all the Gods most hateful to my sight,
  • That quarrel lov’st to make, but not decide;
  • Thou hast thy mother Juno’s nature right,
  • That oft provokes me with her peevish tongue,
  • 830And by her order, I think, this was done.
  • But in this pain I’ll not detain you long,
  • Seeing you are as well mine as her son.
  • But had another got you, you had sure
  • To Pluto and th’ infernal Gods been sent.
  • 835This said, to Pæon he commits his cure;
  • And Pæon presently about it went.
  • As quickly as the milk is turn’d to curd,
  • When with a proper rennet it is mix’d,
  • And with a housewife’s hand together stirr’d,
  • 840So quickly was the wide wound clos’d and fix’d.
  • Then bath’d he was by Hebe, and new clad;
  • And that he so came off was well content.
  • Juno and Pallas when they driven had
  • Mars from th’ battle, up t’ Olympus went.

  LIB. VI.

  • The first battle yet continued. The other Gods forbidden by Jove to assist.

  • The Gods to neither side assistance yield,
  • But on his own hand each man’s fortune lies;
  • Now here, now there, they skirmish in the field,
  • Betwixt the streams Xanthus and Simseis.
  • 5And first great Ajax killed Acamas,
  • And for his fellows opened a door
  • For slaughter ’mongst the files and ranks to pass,
  • And caus’d thereby the loss of many more.
  • And by Tydides Axylus was slain,
  • 10That at Arisbe dwelt near the highway,
  • Rich, and the Greeks did often entertain;
  • But none of them would save him in the fray,
  • For slain he was by Diomedes there,
  • Together with his squire, Calesius,
  • 15That by him sat, and was his charioteer.
  • Euryalus then slew Opheltius
  • And Dresus. After Pedasus he runs,
  • And Æsepus, sons of Bucalion,
  • Who by Abarbarea had two sons,
  • 20But he for father had Laomedon,
  • And th’ eldest was, but not in wedlock got;
  • And twins the sons were of Bucalion.
  • But from Euryalus they ’scaped not,
  • Nor long they lay there with their armour on.
  • 25Then Polypœtes by Astyalus,
  • Pidytes by Ulysses, and by Teuc-
  • er Areton, and by Antilochus
  • Ablerus; by Atrides Eleteus
  • Was slain, that the Pedasians led
  • 30From the delightful bank of Satnius.
  • And Leitus Philacus slew as he fled.
  • Eurypylus then slew Melanthius;
  • And then Adrestus taken was alive
  • By Menelaus. For his horses frighted,
  • 35Whilst to the town they labour’d to arrive,
  • Upon two branches of a tree they lighted,
  • And brake the char’ot pole off at the head.
  • The horses loose away ran tow’rd the town,
  • As did the rest that from the battle fled.
  • 40Adrestus headlong from the seat fell down,
  • And by him with a spear Atrides stood.
  • Adrestus then lays hold upon his knee.
  • Save me, said he, my ransom will be good,
  • At any rate I shall redeemed be.
  • 45My father wants nor iron, nor brass, nor gold,
  • And any thing to set me free will give,
  • When he of my condition shall be told,
  • And that I am your prisoner and live.
  • This said, Atrides was thereto inclin’d,
  • 50And ready for to send him to the ships.
  • But Agamemnon came and chang’d his mind
  • Before he had confirm’d it with his lips.
  • Brother, said he, what makes you be so kind
  • To any of these men? Is it because
  • 55You did at home the Trojans faithful find,
  • And that they had well served Menelaus?
  • No, no, we must no quarter give at Troy,
  • Nor spare the child yet in his mother’s womb,
  • But utterly the nation destroy,
  • 60And pluck up by the root proud Ilium.
  • Then Menelaus pitied him no more,
  • But violently push’d him from his knee,
  • Wherewith he backward tumbled o’er and o’er,
  • And soon by Agamemnon slain was he.
  • 65Then Nestor to the Greeks, with voice as high
  • As he could raise it, cried out, Let none
  • Yet on the spoil and booty set his eye,
  • But follow killing now, plunder anon:
  • The dead will stay till back again we come.
  • 70The Greeks by Nestor thus encouraged,
  • Had chas’d the Trojans unto Ilium,
  • But that by Helenus was hindered.
  • For standing near to Hector and Æneas,
  • Since all the work, said he, lies on your hand,
  • 75And you in fight and counsel chiefly please
  • Both Lycians and Trojans, make them stand;
  • About them go, and put yourselves between
  • The gates and them, lest followed by the foe
  • They should be by their loving wives there seen,
  • 80And the Argives stand triumphing in our woe.
  • And when you once have them encouraged,
  • Æneas and myself will with them stay,
  • And fight against the Greeks, though wearied.
  • But Hector to the town go you away,
  • 85And bid your and my mother take with her
  • The eldest Trojan matrons, and make haste
  • To Pallas’ temple, and present her there
  • With the best robe she has; and having plac’d
  • It on her knee, vow to her deity
  • 90(If she protect our wives and children will,
  • And city from this raging enemy,
  • And take off Diomed) that you will kill
  • Twelve heifers at her altar. For in fight
  • He has the great Achilles much outdone,
  • 95Who never did the Trojans thus affright,
  • Although they say he is a Goddess’ son.
  • Then Hector armed leapt down to the ground,
  • And with two spears about the army goes,
  • Courage inspiring to the Trojans round,
  • 100And straight they turn’d their faces to the foes.
  • The Greeks retiring then no longer fought.
  • Some God from heav’n descended was, they thought,
  • And t’ Hector and the Trojans aid had brought.
  • Then Hector to the Trojans cried out,
  • 105Trojans and aids, said he, be sure to stay
  • And play the men, whilst I to Ilium
  • Return, and cause them to the Gods to pray,
  • And to them sacrifice an hecatomb.
  • And as he walk’d, the edges of his shield
  • 110By turns his ankle and his neck did smite.
  • Tydides then, and Glaucus, on the field
  • Met one another, and prepar’d to fight.
  • Tydides speaking first, Brave man, said he,
  • Who are you? Let me know your name and race,
  • 115That dares so boldly thus advance on me.
  • I never yet in battle saw your face.
  • Men mortal to provoke me thus none dare,
  • But they whose parents are condemn’d to woe.
  • But if some God come down from heaven you are,
  • 120Do what you will I’ll not return a blow.
  • Licurgus, son of Dryas, chas’d the train
  • Of Bacchus with a goad at Nyssa, where
  • The Mænades threw from them on the plain
  • Their ivy-twined staves, and fled for fear;
  • 125Bacchus himself leapt into Thetis’ lap,
  • Trembling and frighted, and the Goddess kind
  • Receiv’d him, and defended from mishap.
  • But for this act Jove struck Licurgus blind,
  • Who died soon after. For the Gods above
  • 130All hated him. And that’s the cause that I
  • Dare not the anger of the Gods to move.
  • But if thou mortal art, come near and die.
  • O brave Tydides, Glaucus answer’d then,
  • To what end serves it you to know my race?
  • 135As with green leaves, so fareth it with men;
  • Some fall with wind, others grow in their place.
  • But since you ask me (though it be well known)
  • My pedigree at large I shall you tell.
  • Within a creek of Argos stands a town
  • 140Call’d Ephyre. There Sisyphus did dwell;
  • The subtle Sisyphus, who Glaucus got.
  • Glaucus, the father of Bellerophon,
  • Than whom a fairer person there was not,
  • Nor valianter in all the land not one.
  • 145But Prætus sought to take away his life;
  • For so enamour’d of him was the queen
  • Anteia, who of Prætus was the wife,
  • That she a suitor to him oft had been.
  • But still in vain; for he would not consent.
  • 150The fury of her love then turn’d to hate.
  • And spitefully she to her husband went,
  • And weeping bitterly, down by him sate,
  • And to him said, O king, resolve to die
  • Yourself, or else Bellerophon to kill,
  • 155For he attempted has my chastity,
  • And would have lain with me against my will.
  • The king incens’d, to kill him did intend,
  • But loth to do it there, he thought it better
  • Unto the King of Lycia him to send
  • 160(Who was Anteia’s father) with a letter,
  • Wherein he had declar’d his cruel mind,
  • And many ways to bring it to effect.
  • He, ignorant of what was then design’d,
  • The king’s commandement did not neglect.
  • 165To Lycia he went, and coming thither,
  • In favour with the Gods, was honoured
  • And treated like a God, nine days together.
  • O’ th’ tenth his letter he delivered.
  • The letter read, the king him first employ’d
  • 170The terrible Chimæra to assail,
  • That by the monster he might be destroy’d.
  • A lion’s head it had and dragon’s tail,
  • And in the midst the body of a goat;
  • A flame of burning fire was its breath.
  • 175Bellerophon with this foul monster fought,
  • And put it (by the aid o’ th’ Gods) to death.
  • The next adventure that he set him on,
  • Was th’ expedition ’gainst the Solymi.
  • The third when from the Amazons he won
  • 180(Those martial females) a great victory.
  • And as he came from thence the king had laid
  • An ambush for him on the way in vain,
  • Of choicest Lycians, whom he destroy’d,
  • That not a man of them return’d again.
  • 185The king receiv’d him then, believing now
  • That he descended was of heavenly race,
  • And gave him half his pow’r, and land enough,
  • And with his daughter’s marriage did him grace.
  • Bellerophon by her had children three;
  • 190Two sons, Isandrus and Hippolochus,
  • And one fair daughter, call’d Laodamie,
  • On whom by Jove Sarpedon gotten was.
  • Her father, by the Gods forsaken, then
  • Liv’d up and down in the Alean plain,
  • 195And shunn’d the conversation of men.
  • At Solym battle was Isander slain.
  • But of Hippolochus the son am I,
  • And he of noble ancestors descended.
  • To Troy he sent me, and especially
  • 200Unto me th’ honour of my race commended,
  • Than which in Ephyre none nobler is,
  • Nor in the land of Lycia more renown’d.
  • And Diomedes, joyful to hear this,
  • Turn’d his spear’s point and stuck it in the ground,
  • 205And to him kindly spake. There is, said he,
  • Between your ancestors and mine of old,
  • A mutual bond of hospitality.
  • Bellerophon, as I have oft been told,
  • Was by my grandsire, Œneus, freely treated,
  • 210And stayed with him twenty days and nights,
  • And when again he from his house retreated,
  • They tokens gave of hospitable rights;
  • Œneus to him a belt most glorious,
  • Bellerophon to him a golden cup,
  • 215Which I not with me brought, but in my house
  • When I came thence I safely left lock’d up.
  • My father I remember not. For he
  • Left me too young when last he went from home.
  • Henceforth my guest in Argos you must be,
  • 220I yours in Lycia, when I thither come.
  • Meantime, let’s one another’s spear decline;
  • For many Trojans more I have to kill,
  • Unless I cross’d be by some pow’r divine.
  • And of the Achæans kill you whom you will.
  • 225And that our friendship may the more appear,
  • I will present you with these arms of mine;
  • And you to me present the arms you wear.
  • This said, they lighted and their hands did join.
  • But Glaucus surely here bewitched was,
  • 230Or cursed by the Gods, that had forgot
  • His arms were gold, and Diomed’s but brass.
  • An hundred his, nine beeves the other bought.
  • Hector was now come to the Scæan gates;
  • To him the Trojan wives and daughters run
  • 235To ask their husbands’ and their brothers’ fates,
  • But to those questions he answer’d none.
  • But to the temples bade them go and pray;
  • Inquire no more for what you will lament;
  • Then to the royal palace went his way.
  • 240For great the danger was and imminent.
  • On every side within were galleries
  • Magnificent, of square well-plained stones,
  • With fifty lodgings for the families
  • (One by another) of King Priam’s sons;
  • 245And for his daughters twelve apartments were
  • (In the same court, but on the other side)
  • To lodge his sons-in-law when they were there,
  • Of the same stone in like form beautified.
  • Here Hecuba, as she conducted home
  • 250Laodice, her beautifulest daughter,
  • Met her son Hector that was newly come
  • In dusty bloody armour from the slaughter.
  • And took him by the hand, and to him said,
  • Why come you from the fight? Have we the worst,
  • 255And you come to solicit Jove for aid,
  • And after that is done to quench your thirst?
  • A little wine will much the strength sustain
  • Of one that labour’d has as you have done.
  • No, no, from wine (said he) I must abstain,
  • 260Lest I forget and leave my work undone.
  • Besides, to Jove I dare not offer wine
  • With bloody hands, lest I should him incense.
  • But, mother, go you to Minerva’s shrine
  • With other ladies, and with frankincense;
  • 265And of the robes in your perfumed chest
  • Take with you that which in your judgment is
  • Amongst them all the largest and the best,
  • And lay it down upon the Goddess’ knees.
  • And vow that at her altar you will kill
  • 270Twelve yearling heifers of the best you have,
  • If at your prayer condescend she will
  • Your children with yourselves and Troy to save,
  • And from the fight this Diomed remove.
  • To th’ temple presently go you away.
  • 275But I to Paris now must go, and prove
  • If he th’ advice I give him will obey.
  • Then Hecuba into the chamber came
  • Where many divers-colour’d vestures lay,
  • The work of many a Sidonian dame,
  • 280Which then from Sidon Paris brought to Troy,
  • When thither he from Sparta Helen brought.
  • Of these, to give the Goddess, she took one
  • The largest and most curiously wrought,
  • And that like to a star in heaven shone.
  • 285And when unto the temple come they were,
  • Theano opened the door; for she
  • (Antenor’s wife) was Pallas’ priest. And there
  • She took the robe, and laid it on her knee.
  • Then prayed she (whilst with a mighty cry
  • 290They to the Goddess lifted up their hands.)
  • Pallas, said she, daughter of Jove most high,
  • In whose protection ev’ry city stands,
  • Great Pallas, break the spear of Diomed,
  • And overthrow him at the Scæan gate,
  • 295That at thy altar may be offered
  • Twelve yearling heifers; and commiserate
  • The wives and children and the state of Troy.
  • Thus prayed they; but Pallas would not hear.
  • To th’ house of Paris Hector went away
  • 300That was unto his own and Priam’s near,
  • Built by himself the citadel within,
  • With all the art the Trojans understood.
  • There Hector with his spear in hand went in,
  • That was in length eleven cubits good,
  • 305And pointed at the head with polish’d brass,
  • Fasten’d into the staff with a gold ring.
  • Busy about his armour Paris was,
  • And Helen work to th’ maids distributing.
  • Here Hector Paris chid. Is this, said he,
  • 310The fittest time to manifest your spite
  • Against the Trojans, when the enemy
  • Under our walls is killing them in fight?
  • When none but you the cause is of the war
  • And tumult, which surrounds the town of Troy.
  • 315I think it would become you better far
  • To rate those men that from the battle stay.
  • Brother, said Paris, what you say is right.
  • But hear me, too. I stayed not behind
  • Because I to the Trojans bear a spite,
  • 320But from their slanders to avert my mind.
  • And now my wife too has persuaded me,
  • Who of myself was ready to begone.
  • Not sure to any side is victory.
  • Stay only while I put my armour on.
  • 325Or go. I’ll follow you and find you out.
  • Thus he. But Hector to it nothing said.
  • And to begone his face he turn’d about,
  • But Helen saw about to speak, and stayed.
  • Brother, said she, though I unworthy am
  • 330To call you so, I would I had been thrown
  • Into the sea the same day that I came
  • Into the world, so many shames to own.
  • Or that this husband sensible had been,
  • As men of honour should be of ill-fame;
  • 335But that’s not now, nor ever will be seen,
  • He one day will, I fear, repent the same.
  • But brother, pra’ ye, sit down and rest awhile,
  • That with the toil of battle weary are;
  • The cause whereof am I the woman vile,
  • 340That with me brought to Troy this cruel war.
  • Unlucky day that brought me first acquainted
  • With Alexander to our infamy,
  • Which through the world hereafter will be chaunted,
  • And make us loathsome to posterity.
  • 345Helen, said Hector, now I cannot stay,
  • The Trojans of my presence stand in need;
  • But bid you Alexander come away,
  • While I am in the town, and that with speed.
  • For hence unto my house I must go home
  • 350To see my wife, my child, and family,
  • And ’t may be never back again shall come,
  • But by the hands of the Achæans die.
  • This said, home Hector went, and there was told
  • His wife Andromache at home was not.
  • 355For with the nurse the battle to behold,
  • Into the tow’r on Scæa gate was got.
  • Then Hector of the women ask’d again,
  • Is she gone to some sister or some brother?
  • Or to the Goddess temple in the train
  • 360Of those that thither waited on my mother?
  • To this one of the women said again,
  • She neither went to sister nor to brother,
  • Nor to the Goddess’ temple, in the train
  • Of those that thither waited on your mother.
  • 365But when I know not who inform’d her had
  • That th’ Argives did the Trojans overpower,
  • With her young son and nurse as one that’s mad
  • Ran to the gate, and up into the tower.
  • Then back went Hector passing the same streets
  • 470Through which he went when he came from the fight,
  • Where in the way Andromache he meets
  • That now was running home in great affright.
  • The daughter she was of Eetion,
  • Who of Cilicia the sceptre carried,
  • 375And dwelt at Thebe in Hypoplacion,
  • But unto noble Hector she was married.
  • Now Hector met her with their little boy
  • That in the nurse’s arms was carried,
  • And like a star upon her bosom lay
  • 380His beautiful and shining golden head.
  • Scamandrius he called was by Hector,
  • Astyanax he named was in Troy.
  • Because his father was their sole protector,
  • The people from his honour nam’d the boy.
  • 385Then Hector smiling look’d upon his son.
  • And to him weeping said Andromache,
  • My dear, you’ll by your courage be undone,
  • And this your son a wretched orphan be.
  • The Greeks at once on you alone will fall,
  • 390And then a woeful widow shall be I,
  • And have no comfort in the world at all,
  • But live in misery and wish to die.
  • Father or mother they have left me none,
  • For by the great Achilles he was slain
  • 395When he the goodly town of Thebe won.
  • But from disarming him he did refrain.
  • Together with his arms he did him burn,
  • And with such rites as did a prince become.
  • And having put his ashes in an urn
  • 400Buried the same, and o’er it rais’d a tomb.
  • The mountain-nymphs, daughters of Jupiter,
  • Planted about it many elmen-trees.
  • My seven brothers all were killed there.
  • In one day by Achilles slain were these,
  • 405As they defending were their kine and sheep.
  • My mother with the booty he brought hither,
  • And her he at the ships did pris’ner keep
  • Until her friends her ransom had sent thither.
  • Then to her country back they sent my mother,
  • 410Who shortly after there fell sick and died.
  • Now Hector you my father are and brother,
  • Husband and mother. In you I confide.
  • For pity’s sake then on this turret stay,
  • Lest fatherless your son, I widow be;
  • 415And set your armed people in array,
  • And those that aid you at the syc’more-tree,
  • Where to the city easiest is th’ access.
  • For there it was the Argives thrice fell on
  • Led by Idomeneus, and th’ Ajaxes,
  • 420The two Atrides, and Tydeus’ son.
  • Whether they had some God for their director,
  • Or had observ’d some weakness in the place,
  • I know not. And to this replied Hector,
  • Dear wife, this might be done. But what disgrace
  • 425Shall I be in? How will the Trojans scoff,
  • Both men and women, and deride my fear,
  • If on the tow’r they saw me standing off
  • When others fighting with the Argives were?
  • Besides, by nature I am framed so,
  • 430I am not able to abstain from fight,
  • But must be ’mongst the foremost, when the foe
  • Invades my father’s honour in my sight.
  • And yet I know the evil day will come,
  • That Priam and his people perish must,
  • 435And utterly destroy’d be Ilium,
  • And all her stately buildings lie in dust.
  • Yet am not griev’d so much to think upon
  • The fate of Troy, of Priam, of my mother,
  • Or all my brothers, as for you alone
  • 440When by a proud Achæan one or other
  • You dragg’d are weeping into slavery,
  • And when t’ Achæa he has brought you home,
  • To fetch in water you employ’d shall be,
  • And made to labour at another’s loom.
  • 445And one that sees you weeping, there will say,
  • This woman was the noble Hector’s bride,
  • The bravest man of all that fought for Troy,
  • And of your tears bring back again the tide.
  • But dead may I be first and buried
  • 450Before I see you dragg’d or hear you cry.
  • And when he thus had said, his arms he spread
  • The childto take, who terrified thereby,
  • And unacquainted with a glittering crest
  • And horse’s mane that nodding at it hung,
  • 455Turn’d his face crying to the nurse’s breast,
  • And with his little arms close to her clung;
  • Which made his father and his mother smile.
  • Then Hector on the ground his helmet laid,
  • And took the child, and dandled him awhile,
  • 460And then to Jove and all the Gods he pray’d.
  • O Jove and Gods, grant that this son of mine
  • No less in Troy may honour’d be than I,
  • Nor from his father’s virtue e’er decline,
  • But hold the reins of Ilium steadily,
  • 465That men may say when he hath slain his foe,
  • And bringeth with him home his spoil to Troy,
  • In battle he his father doth outdo,
  • And fill his loving mother’s heart with joy.
  • This said, he gave the child t’ Andromache,
  • 470Which she receiving hugg’d, and laugh’d, and cried.
  • Which Hector with compassion did see,
  • And thus with gentle words his wife did chide.
  • Dear wife, do not afflict yourself for me.
  • No man can die before his hour is come;
  • 475And when ’tis come, put off it cannot be
  • By weak nor strong. Therefore I pray go home,
  • And tend your work, and give your women theirs,
  • And sit still at your spindle and your loom,
  • And leave to men these martial affairs,
  • 480And me that have the charge of Ilium.
  • Then up he takes his helmet and departs,
  • And homewards she; but often turn’d her head.
  • At home with grief she fill’d her women’s hearts,
  • And made them mourn for Hector not yet dead.
  • 485Nor Paris at his house did longer stay
  • Than he must needs his armour to put on,
  • And up and down the streets went ev’ry way,
  • To see if he could Hector light upon.
  • As when a horse i’ th’ stable pampered,
  • 490And used to be washed in the river
  • His headstall breaks, or be delivered
  • From that which held him by what means soever;
  • Then proudly he sets up his tail and head,
  • And beats the plain, and with the wind he makes
  • 495His mane play in the air dishevelled,
  • Then to the pasture known the way he takes:
  • So from his house went Paris through the streets
  • With shining arms, and courage at his heart;
  • And quickly with his valiant brother meets,
  • 500Turning from where he and his wife did part.
  • And first to Hector Paris thus began.
  • Brother, I fear I’ve made you stay too long.
  • No, he replied, your courage no man can
  • Accuse, but such as mean to do you wrong.
  • 505But when you, out of humour, will not fight,
  • The Trojans that much suffer for your sake
  • Speak all the ill they can of you in spite.
  • Which, when I hear, it makes my heart to ache.
  • But now let’s go. If e’er the powers divine
  • 510Displace the Achæan host, and give us peace,
  • That freely to them we may offer wine,
  • Your quarrel with the Trojans soon will cease.

  LIB. VII.

  • The Greeks enclose their ships with a wall and ditch. The duel betwixt Hector and Ajax.

  • This said, they went together to the fight,
  • For Paris now no more the war declin’d,
  • And welcome to the Trojans was the sight,
  • As to a weary rower a good wind.
  • 5There Paris slew Menesthius, the son
  • Of the great clubman Areïthous
  • Of Arne. And by Hector overthrown
  • And struck clean through the neck was Eionus.
  • Iphinous, the son of Dexias,
  • 10As to his car he mounted to have fled,
  • By Glaucus through the shoulder wounded was,
  • And to the ground again fell backward dead.
  • When Pallas saw the Argives fall so fast,
  • She from Olympus leaped to Ilium:
  • 15Apollo then to meet her made great haste,
  • That saw her from his tow’r in Pergamum.
  • And when they were together at the beach,
  • He for the Trojans, for the Argives she,
  • Apollo to her thus address’d his speech:
  • 20Daughter of Jove, what great necessity
  • Brought you to Troy? Was it to please your mind,
  • Or give unto the Greeks the victory?
  • For well I know to Troy you are not kind.
  • But for the present be advis’d by me.
  • 25Let th’ armies both give over fight to day,
  • And fight it out hereafter, till they know
  • What end the Fates assigned have to Troy,
  • Since you and Juno needs will have it so.
  • Your counsel’s good, said Pallas, and the same
  • 30I thought upon. But tell me how to do it.
  • For to that end I from Olympus came.
  • Tell me but how, and I’ll consent unto it.
  • Why then, said Phœbus, Hector I’ll excite
  • In duel all the Argives to defy;
  • 35And they some one will choose with him to fight,
  • And both the armies quietly stand by.
  • This counsel was by both agreed upon;
  • And known to Helenus by augury,
  • To Helenus, that was King Priam’s son.
  • 40And he to Hector did himself apply.
  • Hector, said he, will you do that which I,
  • That am your brother, shall advise you to?
  • Go to th’ Achæan army, and defy
  • The best of all the Argives; boldly go;
  • 45For in this combat you are not to die:
  • The Gods have told me so. Then never fear.
  • Then to the front came Hector joyfully,
  • With both his hands o’ th’ middle of his spear
  • To keep the Trojans back and make them stand;
  • 50And straight King Agamemnon seeing it,
  • Unto the Argives gave the like command.
  • Then on the ground both Greeks and Trojans sit.
  • Phœbus and Pallas flew up to the tree,
  • The high beech-tree that sacred was to Jove,
  • 55I’ th’ likeness of two vultures, thence to see
  • How the two armies looked from above.
  • As when a west wind ruffled has the main,
  • It black and horrid to the eye appears;
  • So look’d the Greeks and Trojans on the plain,
  • 60Grisly and dark with helmets, shields, and spears.
  • Into the midst between them Hector stept.
  • You, Trojans and well-armed Greeks, said he,
  • Since ’twas Jove’s will our oath should not be kept,
  • But that the war continued shall be
  • 65Till either you shall win the town of Troy,
  • Or we your army and your ships confound,
  • Fighting till one another we destroy;
  • I to you, Argives, somewhat will propound.
  • The best of all the Greeks are present here.
  • 70Let one of them come forth and fight with me,
  • On these conditions (witness Jupiter)
  • If by his hand I slain in combat be,
  • Let him do with my armour what he will,
  • But send my body into Ilium.
  • 75But if Apollo grant me him to kill,
  • His armour I will have and carry home,
  • And in Apollo’s temple dedicate.
  • His body to the ships shall rendered be,
  • That on his urn the Greeks may elevate
  • 80A mount of earth for passengers to see
  • Upon the shore of Hellespont, and say,
  • Here lies a valiant Greek by Hector slain
  • Long since, when th’ Argives were besieging Troy.
  • My honour thus for ever will remain.
  • 85So Hector said. The Greeks all silent were.
  • For shame the challenge they could not refuse;
  • And to accept it ev’ry one did fear.
  • But Menelaus then his valour shews,
  • And rising up in anger, thus he said,
  • 90Women of Argos, what a shame is this,
  • That you should all of Hector be afraid!
  • What now become of all your threat’ning is?
  • There (dust and water, heartless, nameless), sit.
  • Myself I’ll arm (for I perceive no odds)
  • 95And will this sturdy champion Hector meet.
  • For victory comes only from the Gods.
  • This said, he rose and arm’d himself; and there
  • Depriv’d of life had Menelaus been
  • (So much too weak he was) by Hector’s spear,
  • 100But that the princes starting up came in.
  • And Agamemnon seizing on his hand,
  • Why, Menelaus, are you mad, said he,
  • In fight you cannot against Hector stand,
  • How much soever you concerned be.
  • 105Avoid him in the field as others do.
  • Achilles, who than you much stronger is,
  • Strong as he is, considers Hector too,
  • And cooler grows as oft as he him sees.
  • Therefore, good brother, sit still at your troop.
  • 110Some other we’ll oppose to Hector’s might,
  • That, haughty as he is, shall make him stoop,
  • And thank the Gods if safe he come from fight.
  • To this good counsel yielded Menelaus.
  • Whereat his servants not a little joy’d,
  • 115Came in, and soon by them unarm’d he was,
  • And to the Greeks then Nestor rose, and said,
  • O how unwelcome will this story be
  • To Greece, and Peleus king o’ th’ Myrmidons,
  • Who at his house the names enquir’d of me
  • 120Both of yourselves, your fathers, and your sons;
  • If he should know how much you Hector dread,
  • How oft would he hold up his hands, and pray
  • The Gods to send him down amongst the dead,
  • And from his body take all sense away!
  • 125O that I were as young as I was then
  • When war was ’twixt Arcadia and Pyle,
  • And at the walls of Pheia stood the men
  • Ready for bloody fight in rank and file!
  • Amongst them stood one Ereuthalion,
  • 130And of the great man Areïthous
  • Upon his shoulders had the armour on,
  • Who Clubman commonly surnamed was,
  • Because he used neither bow nor spear,
  • But with an iron club the battles brake.
  • 135Lycurgus slew him though he weaker were,
  • (When at advantage great he did him take)
  • By craft, not strength. For in a narrow way
  • He watch’d him at a turning with his spear,
  • And on a sudden took his life away,
  • 140So that the club had nothing to do there.
  • Then took he off his arms, and wore the same
  • In battle when there was occasion,
  • But gave them, when old age upon him came,
  • To this his squire Ereuthalion.
  • 145Who wearing them our army did defy,
  • At which, when others trembling stood and shook,
  • Although the youngest of them all was I,
  • Great as he was, the man I undertook,
  • And slew him by the Goddess Pallas’ aid,
  • 150The strongest and tallest that I e’er slew,
  • As when upon the ground he stretch’d was laid,
  • The place he covered did plainly show.
  • If I were now as young and strong as then,
  • The Greeks for Hector soon a match should find,
  • 155Though none of you that are their bravest men
  • To try your fortune with him have a mind.
  • Thus Nestor th’ Argive lords did reprehend,
  • And nine of them in number (all that durst
  • In single fight with Hector to contend)
  • 160Armed, and Agamemnon was the first.
  • And next the strong and valiant Diomed,
  • And then the greater Ajax, then the less,
  • Then King Idomeneus, of Crete the head,
  • And with him his good squire Meriones,
  • 165Who as the God of battle valiant was,
  • Besides Eurypylus Euæmon’s son,
  • And of Andremon the stout son Thoas,
  • And wise Ulysses last of all made one.
  • So many Greeks durst Hector undertake.
  • 170Bring in your lots, said Nestor then, and we
  • Will in a helmet them together shake.
  • And who by lot our champion shall be
  • Shall please us all, but please himself much more
  • When back again he cometh from the fight.
  • 175Then brought they in their lots; which o’er and o’er
  • He shook in Agamemnon’s helmet bright.
  • Meanwhile the people lift their hands, and pray,
  • O Jove, let now the lot to Ajax fall,
  • Or that on Diomedes light it may,
  • 180Or on Atrides our great general.
  • The helmet shaken threw out Ajax’ lot,
  • Which th’ herald took and carried about
  • To th’ Argive princes, but they own’d it not,
  • Till to the hand of Ajax it was brought,
  • 185Who sign’d it had, and into th’ helmet thrown.
  • He took it, and awhile consider’d it;
  • And when he was assured ’twas his own,
  • Rose up, and lets it fall before his feet.
  • And to the princes said, This lot is mine,
  • 190And glad I am, and hope for victory.
  • But send your pray’rs up to the pow’rs divine,
  • While I put on my arms; and silently,
  • So that, at least, the Trojans may not hear.
  • Or, now I think on’t, plain and openly.
  • 195For I see nothing that I need to fear.
  • I am not forc’d to fight unwillingly,
  • Nor rashly undertook the enterprise.
  • For I was born and bred in Salamis,
  • And hope I am not so weak or unwise.
  • 200As soon as mighty Ajax had said this,
  • The people looking up to heav’n pray’d.
  • O Jove, said one, grant Ajax victory,
  • Or if you be inclin’d Hector to aid,
  • Then let their strength and glory equal be.
  • 205When Ajax had his arms put on complete,
  • He walked away with a majestic pace,
  • As Mars goes to the war. His strides were great,
  • And scornful smiles with terror in his face.
  • And as he went he shook his mighty spear,
  • 210Which joyfully the Argives did behold;
  • But by the Trojans look’d on was with fear;
  • And Hector at the heart himself was cold,
  • But was ashamed back again to fly,
  • Since he provok’d him had into the field.
  • 215And Ajax now was come unto him nigh,
  • As from a tower, looking o’er his shield,
  • By Tychius of Hyla made it was,
  • And cover’d with sev’n fat bulls’ hides well tann’d,
  • And over them an eighth of shining brass,
  • 220And at his breast he held it with his hand,
  • And threat’ning said, Hector, I’ll make you see,
  • That in the army many yet remain,
  • Though from us angry gone Achilles be,
  • And discontent from battle now abstain,
  • 225That fear not Hector. Do the worst you can.
  • Ajax, said Hector, I am not a child,
  • Nor woman, to be threaten’d, but a man
  • That understands the bus’ness of the field,
  • And can my buckler bear from left to right,
  • 230And have whereon in battle to rely,
  • And know to guide my horses in a fight,
  • And move my feet to Mars his melody.
  • But no such cunning will I use with you,
  • My spear I’ll send unto you openly.
  • 235And at that word the long spear from him flew,
  • And pierc’d his target to the seventh ply.
  • But there it staid. Then Ajax threw his spear,
  • Which Hector’s shield, armour, and coat went thro’;
  • But Hector shrunk his belly in for fear,
  • 240For else it pierced had his belly too.
  • Then from their shields the spears they plucked out,
  • And them no more at one another threw,
  • But came unto each other close, and fought,
  • And like two lions on each other flew.
  • 245And Hector made a thrust at Ajax’ shield
  • Which enter’d not, resisted by the brass:
  • But Hector’s shield to Ajax’ spear did yield,
  • Which pierc’d it through, and so far in did pass,
  • That grazing on his neck it fetch’d the blood.
  • 250But Hector, not dismay’d, took up a stone.
  • Ajax took ’t on his shield and firmly stood,
  • And with his hand took up a greater one,
  • And rougher, which did Hector’s buckler tear,
  • And with the weight unto the ground him threw,
  • 255But up again Apollo did him rear.
  • Then both of them, the combat to renew,
  • Their swords were drawing. But the heralds then,
  • Idæus and Talthibius, came in,
  • The sacred messengers of Gods and men,
  • 260And put themselves the combatants between.
  • Troy’s herald then, Idæus, to them spake.
  • Good sons, belov’d of Jove, give over fight,
  • For all men of your valour notice take.
  • And now ’tis late; we must submit to night.
  • 265Idæus, then said Ajax, let these words
  • From Hector come, from whom came the defy.
  • ’Twas he that challeng’d all the Argive lords.
  • Let him give over first, and then will I.
  • Then Hector spake. Ajax, since you, said he,
  • 270The Gods endued have with strength and wit,
  • Let for to-day the quarrel ended be.
  • Hereafter let the Gods determine it,
  • And give which side they please the victory,
  • For now ’tis late. To night we must submit;
  • 275That you the Greeks may cheer, and specially
  • Your own friends and companions, at your fleet:
  • And I the Trojans from their fear relieve,
  • And wives, that for my safe return do pray.
  • But come, let’s t’ one another tokens give,
  • 280That Greeks and Trojans seeing them may say,
  • These two men fought and sought each other’s death,
  • Yet parted friends. This said, he to him gave
  • His belt with his good sword and iv’ry sheath;
  • Ajax to him his shining girdle brave.
  • 285Thus parted, Ajax to the Argives went;
  • And Hector back into the troops of Troy;
  • Who mightily rejoic’d at the event
  • That past all hope they saw him come away.
  • The lords conducted him to Ilium:
  • 290The Greeks to Agamemnon Ajax led.
  • And when they all unto his tent were come,
  • He for them sacrific’d a bull well fed,
  • Which flay’d, divided, roasted, taken up,
  • The carvers into messes cut. This done,
  • 295King Agamemnon and the princes sup.
  • The chine at Ajax’ table was set on,
  • And when their thirst and hunger were subdu’d,
  • Nestor, whose counsel still had been the best,
  • What further was to be consider’d shew’d,
  • 300And to the princes all his speech address’d.
  • Atrides, and you other princes, know
  • How Mars with Argives strewed hath the plain,
  • And sent their souls down to the pow’rs below,
  • Whose bloody bodies in the field remain.
  • 305Tomorrow, therefore, let us cease from war,
  • And early in the morning fetch the dead,
  • And burn them somewhere from the ships not far,
  • That t’ Argos back they may be carried,
  • When we depart from hence; that their bones may
  • 310By their own friends and children buried be.
  • Let’s raise a mount upon the shore of Troy,
  • One for them all, for passengers to see,
  • And fortify our good ships with a wall,
  • And turrets in it, and a ditch without,
  • 315Lest unawares the Trojans on us fall,
  • And gates for char’ots to go in and out.
  • Meanwhile the Trojan lords at counsel were
  • Loud and discordant. Then Antenor said,
  • Trojans and aids, I pray to me give ear,
  • 320For of the worst I greatly am afraid.
  • Let Menelaus have his wife again,
  • And all the goods she brought with her. Take heed;
  • Against our oath we shall but fight in vain.
  • Then let her go, or never look to speed.
  • 325Antenor, then said Paris, this is not
  • The best advice you could have given, or
  • (If what you say dissent not from your thought)
  • You are not now so wise as heretofore:
  • Thus much to you. But to the Trojans this:
  • 330Her wealth I’ll render, with more of mine own,
  • But my wife Helen I will not dismiss.
  • And when he that had said, again sat down.
  • Then Priam rose. Trojans and aids, said he,
  • Now take your supper as you us’d to do,
  • 335And sentinels set, such as careful be;
  • To-morrow I will send Idæus to
  • The Greeks with Paris’ answer, and to try
  • If they from battle for so long will cease,
  • That we may burn our slain men quietly,
  • 340And fight again hereafter when they please.
  • This said, the Trojans to their suppers went.
  • Next morn Idæus found the Argive lords
  • Together met at Agamemnon’s tent,
  • And coming in, unto them said these words:
  • 345Atrides, and you Argives all, I come
  • With terms from Paris, and by Priam sent,
  • On which you may depart from Ilium,
  • And end the war, if thereto you consent.
  • The wealth which he with Helen brought ashore,
  • 350(I would before he brought it he had died)
  • To Menelaus he will give, and more;
  • But his wife Helen shall with him abide.
  • Besides, the people have commanded me
  • To ask you if you will the war suspend,
  • 355Until our dead fetch’d off and burned be,
  • And after fight till Jove the war shall end.
  • So said Idæus. The Greeks silent were
  • Awhile. At last Tydides rose and spake.
  • Let not the Greeks so much the Trojans fear
  • 360As Helen’s goods, or her herself to take
  • At Alexander’s hands. The hour is come
  • (As any child may manifestly see)
  • That must o’erthrow the state of Ilium.
  • So said Tydides, and much prais’d was he.
  • 365Then Agamemnon answer’d to Idæus,
  • You hear what the Argives say. I say the same.
  • As for the dead men, burn them if you please;
  • They’re good for nothing. I contented am.
  • And of this truce let Jove a witness be.
  • 370This said, to Jove his sceptre up he heav’d.
  • Idæus back to Troy went speedily,
  • The answer to relate he had receiv’d.
  • Meanwhile the states of Troy in council sat,
  • And there their herald’s coming back expected.
  • 375Idæus then went in, and told them that
  • The offer made by Paris was rejected,
  • But that a truce was granted for a day.
  • Next morn the Trojans, early as they could,
  • Went some to th’ field to fetch their dead away,
  • 380And others to the hill to fetch down wood.
  • So did the Argives some to Ida go
  • For wood, and others to the bloody field,
  • But could not then distinguish friend from foe.
  • But by and by the sun began to gild
  • 385Scamander’s plain; then wash’d they off the gore
  • And dust, and laid their dead men upon carts.
  • But Priam had forbidden them to roar,
  • Or cry outright, though grieved at their hearts.
  • When they had burnt them, back they went again.
  • 390The Greeks too, when they had consum’d with fire
  • And done their lamentation for the slain,
  • Unto their ships did back again retire.
  • But this th’ Achæans did at break of day,
  • And rais’d one mighty monument for all.
  • 395And the incursion of the foe to stay,
  • Their navy they inclosed with a wall,
  • With turrets high, and a great ditch without,
  • (Upon the sides whereof sharp pales they fix)
  • And gates for char’ots to go in and out.
  • 400And all the day thus toiling were the Greeks.
  • Meanwhile the Gods together sat above,
  • And wond’ring look’d upon this work of men;
  • And Neptune then address’d his speech to Jove.
  • What mortals will the Gods consult again?
  • 405See you not what a wall the Greeks have rear’d,
  • And what a ditch about it made, said he,
  • The fame whereof ’mongst people will be heard
  • As far as the sun-beams extended be?
  • Yet to the Gods they hecatomb gave none.
  • 410Whereas the walls that I and Phœbus rais’d
  • About the city for Laomedon,
  • Obscur’d by this, no longer will be prais’d.
  • Then answer’d Jove. Neptune, I never thought
  • That such a word would e’er have come from you,
  • 415That have the pow’r to bring their work to nought.
  • A lesser God might have complain’d, ’tis true;
  • But of your pow’r Aurora sees no bound.
  • Stay only till the Greeks be gone away;
  • Then break their wall, and throw it to the ground,
  • 420And hide the place with sand. Thus talked they.
  • The sun now set, and finish’d was the wall.
  • The Greeks went back then each man to his tent,
  • And many good fat beeves they made to fall;
  • And wine they had great store from Lemnos sent.
  • 425For ships abundance laden were come in,
  • Which by Euneus (th’ hero Jason’s son,
  • Got on Hypsiphile) thither sent had been,
  • For which the army barter’d. Hides gave one,
  • Another th’ ox itself, another brass;
  • 430One iron, and another gave a slave,
  • Beside what by Euneus given was
  • To the two Atrides of free gift to have.
  • When supper ready was they all sat down,
  • And all night long the feast continued,
  • 435Greeks in their tents, and Trojans in the town.
  • And all night long aloud Jove thundered,
  • Meaning no good to th’ Greeks. Then pour’d they on
  • The ground the offer’d wine, Jove to content,
  • And no man durst to drink till that was done.
  • And when they had well drunk to sleep they went.

  LIB. VIII.

  • The second battle; and the Trojans stay all night in the field.

  • The morning now was quite display’d, and Jove
  • Upon Olympus’ highest top was set:
  • And all the Gods and Goddesses above
  • By his command were there together met.
  • 5And Jupiter unto them speaking said,
  • You Gods all, and you Goddesses, d’ye hear,
  • Let none of you the Greeks or Trojans aid;
  • I cannot do my work for you. Forbear.
  • For whomsoever I assisting see
  • 10The Argives or the Trojans, be it known
  • He wounded shall return and laugh’d at be,
  • Or headlong into Tartarus be thrown,
  • Into the deepest pit of Tartarus,
  • Shut in with gates of brass, as much below
  • 15The common hell, as ’tis from hell to us.
  • But if you will my pow’r by trial know,
  • Put now into my hand a chain of gold,
  • And let one end thereof lie on the plain,
  • And all you Gods and Goddesses take hold;
  • 20You shall not move me howsoe’er you strain.
  • At th’ other end, if I my strength put to’t,
  • I’ll pull you Gods and Goddesses to me,
  • Do what you can, and earth and sea to boot,
  • And let you hang there till my pow’r you see.
  • 25The Gods were out of countenance at this,
  • And to such mighty words durst not reply,
  • Till Pallas said, Well known, O father, is
  • Your mighty pow’r. But do not us deny,
  • When we so many Argives falling see,
  • 30To show we have compassion, and grieve.
  • And though in fight we no assistants be,
  • Yet let us sometimes counsel to them give,
  • Lest in your anger they be all destroy’d.
  • Dear child, said Jove, it goes against my mind.
  • 35I would not have my orders disobey’d.
  • ’Tis granted though. For I’ll to you be kind.
  • This said, he set his horses to his car,
  • Hard hoof’d, swift-footed horses two. Like gold
  • Their manes profound well-combed shined far.
  • 40Then arm’d himself, and on the whip laid hold.
  • No sooner had the horses felt the whip,
  • But up they start, and ’twixt the earth and sky
  • The winds themselves with swiftness they outstrip,
  • And came unto the top of Ida high
  • 45To Gargarus, and there Jove took them out,
  • And hiding them with air on th’ hill sat down;
  • And as he sat he cast his eyes about
  • With great content upon the fleet and town.
  • The Argives at their tents short breakfast make,
  • 50And arm’d themselves as soon as they had done.
  • The Trojans, for their wives’ and children’s sake,
  • (Though fewer) arm’d and made haste to be gone.
  • Then open’d were the gates, and to the field
  • Out came they horse and man; and being met,
  • 55They man to man came up with shield to shield,
  • And spear to spear; and on each other set.
  • Some groan’d, some vaunted, mighty was the din
  • Of those that kill, and those that falling cry.
  • And this condition they continued in
  • 60Until the sun had mounted half the sky.
  • Then Jove took up a pair of scales of gold,
  • And weigh’d the fates of both the nations,
  • And equally suspended them did hold;
  • But not so equal were their inclinations.
  • 65For th’ Argive scale sat still upon the ground,
  • While th’ other lifted was up to the skies.
  • Heaven and earth did then with thunder sound,
  • And Jove threw lightning in the Argives’ eyes,
  • Then all the Greeks amazed ran away.
  • 70Idomeneus and Agamemnon ran;
  • Nor either of the Ajaxes durst stay:
  • Except old Nestor they fled ev’ry man.
  • And Nestor too had fled, had he known how:
  • For of his horses Paris one had shot,
  • 75And pierc’d his forehead just above the brow
  • Into the brain, so that his chariot
  • Now useless was, and the horse troublesome.
  • Then cuts he th’ harness; but so long did stay,
  • That Hector now was almost to him come,
  • 80And th’ old man surely had been cast away,
  • But that Tydides saw him in this pain,
  • And terribly t’ Ulysses cried out,
  • Whether d’ye fly, Ulysses? Come again,
  • Help to defend old Nestor; face about.
  • 85While he said this, Ulysses still ran on,
  • Not minding what he said. And Diomed,
  • To succour Nestor, to him went alone,
  • And with him stood before his chariot’s head,
  • And said, O Nestor, youthful is the foe
  • 90That cometh on, and you now very old,
  • Your charioteer not strong, your horses slow,
  • Come up into my char’ot, and behold
  • My Trojan horses how well they can run
  • When there is cause t’approach or shun the fight;
  • 95From Venus’ son Æneas I them won,
  • A man of much experience in flight:
  • Send back your horses, and with mine we’ll go
  • And fight the Trojans. ’Twill not be amiss
  • To let the mighty champion Hector know,
  • 100A spear as mad is in my hand as his.
  • This said, both Sthen’lus and Eurymedon
  • With Nestor’s horses went to Nestor’s tent:
  • Nestor and Diomed, both mounted on
  • Tydides’ chariot, up to Hector went.
  • 105And when they were to one another near,
  • At Hector Diomedes threw in haste,
  • And miss’d of him, and kill’d his charioteer;
  • Clean through his breast the spear well driven pass’d;
  • Down dead he fell, but Hector lets him lie,
  • 110And turns aside to seek a charioteer,
  • The place of Heniopeus to supply.
  • And Archeptolemus then being near,
  • Call’d up by Hector, on the reins laid hold.
  • Then mighty work and slaughter there had been,
  • 115And Trojans shut like lambs within a fold
  • In Troy, but that it was by Jove foreseen;
  • For in a clap of thunder Jove down threw
  • His bolt at Diomedes’ horses’ feet,
  • And th’ earth with sulphur flaming looked blue.
  • 120Nestor himself astonish’d was to see’t;
  • Lets go the reins, and down the horses fell.
  • And Nestor then to Diomedes said,
  • ’Tis Jove, you see, that doth our force repel,
  • And Hector, for this day, intends to aid.
  • 125Another day to us he will be kind,
  • If he see cause; for no man can him tie,
  • Nor able is to make him change his mind,
  • And therefore now our best course is to fly.
  • ’Tis true, O Nestor, said Tydides then,
  • 130But what a pain then at my heart will lie,
  • When Hector, speaking to the Trojan men,
  • Shall brag he made Tydides from him fly?
  • Then should I wish the earth would swallow me.
  • Though Hector says so, Nestor then replied,
  • 135Believed by the Trojans ’twill not be,
  • So many of them by your hand have died.
  • And at this word his steeds he turn’d about.
  • A show’r of spears then from the Trojans flies,
  • Who them pursued with a mighty shout.
  • 140Then Hector loud unto Tydides cries,
  • Ho! Diomed, by th’ Argives honoured
  • Above the most, serv’d with a greater mess,
  • And higher seat, and wine unlimited,
  • You will hereafter be esteemed less.
  • 145Unmanly Diomed. Fly, baggage, fly;
  • You ne’er shall come within the walls of Troy,
  • To freight your ship with women here; for I
  • Intend to send you first another way.
  • This said, Tydides was awhile in doubt
  • 150Whether to turn or no and Hector meet,
  • And thrice to turn his horses was about,
  • And Jove thrice thund’ring turn’d them tow’rd the fleet,
  • Shewing that he the honour of that day
  • Had granted to the Trojans. Hector then
  • 155Pursu’d them close, and roaring all the way,
  • Trojans, said he, and aids, now play the men,
  • For sure I am that Jove is on our side,
  • And give us will the victory this day.
  • And fools they are that in their wall confide;
  • 160For through their trench our horse shall find a way.
  • When we are at the ships, let one or other
  • Have fire to burn them ready, and then fall
  • Upon the men confounded in the smother.
  • This said, he did upon his horses call,
  • 165Xanthus, Podargus, Æthon, Lampus, see
  • You pay now what you owe me for your meat,
  • Laid in your mangers by Andromache,
  • Who always served you with pleasant wheat,
  • And steep’d sometimes, when she thought fit, in wine;
  • 170And very oft, though I her husband be,
  • Your dinner was made ready before mine.
  • Now, now pursue the Argives lustily,
  • That Nestor’s shield of gold I may obtain;
  • Nor of Tydides’ armour must we fail,
  • 175By Vulcan wrought. If we but these can gain,
  • The Argives will this very night hoist sail.
  • At Hector’s speech Juno upon her throne
  • Unquiet sitting, made Olympus shake;
  • For mov’d she was with his presumption,
  • 180And looking upon Neptune to him spake.
  • Neptune, said she, are you not stirr’d at this?
  • You know at Ægæ, and at Helice,
  • Their liberality abundant is,
  • And sure I am you wish them victory.
  • 185What! cannot we, who with the Argives side,
  • If we our pow’rs together join in one,
  • Drive back the Trojans, and abate their pride,
  • And leave Jove here to sit and chafe alone?
  • Juno, said Neptune, griev’d, these words are bold:
  • 190I’ll not rebel; for we shall have the worst,
  • And so we have by Jupiter been told.
  • Thus Neptune and the wife of Jove discours’d.
  • And now between the walls and ships, the place
  • With horses and with armed men was fill’d,
  • 195And crammed were within a narrow space
  • By Hector, that was master of the field.
  • And had not Agamemnon been inspired
  • By Juno to put courage in his men,
  • The Argive ships had certainly been fired,
  • 200And never had the Greeks gone back again.
  • Then ’mongst the ships he went, and stayed at
  • Ulysses’ ship, which was the middlemost
  • Of all the navy, and the tallest; that
  • He might be heard to both ends of the host,
  • 205Both to Achilles and to Ajax’ tent,
  • Clad in th’ imperial robe, that all might see’t;
  • For these two being the most confident,
  • Had plac’d themselves at th’ utmost of the fleet;
  • And with a mighty voice to th’ Argives cried,
  • 210Disgrace of Greece, mere outsides, where are now
  • Your brags, that any of you durst abide
  • An hundred Trojans, and yet dare not show
  • A face to Hector, who our ships would fire?
  • But this was said at Lemnos in your wine,
  • 215Which rais’d your language than your nature higher;
  • But cooled now the battle you decline.
  • Was ever king afflicted as I am,
  • O Jove, or lost a victory so near?
  • And yet at all your altars as I came,
  • 220My sacrifices duly payed were,
  • In hope that I the town of Troy should sack.
  • But grant at least, O Jove, that we may come
  • Ourselves into Achæa safely back,
  • And not be here destroy’d at Ilium.
  • 225This said, Jove grants them safely to depart,
  • And from him presently his eagle came,
  • And brought the tender issue of a hart,
  • And near unto his altar dropp’d the same.
  • The Argives when they saw the bird of Jove,
  • 230Were to the fight again encouraged,
  • And who should first repass the trenches strove.
  • And he that first came forth was Diomed.
  • And much before that any of the rest
  • Had any slain, he killed Agelaus,
  • 235Whom with his spear he pierc’d from back to breast,
  • When from him he his char’ot turning was.
  • Then Agamemnon came, and Menelaus,
  • And then the greater Ajax, then the less.
  • The sixth the king Idomeneus was,
  • 240And with him came his squire Meriones.
  • And next Eurypylus, Euæmon’s son.
  • The ninth was Teucer with his bow unbent.
  • Hid with the shield of Ajax Telamon
  • His mighty brother, to the field he went,
  • 245Which Ajax lifting, Teucer chose his man,
  • And having at him aim’d, and shot, and kill’d,
  • As children to their mothers, back he ran,
  • And hid himself behind his brother’s shield.
  • How many were the men he killed thus?
  • 250Orstolochus, Ophlestus, Lycophon,
  • And Melanippus, Dætor, Ormenus,
  • And Chromius, and last Amopaon.
  • All those lay dead together on the sands.
  • When Agamemnon saw what work was done
  • 255By Teucer’s arrows on the Trojan’s bands,
  • He to him came, and said, O valiant son
  • Of Telamon, so, so your shafts bestow,
  • Unto the Argives all an honour be,
  • And to your father Telamon; for though
  • 260Unto your mother married not was he,
  • Yet has he still maintain’d you as his own.
  • And if it please Jove and the pow’rs divine
  • To make me once the master of this town,
  • Your share shall be the next set out to mine,
  • 265And to your honour shall receive from me
  • A tripod, and two horses with the car;
  • Or if you will, your bed shall honour’d be
  • With some fair woman taken in the war.
  • Teucer to this then answer made and said,
  • 270Of this encouragement no need have I.
  • Since we came forth I have no time delay’d,
  • But done as much as in my pow’r did lie.
  • Eight shafts already have gone from my bow,
  • And in as many Trojans fix’d have been.
  • 275Of this mad dog I miss I know not how.
  • Then took he out another arrow keen,
  • And aim’d at Hector, but he hit him not,
  • But wounded on the breast Gorgythion,
  • Who on fair Castianira was begot,
  • 280And of King Priam’s valiant sons was one.
  • Who falling on his knees hung down his head,
  • Just as a poppy charg’d with fruit and rain,
  • So had his casque his head o’erburthened.
  • And Teucer then at Hector shot again,
  • 285And miss’d again. Apollo put it by.
  • But Archeptolemus, his charioteer,
  • He missed not. Hector ’scap’d narrowly,
  • And Archeptolemus expired there
  • Shot through the breast. Hector was sorry, but
  • 290Left him. Cebriones chanc’d to be nigh,
  • And in his hands Hector the reins did put,
  • And from his chariot leap’d down suddenly,
  • And took a heavy stone into his hand.
  • Teucer the while again his bow had bent.
  • 295But drawing did so long, and aiming stand,
  • The stone from Hector the arrow did prevent,
  • And near the shoulder on the breast him struck.
  • And broken was the bow-string with the blow,
  • And his benumbed arm all sense forsook,
  • 300And sinking on his knees he dropped the bow.
  • Then Ajax stepp’d before him with his shield.
  • Mecistheus and Alastor him convey’d
  • Unto the Argive ships from off the field,
  • Grievously bruised, groaning and dismayed.
  • 305The courage of the Trojans now renew’d,
  • They chas’d the Argives back unto their wall,
  • And till the trenches they had pass’d, pursu’d,
  • And Hector at their heels the near’st of all.
  • As when a hound pursueth a wild boar,
  • 310Or lion, and presuming on his feet
  • Pinches his haunch or side, and then gives o’er,
  • Not daring if he turn the beast to meet;
  • So Hector chasing them still slew the last.
  • And many of them had the Trojans slain
  • 315Ere they the trenches and the pale had pass’d.
  • But being in they there themselves contain,
  • And comfort one another all they can;
  • And to the Gods and Goddesses they pray,
  • Lifting their hands to heaven every man;
  • 320And Hector then turn’d off and went his way.
  • Which Juno seeing, unto Pallas said,
  • Daughter of Jupiter, do you not see
  • What Greeks one madman, Hector, has destroy’d?
  • Shall we sit still in this extremity?
  • 325To Juno then Athena thus replied,
  • Had not my father’s wits been at a loss,
  • This furious Hector by the Greeks had died,
  • But he my counsel always loves to cross.
  • He has forgot how oft his son I sav’d
  • 330Oppressed by Euristheus’ tyranny.
  • For always when his father’s help he crav’d,
  • Down to the earth from heaven sent was I.
  • But had I known as much as I do now,
  • When for the dog he went to Pluto’s gate,
  • 335He had for me till this time staid below,
  • And by the odious Styx for ever sate.
  • But now he hates me. And by Thetis led,
  • He must Achilles honour. But my hope is,
  • The time will come I shall be favoured
  • 340By him again, and called his dear Glaucopis.
  • But make you ready now your chariot,
  • While I put on my arms; that we may see
  • If Hector will thereof be glad or not,
  • Or if some Trojans rather shall not be
  • 345Left dead for dogs and vultures to devour.
  • Then Juno to her car the horses brought.
  • To Jove’s house Pallas went, and on the floor
  • Threw down her long robe, and put on Jove’s coat.
  • And then her breast with armour covered.
  • 350And on her shoulder hung her fearful shield.
  • Then took her heavy spear with brazen head,
  • Wherewith she breaketh squadrons in the field.
  • Then open of itself flew heaven-gate,
  • (Though to the Seasons Jove the power gave
  • 355Alone to judge of early and of late)
  • And out the Goddesses the horses drave.
  • Then Jove to Iris said, Go, to them speak.
  • Tell them an ill match they will have of me.
  • I’ll lame their horses and their char’ot break,
  • 360Unto the ground they both shall tumbled be;
  • And with my thunder wounded shall be so,
  • That ten years after they shall not be well.
  • For I would have Glaucopis well to know
  • What ’tis against her father to rebel.
  • 365But Juno is so us’d to cross my will,
  • That towards her my anger is the less.
  • Then Iris went her way from Ida hill,
  • And near Olympus met the Goddesses,
  • And as she bidden was did to them speak.
  • 370What fury’s this? Whither d’ye go, said she.
  • Jove will your horses lame, your char’ot break,
  • And to the ground you both will tumbled be,
  • And with his thunder wounded will be so,
  • That ten years after you will not be well.
  • 375For you, Glaucopis, he will make to know
  • What ’tis against your father to rebel.
  • But Juno is so us’d to cross his will
  • That he affronts from her can better bear;
  • But, Pallas, at your hands he takes it ill
  • 380That you should dare against him lift a spear.
  • Iris, her errand done, no longer stay’d,
  • And to Minerva thus said Juno then:
  • Jove shall no more for me be disobey’d,
  • By taking part in war with mortal men.
  • 385But let one live and let another die,
  • As by the chance of war it shall fall out,
  • And let him do what he thinks equity.
  • This said, her chariot she turn’d about.
  • The horses by the Seasons freed and fed,
  • 390The char’ot was set up against the wall.
  • The Goddesses themselves then entered,
  • And took their places in the council-hall
  • With th’ other Gods. And Jove himself from Ida
  • T’ Olympus came, and lighted from his car,
  • 395And Neptune from the same his steeds untied,
  • And set them up, and of them had a care.
  • The chariot he set to the altar near
  • Cover’d with linen fine. Then to his throne,
  • His throne of gold, mounted the Thunderer,
  • 400And made Olympus shake as he sat down.
  • But Juno and Athena silent sat
  • Together by themselves from Jove apart
  • And discontent. But Jove knew well for what;
  • And answer made to what was in her heart.
  • 405Juno, said he, and Pallas, why so sad?
  • Your fight against the Trojans was not long.
  • And more you had been vexed if it had;
  • So much for th’ other Gods I am too strong.
  • The danger scarce begun was when you fled.
  • 410But had you dar’d the battle to maintain,
  • You had been by my hand so thundered,
  • You never had t’ Olympus come again.
  • Juno at this and Pallas grumbling sat,
  • And Pallas from replying did abstain,
  • 415Although no less the Trojans she did hate.
  • But Juno was not able to contain.
  • O cruel Jove, said she, what words are these?
  • Must we unto our friends be so ingrate,
  • Because we know you can do what you please,
  • 420As not the Argives to commiserate?
  • We are content, since you will have it so,
  • No longer in the war to give them aid;
  • But let us give them counsel what to do,
  • Lest in your anger they be all destroy’d.
  • 425Juno, said Jove, tomorrow you shall know
  • If you’ll be pleas’d the battle to behold,
  • How many martial Greeks I’ll overthrow.
  • For Hector shall not be by me control’d
  • Until Achilles be fetch’d back again,
  • 430And at the Argive ships the battle be
  • About the body of Patroclus slain.
  • For so it is ordain’d by destiny.
  • And for your anger, Juno, I not care,
  • Though to the end of earth and sea you go,
  • 435(Where pent Iäpetus and Saturn are
  • In horrid darkness) and complain; yet so
  • I will not for your anger care a jot.
  • For you are grown extremely insolent.
  • Thus Jupiter; and Juno answer’d not.
  • 440Then down the sun into the ocean went,
  • Drawing upon the fields a cloudy night,
  • Which gave the Trojan army no content,
  • But to the Greeks more welcome was than light.
  • The army Hector call’d to parliament,
  • 445And led them to a clean place, free from blood,
  • And there they all on foot about him throng.
  • Hector unto them giving orders stood
  • With spear in hand eleven cubits long.
  • Hear me, you Trojans and you aids, said he,
  • 450I thought we should have now the Greeks destroy’d,
  • And lodged in the town with victory.
  • But this my hope is by the night made void,
  • Nor can we help it. Let us now provide,
  • For supper, beeves and sheep, and wine and bread
  • 455From Troy; and let the horses be untied,
  • And care be taken that they be well fed.
  • Then fetch in wood, and fires abundance make,
  • That with the flame light’ned may be the sky,
  • Lest th’ Argives in the dark advantage take,
  • 460To go aboard and safe to Argos fly.
  • Let them embark at least in haste, and bear
  • Along with them their wounds uncured home,
  • That others who shall see’t may stand in fear,
  • And say, This ’tis to fight ’gainst Ilium.
  • 465And let great boys and old men all night wake
  • Upon the walls and tow’rs, and guards be set,
  • And every wife at home a great fire make,
  • Lest into Troy the foe by treason get.
  • This, valiant Trojans, let be done to-night,
  • 470To morrow I shall further order give.
  • I doubt not but to put these dogs to flight
  • By th’ help of Jove, and Ilium relieve.
  • But while ’tis night have on your guards a care,
  • Tomorrow early arm yourselves for fight.
  • 475For to the Argive ships I’ll bring the war,
  • And trial make of Diomedes’ might,
  • If from the ships he drive me shall away,
  • Or with my spear I him shall overthrow
  • And send his bloody armour into Troy.
  • 480Tomorrow he his strength will better know.
  • I would I were as certain not to die,
  • And of old age live still free from the sorrow,
  • As Phœbus and Athena do, as I
  • Am sure we shall defeat these Greeks tomorrow.
  • 485Thus ended he. The Trojans, full of joy,
  • Their sweating horses soon took out and fed,
  • And some were sent into the town of Troy,
  • To bring in beeves and sheep, and wine, and bread,
  • While others fetch’d in wood. Then to the sky
  • 490Arose the pleasant vapour of the roast.
  • The Trojans confident of victory
  • Sat cheerful at their arms throughout the host.
  • As many stars as in a heav’n serene
  • Together with the moon appear i’ th’ night,
  • 495When all the tops of hills and woods are seen,
  • And joyful are the shepherds at the sight:
  • So many seem’d the fires upon the plain.
  • A thousand fires, and at each fifty men,
  • That by their horses there all night remain
  • Expecting till Aurora rose again.

  LIB. IX.

  • The Greeks deliberate of going home, but are staid by Diomed and Nestor.

  • Thus watch the Trojans kept. But at the fleet
  • Distracted was with fear the Argive host,
  • And their commanders; as when two winds meet,
  • The sea between them into heaps is toss’d.
  • 5And Agamemnon grieved at the heart,
  • Bad th’ heralds forthwith to th’ assembly call
  • The prime commanders ev’ry one apart,
  • And not make proclamation once for all;
  • And some of them himself he summoned.
  • 10When met were all the leaders of the Greeks,
  • They sat them down with hearts discouraged,
  • And tears ran down on Agamemnon’s cheeks.
  • As springs of water issue from a rock,
  • So fell the tears from Agamemnon’s eyes,
  • 15And to th’ assembly thus he weeping spoke.
  • My friends, what help can any man devise?
  • Jove told me I should conquer Ilium,
  • And unto Argos safe return again,
  • And now deceiv’d me has, and sends me home
  • 20With shame when I have lost so many men.
  • And thus he loves to do to show his might.
  • Therefore my counsel, Argives, all obey:
  • Let’s hoist our sails and save ourselves by flight;
  • For we shall never take the town of Troy.
  • 25This said, the princes long time silent sit,
  • At last Tydides rising thus replied,
  • King Agamemnon, so far as ’tis fit
  • In such a public place I must you chide.
  • Take it not ill, because not long ago
  • 30You me with want of courage did upbraid
  • Before the Greeks, as old and young well know.
  • Jove giv’n you has the right to be obey’d,
  • And grac’d you with the title of our king,
  • But has denied you a courageous spirit,
  • 35Which now is the most necessary thing.
  • You think too meanly of your people’s merit.
  • As for yourself, if you will needs away,
  • Go. That’s your way. Your ships there ready lie
  • That from Mycene brought you unto Troy,
  • 40But leave the rest their fortune here to try.
  • If none else stay, yet Sthenelus and I
  • Will not give over fighting till we know
  • To what side Jove will give the victory.
  • The Gods, I’m sure, will favour to us show.
  • 45This speech the lords commended very much.
  • Then Nestor rose, and to Tydides said,
  • There is not of your age another such,
  • For counsel wise, in battle not afraid.
  • None will deny but what you say is right;
  • 50But you have not said all you could have done;
  • And no great wonder, since for age you might
  • (So young you are) have been my youngest son.
  • Yet the advice you given have is best;
  • I that am elder what wants will supply,
  • 55Adding thereto what you have not express’d,
  • To take from Agamemnon all reply.
  • For none but such as have no law, nor kin,
  • Nor house, in civil discord can delight.
  • But let us first our chiefest work begin,
  • 60And make the young men keep good watch all night.
  • And let them all from you, Atrides, take
  • Their orders. For you are our general.
  • And for the princes a good supper make,
  • And all the eldest captains to it call.
  • 65It best becomes you that can do it best.
  • For in your tents of wine you have good store,
  • And easlier provided than the rest,
  • So many ships you have to bring in more.
  • Hear their advice, and do what you think fit.
  • 70Good counsel now we need the most of all,
  • Since our insulting foes so near us sit.
  • By this night’s counsel we must stand or fall.
  • Thus Nestor said, and ’twas agreed upon.
  • The captains of the watch then straight went forth;
  • 75First Thrasymedes, that was Nestor’s son;
  • And after him six captains more of worth,
  • Ascalaphus, and then Ialmenus,
  • Then Aphyres, and then Meriones,
  • And Lycomedes, and Deipyrus:
  • 80The seven captains of the watch were these.
  • And with each one a hundred spearmen went
  • Betwixt the pale and wall, and supped there.
  • And the old leaders t’ Agamemnon’s tent,
  • And by him nobly entertained were.
  • 85But when they had an end made of the feast,
  • Nestor his counsel further open laid,
  • Which formerly had always been the best;
  • And, looking t’ Agamemnon, thus he said.
  • King Agamemnon, I’ll with you begin,
  • 90And with you end, since you the sceptre bear,
  • And in your care it lies to lose or win.
  • You chiefly should good counsel give and hear.
  • Hear then what now is my opinion,
  • Than which a better, I think, you’ll not find,
  • 95Nor is it now the first time thought upon.
  • But heretofore I was of the same mind,
  • When from Achilles you Briseis took,
  • And I advised you to let her stay,
  • Though my good counsel then you could not brook,
  • 100But to your own great heart too much gave way,
  • Dishonouring the man of greatest might
  • In all the army, and most honoured
  • By all the Gods, and, contrary to right,
  • Taking the prize which he had purchased.
  • 105So that the bus’ness we have now to do
  • Is how to reconcile him if we can,
  • What gifts to give him, who shall with them go,
  • And with sweet language pacify the man.
  • This said, Atrides penitent replied,
  • 110O Nestor, all you charge me with is true,
  • And for Achilles’ sake, ’tis not denied,
  • Jove does th’ Achæan army now subdue.
  • He whom Jove loves worth a whole army is.
  • But since I made Achilles discontent,
  • 115I’ll make amends for what I did amiss,
  • And send a noble present to his tent.
  • I’ll name the gifts I’ll give him one by one.
  • Seven fire new trivets. Talents ten of gold.
  • Twenty black cauldrons. Twelve steeds that have won
  • 120Each one their prizes, and yet are not old.
  • A man that hath so many and so fleet
  • I think not poor, but gold may quickly win,
  • When I consider with their nimble feet
  • How many prizes they have brought me in.
  • 125And women seven, the best of women kind
  • For beauty and for works of housewifery.
  • And unto these Briseis shall be join’d,
  • And I’ll be sworn she goes untouch’d from me.
  • And all this shall be sent him presently.
  • 130Hereafter, if we win the town of Troy,
  • Let him, before the prey divided be,
  • Come in and carry to his ship away
  • As much as it can bear of gold and brass.
  • And twenty Trojan women which he please,
  • 135Helen except. But if it come to pass
  • That safe to Argos we repass the seas,
  • My son in law he shall be if he will,
  • And as my son Orestes honour’d be;
  • Within my house three daughters I have still,
  • 140Iphianassa and Laodice,
  • And fair Chrysothemis, take which he list,
  • And to his father’s house convey. For I
  • On settling of estate will not insist,
  • But of my own do that sufficiently.
  • 145Seven cities he shall have: Pheræ divine,
  • Enope, Ire, and Cardamyle,
  • And Pedasus that fertile is of wine,
  • Anthria, Æpia, all on the sea
  • Of sandy Pyle; and rich in sheep and kine
  • 150The people are, and will his laws obey,
  • And tribute pay as to a pow’r divine.
  • All this I’ll give his anger to allay.
  • And this content him may if anything.
  • Inexorable none but Pluto is,
  • 155But hated for’t. I am the greater king,
  • And elder man: he should consider this.
  • Thus Agamemnon. And then Nestor said,
  • The gifts, O king, no man can reprehend.
  • The next thing to be thought upon and weigh’d,
  • 160Is whom we shall unto Achilles send,
  • I think that Phœnix ought to lead the way,
  • Then Ajax and Ulysses, and with these
  • The public heralds two, Eurybates
  • And Odius, and here no longer stay

  • Ambassadors sent with gifts to reconcile Achilles in vain.

  • 165Than to bring water for our hands, that we
  • May first send up our prayers unto Jove,
  • That our embassage may successful be.
  • This said by Nestor, all the rest approve.
  • When water was brought in they wash’d and pray’d;
  • 170The young men fill’d the temperers with wine;
  • And round about the full cups were convey’d,
  • And offer’d up unto the powers divine.
  • When they had offer’d, and drunk what they would,
  • And parting were from Agamemnon’s tent,
  • 175Old Nestor to instruct them how they should
  • Achilles best persuade, out with them went.
  • And one by one advis’d them what to say,
  • Especially Ulysses. Then they went
  • Saying their prayers to Neptune all the way,
  • 180Until they came unto Achilles’ tent.
  • Who sitting, in his hand had a guitar
  • To pass the time, and sung unto the same
  • The noble acts that had been done in war
  • By th’ ancient heroes, men of greatest fame.
  • 185Patroclus sat before him, looking when
  • He should have done. Ulysses then led in
  • Ajax and Phœnix. And Achilles then
  • Leap’d up as one that had surprised been.
  • And them receiving kindly to them said,
  • 190Welcome, my friends, whate’er your bus’ness be.
  • To see you I am not a little joy’d,
  • Although th’ Achæans have provoked me.
  • And to his friend Patroclus order gave,
  • A larger temperer, said he, set up,
  • 195For these the dearest friends are that I have.
  • Pure be the wine, and give each man a cup.
  • Patroclus did so. And sets on a pot
  • Upon the flaming fire, and puts into’t
  • A good sheep’s chine, another of a goat,
  • 200Besides the chine of a fat boar to boot.
  • The blood boil’d out, Automedon it takes
  • And holds it to Achilles to divide,
  • Who of it many equal portions makes.
  • Patroclus makes a fire of wood well dried;
  • 205And when the flame was spent, the coals he rakes
  • Till they lay even; then the meat he spits
  • And roasts; and when ’twas roasted up it takes,
  • And on clean dresser-boards the same he sets;
  • And brought, in baskets, to the table bread;
  • 210And by Achilles was set on the meat.
  • Who when he saw the table furnished
  • Over against Ulysses took his seat,
  • And bade Patroclus sacrifice, who then
  • The first cut took and threw into the fire,
  • 215And freely to their meat then fell the men.
  • But when of food they had no more desire,
  • Then Ajax Phœnix jogg’d, which was the sign
  • When to begin, for which Ulysses staid.
  • Ulysses then fill’d up his cup with wine,
  • 220And speaking to Achilles, thus he said.
  • All health t’Achilles. Noble is your fare,
  • And by Atrides treated well we were.
  • Your tables plentifully furnished are,
  • But that’s not it for which we now are here.
  • 225Our ships in danger are to be destroy’d;
  • The Trojans are encamped near our wall.
  • Unless you condescend to give us aid,
  • By Hector they are like to perish all;
  • Who threatens he will set them all on fire,
  • 230And is encourag’d to’t by signs from Jove.
  • To see the morning rise is his desire,
  • And feareth neither men nor pow’rs above.
  • And like a dog enrag’d, and looking grim,
  • Assures the Trojans he our ships will burn,
  • 235And either put us for our lives to swim,
  • Or never to Achæa to return.
  • I am afraid the Gods perform it will,
  • And so to perish here will be our fate.
  • Rise, then; if but a little you sit still,
  • 240All you can do for us will come too late.
  • And then I am assured you will grieve,
  • When remedy there can be none, in vain:
  • Therefore, while yet you can, the Greeks relieve;
  • Your father’s counsel call to mind again.
  • 245My son, said he (when you took leave for Troy),
  • May Juno and Athena strengthen you.
  • But this one lesson take from me. I pray
  • Remember still your anger to subdue;
  • Decline all contestation of the tongue,
  • 250And let your conversation gentle be;
  • So shall you win the hearts of old and young
  • In the Achæan host. Thus counsell’d he.
  • Though you have this forgot, yet now be friends,
  • And since he sorry is, forget th’ offence,
  • 255And take the gifts he offers for amends,
  • Which we esteem a worthy recompence.
  • I’ll name the gifts he offers one by one.
  • Seven fire-new trivets. Talents ten of gold.
  • Twenty black cauldrons. Twelve steeds that have won
  • 260Their sev’ral prizes, and yet are not old.
  • A man that has so many and so fleet
  • I think not poor, but gold will quickly win,
  • When I consider with their nimble feet
  • What prizes to Atrides they brought in.
  • 265And seven fair women, best of all the kind
  • For beauty and for works of housewifery,
  • And unto these Briseis shall be join’d;
  • And swear he will she is from blemish free.
  • And all this shall be sent you presently.
  • 270Hereafter, if we take the town of Troy,
  • You may, before the prey divided be,
  • Come in and carry to your ship away
  • As much as it can bear of gold and brass;
  • And twenty Trojan women which you please,
  • 275Helen except. But if it come to pass
  • That safe to Argos we get o’er the seas,
  • His son in law you shall be if you will,
  • And as his son Orestes honour’d be.
  • Within his house three daughters he hath still,
  • 280Iphianassa and Laodice,
  • And fair Chrysothemis, take which you list,
  • And to your father’s house convey her; he
  • On settling of estate will not insist,
  • But of his own do that sufficiently.
  • 285Seven cities you shall have. Phæræ divine,
  • Enope, Ire, and Cardamyle,
  • And Pedasus that fertile is of wine,
  • Anthria, Æpia, all on the sea
  • Of sandy Pyle; and rich in sheep and kine
  • 290The people are, and will your laws obey,
  • And tribute pay as to a pow’r divine.
  • All this he’ll give your anger to allay.
  • And though Atrides and his gifts you hate;
  • Honour’d you are by th’ other Argives all,
  • 295And should have pity on their sad estate,
  • Who in such numbers before Hector fall;
  • Whom you may have the honour now to kill;
  • For now he will your spear no longer shun,
  • But stand you in the open field he will;
  • 300For’mongst the Greeks he thinks there’s like him none.
  • To this Achilles answer’d, and thus said,
  • Ulysses, I perceive I must be plain.
  • For if I be not so, I am afraid
  • I shall be put to speak my mind again.
  • 305But to prevent more importunity,
  • What once I say I’ll do. Those men I hate
  • Whose tongues and hearts I find to disagree,
  • As much as I abominate hell-gate.
  • I will no more persuaded be to fight
  • 310By Agamemnon or by any Greek,
  • Since they my labour do so ill requite,
  • And they that fight, and fight not fair alike.
  • For good and bad are equal when they die.
  • Then for my pain and danger in the wars,
  • 315What more than any other man have I?
  • With me as with a bird i’ t’ field it fares,
  • That to her unfledg’d young ones bringeth meat.
  • She has it in her mouth and hungry is,
  • Yet she forbears and gives it them to eat.
  • 320With the Atrides twain my case is this,
  • In blood by day I lead a weary life,
  • And sleepless am the great’st part of the night.
  • And why? That Menelaus may win his wife
  • Achilles must against the Trojans fight.
  • 325I did so; and from Troy twelve cities won
  • Upon the shore, i’ th’ land eleven more,
  • And all the prey I sent to Atreus’ son,
  • Wherein of precious treasure was great store.
  • A small part he divided ’mongst the host.
  • 330Somewhat he gave for honour to the best;
  • But to himself made sure to keep the most.
  • And firm is whatsoe’er he gave the rest;
  • From none but me his gift he takes away.
  • I am content, and let him keep her still
  • 335And her enjoy. But why then came to Troy
  • Atrides with such strength? What was his will?
  • Was it not only for fair Helen’s sake?
  • What then must no man love his wife but they?
  • Yes, all men of their own wives much should make,
  • 340If they have either wit or honesty.
  • And I love mine as well as he loves his,
  • Although she be my captive. But since she
  • By Agamemnon from me taken is,
  • Ne’er think, Ulysses, to prevail with me.
  • 345He shall not twice deceive me. But provide,
  • Ulysses, that your ships not burned be.
  • I know a wall, a ditch pal’d, deep and wide,
  • Is made by Agamemnon without me.
  • But all this will not Hector long keep out.
  • 350But with the Greeks when I went to the fight
  • He never durst to show his face without
  • The Scæan gate, save once. And then by flight
  • He ’scap’d. And since I am no more his foe,
  • To morrow to the Gods I’ll sacrifice,
  • 355And launch and lade my ships, and homewards go.
  • And you shall see me, e’er the sun shall rise,
  • Upon the Hellespont if you think fit,
  • And how my lusty Myrmidons can row.
  • And so, if Neptune please, the wind may fit,
  • 360As in three days we may to Phthia go,
  • Where treasure plenty I behind me left:
  • And now shall carry thither gold and brass,
  • Iron and women fair, although bereft
  • Of her that given me by Atrides was.
  • 365Tell him all this, and speak it openly,
  • Lest other Greeks put up the like disgrace.
  • As for myself, though impudent he be,
  • He dares no more to look me in the face.
  • I will no more in battle or advice
  • 370With Agamemnon join. Let him be glad
  • He could deceive me once. He shall not twice.
  • There let him rest. The Gods have made him mad.
  • I hate his gifts. And him I value not.
  • Though he would twenty times as much bring forth
  • 375As now he has, or to him shall be brought,
  • Or all that which Orchomenus is worth,
  • Or Thebæ, that Egyptian town that can
  • Send twenty thousand chari’ts to the field,
  • And all provided well with horse and man;
  • 380Yet so I will not t’ Agamemnon yield;
  • No, nor for gold so much as here is sand,
  • Till he has smarted for this injury,
  • Nor any wife will I take at his hand
  • Though she should fairer much than Venus be.
  • 385Nor though she could like Pallas work, or better,
  • I’ll not his daughter take. Bid him bestow her
  • Upon some prince he thinks more worthy. Let her
  • For husband have a king of greater power.
  • For if the Gods to Hellas bring me home,
  • 390Peleus will there provide me of a wife.
  • King’s daughters, not a few there are, of whom
  • I shall choose one, and with her lead my life,
  • And with my father live contentedly.
  • For all the wealth of stately Ilium,
  • 395Which they enjoyed in tranquillity
  • When yet the Argives were not hither come,
  • And all Apollo’s sacred treasury
  • Laid up at Pytho, is not price enough
  • The life of any man though poor to buy.
  • 400Horses, and kine, and sheep, and household stuff,
  • May be recover’d, but man’s life cannot.
  • My mother Thetis told me as my end,
  • That if I fight ’gainst Troy, ’twill be my lot
  • To die there, but that Fame would me commend.
  • 405But on the other side assured me,
  • That if ’gainst Ilium I warred not,
  • But back to Phthia went, my fate would be
  • Long time to live, and after be forgot.
  • And I advise you and the rest to sail
  • 410As soon as may be to your native land;
  • For you will not at Ilium prevail,
  • Since Jupiter protects it with his hand.
  • And now go tell the princes what I say,
  • That they may better counsel take to save
  • 415Their ships and men by sea, because the way
  • Which now they take no good effect will have.
  • Let Phœnix, if he will (not else), stay here.
  • This said, th’ ambassadors were mute, and sorry
  • They from him could no better answer bear,
  • 420Than a denial, flat and peremptory.
  • At last unto Achilles Phœnix spake;
  • If you, said he, resolv’d are to be gone,
  • And leave the war for Agamemnon’s sake,
  • In what estate shall I be here alone?
  • 425When you to Agamemnon first were sent,
  • You were a child, and understood not war,
  • Unable to say clearly what you meant,
  • Which the first principles of honour are.
  • And by your father I was with you sent,
  • 430To show you how you were to speak and do.
  • So that if you to go be fully bent,
  • You need not doubt but I shall be so too,
  • And should be though I were as young as when
  • I Hellas left, and from my father fled,
  • 435Amyntor, son of Orminus, who then
  • A concubine had taken to his bed;
  • My mother, to the end to make her hate
  • In such a way the old man’s company,
  • Was with me oftentimes importunate
  • 440To court her, and I did thereto agree,
  • And got her love. Which when my father knew,
  • He fell into a mighty passion,
  • And many bitter curses on me threw,
  • And pray’d the Gods I ne’er might have a son.
  • 445His pray’r by Pluto and by Proserpine
  • Was heard, and I no longer would abide
  • At home; but cross’d awhile was my design,
  • By friends and nephews that my purpose spy’d,
  • Who pray’d me and retain’d me with good cheer;
  • 450Many good kine they kill’d and lusty sheep,
  • And many swine were daily singed there,
  • And much wine spent, and nightly watch they keep
  • By turns nine nights together; and fires twain.
  • One in the court against my chamber-door,
  • 455Another in the porch they kept in vain.
  • For on the tenth the court-wall I leapt o’er
  • And undiscerned to king Peleus fled,
  • Who us’d me as a father would his son,
  • His only son far off begot and bred;
  • 460Enrich’d, and gave me the dominion
  • Of the Dolopians, who are a part
  • Of Peleus’ realm. · Now, no man like you is,
  • Divine Achilles, whom I love at th’ heart,
  • And joy that I have brought you up to this,
  • 465Though painful to me were your infancy,
  • Who not at feast nor in the house would eat,
  • If first I did not set you on my knee,
  • And into little pieces cut your meat.
  • And often on my breast you puk’d your wine.
  • 470But since I knew my line with me would end,
  • To take you for my heir was my design,
  • Who in my feeble age might me defend.
  • Master your heart, Achilles; for you know
  • The Gods, though stronger and more fear’d than you,
  • 475With incense and with pray’rs are made to bow,
  • Although from men they not receive their due.
  • For Prayers of high Jove the daughters are,
  • Though lame their feet, and squinting be their eyes;
  • And follow Wrath (though she runs faster far),
  • 480And to the hurt she does give remedies,
  • And cure all those that show them due respect.
  • But when an angry man they cannot move,
  • That reconcilement always will reject,
  • They call for judgment from their father Jove.
  • 485Therefore, Achilles, give respect unto
  • These Goddesses, the daughters of high Jove,
  • As other mighty men and princes do.
  • Had not Atrides, to redeem your love,
  • Offer’d you presents great, and promised more,
  • 490I never had advis’d you to agree
  • To save their ships from burning on the shore.
  • Till that were done you could not blamed be.
  • But since he does so amply make amends,
  • And chosen has good men to intercede,
  • 495Who are of all the Greeks your greatest friends,
  • Refuse them not the grace for which they plead,
  • Such was the hero’s custom heretofore,
  • When one had done another injury,
  • The damage they had done first to restore,
  • 500And then with gifts and pray’rs buy amity.
  • But I will tell you how it came to pass
  • At Calydon long since, not yesterday,
  • War ’twixt the Curets and th’ Ætolians was,
  • These to defend, the other to destroy.
  • 505For Œneus having got his harvest in,
  • To all the Gods made a great sacrifice;
  • Only Diana had no part therein,
  • Forgot she was; he did not her despise.
  • But she in anger sent a great wild boar,
  • 510That wasted and made havoc of his field,
  • And up by the roots, his goodly fruit-trees tore.
  • This boar Meleager, son of Œneus kill’d,
  • Assisted by the youth of many a state
  • That to the chase with men and hounds came in.
  • 515Between them then Diana rais’d debate
  • About who was to have the head and skin.
  • While Meleager with them went to war,
  • The Curets never durst approach the wall,
  • Although they were the greater number far.
  • 520But when with choler swelled was his gall,
  • (Which often happens to a man, though wise)
  • He kept his chamber and abstain’d from fight,
  • Offended with his mother’s injuries,
  • And of all company eschew’d the sight,
  • 525But Cleopatra, consort of his bed,
  • Child of Marpissa, who (by stealth) was bride
  • Of Idas, who at that time carried
  • For strength the reputation far and wide.
  • This Idas’ child was Meleager’s wife.
  • 530But Idas rashly for his dear wife’s sake
  • Against Apollo did engage his life,
  • And him at bow and arrows undertake.
  • But Cleopatra then surnamed was
  • Halcyone, that was not so before
  • 535Her father with Apollo fought, because
  • She did her mother’s death so much deplore.
  • With her now grieving Meleager lay,
  • And angry at the curses of his mother;
  • Who to the Gods continually did pray
  • 540Against his life for killing of her brother;
  • And from her eyes the tears ran down her breast,
  • And often with her hand the ground she smote.
  • Making to Pluto and his queen request
  • To kill her son; which they rejected not.
  • 545Meanwhile the uproar heard was at the gates,
  • And thumping of the tow’rs of Calydon.
  • To Meleager then came priests and states
  • Intreating him his armour to put on,
  • And save the town, and offer’d for his pain,
  • 550As much good land (so take it where he would,
  • One half for wine, the other half for grain)
  • As fifty able oxen labour could.
  • Then came his father rattling at his door,
  • His brothers, and his angry mother too:
  • 555But he persisted in his will the more;
  • His dearest friends could with him nothing do.
  • But when the cry and danger now was nigher,
  • And on the tow’rs the Curets mounted were,
  • And ready now to set the town on fire,
  • 560Then Cleopatra to her husband dear
  • Show’d th’ image of a town won by the foe.
  • How butcher’d are the men, the houses burned,
  • Their wives and children dragg’d away; and so
  • Her husband’s heart again to pity turned.
  • 565Then went he and repell’d the enemies,
  • Though what they promis’d him they never gave.
  • But that’s not it to which I you advise;
  • But first the ships, and then the Greeks to save;
  • But not without these gifts to go to war:
  • 570For more unto your honour it will be
  • To give them aid when satisfied you are,
  • By Agamemnon for the injury.
  • Thus Phœnix said. Achilles then replied,
  • Such honour I seek none. Jove honours me,
  • 575Since by his will I at my ships abide,
  • And will do till I dead or strengthless be.
  • No more molest me for Atrides’ sake,
  • But stay with me, and equal to me reign,
  • And such as are my friends for your friends take,
  • 580And do not lose my friendship his to gain.
  • Stay, then, this night, and take your lodging here;
  • My answer t’ Agamemnon these will carry;
  • As soon as morning shall again appear,
  • We’ll talk of whether we shall go or tarry.
  • 585And as he spake those words, he wink’d upon
  • Patroclus to give order for his bed,
  • That he himself prepare might to be gone.
  • Amongst them then great Ajax spake and said,
  • Ulysses come, our labour here is lost;
  • 590Let’s carry back his answer, such as ’tis,
  • To Agamemnon and the Argive host,
  • Who us expect, since obstinate he is,
  • And can a thought so savage entertain,
  • Unkind and unregardful of his friends,
  • 595When others for a son or brother slain
  • Can be contented to receive amends,
  • And let the man that slew him live in rest,
  • As soon as they have paid for their misdeed.
  • But you, Achilles, harbour in your breast
  • 600An everlasting anger without need,
  • And hurtful to your friends no less than foes,
  • For ’tis but for one maid he took away;
  • And for her now he seven on you bestows,
  • And much beside, your anger to allay.
  • 605Regard your house. We your domestics are,
  • Nearer than any of the Greeks beside,
  • And in your honour more concern’d by far.
  • Thus Ajax said. Achilles then replied,
  • O Ajax, noble son of Telamon,
  • 610I not deny but all you say is well;
  • But always when that man you mention,
  • My choler rising, makes my heart to swell.
  • He made me has to th’ Argives despicable,
  • As if I were a fool or inmate who
  • 615Of honour in a town is incapable,
  • And with the public nothing has to do.
  • Go, therefore, let Atrides know my mind.
  • I will no more against the Trojans fight,
  • Till Hector at my tents and ships I find,
  • 620And th’ Argive fleet be flaming in my sight.
  • For if he come unto my ships, I think,
  • Keen as he is, I shall his fury stay.
  • This said, unto the Gods above they drink,
  • And then they with his answer went away.
  • 625Patroclus then gave order for a bed
  • With woolly cov’rings soft and linen fine
  • For Phœnix, where he lay till day was spread.
  • But with Achilles slept a concubine,
  • Fair Diomeda, whom he brought away
  • 630From Lesbos when he had that city sack’d.
  • And in another part Patroclus lay,
  • Nor he a beautiful bed-fellow lack’d,
  • Fair Iphis, whom Achilles gave him when
  • He newly rifled had the town of Scyros,
  • 635And now th’ ambassadors were come again,
  • And to them store of people flock, desirous
  • To hear the news, and wine unto them brought.
  • But Agamemnon first inquir’d and said,
  • Ulysses, will he save the fleet or not,
  • 640Or is his choler not to be allay’d?
  • And he Achilles’ answer then related.
  • The man, said he, retains his anger still.
  • And now ’tis greater rather than abated,
  • And says, tomorrow put to sea he will.
  • 645And your alliance and your gifts rejects,
  • And says he would advise us to go home;
  • Since Jupiter himself the town protects,
  • He says in vain we stay at Ilium.
  • And bids you order take to save the fleet.
  • 650Thus said he, as these know as well as I,
  • Ajax and both the heralds, men discreet,
  • Who all the while he spake were standing by,
  • And Phœnix too. But he lies there all night,
  • That o’er the sea together they may go,
  • 655If Phœnix will, as soon as it is light;
  • But forc’d is not whether he will or no.
  • When thus Ulysses ended had his story,
  • All silent were awhile and much dismay’d
  • With his denial flat and peremptory.
  • 660At last Tydides to them spake and said,
  • O king Atrides, we have done amiss
  • With gifts and prayers thus to seek his aid,
  • That proud before, by this made prouder is.
  • Let him go when he will. Be not afraid,
  • 665But let’s refresh ourselves tonight with bread
  • And wine; for that gives men both strength and heart,
  • And see your men i’ th’ morn embatteled,
  • And at the head of them do you your part.
  • This said, the princes of the host admired
  • 670The gallant speech of valiant Diomed:
  • And every one unto his tent retired,
  • With a good will to sleep, and went to bed.

  LIB. X.

  • Encounter of the scouts by night.

  • All night the princes of the Argives slept,
  • Save Agamemnon, who could take no rest,
  • But with unquiet thoughts was waking kept,
  • And casting for his safety what was best.
  • 5And frequent as the lightning flashes are
  • When Jove is making rain or hail i’ th’ skies,
  • Or somewhere punishing the proud by war;
  • So frequent then were Agamemnon’s sighs.
  • And when the fires he saw upon the plain
  • 10Made by the foe, and th’ acclamation
  • And shouts he heard, he wondered. But again
  • When he his ships and people look’d upon,
  • Then by the roots he pluck’d off from his head
  • Handfuls of hair, and sigh’d and groaned more;
  • 15And thought it best then to be counselled
  • By Nestor how he might himself restore.
  • And rising up, his coat he first puts on,
  • And to his smooth white feet his shoes he tied;
  • And then, above his coat, he cast upon
  • 20His back a great and tawny lion’s hide.
  • And Menelaus, too, that waking lay
  • And trembling in his bed all night, for fear
  • The Greeks that for his sake were come to Troy
  • Should fall into some great disaster there,
  • 25Rose up and to his brother’s tent went in.
  • A spear he had in’s hand, and armed was,
  • Having upon his back a leopard’s skin,
  • And on his head a helmet good of brass.
  • And said to Agamemnon, Brother, why
  • 30So early up? Have you a mind to send
  • Into the army of the foe some spy?
  • I fear you will not find so bold a friend
  • As thither dares to go i’ th’ night alone.
  • Brother, said Agamemnon, you and I
  • 35Must better counsel take than we have done,
  • Since Jove now favoureth the enemy,
  • And takes in Hector’s sacrifice delight.
  • For so much harm so soon was never done,
  • As he to us has done in one day’s fight;
  • 40Yet nor of God nor Goddess is the son.
  • His this day’s acts the Greeks will ne’er forget.
  • But go you to the princes quickly. Run.
  • Call up Idomeneus the King of Crete,
  • And the great Ajax son of Telamon,
  • 45While I call Nestor up and bring him to
  • The place which is appointed for the guard,
  • T’ instruct the men with what they have to do,
  • Because his counsel they will most regard.
  • For by his son the watch commanded is,
  • 50And with him we Meriones have join’d.
  • Then Menelaus farther ask’d him this,
  • That he might fully understand his mind,
  • When they are call’d, what next is to be done?
  • Must I stay here till you come back again,
  • 55Or after you about the army run?
  • No, no, said he, where you are now, remain.
  • But going call upon each one aloud,
  • And by the name he from his father takes,
  • And praise them all, let them not think you proud;
  • 60Pain is no shame when ’tis for our own sakes.
  • This said, they part, and Agamemnon went
  • To seek out Nestor; whom he found a-bed,
  • And all his armour by him in his tent,
  • His shield, two spears, and helmet for his head,
  • 65And belt of many colours finely wrought,
  • Which always he was wont in war to use
  • When he his people unto battle brought.
  • No labour would he on his age excuse.
  • Now raised on his elbow, Who, said he,
  • 70Are you that walk abroad when others sleep?
  • Stay there, I say, and come no nearer me;
  • Until your name you tell, at distance keep.
  • Seek you some officer or camerade?
  • I Agamemnon am, said he, your friend,
  • 75Whom Jove to bear such miseries hath made,
  • As while I live will never have an end;
  • And in my bed no sleep at all I take
  • For fear of some unfortunate event.
  • Unsettled is my heart, my limbs all shake,
  • 80And in this plight I wand’red to your tent:
  • And now, I pray you, since you waking lie
  • Come with me to the watch; for since the foe
  • Unto our wall encamped is so nigh,
  • They charge us may by night for aught we know.
  • 85To this old Nestor answer made and said,
  • Think not, Atrides, Jove will all things do
  • As they are now in Hector’s fancy laid?
  • For harder work he would be put unto
  • If we Achilles can but once appease.
  • 90But go, I’ll follow you, and call upon
  • Tydides and Ulysses if you please,
  • Ajax the less, and Meges Phyleus’ son.
  • I wish some other man of nimbler feet
  • Were to great Ajax sent to make him rise,
  • 95And to Idomeneus the King of Crete,
  • Whose quarter from this place a great way lies.
  • But Menelaus I intend to chide,
  • That sleeps and leaves the work to you alone.
  • ’Tis no fit time within his tent t’ abide,
  • 100But to the princes should himself have gone.
  • To Nestor Agamemnon then replied,
  • O Nestor, he is often negligent,
  • And often I have pray’d you him to chide.
  • Yet ’tis not sloth; but my commandement
  • 105He always looks for, though there be no cause.
  • And yet tonight he has prevented me.
  • For up and arm’d before me now he was;
  • And when he came I sent him presently
  • To call up Ajax and the King of Crete.
  • 110And at the watch we both of them shall see,
  • Where I appointed have the rest to meet.
  • Nestor again replied. ’Tis well, said he,
  • The Greeks will of him have a better thought,
  • And readier obedience he will find.
  • 115This said, he put himself into his coat,
  • And tied his shoes on, and his cloak well lined,
  • And took his spear in hand. Then on they went
  • Among the Argive ships upon the sand.
  • And when they came unto Ulysses’ tent,
  • 120To call and waken him, they made a stand.
  • And Nestor, with his voice stretch’d to the height,
  • Call’d to him by his name. Ulysses straight
  • Came forth and said, Why come you in the night?
  • Your bus’ness sure must be of mighty weight.
  • 125O Laërtiades, said Nestor then,
  • Take it not ill. Such is our misery.
  • But come with us to call up other men,
  • That we may counsel take to fight or fly.
  • Ulysses then return’d into his tent,
  • 130And on his shoulders hung his painted shield;
  • And with them first to Diomed he went,
  • Whom they found armed in the open field,
  • His soldiers sleeping lay about him round,
  • And on his buckler each one had his head,
  • 135The butt-ends of their spears fix’d in the ground,
  • Whereof the points like lightning glittered.
  • But he himself slept on a good cow-hide,
  • His head upon a gaudy carpet laid.
  • Then Nestor came and standing at his side
  • 140Awak’d him with his foot, and to him said,
  • Awake, Tydides, hear you not how nigh
  • The Trojans are encamped to the fleet?
  • This said, Tydides leap’d up suddenly,
  • And when he raised was upon his feet,
  • 145Nestor, said he, unhappy restless man,
  • That aged as you are take not your ease,
  • When younger men there are that better can
  • Call up the Argive princes if they please.
  • ’Tis true, said Nestor, I have at my tent
  • 150Sons of my own, and others can command,
  • Who might upon such errands have been sent,
  • But that upon the very brink we stand
  • Of life and death. And since you pity me,
  • Call little Ajax up, and Phyleus’ son.
  • 155For young you are, and can do’t easily.
  • Tydides then a lion’s skin puts on
  • Tawny and reaching to his heels, and then
  • Into his hand he took a heavy spear,
  • And out he went and called up those men.
  • 160When to the watch they come together were,
  • The captains of the watch were not asleep,
  • But all were sitting at their arms awake.
  • As dogs that guarding are a fold of sheep
  • Hearing the noise the hounds and hunters make,
  • 165When in the woods they chase some savage beast,
  • And nearer still and nearer hear the cries,
  • They doubt the worst, and cannot take their rest,
  • But list’ning stand and sleep forsakes their eyes;
  • So watchfully spent they the tedious night,
  • 170And ever when of feet they heard the tread
  • ’Twixt them and Troy, that way they turn’d their sight;
  • So much they Hector’s coming on did dread.
  • When Nestor coming by, observ’d them had,
  • So, so, said he, brave lads, continue so,
  • 175And give no cause to Hector to be glad.
  • He and the princes then together go
  • (All that to counsel had been made to rise,
  • Except Meriones and Nestor’s son,
  • Whom they thought worthy with them to advise)
  • 180And part the ditch, and sitting down upon
  • The place to which they were pursued before
  • By Hector, who retiring thence, left clear
  • The ground from dead men’s carcasses and gore,
  • Of what they next should do consulted there.
  • 185First Nestor spake. Who dares (said he) to go
  • Unto the Trojan camp that lies so near,
  • And kill, or bring thence some outlying foe?
  • Or what they shall resolve upon to hear?
  • Whether (since they have worsted us) to stay
  • 190So near us, or retire into the town.
  • If this he do and safely come away,
  • He to himself acquire will great renown,
  • And by each one that has of ships command,
  • He for his service shall be well requited.
  • 195Each one an ewe and lamb shall give him, and
  • He to our public feastings be invited.
  • This said, they paus’d awhile, but by and by
  • Tydides rising spake. Nestor, said he,
  • To go into the Trojan camp dare I.
  • 200But ’twould be best some other went with me,
  • More hope and courage is where there are two;
  • What one observeth not the other may.
  • A man alone can little see or do,
  • And single judgments see but little way;
  • 205At these words many with him would have gone,
  • Ajaxes, both the greater and the less,
  • And stout Antilochus, old Nestor’s son,
  • And Menelaus and Meriones.
  • But most of all Ulysses long’d to see
  • 210What projects in the Trojan camp were laid.
  • For none adventure farther durst than he.
  • Then to Tydides Agamemnon said,
  • Tydides, whom I love, now choose your man;
  • Regard not birth nor sceptres, but the cause.
  • 215Take him that you think best assist you can,
  • And this he said in fear for Menelaus.
  • To this Tydides answer made again,
  • Since of my fellows I the choice must make,
  • Ulysses I prefer before all men,
  • 220And him for my assistant I will take;
  • So much in diligence he doth excel,
  • And so much care Athena of him has,
  • That I believe we both should come off well
  • Though through a flaming fire we were to pass.
  • 225Then, said Ulysses, Speak no more of me,
  • Nor good nor ill. The Argives know me well.
  • Let’s go. Two-thirds o’ th’ night are spent, you see,
  • As any man that sees the stars can tell.
  • Then put they on their arms. And Thrasymed
  • 230Gave Diomed a sword (who had forgot
  • To bring his own), and to defend his head
  • A leather cap without crest, call’d a pot.
  • Meriones unto Ulysses gave
  • His bow and quiver, sword and dogskin cap,
  • 235Pleated with thongs within, his head to save
  • If need should be in combat, from mishap.
  • For ’twixt the leathers tough inserted were
  • Guards of thick felt; of boar’s teeth was the brim.
  • Eleon was the first that did it wear,
  • 240But taken by Autolycus from him,
  • And given ’twas unto Amphidamus,
  • Which he to Molon gave that was his guest,
  • And to Meriones then left it was,
  • And now upon Ulysses’ head did rest.
  • 245And being both thus armed, forth they went
  • And by the way a heron dexter flew,
  • A lucky sign, and by Athena sent,
  • As by the sound made by her wings they knew.
  • Ulysses then unto the Goddess pray’d,
  • 250Hail virgin daughter of almighty Jove,
  • That all my labour seest, and giv’st me aid,
  • Now more than ever let me find your love.
  • Grant me that I some good exploit may do
  • To vex the Trojans, and come safe from thence.
  • 255And then Tydides pray’d unto her too.
  • Celestial maid, that with my father went’st
  • When he ambassador to Thebes was sent
  • With words of peace, and coming back achieved
  • By your assistance and encouragement
  • 260Such noble acts as scarce will be believed,
  • If you will aid me as you aided him,
  • O Goddess, I will to you sacrifice
  • A heifer, and with gold her horns I’ll trim.
  • This said, their suit the Goddess not denies.
  • 265When their devotion now was at an end,
  • Away they went, ’mongst carcases and blood,
  • Like lions that on slaughter love t ’attend.
  • Nor Hector and the Trojans idle stood,
  • But call’d a council of the chiefs, and said,
  • 270Who’s he will undertake what I’ll propound,
  • And for his pains be honourably paid,
  • And for his valour far and near renown’d?
  • I give him will two horses and a coach,
  • The best that shall be taken from the foe,
  • 275That will unto the Argive fleet approach,
  • And bring me word what they intend to do;
  • Whether their ships they guard as heretofore,
  • Or mean to quit the siege at Ilium.
  • And beaten thus, haul down their ships from shore,
  • 280And ere their work be finished, go home.
  • This said, they silent sat. But one there was,
  • Dolon by name, the squire Eumedes’ son,
  • That master was of store of gold and brass,
  • A sorry fellow, but that well could run.
  • 285Hector, said he, I’ll to the fleet approach.
  • Swear now by Jove, and hold your sceptre high,
  • I shall Achilles’ horses have and coach,
  • And I for you will be a faithful spy.
  • For down to Agamemnon’s tent I’ll go,
  • 290Where they consult whether to fight or fly:
  • For there their resolution I shall know.
  • Then Hector held his sceptre up on high.
  • O Jove, betwixt us witness bear, said he,
  • No Trojan shall these horses have but you,
  • 295And yours they shall perpetually be.
  • Thus Hector swore, although it prov’d not true.
  • Upon his shoulder then his bow he hung.
  • His cap of cat, a wolf’s skin was his coat.
  • And when he gotten clear was from the throng,
  • 300With spear in hand he fell into his trot.
  • And first Ulysses heard the sound of feet.
  • I hear one come, said he to Diomed,
  • Perhaps a spy that sent is to our fleet,
  • Or one that has a mind to strip the dead.
  • 305’Tis best t’ avoid him till he past us be,
  • And then to follow him and drive him on.
  • But lest he swifter be of foot than we,
  • And to the city back again should run,
  • Rise and be sure to turn him with your spear.
  • 310And when he was a land’s length past them gone
  • They follow’d him. And he their feet did hear,
  • And thought some Trojans had been coming on
  • By Hector sent to call him back again.
  • But when they from him were scarce a spear’s cast,
  • 315He knew then they were Agamemnon’s men,
  • And frighted was; and then his feet mov’d fast.
  • As two hounds in a wood obscure and dim
  • Pursue a fearful doe or hare, just so
  • Tydides and Ulysses hunted him,
  • 320When back into the herd he could not go.
  • When Dolon to the watch was very near,
  • Athena puts into Tydides’ head,
  • That some man else might at him throw a spear,
  • And be thereby before him honoured.
  • 325To Dolon then Tydides spake, and said,
  • Stay, or my spear shall make you stay; for long
  • I am assur’d you cannot death avoid.
  • And as he spake the word, his spear he flung,
  • And miss’d on purpose, but it lighted near.
  • 330Dolon affrighted, pale and trembling stands,
  • And in his head chatter’d his teeth with fear.
  • Then in they came and seiz’d on both his hands;
  • And Dolon weeping, then for quarter pray’d,
  • Great ransom for me will my father give,
  • 335For gold he has enough; and will, he said,
  • Give any price, when here he knows I live.
  • Then to him said Ulysses, Do not fear,
  • Nor think of death. But see you tell me true
  • Upon what weighty bus’ness you are here,
  • 340When others sleep, and at a time undue.
  • Meant you to rifle any of the dead?
  • Or were you sent by Hector as a spy,
  • Or undertook the same of your own head?
  • T’ Ulysses Dolon then did thus reply:
  • 345I was by Hector’s promises set on,
  • And should have had Achilles’ chariot
  • And horses, if I to the fleet had gone.
  • And good intelligence to Hector brought,
  • Whether the ships be guarded as before,
  • 350Or that the Greeks now beaten mean to fly,
  • And weary of their labour, watch no more.
  • To this again Ulysses made reply,
  • And smiling said, It was no small reward
  • You aimed at. Achilles’ horse, ye say?
  • 355To rule them for a mortal man ’tis hard.
  • The Goddess Thetis’ son they’ll scarce obey.
  • But tell me further; when you came away,
  • Where you left Hector, where his horses are,
  • And where his arms; where other Trojans stay
  • 360To sleep or watch, and whether they prepare
  • To go into the town, or mean t’ abide
  • Always so near our ships as they are now.
  • T’ Ulysses Dolon then again replied,
  • This also I will let you truly know.
  • 365I Hector left at Ilus’ sepulchre
  • With other lords in consultation,
  • The rest about the bonfires waking were.
  • But certain watch appointed there was none;
  • But those confederates that came from far
  • 370Slept at their ease all night and watched not;
  • For that they trusted to the Trojans’ care,
  • Having no wives nor children with them brought.
  • Ulysses then examin’d him again,
  • How lie the strangers? mix’d with those of Troy,
  • 375Or by themselves? Inform me and be plain.
  • Nothing, said Dolon, but the truth I’ll say.
  • Pæans, Pelasgians, Caucons, Leleges,
  • And Cars lie by the sea-side on the sands,
  • The rest near Thymbra quarter, and are these;
  • 380The Mæons, Mysians, Lycians, Phrygians.
  • But there’s no need to tell you ev’ry thing;
  • For if upon our quarters you would fall,
  • There lie the Thracians new come, and their king,
  • Rhesus by name, and utmost lies of all.
  • 385Such horses yet I never did behold,
  • Swift as the wind, and than the snow more white,
  • With silver cover’d is his car, and gold;
  • Gold are his arms, and make a gallant sight,
  • And fitter for a God than man to wear.
  • 390But try now whether I say true or no,
  • And send me to the ships, or bind me here.
  • Then said Tydides with a frowning brow,
  • Think not to ’scape, though all you say be true;
  • For if I let you loose, for aught I know,
  • 395You may return again to fight or view;
  • But hurt us cannot if I kill you now.
  • As Dolon then beginning was to pray,
  • Tydides’ sword lighted on’s neck so just,
  • That from his shoulders fell his head away
  • 400As he was speaking, and lay in the dust.
  • And from him then they took his cap of cat,
  • His spear, and wolf’s skin coat, and bow unbent,
  • And in his hands Ulysses took all that,
  • And to Minerva up his prayer sent.
  • 405Hail Pallas, whom we pray’d to for success
  • Before all other Gods, receive these gifts,
  • And us unto the Thracian tents address.
  • This said, the spoils of Dolon up he lifts,
  • And lays them in a tree; and for a mark,
  • 410They near the way laid store of boughs and reeds
  • To find them coming back, because ’twas dark.
  • Then with Tydides onward he proceeds,

  • The surprise of Rhesus.

  • And ev’ry step on arms or blood they tread,
  • And soon amongst the Thracians they were,
  • 415That sleeping lay, as if they had been dead,
  • And by each one his buckler and his spear.
  • Their horses to the chariot seats were tied.
  • Thus in three rows the Thracians were laid,
  • Rhesus i’ th’ midst; which first Ulysses spied,
  • 420And to Tydides speaking softly, said,
  • See there the horses, and see there the man
  • Rhesus, of whom we were by Dolon told.
  • Untie the horses; or kill all you can,
  • And I upon the horses will lay hold.
  • 425Tydides then, made by Minerva bold,
  • Amongst them killing went, and never staid
  • (Like lion fierce in a neglected fold)
  • Till he a dozen of them dead had laid.
  • And whomsoever Diomedes slew,
  • 430Ulysses following took him by the foot,
  • And from the place a little way him drew,
  • For fear the steeds, not yet accustom’d to’t,
  • Should boggle, tremble, and refuse to pass.
  • To Rhesus last of all went Diomed,
  • 435And kill’d him too. So he the thirteenth was.
  • And panted as he slept; for at his head
  • He dreamt Tydides all night standing was.
  • Ulysses to the horses went; and now
  • Seiz’d, and their heads together tied has:
  • 440But for a whip he made use of his bow.
  • And gotten forth, whistled to Diomed
  • To come away, who gave no ear thereto,
  • But staying with himself, considered
  • What further hurt he might the Trojans do.
  • 445To draw away the chariot by the pole,
  • Wherein the golden arms of Rhesus lay,
  • Or thence upon his shoulders bear the whole;
  • Or whether he more Thracians should destroy.
  • While thus he studied, Pallas by him stood.
  • 450Contented be, said she, with what is done.
  • To go unto the ships I think it good,
  • For fear you thither should be forc’d to run.
  • Some other God awake the Trojans may.
  • This said, that Pallas to him spake he thought,
  • 455And from the Thracian quarter came away,
  • And on one of the horses’ backs he got,
  • And tow’rds the ships at full speed then they ride,
  • Ulysses with his bow still switching on;
  • But Phœbus with Tydides Pallas spy’d,
  • 460And angrily call’d up Hippocoon;
  • Who, when he came and empty saw the ground
  • Where th’ horses stood, and dy’d with blood the field,
  • And sprawling in their blood the Thracians found,
  • Ay me, said he, they have my uncle kill’d.
  • 465The Trojans then in haste and frighted rise,
  • And at the place in great disorder meet,
  • And gaze upon the mischief with their eyes,
  • But they that did it fled were to the fleet.
  • When flying they were at the tree, where lay
  • 470The spoils of Dolon, there awhile they tarry,
  • Until Tydides fetch’d them had away,
  • And to Ulysses given them to carry,
  • And mounted was upon his horse again.
  • Again Ulysses switch’d them tow’rds the fleet;
  • 475And when they near it were, old Nestor then,
  • Who was the first that heard the horses’ feet,
  • Cried out, The sound of horses’ feet I hear;
  • I wish Ulysses ’twere and Diomed.
  • But somewhat else and worse it is, I fear;
  • 480So many sad mishaps run in my head.
  • He scarce had spoken this but they came in.
  • When they alighted were and welcomed
  • With hands and speeches of their friends had been,
  • Then Nestor thus Ulysses questioned:
  • 485Ulysses, glory of the Greeks, said he,
  • Whence are these horses, beauteous as the sun?
  • Won from the Trojans? But that cannot be;
  • For such amongst the Trojans I saw none,
  • Though I amongst them were in ev’ry fight.
  • 490Or given by the Gods? which may be true;
  • For both of you are gracious in their sight,
  • And Jove and Pallas have a care of you.
  • O noble Nestor, said Ulysses then,
  • Gods can give better horses if they please;
  • 495For richer much are they than mortal men.
  • Tydides from a king of Thrace took these,
  • Who was come newly to the Trojans’ aid;
  • And slain him has, besides a dozen more,
  • And besides these a spy that them betray’d,
  • 500By Hector sent your purpose to explore.
  • This said, Ulysses with much people went
  • Triumphing, and the milk-white horses drove
  • Over the trenches to Tydides’ tent.
  • There sets them up, and wheat unto them gave;
  • 505But Dolon’s spoils astern his ship he plac’d,
  • Preparing for Athena’s sacrifice.
  • And then into the sea they went and wash’d
  • The sweat from off their shoulders, legs, and thighs,
  • And after bathe, and ’noint themselves with oil;
  • 510That done, they sit down to their meat and dine;
  • And being thus refreshed from their toil,
  • Unto the Goddess Pallas offer wine.

  LIB. XI.

  • The third fight.

  • Aurora rising from Tithonus’ bed,
  • Before both Gods and men to hold her light,
  • Eris from Jove the signal carried
  • Unto the Argive fleet of bloody fight.
  • 5And down unto Ulysses’ ship she went,
  • That was the middlemost and high’st of all,
  • That heard she might be to Achilles’ tent,
  • And Ajax’s, that they might hear her call.
  • At th’ outsides of the fleet they quarter’d were;
  • 10For they upon their prowess most relied:
  • Then Eris with her voice the air did tear,
  • And horribly to the Achæans cried,
  • Come quickly forth into the field and fight;
  • Be bold, Achæans; to the battle come.
  • 15Encourag’d thus, the Greeks took more delight
  • In staying at the war than going home.
  • Fellows, to arms, then Agamemnon cried,
  • And to put on his arms the first man was.
  • His leg-pieces he down to th’ ankles tied
  • 20With silver buckles, leg-pieces of brass;
  • And then puts on an armour on his breast,
  • That had been given him by Cinyres,
  • (His ancient acquaintance and his guest,)
  • Whilst he preparing was to pass the seas:
  • 25For long before the Greeks for Troy set sail,
  • Their purpose was at Cyprus known by fame,
  • And thinking such a gift might him avail,
  • In kindness t’ Agamemnon sent the same.
  • The colour was by pales distinguished,
  • 30Ten black, twelve gold, and twenty were of tin:
  • And in it three black serpents figured,
  • As if they creeping were unto his chin.
  • Their sides like rainbows look’d, which in the sky
  • Are shown by Jove for men to wonder at.
  • 35Then from his shoulder down upon his thigh
  • He hung his sword. Studded with gold was that.
  • Then took his shield which finely varied was;
  • Bossed in twenty places with white tin;
  • And round about them were ten orbs of brass;
  • 40And black the circle was enclos’d within.
  • Then Gorgo painted was with killing eyes,
  • And with her standing Terror and Affright:
  • His belt of silver was, and to the skies
  • Returned back again the glitt’ring light.
  • 45Wound up lay on it painted a great snake,
  • Which had three heads, and crowned was each one.
  • And last into his hand two spears did take,
  • Having his helmet on his head put on.
  • Thus Agamemnon armed was. And then
  • 50Juno and Pallas both rais’d such a sound
  • (To honour him before the Greeks) as when
  • A man that’s slain falls suddenly to th’ ground.
  • Then every one unto his charioteer
  • Commandment gave upon the ditch to stay
  • 55And ready be. The foot all armed were,
  • And forth into the field were march’d away.
  • But soon again the horses with them stood.
  • Then Jove amongst them Noise and Tumult sent;
  • And mingled was the morning dew with blood,
  • 60For on that day much blood was to be spent.
  • Upon a rising ground now Hector was,
  • Æneas with him, and Polydamas,
  • And three sons of Antenor, Acamas,
  • Agenor, Polybus, and th’ army was.
  • 65And Hector with a round shield at their head,
  • As when a star does through the clouds appear,
  • And presently again is covered;
  • Sometimes i’ th’ front was, sometimes in the rear
  • Giving command; his arms like lightning show.
  • 70As mowers standing one rank ’gainst another,
  • A field of barley or of wheat to mow;
  • So Greeks and Trojans mow down one the other.
  • On neither side thought any man of flight,
  • But like to wolves on one another fly,
  • 75In number equal; and gave great delight
  • To Eris, who (and no God else) was by.
  • The other Gods stayed on Olympus Hill,
  • Within whose folds they dwell, and murmur’d at
  • Their father Jove for bearing such goodwill
  • 80To Ilium. But he car’d not for that.
  • And by himself he from them went; and then
  • Took pride to see the Greeks and Trojans fight,
  • And look on killing and on dying men,
  • And of their arms to see the flashing light.
  • 85Now all the while that mounting was the sun,
  • The number slain on both sides was the same;
  • But when the woodman half his work had done,
  • And willingly unto his dinner came,
  • The Greeks then brake the Trojan ranks, and on
  • 90Fell Agamemnon, and Bienor slew,
  • Both him and Ocles his companion,
  • That drove the horses which the chariot drew.
  • He lighting and assailing him was slain;
  • And Ocles had no time his spear to throw:
  • 95For Agamemnon’s spear had pierc’d his brain,
  • Passing both through his helmet and his brow.
  • These there he left, stript both of arms and coat,
  • And Antiphus and Isus then drew near,
  • Both Priam’s sons, one legal, th’ other not,
  • 100Upon one seat, and Isus charioteer.
  • Once by Achilles taken were these men,
  • As they were feeding sheep on Ida’s hills,
  • And for their ransom were set free again;
  • But both of them now Agamemnon kills.
  • 105For Isus’ breast he pierc’d through with his spear;
  • The other with his sword he overthrew,
  • And seen him had when he was prisoner.
  • And that ’twas Antiphus (when stript) he knew.
  • As when a lion with his mighty teeth
  • 110Crusheth the tender issue of a hind,
  • Which the affrighted dam stands by and seeth,
  • And grieveth, but no remedy can find;
  • And skipping in the woods for shelter seeks
  • To save her own life; so the Trojans fled,
  • 115Pursu’d by Agamemnon and the Greeks,
  • And thought not on their fellows they left dead.
  • T’ Hyppolochus then comes he and Pisander,
  • Sons of Antimachus, a person noted
  • For having gold receiv’d of Alexander,
  • 120And for it in the common council voted.
  • And these two Agamemnon took alive;
  • For by mischance the reins slipp’d from their hands,
  • And then they saw it was in vain to strive,
  • And Agamemnon now before them stands.
  • 125Then as they sat together on one seat,
  • Save us (said they) Atrides, let us live,
  • For we redeem’d shall be with ransom great,
  • Our father for us what you please will give.
  • Are you Antimachus’s son, said he,
  • 130That gave advice to murder Menelaus,
  • Contrary to the laws of honesty,
  • When of the Greeks ambassador he was,
  • And with Ulysses sent into the town?
  • You for your father’s evil deed must pay.
  • 135Then from his car Pisander he struck down;
  • With breast pierc’d through upon his back he lay.
  • Hyppolochus was lighted and on foot,
  • And with the sword of Agamemnon slain,
  • Who cuts his head off, and his hands to boot,
  • 140And then upon the Trojans press’d again.
  • And great the slaughter was of them that fled,
  • And wonderful the dust that raised was;
  • And both the field and army covered,
  • Forc’d up by troops of horses shod with brass.
  • 145As boughs fall in a wood that’s set on flame,
  • And shaken by the violence of wind,
  • So fast unto the ground the Trojans came,
  • When Agamemnon follow’d them behind.
  • And many horses made their chariots rattle,
  • 150Which empty ran about when no man drives.
  • For they that drove them fall’n were in the battle,
  • A lovelier sight to vultures than their wives.
  • But Hector was by Jove set out of sight
  • Of all this dust and slaughter and disorder:
  • 155But Agamemnon still with all his might
  • Pursuing killed, and to kill gave order.
  • Then they that were encamp’d at Ilus’ tomb
  • Retir’d in haste unto the sycamore,
  • Half the plain over towards Ilium,
  • 160And after them Atrides, covered o’er
  • With blood and dust. But when the Trojans were
  • Got back unto the beech near Scæa gate,
  • Awhile they for their fellows stayed there,
  • Who swiftly ran, fearing to come too late.
  • 165As when a lion falleth in the night
  • Upon a herd of kine, and one must die,
  • And all the rest are put into a fright,
  • So Agamemnon made the Trojans fly;
  • And all the way he went the hindmost kill’d.
  • 170And from their cars some forward fell, and some
  • Upon their backs, and lay dead on the field.
  • But when unto the wall they near were come,
  • Then Jove came down to Ida from the sky
  • With thunder in his hand, and t’ Iris said,
  • 175Go, Iris, quickly, and tell Hector I
  • Command him Agamemnon to avoid
  • As long as in the front he raging is,
  • And let the fight by others manag’d be.
  • But when he Agamemnon wounded sees,
  • 180And leave the field, I’ll give the victory
  • To him, and he shall put them all to flight,
  • And to the fleet go killing all the way,
  • Until the sun be set, and dark the night.
  • This said, away she went without delay;
  • 185And down from Ida came to Ilium,
  • And finding him upon his car, To you
  • From Jove (said she) O Hector, I am come
  • To warn you Agamemnon to eschew,
  • As long as in the front he raging is.
  • 190And let the fight by others manag’d be;
  • But when by spear or bow he wounded is,
  • And leaves the field, he’ll give the victory
  • To you, and you shall put them all to flight,
  • And to the fleet go killing all the way,
  • 195Until the sun be set, and dark the night.
  • Having thus said, she did no longer stay.
  • Then Hector armed, leap’d unto the ground,
  • And with two spears well pointed in his hand
  • Exhorting went about the army round.
  • 200Their faces then the Trojans turn, and stand.
  • The first that did advance Atrides was.
  • But tell me, Muse, who first came in his way?
  • One of Antenor’s sons, Iphidamas,
  • That was brought up in Thrace (though born at Troy)
  • 205By Cisseus, who his mother’s father was,
  • From childhood till to man’s estate he came,
  • And made his son in law. But then, because
  • The coming of the Greeks was known by Fame,
  • Was thence, although but new espoused, sent
  • 210To th’ aid of Priam and his sons at Troy,
  • And at Percopa landing t’ Ilium went,
  • And now was standing in Atrides’ way.
  • First Agamemnon threw his spear and miss’d:
  • Iphidamas then at Atrides threw,
  • 215And hit his belt, which did the stroke resist,
  • For massy silver was the belt and true,
  • And bent the point as if it had been lead.
  • Then Agamemnon with his sword came on,
  • And smote him on the neck, and laid him dead.
  • 220Thus died Iphidamas, Antenor’s son:
  • And much to be lamented was his case,
  • That far from his espoused virgin wife,
  • Without receiving from her any grace,
  • Should fighting for his country lose his life.
  • 225He given for her had a thousand kine,
  • And promis’d sheep and goats a thousand more.
  • Now slain, and stript was of his armour fine
  • By Agamemnon, and triumphed o’er.
  • But Coön then, Antenor’s eldest son,

  • Agamemnon wounded.

  • 230Incensed by his brother’s death, came in,
  • And pierc’d Atrides’ arm close by the bone,
  • (Unseen) the elbow and the wrist between.
  • Then cold was Agamemnon’s heart with fear,
  • But gave not over. For as Coön drew
  • 235His brother off, he came on with his spear,
  • And with a thrust beneath his shield, him slew,
  • And, on his brother, then cuts off his head.
  • Thus these two brothers finished their fate.
  • Atrides still the slaughter followed
  • 240With spear, and sword, and stones of mighty weight,
  • Not giving over whilst the wound was warm.
  • But when ’twas cleans’d, and stayed was the blood,
  • So cruel then the pain was in his arm,
  • That on the ground no longer stay he could.
  • 245Then, mounted on his chariot, he said,
  • Drive to the ships; for he was in great pain.
  • And on the princes then the charge he laid,
  • The fight against the Trojans to maintain.
  • My friends, said he, ’tis your part now to stay
  • 250The fury of the Trojans from our ships;
  • Since Jove not suffers me to fight all day.
  • This said, the charioteer his horses whips,
  • Which when they felt, away they swiftly went,
  • And stain’d with sweat and powder of the plain,
  • 255Brought wounded Agamemnon to his tent,
  • From off the field bestrew’d with bodies slain.
  • As soon as Hector saw Atrides gone,
  • Now Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, he cried,
  • Now charge the Greeks with resolution,
  • 260For he is gone on whom they most relied,
  • And Jove assures me that the day is mine.
  • This said, like hounds encourag’d by the hunter
  • Against a lion or a tusked swine,
  • The Trojans boldly marched to th’ encounter,

  • The Greeks beaten to their camp.

  • 265And on them fell, with Hector at their head.
  • And as a down-right wind the sea, so he
  • The Argive ranks and files disordered,
  • And them that fled pursued furiously.
  • But tell me, Muse, whilst Hector, Priam’s son,
  • 270By Jove assisted, did the Greeks pursue,
  • And great renown amongst the Trojans won,
  • Who and how many were the men he slew.
  • Assæus first, and then Antonous,
  • Oplites, Dolops, and Ophelitus,
  • 275And then Æsymnus, and Agelaus;
  • Then Orus, and the last Hipponous.
  • All these were princes in the Argive host.
  • But look how many are the drops of dew,
  • When into th’ air the sea by winds is tost,
  • 280So many private soldiers Hector slew.
  • And then incurable their loss had been,
  • And fled had to their ships the Greeks, dismay’d,
  • Had not Ulysses then the same foreseen,
  • And to Tydides, not far from him, said,
  • 285Tydides, to what purpose stand we here?
  • Come hither, man, and stand close to my side,
  • To let our ships be lost great shame it were.
  • Tydides to Ulysses then replied,
  • Yes, yes, Ulysses, I will with you bide,
  • 290Though we shall take but little pleasure here,
  • For Jove I see inclineth to their side.
  • This said, he at Thymbræus threw his spear,
  • Which lighting on his left pap pierc’d him through.
  • Ulysses slew Molion, Priam’s man;
  • 295Upon the field unstript they left these two,
  • And then into the Trojan throng they ran,
  • (Whilst th’ other Greeks from Hector swiftly fly)
  • Like two wild boars that turn upon the hounds,
  • That know they may upon their strength rely,
  • 300And scatter ’mongst the Trojans death and wounds.
  • And there two valiant sons of Merops kill’d,
  • As they together on one chariot sate.
  • This Merops was in prophecy well skill’d,
  • And bade them stay, and told them had their fate.
  • 305But the two forward youths would not obey,
  • But led unto the war by destiny,
  • Unluckily came in Tydides’ way,
  • Where by his hand their fortune ’twas to die.
  • Hippodamas was by Ulysses kill’d,
  • 310As also was Eypirichus; and now
  • None knew who had the better in the field
  • But Jove, who looked on from Ida’s brow.
  • And then Agastrophus, King Pæon’s son,
  • Was by Tydides wounded in the thigh,

  • Diomed, Machaon, Ulysses, and Eurypylus wounded.

  • 315And would have fled, but horses he had none,
  • His man that held them for him was not nigh.
  • Yet fought he ’mongst the foremost till he died.
  • This Hector saw, and towards Diomed
  • His horses turn’d, and to the Trojans cried,
  • 320Come, follow me, and they all followed.
  • And Diomed, as soon as he saw this,
  • Though chill with fear, unto Ulysses said,
  • To us this plaguy Hector rolling is;
  • But stand, and let him see we’re not afraid.
  • 325This said, he straight at Hector threw his spear,
  • Which hit his helmet, but glanc’d from the brass,
  • And never to his tender skin came near:
  • This helmet given him by Apollo was.
  • But stunn’d he was, and resting on his knees,
  • 330He kept himself from falling with his hand.
  • Dark are his eyes, nothing at all he sees,
  • And for a while unable is to stand.
  • But whilst Tydides on the plain advanced,
  • To get into his hand again the spear,
  • 335Which from the place he aim’d at far was glanced,
  • Hector was mounted, and his senses clear.
  • Tydides then upon him look’d, and said,
  • Thou dog, escap’d an evil death thou hast;
  • And twice been saved by Apollo’s aid,
  • 340But sure I shall dispatch thee at the last,
  • For of a God I also have the aid.
  • But now to other Trojans I’ll go on,
  • Such as shall come into my way. This said,
  • Away he went to strip King Pæon’s son.
  • 345And then, as Diomed was taking from
  • Agastrophus the armour of his breast,
  • Paris, that leaning stood at Ilus’ tomb,
  • To him an arrow unperceiv’d addrest,
  • Which hit him on the foot above the toes,
  • 350And to the ground clean thorough went the shaft.
  • Then openly into the field he goes,
  • And coming nearer to him spake, and laugh’d.
  • Ye’re hit, said he, Tydides. Would it had
  • Been on your belly, that you might have died;
  • 355The Trojans would of that been very glad,
  • That are so often by you terrified.
  • Proud, boasting archer, said Tydides, know,
  • If in your armour you before me stood,
  • To try your valour and your force, your bow
  • 360And arrows would not do you any good.
  • You value such a scratch as this too much.
  • The weapons of the strengthless blunted are:
  • Mine is not so; but whom it does but touch,
  • His wife lamenting tears her cheeks and hair;
  • 365His children orphans are; and red the ground
  • Whereon he rotting lies; and vultures more
  • Than women standing by him will be found.
  • Ulysses then, that near him was before,
  • Stepp’d in, and stood betwixt him and his foes
  • 370Whilst from his foot the arrow he pull’d out.
  • Then to his char’ot up Tydides goes,
  • And left the field where he had nobly fought.
  • And now Ulysses left was all alone,
  • For from him all the rest were fled for fear,
  • 275And then unto himself he made his moan.
  • Ay me, said he, what now shall I do here?
  • Though many be the foes, ’tis ill to fly,
  • But yet, since Jove saves all the rest by flight,
  • It would be worse if I alone should die.
  • 380But why dispute I, when I ought to fight?
  • None but a coward from the fight will run.
  • But he that honour loves will stand his ground,
  • And be content with what he cannot shun,
  • Whether it be to give or take a wound.
  • 385While thus Ulysses argued in his mind,
  • Hector was near him, and enclos’d him had
  • With targetiers before him and behind,
  • Whereof they had no reason to be glad.
  • As when the hounds by hunters are set on
  • 390A wild boar as he comes out from the wood,
  • He whets his teeth, they from him will not run;
  • Even so Ulysses ’mongst the Trojans stood;
  • Where by him slain first Deiopites was,
  • And Thoon then, and Eunomus he kill’d;
  • 395And after these he slew Chersidamas,
  • As from his car he lighted in the field.
  • Then leaving these, slew Charops with his spear,
  • Socus, his brother Hippasus his son.
  • Then Socus to him came, and standing near
  • 400Unto Ulysses, with a speech begun.
  • Ulysses, much renown’d for craft and pain,
  • This day you either must the honour wear
  • Of having Hippasus his two sons slain,
  • Or lose your own life, wounded by my spear.
  • 405Then threw his spear, and pierc’d Ulysses’ shield,
  • His breast-plate, and his coat, and tore his skin.
  • But Pallas him preserv’d from being kill’d;
  • For to the vital parts it went not in.
  • Ulysses knew the wound not mortal was;
  • 410Made a step back, and then to Socus said,
  • Fool that thou art, that wouldst not let me pass
  • On other Trojans, hast thyself destroy’d,
  • I do not think you shall this hour outlive,
  • But from my spear’s sharp point receive your death,
  • 415And unto me more reputation give,
  • And leave your soul unto the pow’rs beneath.
  • Then Socus turn’d himself about to fly,
  • But overtaken by Ulysses’ spear,
  • That pierc’d him back and breast, he fell down dead.
  • 420Then scornfully Ulysses did him jeer.
  • O Socus, gallant man at arms, said he,
  • By death prevented is your enterprise;
  • Your eyes shall not by parents closed be,
  • But shall be pecked out by crows and pyes.
  • 425Then from his shield and body he pull’d out
  • The spear which at him was by Socus thrown.
  • The blood then from the wound did freely spout,
  • Which when the Trojans saw, they straight came down
  • And all together tow’rds him went the rabble.
  • 430Then he retir’d, and as he going was,
  • Thrice called out, as loud as he was able,
  • For help; and thrice was heard by Menelaus,
  • Who t’ Ajax said, Ulysses’ voice I hear,
  • And like the voice of one that is distrest.
  • 435He hemm’d in by the Trojans is, I fear;
  • Come, let us to him go, and do our best
  • To fetch him off. For valiant though he be,
  • I fear, unless we aid him with great speed,
  • He by the Trojans will be slain, and we
  • 440Lose a good man, of whom we oft have need.
  • Then up they went, and found him by the foes
  • Environ’d round. As when a stag is shot
  • By some young man, he swiftly from him goes
  • Whilst strong his knees are, and his blood is hot.
  • 445But when he by the arrow tamed is,
  • The wolves feed on him in the gloomy wood;
  • Then comes the lion, and the prey is his.
  • About Ulysses so the Trojans stood,
  • Till Ajax, with a target like a tower,
  • 450Came to his aid; then sev’ral ways they fled.
  • Ulysses, now no longer in their power,
  • Was from the field by Menelaus led,
  • And mounted on his chariot again.
  • But on went Ajax, and slew Pandocus,
  • 455King Priam’s son, and wounded three good men,
  • Lisander, Pylartes, and Pyrasus.
  • Then as a river coming to the plain,
  • And swell’d by Jupiter with show’rs of rain
  • More than the banks are able to contain,
  • 460Bears oaks and pines before it to the main,
  • So Ajax charg’d the Trojan troops. But this
  • Hector knew nothing of; for far off now
  • Upon Scamander’s banks he fighting is,
  • And to the ground doth many an Argive throw.
  • 465There was the noise, there aged Nestor stood,
  • And there Idomeneus, with their steeds.
  • And Hector, that the use well understood
  • Of spears and horses, there did mighty deeds.
  • And yet the Greeks retir’d not; nor had done
  • 470If Paris had not with an arrow smote
  • Machaon on the shoulder to the bone.
  • Three-forked was the arrow which he shot;
  • And mightily the Argives were afraid
  • Since now the foe prevail’d, he would be slain.
  • 475To Nestor then Idomeneus said,
  • O Nestor, to your char’ot mount again,
  • And with Machaon make haste to the ships.
  • A surgeon many other men is worth.
  • For many other men alive he keeps
  • 480By making salves and drawing weapons forth.
  • Then Nestor mounteth and the horses whips,
  • Which they no sooner feel than they are gone,
  • And quickly brought unto the hollow ships
  • Machaon Æsculapius his son.
  • 485Mean while Cebriones, the chari’teer
  • Of Hector, saw the Trojans were distress’d,
  • And to him said, To what end stay we here,
  • Since yonder by the Greeks our friends are press’d?
  • ’Tis Ajax that disorders them, I see;
  • 490I know him by the largeness of his shield.
  • Now where they fighting are most furiously,
  • Let us go down to that side of the field.
  • This said, he crack’d his whip, his horses ran
  • Unto the place where greatest was the cry,
  • 495O’er many a shield, and over many a man
  • That gasping on the bloody field did lie.
  • The horses’ bellies and the char’ot wheels
  • And axletrees with blood were cover’d o’er,
  • Forc’d up in drops by the swift horses’ heels.
  • 500And Hector rushing in, their battles tore.
  • But Hector still took heed of Ajax’ spear.
  • And fought in other places of the field.
  • But Ajax, struck by Jupiter with fear,
  • Amazed, at his shoulder hung his shield;
  • 505And staring on the foe awhile he stood,
  • Then turn’d and softly from them went away.
  • As when a lion coming from the wood
  • Down to a pasture, on a cow to prey,
  • Is hu’d by dogs and peasants in the night,
  • 510And hungry sometimes goes and sometimes stands,
  • But cannot have his will for all his might,
  • So many spears are flying from their hands,
  • And flaming brands which put him in a fright,
  • Keen as he is, then sullenly he goes
  • 515Back to the wood and comes no more in sight;
  • So then retired Ajax from his foes.
  • Or as an ass, in spite of many boes,
  • Is got into the corn, and there abides,
  • Though they upon him fall with blows and noise,
  • 520And many cudgels break upon his sides,
  • For he the force of boys but little feels,
  • He hardly will be driven out though fill’d,
  • And now and then kicks at them with his heels:
  • So Ajax at the last went off the field,
  • 525By Hector and the Trojans still pursu’d,
  • Upon his shield receiving many a spear;
  • Sometimes his back, sometimes his face he show’d,
  • So that they could not to the ships come near.
  • Thus he between the Greeks and Trojans stands,
  • 530While spears abundance at him hurled were;
  • Some in his shield stuck, driven by strong hands,
  • Some on the ground fell short and fix’d were there.
  • But then Eurypylus, Euæmon’s son,
  • That saw him thus oppress’d, came to his side,
  • 535And wounded with his spear Apisaon
  • The liver through; and on the place he died.
  • But as he stripp’d him lying on the ground
  • Was shot by Alexander in the thigh,
  • And broken was the arrow in the wound,
  • 540And much increased was his pain thereby.
  • Then went Eurypylus into the crowd,
  • And cried out to the princes of the host,
  • Turn and save noble Ajax from this cloud
  • Of Trojan spears, or else he will be lost.
  • 545This said, the best commanders to him go
  • With spears advanc’d, and bucklers turn’d before,
  • And place themselves between him and the foe.
  • And then again the fight was very sore.
  • Mean while Achilles as he sitting was
  • 550On high astern his ship to see them fight,
  • Perceived Nestor and Machaon pass,
  • And to Patroclus call’d with all his might,
  • Come hither, friend. Patroclus heard him call,
  • For he was sitting in Achilles’ tent,
  • 555And (which was the beginning of his fall)
  • Immediately rose up and to him went,
  • And said, Achilles, what’s your will with me?
  • Achilles then replied, Patroclus, now
  • The Argives, I believe, will bend the knee,
  • 560For their condition never was so low.
  • But go to Nestor and informed be
  • Who ’tis that he brought with him from the fight.
  • Machaon by his back he seem’d to me,
  • But of his face I could not have a sight.
  • 565So many cars and horses cross’d the way.
  • This said, unto the ships Patroclus went;
  • But at the ships arrived now were they,
  • Alighted and gone into Nestor’s tent:
  • The horses by Eurymedon untied
  • 570Were cooled by the sea-side in the air,
  • And of their sweat well cleansed were and dried,
  • And in the mean time Ecameda fair,
  • That was the daughter of Arsinous,
  • And taken by Achilles was when he
  • 575Conquer’d and sack’d the city Tenedus,
  • And by the Greeks to Nestor giv’n; and she
  • To Nestor and Machaon setteth up
  • A table with a black foot smooth and fine,
  • And on it set a basket, and a cup,
  • 580And to each one before him set on wine.
  • The cup with nails of gold was studded o’er,
  • Four ears it had, and two doves at each ear,
  • And those were gold, and at the foot two more
  • In posture such as if they feeding were.
  • 585Nestor to Troy had with him brought this cup.
  • Another scarce could lift it from the table
  • When fill’d with wine; though he to take it up,
  • Old as he was, and easily was able.
  • And in the same the woman made the drink,
  • 590With goat’s-milk cheese, and white flour sprinkled o’er,
  • And left it on the board full to the brink.
  • Then quenched they their thirst, and drank no more,
  • But talking sat, to put out of their thought
  • Their ill success. Now at the door o’ th’ tent
  • 595Patroclus was, and in by Nestor brought,
  • And pray’d to sit, but he would not consent,
  • But said, Achilles bade me ask you who
  • It is whom you brought with you from the fight.
  • And this already I can answer to.
  • 600Machaon ’tis that sits there in my sight.
  • What need then is there of my longer stay?
  • Return I will with all the speed I can,
  • For fear he should some blame upon me lay,
  • Though I deserve it not. You know the man.
  • 605What makes Achilles, aged Nestor said,
  • Of th’ Argives wounded men to take such care?
  • He knows not how the army is dismay’d,
  • Nor yet how many of them wounded are.
  • Ulysses wounded is, and Diomed,
  • 610And Agamemnon, and Eurypylus,
  • And this man whom I with me hither led.
  • Achilles pity has on none of us;
  • Although our safety now lie in his hands.
  • Intends he to sit still till Hector burn
  • 615In spite of us our ships upon the sands,
  • And ev’ry one of us kill in his turn?
  • For now my strength decayed is with age.
  • O that I were as strong as I was then
  • When war ’twixt us and th’ Elians did rage,
  • 620And we our cattle fetch’d from them again,
  • And slew Itymoneus that took our kine,
  • For I then went his cattle to distrain,
  • And take amends for those he took of mine.
  • There he defending them by me was slain,
  • 625And all his people from him ran away.
  • And there we took of fifty herds of kine
  • And of as many herds of goats a prey,
  • As many flocks, as many herds of swine,
  • And horses three times fifty, females all,
  • 630Of colour sandy mix’d with sparks of light;
  • And most of them had foals, and to the wall
  • Of Pyle I brought this booty all by night.
  • My father Neleus joyful was to see’t;
  • For yet he thought I was for war too young.
  • 635Next morn the criers make the people meet,
  • (All those to whom the Elians had done wrong)
  • The lords amongst them then divide the prey.
  • Many there were that had been injured,
  • And with their shares contented sent away,
  • 640Though Pylus were not well inhabited.
  • For Hercules not many years before
  • Had kill’d the best of them. And Neleus then
  • Had twelve good sons, whereof he left no more
  • Alive but me. This made th’ Epian men
  • 645Despise our number small, and do us wrong.
  • And Neleus now unto himself did keep
  • The best herd of the kine, and from among
  • The flocks chose one that had three hundred sheep,
  • And justly, since so great a loss had none.
  • 650For he four steeds unto the games had sent
  • Of value great, which all had prizes won.
  • But by Augias his commandement,
  • When for a tripod they prepar’d to run,
  • Together with the cars were there detain’d.
  • 655Chari’teers related what was done.
  • And Neleus then the best o’ th’ prey retain’d;
  • And ev’ry man had of the rest his share.
  • This done unto the Gods we sacrifice.
  • Mean while the Elians for war prepare,
  • 660And two days after altogether rise,
  • And forth o’ th’ town went they both foot and horse,
  • And with them Molion’s two sons, not yet
  • Arrived at the age of martial force,
  • And round about the town Colone sit.
  • 665Colone is a frontier-town, between
  • Elis and Pyle, upon Alphæus’ side.
  • Passing the plain they were by Pallas seen;
  • And she aloud unto the Pylians cried,
  • To arms, you men of Pyle. Then in the night
  • 670We put on arms, and to the field we hied;
  • And cheerfully went ev’ry one to fight.
  • My horses only were convey’d aside.
  • For Neleus thought I was in war unskill’d:
  • But I at home could not be made t’ abide,
  • 675But with the rest on foot went to the field,
  • For on the Goddess Pallas I relied.
  • Near to Arene falls into the main
  • A little brook. All night by that we lay,
  • And in the morn betime we march’d again,
  • 680And to Alphæus came in half a day.
  • And there to Jove his sacred rites we paid.
  • To Neptune and Alphæus each a bull;
  • An heifer to the heav’nly martial maid
  • We gave; and when the bands of foot were full,
  • 685Then sup we in our ranks, and armed slept.
  • Th’ Epeians still the town besieging lay;
  • But seeing the war was now so near them crept,
  • They rose; then presently began the fray.
  • And there the first man that was slain I slew,
  • 690Which Molius was, Augias’ son-in-law.
  • He wedded Acameda had, who knew
  • As many med’cines as the world e’er saw.
  • Him first I slew, and to his char’ot mounted.
  • Then fled th’ Epeians scatter’d here and there:
  • 695For he the best amongst them was accounted.
  • And as they fled I follow’d with my spear,
  • And fifty char’ots took, and at each one
  • Two men I kill’d; for like a storm I went;
  • Nor had I left to Molius any son,
  • 700If Neptune had not hinder’d my intent,
  • That took them up and sav’d them in a cloud.
  • Great honour won the Pyleans that day;
  • For on the plains we chac’d th’ Epeians proud,
  • Killing and gath’ring armour all the way
  • 705Until we came unto Buprasium,
  • Alesium, and Rock-Olene; and there
  • Advis’d we were by Pallas to go home.
  • To Pylus then we went and welcome were.
  • And thanks were given to the Gods, but most
  • 710To Jupiter the greatest God. And then
  • In general were thanked all the host,
  • And Nestor namely above other men.
  • Thus I behav’d myself amongst the Greeks,
  • Whereas Achilles sitting in his tent,

  • Patroclus is persuaded by Nestor to obtain of Achilles to be sent to the aid of the Greeks in Achilles’ armour.

  • 715Neglecting us, his own contentment seeks;
  • Though if our fleet be lost he will repent.
  • But, O Patroclus, the advice was good
  • Menœtius your father gave you then
  • When I at Phthia was and by him stood,
  • 720By Agamemnon sent to levy men.
  • To Peleus’ house Ulysses came and I,
  • And there we found Menœtius and you.
  • And you upon Achilles waited nigh,
  • And Peleus to the Gods fat cattle slew
  • 725I’ th’ court o’ th’ grass, a gold cup in his hand,
  • And pour’d wine on the burning sacrifice,
  • And you then saw us in the gate-house stand,
  • Though busy you were then to burn the thighs.
  • Achilles to us came and led us in,
  • 730And made us sup, and supper being done,
  • To tell our bus’ness then I did begin,
  • Which was to bring with us to Troy his son.
  • Both he and you desirous were to go;
  • And Peleus then unto Achilles said,
  • 735Strive still to be the best, and let the foe
  • Be always of your spear the most afraid.
  • Then to you spake your father; Son, said he,
  • Achilles is a better man of war
  • Than you, and higher in nobility
  • 740Of blood; but you in age before him are.
  • Give him good counsel therefore, and suggest
  • What’s for his good, although he see it not:
  • He will obey when for himself ’tis best;
  • Thus he advis’d you, though you have forgot.
  • 745But do it now. For ’tis not yet too late.
  • Who knows but you may make him change his mind?
  • Or if he still continue obstinate,
  • Or in some oracle a scruple find,
  • Or Thetis told him somewhat has from Jove,
  • 750Yet let him send his Myrmidons with you,
  • The Trojans from the navy to remove,
  • And give th’ Achæans time to breathe anew.
  • But let him give you his own arms. Then they
  • (When like unto Achilles you appear,
  • 755Leading fresh forces) fly will into Troy,
  • And rid th’ Achæans of their present fear.
  • This said, Patroclus, grieved, went his way,
  • And tow’rds Achilles’ tent ran back apace,
  • Passing by where Ulysses’ vessels lay.
  • 760There were the altars, there the market-place,
  • There were the courts of justice. There he met
  • Eurypylus, with the arrow in his wound,
  • And from his head and shoulders dropp’d the sweat,
  • And bled apace, but still his sense was sound.
  • 765Then, pitying him, Patroclus spake, and said,
  • Ah! poor commanders of the Achæan host,
  • Must we be all so far from home destroy’d,
  • And lie for dogs’-meat on the Trojan coast?
  • But say, Eurypylus, is there no way
  • 770To keep off Hector, but must perish all?
  • Nothing I know, said he, can Hector stay,
  • But in our flaming ships we all must fall.
  • For all the best of us here wounded lie,
  • And still the Trojan power grows more and more.
  • 775But, O Patroclus, cut out of my thigh
  • This arrow-head; for it torments me sore,
  • And with warm water wash away the blood,
  • And salves apply, the same that Chiron knew,
  • (The best of Centaurs) to be very good,
  • 780And taught Achilles, and Achilles you.
  • For of two surgeons in the army, one
  • As much need of a surgeon hath as I,
  • And Podalirius to the fight is gone.
  • Patroclus to him then made this reply.
  • 785How can this now be done, Eurypylus,
  • Since to Achilles I must go with speed
  • With Nestor’s answer? Yet to leave you thus
  • In torture, were but an ungentle deed.
  • Then in his arms he bears him to his tent,
  • 790And there, upon a many cow-hides spread,
  • Laid him, and with his knife to work he went,
  • And from his thigh cuts out the arrow-head.
  • And in his hands he bruis’d a bitter root,
  • And wash’d away the blood. When that was done.
  • 795He cleans’d the wound, applied the med’cine to’t,
  • And straight the blood was stopp’d, the pain was gone.

  LIB. XII.

  • The fourth fight, Hector having entered the Argive camp, at the ships.

  • Thus was Eurypylus of pain releas’d.
  • Meanwhile the Greeks and Trojans fiercely fought,
  • Nor could the Argive wall and trench (unbless’d,
  • For on a hecatomb they never thought)
  • 5Though made their ships and booty to defend,
  • Keep Hector and the Trojans long time out.
  • For very quickly cometh to an end
  • Whate’er without the Gods men go about.
  • Indeed while Hector liv’d, and angry lay

  • The fourth fight.

  • 10Achilles at his tent, and would not fight,
  • And standing were the walls and town of Troy,
  • The great wall of the Argives stood upright.
  • But when the bravest Trojans once were slain,
  • And many Greeks, and burnt was Ilium,
  • 15That had almost ten years held out in vain,
  • And what remained of the Greeks gone home.
  • Then Neptune and Apollo both devise
  • The wall to ruin, and the rivers all
  • That in this spacious mountain Ida rise
  • 20Upon this Argive mighty work make fall.
  • Aresus, Rhesus, Heptaporius,
  • Æsepus, Rhodius, Scamander, and
  • Besides these six, the river Granicus,
  • And Simoeis, upon whose banks of sand
  • 25Many a shield and helmet scatter’d lay,
  • And many a Demi-God. These rivers all
  • Apollo turned from their wonted way,
  • Directing them unto the Argives’ wall.
  • Nine days perpetually they thither run,
  • 30And Jove nine days together pour’d down rain,
  • To th’ end the work might be the sooner done.
  • And Neptune with his trident from the main
  • Before them went and wrenched out the stone
  • And timber which had there been laid with pain
  • 35The deep’st of all for the foundation,
  • And made it to the sea all smooth again.
  • And strew’d again with sand the ample shore;
  • And made the brooks in their own channels run
  • No otherwise than they were wont before:
  • 40But this not yet, but afterwards was done.
  • For Hector had the Greeks with show’rs of spears
  • Constrain’d to quit their walls and tow’rs so high,
  • That rattled terribly about their ears,
  • And back unto their hollow ships to fly.
  • 45As when a lion or a boar beset
  • With hounds and hunters, this and that way tries
  • (Close as they stand) through them by strength to get,
  • And passing on their spears prevails or dies,
  • And as he goes still makes them to give way;
  • 50So Hector ’mongst his friends went here and there,
  • Exhorting them the trenches to assay.
  • The horses when upon the brink they were
  • Boggled and whinnied, and refus’d to pass;
  • For broad it was and not to be leap’d o’er:
  • 55And to descend into, too deep it was,
  • And on each side bristled with stakes good store,
  • Fix’d by the Achæans to keep off the foe;
  • So that for horse and cars there was no way.
  • But very willing were the foot to go,
  • 60And only to receive command did stay.
  • And then to Hector said Polydamas,
  • Hector and you, the princes of our friends,
  • We strive in vain to make our horses pass
  • O’er such great stakes, so sharpen’d at the ends,
  • 65Having above our heads the enemy.
  • Where (though we could get down) we cannot fight,
  • Though Jove unto our side inclined be,
  • And to the Greeks should bear as much despite,
  • As I, that wish their name were rooted out.
  • 70Yet if the Greeks, when we encumber’d were
  • For want of room, should turn and face about,
  • And set upon us in the ditch, I fear
  • A man of us would not be left alive
  • To tell at Troy what is become of us.
  • 75But if you mean to have the bus’ness thrive,
  • Then hear my counsel, Let us all do thus:
  • Till of our horse and chariots we have need
  • Let servants hold them to the trenches nigh,
  • And we on foot fight; for if Jove indeed
  • 80Intend us victory, the Greeks will fly.
  • Thus he advis’d; and Hector thought it best,
  • And from his chariot leap’d unto the sand,
  • Arm’d as he was; and so did all the rest,
  • And to their charioteers they gave command
  • 85All in their order near the trench to stand.
  • The Trojans in five parts themselves divide;
  • And Hector of the first took the command.
  • But with himself he joined two beside,
  • Polydamas and stout Cebriones,
  • 90And left a meaner man to hold his car.
  • Of all the Trojan host the best were these.
  • O’ th’ second party Paris had the care,
  • Join’d with Agenor and Alcathous.
  • The third commanded was by leaders three:
  • 95First Helenus, and then Deiphobus,
  • The third was Asius. From Arisbe he
  • With mighty horses, colour’d like to flame,
  • Bred on the bank of Sellis, came to Troy.
  • The fourth command unto Æneas came;
  • 100And he likewise two seconds had, and they
  • Two sons were of Antenor (both well skill’d
  • In war), Archelochus and Acamas.
  • Lastly, Sarpedon led into the field
  • The Trojan aids; and he assisted was
  • 105By valiant Glaucus and Asterapæus.
  • For of the Lycians which he led thither
  • The ablest and the best men he thought these.
  • And then with bucklers joined close together,
  • Away they march directly to the foe,
  • 110And to the combat had a great desire.
  • The Greeks (they thought) as fast as they could go,
  • Would presently unto their ships retire,
  • But Asius would not his horses leave
  • And man, without the trench, as others did.
  • 115Fool as he was himself so to deceive.
  • Upon his chariot tow’rds the ships he rid;
  • But never came triumphant back again
  • For all his flaming horses and his car,
  • But by Idomeneus’ spear was slain.
  • 120When Hector to the ships had brought the war,
  • The Greeks had in their wall a gate, whereat
  • Their horses to the field were us’d to pass,
  • And Asius with his chariot drave to that,
  • Which now left open by the Argives was,
  • 125Their people chas’d by Hector to let in.
  • And all his party with a mighty cry
  • March’d after him, as if they sure had been
  • The Argives to their hollow ships would fly;
  • But were deceived. For at the gate they found
  • 130Two mighty men that like two great oaks stood
  • With deep and large roots fixed in the ground,
  • That many winds and storms had long withstood.
  • And Lapiths they were both; Leontes one,
  • The other Polypœtes gotten by
  • 135Pirithous. Both saw them coming on,
  • And staying, on their hands and strength rely.
  • The Trojans led by Asius came on
  • With mighty noise, Orestes, Adamas,
  • (This Adamas of Asius was the son)
  • 140Thoon, Iamenus, and Œnomaus,
  • And o’er their heads they held their shields on high,
  • For fear of stones and spears from off the wall.
  • The Greeks within to one another cry
  • To save the ships, the tents, themselves, and all.
  • 145But when they saw the Trojans went about
  • To scale the wall, they roar’d and frighted were;
  • But the two Lapiths presently leap’d out,
  • And furiously fell on the Trojans there.
  • As if two boars the men and hounds withstood,
  • 150You’d often hear the boughs before them snap,
  • While with their bended necks they tear the wood;
  • So thick they did the Trojan armours rap.
  • For valiantly they fought, in part relying
  • Upon their strength, and partly on the showers
  • 155Of mighty stones perpetually flying
  • Upon the Trojans from the wall and tow’rs.
  • As thick as to the ground fall flakes of snow,
  • When by a cold wind stirred is the cloud,
  • Their weapons from their hands on both sides go,
  • 160And shields and helmets crack apace and loud.
  • But Asius at this vex’d to the heart,
  • Then spake to Jove, and clapping of his thigh,
  • Aye me, said he, thou too a liar art,
  • That mad’st us to believe the Greeks would fly;
  • 165Who like so many motly wasps or bees
  • That in the hollow way their houses build,
  • And for their young resist their enemies,
  • Till they repel them or themselves be kill’d,
  • Still sharply fight and will not quit the place.
  • 170Thus Asius said, but Jove unmoved sate,
  • And none that day but Hector meant to grace.
  • And as at this they fought at ev’ry gate,
  • I cannot like a God relate it all,
  • The flaming stones that from the Trojans flew
  • 175With fire divine up to the Argive wall
  • On ev’ry side. How th’ Argives no way knew
  • To save themselves but for the ships to fight;
  • And how the Gods that with the Greeks took part
  • Sat discontent in heav’n, and full of spite,
  • 180To see Jove so severely make them smart.
  • But for the fight without, ’twas first begun
  • By the bold Lapiths, though but two they were.
  • For Polypœtes, Pirithous’ son,
  • At Damasus threw first a heavy spear,
  • 185And through his helmet’s brazen cheeks it went,
  • And through the bone into the brain went on;
  • And when unto the shades he him had sent,
  • He killed Orminus and Pyloon:
  • And then a deadly spear Leontes threw,
  • 190Which through the body pierc’d Hippolochus.
  • And on Antiphates his sword he drew
  • And killed him, and then Iamenus,
  • Orestes, Menon, one upon another.
  • But whilst they stay’d to strip these and the rest,
  • 195Hector, Polydamas, and many other,
  • That of the Trojan army were the best,
  • Were at the trench, and stood upon the brink
  • The wall to break, and set the ships on fire.
  • But as they stood a little while to think,
  • 200There came a bird not suiting their desire.
  • An eagle in his pounces held a snake,
  • And over Hector’s soldiers carried it
  • Alive, but that could yet resistance make,
  • And by and by the snake the eagle bit.
  • 205The eagle smarting cried and flew away,
  • And ’mongst the Trojans lets the serpent fall,
  • And there amazed they, and gaping stay
  • To see Jove’s prodigy before them crawl.
  • O Hector, said Polydamas, though you
  • 210In courts and councils cross whate’er I say,
  • How good soe’er it for you be and true,
  • Unless in ev’ry thing I go your way,
  • (Which is not well done, for your counsel ought
  • In peace and war to have their voices free,
  • 215And never give advice against their thought,
  • But always for the public good to be);
  • Yet now I’ll tell you, if this bird be sent
  • Unto the Trojans as a prodigy,
  • ’Tis not uneasy to foresee th’ event.
  • 220For this I think the end of it will be:
  • As th’ eagle in his pounces bore the snake,
  • But could not to her young ones bear it home;
  • So if the Trojans this attempt shall make,
  • They’ll back unto the city smarting come,
  • 225And many good companions leave behind,
  • Whom th’ Argives, to defend their ships, will kill.
  • And this, I think, will any augur find
  • That in’s profession has any skill.
  • Then Hector sourly looking thus replied:
  • 230Polydamas, this counsel I like not;
  • You have a better which you from me hide.
  • But if indeed it be your very thought,
  • The Gods have sure depriv’d you of your sense,
  • That bids me not on Jove to set my rest,
  • 235But feather’d fowls, that fly I care not whence,
  • Nor whither, right or left, or east or west;
  • But we to Jove, the greatest God, will trust,
  • That all the other Gods excels in might.
  • He one bird has, that still observe we must,
  • 240And that is, for our country well to fight.
  • But why are you so much afraid? For though
  • You ne’er so many see before you slain,
  • You of yourself will have a care I know,
  • And not adventure where you may abstain.
  • 245But if you stay or counsel other men
  • To stay behind, my spear shall strike you dead.
  • This said, he led them further on; and then
  • They all with mighty clamour followed.
  • And Jove a mighty wind from Ida sent,
  • 250Which to the ships directly blew the dust,
  • That to the Trojans gave encouragement,
  • But to the Argives horror and distrust.
  • Encourag’d thus, unto the wall they go
  • And brake down battlements, and posts pluck’d out,
  • 255And piles that had been planted by the foe,
  • With levers strong they wring up by the root.
  • Thus at the wall the Trojans laboured,
  • And hope they had the same to overthrow.
  • Before the battlements the Argives spread
  • 260Cow-hides, and thence threw stones on them below.
  • The Ajaxes then ran from tow’r to tow’r,
  • Endeavouring to give the Argives heart,
  • Some with sweet words, and some of them with sour,
  • According as they each one did his part.
  • 265Fellows, said they, you that excel in war,
  • And you that great strength have, and you that small
  • (For well you know, all men not equal are)
  • Now play the men, there’s bus’ness for you all.
  • Fear not the clamour of this threat’ning man;
  • 270Endure this brunt, which if you overcome,
  • As (if Jove hinder not) I know you can,
  • We’ll course him to the gates of Ilium.
  • Thus they encouraged the Greeks. And now,
  • As when great Jove to show his armory
  • 275Upon a winter’s day sends down his snow,
  • Innumerable are the flakes that fly
  • And cover hills, and woods, and pastures green,
  • And all the fruitful works of husbandry,
  • And cover would, but that the sea comes in,
  • 280Both ports and shores; for there snow cannot lie;
  • The wall with stones resounded round about,
  • Yet Hector ne’er had broken wall nor gate,
  • But by the Greeks had still been kept without,
  • Had not Jove sent, the Trojans t’ animate,
  • 285His son Sarpedon. With his shield of brass,
  • Lined with many folds of strong cow-hide,
  • And which with golden circles strength’ned was,
  • And two spears in his hand, to th’ wall he hied.
  • And as a lion that had fasted long
  • 290Comes from the hill upon a flock of sheep,
  • Will try what he can do, for all the throng
  • Of men and dogs that them are set to keep;
  • So boldly goes Sarpedon to the walls,
  • With mighty hand the battlements to tear,
  • 295And as he going was to Glaucus calls.
  • Glaucus, said he, what cause think you is there
  • That we in Lycia more honour’d are
  • Than other men, and look’d upon like Gods,
  • And higher sit at feasts, and better fare,
  • 300And drink best wine, and more land have by odds?
  • Is’t not because we foremost are in fight!
  • ’Tis not in vain, they’ll say, our princes have
  • More honour, since they are of greater might,
  • And their lives venture other men to save.
  • 305Glaucus, if we could death eschew and age
  • By running from the battle cowardly,
  • D’ye think I foremost would myself engage,
  • Or ever counsel you to follow me?
  • You know the ways to death are infinite.
  • 310Though we ne’er fight we cannot always live.
  • Therefore come on, and let us bravely fight,
  • And either honour gain, or honour give.
  • So said Sarpedon. Glaucus him obey’d;
  • And tow’rds the Greeks well followed they went.
  • 315Then Mnesteus was terribly afraid,
  • For to assault his tower he saw them bent,
  • And look’d about what heroes he could spy
  • On other towers unto his aid to call.
  • He saw th’ Ajaxes two, and Teucer by,
  • 320But too far off to hear. For at the wall
  • Of shields and helmets so great thumping was,
  • That ’twas impossible to hear him call.
  • The gates resounded no less than the brass;
  • For fiercely they were fighting at ’em all.
  • 325Then Mnesteus to the squire, Thootes, said,
  • Run quickly, call the Ajaxes to me,
  • Both, if they can be spar’d. I am afraid
  • Against these men I shall not able be
  • To keep my place. Keen warriors they are.
  • 330But if they be themselves distressed there,
  • Let Telamonius of the place take care,
  • And Teucer use his bow and arrows here.
  • Thootes then unto th’ Ajaxes ran
  • Along the Argive wall, and to them said,
  • 335Mnesteus entreats both of you, if you can,
  • To come unto his tow’r and give him aid.
  • Keen warriors, he says, these Lycians are:
  • But if you be yourselves distressed here,
  • Let Telamonius of the place take care,
  • 340And Teucer use his bow and arrows there.
  • This said, great Ajax said unto the less,
  • Æliades, stay here awhile, till I
  • Deliver Mnesteus from his distress.
  • That done, I shall be with you presently.
  • 345Ajax and Teucer then together go
  • Unto the tow’r of Mnesteus with all speed,
  • Pandion with them, carry’ng Teucer’s bow,
  • And at their coming found him in great need.
  • The Lycians, like a black and low’ring cloud,
  • 350Ascended to the wall, and fiercely fought.
  • The Greeks resist. The noise is mighty loud.
  • And with a heavy stone stood Ajax out,
  • That two men scarce could carry, such as now
  • The earth brings forth, and with the same he stroke
  • 355Epicles on the helmet such a blow
  • As head and helmet both in pieces broke.
  • Down like a diver from the wall fell he
  • Headlong, and dead upon the ground he lay.
  • At Glaucus Teucer lets an arrow flee
  • 360Which through his arm unarmed made its way.
  • Glaucus, no longer able now to fight,
  • Leapt from the wall unseen unto the ground,
  • For fear, if of his hurt they had a sight,
  • The Greeks would make a triumph of his wound.
  • 365Griev’d was Sarpedon to see Glaucus gone,
  • But not so grieved but that still he fought,
  • And fix’d a heavy spear in Alcmaon,
  • And with the same his life and all pluck’d out.
  • Sarpedon then tore down a battlement,
  • 370And wider for the Lycians made the way.
  • But Teucer then an arrow to him sent;
  • But Jupiter, to save his son that day,
  • The shaft unto his shield and belt directed,
  • So that it passed not unto the skin,
  • 375The shield and belt together him protected.
  • And then, with spear in hand came Ajax in,
  • And with a push that pierc’d his shield clean through,
  • His coming on a little while he staid.
  • But with Sarpedon that could little do,
  • 380That honour sought. Then to his friends he said,
  • Ye Lycians, what makes ye thus remiss?
  • Can I make way unto the ships alone?
  • Strong as I am, impossible it is.
  • For many hands much better are than one.
  • 385This said, the Lycians heavier than before,
  • To please their prince, upon the Argives lay.
  • The Greeks within their broken ranks restore,
  • And terrible the battle was that day.
  • For neither could the Lycians passage make
  • 390Unto the ships and break the Argives’ wall,
  • Nor Greeks compel the Lycians to forsake
  • The battlements, so fiercely fought they all.
  • As two men on the confines of their ground
  • At two ends of a measure tugging stand,
  • 395Contending earnestly about their bound,
  • And each of them would fain enlarge his land:
  • So for the battlement they striving stood,
  • And wounded one another back and breast,
  • And sprinkled was the battlement with blood,
  • 400Nor was it certain yet who had the best.
  • But as a woman that is fain to spin,
  • To find herself and children sorry food,
  • In one scale wool, in th’ other weight puts in
  • Till they hang ev’n: so ev’n the battle stood
  • 405Till Hector came, to whom Jove chiefly meant
  • To give the honour of the victory.
  • Then Hector up the wall the foremost went,
  • And thence unto his Trojans loud did cry,
  • Trojans, come on, and break me down this wall,
  • 410And set the Argives’ hollow ships on flame.
  • This said, he heard was by the Trojans all,
  • And straight unto the battlements they came.
  • Then Hector at the gate took up a stone,
  • Great and sharp pointed, two men such as now
  • 415Could scarce have lifted up so great a one:
  • But Hector with one hand the same could throw;
  • For Jupiter to him had made it light.
  • And as unto a shepherd is a fleece
  • Of wool, that to be borne needs little might;
  • 420So eas’ly borne the stone by Hector is;
  • And standing at the gate well fortified
  • With planks well join’d, and two cross-bars within,
  • And taking with his right foot back a stride,
  • Out flew the stone, and at the gate went in.
  • 425The gate then roar’d; the hinges broken were;
  • The bars upon the ground asunder lay;
  • And pieces of the planks flew here and there;
  • And to the ships now open was the way.
  • And Hector with a countenance like night
  • 430Flew in. And fire appeared in his eyes:
  • His armour as he marched shining bright,
  • And light reflected up unto the skies;
  • And two good spears he grasped in his fist.
  • And then the Greeks were mightily afraid;
  • 435For none except a God could him resist.
  • And then unto the Trojans turning said,
  • Now Trojans to the wall. And presently
  • Great numbers of the Trojans that way pass,
  • And others at the gate. The Argives fly
  • Unto their ships. And great the tumult was.

  LIB. XIII.

  • Neptune encourageth the Greeks.

  • When Jove had to the ships the Trojans brought,
  • He left them fighting there, and turn’d his face
  • (Thinking th’ Immortals would no more have fought)
  • And look’d upon the fields and men of Thrace,
  • 5And Mysians, and Hippomolgi (men
  • That live on milk the goodly mothers give
  • Of lusty steeds, and are more honest than
  • The rest of mortals, and do longer live.)
  • While Neptune from a hill in Samothrace
  • 10Look’d down and saw the Greeks and Trojans fight.
  • For thence of Ida hill and all the space
  • ’Bout Troy and th’ Argive fleet he had a sight.
  • And grieved was to see the Argives slain,
  • And mightily offended was with Jove,
  • 15And from the hill in haste came down again
  • On foot; and ever as his feet did move,
  • Under the same the haughty mountains shook,
  • And the thick woods, and unto Ægæ came.
  • Thither to come four steps he only took.
  • 20There stands a temple sacred to his name,
  • Of glistering gold and never to decay.
  • And there he puts his horses to his car;
  • Long manes of gold they had, and swift were they;
  • And then in gold himself array’d for war,
  • 25And mounted on his car o’er sea he drives.
  • The whales on both sides from the bottom rise
  • Their king to see. The sea her bosom rives,
  • But not a drop up to the axtree flies.
  • Thus quickly to the Argives Neptune came.
  • 30Half way ’twixt Tenedus and Imbrus is
  • In the deep sea a cave, and in the same
  • (Lest coming back his horses he should miss)
  • He sets them up and laid before them meat,
  • And tied them there with foot-locks at their feet,
  • 35Strong locks of gold, that loose they could not get.
  • Then up he went unto the Argive fleet,
  • And there he found the Trojans like a flame
  • At Hector’s heels with mighty noise and cry,
  • Greedy and full of hope the Greeks to tame,
  • 40And then in flames to make their ships to fry.
  • Then Neptune speaking to th’ Ajaxes two
  • In Chalchas’ shape, You two, said he, can save
  • The ships, if you but set yourselves thereto.
  • For of the foe no fear at all I have
  • 45In other parts. Defended they will be
  • By other Greeks. The danger all is here
  • Where Hector like a flame you leading see,
  • That would be thought the son of Jupiter.
  • If you but think some God bids you resist,
  • 50And stand your ground when Hector cometh on,
  • And cheer your fellows; though Jove him assist,
  • He quickly from your good ships will be gone.
  • This said, he on them both his sceptre laid,
  • And presently themselves they stronger find;
  • 55Their thighs and legs and hands much lighter weigh’d.
  • And Neptune suddenly rose from the ground.
  • Just as a hawk from off a rock flies at
  • Some other fowl; so quickly Neptune rose.
  • The lesser Ajax first observed that,
  • 60And to the greater did the same disclose.
  • Ajax, said he, this was some Deity
  • That in the shape of Chalchas bade us fight.
  • For ’twas not Chalchas I am sure. For I
  • As he went off had of his legs a sight,
  • 65And of his feet and steps. For marks there are
  • To know a God by from a man. Withal
  • I find myself much more inclin’d to war.
  • Methinks my hands and feet for battle call.
  • And so do mine, said Telamonius,
  • 70And fain I would with Hector have a bout.
  • While they together were discoursing thus,
  • Neptune behind them busy was about.
  • Confirming those that to the ships were gone
  • A little to refresh themselves. For they
  • 75Had long and painful labour undergone,
  • And heavy at their hearts the danger lay
  • When Hector and his troops had pass’d the wall,
  • And of their safety were in great despair.
  • But Neptune coming soon confirm’d them all,
  • 80And gave them hope their fortune to repair.
  • To Teucer first he came and Leitus,
  • To Deipyrus and to Meneleos,
  • Meriones and stout Antilochus,
  • And standing near address’d his speech to those.
  • 85Fie, Argives, fie young men; what shame is this;
  • Upon your hands I chiefly did rely
  • To save our ships. If you be so remiss,
  • The day is come in which we all must die
  • By Hector’s hands. O strange! I never thought
  • 90The Trojans durst to th’ ships have come so near,
  • That heretofore peep out o’ th’ town durst not,
  • But like to hinds that hide themselves for fear
  • Of leopards, wolves, and other beasts of prey.
  • For so at first they did. But you’ll not fight
  • 95For anger that the king had sent away
  • Dishonoured the man of greatest might.
  • But what though Agamemnon have indeed
  • Dishonour’d Thetis’ son, must we therefore
  • Give over fight? Or rather with all speed
  • 100Endeavour all we can to cure the sore?
  • But, howsoe’er, you that excuseless are,
  • And of the Argive army all the best,
  • And bodies have and hearts well made for war,
  • I needs must reprehend you. But the rest
  • 105That weak or wretched are I cannot blame.
  • Fond men, this negligence may bring forth yet
  • Some greater ill. Then come away for shame.
  • For never were the Greeks so hard beset.
  • Hector has broken both the bars and gates,
  • 110And now hard by our ships he fiercely fights,
  • And with great noise his Trojans animates.
  • Thus Neptune the dismayed Greeks excites.
  • At th’ Ajaxes the ranks stood firm and close.
  • Nor Mars nor Pallas could a fault have spied.
  • 115They chosen were the Trojans to oppose
  • Whom Hector led. And standing side by side,
  • Shield shield, and target target, and man man
  • Sustain’d, and spear by spear assisted was.
  • So close they stood, and labour all they can
  • 120Lest Hector to their hollow ships should pass.
  • And Hector with his troops went swiftly on.
  • As when a torrent swell’d with showers of rain
  • Breaks from the hill a round and heavy stone,
  • It makes the wood resound, till at the plain,
  • 125Swift as it hither roll’d, it rolls no more;
  • So Hector marching made account to pass
  • Through th’ Argive fleet and tents to the sea-shore.
  • But at th’ Ajaxes battle stopp’d he was;
  • And forced back a little to recoil,
  • 130Resisted by so many spears and swords,
  • And speaking to his Trojans stood awhile,
  • And Lycians, and Dardans in these words.
  • Ye Trojans, Lycians, Dardans, do not fly.
  • I know they cannot long maintain the fight,
  • 135If we upon Jove’s promise may rely,
  • Who all the other Gods excels in might.
  • This said, Deiphobus went towards the foe,
  • Holding his buckler out before him high,
  • So that it cover’d him from head to toe.
  • 140Meriones, that on him had his eye,
  • His spear threw at him, which no harm did do.
  • For though upon the buckler fell the stroke,
  • It carried not th’ intended mischief through,
  • But in the tough bull-hides the spear he broke.
  • 145Then back unto the throng he went, and fum’d
  • Both for the loss of the good spear he brake,
  • And of the victory he had presum’d,
  • And went to the ships another spear to take.
  • The rest fought on, and mighty noise there was.
  • 150There Teucer with his spear slew Imbrius
  • The son of Mentor, till the Greeks did pass
  • The sea to Troy he dwelt at Pedasus,
  • And to Medesicaste there was wed.
  • But when the Argives came to Troy, he then
  • 155Dwelt in King Priam’s court, much honoured
  • Both by the king himself and by his men.
  • But now by Teucer’s spear was slain. And as
  • Upon a hill a goodly ashen tree,
  • Unto the ground, cut from the roots with brass,
  • 160Brings down its boughs, so to the ground fell he.
  • To strip him of his arms then Teucer goes;
  • Which Hector seeing, at him threw his spear,
  • And misses him; yet not in vain he throws,
  • But kills another man that stood him near,
  • 165Amphimacus, that newly to the fight
  • Was from the ships come back t’ assist the rest;
  • And scarcely of the skirmish had a sight,
  • When Hector’s spear he felt upon his breast.
  • Then to Amphimachus came Hector near,
  • 170Meaning his helmet from his head to take.
  • Which Ajax seeing, at him threw his spear
  • That hit his shield, but passage could not make.
  • Yet with such strength the spear fell on his shield,
  • That backward he was driven from the dead;
  • 175So that the Argives bore them off the field.
  • Amphimachus to th’ ships was carried
  • By Mnestheus and Stichius, that led
  • Th’ Athenian troops. But the Ajaxes two,
  • One at the feet, another at the head,
  • 180Bore Imbrius from off the ground into
  • The throng of Greeks, like hungry lions two,
  • That carry in their jaws a goat which they
  • Had snatched from the dogs, and were to go
  • Through many shrubs to carry it away.
  • 185Him they disarm’d, and to let Hector know it,
  • The lesser Ajax cutteth off his head,
  • And turning round with all his strength doth throw it,
  • And unto Hector’s feet ’twas carried.
  • Now Neptune for Amphimachus thus slain,
  • 190Who from his loins descended, vexed sore,
  • Went to the Argive ships and tents again
  • To cheer the Greeks, and hurt the Trojans more,
  • And with Idomeneus met as he went,
  • That had a wounded friend brought from the fight,
  • 195And straightway back again to go he meant
  • To them that fought, and help them all he might.
  • And Neptune like unto Andremon’s son,
  • Thoas, whose father all th’ Ætolians sway’d
  • Like Jove in Pleuron and in Calydon,
  • 200Unto Idomeneus then spake and said,
  • O king Idomeneus, what is betide
  • Of th’ Argive threats that Ilium they would tame?
  • O Thoas, then Idomeneus replied,
  • I know not any man that we can blame.
  • 205There’s none of us but understands the war,
  • Nor any that betray themselves with fear,
  • Nor that for sloth to fight unwilling are.
  • But Jove, it seems, will have us perish here.
  • But Thoas, you that always heretofore
  • 210Have fought so well, and set on other men,
  • Still hold that purpose never giving o’er.
  • T’ Idomeneus then Neptune said again,
  • Idomeneus, may that man ne’er come back,
  • But in the fields lie for the dogs a prey,
  • 215That at this time is negligent or slack.
  • But now put on your arms and come away,
  • And quickly. For although we are but two,
  • Yet since conjoined force of men not strong
  • Can do as much as one good man, let’s go.
  • 220This said, up Neptune went into the throng.
  • Idomeneus then goes into his tent
  • And arm’d himself, and took in’s hand two spears,
  • And out again he came like light’ning sent
  • To men from Jove to fill their hearts with fears.
  • 225And scarce came forth, he met Meriones
  • That to his tent was going for a spear,
  • And speaking to him said Idomeneus,
  • Meriones, my friend, what make you here?
  • What are you wounded that you leave the fight?
  • 230Or bring you me some news? For I to hide
  • Myself from battle here take no delight.
  • Meriones then to him thus replied.
  • O king Idomeneus, unto your tent
  • I forc’d was from the battle to come down,
  • 235And thence to take a spear of yours I meant,
  • Since on Deiphobus I broke my own.
  • A spear, then said Idomeneus, there are
  • Twenty, if you had need of them, that stand
  • Upright against the walls, which in this war
  • 240I took from Trojans vanquish’d by my hand.
  • For when I fight I stand near to the foe.
  • And that’s the cause so many spears I have,
  • And can so many shields and helmets show,
  • And armours for the breast great store and brave.
  • 245Then spake Meriones; And I, said he,
  • Have many spoils of Trojans at my tent,
  • But fetch’d from thence so soon they cannot be.
  • For close up to the foe I also went
  • Amongst the foremost boldly. Which although
  • 250The Argives take no notice of, yet you
  • That how I still behav’d myself well know,
  • Can bear me witness what I say is true.
  • To him then thus Idomeneus replied,
  • Meriones, this need not have been said;
  • 255I know your courage were it to be tried,
  • And men somewhere in ambush to be laid,
  • Where fear and courage are discerned best;
  • For there ’tis seen who valiant are, who not.
  • A coward’s heart still panteth in his breast;
  • 260And nothing but on death he has his thought;
  • He cannot without trembling quiet sit,
  • But dances on his hams, and changes hue;
  • And cannot hold himself upon his feet;
  • And shakes his chaps. These things a coward show.
  • 265But in a valiant man there’s none of this.
  • He quietly abides without afright,
  • When in the danger he engaged is;
  • And longs for nothing but to come to fight.
  • If you amongst them had been there, I know
  • 270None of them such a fault in you had found.
  • Or if you had been hurt ’tis sure enow,
  • Nor in your back nor neck had been the wound,
  • But either in your belly or your breast.
  • But let’s no longer talk like children here,
  • 275Lest we be blam’d. I think it therefore best
  • You now go to my tent and take a spear.
  • This said, Meriones fetch’d out a spear,
  • And with Idomeneus went to the fight,
  • As Mars, when in the field he will appear,
  • 280And with him his beloved son Affright,
  • And to th’ Ephyrians and Phlegyans goes
  • From Thrace to give one side the victory;
  • So with Idomeneus unto the foes
  • Meriones went up courageously,
  • 285And to him said, Idomeneus, where now
  • O’ th’ left or right side of the Trojan host,
  • Or in the midst shall we our force bestow
  • To help the Greeks? For now they need us most.
  • Idomeneus then to him said again,
  • 290The middle of the battle to maintain
  • There ready stand enow, and able men,
  • Teucer good bowman and th’ Ajaxes twain.
  • Hector shall there of fighting have his fill,
  • As greedy as he is. Though strong he be,
  • 295He’ll find it hard that way to have his will,
  • And come unto the ships with victory,
  • And burn them, if Jove not with his own hand
  • Throw in the brands. He must be more than man,
  • Whom Ajax is not able to withstand;
  • 300Not mortal, such as live by Ceres can,
  • And may be killed with a spear or stone.
  • For Ajax with Achilles may compare
  • In standing fight, though able less to run.
  • In that, Achilles him excelleth far.
  • 305But now unto the battle let us go,
  • And fall on at the left side of the field,
  • And try what we are able there to do,
  • And either honour win or honour yield.
  • This said, they went together to the fight,
  • 310And on them presently the Trojans fell.
  • There was no place for victory to light,
  • So close they fought on both sides and so well.
  • And such a mighty cloud of dust they raise,
  • As, when great winds contend upon the plain,
  • 315Is in dry weather raised from the ways;
  • While one to kill another takes great pain.
  • And horrid of the squadrons was the sight,
  • That bristled was all over with great spears.
  • Their armours, shields, and helmets, with their light
  • 320Dazzled the eyes, and clamour fill’d the ears.
  • Hard-hearted had he been that with dry eyes
  • Had this affliction of the heroes seen,
  • That from the sons of Saturn did arise,
  • And but for their dissention had not been:
  • 325For Jupiter for Hector was and Troy,
  • And meant to honour Thetis and her son;
  • But not th’ Achæan army to destroy.
  • But Neptune moved with compassion
  • To see the Argives by the Trojans slain,
  • 330And angry with his brother, secretly
  • In likeness of a man rose from the main
  • T’ encourage them and give them victory.
  • Though they were brothers, yet Jove of the two
  • The elder and the wiser was, so that
  • 335Neptune against Jove’s will durst nothing do
  • In favour of the Greeks distress’d, but what
  • He thought might be effected privily.
  • And thus the saw, from brother unto brother,
  • Of cruel war was drawn alternately,
  • 340And many slain of one side and the other.
  • And now half gray came in Idomeneus
  • With lusty Cretans, and the Trojan frighted.
  • For presently he slew Othryoneus,
  • Othryoneus that was by fame invited
  • 345To purchase honour in the war at Troy,
  • And promis’d, if Cassandra he might wed,
  • From Ilium to drive the Greeks away.
  • Which Priam to him granted if he sped.
  • And in this hope, strutting he went to fight.
  • 350There with his spear Idomeneus him smote.
  • The spear upon his belly just did light,
  • And down he fell; his armour sav’d him not.
  • Idomeneus, insulting o’er him, spake:
  • Othryoneus, great praise you’ll win indeed,
  • 355If you can do what you did undertake.
  • Come fight for us, and you shall no worse speed.
  • For if you for us win the town of Troy,
  • Atrides’ fairest daughter yours shall be.
  • Come with me to the Greeks, that there we may
  • 360Upon the wedding articles agree.
  • And then to be reveng’d Asius meant,
  • And was on foot, although his horses there,
  • Breathing upon his back, behind him went.
  • And at Idomeneus had thrown his spear,
  • 365But that to throw he time enough had not;
  • Because the other made the greater haste,
  • And with his spear had hit him in the throat,
  • And out again at’s neck the point had pass’d.
  • And there, as some great oak or poplar tree,
  • 370Or pine cut down, that by a ship-wright must
  • Be saw’d in planks, falls down, so fell down he,
  • Grasping with both his hands the bloody dust.
  • The charioteer was so amaz’d thereat,
  • That he forgot to turn his car with fear,
  • 375And quiet sat. Antilochus saw that,
  • And going nearer, at him threw his spear,
  • Which through his armour and his belly went,
  • And gasping, fell to th’ ground the charioteer.
  • Antilochus to the ships his horses sent,
  • 380And by the Argives now possess’d they were.
  • And then Deiphobus himself advanc’d
  • And at Idomeneus he threw his spear,
  • Which, grazing only on his buckler, glanc’d
  • Unto the Argives that behind him were.
  • 385For as he saw it come, he sunk and hid
  • His body all under his shield of brass.
  • Yet not from out his hand depart it did
  • In vain; for with it slain Hypsenor was.
  • Deiphobus then crowing said, So, so,
  • 390Asius goes not unreveng’d to hell.
  • And though the place unpleasant be, I know
  • To have such company will please him well.
  • Antilochus then to the body came,
  • And kept the Trojans off from stripping it.
  • 395Mecistes and Alastor bore the same
  • Upon their shoulders to the Argive fleet.
  • Idomeneus still like a fury went
  • To kill more Trojans, or himself be kill’d.
  • And for the Argives thought his life well spent.
  • 400Aloathous then met him on the field,
  • Who was a suitor to Hippodamie,
  • Anchises’ eldest daughter, and the best
  • Beloved by her parents both was she,
  • And of her time exceeded all the rest
  • 405In beauty, and in curious work, and wit,
  • And a fit consort for the best of Troy.
  • But Neptune now on purpose bound his feet,
  • And from his eyes, though bright, took sight away,
  • So that he could not fly, nor turn, nor fight,
  • 410But fixed stood, like to a post or tree;
  • And by Idomeneus, with Neptune’s might,
  • Pierced through the armour and the breast was he,
  • And through the heart, as plainly did appear.
  • For as he bleeding on the ground did lie,
  • 415The beating of his heart did shake the spear;
  • And Mars took from him all his chivalry.
  • Idomeneus then crowed mightily.
  • Deiphobus, said he, is’t not enough
  • That for your one man I have killed three?
  • 420If not, come on, and take a better proof
  • Of what the seed of Jove in war can do.
  • For Jove got Minos, and Deucalion he.
  • He me, and I whole shiploads bring of woe
  • To Troy, unto thy father, and to thee.
  • 425This said, Deiphobus considered
  • Whether to stay and meet him hand to hand,
  • Or see by whom he might be seconded.
  • And at the rear he saw Æneas stand.
  • For he not much good will did Priam bear,
  • 430Who small respect unto his virtue paid.
  • To him Deiphobus approaching near,
  • Æneas, now, said he, you must us aid.
  • Your brother-law, Alcathous, is kill’d,
  • Who oftentimes has fed you with his hand,
  • 435And naked will be left upon the field
  • B’ Idomeneus, unless you him withstand.
  • This said, t’ Idomeneus they came away,
  • And with him greedy were to enter fight.
  • And he as boldly did their coming stay;
  • 440Though two to one, they did not him affright.
  • But as a boar in unfrequented place,
  • By dogs and men pursu’d, stands sullenly,
  • Knowing his strength, and looks them in the face,
  • Bristled his back, and flaming is his eye;
  • 445So for Æneas staid Idomeneus,
  • And to his fellows call’d; Ascalaphus,
  • Meriones, Antilochus, and Aphareus,
  • Good men of war, and you, Deipyrus,
  • Come hither friends, said he. I coming see
  • 450Æneas towards me with mighty rage,
  • A valiant man at arms you know is he,
  • And now is in the flower of his age.
  • Were I so young, and of the mind I am,
  • I’d honour win of him or he of me.
  • 455This said, they quickly all about him came
  • Æneas to repel or kill. Then he
  • Call’d Paris to him, and Agenor, and
  • Deiphobus, the Argives to oppose,
  • And all of them of Trojans had command,
  • 460And with their spears behind him marched close.
  • As when a shepherd leads with a green bough
  • His sheep from off the pasture to the brook,
  • Is joy’d to see them follow him; so now
  • Æneas in his troops great pleasure took.
  • 465No sooner they were come unto the ground
  • Whereon Alcathous his body was,
  • But close they fought, and hideous was the sound
  • Of helmets, shields, and mighty arms of brass.
  • And there the two that far excell’d the rest,
  • 470Æneas and Idomeneus, would fain
  • Have fix’d their spears in one another’s breast.
  • First threw Æneas, but he threw in vain,
  • For by Idomeneus declin’d it was,
  • And coming to the ground stuck trembling there.
  • 475And then threw he and killed Œnomaus,
  • And pierced was his belly with a spear,
  • Who falling filled both his hands with dust.
  • Idomeneus pull’d out again his spear,
  • But to take off his arms he durst not trust
  • 480Himself, so many lances flying were.
  • His limbs and feet not supple were and light
  • To throw or shun a spear. They now were past
  • Their best, yet good were in a standing fight,
  • But could not from the battle run so fast.
  • 485And as he slowly walked off the field,
  • Deiphobus, that always bore him spite,
  • A spear threw at him, but him miss’d, and kill’d
  • Ascalaphus, son of the God of fight,
  • And on his hands into the dust fell he.
  • 490But Mars yet knew not that his son was dead,
  • For in the golden clouds, by Jove’s decree,
  • With all the other Gods prohibited
  • To meddle in the battle, quiet sat.
  • About Ascalaphus the strife was all,
  • 495And first Deiphobus his helmet gat,
  • But forc’d he was again to let it fall,
  • For in the arm he then receiv’d a wound,
  • Which by Meriones was to him sent,
  • Who quickly took the helmet from the ground,
  • 500And with it back unto the Argives went.
  • Deiphobus was by Polites (who
  • His brother was) borne forth unto his car,
  • And bleeding in his car the town into.
  • But still upon the field went on the war,
  • 505And Aphareus there wounded in the throat
  • Was by Æneas’ spear, wherewith his head
  • On one side hanging, shield and helmet brought
  • Down with him to the earth. There lay he dead.
  • And Thoon by Antilochus was slain,
  • 510That to him turn’d his back and meant to fly;
  • For by the spear in two was cut the vein
  • Which all along the back to th’ neck doth lie,
  • And down he fell. Antilochus stepp’d in
  • To strip him; but the foes about him round
  • 515Threw at him spears, but never touch’d his skin,
  • Although his shield received many a wound.
  • For he was well defended on each side
  • By Neptune, who unto him bore good will,
  • Because he ne’er would from the fight abide,
  • 520And ’mongst the foes his spear was flying still.
  • But as his spear at one he aiming stood,
  • He by Asiades observed was,
  • Who to him came, as near as well he could,
  • And threw his spear, whereof one half did pass
  • 525Clean through Antilochus his shield, and stuck
  • Therein; but th’ other half fell to the ground,
  • For Neptune him preserv’d from that ill luck.
  • So ’scap’d Antilochus without a wound.
  • And Adamas retir’d into the rout,
  • 530Meriones sent after him a spear,
  • Which ent’ring at his hinder parts, came out
  • Beneath his navel, and above his gear,
  • Where wounds most fatal are. Then down he falls,
  • And like a cow that by the horns is tied
  • 535By strength of swains, a little while he sprawls,
  • But with the plucking out the spear he died.
  • And then the son of Priam, Helenus,
  • With a broad sword in hand, all steel of Thrace,
  • Upon the helmet smote Deipyrus,
  • 540Who there fell down and died upon the place.
  • The Greeks took up the helmet at their feet;
  • And griev’d thereat was Menelaus so,
  • That up he went with Helenus to meet,
  • Shaking his spear. The other draws his bow,
  • 545And on the breast-plate hit was Menelaus;
  • But off the arrow flew, like chaff which fann’d
  • Is from the corn. But th’ other wounded was,
  • Just where he held the bow, quite through the hand,
  • And dragging hand and spear, himself withdrew
  • 550Into the Trojan troops; where from the wound
  • The heavy spear his friend Agenor drew,
  • And in a woollen bandage wrapp’d it round,
  • Which in his hand a servant held hard by.
  • And then Pisandrus went to Menelaus,
  • 555Betray’d thereto by cruel destiny,
  • For to have slain him in great hope he was,
  • And when they were to one another nigh,
  • First Menelaus threw his spear, but wide.
  • At him Pisandrus then his spear lets fly;
  • 560But passage being at the shield denied,
  • Beneath the brazen point in twain it crack’d.
  • Then to him with his sword went Menelaus,
  • And he to Menelaus with an ax,
  • Which cover’d with his buckler ready was,
  • 565And on his helmet crest then fell the stroke;
  • But he Pisandrus with his keen sword hit
  • Upon the forehead near the nose, which broke
  • The bone, and carried present death with it;
  • His eyes unto the ground fell in the blood.
  • 570Atrides kick’d him as o’ th’ ground he lay,
  • Then stripp’d him of his arms, and o’er him stood,
  • Insulting and reproaching those of Troy.
  • Thus, thus, said he, proud Trojans, you’ll at last
  • Be taught to quit our ships, and have your fill
  • 575Of bloody war, and pay for what is past.
  • You thought, ye dogs, too little was the ill,
  • Against the laws of hospitality
  • To steal away my goods, and wedded wife;
  • But further will (if in your pow’r it lie)
  • 580Deprive the Argive princes all of life,
  • And burn their ships, although no injury
  • I ever did you. But I hope ye shall
  • Your greediness of fighting satisfy.
  • But father Jove, who, men say, art of all
  • 585The Gods most wise, all this proceeds from you,
  • That to the Trojans, false and insolent,
  • More favour shew than to the just and true;
  • So that with peace they never are content.
  • Of everything there is satiety.
  • 590Of sleep, of love, of dance, and pleasant song,
  • And all men else with war may cloyed be:
  • Only the Trojans still for fighting long.
  • This said, the armour to the ships he sent,
  • And ’mongst the foremost Greeks again he fought.
  • 595And there Harpalion unto him went
  • (Who t’ Ilium was by his father brought,
  • But brought from thence again he never was)
  • And at him throws his spear, and hits his shield
  • Right in the midst; but through it could not pass,
  • 600The stubborn brass unto it would not yield.
  • Missing his purpose, he the field forsook,
  • And fearing to be slain, look’d still about
  • Until an arrow keen him overtook,
  • Sent from Meriones, that pass’d throughout
  • 605From buttock unto bladder. Then he sat
  • Expiring ’mongst the Trojans, his good friends,
  • And lay like to a worm benumbed, that
  • Upon the ground itself at length extends.
  • The Paphlagonians of him had a care,
  • 610And, sorry for him, carried him to Troy.
  • His father weeping followed the car,
  • But how to be revenged saw no way.
  • And Paris then with anger was possest,
  • And ’mongst the Argives lets an arrow fly,
  • 615For of Harpalion he had been the guest,
  • And well received in Paphlagonie.
  • Amongst the Argives one Euchenor was,
  • The son of Polydus, an aged prophet,
  • That knew full well how things would come to pass
  • 620Before the town of Troy, and told him of it.
  • You must, said he, at home by sickness die,
  • Or going with the Greeks, at Troy be slain.
  • But for all that the young man valiantly
  • Went with the Greeks; but ne’er came home again,
  • 625Though he behav’d himself with caution there,
  • In hope t’ avoid both danger and diseases.
  • But Paris shot him ’twixt the cheek and ear,
  • And on his eyes there death and darkness seizes.
  • Thus keenly fought they here; but Hector yet
  • 630Knew not the Trojans that were fighting at
  • The left hand of the host were so beset,
  • For if he had perhaps been told of that,
  • He might have given the Greeks the victory;
  • Such courage Neptune gave unto them there.
  • 635And sometimes by his strength immediately
  • In battle fighting they assisted were.
  • But Hector yet was where he first made way,
  • Breaking the Argive ranks, and wall, and gate,
  • Where of Protesilaus the good ships lay,
  • 640And those of Ajax next unto them sate;
  • Where low the wall and sharpest was the fight.
  • Th’ Epeians, Pthians, and Ionians,
  • Bœotians, Locrians, all oppose their might
  • To Hector’s Trojans, Dardans, Lycians,
  • 645And led were by good men. Th’ Athenians
  • By Menestheus, Bias, Phidas, Stichius.
  • Meges the leading had of th’ Epians,
  • And with him Amphion and Dracius.
  • Medon and Meneptolemus brought on
  • 650The Pthians. Medon was Ajax’s brother,
  • And of Oileus the natural son,
  • Not gotten by his wife, but by another.
  • His wife was call’d Eriopis. And he
  • For killing of her brother forced fled,
  • 655To save himself, to th’ town of Phylacie,
  • Where Meneptolemus was born and bred.
  • And so the Phthian leaders were these two,
  • And ’mongst the chief of the Bœotians, sought
  • To keep the Trojans from approaching to
  • 660The Argive ships, to burn them as they thought.
  • But Ajax the swift, son of Œleus,
  • Not all this while departed from the side
  • Of Ajax, son of Telamonius,
  • But as two oxen which the ground divide
  • 665Go tugging of the plough with one consent,
  • Till underneath their horns their foreheads sweat,
  • So labouring in the field together went
  • Yok’d, both the little Ajax and the great.
  • But Telamonius was followed
  • 670With good companions, who, when there was cause,
  • His mighty buckler for him carried.
  • The other destitute of followers was,
  • For none but Locrians to the war he led,
  • Who have no use of bucklers when they fight,
  • 675Nor spears, nor helmets, that defend the head;
  • But came to Troy with bows and arrows light,
  • And in a standing fight durst not abide.
  • But from behind the Argive ranks unseen,
  • They Hector and his Trojans terrified
  • 680Incessantly with showers of arrows keen,
  • Whilst from the front with spears they plagued were.
  • The Trojans’ courage then was so allay’d,
  • That into Troy they all had run for fear,
  • But that Polydamas to Hector said,
  • 685Hector, you are a man uncounselable.
  • Because in deeds of arms you so excel,
  • You think yourself in counsel too much able,
  • As if all virtues must in one man dwell.
  • The Gods to some have given well to fight,
  • 690And others with the muses they have graced;
  • Others with dance the people to delight;
  • And in the mind of others wisdom placed,
  • The fruit whereof by many is enjoy’d:
  • It cities saves, as they that have it know,
  • 695Which quickly would without it be destroy’d,
  • But what we are to do I’ll tell you now,
  • The war now lieth only on your hand;
  • For since we pass’d the wall, some quite give o’er,
  • And armed as they were do idle stand,
  • 700And th’ enemy than ours that fight are more.
  • Therefore retire, and call the princes hither,
  • That it may be determin’d by them all,
  • Upon mature deliberation, whether
  • Upon the Argives at their ships to fall
  • 705(If so it please the Gods) or otherwise,
  • Since Ajax there resolved is to stay,
  • How with most safety we may hence arise,
  • For they are in our debt for yesterday.
  • So said Polydamas, and Hector thought
  • 710The counsel not amiss, and straight obey’d.
  • And armed from his chariot leapt out,
  • And standing on the ground unto him said,
  • Polydamas, stay you, and here detain
  • The Trojan chiefs, while to the fight I go,
  • 715And give some orders there; I shall again
  • Be with you quickly, when I have done so.
  • He miss’d Deiphobus, and Helenus,
  • And valiant Adamas, Asiades,
  • And Asius, the son of Hyrtacus,
  • 720And went about the field to look for these;
  • Of which some wounded were retir’d to Troy,
  • And some in battle by the Argives kill’d;
  • But found his brother Paris in his way,
  • Encouraging his men upon the field,
  • 725And spake unto him, in ill language, thus:
  • Unlucky Paris, fine man, lover keen,
  • Where are Deiphobus, and Helenus,
  • And Adamas? Where are they to be seen?
  • And what is of Othryoneus become?
  • 730And where is Asius? Now certainly
  • Down to the ground burnt will be Ilium,
  • And thou a miserable death wilt die.
  • So Hector said, and Paris thus replied:
  • Hector, there was for such words now no cause.
  • 735Sometimes perhaps you may me justly chide.
  • I do not think a coward born I was,
  • For since unto the ships you brought the war,
  • We with the Greeks perpetually have fought.
  • But those you miss slain by the Argives are,
  • 740Save that Deiphobus was carried out,
  • And Helenus, both wounded in the hand.
  • Now lead us on to what part you think fit;
  • We ready are to do what you command,
  • As far as strength of body will permit.
  • 745This said, his brother reconciled was,
  • And both went to where cruelly they fought.
  • About Cebriones, Polydamas,
  • Orthæus, Polyphœtes, and about
  • Phalces and Palmes, and the children two,
  • 750Ascanius, Moris, of Hippotion,
  • Who Ilium but the day before came to,
  • And now to th’ battle went by Jove set on.
  • As when a storm of wind falls on the plain,
  • The sea erects itself in ridges white,
  • 755And foaming rolls in order on the main;
  • So to the Greeks, with helmets shining bright,
  • The Trojans one another followed
  • In order with their captains to the fight,
  • And Hector, like another Mars, at th’ head,
  • 760With buckler round and strong, and armour bright.
  • His buckler he before him held far out,
  • That cover’d was his body with the same,
  • And peeping under it he look’d about,
  • And in that posture to the Argives came.
  • 765And at the foremost ranks went here and there
  • To try if through them he could passage make;
  • But fast they stood, nor at it troubled were;
  • And Ajax seeing it, unto him spake,
  • Come nearer, man. Why think you to affright
  • 770The Greeks? We are not so unus’d to war.
  • Nor are we driven hither by your might;
  • But by the hand of Jove afflicted are.
  • Hector, I know, to burn our ships you think;
  • But we have hands as good the ships to save,
  • 775And Troy will first, I think, int’ ashes sink.
  • And shortly, I believe, you’ll wish to have
  • And pray to Jove and all the pow’rs on high
  • For horses that run faster than hawks fly,
  • That from the ships you may go speedily.
  • 780This said, an eagle dexter presently
  • Flew over them. And they Jove’s prodigy
  • Received gladly with a mighty cry.
  • Then thus to Ajax Hector did reply.
  • Ajax, you love to prate and brag and lie.
  • 785O that the son of Jove as sure were I,
  • And had been certainly conceived by
  • Juno, Jove’s wife, and as a Deity
  • Like Pallas and Apollo ne’er to die,
  • As I am sure great woe will fall this day
  • 790Upon the Argives all and then be kill’d,
  • If for the coming of my spear thou stay,
  • And dogs and kites shall eat thee in the field.
  • This said, he led away. The Trojans shout,
  • So do the Argives, and resolv’d to try
  • 795The power of their foes with courage stout.
  • The noise on both sides went up to the sky.

  LIB. XIV.

  • Now Nestor with Macaon drinking sat,
  • And heard the Greeks and Trojans fighting roar,
  • And to him said: Macaon, hear you that?
  • The noise is greater much than ’twas before.

  • Juno, by the help of Venus, layeth Jove asleep, whilst Neptune assisteth the Greeks.

  • 5Let Hecamede o’er the fire set water,
  • And wash away the blood from off your sore,
  • While I go hence and see what is the matter.
  • But at the wine sit you still as before.
  • This said, he took up Thrasymedes’ shield,
  • 10And Thrasymedes, his son, took up his,
  • And with a good sharp spear went to the field;
  • And going forth, a shameful sight he sees,
  • The Trojans chasing, while the Argives fly,
  • And down unto the ground was torn their wall.
  • 15And then, as when a wave is raised high
  • By secret gales, on neither side can fall,
  • Until some certain and prevailing wind
  • Commandeth in the air: so Nestor stood,
  • And with two thoughts distracted was his mind.
  • 20Sometimes to go t’ Atrides he thought good,
  • And sometimes to the battle. But at last
  • Resolved, unto Agamemnon goes,
  • Whilst shields and helmets, all the way he past,
  • Resounded in his ears with frequent blows.
  • 25And as he went, the wounded chiefs he met,
  • Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed.
  • For far off from the fight the ships were set,
  • And close unto the shore lay at a head.
  • Only the foremost haul’d were to the plain,
  • 30And close astern of those was built the wall.
  • For with so many ships they cross’d the main,
  • That near the field they could not place them all.
  • But side-by-side along the shore they lay,
  • And took up all the compass of the bay.
  • 35The wounded men, to look upon the fray,
  • Help’d by their spears, went softly on the way,
  • Griev’d at the heart, and met with Nestor there,
  • Who, with his coming, made them more afraid.
  • And when unto them Nestor was come near,
  • 40Then Agamemnon spake, and to him said:
  • O Nestor, glory of the Argive nation,
  • I am afraid that Hector will make good
  • That which he promised once in his oration,
  • Before the Trojans, when he boasting stood.
  • 45I never will to Troy come back, said he,
  • Till I have slain these Greeks, and set on fire
  • Their ships. And now performed it will be.
  • Oh, strange! Do all the other Greeks conspire
  • Against me with Achilles, Thetis’ son,
  • 50And therefore are resolved not to fight?
  • ’Tis plain, said Nestor, some such thing is done,
  • Else Jove himself could not with all his might
  • Have made such work. The wall is broken down,
  • In which, to save ourselves we did confide;
  • 55And at the ships they fight, nor was it known,
  • Nor could it be observed on which side
  • The Greeks that fighting were, were most distrest,
  • So thick to th’ ground in ev’ry part they fall.
  • But let’s consult what course to take were best,
  • 60If counsel can do any thing at all.
  • But that we all should fight I’ll not advise.
  • For what can wounded men in battle do?
  • To Nestor, Agamemnon then replies,—
  • Nestor, since now the war is brought unto
  • 65Our ships, and that, nor wall, nor trench does good,
  • And much the Argives suffer’d have who thought
  • Their wall for all the Trojans would have stood,
  • And all our hopes built on it come to nought.
  • For though I know Jove once was to us kind,
  • 70Yet now I see our ruin he designs,
  • And pleasure takes in changing of his mind,
  • And aids the Trojans whilst our hands he binds.
  • Let’s all to what I saying am agree.
  • The ships that nearest lie to the sea-side,
  • 75Drawn down into the water let them be,
  • And there till night let them at anchor ride.
  • And if the Trojans then give over fight,
  • We’ll fetch away the rest. For ’tis less shame
  • A danger to eschew, although by night,
  • 80Than needlessly to perish in the same.
  • Ulysses frowning on him then replied:
  • Atrides, what a word have you let fall?
  • You ought of cowards to have been the guide,
  • And not of us Achæans general.
  • 85For we by Jove are fram’d for actions high,
  • And to achieve the wars we undertake,
  • How dangerous soever, or to die.
  • And must we now the siege of Troy forsake,
  • And after so much labour lost go hence?
  • 90Peace! let no other Greek hear what you say.
  • Who would have said this that had common sense,
  • And whom so great an army did obey?
  • Nor is, in how to fly, your counsel right.
  • Must we our ships draw down from off the shore,
  • 95And at the same time with the Trojans fight,
  • Who now rejoice, but would do then much more,
  • And we that fight be utterly destroy’d?
  • For they that were at anchor on the main
  • Would go their way the danger to avoid.
  • 100Thus by your counsel we should all be slain.
  • Atrides to him then this answer gave:
  • Ulysses, your reproof is very smart;
  • Yet not command but counsel ’twas I gave,
  • And better I would hear with all my heart.
  • 105And so you shall, said Diomed, and though
  • Amongst you all the youngest man I be,
  • Be not offended with it. For you know
  • That born I am of a good family.
  • For Portheus three worthy sons begat,
  • 110In Calydon and Pleuron they all dwelled;
  • Melas, and Agrius, and Œneus, that
  • The other two in deeds of arms excelled.
  • Of him my father, Tydeus, was the son,
  • But in exile at Argos led his life,
  • 115And of Adrastus’ daughters married one,
  • And great possessions had he with his wife;
  • And there a rich and noble house did keep.
  • For corn, and wine, and fruit he had much ground,
  • And in his pastures had great store of sheep,
  • 120And chiefly was for chivalry renown’d.
  • Therefore, my counsel, if you find it good,
  • You should not for my person take amiss,
  • Since I dare fight and am of noble blood.
  • The counsel I shall give you now is this:
  • 125Let ev’ry man unto the battle go,
  • And place the wounded out o’th’ reach o’th’ shot,
  • That they encourage may against the foe,
  • Those discontented men that fight would not.
  • This said, they went together to the fight,
  • 130Which, Neptune spying, did not idle stand,
  • But, like unto an aged man in sight,
  • Came in, and took Atrides by the hand.
  • Achilles’ heart, said he, now leaps to see
  • The slaughter of the Argives, and the flight,
  • 135And joys therein, so little wit has he.
  • May death and shame upon him for it light!
  • Atrides, do not all the Gods mistrust,
  • For sure I am you’ll aided be by some,
  • And see the Trojans fill the air with dust,
  • 140As from your ships they fly to Ilium.
  • This said, amongst the Greeks he went about,
  • And loud, as if nine or ten thousand men
  • Together on a plain had made a shout,
  • He shouted, and the Greeks took heart again.
  • 145Now Juno standing on Olympus high,
  • Her brother ’mongst the Argives saw with joy,
  • And Jove on Ida with an angry eye;
  • And in her mind consid’ring was which way
  • To cozen him. And was resolv’d, at last,
  • 150To go to Ida to him finely drest,
  • And after she had by him been embrac’d,
  • To bind him fast, in gentle sleep to rest.
  • Then went she to her chamber, which her son
  • Vulcan had for her made, with door-posts high,
  • 155And solid doors, which of the Gods not one
  • Could open but herself, such mystery
  • Was in the lock and key. Then went she in,
  • And fast she lock’d the door, and there alone
  • She with ambrosia cleans’d her dainty skin,
  • 160Till not a speck unmeet was left thereon.
  • Then ’noints herself with sweet ambrosian oil,
  • That as unto the house of Jove she went,
  • The scent thereof diffus’d was all the while
  • Throughout the space ’twixt th’ earth and firmament.
  • 165Then comb’d and plaited she her golden hair,
  • And cloth’d herself with her ambrosian vest,
  • And many figures on’t embroid’red were,
  • And with gold buttons button’d at her breast.
  • A hundred tassels at her girdle hung.
  • 170And wore a precious pendant at her ear
  • Of three rich gems. And over all she flung
  • A dainty scarf, by which they cover’d were.
  • Then on her tender feet she tied her shoes.
  • And when herself she fully had array’d
  • 175From out her chamber presently she goes,
  • And Venus took aside and to her said,
  • Sweet child, I come a favour to request;
  • But tell me, will you grant it, yea or nay.
  • I fear you bear me ill will in your breast,
  • 180’Cause I for th’ Argives am, and you for Troy.
  • And Venus to her answer made and said,
  • Juno, Jove’s sister, do not from me hide
  • Your mind, which to my power shall be obey’d.
  • Juno to Venus then again replied,
  • 185Lend me Desire and Love, by which you tame
  • Both mortal men and the immortal Gods.
  • For to Oceanus I going am,
  • And Tethys, far from hence, that are at odds.
  • For when beneath the earth Jove Saturn sent,
  • 190I was by them receiv’d and cherished.
  • But now with one another discontent,
  • They will not come together in one bed.
  • If by this means I him can get within
  • Love’s arms again, no jar shall them divide,
  • 195And I from both shall love and honour win.
  • And Venus then again to her replied,
  • Juno, Jove’s wife and sister, your request
  • Cannot by me, nor ought to be denied.
  • And as she spake, she from about her breast
  • 200The fine enchanting girdle straight untied;
  • Wherein embroid’red were love and desire,
  • Soothing, and comfort, that sufficient were,
  • A heart, though very wise, to set on fire.
  • And to her hands she puts it, and said, Here,
  • 205Take it. There’s nothing wanting that you need
  • When you would have a man or God beguiled.
  • Put it but in your bosom, you will speed.
  • So Juno did, and as she did it smiled.
  • And to the house of Jove then Venus goes.
  • 210But Juno o’er Æmathia, and all
  • Pierra, and all the Thracian snows,
  • And never on the ground her foot lets fall.
  • And from the mountain Athos o’er the deep,
  • And came to Lemnos where king Thoas sway’d.
  • 215And there she met the gentle God of sleep.
  • And took him by the hand, and to him said,
  • Sweet Sleep, to whom both men and Gods all bow,
  • If ever with my will you did comply,
  • Deny not what I shall request you now.
  • 220Diffuse sound sleep a while upon Jove’s eye,
  • As soon as he with love is satisfied.
  • And I will thank you for it whilst I live.
  • And from my hand you shall receive beside,
  • A chair of beaten gold which I’ll you give;
  • 225Vulcan my son shall make it curiously,
  • Together with a foot-stool for your foot.
  • And Sleep to Juno then made such reply,
  • As if he were afraid and durst not do’t.
  • Juno, said he, if ’twere another God,
  • 230Though Ocean the great sire of them all,
  • I durst upon his eyes have softly trod.
  • But not on Jove’s, unless he for me call.
  • Your order once, like this, I did obey
  • Before, when Hercules, Jove’s mighty son,
  • 235Went off to sea after he conquer’d Troy.
  • Meanwhile the strong unruly Winds set on
  • By you, with mighty blasts at sea arose,
  • And from his best friends hurried him in pain,
  • And at the last threw him ashore at Coos.
  • 240But Jupiter, when he awoke again,
  • The Gods at home he all tost up and down,
  • And chiefly would of me have had a sight.
  • Into the sea then sure I had been thrown,
  • But that I fled, and was conceal’d by Night,
  • 245Till of his anger blunted was the edge.
  • For Night great power has with Gods and men,
  • And loth was Jove to break her privilege.
  • T’encourage him then Juno said again,
  • D’ye think Jove will as angry be for Troy,
  • 250As he was then for Hercules his son?
  • But go. Pasiphae you shall enjoy;
  • She’s fair and young, and of my Graces one,
  • And with you as a wife shall always stay.
  • Content, said Sleep; but I will have you swear
  • 255By Styx. Come, on the earth now one hand lay,
  • The other on the sea, that witness bear
  • May all the Gods below, that Juno will
  • Give me the Grace Pasiphae to wife,
  • And that as wife she shall dwell with me still,
  • 260That love her dearly as I do my life.
  • Then Juno, as she was required, sware
  • By all the subtartarian Gods, by name
  • The Titans and the brood of Saturn are.
  • And then together both from Lemnos came
  • 265To Lectos, at the foot of Ida hill,
  • And o’er the woods upward their way they took.
  • But out of sight of Jove there Sleep stood still;
  • And as they went the wood below them shook.
  • Then Sleep went up into a high fir tree,
  • 270And there he sat in likeness of a fowl,
  • All cover’d o’er with boughs and leaves was he,
  • Call’d Chalcis by the Gods, by us an owl.
  • Juno went on to Gargarus, where Jove
  • Saw her and met her with no less desire
  • 275Than when the first time to enjoy her love
  • Without their parents’ knowledge he lay by her.
  • And Jove then standing by her very near,
  • What made you from Olympus come, said he,
  • Neither your car nor horses have you here.
  • 280Deceitfully then to him answer’d she,
  • I going am upon a visit now
  • To th’ father and the mother of the Gods,
  • Oceanus and Tethys; who, you know,
  • Did bring me up. For now they are at odds,
  • 285And angry he abstaineth from her bed.
  • But if I can I reconcile them will.
  • The horses that me brought unharnessed
  • Attend me at the foot of Ida hill.
  • But that I from Olympus hither came,
  • 290Was that I would not such a journey take,
  • And not make you acquainted with the same.
  • This said, to Juno Jove again thus spake.
  • You may, said he, at any time do that,
  • But let us now with love ourselves delight.
  • 295For never yet upon my heart love sat
  • For woman or for Goddess with such might.
  • Not when upon the wife of Ixion
  • The wise Perithous I did beget;
  • Nor when the fair maid Danae I won
  • 300That brought forth godlike Perseus; nor yet,
  • When by Europa I two children got,
  • Minos and Rhadamant, both famous men,
  • For her; nor Semele, when I begot
  • Bacchus, man’s joy; nor for Alcmena, when
  • 305I Hercules begot, my lusty boy;
  • Nor Ceres, Leto, nor yourself till now,
  • So much I long your beauty to enjoy.
  • Fierce Cronides, then answered Juno, how?
  • On Ida top, for some o’ th’ Gods to spy,
  • 310And tell it to the rest to make them sport?
  • Then so ashamed of it shall be I,
  • That I shall never after come to court.
  • You have a chamber without chink or hole,
  • Made you by Mulciber, my son, whereat
  • 315Neither the sun nor any living soul
  • Can peep. Go thither if you will do that.
  • And Jove to Juno then again replied.
  • That man or God shall see us do not fear;
  • With such a cloud of gold I will us hide,
  • 320As to the Sun himself we’ll not appear.
  • This said, within his arms his wife he caught,
  • Whilst under them the Earth made to arise
  • Great store of saffron, hyacinth, and lote.
  • There pleased Jupiter with Juno lies,
  • 325Closely concealed in a cloud of gold.
  • Away went Sleep unto the Argive fleet,
  • And speaking there to Neptune said, Be bold,
  • And help the Greeks awhile. Jove cannot see’t.
  • I clos’d his eyes as he by Juno lay.
  • 330He’ll soon awake; but help the Greeks till then,
  • Who now before the Trojans dare not stay.
  • This said, Sleep went amongst the tribes of men,
  • And Neptune to the Argive ranks, and cried,—
  • Shall Hector think to get the victory
  • 335Because Achilles is not on our side?
  • No. Of Achilles little need would be
  • If every man would his companion cheer.
  • But now the counsel I shall give obey:
  • Arm every man himself with a good spear,
  • 340And shield, and helmet strong, and come away,
  • And follow me. I’ll lead you to the field.
  • Hector, though bold, my coming will not stay.
  • But let the best man take the largest shield,
  • And to a weaker put his own away.
  • 345This said, well pleased were the Argives all;
  • The wounded princes arm’d themselves each one;
  • King Agamemnon first, the general;
  • Ulysses and Tydides then put on
  • Their arms, and every way the field they range,
  • 350Surveying men and arms; and all along
  • Make weak men with their betters armours change,
  • And give their heavy arms to men more strong.
  • Thus armed all, and Neptune at the head,
  • Who with a great and long sword in his hand,
  • 355Went brandishing as if ’t had lightened,
  • To th’ fight they go; no man durst him withstand.
  • And Hector, with the Trojans well array’d,
  • On th’ other side came on. And then began,
  • Betwixt the Greeks that had the God for aid,
  • 360And those of Troy led by a valiant man,
  • A cruel fight. And high the sea arose
  • Up to the ships and tents. And presently,
  • With Alalaes the mighty armies close;
  • And up unto the heavens went the cry.
  • 365So loud as now, the sea did never roar,
  • When beaten ’twas int’ heaps by Boreas;
  • Nor wind, when in the woods great oaks it tore
  • Up by the roots, nor th’ wood when fir’d it was.
  • And here did Hector first begin the fight,
  • 370And at the greater Ajax threw his spear,
  • Which hit him; but upon two belts did light,
  • Which one upon another lying were,—
  • One of his sword, the other of his shield.
  • Hector was angry that in vain he flung,
  • 375For he was in great hope he had him kill’d,
  • And now retired backward to the throng.
  • Then Ajax in his hand took up a stone,
  • Of those to which the Greeks their ships did tye,
  • For there amongst their feet lay many a one,
  • 380And at him, as he parted, lets it fly;
  • And as a top he made it flying spin.
  • It but a little o’er his buckler flew,
  • And hit him ’twixt his buckler and his chin,
  • Upon the breast, and to the ground him threw.
  • 385As when an oak is overthrown by thunder,
  • Which known is eas’ly by the brimstone smell,
  • Men look upon’t with horror and with wonder;
  • So gazed they at Hector when he fell.
  • And from his hands went out both shield and spear,
  • 390And helmet from his head; and with great cry
  • The Greeks rush on, and in fair hope they were
  • To gain his body, and their spears let fly.
  • But all in vain. For by Polydamas,
  • Divine Æneas, and Agenor, and
  • 395Sarpedon, and by Glaucus sav’d he was,
  • Who all before him with their bucklers stand.
  • His friends then from the battle him convey’d
  • Unto his chariot and charioteer,
  • That close behind the squadrons for him stay’d,
  • 400And in his car tow’rds Ilium him bear.
  • But at the ford of Xanthus, by the way,
  • They poured water on his face, and then,
  • In little time, as on the ground he lay,
  • He breath’d, and came unto himself again.
  • 405Then sitting on his knees, he cast up blood;
  • And backward fell unto the ground again:
  • Upon his eyes again the darkness stood,
  • For of the stroke remained still the pain.
  • The Greeks, as soon as they saw Hector gone,
  • 410Took heart, and on the Trojans fiercer were.
  • Then Ajax, of Oileus the son,
  • Slew Satnius, son of Enops, with his spear.
  • His mother, Neis, was a very fine
  • Nymph of the river Satnius. Of the same,
  • 415Enops upon the bank sat keeping kine,
  • And on her got a son called by that name.
  • Him Ajax now struck through the flank and slew;
  • Then for the body there was much ado.
  • At him Polydamas a spear then threw,
  • 420Which Prothoenor’s shoulder pierced through.
  • And on his hands into the dust he fell.
  • To th’ Greeks then, boasting, said Polydamas,
  • I have not thrown in vain. I know full well
  • That one Greek or another taken ’t has
  • 425To lean on as a staff i’ th’ way to Hell.
  • At this, the Greeks were griev’d, but specially
  • The heart of Telamonius did swell.
  • For Prothoenor slain did near him lie;
  • And with his spear threw at Polydamas,
  • 430Who nimbly leapt aside and it declin’d.
  • But by Archelocus receiv’d it was,
  • Antenor’s son, whose death the Fates design’d,
  • Who having on his neck receiv’d the wound,
  • His forehead, and his eyes, and lips, and nose,
  • 435Before his legs or knees came to the ground.
  • Then Ajax took his turn, and at it crows.
  • Polydamas, said he, was Prothoenor
  • As good a man in your own estimation,
  • As this man that was brother to Antenor,
  • 440Or son? For he is not unlike that generation.
  • This said he, though he well knew who it was.
  • Then Promachus, as he drew off the dead,
  • Was killed by a spear from Acamas.
  • And in it Acamas then gloried.
  • 445Argives, said he, great threat’ners as you are
  • You vulnerable are as well as we,
  • And no less subject to the chance of war.
  • How quiet Promachus now lies you see,
  • And so I hope ere long you all shall lie.
  • 450My brother not long unrevenged lay.
  • ’Tis good you see to have a brother nigh.
  • And when he this had said he went away.
  • Peneleus then went to throw his spear
  • At Acamas, but Acamas was gone.

  • Neptune assisteth the Greeks.

  • 455But yet he threw and kill’d another there,
  • Iliones, of Phorbas th’ only son,
  • A man much favoured by Mercury.
  • The spear beneath his eyebrow enter’d in,
  • And to the ground fell down the bloody eye.
  • 460The spear went on unto the brain within,
  • Then sitting down with both his hands outspread,
  • The deadly spear yet sticking in his eye,
  • Peneleus with his sword cuts off his head,
  • Which to the ground with helmet on did fly.
  • 465Then looking up, he to the Trojans said,
  • Tell this in Troy. And let his parents mourn.
  • For Promochus’s wife will not be joy’d,
  • When we without her husband shall return.
  • This said, the Trojans stricken were with fear,
  • 470And look’d about each one which way to fly.
  • Now tell me, Muse, who and by whom slain were
  • When they pursu’d the flying enemy.
  • Great Ajax first, the son of Telamon,
  • Killed the Mysian leader, Hyrtius,
  • 475Of Gyrtias the strong and valiant son;
  • Antilochus then killed Mermerus
  • And Phalces. By Meriones were slain
  • Hippotion and Morys. Teucer slew
  • Prothon and Periphetes, good men twain.
  • 480At Hyperenor then Atrides threw,
  • And gave him on the flank a cruel wound,
  • And where the spear went in, his life went out,
  • And suddenly he fell unto the ground,
  • And on his eyes sat darkness all about.
  • 485But he that far the greater number slew,
  • The lesser Ajax was, Oïleus’ son.
  • ’Twas hard to scape when Ajax did pursue;
  • For of the Argives all he best could run.

  LIB. XV.

  • Jupiter awakes and sends away Neptune. Hector chaseth the Greeks again to their ships, and fireth one of them. The acts of Ajax. Which is the fifth battle.

  • When flying they had pass’d the ditch and wall,
  • They at the horses and the chariots stay’d,
  • With loss of many men, and looking pale.
  • And Jove, awak’d, stood and the field survey’d,
  • 5And saw the Greeks pursue, and Trojans fly,
  • And Neptune with the Greeks, and Hector laid
  • Upon the plain, his friends there sitting by,
  • And not a little of his life afraid,
  • For gasping he scarce able was to draw
  • 10His breath, and blood abundance vomited,
  • Nor knew his friends. When Jupiter him saw,
  • Offended his condition pitied.
  • And then on Juno fiercely look’d and said,
  • Juno, I see all this is done by you;
  • 15And if you for it with a whip were paid,
  • ’Twould be no more than for your work is due.
  • Have you forgot how once you swung i’ th’ air,
  • And had two anvils hanging at your feet,
  • Your hand with a gold chain tied to my chair?
  • 20Though sorry were the other Gods to see’t;
  • Yet had I any seen but go about
  • Your manacles or shackles to untie,
  • I from the sill of heaven had thrown him out,
  • And strengthless made him on the earth to lie.
  • 25I was not so much griev’d for Hercules
  • When Boreas, set on by you, arose
  • As he went off from Troy, enrag’d the seas,
  • And at the last threw him ashore at Coos.
  • But I to Argos brought him safe again.
  • 30And this I now repeat, that you may try
  • Whether you likely are to lose or gain,
  • Abusing our familiarity.
  • This said, the Goddess Juno, struck with fear,
  • By Earth, said she, and Heaven about it spread,
  • 35By Styx, which is our greatest oath, I swear,
  • And by your life, and by our nuptial bed,
  • I never did to Neptune speak a word,
  • To hurt the Trojans, or the Greeks to aid;
  • But all he did was of his own accord,
  • 40By pity only and compassion sway’d.
  • And from henceforward I will him advise,
  • Seeing what way you lead, the same to take.
  • Then Jupiter with favourable eyes
  • On Juno look’d, and thus unto her spake.
  • 45Juno, if we were both one way inclin’d,
  • Neptune would quickly with us both comply.
  • Now if your words dissent not from your mind,
  • Go ’mongst the other Gods, and presently
  • Bid Iris and Apollo to me come.
  • 50For Iris unto Neptune I will send,
  • To bid him leave the battle and go home.
  • To Hector and the Trojans I intend
  • To send Apollo, to give Hector might,
  • And cure him of his pain, that he may lead

  • Jupiter awakes and sends away Neptune.

  • 55The Trojans on, and put the Greeks to flight,
  • That Thetis’ son may see them scattered;
  • And he shall send Patroclus to the field,
  • Who shall the Trojans rout and kill my son
  • Sarpedon, and himself shall then be kill’d
  • 60By Hector’s spear. And after that is done,
  • Achilles in revenge again shall fight,
  • And by his hand stout Hector shall be kill’d
  • Under the walls of Troy, i’ th’ Trojans’ sight,
  • And beaten be the Trojans from the field,
  • 65Till Troy by Pallas’ counsel taken be.
  • Nor till I have performed all I said
  • To Thetis, supplicating at my knee,
  • Let any God presume the Greeks to aid.
  • This said, went Juno to Olympus high.
  • 70As when a man looks o’er an ample plain,
  • To any distance quickly goes his eye;
  • So swiftly Juno went with little pain,
  • And found the Gods at wine together set.
  • And at her coming in they all stood up.
  • 75But Themis forward went and Juno met,
  • And to her hand delivered the cup,
  • And said, You look as if you frighted were
  • By Jupiter for something. But what is’t?
  • You know, said Juno, that he is severe;
  • 80And you shall hear the matter if you list,
  • Together with the other Gods, though bad.
  • They will not all contented with it be;
  • But some of them will troubled be and sad.
  • And griev’d was she, though speaking smilingly.
  • 85Then Juno went up to her throne, and sat;
  • And unto all the Gods spake angrily,
  • How mad, said she, or foolish are we, that
  • Are thinking how again Jove’s hands to tie,
  • Who, careless and unmov’d on Ida hill,
  • 90Knows his own strength, and does our plots despise.
  • And therefore what he sends, be’t good or ill,
  • We’ll take it patiently, if we be wise.
  • Nor must the God of war on Jove complain,
  • Or in rebellion against him rise
  • 95Because his son Ascalaphus is slain.
  • At this, with both his hands Mars clapp’d his thighs,
  • And to the Gods above complaining said,
  • Pardon me, Gods; I will revenge my son,
  • And ’mongst the Argives go and give them aid,
  • 100Though I should lie amongst the dead. Then on
  • He puts his armour, and gives order to
  • Terror and Flight his chariot to prepare;
  • And then there had been twice as much ado
  • T’appease Jove’s anger ere it came to war,
  • 105If Pallas had not (for the Gods afraid)
  • Pluck’d off his helmet, and set up his spear,
  • And pull’d his buckler off, and to him said,
  • Fool, Bedlam, what! have you no ears to hear?
  • You hear what news now Juno brings from Jove.
  • 110And if you care not though yourself be lost,
  • Yet let the danger of us all you move.
  • For Jove will leave both Greek and Trojan host,
  • And, coming hither, seize us one by one,
  • And never ask who guilty is or not.
  • 115Therefore give over vexing for your son,
  • For better men than he, by Gods begot,
  • Already here have been and shall be slain.
  • The Gods cannot preserve their children all.
  • This said, she brought Mars to his place again.
  • 120And Juno to their houses went to call
  • Iris and Phœbus. You must go, said she,
  • To Jove on Ida. What you are to do,
  • You will by Jove himself informed be,
  • As soon as you his presence come into.
  • 125Her message done, Juno resumes her place,
  • Iris and Phœbus down to Ida fly,
  • And finding Jove, stood still before his face.
  • Nor look’d he on them with an angry eye;
  • For soon they did his wife’s command obey.
  • 130Then speaking first to Iris, Go, said he,
  • To Neptune quickly, tell him what I say.
  • Bid him no longer at the battle be,
  • But either go t’Olympus to the Gods,
  • Or to the sea. If he will neither do,
  • 135Bid him consider if there be no odds
  • As well in strength as age between us two.
  • He knows that all the other Gods me fear,
  • And for my coming dareth none to stay,
  • As strong as to himself he doth appear.
  • 140This said, swift-footed Iris went her way
  • From Ida hill, and Jove without delay,
  • And swift as any cloud before the winds,
  • Came down unto the battle before Troy,
  • And there amongst the Argives Neptune finds,
  • 145And going to his side, I came, said she,
  • To speak with you a word or two from Jove.
  • You must not in the war a party be.
  • He bids you go up to the Gods above,
  • Or down to th’ sea, where lies your own command.
  • 150If you refuse, he threatens you with war,
  • And bids you have a care t’avoid his hand;
  • And th’elder is, he says, and stronger far,
  • Which you yourself, he thinks, will not deny,
  • Since th’other Gods of him stand all in awe.
  • 155Neptune to this replying, first spake high:
  • Good as he is, said he, it is not law,
  • Thus to usurp upon my liberty.
  • For sons and heirs of Saturn we were three,
  • Begot on Rhea. Pluto, Jove, and I.
  • 160By lot the rule o’ th’ waters came to me.
  • To Jove the government of heaven fell,
  • And of the clouds, and the ethereal sky.
  • To Pluto darkness, and the rule of hell.
  • Earth and Olympus did as common lie.
  • 165Let Jove then with his share contented be,
  • And not encroach on me. For well ’tis known
  • I hold not any thing of him in fee,
  • But live as he should do, upon my own.
  • He should not unto me such language use,
  • 170But to his children, that will be afraid,
  • And dare not what he bids them to refuse.
  • Thus Neptune spake. Again then Iris said,
  • Neptune, shall I this haughty answer carry
  • To Jove? And will you that I with it go
  • 175As ’tis? The wise their minds oft vary;
  • And Furies on the eldest wait you know.
  • So she to him. Then Neptune thus to her.
  • Iris, this word was spoken in good season.
  • Much worth, I see, is a wise messenger.
  • 180But I was vex’d, because thus without reason,
  • When I his equal am by birth and lot,
  • Jove uses me as if I were his slave.
  • Well. For the present, cross him I will not,
  • Though I be vex’d. That answer let him have.
  • 185And further, that if he without consent
  • Of me, Athena, Juno, Mercury,
  • And Vulcan, Troy shall spare, our discontent
  • For th’ Argives’ wrong implacable will be.
  • And when he this had said he fight forbears,
  • 190Nor any longer ’mongst the Argives stay’d,
  • But div’d into the sea o’er head and ears.
  • Then Jove unto Apollo spake, and said,
  • To Hector go; for Neptune now is gone
  • For fear of my displeasure; had he stay’d,
  • 195The sons of Saturn of our war had known.
  • ’Twas wisely done of him my hand t’ avoid.
  • And better both for him and me; but go,
  • And shaking your great shield, the Greeks affright,
  • And strengthen Hector, and encourage so
  • 200That he the Argive lords may put to flight,
  • And follow them down to the Hellespont,
  • And make them for their hollow ships to fight.
  • What then is to be done? I’ll think upon’t.
  • For I intend not to destroy them quite.

  • Hector chaseth the Greeks again to their ships.

  • 205This said, Apollo left his father Jove,
  • And down he came to Troy from Ida hill,
  • Swift as a falcon flying at a dove,
  • And Hector on the ground found sitting still,
  • Not laid, but to his senses come anew,
  • 210And freely breathing, although very weak,
  • And very well his friends about him knew.
  • There Phœbus standing nigh did to him speak.
  • Hector, said he, why sit you here alone?
  • O, kindest of the Gods, said he, you know
  • 215That Ajax wounded has me with a stone,
  • So that I am disabled with the blow,
  • And once to-day I thought I should have gone
  • To Erebus with other shadows dim;
  • With such a force he threw the mighty stone.
  • 220Then thus again Apollo answered him.
  • Hector, I Phœbus am, and hither come
  • From Jove, against the Greeks to give you aid,
  • And ever have wish’d well to Ilium.
  • Lead to the ships your troops. Be not afraid.
  • 225Hector at this encourag’d was again,
  • And as a horse at rack and manger fed,
  • Breaking his headstall, scuds upon the plain,
  • And high into the air he holds his head,
  • His mane upon his shoulders plays with th’ air,
  • 230And proud is in his freedom to behold
  • The pleasant river and the pastures fair,
  • To which he had accustom’d been of old,
  • And swiftly to the same is carried;
  • So swiftly now went Hector to each part,
  • 235And in the field his troops encouraged,
  • After Apollo once had giv’n him heart.
  • But as when swains with curs to chase a roe,
  • Go forth into the field, and with their cry
  • Rouse a fierce lion, they the prey let go
  • 240To save itself i’ th’ woods or rochers high,
  • And both the men and dogs are forc’d to fly;
  • Just so the Greeks whilst they in bodies fight,
  • They save themselves; but seeing Hector nigh,
  • They troubled were, and lost their courage quite.
  • 245Then to them spake Thoas, Andræmon’s son,
  • Well skill’d at distance or at hand to fight.
  • Amongst th’ Ætolians better there was none.
  • And few compare with him for counsel might.
  • O strange, said he, what wond’rous sight is this!
  • 250I verily thought Hector had been slain
  • By Ajax’ hand. But see he risen is.
  • Some God or other rais’d him has again.
  • He kill’d us has already many men,
  • And many more is likely now to slay.
  • 255For Jupiter defends him now as then.
  • But come, let all my counsel now obey.
  • Let us that most pretend to fortitude
  • Stay here embattl’d to receive the foe,
  • And to the ships send back the multitude.
  • 260For thither, I think, Hector dares not go:
  • This counsel was approv’d, and then stood out
  • Ajax, Idomeneus, Meriones,
  • Teucer, Meges, and such as were most stout,
  • And one battalion was made of these,
  • 265Th’impression of Hector to sustain,
  • Till to the ships the rest retreated were.
  • And Hector with his troops came on amain,
  • Himself the foremost shaking his long spear.
  • Apollo march’d before him to the field,
  • 270Concealing in a cloud his glorious head,
  • And carried in his hand a shining shield,
  • Which whosoever laid his eyes on fled.
  • ’Twas made at first by Mulciber, and then
  • Given to Jove when he came down to fight
  • 275Against the squadrons of rebellious men,
  • To make them fly the field at the first sight.
  • Expecting Hector, close the Argives stand,
  • And loud and sharp on both sides was the cry,
  • And many a spear from every lusty hand,
  • 280And in the air, arrows abundant fly,
  • And spears; whereof some flying home did kill,
  • And others would have done, but short they fell.
  • As long as Phœbus did his shield hold still,
  • Many a soul on both sides flew to Hell.
  • 285When shaking it, he made the Argives see ’t,
  • They stricken were with fear and suddenly
  • Their heavy hearts fell down into their feet,
  • And then they made all haste they could to fly.
  • And as a herd or flock is frighted when
  • 290A wolf or lion coming on they see,
  • And no assistance have of dogs or men;
  • So th’ Argives scatter’d before Hector flee.
  • Then slain by Hector was Arcesilaus,
  • And Stichius who the Bœotians led.
  • 295The other a good friend of Mnesteus was;
  • Both killed were by Hector as they fled;
  • Æneas Medon slew, and Iasus.
  • Medon was little Ajax’ bastard brother,
  • And lived from his father Oileus,
  • 300By th’ instigation of his stepmother
  • Eriopis, whose brother he had slain.
  • And Iäsus th’ Athenian leader was,
  • But back to Athens led them not again.
  • His father was Sphelus Bucalidas.
  • 305Mecestes slain was by Polydamas.
  • Polites Echius slew in the first fight,
  • And Clonius by Agenor killed was;
  • And Deiochus by Paris in the flight.
  • Whilst from the foe each one his armour takes,
  • 310The flying Greeks into the ditch leap’d all,
  • And there encumber’d mightily with stakes,
  • Were forced to retire within the wall.
  • Then Hector roared to the Trojans, saying,
  • On to the ships, and let the dead men lie.
  • 315I’ll be his death whom ever I find staying,
  • Nor shall he buried be or burned by
  • His friends and kin, but in the fields of Troy
  • Be left for dogs to tear and haul about.
  • This said, unto the ships he drave away,
  • 320By th’ Trojans follow’d with a mighty shout.
  • Phœbus before them march’d, and with his foot
  • Into the trench threw down the earth again,
  • And made an easy and plain passage through’t
  • As far as one a spear can well hurl, when
  • 325He hurleth for a wager. To the wall
  • The Trojans go, Apollo there again
  • Before them is, and eas’ly makes it fall,
  • As children when themselves they entertain
  • With making pretty things upon the sands,
  • 330Then comes into their heads another toy,
  • And down they push this with their feet or hands;
  • So easily Apollo did destroy
  • The Argives’ mighty work, and bring the fight
  • Again unto the ships. Where now they pray’d,
  • 335And one another’s courage did excite.
  • Nestor to heav’n held up his hands and said,
  • O Jove, if you the sacrifice accepted have
  • Of any Greek before he hither came,
  • And promis’d that the army you would save,
  • 340O, at our prayer, now perform the same;
  • Let us not perish by the Trojans here.
  • Thus Nestor pray’d, and then Jove thundered,
  • Declaring that his prayers granted were.
  • At this the Trojans were encouraged,
  • 345And by their hopes interpreting Jove’s mind,
  • Upon the Greeks with greater fury fall.
  • As when a wave is thrown by some great wind
  • Into a ship, so pass’d they at the wall,
  • And to the ships they went with horse and car.
  • 350The Greeks went up into their ships to fight,
  • And with long spears, made for a naval war
  • And pointed well with brass, and shining bright,
  • The Greeks and Trojans push at one another,
  • These mounted stood upon their chari’ts high,
  • 355And higher on their black ships stood the other.
  • Patroclus, that till now sat quietly,
  • Because the fight was only at the wall,
  • And to Eurypylus his care applied
  • And med’cines fit to cure his wounds withal,
  • 360And sat discoursing with him by his side,
  • Now when he saw the Trojans were within,
  • And of the Argives heard the woful cries,
  • And saw the fear and danger they were in,
  • With both his hands then clapped he his thighs.
  • 365Eurypylus, said he, I cannot stay;
  • For mightily increased is th’ affray.
  • Your wound be dressed by your servant may,
  • But to Achilles I must go away.
  • Who knows but I may win him at the last
  • 370To help the Greeks? This said, away he went,
  • And left Eurypylus, and made what haste
  • He could to get unto Achilles’ tent.
  • Meanwhile the victory no way inclin’d.
  • Neither the Greeks could make the Trojans fly,
  • 375Nor yet the Trojans, as they had design’d,
  • Back from the ships could force the enemy;
  • But level hung the wings of victory,
  • As when two scales are charg’d with equal weight,
  • Made by the art of Pallas curiously,
  • 380The beam lies level in the air and straight.
  • And at one time at divers ships they fought.
  • Directly unto Ajax Hector went,
  • And there sharp fighting was one ship about.
  • Hector to burn, Ajax to save it meant.
  • 385Here Ajax, with a long spear in his hand,
  • Killed Caletor, Hector’s brother’s son,
  • As he was coming with a flaming brand
  • To fire the ship, and died before ’twas done.
  • This Hector saw, and to his fellows cried,
  • 390Trojans and friends, defend the body dead
  • Of Clytius’ son, and shrink not from my side.
  • And as he spake his long spear from him fled,
  • Which, aim’d at Ajax, fell on Lycophron,
  • A man that was to Ajax very dear,
  • 395But born at Cythera, and Mastor’s son,
  • That having kill’d a man durst not stay there,
  • But unto Ajax fled, and with him staid,
  • Till now by Hector’s spear struck through the head
  • He died. Then Ajax to his brother said,
  • 400Teucer, our friend Mastorides is dead.
  • You know how much we honour’d him at home.
  • ’Tis Hector that has slain him. Where are now
  • Your deadly arrows? And what is become
  • Of Phœbus’ gift, your so egregious bow?
  • 405Which Teucer hearing, quickly with him was
  • With bow and quiver in his hand, and shot
  • And slew the servant of Polydamas,
  • That had the guiding of his chariot,
  • Clitus by name, who while in vain he sought
  • 410By driving to where hottest was the fight,
  • From Hector and the Trojans thanks t’ have got,
  • The fatal arrow on his neck did light.
  • Then down he fell. The frighted horses shook
  • The empty car. Then came Polydamas,
  • 415And by the heads the cap’ring horses took,
  • And sets Astynous in Clytus’ place;
  • And gave him a strict charge to hold them nigh,
  • But not to come with them into the fight.
  • Then Teucer lets another arrow fly
  • 420At Hector, which if it had hit him right,
  • He never at the ships again had fought.
  • But Jupiter was pleas’d to save him now,
  • And brake the bow-string. Then in vain flew out
  • The arrow, and into the dust the bow.
  • 425And Teucer to his brother made his moan.
  • Ajax, said he, is’t not a wondrous thing?
  • My bow is started from my hand and gone,
  • Some God or other broken has the string,
  • Yet new ’twas made this morning purposely
  • 430To last all day. Teucer, said Ajax then,
  • Cannot you let your bow and quiver lie,
  • And fight with spear in hand like other men,
  • And give unto the Greeks encouragement?
  • No. Though the Gods above should in their hate
  • 435To let the Trojans take our ships be bent,
  • Yet let us sell them at a lusty rate.
  • Teucer then laid his bow up in his tent,
  • And arm’d himself with helmet and with shield,
  • And a good spear, and back to Ajax went,
  • 440And found him where he left him in the field.
  • When Hector saw that Teucer’s noble bow
  • Was useless now, he to his squadrons cried,
  • Trojans and Lycians, come on boldly now,
  • For Teucer now his bow hath laid aside.
  • 445Jove brake the string. I saw it with these eyes.
  • For easily it may discerned be
  • To whom the hand of Jove intends the prize,
  • And to whom he denies the victory.
  • And now upon our side he is you see,
  • 450And from the Greeks their courage takes away.
  • Then to the ships let’s go courageously,
  • And let the fear of death no man dismay.
  • For why should any of us fear to die?
  • When for his country ’tis, it is no shame.
  • 455And if we make the enemy to fly,
  • Sav’d are his wife and children, goods, and name.
  • Whilst Hector thus the Trojans did excite,
  • Ajax unto the Argives spake, and said,
  • We must now either put our foes to flight,
  • 460Or make account we shall be all destroy’d.
  • If Hector here to burn our ships should chance,
  • Can you go home again, d’ye think, a-foot?
  • He calleth on his men; ’tis not to dance,
  • But fire our ships, if we will let him do’t.
  • 465For us ’tis better in close fight to die
  • Here all at once, or get the victory,
  • Than here, God knows how long, consuming lie,
  • And peck in vain at a weak enemy.
  • Thus Ajax rais’d the courage of th’ Achæans.
  • 470Then Hector slew the son of Perimed,
  • Stichius that had command of the Phocæans.
  • And Ajax slew Laodamas that led
  • The Trojan foot, and was Antenor’s son.
  • And Otus by Polydamas was slain,
  • 475Otus, that led the bold Epeians on,
  • And was a friend of Meges. He again
  • A spear threw at Polydamas, and miss’d;
  • For Phœbus kindness had for Panthus’ son,
  • And with a present wit did him assist
  • 480To turn about and let the spear go on,
  • And Crœsmus there receiv’d it on his breast,
  • And down he fell. Then Dolops, Lampus’ son,
  • (Lampus, that was of living men the best,
  • And grandchild of the King Laomedon)
  • 485To be reveng’d, at Meges threw his spear,
  • Which pass’d his shield, but in his breastplate staid,
  • (The breastplate which his father used to wear,
  • With many plies of strong mail overlaid,
  • And given was to Phyleus by his guest
  • 490At Ephyre, wherewith, in martial strife,
  • From deadly strokes of spears to save his breast,
  • And of his son it now preserv’d the life),
  • But Meges Dolops hit upon the head,
  • And from his crest struck off the goodly main,
  • 495Which he but newly then had dyed red.
  • But Dolops still the fight did well maintain,
  • Till Menelaus stole unto his side,
  • And struck him through the shoulder with his spear.
  • No longer stood he then, but fell and died,
  • 500And both of them to strip him going were.
  • And Hector then call’d out to all his kin,
  • And unto Menalippus specially,
  • Who, while the Greeks were absent, lived in
  • Percote, and took care of th’ husbandry,
  • 505But when the Argive fleet to Troy was come,
  • He then return’d his country to defend,
  • And liv’d in Priam’s house at Ilium,
  • And proud the Trojans were of such a friend,
  • And lov’d he was by Priam as his son.
  • 510And now unto him Hector spake, and said,
  • Have we for Dolops no compassion,
  • Or to defend his body are afraid?
  • Come, follow me. We must no longer play
  • At distance with the Greeks, but either they
  • 515Must utterly deface the town of Troy,
  • And kill us all, or we them all destroy.
  • This said, away they both together went
  • To save the body of their cousin dead;
  • And Ajax, with a contrary intent,
  • 520His Argives to the fight encouraged.
  • Argives, said he, to honour have an eye,
  • And of your fellows’ censures have a care;
  • For slain are always more of those that fly
  • Than those that of base flight ashamed are.
  • 525This said, though of it no great need there was
  • Amongst the Greeks, they presently obey’d,
  • And at the ships stood like an hedge of brass;
  • But on came Hector, not at all afraid.
  • T’ Antilochus then Menelaus said,
  • 530Amongst us there is none that better can
  • Both fight and run. Why should you be afraid
  • To leap unto the throng and kill your man?
  • This said, away again went Menelaus.
  • Antilochus leapt out before the rest,
  • 535And threw his spear at Menalippus, as
  • He coming was, and hit him on the breast.
  • No sooner was he fallen to the ground,
  • Than to the spoil Antilochus ran in,
  • As quick as when upon a deer a hound
  • 540Runs in, that by the hunter kill’d had been.
  • But soon as he saw Hector coming on,
  • As valiant as he was, he durst not stay;
  • But as some wild beast that had mischief done,
  • Ere people could assemble, ran away.
  • 545The Trojans follow’d him with clamour loud,
  • And spears abundance after him they threw,
  • But he ran on, and got into the crowd.
  • But they unto the ships the Greeks pursue;
  • For Jupiter to make his promise good
  • 550To Thetis, hitherto the Greeks dismay’d,
  • And in the battle with the Trojans stood,
  • Until he had performed all he said;
  • But meant to stay no longer with them, than
  • To see some Argive ship with fire to shine,
  • 555And then to let the Greeks prevail again.
  • From the beginning such was his design
  • In aiding Hector, who now furiously
  • Went on like Mars, or like fire in a wood,
  • With foam about his mouth, and fire in’s eye.
  • 560And Jove himself came down, and o’er him stood,
  • To save him when he was hemm’d in by foes,
  • And honour him, since ’twas his destiny
  • That not long after he his life should lose,
  • And by none but Achilles’ hand should die.
  • 565Now Hector, looking where the best men stood,
  • And armed best, tried first to break in there.
  • Keen as he was, he there could do no good;
  • So close they join’d to one another were,
  • And stuck like great stones in a tow’r or rock,
  • 570That of the boist’rous winds and billows high
  • Which break upon it, still endures the shock.
  • Then Hector other places went to try,
  • And through he pass’d. Then as a wave high grown,
  • When in foul weather forced by the wind
  • 575Under dark clouds, into a ship is thrown,
  • The mist and roaring sails bring to the mind
  • Of the poor seamen nothing but to die;
  • So frighted were the Greeks. But forward he
  • Still went; and as when in the meadows by
  • 580The river’s side thousands of kine there be,
  • And th’ herdsmen see a lion to them come,
  • But with a wild beast know not how to fight,
  • Some go before them, and behind them some,
  • The lion falleth on them in their sight,
  • 585Between both ends, and killeth only one,
  • The rest all fly; so th’ Argives all, before
  • Hector and Jupiter, dispersed run,
  • But only one was killed, and no more.
  • And Periphetes ’twas, the worthy son
  • 590Of an unworthy father, Copreus, who,
  • When any labour great was to be done
  • By Hercules, did from Eurystheus go
  • As messenger, to carry the commands.
  • But Periphetes virtue wanted none.
  • 595His feet were swift, and valiant were his hands,
  • A wiser man Mycena had not one.
  • But slain he was; for as he turn’d to fly,
  • He trod upon the edge of his own shield,
  • And overthrown, upon his back did lie;
  • 600And with a stab of Hector’s spear was kill’d.
  • His friends, though many standing by him were,
  • And griev’d to see him fall, did him no good,
  • For ev’ry one now for himself did fear,
  • And out of Hector’s way kept all he could.

  • The acts of Ajax.

  • 605The Greeks retreated were no further yet,
  • Than to between the first and second row
  • Of th’ Argive ships; but fore’d that place to quit,
  • Near to their tents themselves they rally now,
  • Where Nestor them encouraged again.
  • 610Argives, my friends, be valiant now, said he,
  • And, if at any time, now play the men.
  • Of one another’s censures fearful be.
  • Besides, by what you should be moved most,
  • Your parents, children, wives, and goods and land,
  • 615Whether you have them still, or have them lost,
  • I you conjure against the foe to stand.
  • This Nestor said, the Argives to excite:
  • And Pallas from them took the mist again,
  • That they might see who did, who did not fight,
  • 620Both at the ships and elsewhere on the plain.
  • But Ajax Telamonius thought not good
  • To stay with other Argives in the throng,
  • But up into a ship he went and stood,
  • With a ship’s spear twenty-two cubits long.
  • 625As when a man that taught has been to guide
  • Four horses at a time, and in his hand
  • Holdeth their reins while they go side by side,
  • And people on the way admiring stand,
  • He from one horse unto another skips,
  • 630And makes them run together to the town;
  • So Ajax o’er the Argives’ ranged ships
  • To save them, and the tents, ran up and down.
  • And terribly unto the Argives cried
  • To play the men. Nor Hector ’mongst his troops
  • 635Could be persuaded longer to abide;
  • But suddenly as a black eagle stoops
  • At a great flock of geese, or cranes, or swans,
  • So Hector of the Argive ships to one
  • Flew down, and Jove, with his puissant hands,
  • 640Behind him marching, always push’d him on.
  • Then at the ships the fight began again,
  • More cruel than before. You would have said
  • They had no sense of weariness or pain,
  • So mightily they all about them laid.
  • 645The Greeks were in despair of their return.
  • The Trojans thought the Argive lords to rout,
  • And all the ships that brought them thither burn.
  • Thus minded on each side, they fiercely fought.
  • Upon a ship then Hector laid his hand,
  • 650Which brought Protesilaus unto Troy,
  • But never back unto his native land.
  • For this good ship they one another slay.
  • Arrows and darts no longer flew about;
  • But now with battle-axes of great strength,
  • 655In one another’s reach they stood and fought,
  • And with great spears, and of a mighty length,
  • And great keen swords, whereof from dying hands
  • Abundance fell on either side to th’ ground;
  • And cover’d were with streaming blood the sands,
  • 660That gushed out from many a ghastly wound.
  • But Hector on the ship his hand held fast,
  • And to his Trojans call’d aloud for fire.
  • This day, said he, requites our ill days past;
  • To burn these ships Jove with us doth conspire.
  • 665And set on fire they had been long ago
  • (For I would gladly at the ships have fought)
  • But that the senate would not have it so,
  • And kept both you and me from going out.
  • But though by Jove then smitten were their hearts,
  • 670Yet boldly now himself he leads us on.
  • This said, the Trojans bravely play their parts,
  • And with more vigour fought than they had done.
  • Then on the deck no longer Ajax staid,
  • So many spears went singing by his head.
  • 675For if he there had stood he was afraid
  • That some unlucky spear would strike him dead;
  • And to the far side of the ship retreats,
  • Leaving the deck, which fenceless was and high,
  • And sat upon one of the rower’s seats,
  • 680And still upon the Trojans kept his eye.
  • And thence he from the fire the ship defends,
  • And terribly on th’ Argive heroes calls
  • To do their best. We have, said he, no friends
  • Behind to save our lives, nor better walls
  • 685Than those we made; nor any city nigh,
  • That can or willing are our part to take.
  • But far from home, in hostile ground we lie,
  • And hemmed in are by the briny lake;
  • And nothing can redeem us but our hands.
  • 690This said, he look’d about him furiously,
  • To see if any durst approach with brands,
  • Resolved to kill him that with fire came nigh.
  • And many to the ship with fire were sent
  • By Hector; but when they approached near,
  • 695Ajax continually did them prevent,
  • And twelve he killed with his naval spear.

  LIB. XVI.

  • The sixth battle. The acts of Patroclus, and his death.

  • Thus fiercely fought the Trojans and the Greeks.
  • And with Achilles was Patroclus now,
  • With tears abundance running down his cheeks,
  • Like springs that from a high rock streaming flow.
  • 5No sooner him Achilles weeping spied,
  • But pitied him. Why weep you so, said he,
  • Like a child running by his mother’s side,
  • And holding by her coat, would carried be?
  • Bring you some news that none but you can tell?
  • 10Menœtius and Peleus still do live
  • At Phthia with the Myrmidons, and well.
  • If not, we both have cause enough to grieve.
  • Or is it that the Greeks are slaughter’d so,
  • And fall before their ships? ’Tis for their pride!
  • 15Speak, what’s the matter, that we both may know?
  • Patroclus, sobbing, to him then replied,
  • O son of Peleus, of all Greeks the best,
  • Forgive me if in this necessity
  • I freely speak. They that excel the rest
  • 20In prowess, at the ships all wounded lie.
  • Ulysses wounded is, and Diomed,
  • And Agamemnon, and Eurypylus,
  • And cur’d may be, but stand us in no stead;
  • Nor does your virtue any good to us.
  • 25O Gods, let never anger in me dwell
  • Like this of yours. If you cannot, who can
  • The Trojans from the Argive fleet repel,
  • And save so many lives? O cruel man!
  • The noble Peleus sure was not your father;
  • 30Born of the Goddess Thetis you were not.
  • Sprung from the raging sea I think you rather,
  • And that by some hard rock you were begot.
  • But if you stand upon some prophecy,
  • Or Thetis have forbidden you to fight
  • 35From Jove, yet send some Myrmidons with me,
  • That I may to the Argives give some light.
  • But in your armour let me be array’d,
  • That when they see me they may think me you,
  • And back into the city run dismay’d,
  • 40And th’ Argives wearied take breath anew.
  • For long the Trojans have endur’d the fight;
  • And if fresh enemies they coming see,
  • With little labour they’ll be put to flight,
  • And leave the Argive tents and navy free.

  • The sixth battle.

  • 45Thus prayed he, but ’gainst himself he pray’d,
  • And rashly sued to cast his life away.
  • To this Achilles answer made and said,
  • My dear Patroclus, what is this you say?
  • I stand not on, nor care for prophecy,
  • 50Nor yet by Jove forbidden am to fight;
  • But at my heart it lieth grievously,
  • My equal should oppress me by mere might.
  • A town I won, in which we found great prey;
  • For my reward the Greeks gave me a maid,
  • 55Which Agamemnon from me took away,
  • Only because more people him obey’d,
  • As if I were a man of little worth.
  • But let that pass. Though once I never meant
  • My Myrmidons should with the Greeks go forth
  • 60To battle till the foes were at my tent,
  • Yet since the Argive ships with such a mist
  • Of Trojans on the shore environ’d lie,
  • And th’ Argives, wanting room, can scarce resist,
  • And have the pow’r of Troy for enemy,
  • 65Take you my arms, and lead unto the fight
  • The Myrmidons. The Trojans shall not see
  • My helmet near to put them in a fright.
  • If Agamemnon had been just to me,
  • The ditches had been fill’d with Trojans dead.
  • 70But now into the very camp they break;
  • Nor can resisted be by Diomed.
  • To save the ships Tydides is too weak.
  • Nor can that hateful mouth of Atreus’ son
  • Be heard for Hector, who the air doth fill
  • 75With roaring to the Trojans to fall on,
  • And shouting of the Trojans as they kill.
  • Yet so, Patroclus, charge them lustily,
  • For fear the ships should all be set on fire;
  • Then lost the Greeks are without remedy,
  • 80And to their country never shall retire.
  • But now what I shall say give ear unto,
  • To th’ end the Greeks may honour me, and send
  • Briseis back with gifts, you thus must do.
  • When you have freed the ships, there make an end
  • 85And come away. If Jove give you success,
  • No longer without me pursue the fight,
  • ’Twill make my honour with the Greeks the less;
  • Nor in the slaughter take so much delight
  • As to proceed up to the walls of Troy,
  • 90Lest by some God or other you be check’d;
  • But having freed the ships come straight away,
  • Apollo has for Troy a great respect,
  • And leave both sides to fight upon the plain
  • Till, grant it, O ye Gods, there left are none
  • 95But you and I the town of Troy to gain.
  • Thus they to one another talk’d alone.
  • Ajax by this time from the ship was gone,
  • Forc’d by the spears that from the Trojans flew,
  • And weak’ned by the hand of Saturn’s son.
  • 100For at his head the Trojans alway threw,
  • And forc’d he was to hold his great shield high,
  • And wearied was thereby his buckler-hand.
  • With spear in hand no Trojan durst come nigh,
  • But pelting him with spears aloof they stand.
  • 105The sweat ran down his limbs, nor could he well,
  • Though mightily for breath he pull’d, respire,
  • Now tell me, Muses, that in heav’n do dwell,
  • How came the ship first to be set on fire?
  • Thus. Hector with his broad-sword, at a blow,
  • 110The spear of Ajax chanc’d to cut in twain,
  • Where to the staff the head was fix’d, and so
  • His mighty naval spear he shook in vain:
  • The head of brass flew humming to the ground.
  • This Ajax saw, and frighted was to see
  • 115Jove thus the counsel of the Greeks confound,
  • To give unto the Trojans victory,
  • And went his way. Then in the Trojans came
  • With brands of flaming fire; and presently
  • The hind part of the ship was all in flame.
  • 120Achilles with his hand then clapp’d his thigh,
  • And to Patroclus said, a flame I see
  • Rise at the ships. ’Tis time that you were gone,
  • Lest our retreat should intercepted be.
  • Away, and quickly put my armour on.
  • 125This said, Patroclus first of all puts on
  • His boots of war, and to his legs them tied
  • With silver clasps; and next of Thetis’ son
  • The breast-plate good he to his breast applied,
  • With golden stars like heaven beautified.
  • 130His sword then o’er his shoulder he puts on,
  • With silver studs to hang down by his side;
  • And then his helmet, shining like the sun,
  • He puts upon his head; and last of all
  • He took two spears that fit were for his hand.
  • 135But not that which Achilles fought withal,
  • For that none but Achilles could command.
  • A great and strong and heavy spear it was,
  • Made of an ash cut down i’ th’ woody hill
  • Of Pelius, and by Chiron given ’twas
  • 140To Peleus, his mighty foes to kill.
  • Then to Achilles’ car Automedon
  • The horses Balius and Xanthus tied,
  • That were by Zephyrus begotten on
  • Podarge, feeding by the ocean’s side;
  • 145And at their heads he Pedasus did place,
  • (A horse he took at Thebe in the prey),
  • That with them both was able to keep pace,
  • Though he were mortal, and immortal they.
  • While by his car Patroclus arming stands,
  • 150Apace from tent to tent Achilles runs,
  • And calleth unto those that had commands,
  • To arm and bring away the Myrmidons.
  • Then came they and about Patroclus stood,
  • Like wolves that on a lusty stag had fed,
  • 155And lapping stain’d the river with his blood,
  • With bellies full and hearts encouraged.
  • When they together were, Achilles then
  • Appointed who i’ th’ field should them command.
  • To Troy he ships brought with him five times ten,
  • 160From ev’ry ship came fifty men to land.
  • And then five bodies he made of them all,
  • And captains five by whom they led should be.
  • But was himself the captain-general,
  • For of the Myrmidons the king was he.
  • 165Of these five captains one Menestius was,
  • Who was the river Sperchius his son,
  • And by the name of Boro then did pass.
  • His mother was of Peleus’ daughters one,
  • And Polydora was her name. And she
  • 170To Perierus had been married,
  • And for his wife reputed constantly
  • Before she was of M’nestius brought to bed.
  • The second bands were by Eudorus led,
  • The son of Polymela, a fair maid.
  • 175Hermes of her became enamoured,
  • As at a dance her beauty he survey’d.
  • It was upon Diana’s holy day
  • He saw her dancing, and at night he got
  • Unseen into her bed and with her lay,
  • 180And his brave son Eudorus then begot.
  • To Echecles she after married.
  • Her father Phylas to him took her son,
  • And unto man’s estate him nourished,
  • And lov’d no less than if t’ had been his own.
  • 185The third Pisandrus led, that swift could run,
  • And had at fighting with a spear more art
  • In bloody war than any Myrmidon
  • Amongst them all, Patroclus set apart.
  • The fourth was by the old knight Phœnix led.
  • 190And of the fifth, charge had Alcimedon.
  • When they were all together gathered,
  • Unto them sharply thus spake Thetis’ son.
  • Ye Myrmidons, said he, remember now,
  • How all the time I kept you have from fight,
  • 195You have the Trojans threaten’d hard; and how
  • You said my mother fed me had with gall,
  • And in great tumult bid me let you go,
  • Or at the ships upon the Trojans fall.
  • Lo, there before you is the war you crave.
  • 200The Trojans are about to burn the fleet;
  • Do you your utmost now the same to save.
  • Let him that brags of valour let us see’t.
  • This said, the Myrmidons became more keen,
  • Because they saw the king had chang’d his mind;
  • 205And presently into their ranks fell in,
  • And close themselves to one another join’d,
  • As close as in a wall are laid the stones,
  • By him that means his house shall keep out wind;
  • So close together stood the Myrmidons,
  • 210Helmets with helmets, shields with shields conjoin’d.
  • Before them all two good men armed went,
  • Patroclus and Automedon, to th’ fight.
  • Achilles then returned to his tent,
  • Where stood a chest most beautiful to sight,
  • 215Which Thetis gave him when he went to Troy,
  • Wherein were carpets, coats, and cloaks laid up,
  • To keep him warm when he a ship-board lay;
  • And in the same was kept a dainty cup,
  • In which no other man e’er drank but he,
  • 220Though ’twere to offer to the Gods above.
  • Nor he himself (such was his nicety)
  • E’er in it drank but offering to Jove.
  • Achilles then with sulphur scour’d the cup,
  • And having rins’d it clean with water fair,
  • 225And wash’d his hands, went out and held it up
  • Tow’rds heav’n, and thus to Jove address’d his prayer.
  • Pelasgic Jove, that far from hence dost dwell,
  • But at Dodona men thy counsel know,
  • The Selli there, thy prophets, fortunes tell,
  • 230Though on the ground they sleep, and barefoot go,
  • That at my prayer once didst honour me,
  • And broughtest on the Argive host much woe,
  • Once more unto my prayer inclined be.
  • Though to the fight myself I do not go,
  • 235I thither send my dear companion.
  • O Jove, now honour him! Let Hector know
  • Patroclus is a man of war alone,
  • And not then only when I with him go.
  • And when he has the Trojans driven from
  • 240The Argive ships, then grant, O Jove, he may
  • With all his Myrmidons safe hither come,
  • With all their arms, and make no longer stay!
  • Thus prayed he. To half of his desire
  • Jove nodded; but the other half denied.

  • The acts of Patroclus, and his death.

  • 245He granted him to save the ships from fire;
  • But at returning safe his neck he wried.
  • Achilles, when he offer’d had and pray’d,
  • Went with the cup again into his tent,
  • And safely laid it up; and not long staid,
  • 250But out again to see the fight he went.
  • The Myrmidons now marched orderly;
  • But when unto the Trojans they were near,
  • Like wasps incensed they upon them fly.
  • As when at unawares a traveller
  • 255Is going by a wasps’ nest near the way,
  • Which to the common damage stirr’d has been,
  • And anger’d by a young unlucky boy,
  • Upon the traveller they vent their spleen,
  • And all at once with fury on him fly:
  • 260Just so the Myrmidons occasion take,
  • Provok’d by Agamemnon’s injury,
  • To fall upon the Trojans for his sake.
  • Patroclus yet did further them incite.
  • Ye Myrmidons, said he, Achilles’ bands,
  • 265Remember now courageously to fight;
  • Achilles’ honour now lies in your hands,
  • The best of Greeks. Let Agamemnon see
  • The fault he did, and know he was unwise,
  • How wide soever his dominion be,
  • 270The best of all th’ Achæans to despise.
  • Then on the Trojans all at once they fly:
  • With them the other Greeks by shouts conspire.
  • The Trojans when they saw Patroclus nigh,
  • With stout Automedon, Achilles’ squire,
  • 275Their courage fell, their ranks disorder’d were,
  • They look’d about which way ’twere best to run.
  • For they suppos’d Achilles now was there,
  • And that his discontent was past and gone.
  • Patroclus first of all lets fly his spear
  • 280Amongst the thickest of the foes, about
  • Protesilaus’ hollow ship (for there
  • The Trojans standing close together fought)
  • And slew Pyræchmes, who from Amydon,
  • And Axius’ wide stream, the Pœons led.
  • 285The spear passed through his right shoulder-bone,
  • And when the Pœons saw him fall, they fled.
  • Not only these he frighted had, but all,
  • By killing of a captain of such fame.
  • Patroclus then upon the rest did fall,
  • 290And drave them from the ships, and quench’d the flame.
  • The Trojans towards Troy retire apace;
  • Patroclus and the Argives them pursue,
  • Leaving the ship half burnt upon the place,
  • And on the plain the fight began anew.
  • 295As men see all the rocks and woods about,
  • When than the hills the mist is gotten higher;
  • So when the fire was at the ships put out,
  • The Greeks did for a little while respire.
  • For yet the Trojans did not plainly fly,
  • 300But still resisting went, and losing ground.
  • Here Areilochus was killed by
  • Patroclus, that gave him a deadly wound
  • Upon the thigh, just as he turn’d about;
  • The spear went through, and passing brake the bone,
  • 305And at the wound his blood and life went out,
  • And on his face he fell down with a groan.
  • Thoas by Menelaus on the breast,
  • Close by his shield, a wound receiv’d and died.
  • To Meges Antichus a spear addrest,
  • 310But Meges, that his purpose had espied,
  • Prevented him, and with his spear him hits
  • Upon the leg, and near unto the knee,
  • And all the nerves thereof asunder splits,
  • And of the wound he died presently.
  • 315Antilochus then slew Atymnius,
  • The spear went through his flank and struck him dead.
  • And Maris then struck at Antilochus,
  • But was prevented by Torasymed,
  • And slain, pierc’d through the shoulder with his spear.
  • 320And thus by two sons of old Nestor slain
  • The two sons of Amisodorus were,
  • And of Sarpedon good companions twain;
  • Their sire, Amisodorus, kept at home
  • The foul Chimæra, that had done much harm,
  • 325Devouring people which did that way come,
  • Till she was slain by Bellerophontes’ arm.
  • Cleobulus then, pester’d in the throng
  • By little Ajax, taken was alive,
  • But after he was taken, liv’d not long,
  • 330For Ajax did him of his life deprive.
  • For on the neck he gave him such a wound
  • With his broad sword as made it smoke with blood;
  • And presently he fell unto the ground,
  • And on his eyes perpetual darkness stood.
  • 335With swords Peneleos and Lycon prest
  • Each other hard. For both their spears had miss’d.
  • Lycon him hit upon the helmet crest,
  • And broke his sword. One part staid in his fist,
  • The other flew. Peneleos him hit
  • 340Upon the neck. The sword so far went in,
  • As from the shoulders it divided it,
  • Save that it hung a little by the skin.
  • Meriones pursued Acamas,
  • Amongst the Trojans that before him fled;
  • 345And overtook him as he mounting was,
  • And with a wound i’ th’ shoulder left him dead.
  • And by Idomeneus, the king of Crete,
  • Hit in the mouth was Erymas and slain.
  • His teeth all stricken out, fell at his feet,
  • 350And by the spear pierced through was his brain,
  • And fill’d with blood stood staring both his eyes,
  • Which through his nose and mouth he strove to void,
  • And gasping, seeks to cast it out, and dies.
  • Thus the Greek lords each one his man destroy’d:
  • 355And then as bloody wolves invade the lambs
  • Or kids, that by the shepherd’s negligence
  • Are wander’d on the mountains from their dams,
  • And kill; for nature gives them no defence;
  • So fiercely on the Trojans fell the Greeks,
  • 360But they no more trust to their hands, but feet.
  • Ajax to throw his spear at Hector seeks,
  • But with him Hector has no mind to meet,
  • But by th’ advantage of his skill in war,
  • Knowing of arrows and of spears the sound,
  • 365To keep aloof from Ajax still took care,
  • And cover’d with his shield, oft shifted ground.
  • And though he knew the honour of the day
  • Would fall unto th’ Achæans in the end,
  • Yet from the field he went not straight away,
  • 370But staid and sought his people to defend.
  • And then as clouds rise from Olympus high,
  • And through the air to heaven tend upright
  • Before tempestuous winds; so rose the cry
  • At th’ Argive ships. Then Hector left the fight,
  • 375And after him the Trojans take their heels,
  • But in the trench greatly encumbered were,
  • And many char’ot-poles they brake and wheels.
  • And when they of the trench were gotten clear,
  • Fill’d with affright was ev’ry path and way;
  • 380Thus at the ships the storm of war gave o’er.
  • The horses that were loose ran back to Troy;
  • And to the ships the Trojans came no more.
  • Patroclus, where he most disorder found,
  • Thither he drove, and trod the Trojans down,
  • 385And char’ot-seats were tumbled to the ground,
  • And many from their seats were headlong thrown.
  • But the swift horses of Patroclus, which
  • On Peleus by the Gods bestowed were,
  • Found no impediment, but leapt the ditch,
  • 390Pursuing Hector, who now was not there.
  • As when with stormy winds th’ autumnal rain
  • Falls heavy on the earth, from heaven sent,
  • When wrested are the laws by men for gain,
  • Who from the Gods expect no punishment;
  • 395The rivers swell; down from the mountain’s side
  • Innumerable currents headlong run,
  • Roaring and foaming, to the ocean wide;
  • And wash’d away is all man’s work, and gone:
  • So fled the Trojans. These thus put to flight,
  • 400He kept the Greeks from going to the town,
  • As they desir’d; yet gave not over fight,
  • But ’twixt the ships and river overthrown
  • Were many more; for unrevenged yet
  • Were many Greeks. First Pronous he kill’d,
  • 405Whom with his spear upon the breast he hit,
  • Where he was not well cover’d with his shield.
  • The next he slew was Thestor, Enop’s son,
  • That sate upon his seat amaz’d with fear,
  • And from his hand the horses’ reins were gone.
  • 410Patroclus standing by him with his spear,
  • Struck him upon the cheek, and there it stuck
  • Fast in his teeth; and over the fore-wheel
  • To th’ ground Patroclus fetch’d him with a pluck,
  • As to the bank a fisher pulls an eel,
  • 415And to the earth he threw him on his face.
  • Eryalus then to him went, in vain,
  • And by Patroclus slain was on the place,
  • For with a stone he cleft his head in twain.
  • Epaltes, Erymas, Amphoterus,
  • 420And Echius, Pyres, Damastorides,
  • Euippus, Polymelus, Iphius;
  • He one upon another kill’d all these.
  • Sarpedon saw how fast his good friends died,
  • And that his Lycians ready were to fly;
  • 425He them rebuking, with a loud voice cried,
  • Whither d’ye go? For shame, stay here; for I
  • Intend to meet this man myself, and know
  • Who ’tis that here so furiously fights,
  • And lays so many valiant Trojans low.
  • 430This said, he from his chariot alights.
  • Patroclus, seeing that, alighted too,
  • And presently betook him to the fight,
  • As keen as on a high rock vultures two.
  • And Jupiter was grieved at the sight,
  • 435And to his wife and sister, Juno, said,
  • Ay me, my son Sarpedon will be slain,
  • For by the Fates long since it so is laid;
  • And now my mind divided is in twain,
  • To snatch him hence, and carry him again
  • 440To Lycia, or now to let him die,
  • And by Patroclus’ fatal spear be slain.
  • And Juno then to Jove made this reply.
  • O Jove, most wilful of the Gods, what say’e?
  • A mortal man condemn’d is by the Fates,
  • 445And you would now the execution stay?
  • Do. But take heed how you offend the states.
  • And this I tell you further, if you do
  • Your son, Sarpedon, from the combat save,
  • The other Gods will look to do so too,
  • 450For sons at Troy many immortals have.
  • But since you love your son, and for him grieve,
  • First let Patroclus take away his life,
  • And then to Death and Sleep commandment give
  • To carry him, from out the bloody strife,
  • 455To Lycia, amongst his friends and kin,
  • Who see him will embalm’d and buried,
  • And build a tomb to lay his ashes in,
  • Which are the honours due unto the dead.
  • This Juno says; Jove to it condescends,
  • 460And for the honour of his son so dear,
  • For rain he drops of blood from heaven sends.
  • When they were come to one another near,
  • First threw Patroclus, and kill’d Thrasymed,
  • A valiant man, Sarpedon’s charioteer,
  • 465The spear into his belly entered.
  • Then at Patroclus flew Sarpedon’s spear,
  • And hit him not, but Pedasus he slew,
  • The fore-horse of Achilles’ car, and now
  • The sprawling horse caus’d a disorder new.
  • 470The yoke screeks, and Automedon lets go
  • The reins; whereby the combatants are parted;
  • Automedon soon found a remedy,
  • For from the char’ot-seat he nimbly started,
  • And cut the gears that did the fore-horse tie.
  • 475The horses two adjusted were again,
  • And then the combatants the fight renew.
  • And first Sarpedon threw, and threw in vain;
  • The spear just over his left shoulder flew.
  • But not in vain Patroclus’ spear was thrown,
  • 480That smote him through the midriff. Heavily
  • Sarpedon then unto the ground came down,
  • As if’t had been an oak or poplar-tree;
  • Or as a pine cut down i’ th’ hill, to be
  • A mast for some great ship, falls to the ground,
  • 485So fell to th’ earth Sarpedon heavily,
  • And with his armour made the place resound.
  • As when a bull is by a lion slain,
  • Under his paw to th’ ground he groaning falls;
  • So groaning fell Sarpedon, in great pain,
  • 490And to his friend, the valiant Glaucus, calls,
  • And to him said, Now, Glaucus, valiant be,
  • And set your mind on nothing but to fight.
  • But first, go call my best men all to me,
  • And to assist me here join all your might.
  • 495If of my arms I stripp’d be by the foe,
  • The shame thereof for ever will abide.
  • So therefore quickly call the people: go.
  • And when he thus had spoken to him, died.
  • Patroclus on the body sets his foot,
  • 500And out again he pull’d the bloody spear,
  • With pieces of the midriff sticking to’t.
  • And now away the horses ready were
  • To run, for no man was upon the seat;
  • But by the Myrmidons they soon were staid.
  • 505The grief of Glaucus then was very great,
  • For that he knew not how the king to aid;
  • For in great pain his arm was with the stroke
  • Of Teucer’s arrow, at the Argive wall,
  • And found no remedy but to invoke
  • 510Apollo, and upon him thus did call:
  • Apollo, whether thou in Troy be now
  • Or Lycia, unto my prayer give ear;
  • For when distressed men unto thee bow,
  • Thou dost from any place or distance hear.
  • 515I grievously am wounded in the hand,
  • The pain whereof up to my shoulder goes;
  • No longer now can I my spear command,
  • When most I need to use it ’gainst the foes.
  • Sarpedon, the brave son of Jove, is slain;
  • 520His father of him takes no further care.
  • But thou, Apollo, now assuage my pain,
  • And cure my wound, and make me fit for war;
  • That I may bring the Lycians to fight,
  • And I with them the body may defend.
  • 525This said, Apollo, by his heavenly might,
  • His wound heal’d up, the pain was at an end;
  • The blood was gone; encourag’d was his mind,
  • And Glaucus knew Apollo did it all,
  • And joy’d such favour with the God to find:
  • 530Then out he went the Lycians to call.
  • That done, he to the Trojan princes goes,
  • Agenor, Hector, and Polydamas,
  • Divine Æneas, and craves aid of those;
  • But what he said, to Hector spoken was.
  • 535Hector, said he, your friends you now forget,
  • Who from their country hither came so far,
  • Their lives to venture for your sake. For yet
  • How to assist them you take little care.
  • Slain is the King Sarpedon in the fight,
  • 540That both with might and justice rul’d the land
  • Of Lycia. Let them not vent their spite
  • Upon the body slain; but by him stand:
  • The Myrmidons else, for th’ Achæans’ sake,
  • Of whom he slew so many at the fleet,
  • 545Will in revenge his armour from him take,
  • And do unto him other things unmeet.
  • This said, the Trojans all were on a flame
  • To be reveng’d. To Troy he was a wall,
  • Although he thither as a stranger came;
  • 550He many led, himself the best of all.
  • And to the Myrmidons they march’d away,
  • Hector himself before them, at the head,
  • As angry for Sarpedon’s death as they.
  • Patroclus then the Greeks encouraged,
  • 555And speaking first to the Ajaxes two,
  • Ajax, said he, both you and you, again
  • Fight gallantly, as you are us’d to do,
  • Or better if you can. For I have slain
  • Sarpedon with my spear, who was the man
  • 560That mounted first up to the Argive wall.
  • Let’s take his armour off him if we can,
  • And make his fellows some of them to fall.
  • This said, they into order put their men,
  • Trojan and Lycian; Greek and Myrmidon;
  • 565And to the body slain return again,
  • And fiercely one another fell upon.
  • And Jove the place with darkness cover’d round,
  • As long as they were fighting ’bout his son.
  • And at the first the Greeks forsook the ground.
  • 570For then there was a noble Myrmidon,
  • Epigeus, that king was formerly
  • Of Budeon, and forced thence away
  • For a man’s death, to Peleus did fly,
  • Who sent him with Achilles unto Troy.
  • 575And now no sooner layed had his hand
  • Upon Sarpedon’s body, but was slain
  • By a great stone, that flew from Hector’s hand,
  • And broke (for all his casque) his skull in twain.
  • Down he upon the dead king falling, dies.
  • 580Patroclus, when he saw his friend thus fall,
  • Swift as a hawk that at a starling flies,
  • Up to the foes ran, and amongst them all
  • He threw a stone, which lighted on the neck
  • Of Stenelaus, and the tendon rent.
  • 585And this gave to the Trojan horse a check;
  • And back a little Hector with them went,
  • As far as one can for experiment,
  • Or at a foe in battle throw a spear;
  • So far back Hector with his char’ot went,
  • 590The Argives them pursuing in the rear.
  • But Glaucus, that did then the Lycians lead,
  • Pursu’d by Bathycles, and very near,
  • Upon a sudden to him turn’d his head,
  • And deep into his breast he thrust his spear,
  • 595And down he fell. The Trojans then were glad,
  • And at the body fallen boldly staid.
  • On th’ other side, the Greeks were very sad
  • To lose so good a man, but not dismay’d.
  • Meriones then slew Laogonus,
  • 600Son of Onetor, priest of Jupiter,
  • And honour’d like a God in Gargarus,
  • The spear him pierc’d between the cheek and ear.
  • Then at Meriones Æneas threw,
  • And was in hopes to give him his death’s wound;
  • 605But he then stoop’d, and o’er him the spear flew,
  • And one end shook, the other stuck i’ th’ ground.
  • At this Æneas, angry, to him said,
  • Meriones, as well as you can dance,
  • My spear was like your motion to have staid,
  • 610And that it did not, think it was by chance.
  • To him replying, said Meriones,
  • Æneas, strong and valiant as you are,
  • You cannot kill men whom and when you please;
  • Yourself are subject to the chance of war
  • 615As well as I. And if my spear fall right
  • (As much as to your hands you trust) you’ll die
  • Like other men, and I win honour by’t,
  • And to the shades below your soul will fly.
  • This said, Patroclus came and him reproved.
  • 620Meriones, why talk you thus, said he,
  • D’ye think the Trojans can be hence removed
  • With evil words, till many slain there be?
  • In council words may somewhat signify,
  • But hands in war determine the event,
  • 625’Tis to no purpose words to multiply.
  • This said, away they both together went,
  • And by and by was heard a mighty sound,
  • As if the woods were falling on the hills,
  • Of men in armour falling to the ground,
  • 630And swords and spears on helmets and on shields.
  • Sarpedon cover’d was from top to toe,
  • With dust and spears, and so besmear’d with blood,
  • That wise he must have been that could him know,
  • Though who it was they all well understood,
  • 635And busy were about him as the flies
  • That buzz in summer time about the pans
  • Of milk. And all this while Jove kept his eyes
  • Upon the battle; and advising stands,
  • Whether ’twere best to let Patroclus die
  • 640Upon Sarpedon, slain by Hector, or
  • Let him go on, and follow those that fly,
  • And of the Trojans make the slaughter more.
  • At last resolv’d, he made the Trojans fly.
  • Patroclus then pursu’d them up to Troy,
  • 645And as he went, made many of them die;
  • And Hector was the first that fled away,
  • Not ignorant of Jove’s apostacy.
  • And then the lusty Lycians also fled;
  • Whose king, Sarpedon, now i’ th’ heap did lie,
  • 650Stretch’d out on th’ earth amongst the other dead.
  • And him Patroclus of his armour strips,
  • His mighty armour, all of solid brass,
  • And sent it by his fellows to the ships.
  • Thus slain and stripp’d Jove’s son Sarpedon was.
  • 655Then Jove unto Apollo spake, and said,
  • Go, Phœbus, bear Sarpedon from the fight
  • A great way off, and let him be array’d
  • In an immortal garment, pure and bright.
  • But in the river clear first wash him clean,
  • 660And with ambrosia anoint his skin.
  • Let Death and Sleep, two sisters, bear him then
  • To Lycia, unto his friends and kin,
  • By whom his body will embalmed be,
  • And tomb and pillar set upon his grave,
  • 665Whereby preserv’d will be his memory,
  • Which all the honour is the dead can have.
  • This said, Apollo down from Ida came,
  • And bare Sarpedon’s body from the fight.
  • And far off in the river wash’d the same,
  • 670And with ambrosia his body white
  • Anointed, and with garments fair array’d,
  • Immortal garments; and into the hands
  • Of Death and Sleep committed it, who laid
  • It down again amongst the Lycians.
  • 675Patroclus then commands Automedon
  • To drive to Troy. Not well; for had he then
  • The counsel of Achilles thought upon,
  • He had escap’d. But Jove knows more than men,
  • And quickly can take from a man of might,
  • 680And to a weaker give the victory,
  • Whom he himself encourage will to fight,
  • As now by Jove himself set on was he.
  • But while Patroclus chas’d the Trojans thus,
  • Who fell? Adrestus, and Autonous,
  • 685Epistor, Melanippus, Perimus,
  • Pylartus, Mulius, and Echeclus,
  • And Elasus. And taken had been Troy
  • Now by Patroclus, but that Phœbus stood
  • Upon the tow’r, and push’d him still away,
  • 690To vex the Greeks, and do the Trojans good.
  • For thrice he mounted, and was thrice put back
  • By the immortal hand; but when again
  • He mounting was, Apollo to him spake.
  • Retire, said he, Patroclus, ’tis in vain;
  • 695It is not you that Ilium can win,
  • Nor Thetis’ son, a better man than you.
  • Patroclus, at these words, great fear was in,
  • And far off from the wall himself withdrew.
  • Now Hector was upon his char’ot seat,
  • 700I’ th’ Scæan gate, and did deliberate
  • Whether to make the Trojans to retreat,
  • And when they were come in to shut the gate,
  • Or go to th’ fight. While he consulted thus,
  • Apollo came, and standing by his side
  • 705In likeness of his uncle Asius,
  • Him sharply did for standing idle chide.
  • Hector, said he, why stay you here? If I
  • Exceeded you in strength as you do me,
  • I teach you would, in such necessity
  • 710To quit the field thus, and unuseful be.
  • Go: to Patroclus now directly drive,
  • And doubt not but that by Apollo’s aid,
  • You may him of his life and arms deprive.
  • Away went Phœbus when he this had said,
  • 715And Hector then returned to the fight,
  • While Phœbus did the Argive throng dismay.
  • Cebriones still kept his horses right
  • Upon Patroclus. For upon the way
  • Hector pass’d through the Greeks, and killed none.
  • 720Patroclus then alighting, with his spear
  • In his left hand, in th’ other took a stone,
  • And with it killed Hector’s charioteer,
  • Cebriones, King Priam’s bastard son.
  • Above his eyes, upon his forehead just,
  • 725Patroclus hit him with the knobby stone,
  • Then from his seat he dropp’d into the dust.
  • Broke was his skull, his eye-brows crush’d int’ one,
  • And at his feet, before him fell his eyes.
  • Patroclus scoff’d, and said ’tis nimbly done.
  • 730And proudly thus, insulting, o’er him cries:
  • Oh, that we had a man could leap like him,
  • And set upon one of our ships were he,
  • To leap into the sea, and groping swim!
  • How satisfied with oysters should we be!
  • 735So quickly down he tumbled to the plain,
  • I see that there good tumblers are in Troy.
  • This said, he ran unto the body slain,
  • Himself with his own valour to destroy.
  • And then unto the ground leapt Hector too,
  • 740And at Cebriones his body, fought
  • He and Patroclus, fierce as lions two,
  • That had a great stag, slain by chance, found out;
  • And hungry both, strove who should first be fed,
  • So sought these two each other to destroy.
  • 745And Hector pull’d the dead man by the head,
  • Patroclus by the heels, the other way.
  • Meanwhile the Greeks and Trojans fighting stood,
  • As when between two hills two great winds fight,
  • On both sides strongly shaken is the wood,
  • 750And boughs beat one another with great might,
  • And with a horrid noise together clash,
  • And many lusty limbs then broken are,
  • Of barky corme, broad beech, and lofty ash;
  • So did it with the Greeks and Trojans fare.
  • 755About Cebriones stuck many a spear,
  • And many a fledg’d arrow from the bow,
  • And many shields by great stones broken were,
  • While he along in bed of dust lay low,
  • And quite forgotten had his chivalry.
  • 760Now all the while that mounting was the sun,
  • The weapons flew, and men fell equally,
  • But after noon, when half the day was gone,
  • The Argives clearly had the victory,
  • And from the field Cebriones they drew,
  • 765And stripp’d there of his armour, let him lie.
  • Patroclus then the Trojans chas’d anew,
  • And there before the Myrmidons leapt out,
  • Like Mars himself, and thrice nine Trojans slew.
  • And out again he went; but at that bout,
  • 770Upon himself untimely death he drew.
  • For Phœbus came (Patroclus saw him not)
  • Wrapp’d up in air, and standing on the ground,
  • Between the shoulders with his hand him smote,
  • That all about him seemed to go round,
  • 775And from his head his helmet then he flung
  • Into the dust, and foul it was all o’er,
  • And beaten by the hoofs of horses rung,
  • That never had been so defil’d before,
  • When on Achilles’ godlike head it sate.
  • 780But Jove to Hector gave it now to wear,
  • And only then, when near him was his fate.
  • Moreover, Phœbus brake Patroclus’ spear,
  • A heavy spear, well armed at the head,
  • And pluck’d his mighty shield out of his hand,
  • 785And left him of his arms uncovered.
  • With this, Patroclus did amazed stand;
  • And near unto him then a Dardan came,
  • And in the back he smote him with his spear;
  • Panthorides Euphorbus was his name,
  • 790And kill’d him not, but back ran to the rear.
  • For though he well could fight, and ride, and run,
  • And going first abroad to learn the wars,
  • He was by no man of his age outdone,
  • And had o’erthrown twice ten men from their cars;
  • 795Yet for Patroclus now he durst not stay,
  • Although he wounded and disarmed were.
  • Then to the rear Patroclus went away;
  • And after him ran Hector with his spear,
  • And at the belly struck him through the side,
  • 800And down he fell. The Greeks were grieved sore.
  • As when at a small fountain almost dried,
  • Together come a lion and a boar
  • With equal thirst, and drink they both would fain,
  • But fight who shall drink first, slain is the boar;
  • 805So now by Hector was Patroclus slain,
  • Though many Trojans he had kill’d before.
  • And Hector then triumphing o’er him said,
  • Patroclus, you thought sure t’ have stormed Troy,
  • And in your ships our women t’ have convey’d
  • 810To Argos with you, when you went away.
  • Were you so simple that you could not see
  • That Hector, with his horses and his spear,
  • Protects the Trojans from captivity?
  • Now shall you for the dogs and fowls lie here;
  • 815Nor can Achilles do you any good,
  • That bad you, ’t may be, when you from him went,
  • Not to return, till dyed in his blood,
  • You Hector’s coat had from his shoulders rent,
  • And vain enough you were to promise it.
  • 820Patroclus, with a feeble voice, replied,
  • Hector, you now may boast as you think fit,
  • And in your own ability take pride.
  • T’ Apollo first my death I owe, who threw
  • My armour from my body to the ground;
  • 825I could have slain else twenty such as you,
  • And from Euphorbus I receiv’d a wound.
  • To bring me down, you were but one of three.
  • But hear me, and remember what I say;
  • Hector, you will not long live after me,
  • 830And only for Achilles’ hand you stay.
  • And at these words he was of life bereft.
  • His soul unto th’ infernal regions fled,
  • Lamenting so much youth and vigour left;
  • And Hector to him spake again, though dead.
  • 835Patroclus, why do you foretell my death?
  • Who knows but that Achilles may be slain
  • By me first, and before me lose his breath?
  • This said, he pulled out the spear again,
  • And presently pursu’d Automedon,
  • 840Who of Achilles was the char’oteer;
  • But he away was carried and gone
  • By Peleus’ horses, that immortal were.

  LIB. XVII.

  • The seventh battle, about Patroclus’s body.

  • And Menelaus understanding now
  • That slain Patroclus lay upon the ground,
  • Careful, as of her first calf is a cow,
  • To th’ body went and walk’d about it round,
  • 5Couching his spear and holding out his shield,
  • Resolv’d to kill him, whosoe’er he was,
  • That durst to stand against him in the field.
  • Then to him said Euphorbus, Menelaus,
  • Retire, let me advise you, from the dead.
  • 10For I am he that gave him the first wound,
  • That with his arms I may be honoured;
  • Lest with my spear I strike you to the ground.
  • And Menelaus to him thus replied.
  • O Jupiter, in lion never was,
  • 15Nor yet in panther, nor in boar, such pride
  • (Though other beasts in strength they far surpass)
  • As in these sons of Panthus. Though they know,
  • When Hyperenor proudly me defied,
  • And spitefully did value me below
  • 20All other Greeks, that by my hand he died,
  • And sorry were his parents and his wife.
  • Now you succeed will to your brother’s fate.
  • Begone, then, if you mean to save your life,
  • And quickly, or you will be wise too late.
  • 25No, Menelaus, said Euphorbus then,
  • Since you have griev’d his parents and his wife,
  • ’Tis best, I think, to comfort them again,
  • By making you pay for it with your life.
  • For though intolerable be their grief,
  • 30Yet when they see your armour and your head
  • Brought to them home, it will be some relief.
  • But this by fight must be determined.
  • This said, he made a thrust at Menelaus,
  • Which he received on his trusty shield,
  • 35It entered not, resisted by the brass,
  • Which bent the point, and passage none did yield.
  • Then, as he backward stepp’d to get away,
  • He by Atrides on the breast was hit.
  • The spear press’d with his hand not there did stay,
  • 40But to his neck went up and pierced it.
  • And then the ground he with his armour knocks,
  • And dyed was with blood his dainty hair,
  • Those fine, with gold and silver twined, locks,
  • Like those that Cytherea’s Graces wear.
  • 45As when one planted hath an olive sprig
  • In open place, and where are many springs,
  • And stirr’d by gentle winds it is grown big,
  • Then comes a storm and to the ground it flings;
  • So by Atrides fell Euphorbus now.
  • 50As when a lion cometh from the wood
  • Into the herd and seizeth on a cow,
  • First breaks her neck, then feeds he on her blood
  • And bowels, dogs and herdsmen looking on
  • And hueing him, that dare not to go near;
  • 55So then upon Atrides ventur’d none,
  • So much the Trojans stricken were with fear.
  • And now into the hands of Menelaus
  • Patroclus’ armour came; and borne away
  • Had been, but that by Phœbus cross’d he was,
  • 60That was a friend to Hector and to Troy.
  • And in the shape of Mentes gone was then
  • (Whom now the Cicon regiments obey’d)
  • To call back Hector to the field again,
  • And overtaking him, thus to him said:
  • 65Hector, you here Automedon pursue
  • To take Achilles’ horses all in vain,
  • Which never will be won or rul’d by you,
  • And suffer good Euphorbus to be slain
  • By Menelaus at the body dead
  • 70Of Menœtiades. Then went his way.
  • And Hector grieved turn’d about his head,
  • And saw how on the ground Euphorbus lay,
  • Bleeding and naked left by Menelaus.
  • And Hector then, enflamed with the sight,
  • 75Like raging fire did through the squadrons pass.
  • And with great cry returned to the fight.
  • And cold was then Atrides at the heart,
  • And with himself he thus disputing stands;
  • If I should from the body slain depart,
  • 80The Greeks would say of me but little good;
  • But if I stay alone here ’twill be worse
  • Than anything the Greeks can of me say.
  • For he brings with him all the Trojan force.
  • But wherefore do I thus disputing stay?
  • 85Who fights against him whom a God doth aid,
  • Draws on himself a great and certain ill.
  • My best course then is Hector to avoid,
  • And let the Greeks say of it what they will.
  • But if of Ajax I could get a sight,
  • 90Then he and I together would not fear
  • With Hector aided by a God to fight,
  • And to Achilles the dead body bear.
  • Whilst thus unto himself he laid the case,
  • The Trojans came with Hector at their head,
  • 95And Menelaus then forsook the place,
  • And going left behind the body dead.
  • But oft look’d back. As when a lion is
  • Compell’d to leave a fold by men and dogs,
  • He oft looks back, and runs not for all this,
  • 100But tow’rds the wood still slowly on he jogs
  • Unwillingly; his heart’s too big to run;
  • So Menelaus off went safe and sound.
  • And then for Ajax, son of Telamon,
  • Look’d round about, and ’mongst his troops him found
  • 105Inciting them to fight. For not a man
  • But frighted was by Phœbus and dismay’d;
  • And with all speed Atrides to him ran,
  • And standing at his side unto him said,
  • Come, Ajax, quickly come away with me
  • 110To save Patroclus from the Trojans’ wrath,
  • That to Achilles carried he may be
  • Though naked. For his armour Hector hath.
  • Ajax enrag’d at this, flies to the place
  • With Menelaus where Patroclus lay,
  • 115When Hector from the field him drawing was
  • (Having already snatch’d his arms away)
  • Unto the Trojans to cut off his head,
  • And give the body to the dogs to eat.
  • But when great Ajax thither came, he fled,
  • 120And to the Trojans made a quick retreat;
  • And order gave to bear the arms to Troy,
  • Achilles’ arms, a noble monument
  • Of his great deed. But Ajax still did stay,
  • And with his shield about the body went.
  • 125As when a lion, his whelps following him,
  • Into the open fields comes from the wood,
  • And hunters meets, he looks upon them grim;
  • So Ajax looking, by Patroclus stood.
  • And Glaucus then, that led the Lycian bands,
  • 130To Hector went and frowning to him said,
  • Though you be thought a good man of your hands,
  • Hector, it is not so I am afraid.
  • Consider first if you the town can save
  • By Trojans only, without other guard,
  • 135And of their service how great need you have;
  • And then how lightly you their pains regard.
  • What Lycian again will for you fight?
  • Or how will you defend a meaner man,
  • That left Sarpedon to the Argives’ spite
  • 140And sport, and from his body frighted ran,
  • That was your friend and had such service done?
  • So that if I were won to lead them home,
  • You’d find a little after we were gone,
  • The utmost fate of Troy were on it come.
  • 145For if the Trojans had as forward been,
  • As men should be that for their country fight,
  • Patroclus’ body we in Troy had seen,
  • Fetch’d from the field, for all the Argives’ might;
  • And from the Greeks in change we might have had
  • 150Sarpedon’s corpse, and brought it into Troy;
  • And all the Greeks thereof would have been glad,
  • So great experience of his worth had they.
  • But you to Ajax never yet durst go,
  • And when he came to you, you from him ran
  • 155Into the throng o’ th’ Trojans. And why so?
  • But that you know he is the better man.
  • Then Hector, frowning on him, thus replied,
  • Glaucus, ’tis strange that such a man as you
  • Should so severely without cause me chide;
  • 160I thought you very wise, but ’tis not true.
  • You say I dare not with great Ajax fight,
  • When I do neither foot nor horsemen shun,
  • But only way give sometimes to the might
  • Of Jove when he the enemy sets on.
  • 165For he to whom he will gives victory,
  • And from the proud their courage takes away.
  • But to the fight come with me now, and see
  • If I be such a coward as you say;
  • And do not from Patroclus’ body make
  • 170Some of the Argives to retire again.
  • This said, he turn’d and to the Trojans spake.
  • Trojans, said he, and Lycians, play the men
  • Whilst I myself in these good arms array,
  • Which from Patroclus’ body slain I took.
  • 175This said, he from the field went toward Troy,
  • And quickly those that bare them overtook,
  • And gave to them the armour he then wore,
  • And th’ armour of Patroclus there puts on,
  • Giv’n by the Gods to Peleus heretofore,
  • 180Which he when aged gave unto his son,
  • But were not kept by him till he was old.
  • Then Jove that out of sight in heaven sat,
  • And Hector in this armour did behold,
  • Poor man, said he, he knoweth not his fate,
  • 185Which now is near; and at it shook his head,
  • And said, though now these heavenly arms you wear
  • Of this great man whom all men else did dread,
  • Killing the gentle knight that did them bear,
  • And so unhandsomely, you’ll never go
  • 190To show them to Andromache your wife.
  • Yet now you shall prevail against the foe,
  • To please you, since thus shorten’d is your life.
  • And as he said it, seal’d it with a nod.
  • Now Hector, having on these arms and fit,
  • 195Into his breast went in the mighty God
  • Of battle, and with courage filled it.
  • Then Hector, like Achilles shining, came
  • To his confederates, and ’mongst them went,
  • Calling upon the best of them by name,
  • 200To give unto them all encouragement,
  • Mesthles, and Glaucus, and Thersilochus,
  • Asteropæus, and Hippothous,
  • Medon, Disinor, Phorcys, Chromius,
  • And you, the skilful augur, Ennomus,
  • 205And you, the thousands that to aid me come,
  • ’Tis not to muster that you called are,
  • But to defend the wives of Ilium,
  • And babes, against the Greeks, that love the war;
  • Which to prevent, the Trojans day by day
  • 210With pay and with free quarter, tired are.
  • Let’s therefore fight, and either die or slay;
  • For there’s no other traffic at the war,
  • And he that shall Patroclus’ body gain,
  • And, spite of Ajax, fetch it off the field,
  • 215Half of his armour shall have for his pain,
  • And I will half the honour to him yield.
  • This said, the Trojans on the Argives fell
  • With all their weight, and made account to gain
  • Patroclus’ body; for they could not tell
  • 220How many Trojans there would first be slain.
  • And then to Menelaus Ajax said,
  • I fear we shall no more return from Troy;
  • And am not for Patroclus so afraid
  • (That to the dogs is sure to be a prey)
  • 225As for myself and you; with such a cloud
  • Of Trojans Hector thund’ring cometh on.
  • Go therefore, presently, and call aloud
  • To th’ other princes. Other help there’s none.
  • Then Menelaus cried out aloud,
  • 230O you that have command in th’ Argive host,
  • And diet with Atrides are allow’d,
  • And drink unstinted at the public cost,
  • ’Tis hard to call you ev’ry one by name,
  • But you that hear me come away with speed;
  • 235For to us all ’twill be no little shame,
  • To let the dogs upon Patroclus feed.
  • This said, first little Ajax running came,
  • And with Idomeneus, Meriones,
  • Then many more came in; but who can name
  • 240The number great that came in after these?
  • And Hector with the Trojans then came in,
  • And as the sea that rolleth to the shore
  • Which by some mighty wind had driven been;
  • So to the fight the Trojans marching roar.
  • 245The Greeks about Patroclus’ body staid,
  • All of one mind, all cover’d with their shields,
  • And on their head Jove then a great fog laid,
  • And all the place about with darkness fills.
  • For while Patroclus was alive, and serv’d
  • 250Achilles, Jove took at him no offence,
  • Nor thought that to be dogs’ meat he deserv’d,
  • And therefore urg’d the Greeks to his defence.
  • At first the Trojans made the Greeks to fly,
  • And leave the body, but they killed none,
  • 255So great a fog upon the place did lie.
  • Then with his friends again came Ajax on,
  • Of all the Greeks, for person and for might,
  • The bravest man, excepting Thetis’ son.
  • The Trojans, when the Greeks refus’d to fight,
  • 260The body seiz’d, and thought the bus’ness done.
  • As when a boar, pursu’d by hounds and men,
  • Upon them turns, they scatter’d are and fly;
  • So, when great Ajax to them came again,
  • The Trojans, scatter’d, let Patroclus lie.
  • 265For when Hippothous was in great hope
  • To drag Patroclus’ body up to Troy,
  • And to his ankle tyed had a rope,
  • Arrived to him was his latest day.
  • For Ajax now was come unto him near,
  • 270And smote him through the helmet and the brain,
  • Which, stained with his blood, stuck to the spear,
  • And down he threw Patroclus’ foot again,
  • And with it near unto the body fell,
  • Depriv’d of life by mighty Ajax’ spear,
  • 275Far from Larissa, where his friends did dwell,
  • And never for his breeding payed were.
  • And Hector then a spear at Ajax threw,
  • Which he perceiving, did a little shun,
  • A very little it beside him flew,
  • 280And killed Schedius, Iphitus’ son,
  • That of Photæans all was far the best,
  • And did in well-built Panopæa reign.
  • The spear, sharp-pointed, enter’d at his breast,
  • And at his shoulder out it went again.
  • 285And Ajax then the valiant Phorcys slew,
  • That ’bout the body of Hippothous went.
  • The spear through breast-plate and through belly flew,
  • And as it pass’d the guts in pieces rent.
  • Then Hector and the Trojan lords gave way,
  • 290Retiring from the Argive lords; and thus
  • By th’ Argives coming in, without delay,
  • Stripp’d were both Phorcys and Hippothous.
  • And now the Trojans had, for want of heart,
  • Been chased by the Argives up to Troy,
  • 295And th’ Argives gotten had on th’ other part,
  • Without the Gods, an honourable day;
  • Had not Apollo, like to Periphas,
  • Anchises’ squire, to Æneas come disguised,
  • That very wise now grown, and aged was,
  • 300And standing by his side, him thus advised;
  • Æneas, cannot you, without the Gods,
  • As well as the Achæans, gain the day
  • By valour, since in men they have no odds?
  • For Jove would rather you should win than they.
  • 305Thus Phœbus said. Æneas knew ’twas he;
  • And with a loud voice, unto Hector said:
  • Hector, and you who the commanders be
  • Of Trojans, or have brought unto them aid,
  • Oh, what a shame ’tis for us thus to run
  • 310Before the Greeks, ourselves in Troy to hide!
  • But come, there yet amongst the Gods is one
  • That hath assur’d me Jove is on our side.
  • This said, before the Trojans he leapt out,
  • And with his spear in hand, stood at their head.
  • 315And when he made them had to wheel about,
  • Unto the body he directly led,
  • And with his spear Leocritus he slew,
  • The friend of Lycomed, Arisbas’ son;
  • And Lycomed, displeas’d, at Hector threw,
  • 320And hit him not, but kill’d Apisaon;
  • Of all that from Pæonia pass’d the seas,
  • He was in battle of the greatest might,
  • Excepting no man but Asteropæus;
  • Who angry at his fall went to the fight.
  • 325But now the Greeks about Patroclus stood
  • So close, with spears advanc’d, with bucklers hidden,
  • That there Asteropæus did no good;
  • For by great Ajax so they had been bidden.
  • Let none from hence again retire, said he,
  • 330Nor any man before the rest skip out,
  • But stand together till you charged be.
  • Thus roaring to them Ajax went about,
  • And thick the Trojans and their aids now fell,
  • And with their blood bedewed was the ground.
  • 335Nor did the Argives come off very well;
  • But fewer of them ’mongst the dead were found,
  • For standing close, one shield sav’d more than one.
  • Thus keen as fire on both sides fought they here;
  • And such a darkness was the place upon,
  • 340As if nor sun nor moon in safety were.
  • But th’ other places all about had light,
  • And brightly did the sun in Ida shine,
  • And gentle at a distance was the fight,
  • And one another’s spear did oft decline.
  • 345But in the middle, where the very best
  • Both of the Argives and the Trojans stood,
  • The pain they suffer’d cannot be express’d,
  • Of restless labour, and of loss of blood.
  • But of Patroclus, by the Trojans kill’d,
  • 350Antilochus and Torasymed knew not,
  • But fought in other places of the field,
  • And that he still pursu’d the Trojans thought,
  • When for his body, who the same should get,
  • Now fighting were the Trojans and the Greeks,
  • 355And from their knees and legs ran down the sweat,
  • And stained were with blood their arms and cheeks.
  • As when men set themselves about the skin
  • Of some fat bull, and stretch it ev’ry way,
  • That th’ humour may go out, the grease go in,
  • 360Just so Patroclus’ body tugged they,
  • Trojans to Troy, and Argives to the fleet;
  • And thereupon arose this mighty fray.
  • If Mars or Pallas had been there to see’t,
  • They had not known on whom a fault to lay,
  • 365Though angry they had been; such work was then
  • By Jove, about Patroclus’ body, set
  • For Trojans and for Argives, horse and men.
  • But to Achilles known it was not yet,
  • That slain by th’ Trojans was his favourite.
  • 370For now not far off from the Trojan wall,
  • At a great distance from him, was the fight,
  • So that he thought not on his death at all;
  • But having chas’d the Trojans to the gates
  • Of Ilium, that straight he would come back;
  • 375For well he knew ’twas order’d by the Fates,
  • Patroclus never should the city sack.
  • His mother, Thetis, oft had told him that,
  • As she before had told it been by Jove;
  • But quite Patroclus’ destiny forgat,
  • 380Or knew it not, whom he so much did love.
  • The Greeks and Trojans at the body staid
  • Together close, and one another kill’d.
  • And one Achæan to another said,
  • ’Twould be a great disgrace to quit the field,
  • 385And leave the body of Patroclus thus;
  • I rather had by th’ earth we swallowed were,
  • Than they should have it and crow over us,
  • And to the town the noble body bear.
  • The Trojans likewise t’ one another cried,
  • 390Though ev’ry one of us were sure to die
  • By this man’s body, let us here abide.
  • And then the clamour rose up to the sky.
  • Achilles’ steeds now, with Automedon
  • Upon the car, without the battle stood;
  • 395But to the fight he could not get them on.
  • He to them call’d, but that would do no good;
  • And then he flatters them, then threats, then whips,
  • But for Patroclus griev’d, they would not go
  • With th’ Argives to the fight, nor to the ships,
  • 400But lay down on the ground, and wept for woe
  • That they had lost a gentle char’oteer.
  • Jove, seeing them upon the ground thus laid,
  • And for Patroclus how they grieved were,
  • Shaking his head, unto himself he said,
  • 405Poor steeds, why did I you on man bestow,
  • That mortal is, and you immortal are,
  • And make you also misery to know,
  • And to participate of human care?
  • There breatheth not upon the earth so wide,
  • 410So poor a thing and wretched as a man.
  • But Hector on your car shall never ride,
  • For he, without my leave, do nothing can.
  • Is’t not enough for him that he hath got
  • Achilles’ arms, to please himself in vain?
  • 415But have Achilles’ horses he shall not,
  • For you shall to the ships return again,
  • And safely carry back Automedon,
  • Though to the Trojans I intend to-day
  • The victory, till setting of the sun,
  • 420And that by darkness parted be the fray.
  • This said, he strength and courage to them gave:
  • Automedon then to the troops of Greece,
  • As swiftly the immortal horses drave
  • As flies a vulture at a flock of geese.
  • 425For from the foe he quickly could retire,
  • And easily upon them go again,
  • As oft as the occasion should require;
  • But by his hand no enemy was slain,
  • For since he was upon the seat alone,
  • 430He could not both together fight and guide.
  • But to him came at last Alcimedon,
  • Laertes’ son, and stood by th’ char’ot side.
  • What God, said he, has put it in your head,
  • Automedon, amongst so many spears
  • 435To be alone, knowing your friend is dead,
  • And Hector now Achilles’ armour wears?
  • Automedon unto him then replied:
  • Alcimedon, a fitter man is none
  • Than you are, the immortal steeds to guide,
  • 440Since Menoctiades, my friend, is gone.
  • Get up then you, and the good steeds command,
  • Whilst on the ground I with the Trojans fight.
  • Alcimedon then took the whip in hand
  • And reins; Automedon did then alight.
  • 445This Hector saw, and to Æneas spake:
  • Achilles’ horses yonder coming are;
  • To us, said he, they are not hard to take,
  • For with them there is no great man of war;
  • And if we to them go, they dare not stand.
  • 450This said, Æneas well contented was,
  • And forward then they go, with spear in hand,
  • And shoulders cover’d well with hide and brass.
  • And Chromius with them, and Aretus went,
  • And made no doubt but both the men to slay;
  • 455And then to seize Achilles’ steeds they meant,
  • And with the car triumphing drive to Troy.
  • Vain men, that were not sure themselves to save.
  • To Jupiter Automedon then pray’d,
  • Who heard his pray’r, and great strength to him gave.
  • 460And then unto Alcimedon he said:
  • Alcimedon, keep still thy horses near,
  • So that upon my back may fall their breath;
  • For quiet never will be Hector’s spear,
  • Until of both of us he see the death,
  • 465And set himself upon Achilles’ car,
  • And put the squadrons of the Greeks to rout,
  • Or be amongst the foremost slain i’ th’ war.
  • This said, he to th’ Ajaxes cried out,
  • And Menelaus: Ajax, Menelaus,
  • 470The care of him that’s dead to others give,
  • And shew your valour where there is more cause.
  • Come hither, and take care of us that live;
  • For Hector and Æneas both are here.
  • But yet, since on Jove’s will dependeth all,
  • 475Both good and evil hap, I’ll throw my spear,
  • And let him where he pleaseth make it fall.
  • And as he spake the spear he from him sent,
  • Which chanc’d to light upon Aretes’ shield,
  • And passing through, into his belly went,
  • 480At which he starting fell upon the field.
  • And at Automedon then Hector threw;
  • But stooping forward he the spear declin’d,
  • And o’er his head through th’ empty air it flew,
  • And shaking fix’d it stood i’ th’ ground behind.
  • 485And then the fight by Mars becalmed was;
  • But with their swords they had again fall’n on,
  • But that th’ Ajaxes two and Menelaus
  • Came in, that call’d were by Automedon.
  • Æneas then and Hector shrunk away,
  • 490And Chromius with them, but Aretes not,
  • But on the ground without his armour lay.
  • Automedon then mounts his chariot
  • All bloody, and the armour by him set;
  • And said, though this revenge be very small
  • 495For great Patroclus’ death, ’tis better yet,
  • Though this a worse man be, than none at all.
  • And at Patroclus’ body now the fight
  • Was greater than before, and fiercer grown.
  • For Pallas coming, did the Greeks incite,
  • 500By Jove himself (whose mind was chang’d) sent down.
  • As when to mortals Jove will signify
  • Th’ approach of war, or tempests cold and loud,
  • To make men leave their work, and cattle die,
  • He sets up in the sky a purple cloud;
  • 505In such a cloud wrapp’d up Athena came,
  • The daughter of great Jove, and martial maid,
  • To th’ Argive host, their courage to inflame,
  • And to Atrides, who stood nearest, said,
  • In voice and shape like Phœnix: Menelaus,
  • 510If you let dogs Patroclus’ body tear,
  • That of Achilles so beloved was,
  • You will be scorn’d. Go to him, do not fear.
  • Phœnix, said he, would Pallas strengthen me,
  • And save me from so many spears that fly,
  • 515Patroclus’ body soon should rescued be.
  • For no man for him griev’d is more than I,
  • But Hector fighteth like a raging flame,
  • And as he goes Jove gives him victory.
  • This said, Athena pleas’d was with the same,
  • 520Because to her he trusted specially,
  • And strengthened both his shoulders and his thighs,
  • And made him bold as is a busy fly,
  • Which, beaten off, again upon you flies,
  • And fears not for a little blood to die.
  • 525And to Patroclus then went Menelaus,
  • And ’mongst the throng of Trojans threw his spear.
  • It chanced that amongst them one there was,
  • Pydes, Eëtion’s son, to Hector dear,
  • And at the wine his good companion.
  • 530Him Menelaus with his spear then slew
  • Just as he turn’d himself about to run,
  • And from the Trojans the dead body drew.
  • To Hector then came Phœbus, having on
  • The form of Phœnops, son of Asius,
  • 535In Hector’s grace inferior to none,
  • And standing by his side said to him thus:
  • If you be so afraid of Menelaus,
  • What other Greek will be afraid of you?
  • He never yet good spear-man counted was,
  • 540Nor is, though Pydes now by chance he slew,
  • And vainly now he thinks alone he can
  • Bring off Patroclus’ body from the field.
  • This said, unto the body Hector ran,
  • And Jove then lifted up his mighty shield,
  • 545And in thick clouds the mountain Ida wraps,
  • And dark it was upon the field as night.
  • And then with lightning and with thunder claps
  • The squadrons of the Argives puts to flight.
  • Menelaus, who the Bœotians led,
  • 550Hurt in the shoulder by Polydamas,
  • Of the Achæans was the first that fled,
  • And Leïtus his mate the second was,
  • That was by Hector wounded in the wrist,
  • And could no longer use make of his spear;
  • 555But from the battle forc’d was to desist,
  • And looking still about him ran in fear.
  • Him Hector as he running was pursues.
  • On Hector’s shield then lights a heavy spear,
  • That thrown was at him by Idomeneus,
  • 560But brake in two; and glad the Trojans were.
  • And at Idomeneus then Hector threw;
  • Beside him but a little went the spear,
  • And lighting upon Cœranus him slew,
  • Who was Meriones his char’oteer,
  • 565And with him came to Lyctus all the way
  • By sea, and thence he went to Troy by land.
  • And much good service he had done to Troy,
  • For fallen had the king by Hector’s hand,
  • And safe had been himself; but now was hit
  • 570By Hector’s spear betwixt the cheek and ear,
  • And struck out were his teeth, his tongue was slit,
  • And fallen to the ground expired there.
  • And then Meriones took up the reins,
  • And to Idomeneus cried out to fly.
  • 575To little purpose now is all our pains;
  • You see the Trojans have the victory.
  • Idomeneus to th’ ships then drave away
  • As fast as he could make the horses go,
  • As being certain they had lost the day.
  • 580And Ajax did the same acknowledge now.
  • Meriones, said he, and Menelaus,
  • That Jove will to the Trojans give the day,
  • A man may see that little judgment has,
  • So manifestly now he fights for Troy.
  • 585The spears thrown by the Trojans never miss,
  • But on one Greek or other always light;
  • Ours seldom hit. What cause is there of this,
  • But that great Jove doth for the Trojans fight?
  • Let’s therefore here consider of some way
  • 590To fetch Patroclus off, and then go home.
  • For to our friends in Greece ’twill be a joy
  • To see us safe again from Hector come;
  • Who when they to the sea their faces turn,
  • Despair of ever seeing us again,
  • 595And think that Hector will the navy burn,
  • And that we there shall ev’ry man be slain.
  • O that we had some fit man here to send
  • T’Achilles’ tent; for nothing yet knows he,
  • That by the Trojans slain is his dear friend;
  • 600But ’tis so dark I no such man can see.
  • O Jove, give us once more a sky serene;
  • Remove this mist that we may see to fight,
  • Or if to kill the Argives all you mean,
  • O father Jove, yet kill us in the light.
  • 605This said, Jove had compassion on his tears;
  • The sun again his glitt’ring beams displays,
  • Scatters the clouds again and th’ Heaven clears.
  • And then to Menelaus Ajax says,
  • About the field go Menelaus now,
  • 610And seek Antilochus, and bid him go
  • Unto Achilles’ tent, and let him know
  • His friend Patroclus slain is by the foe.
  • This said, away Atrides went. As when
  • A hungry lion parteth from a fold,
  • 615Having in vain provok’d the dogs and men
  • That did him from th’ expected prey withhold,
  • Watching all night, when fain he would have fed;
  • But all the night the darts about him fly
  • And flaming brands, which lions chiefly dread;
  • 620Away he goes i’th’ morn unwillingly;
  • So from Patroclus’ body parted he
  • Against his will, thinking the Greeks afraid
  • Might leave Patroclus to the enemy,
  • And to Meriones and th’ Ajaxes said,
  • 625How good a man Patroclus was you know,
  • And how in our defence his blood he shed,
  • And therefore valiantly defend him now.
  • Let not the foe abuse his body dead.
  • And when he this had said he went away,
  • 630Amongst the Argives peeping here and there,
  • Like to an eagle soaring for a prey
  • Amongst the bushes peeping for a hare;
  • So he amongst the Argives look’d about
  • Seeking of Nestor’s son Antilochus.
  • 635Nor was it long before he found him out,
  • Cheering his men, and said unto him thus:
  • Antilochus, come near, and hear from me
  • Sad news; I would it were not also true.
  • That now the Trojans have the victory,
  • 640I think it is already known to you.
  • But further know that slain Patroclus is.
  • Run therefore to Achilles quickly, and
  • Tell him the news. It may be, mov’d by this
  • To help the Argives with his mighty hand,
  • 645He’ll to the naked body hither come;
  • For now Achilles’ armour Hector wears.
  • At this Antilochus was stricken dumb,
  • And filled were and swoln his eyes with tears.
  • And there Antilochus no longer staid,
  • 650But to Laodocus his armour gave,
  • And he the same upon his char’ot laid;
  • For to that end he near unto him drave.
  • Away Antilochus then weeping went
  • To carry to Achilles the ill news,
  • 655And left to Thrasymed his regiment.
  • For Menelaus did the same refuse;
  • Though of a valiant commander then
  • The tired Pylians had the greatest need,
  • And to the Ajaxes return’d again
  • 660Where lay Patroclus’ body, with all speed.
  • And when he thither came, unto them said,
  • Antilochus is to Achilles gone,
  • Although I see not how he should us aid.
  • How can he, seeing armour he has none?
  • 665Let’s therefore now bethink ourselves, how we
  • Ourselves may bear the body from the field,
  • And also how we may secured be,
  • Against the Trojans, that we be not kill’d!
  • Ajax to this replying said, ’Tis true,
  • 670And the advice I’ll give you will be right.
  • Take up the corpse, Meriones and you,
  • And on your shoulders bear it from the fight.
  • We two, that are of one name and one mind,
  • And in the field together use to be,
  • 675Will fighting with the Trojans come behind,
  • Till at the ships the body lain we see.
  • This said, Meriones and Menelaus
  • Up to their shoulders hoist the body dead.
  • Whilst towards them the back of Ajax was,
  • 680The Trojans with great shouting followed.
  • Just as a pack of hounds pursue a boar
  • Wounded by hunters, running with great cry,
  • Until he turn; then follow him no more,
  • But scatter’d are, and this and that way fly;
  • 685So did the Trojans after Ajax run
  • As long as towards them was not his face.
  • But when he turned, near him durst stay none,
  • But stood at a great distance from the place.
  • Thus fetch’d they off at last the body dead,
  • 490With at their heels of Trojans’ spears great showers;
  • And Argives dropt abundance as they fled,
  • Like houses in a town on fire, and tow’rs.
  • As when two mules in heavy way are set
  • To drag down from the hills some mighty tree,
  • 695To be a beam or mast, it makes them sweat
  • Before into the plain it drawn could be;
  • So Menelaus and Meriones
  • Sweating and moiling with the body go;
  • And as a rock that keepeth off the seas;
  • 700So Ajax at their backs kept off the foe.
  • The Trojans, led by Hector and Æneas,
  • Pursue the flying Greeks with mighty cry,
  • As from a hawk that preys on birds like these,
  • A cloud of starlings cackle when they fly.
  • 705And many of them threw their arms away,
  • And that they came to fight had quite forgot;
  • In and about the ditch much armour lay
  • Of flying Greeks. But done the fight was not.

  LIB. XVIII.

  • The grief of Achilles, and new armour made for him by Vulcan.

  • Whilst at the ships the Greeks and Trojans fought,
  • Antilochus came to Achilles’ tent,
  • And found him to the Argive ditch gone out,
  • Presaging in his mind the sad event,
  • 5And saying to himself, Ah me, what’s this?
  • The battle to the ships is come again;
  • Pray God it be not as I fear it is,
  • The Greeks are routed and Patroclus slain.
  • My mother told me that the best of all
  • 10The Myrmidons by th’ Trojans should be slain.
  • I bad him not assault the Trojan wall,
  • Nor fight with Hector, but come back again.
  • As speaking to himself Achilles stood,
  • Antilochus unto him weeping came,
  • 15The news, said he, I bring you is not good;
  • I cannot without tears relate the same.
  • Slain is Patroclus. On the ground he lies,
  • And now they fighting are with swords and spears
  • Who shall his body have, with mighty cries,
  • 20Though naked; for his armour Hector wears.
  • At this sad news dark were Achilles’ eyes;
  • And up he takes the dust with both his hands,
  • And throws it on his head; then down he lies,
  • His face and coat sullied with dust and sands,
  • 25And tore his hair. And then the lovely prey
  • Of captive women, that had taken been
  • By him and by Patroclus before Troy,
  • Affrighted from Achilles’ tent came in,
  • And over him they beat they breasts and moan’d.
  • 30On t’ other side Antilochus was fain
  • To hold his hands, so mightily he groan’d;
  • Lest otherwise he should himself have slain.
  • His mother Thetis hearing him complain,
  • Though sitting in the deepest of the seas,
  • 35Wept out aloud, and presently her train
  • About her came of the Nereiades.
  • Glauca, Thaleia, and Cymodoca,
  • Nesæa, Speio, Thoa, Halia,
  • And Æmioreia, and Cymothoa,
  • 40Melita Iæra, and Amphithoa,
  • And Doto, Proto, Actæa, Agava,
  • Doris, Dexamena, Dynamena,
  • And Callianeira, and Amphinoma,
  • Pherusa Apseudes, and fair Panopa,
  • 45Nemertes, and the milk-white Galatæa,
  • And Clymene there was, and Callianassa,
  • And Mæra, Orithvia, and glorious Amatheia,
  • And, not to name them all, fair Janassa
  • With all the rest, and fill’d the silver cave,
  • 50And beat their breasts, and round her stood dismay’d.
  • And Thetis then th’ account unto them gave
  • Of her great grief, and thus unto them said:
  • Hear me, Nereiades, my sisters dear,
  • And be acquainted with my misery.
  • 55Ah, wretched Goddess that I was, to bear
  • The best of all the heroes; and when he
  • Was quickly grown up to a goodly height,
  • Send him unto the war at Ilium
  • Against the Trojans for the Greeks to fight,
  • 60From whence he never should again come home;
  • But spend his little time of life in woe,
  • And I can nothing do for his relief.
  • And now I mean to visit him, and know,
  • Since he not fights, what cause he hath of grief.
  • 65This said, she with her nymphs went from the cave.
  • The sea before them her smooth water tore,
  • And gentle passage to the Goddess gave,
  • Till they were landed on the Trojan shore,
  • Where lay Achilles’ ships upon the sand;
  • 70And straight up to Achilles Thetis went,
  • The nymphs attending on her hand in hand,
  • And seeing him so grievously lament,
  • She held him by the head, and to him said,
  • Why weep you thus, sweet child; what is’t you ail?
  • 75For that which formerly to Jove you prayed
  • Against th’ ingrateful Greeks, I did prevail.
  • To th’ ships they have been beaten from the field,
  • And know in what great need they stand of you,
  • And have in heaps been by the Trojans kill’d.
  • 80To this Achilles answ’ring said, ’Tis true,
  • But in my life what pleasure can I find,
  • Since sweet Patroclus slain is by his foes,
  • On whom of all men most I set my mind,
  • And Hector in his arms triumphing goes;
  • 85Those mighty arms, giv’n by the Gods that day
  • That you were pleas’d a mortal man to wed,
  • To Peleus. Oh, had you been away,
  • And he a mortal woman married!
  • You had not for your son been grieved then,
  • 90That never to you should return again.
  • Nor do I wish to live with mortal men,
  • But till I with my spear have Hector slain.
  • By what you say, said Thetis to her son,
  • Short-liv’d you are. Your own fate then is nigh.
  • 95I care not, said Achilles, when that’s done
  • I shall be very well content to die.
  • For since I never must return again,
  • And no defence in me Patroclus found,
  • Nor other good men by the Trojans slain,
  • 100I but a needless weight am to the ground.
  • Oh that contention lost for ever were,
  • And choler to the heart of man so sweet,
  • Which often make the wisest men to err!
  • In Agamemnon and myself I see’t.
  • 105But since ’tis past, let’s put it out of mind.
  • For dead he is, and cannot live again.
  • And now I’ll see if Hector I can find,
  • That has my dearest friend Patroclus slain,
  • And then let Jove do what himself thinks good.
  • 110For Hercules could not avoid his fate,
  • Who most of mortals in his favour stood,
  • But died by destiny and Juno’s hate;
  • And so shall I, when my day shall arrive,
  • Lie still when dead. But now let me gain fame
  • 115Amongst th’ Achæans while I am alive.
  • And make some Trojan or some Dardan dame
  • With both her tender hands to tear her cheeks,
  • And sigh, and with her tears her beauty blot,
  • And know my hand from that of other Greeks,
  • 120And when I with th’ Achæans am, when not.
  • And therefore, mother, dearly as you love me,
  • Endeavour not to make me here abide.
  • For from my purpose you cannot remove me.
  • Unto Achilles Thetis then replied,
  • 125Dear child, your purpose I’ll not reprehend,
  • Patroclus’ body from the foe to save,
  • Nor that the Argive people you defend.
  • But now you know your arms the Trojans have,
  • And Hector weareth them; but shall not long.
  • 130The latest of his days is to him nigh.
  • But go not you into the bloody throng,
  • Till here again you have me in your eye.
  • This said, she turn’d to the Nereiades,
  • And to them said, Nereiades, dive you
  • 135To Nereus, at the bottom of the seas,
  • And all you see has happ’ned to him show.
  • For I up to Olympus must be gone
  • To Vulcan, if such favour I can gain,
  • To get a good new armour for my son.
  • 140This said, the nymphs to sea return’d again,
  • And Thetis to Olympus went her way.
  • Meanwhile the Greeks before the Trojans fly
  • With mighty cries, and never stopt till they
  • Were at the ships, and to the wide sea nigh.
  • 145Nor was Patroclus’ body rescued yet;
  • For now afresh the Trojans to them came,
  • Which did another fiercer fight beget,
  • And Hector fell upon them like a flame.
  • Thrice laid he hold upon Patroclus’ foot,
  • 150And forc’d he was as oft to let it fall
  • To kill some others, then again came to’t,
  • But from the body went not back at all.
  • No more could Hector driven be away
  • From the dead body by th’ Ajaxes two,
  • 155Than can a hungry lion from his prey
  • For anything the herdsmen griev’d can do.
  • And Hector had Patroclus’ body got,
  • And gained had thereby a great renown,
  • But Juno, though the other Gods knew not,
  • 160T’ Achilles in great haste sent Iris down.
  • T’ Achilles straight she came, and to him said,
  • Up, terrible Pelides, to the war,
  • And your beloved friend Patroclus aid;
  • For at the ships they fighting for him are.
  • 165The Greeks to save his body are in pain,
  • The Trojans fain would drag him into Troy,
  • And Hector most of all that has him slain,
  • And from his shoulders take his head away
  • And stick it up upon the Trojan wall,
  • 170Leaving his corpse a prey to dog and kite.
  • Think what reproach will then upon you fall.
  • Lie then no longer here, but rise and fight.
  • Achilles then replied. Iris, said he,
  • Tell me what God or Goddess sent you down.
  • 175Juno, said Iris, sent me; none but she.
  • To all the rest my coming is unknown.
  • And then Achilles to her said again,
  • Since they have got my arms how can I fight?
  • And Thetis bids me from the war abstain
  • 180Till she return again into my sight,
  • Who is to Vulcan for new armour gone,
  • And here’s no other armour for me fit
  • But Ajax’s; who, I hope, has it on,
  • And for Patroclus now has use of it.
  • 185We know, said Iris, armour you have none.
  • But as you are, upon the ditch appear.
  • The Trojans from the corpse will soon begone,
  • And leave it to the Greeks for very fear.
  • This said, the Goddess Iris vanished.
  • 190Achilles rose, and Pallas to him came,
  • And on him puts her shield, and on his head
  • A golden cloud, from which arose a flame.
  • As when an isle invaded is by foes,
  • The citizens to call their neighbours in
  • 195Make fires, the smoke up to the heaven goes
  • By day; by night the flame; and far are seen;
  • Upon Achilles’ head stood such a flame,
  • And then unto the ditch he went and shouted,
  • And farther off Athena did the same.
  • 200The Trojans, when they heard it, strait were routed.
  • As clear as any trumpet in the wars,
  • They heard Achilles’ voice, and were afraid,
  • And in disorder turn’d about their cars,
  • But at his flaming head were most dismay’d.
  • 205Thrice shouted he, thrice they disorder’d were;
  • And slain were of the Trojans twelve brave men
  • By their own cars and spears encumber’d there.
  • In so much haste they turn’d to fly. And then
  • The Greeks the body laid upon a bed
  • 210And bier, and standing by his side lament.
  • And tears abundance there Achilles shed,
  • And that he sent him had did now repent.
  • The sun by Juno hasten’d quench’d his fire;
  • The Argives on the place stay quietly;
  • 215The Trojans to without the ditch retire,
  • And from the cars the weary steeds untie.
  • Then presently the chiefs to counsel call
  • Before they sup, and standing on their feet,
  • This apparition so scar’d them all,
  • 220That none amongst them had a mind to sit.
  • And first unto them spake Polydamas
  • Panthoides, Hector’s friend; both born one night.
  • He better counsellor than Hector was,
  • But Hector better was than he to fight.
  • 225My friends, be well advised now, said he,
  • It is not safe here on the plain to stay
  • Until the morning light again we see,
  • So near the Argive ships, so far from Troy.
  • Whilst this man absent was in discontent
  • 230With Agamemnon, and forbore to fight,
  • The Greeks were easy foes; to th’ ships I went
  • Myself, and willingly lay out all night;
  • But if Achilles hither now should come,
  • We must not only here fight for our lives;
  • 235So proud he is, he’ll go to Ilium,
  • And for the city fight and for our wives.
  • Let’s to the city go. ’Tis as I say,
  • And nothing keeps him from us but the night.
  • And if he here shall find us when ’tis day,
  • 240Some of us will acknowledge I say right.
  • And many flying, wish, when ’tis too late,
  • They were within the walls of Ilium,
  • Whom dogs and kites shall eat without the gate.
  • But to my ears may never such news come.
  • 245But if you will be ruled all by me,
  • Into the market-place of Troy by night
  • We’ll bring our strength, and, soon as we can see,
  • Stand arm’d upon the tow’rs prepar’d to fight.
  • Then let him from the ships come fight at Troy,
  • 250And drive about the walls and do his worst,
  • And having tir’d his horses go away;
  • Take it he shall not, dogs shall eat him first.
  • Then Hector frowning on him, thus replies:
  • Again, said he, I from you must dissent,
  • 255Since you to shut ourselves in Troy advise.
  • We have already there too long been pent.
  • Troy once was counted rich in brass and gold;
  • But since Jove angry was, all that is gone,
  • In Phrygia and in Mœonia sold,
  • 360And little left in Ilium to be won;
  • But since the Greeks are beaten and dismay’d
  • By th’ hand of Jove, your fear is out of season,
  • Nor will you by the Trojans be obey’d,
  • Nor shall you; though the Trojans thought it reason.
  • 265And therefore take my counsel, which is this.
  • Go now and ev’ry man his supper take
  • In rank and file there where he placed is;
  • And set good guards, and keep yourselves awake.
  • If any Trojan for his goods lament,
  • 270He may the same upon the town bestow
  • In service of the public to be spent,
  • Rather than be possessed by the foe;
  • And armed in the morn go to the fleet,
  • And sharply charge the Greeks by break of day.
  • 275And if indeed Achilles there we meet,
  • He were not best oppose us in our way;
  • For from him I will neither fly nor shrink,
  • But either honour from him bear away,
  • Or he from me. Mars common is, I think,
  • 280To them that fight; and slain are they that slay.
  • This said, the Trojans heard with great applause,
  • Fools as they were; Pallas had made them mad.
  • But none of them commend Polydamas,
  • That given them much better counsel had.
  • 285The Trojans presently to supper went,
  • The Greeks all night about Patroclus stand;
  • And there began Achilles to lament.
  • And on Patroclus’ breast he laid his hand.
  • As when a lion coming to his den,
  • 290Misses the tender whelps he left behind,
  • He roars, and furiously goes out again,
  • And through the vallies hunts, the thief to find;
  • Such fierce thoughts on Achilles’ heart then lay,
  • And sighing, to the Myrmidons he spake:
  • 295Oh, what did I to old Menœtius say!
  • How vain a promise did I to him make;
  • I said, when we had sack’d the town of Troy,
  • That I to Opus would bring back his son,
  • Enriched with his portion of the prey.
  • 300But all we hope from Jove is seldom done.
  • For both of us have the same destiny,
  • With our heart’s blood to dye the Trojan plain,
  • And as he lieth now, so shall I lie,
  • And never to my parents come again.
  • 305But since, Patroclus, you the first are dead,
  • Your funeral I will not celebrate,
  • Till I have brought you Hector’s arms and head,
  • Whose bloody hand deliver’d your sad fate,
  • And have twelve of the noble youths of Troy
  • 310Beheaded in revenge. Till then stay here,
  • Where Trojan captive women, night and day
  • Bewailing you, shall stand about the bier.
  • This said, he order gave for water hot,
  • To cleanse Patroclus’ body from the gore.
  • 315Into a cauldron, said he, water put,
  • And make a fire, and set the cauldron o’er.
  • Into a cauldron water then they put,
  • And made a fire, and set the cauldron o’er.
  • The flame about it goes; the water’s hot.
  • 320Then washed from the body was the gore,
  • And then again they laid him on the bed;
  • From head to foot in linen they him fold,
  • And on him laid a fair white coverlid,
  • His wounds first fill’d with unguent nine years old.
  • 325About the body of Patroclus stay’d
  • Achilles and the Myrmidons, all night
  • Lamenting him. Then Jove to Juno said,
  • You have Achilles brought again to fight
  • Against the Trojans, on the Argives’ side.
  • 330Are they your children, that you love them so?
  • And Juno then to Jupiter replied:
  • Harsh Cronides, what words do you let go?
  • Since mortal men, that know much less than we,
  • May to a friend do good, and hate a foe,
  • 335Why may not I, that boast myself to be
  • The wife and sister of great Jove, do so,
  • And make my foes, the Trojans, feel my hate?
  • Whilst Jove and Juno were discoursing thus,
  • The Goddess Thetis come was to the gate
  • 340Of Vulcan’s undecaying famous house
  • Of shining brass, with brighter stars thick set,
  • That ’mongst the houses of the heaven shone.
  • But he was at his work-house in a sweat,
  • And at his bellows swaying up and down.
  • 345For tripods twenty he had laboured,
  • With golden wheels, to go and come again
  • At his command; but had not finished
  • The ears and chains, which he was making then.
  • And whilst this bus’ness Vulcan was about,
  • 350Thetis was come, and at the gate did stand.
  • And Charis, Vulcan’s wife, then going out,
  • Saw her, and straightway took her by the hand.
  • Thetis, said she, ’tis strange to see you here;
  • Much honour’d, and a welcome guest you are,
  • 355Come in, and pleased be t’ accept our cheer.
  • Then led her in and brought her to a chair,
  • A dainty chair, with foot-stool join’d thereto,
  • And then unto her husband’s shop she hied,
  • For, Thetis, said she, you have work to do.
  • 360And Vulcan, glad, to Charis thus replied:
  • Is Thetis here, that sav’d me from mishap!
  • When for my lameness thrown down from the sky,
  • Thetis was pleas’d to catch me in her lap,
  • When else I had been in great misery.
  • 365I wrought for her, and for Eurynome,
  • Nine years, and made them many pretty things,
  • Within a rock encompass’d by the sea,
  • As buckles, clasps, fine boxes, beads, and rings,
  • Which neither mortal nor immortal knew,
  • 370But only Thetis and Eurynome.
  • And now to Thetis I must pay what’s due,
  • The ransom of my life, for saving me.
  • Go you, and entertain her well, while I
  • My tools take up, and bellows set away.
  • 375This said, the bellows he took and set by,
  • But in a chest his working tools did lay.
  • Then with a sponge he wip’d his hands and face,
  • His brawny neck, and hairy breast, and on
  • He puts his coat, and with his staff, apace,
  • 380Though halting goes, and waited was upon
  • By maids of massy gold, endu’d with wit,
  • And speech, and strength, and learn’d in heav’nly art;
  • And went to Thetis and did by her sit,
  • And joyful at her presence was his heart,
  • 385And laid his hand on hers, and to her said,
  • Thetis, so welcome to me there is none;
  • Tell me wherein you think I can you aid,
  • And if it can be done, it shall be done.
  • And then to Vulcan Thetis answered:
  • 390No Goddess ever was distress’d like me,
  • Whom Jove made subject to a mortal’s bed,
  • And Peleus’ wife constrained me to be,
  • Who lies at home decrepid now and spent,
  • And when I borne unto him had a son,
  • 395Of all the heroes the most excellent,
  • And of his breeding care omitted none,
  • And when he grown was to a goodly height,
  • He sent was to the war at Ilium,
  • Against the Trojans for the Greeks to fight;
  • 400From whence he never shall again come home.
  • Though yet he live, he takes therein no joy,
  • And I to comfort him no power have,
  • Since Agamemnon taken has away
  • Her whom the Greeks for honour to him gave.
  • 405And then my son no longer would him aid;
  • And by the Trojans beaten were the Greeks;
  • And Agamemnon then sent gifts, and pray’d,
  • And by ambassadors his favour seeks.
  • Then though to th’ fight himself he would not go,
  • 410Yet he his armour to Patroclus gave,
  • And Myrmidons t’ assist him ’gainst the foe,
  • And to the Scæan gate the Trojans drave.
  • And by Patroclus taken had been Troy,
  • Had he not then been by Apollo slain,
  • 415That unto Hector gave a glorious day,
  • And th’ armour of my valiant son to gain.
  • Which makes me now come hither, to request
  • That you would make new armour for my son,
  • A shield, a helmet, armour for the breast,
  • 420And for the legs; for those he had are gone.
  • Then to her answer’d Vulcan, Do not fear.
  • Oh, that when for him the harsh Fates enquire,
  • To hide him from them I as able were
  • As make him arms, for mortals to admire.
  • 425This said, unto his shop he went, and bad
  • His golden serving statues blow the fire.
  • For twenty bellowses in all he had
  • To blow as he should, and his work require.
  • And then into the fire he threw in tin,
  • 430And brass, and silver fine, and precious gold;
  • And to the socket puts the anvil in,
  • And th’ heavy hammer in one hand did hold,
  • Into his other hand the tongs he takes,
  • And forges first a mighty shield and strong,
  • 435And many various figures in it makes,
  • And fastens to the same a silver thong,
  • And bound the edge about with triple brass.
  • The shield itself consisted of five plies,
  • And with great art described in it was
  • 440The surface of the earth, the sea and skies,
  • The sun, the moon at full, and all the train
  • Of heaven, Pleiades, and Hyades,
  • Orion, and the bear, men call the Wain,
  • That only never dives into the seas,
  • 445But always to Orion has an eye.
  • And in it were two cities. In the one
  • Good cheer and weddings, and great melody,
  • And women at their doors stand looking on
  • To see the bridegroom as he passed by,
  • 450And lusty youths, that dancing with them go,
  • To citterns and to pipes, and Hymen cry,
  • And turn as swift as tops upon the toe.
  • And full of people was the market-place,
  • Assembled at the hearing of a cause.
  • 455A man was slain. And this was then the case.
  • One said that he had satisfied the laws,
  • The other said that nothing he had paid;
  • And on this issue they will both be tried,
  • And have their proofs before the judges laid,
  • 460And clamour great of friends was on each side.
  • The cryers when they stilled had the cry,
  • Into the judges’ hands their sceptres gave,
  • And in the midst, of gold two talents lie,
  • For him that has the better cause to have.
  • 465Before the other town two armies stood.
  • The foe resolved was to plunder it;
  • The town, to save it, offer’d half their good,
  • The other to accept it thought not fit.
  • Then up unto the walls the towns-men sent
  • 470Their women, children, and their men grown old,
  • And all the rest out from the city went,
  • And Mars and Pallas with them, all in gold,
  • And taller than the multitude by odds,
  • Who in respect of them seem’d very low,
  • 475For men are much inferior to the Gods.
  • Then they before the gate to council go.
  • The enemies themselves in ambush laid
  • At th’ watering place upon the river’s brink,
  • And scouts sent out, which not far from them staid,
  • 480To tell them when the cattle came to drink.
  • And when they were informed they were nigh,
  • And shepherds two, that did suspect no harm,
  • They on the shepherds and the cattle fly.
  • At which the other army took th’ alarm,
  • 485And rising up from council, with their horse
  • Pursued, and soon they overtaken were,
  • And then began the fight. Without remorse
  • They one another slay with sword and spear.
  • And there disorder plac’d was and debate;
  • 490And one borne wounded out, another found,
  • Another dead was dragg’d away by Fate,
  • With bloody coat and armour on the ground.
  • So lively seemed to the eye their features,
  • In fighting and in fetching off their slain,
  • 495One would have thought they had been living creatures,
  • And that the fight had real been. Again
  • Describ’d was in the same a spacious ground,
  • And men at plough; and at each ridge’s end,
  • At turning of the plough about, they found
  • 500A man that for them did with wine attend.
  • And then again the plough about they wind,
  • And lab’ring to the other end go back;
  • And as they plough, still what they leave behind,
  • Though golden ’twas, to th’ eye appeared black;
  • 505A wonder ’twas. Besides, in the same shield
  • Pourtrayed, was a goodly close of wheat,
  • And many reapers working on the field,
  • That threw it to the ground in handfuls great;
  • And boys that follow’d took it from the ground,
  • 510And put it in the hands of binders three,
  • By whom they made were into sheaves and bound,
  • Which standing by, their lord was glad to see.
  • His squires not far off standing were aside;
  • And at a tree a cow kill’d of the best,
  • 515A supper for the reapers to provide,
  • And to the women gave it to be dress’d.
  • And in’t a golden vineyard was pourtray’d:
  • The grapes that on it hung were black, and all
  • The vines supported and from drooping staid
  • 520With silver props, that down they could not fall.
  • A ditch there was about it black, and on
  • The same a hedge, the colour of it tin,
  • And path unto it there was only one,
  • By which the fruit in vintage was brought in.
  • 525And on it boys and girls described were,
  • After a fiddle play’d on by a boy,
  • That sing, dance, whistle, and full baskets bear,
  • Of Bacchus’ gifts, unto the house with joy.
  • And in it was a herd of bulls and kine,
  • 530Part gold, part tin, and herds-men four of gold,
  • That to the pasture drave them with dogs nine,
  • T’ a sedgy river; where two lions bold
  • Upon the horned herd came from a wood,
  • And ’mongst the foremost seiz’d upon a bull;
  • 535The dogs went to them near, and barking stood:
  • Then roars the bull. The lions tear and pull.
  • And in the same he pasture made for sheep
  • Within a valley large, with lodges good,
  • And folds, and cover’d houses them to keep
  • 540In safety from the wild beasts of the wood.
  • And in it was a dancing place pourtray’d,
  • Like that which Dædalus had made before
  • For Ariadne, while in Crete he staid,
  • And on it dancing youths and maidens store
  • 545Go hand in hand. The girls, some clad in fine
  • White linen were, and some in coats well spun
  • Of glossy wool, that with the oil did shine;
  • And ev’ry one a garland gay had on.
  • The boys with silver hangers were adorn’d,
  • 550And golden swords, and with their well-taught feet
  • Sometimes they dancing in a circle turn’d,
  • Sometimes divided in two ranks they meet.
  • And round about of people stood a throng,
  • And in the lovely dance took great delight.
  • 555And in the midst two tumblers sung the song,
  • And many wond’rous things did in their sight.
  • With the ocean then he all environed.
  • The shield now done, he went about the rest,
  • And made a helmet strong fit for his head,
  • 560And formed was of massy gold the crest,
  • And breast-plate shining brighter than the fire,
  • And pieces for his legs of ductile tin.
  • And when he all had done to his desire,
  • He from his forge return’d, and brought it in,
  • 565And in the hands of Thetis puts the same;
  • Which she received from him joyfully.
  • Then straightway from Olympus down she came,
  • As swift as at a fowl a hawk can fly.

  LIB. XIX.

  • Achilles reconciled to Agamemnon goes forth to battle.

  • No sooner in her saffron robe was seen
  • Aurora, holding light above the ground,
  • Than at the ships the silver-footed queen
  • Achilles by Patroclus weeping found,
  • 5And with him many of his friends dismay’d.
  • Then in, into the midst of them she went,
  • And laid her hand on his, and to him said:
  • My son, why do you thus in vain lament?
  • Come, since the Gods have slain him, leave him here,
  • 10And take the arms which I from Vulcan bring,
  • Such as yet mortal man did never wear;
  • Which, as she lays them down before him, ring.
  • The Myrmidons were troubled at the sight,
  • And turn’d their backs, affrighted at the show.
  • 15Achilles’ wrath was more enflamed by’t,
  • His eyes a-fire, and bended was his brow;
  • Yet when he had them in his hands was glad,
  • And with great admiration them survey’d.
  • And when enough beholden them he had,
  • 20Unto his mother he replied, and said:
  • Mother, I see such arms from Vulcan here,
  • As none but an immortal could have made,
  • And presently will put them on, but fear
  • Lest flies the body should meanwhile invade,
  • 25And in the wounds some filthy vermin breed.
  • And Thetis then replied: Son, do not fear,
  • For I myself to that will take such heed,
  • As, that although it should lie here a year,
  • It shall no worse, but rather better be.
  • 30Go you, and th’ Argive lords to council call,
  • And with king Agamemnon there agree,
  • And put your anger off before them all;
  • And spend your choler boldly on your foes.
  • This said, she to Patroclus mov’d her feet,
  • 35And dropp’d ambrosia into his nose,
  • To keep his body incorrupt and sweet.
  • Achilles then went down unto the shore,
  • And there the heroes did to council call
  • By name, though they were ready there before.
  • 40But thither at the news came th’ Argives all,
  • Steers-men and stewards of provision,
  • And all the rest to th’ council thronging in,
  • Though but to see the face of Thetis’ son,
  • So long they thought he absent now had been.
  • 45Tydides also, and Ulysses came,
  • Though of their wounds they yet not cured were,
  • Both halting, leaning on their spears, and lame.
  • The last of all was Agamemnon there,
  • Wounded by Coon, nor recovered yet;
  • 50But th’ heroes for his coming not long staid.
  • And when they were together all and set,
  • Achilles rose, and t’ Agamemnon said:
  • Atrides, what great profit got we by
  • This our unlucky strife about a maid?
  • 55I would it had her fortune been to die,
  • Before I siege unto Lyrnessus laid.
  • To Hector and the Trojans comes the gain;
  • The Greeks with grief will think on’t while they live.
  • But since it is too late now to complain,
  • 60Go forth, and orders for the battle give;
  • That I may to them go again, and see
  • If at the ships they mean to stay all night.
  • I think they will much rather wish to be
  • Within the walls of Troy than stay and fight.
  • 65This said, the Greeks were glad and courage take,
  • Assured that Achilles would them aid,
  • And Agamemnon, sitting, to them spake,
  • (Which he excus’d), and thus unto them said:
  • ’Twere fitter, Argive princes, I stood out,
  • 70That so my words you might the better hear;
  • But such a number standing are about,
  • My voice, though greater, would not reach your ear.
  • Nor were it fit for me to go about,
  • And tell my mind to each man in his ear.
  • 75T’ Achilles therefore only I’ll speak out,
  • But so, if you attend, that all may hear.
  • I often have, said he, been blamed by
  • The Greeks for taking from you your fair prize,
  • When not in me, but Jove the fault did lie,
  • 80And in Erinnys and the Destinies,
  • That did me of my wits that day bereave.
  • For what can I do when the Gods do all?
  • Jove’s daughter Atè did me then deceive,
  • From whom, on men and Gods great troubles fall.
  • 85Her feet are soft, because she never treads
  • On th’ earth; but when she mischief has to do
  • Walks in the air, and puts it in men’s heads,
  • And sometimes does shrewd turns t’ immortals too.
  • For Juno, though but of th’ female sex,
  • 90That day that Hercules was to be born,
  • Was able Jove, the best o’ th’ Gods, to vex,
  • And labour of Alcmena to adjourn.
  • For Jove before th’ immortals having said
  • That he a man that day to light would bring,
  • 95By whom his race in Greece should all be sway’d.
  • You jest, said Juno, you mean no such thing.
  • I’ll not believe’t, unless you first be sworn
  • That he shall of your seed in Greece be king,
  • That of a woman shall this day be born.
  • 100This said, straight Jove, no fraud imagining,
  • The great oath took. But after did repent.
  • And Juno from Olympus’ lofty head
  • Leapt down, and t’ Argos of Achaia went,
  • And brought the wife of Sthenelus to bed.
  • 105And there was she deliver’d of a son,
  • That was by Perseus of Jove’s descent,
  • Though she but seven months had of him gone.
  • And then to Thebes she to Alcmena went,
  • And hinder’d her that day from bringing forth.
  • 110Then up to Jupiter she came again,
  • And said, This day is born a man of worth,
  • Eurysteus, in Argos fit to reign,
  • And of your seed. And Jove in choler then
  • Took Atè by the head and swung her round,
  • 115And swore she ne’er to heav’n should come again.
  • And having said it, threw her to the ground;
  • And always after sigh’d to see the pain
  • To which Eurysteus did put his son;
  • As I do, when I see the Argives slain
  • 120By Hector, grieve to think what I have done.
  • But since that Jove has made me to offend,
  • I for my error willing am to pay.
  • Come, then, and your assistance to us lend,
  • And quickly bring your Myrmidons away.
  • 125And all that by Ulysses yesterday
  • I to you promis’d shall performed be.
  • Or presently, if you will for it stay,
  • That you th’ atoning gifts yourself may see.
  • Achilles then unto him thus replies.
  • 130As for your gifts, to give them me or no,
  • Yet only in your choice, Atrides, lies.
  • But now ’tis time we to the Trojans go,
  • To make fine speeches here is but delay.
  • But let your men o’ th’ field Achilles see
  • 135Through squadrons of the Trojans making way,
  • The Argives then encouraged will be.
  • Ulysses then t’ Achilles answered:
  • Godlike Achilles, mighty as you are,
  • Urge not the Greeks to fight till they be fed;
  • 140They fasting cannot long endure the war,
  • And likely ’tis the battle will be long,
  • Especially if Gods both sides assist;
  • And bread and wine is that which makes men strong.
  • Let therefore now the Argives be dismiss’d.
  • 145Who can, d’ye think, the toil of battle bear
  • From morning unto night, unless he first
  • With food his heart and feeble limbs do cheer?
  • He would be heavy, hungry, and athirst.
  • But he that is with food well satisfied,
  • 150Courageous is, and fight will all the day;
  • His heart and limbs are strong, and will abide
  • As long as any on the field dare stay.
  • Come, let the people now to breakfast go.
  • And Agamemnon send the presents in
  • 155Into th’ assembly where we sit, that so
  • By the Achæans all they may be seen;
  • And let him take an oath before us, that
  • Briseis’ bed he never went unto,
  • Nor all this while has done unto her what
  • 160A husband to his wife is us’d to do.
  • And you your anger henceforth bridle must.
  • And you, Atrides, feast him like a friend,
  • And for hereafter learn to be more just,
  • Nor think’t a shame for men their faults to mend.
  • 165Ulysses, said Atrides, I am joy’d
  • The counsel you have given us to hear,
  • For ’tis but reason all that you have said,
  • And I with all my heart the oath will swear.
  • And let Achilles, though in haste, stay here
  • 170With all the rest, that they my gifts may see,
  • And witnesses be to the oath I swear.
  • And for the gifts, Ulysses, presently
  • Go you yourself with good men, whom you will,
  • And bring them from my tent and set them here,
  • 175For what they are, you well remember still;
  • The same that by you promis’d from me were.
  • And you, Talthybius, provide a swine,
  • That we may offer up a sacrifice
  • To Jove, the Sun, and other pow’rs divine.
  • 180This said, Achilles to him thus replies:
  • Renowned Agamemnon, I think yet
  • Another time for feast had better been,
  • As when in war a pause we intermit.
  • And whilst yet unabated is my spleen,
  • 185We see our friends lie torn upon the ground,
  • The Greeks to battle and revenge I prompt.
  • You think my counsel therein is not sound,
  • And seek with feasting to divert them from’t.
  • But let us fasting to the battle go,
  • 190And make good cheer when we come back again,
  • And have reveng’d ourselves upon the foe;
  • For I will neither eat nor drink till then.
  • For whilst Patroclus mangled lieth here,
  • And they that love him stand lamenting by,
  • 195There nothing is that I can think good cheer
  • But slaughter, blood, and groans of men that die.
  • To this Ulysses did again reply:
  • Achilles, you have not in Greece your peer
  • For martial worth; yet elder much am I,
  • 200And more have seen; I pray you therefore hear.
  • The fare of war soon breeds satiety.
  • Much straw there is, but harvest none, or small.
  • If Jove once hold the scales unevenly,
  • Innumerable are the men that fall.
  • 205When then an end of weeping shall we see?
  • The bellies of the Argives must not mourn.
  • They that go to the war must patient be,
  • And let the dead unto their graves be borne,
  • And not weep over them above a day.
  • 210And we that safe from fight are come again,
  • When we are fed can all day fighting stay.
  • All other exhortation is vain.
  • Let therefore now the Greeks to breakfast go,
  • Which is the soldier’s best encouragement,
  • 215Then all together fall upon the foe.
  • And when he this had said, away he went,
  • And with him took Meges, Meriones,
  • Theas, Antilochus, and Thrasymed,
  • And Menalippus, and added unto these
  • 220The martial son of Creon, Lycomed,
  • And brought the presents from Atrides’ tent.
  • Sev’n tripods great, and twenty cauldrons bright,
  • Twelve horses, and sev’n women with them went,
  • And, fair’st of all, Briseis made them eight.
  • 225Talents of gold Ulysses weigh’d out ten,
  • And took the pains himself to carry that;
  • The rest was carri’d by the younger men,
  • And laid before the princes as they sat.
  • Then Agamemnon rose, and by him near
  • 230Talthybius attended with a swine,
  • From which Atrides clipt a lock of hair,
  • And lifts his hands unto the pow’rs divine.
  • O Jove, said he, the chiefest of the Gods,
  • O Sun, and Earth, and Furies underground,
  • 235That in your hands carry th’ eternal rods
  • To punish such as perjur’d shall be found,
  • My hand I on Briseis never laid,
  • Neither for bed, nor any other cause;
  • But always in my tent untouch’d she staid,
  • 240Nor ever by me once attempted was.
  • And if herein I told you have a lie,
  • Let all the dreadful torments that are due
  • To such as guilty are of perjury
  • Upon me fall. This said, the swine he slew.
  • 245Then out the stomach of the swine did cut,
  • And that Talthybius took in his hands.
  • And threw’t into the sea the fish to glut.
  • That done, Achilles up amongst them stands.
  • ’Tis thou, O Jove, said he, that spoilest all.
  • 250Briseis at my tent had stayed still,
  • Nor had her going from me mov’d my gall,
  • But that thou hadst a mind the Greeks to kill.
  • This said, the council he dissolv’d, and sent
  • Th’ Achæans to their ships to break their fast.
  • 255Then ev’ry man unto his own ship went,
  • And busy were about their short repast.
  • Meanwhile the Myrmidons the presents bear
  • T’ Achilles’ ships, and laid them in his tent,
  • And thither also brought the women were.
  • 260But th’ horses to the field his servants sent.
  • Briseis, when she saw Patroclus lie
  • With many ghastly wounds dead on the bier,
  • She flung her arms about him and did cry,
  • And her white neck, and face, and breast did tear,
  • 265And weeping over him did thus complain.
  • O dear Patroclus, whom alive I left,
  • Now when I to you am return’d again,
  • Ah me, I find you of your life bereft.
  • How fast my woes on one another fall!
  • 270The husband which my parents made me wed,
  • And three good brothers of one mother all,
  • I saw before Lyrnessus massacred.
  • And then, Patroclus, you to comfort me,
  • Told me that I should be Achilles’ wife,
  • 275And to him married in Pthia be.
  • But now since you have also lost your life,
  • I never of my woe shall see an end.
  • And then the other women wept and roar’d,
  • All for Patroclus, as they did pretend,
  • 280But inwardly their own fate they deplor’d.
  • The Greeks again about Achilles stood,
  • And urged him, ere he to battle went,
  • Himself to strengthen with a little food,
  • But could by no means get him to consent.
  • 285My friends, said he, importune me no more
  • To eat or drink before we go to fight.
  • My heart within me now is vexed sore;
  • Fear not, I shall endure from morn to night.
  • This said, the other princes from him went.
  • 290The two Atrides and Ulysses stay,
  • And Phœnix and old Nestor at his tent,
  • And King Idomeneus, his grief t’ allay,
  • But nothing they could say did any good,
  • So fiercely he was set upon the fight.
  • 295And looking on Patroclus’ body stood,
  • And then afresh lamented at the sight.
  • Sweet friend, said he, you wont were to provide
  • Good breakfast for me when I was to fight,
  • But since that comfort now I am denied,
  • 300In meat and drink I take no more delight.
  • For greater hurt cannot upon me fall,
  • Although for want of me my father die,
  • While absent from him at the Trojan wall,
  • For this accursed Helen’s sake I lie;
  • 305Nor though my son Neptolemus should die,
  • Whom I in Scyros isle left to be bred,
  • Nor thinking then that here both you and I
  • Should lose our lives; but that when I was dead
  • He should by you be to my house convey’d,
  • 310And made to know my servants and estate.
  • For Peleus now is very much decay’d,
  • If quite he have not finished his fate.
  • When this Achilles, weeping, spoken had,
  • The good old men, that also had their fears
  • 315For those they left at home, were very sad.
  • And Jove had pity on Achilles’ tears,
  • And speaking to Athena, Child, said he,
  • Your love to valiant men, I see, is gone.
  • Achilles must no more remember’d be.
  • 320Behold how for his friend he maketh moan,
  • And takes no food, though th’ other princes feast,
  • Let not his strength by hunger be decay’d;
  • Distil ambrosia into his breast,
  • And nectar. Straight Athena him obey’d.
  • 325And swift as any harpy came away,
  • And arming of themselves she found the rest;
  • But that Achilles’ strength might not decay,
  • She dropt ambrosia into his breast,
  • And nectar sweet, and out the Argives went.
  • 330As when from Jove descendeth a thick snow,
  • Which Boreas bloweth through the element;
  • Such of the armed Argives was the show;
  • So bright their burnish’d arms and helmets were,
  • The lustre up to heaven did rebound,
  • 335And smiling all about the fields appear,
  • And at the moving of their feet resound.
  • Achilles then his mighty arms puts on,
  • And grinds his teeth, and fire was in his eyes,
  • And hasted to the battle to be gone;
  • 340So much his heart did at the Trojans rise.
  • First to his legs the leg pieces he tied
  • With buckles of fine silver all along,
  • And next his breast-plate to his breast applied,
  • And on his shoulder then his sword he hung;
  • 345Then up into his hands his shield he took,
  • Large, strong, and mighty; radiant was the same,
  • And from afar it like the moon did look,
  • Or, as to seamen, on the wolds a flame,
  • That sure are of a storm when that they see,
  • 350And from their friends to scatter’d be by wind
  • To places where they not desire to be;
  • So then the buckler of Achilles’ shin’d.
  • And next he puts his helmet on his head,
  • Which shined like a comet in the air,
  • 355So finely Vulcan had it polished,
  • And made it seem to blaze with golden hair.
  • And then to try his arms if fit they were,
  • He walk’d about, and thought he wings had worn.
  • And last from out a tub he took his spear
  • 360(Which by his father formerly was borne,
  • And made by Chiron in Mount Pelion)
  • Which no man but Achilles now could wield,
  • Since Peleus’ strength decayed was and gone.
  • A fatal spear to heroes in the field.
  • 365And Alcimus then and Automedon,
  • The horses to the chariot made fast,
  • And harness’d them and put their bridles on,
  • And back unto the seat the reins they cast.
  • With whip in hand then mounts Automedon,
  • 370And after him Achilles not long staid,
  • Yclad in armour shining like the sun,
  • And roughly to his horses speaking said,
  • Xanthus and Balius take heed I pray,
  • A little better of your char’oteer,
  • 375Than of Patroclus you did yesterday,
  • Whom dead and stript you left behind you here.
  • This said, his sprightly head low Xanthus hung,
  • Till on the ground his golden mane was laid.
  • And Juno human speech gave to his tongue.
  • 380And to Achilles then he spake and said,
  • Yes, great Achilles, we will save you now:
  • But know ye, that your utmost day is nigh;
  • Not by our faults; the Gods will have it so,
  • And, which cannot be shunn’d, your destiny.
  • 385And that Patroclus is disarm’d and slain,
  • ’Twas not because we lazy were or slow,
  • But that Priamides might honour gain,
  • Apollo slew him with his silver bow.
  • For we could have gone faster than the wind,
  • 390If that could to him any good have done.
  • The thread of life which for him was design’d
  • Was by the Destinies drawn out and spun.
  • This then said Xanthus, but could not proceed.
  • His speech the Furies from him took again.
  • 395Xanthus, replied Achilles, there’s no need
  • For you to prophecy my death in vain.
  • I know already that I here must die,
  • Far from my parents; yet I mean to stay
  • Till I have made the Trojans hence to fly.
  • 400This said, his Myrmidons he led away.

  LIB. XX.

  • The eighth battle, and the Gods permitted to assist.

  • Whilst with Achilles th’ Argives armed stand,
  • And on the plain the Trojans ready all,
  • Jove to the goddess Thetis gave command
  • The common council of the Gods to call.
  • 5Then down she came, and calling went about.
  • Ye Gods, said she, Jove calls you to his house.
  • And straight the Rivers from their streams came out,
  • All but their father old Oceanus.
  • The Nymphs from ev’ry meadow, spring and grove,
  • 10Up to the Mount Olympus went in haste;
  • And when they come were to the house of Jove,
  • In porches round on polish’d seats were plac’d;
  • And Neptune also having heard the call,
  • Leap’d from the sea up to Olympus’ hill,
  • 15And sitting in the midst, before them all
  • To Jove he spake, and said, What is your will?
  • D’ye call us hither our advice to hear;
  • To give the day to Trojan or to Greek;
  • For I perceive the battle now is near?
  • 20My mind, said Jupiter, you need not seek.
  • For of the Greeks distrest I have a care.
  • But on Olympus I intend to stay,
  • And please myself with looking on the war.
  • But let the other Gods go down to Troy,
  • 25And take which side they will. For else I fear,
  • Achilles, whom the Trojans did so dread,
  • When in the battle no immortals were,
  • And more enrag’d is since his friend is dead;
  • When he has driv’n the Trojans from the field,
  • 30Will then directly go to Ilium,
  • And overthrow the wall which you did build,
  • Before the time, by fate appointed, come.
  • This said, the fight began. On th’ Argives’ side
  • Stood Juno, Pallas, Neptune, Mercury;
  • 35And Vulcan, taking in his strength great pride,
  • Went halting ’mongst them with his legs awry.
  • On th’ other side, Mars for the Trojans stood,
  • And Phœbus, and his sister Artemis,
  • Their mother Leto, and Scamander-flood,
  • 40And Venus that of all the fairest is.
  • And whilst they from the battle stood aside,
  • The Argives mightily encourag’d were,
  • And in Achilles’ presence took great pride;
  • For long it seem’d they had not seen him there.
  • 45The Trojans, when they saw him, shook for fear,
  • So like to Mars he was, his arms so bright.
  • But when the Gods on both sides with them were,
  • Then all about was filled with affright,
  • And in the air heard was Athena’s shrill
  • 50As from the ditch, and sometimes from the shore,
  • And Mars sometimes from Callidone hill,
  • And sometimes as at Troy was heard to roar,
  • The Trojans he, but she the Greeks to incite.
  • Thus by the Gods from heav’n encouraged,
  • 55The armies met, and cruel was the fight,
  • And terribly above Jove thundered,
  • And Neptune shook the earth on ev’ry side;
  • The Argive ships, and stately Trojan tow’rs,
  • The plain beneath, and lofty tops of Ide.
  • 60And frighten’d with it were th’ infernal pow’rs;
  • And Pluto, starting from his ugly throne,
  • To Neptune cried out his hand to hold,
  • For fear his dismal dwelling should be shown
  • To men and Gods, so hateful to behold.
  • 65So great a noise the Gods make when they fight.
  • Phœbus to Neptune now opposed is,
  • And Pallas stands against rude Mars his might,
  • And Juno matched is with Artemis,
  • And Mercury against Latona stood.
  • 70But he that Vulcan had to deal withal,
  • Was the divine and deep swift-running flood,
  • Which Xanthus Gods, but men Scamander call.
  • Thus were th’ Immortals matched one to one.
  • Achilles would have given any good
  • 75That he had matched been to Priam’s son,
  • T’ have made to Mars a breakfast of his blood.
  • And then Apollo sets Æneas on
  • T’ encounter with Achilles; and array’d
  • In th’ person and the voice of Lycaon
  • 80Came to his side, and thus unto him said:
  • Æneas, when the wine was in your head,
  • I oft have heard you of yourself say this,
  • That ’gainst Achilles you in fight durst stand.
  • What say you to him now? See, there he is.
  • 85Priamides, Æneas then replied,
  • Why would you have me with Achilles fight?
  • I once already was, upon mount Ide
  • Keeping our cattle, by him put to flight;
  • And thence for safety to Lyrnessus fled.
  • 90But he the town Lyrnessus quickly won,
  • And Pedassus. And then I had been dead
  • If Jove had not enabled me to run.
  • For Pallas with him was and made him way,
  • Striking his foes before him with affright,
  • 95And urging him the Trojans to destroy.
  • ’Tis more than man can do t’ oppose his might;
  • One God or other always with him is
  • To put aside the spears before they come.
  • And whom he aims at he doth never miss,
  • 100And to the mark his spear flies always home.
  • But if the Gods unpartial would be,
  • Although of solid brass his body were,
  • He should not eas’ly get the victory.
  • Æneas, then said Phœbus, do not fear,
  • 105But pray unto the Gods. Your mother is
  • Jove’s daughter Cytherea, as they say,
  • A greater Goddess by descent than his;
  • And therefore boldly to him go your way.
  • His mighty words and threats you must not fear.
  • 110This said, he courage breath’d into his breast.
  • Then through the foremost went he with his spear,
  • And helmet of strong brass with glitt’ring crest.
  • Now Juno of his going was aware,
  • And calling to her th’ other Gods, she said,
  • 115Neptune and Pallas, let us have a care;
  • I see a danger that ought to be weigh’d.
  • Æneas yonder, with his spear in hand,
  • Goes to Achilles with a mind to fight.
  • Let’s keep him off, or by Achilles stand,
  • 120And add both to his courage and his might,
  • That he may know the Gods of greatest pow’r
  • Are on his side, and those that stand for Troy
  • In virtue much to us inferior,
  • And dare not in the field against us stay;
  • 125And that we from Olympus hither came
  • To save him now; hereafter, whatsoe’er
  • Mischances come, he must endure the same,
  • Since at his birth they woven with him were.
  • For if unknown our purpose to him be,
  • 130To meet a God will put him into fear.
  • ’Tis dangerous Gods as they are to see;
  • So terrible to mortals they appear.
  • And Neptune unto Juno then replied,
  • You are too fierce: a fight between the Gods
  • 135I would not have begin upon our side;
  • Nor does it need, so much we have the odds.
  • But let’s go hence to yonder mountain top,
  • And leave the battle in the hands of men.
  • If Mars or Phœbus then Achilles stop,
  • 140We to the battle will return again,
  • And send them to Olympus home with shame,
  • ’Mongst other of the Gods at court to stay,
  • Well beaten at our hands, disgrac’d, and tame.
  • And when he this had said, he led away,
  • 145And when he come was to the castle-wall,
  • Which was by th’ Trojans built for Hercules
  • By Pallas’ help, to save him from the whale
  • That much annoy’d the Trojans from the seas,
  • He and his party of the Gods staid there,
  • 150Concealed by a cloud, and looking on.
  • But Mars and Phœbus, with their party, were
  • Sitting upon the brow of Callidon.
  • Thus from the field the Gods on both sides staid,
  • Consulting how their friends the day might win,
  • 155But neither side effectually would aid,
  • For not a God amongst them durst begin.
  • Now cover’d over was the field with men,
  • Both horse and foot, array’d in armour bright;
  • The earth resounded with their feet. And then
  • 160Two warriors in the midst stood out to fight,
  • Achilles and Æneas, the two best.
  • And first Æneas, with fierce looks, went on
  • With spear in hand, and shield before his breast.
  • To meet him then advanced Thetis’ son.
  • 165As when to chase a lion from the plain,
  • The people of the town with weapons rise,
  • The lion looks upon them with disdain,
  • As if he did their multitude despise;
  • But when a spear from any of them comes,
  • 170He whips himself int’ anger with his tail,
  • And terribly goes on, and yawns and foams,
  • To kill, or to be killed if he fail:
  • So at the seeing of Æneas’ spear,
  • Achilles did himself to th’ fight provoke.
  • 175And when they stood to one another near,
  • Achilles first unto Æneas spoke.
  • Æneas, why, said he, come you away
  • So far before the rest? To fight with me?
  • Will Priam, think you, make you king of Troy,
  • 180If by your hand perhaps I slain should be?
  • No. He is wise, and sons has of his own.
  • Or will the Trojans set you out great lands,
  • Some to be planted, others to be sown,
  • Whenever I am killed by your hands?
  • 185But that I hope will never be. You know
  • How once I made you run down Ida hill,
  • Into Lyrnessus, in great haste; and how
  • You ne’er look’d back for fear of greater ill;
  • And how the town I won, and led away
  • 190The women captives; though ’twas then Jove’s will
  • That from my hands you should escape that day,
  • You must not look that you should do so still.
  • And therefore I advise you to be gone,
  • And in the throng o’ th’ Trojans to abide,
  • 195For ev’ry fool his harm knows when ’tis done.
  • This said, Æneas to him thus replied:
  • Pelides, do not think you can me fright,
  • As if I were a child, with words of scorn;
  • For if in evil words I took delight,
  • 200I could as many easily return.
  • We one another’s parents know by fame;
  • Peleus your father was, Anchises mine.
  • Your mother is divine, Thetis by name;
  • And Venus mine, of the celestial line;
  • 205And one of them to-day must lose a son,
  • For ’tis not words can fetch us off this place.
  • But if you’ll know my generation,
  • I’ll by my father likewise count my race;
  • For first by Jove was Dardanus begot,
  • 210That rul’d the Dardans under Ida hill,
  • In divers towns; for Ilium yet was not,
  • But at the foot of Ida they dwelt still.
  • And Dardan Erichthonius begat,
  • That was the wealthiest of mortal men:
  • 215Three thousand mares he had, and unto that
  • As many foals, all feeding on the fen.
  • And twelve of these were got by Boreas,
  • That leapt their dams in likeness of a horse,
  • And o’er the ears of standing corn could pass
  • 220And never make them stoop, such was their force;
  • And run upon the sea, and never wet
  • Their hoofs, which very wondrous was to see.
  • And Erichthonius did Tros beget.
  • And Tros the father was of children three,
  • 225Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymed.
  • But Ganymed was taken up by Jove,
  • So fair he was, and t’ heaven carried,
  • To minister unto the Gods above.
  • The son of Ilus was Laomedon,
  • 230And he Tithonus got, and Priamus,
  • And Lampus, Clytius, Icetaon.
  • But Capys son was of Assaracus.
  • Capys begat Anchises, and he me.
  • I need not be ashamed of my race,
  • 235Though virtue lieth not in pedigree,
  • But given is to them whom Jove will grace.
  • Then let us from reproachful words abstain,
  • Whereof there is great plenty ev’rywhere,
  • To serve all men that will them entertain,
  • 240That as a man will speak, so he may hear.
  • What need we, like two women in the street,
  • When they cannot agree, to rail and scoff?
  • Who, say they true or false, are indiscreet.
  • For from my purpose you’ll not put me off
  • 245With scornful words, before your force I try,
  • Let’s therefore here no longer talk, but fight.
  • And as he spake his spear he letteth fly,
  • Which on Achilles’ mighty shield fell right,
  • And terribly it made the same resound,
  • 250Achilles far before him held his shield,
  • For fear Æneas through it might him wound;
  • Though heav’nly arms to mortals will not yield.
  • But that he thought not on. Nor did the spear,
  • Well driven as it was, and strong, pass through;
  • 255For of five plies that labour’d in it were
  • By Mulciber, it pierced only two,
  • And those were brass. There still remained three,
  • The one of gold, the other two of tin;
  • And stopped by the brass it could not be,
  • 260But coming to the gold it there stuck in.
  • And then Achilles threw his spear at him,
  • Which flying with great force pass’d thro’ his shield,
  • Where thin the brass and hide was near the brim,
  • And over him it flew into the field.
  • 265For when Æneas coming saw the spear,
  • He crouched low, and held his buckler high;
  • And though the same proceeded but from fear,
  • It made the spear above his head to fly.
  • Æneas at the first amazed stands;
  • 270But when Achilles with his sword came on,
  • He stoop’d, and from the ground took in his hands,
  • That near unto him lay, a mighty stone,
  • Which two men, such as now are, scarce could bear,
  • And hit him had on th’ head or breast in vain,
  • 275That with celestial arms defended were,
  • And by Achilles’ sword himself been slain,
  • If it had not by Neptune been foreseen.
  • Who speaking to the Gods did thus complain.
  • O Gods, said he, great pain I now am in
  • 280To see Æneas by Achilles slain,
  • For heark’ning to Apollo foolishly;
  • Who will not help him though he set him on.
  • But wherefore should we let Æneas die,
  • Others to please, when he no fault has done?
  • 285Let’s therefore save him, lest we Jove offend,
  • Who now the offspring of King Priam hates,
  • And that Æneas’ race shall without end
  • The Trojans rule, ’tis ordered by the Fates.
  • This said, to Neptune Juno did reply:
  • 290If you Æneas have a mind to save,
  • Save him yourself. For well you know that I
  • And Pallas ’mongst the Gods sworn often have,
  • That neither of us shall a Trojan aid,
  • Though Ilium itself were in a flame.
  • 295Away went Neptune soon as that was said,
  • And to Æneas and Achilles came,
  • And o’er Achilles’ eyes a mist he spread,
  • And drew his spear out of Æneas’ shield;
  • And to Achilles that he carried,
  • 300And laid it at his feet upon the field.
  • And then Æneas, lifted by the force
  • Of an immortal God, skipp’d to the rear,
  • O’er many ranks of heroes and of horse,
  • Unto the Caucons, that the hindmost were,
  • 305Where Neptune standing by him spake, and said:
  • Æneas, who was’t of th’ immortal Gods,
  • That to engage Achilles you betray’d,
  • That stronger is than you by so much odds?
  • Henceforth take heed you come not in his way,
  • 310Lest by his hand you die. When he is gone,
  • You boldly on the best adventure may,
  • For of the rest you slain shall be by none.
  • This said, he to Achilles went again,
  • And made the mist to vanish from his eyes,
  • 315And round about him look’d Achilles then,
  • And to his feet return’d, his spear espies,
  • And said unto himself, O strange, what’s this?
  • The man is gone, my spear come back I see.
  • Æneas of the Gods beloved is,
  • 320And I thought all he said was vanity.
  • But fare him well. He will not come again,
  • So glad he is that he hath ’scaped so.
  • Now I will first put courage in my men,
  • And then unto some other Trojans go.
  • 325Then through the Argive ranks he went, and said,
  • No longer of the Trojans be so shy,
  • But man to man go close. Be not afraid;
  • Strong as I am, you cannot think that I
  • Can follow such a multitude and fight;
  • 330For neither Mars nor Pallas can do that,
  • Though Gods immortal, and of so great might,
  • That mortal men cannot resist. Yet what
  • My strength alone, with hands and feet can do,
  • I think I shall not anything forbear,
  • 335But break their ranks, and make you way clean through;
  • Nor shall he joyful be whom I come near.
  • Whilst this Achilles to the Argives said,
  • Hector no less the Trojans did excite.
  • Why should you of Achilles be afraid?
  • 340With words ’tis easy ’gainst the Gods to fight,
  • That are too strong to fight with, with a spear;
  • And to Achilles now I mean to go,
  • Though fire his hands, and steel his body were,
  • For more by half he says than he can do.
  • 345When Hector to the Trojans this had said,
  • The fight began, and mighty was the cry;
  • And then for Hector Phœbus was afraid,
  • And presently came in, and standing nigh,
  • Hector, said he, return into the throng.
  • 350Take heed. With Thetis’ son fight not at all,
  • Now nor henceforth (he for you is too strong)
  • Lest by his spear or sword you chance to fall.
  • Thus Hector, by the God admonished,
  • Into the Trojan troops retir’d again.
  • 355The Trojans then before Achilles fled;
  • And by him first Iphition was slain,
  • Whom the nymph Neis to Otrynteus bare,
  • In Ida, at the foot of Tmolus hill;
  • Great troops he brought unto the Trojan war,
  • 360And thought he could the great Pelides kill:
  • But coming on, he met Achilles’ spear,
  • The fatal spear, that cleft his head in twain.
  • Achilles then triumphed o’er him there,
  • Though fallen to the ground he were, and slain.
  • 365So, Otryntides, die there on the earth,
  • Though where runs Hyllus into Hermus deep,
  • On the Gygean lake, you had your birth.
  • This said, he left him in eternal sleep,
  • For th’ Argive char’ot-wheels to crush and grind.
  • 370And after him he slew Demoleon,
  • A warrior good, and of undaunted mind,
  • That of Antenor was a valiant son.
  • Him through the head, with spear in hand, he smote,
  • And out together came both blood and brain;
  • 375His helmet, though of brass, preserv’d him not.
  • And after he Demoleon had slain,
  • He with his spear pursu’d Hippodamas,
  • Who from his car had leapt unto the ground;
  • Frighted, and now before him running was,
  • 380And gave him on the back a mortal wound,
  • Whereat he blows and roars like any bull
  • Brought to the altar for a sacrifice,
  • When young men by the horns him thither pull
  • By violence; then down he falls, and dies.
  • 385Unluckily, then in Achilles’ sight
  • Was Polydorus, Priam’s youngest son,
  • And best belov’d; whom he forbad to fight,
  • Though swiftest of them all he were to run:
  • But he, the virtue of his feet to shew,
  • 390Betwixt the hosts ran up and down the field,
  • Until a spear Achilles at him threw,
  • And with a wound upon the back him kill’d;
  • Out at his navel went the spear again,
  • And for his guts to follow made a way.
  • 395But Hector, when he saw his brother slain,
  • Amongst his troops he could no longer stay,
  • But going to Achilles, shook his spear.
  • Then, speaking to himself, Achilles said,
  • The man that slew Patroclus I see here,
  • 400We must no more each other now avoid;
  • And sourly on him looking, said, Come near,
  • That I may quickly of you make an end.
  • And Hector to him answer’d without fear,
  • In vain, Achilles, your proud words you spend;
  • 405Such words as these may children terrify,
  • And I can speak that language when I list;
  • And though you be a mightier man than I,
  • The victory does not in that consist,
  • But he shall have it whom the Gods appoint,
  • 410Though he be weaker, if his spear fly true,
  • Which mine may do, and sharp is at the point.
  • This said, his spear he at Achilles threw,
  • Which back to Hector’s feet Athena blew,
  • With soft and gentle breath, without a sound;
  • 415And straight Achilles, thund’ring, to him flew.
  • But then Apollo snatch’d him from the ground,
  • Which is by any God done in a trice,
  • And in a mist conceal’d him from his sight:
  • And after him Achilles leapt up thrice,
  • 420And thrice the air obscure in vain did smite.
  • Then whoop’d he after him, and threat’ning said,
  • Dog, an ill death again thou ’scaped hast,
  • That fighting, to Apollo pray’st for aid;
  • But yet I shall dispatch you at the last,
  • 425If any of the Gods for me appear;
  • But now I must to other Trojans go.
  • This said, at Dryops straight he threw his spear,
  • And sent his soul unto the shades below.
  • To meet Demuchus then he went half way,
  • 430That with his sword came toward him to fight:
  • Him with a wound i’ th’ neck he made to stay,
  • And with his sword then killed him outright.
  • Then by him slain the sons of Bias were,
  • Laogonus and Dardanus, the one
  • 435With his great sword, the other with his spear.
  • And next he killed Tros, Alastor’s son,
  • Who not resisted, but fell at his knee,
  • And begg’d his life, for being of his age,
  • Hoping for that he pitied might be.
  • 440But that Achilles’ wrath could not assuage.
  • He quite mistook his nature like a child,
  • For cruel was Achilles, and hard-hearted;
  • But he sweet-natur’d thought he was, and mild,
  • Whereas he never thought how others smarted.
  • 445And then Achilles gave him such a wound,
  • That with the blood his liver started out.
  • And there he left him dying on the ground,
  • And for more Trojan leaders look’d about;
  • Then, coming to him, he saw Mulius,
  • 450And struck him through the head from ear to ear.
  • Then with his sword he killed Echeclus,
  • Antenor’s son, that to him came too near.
  • Then on the arm he hit Demolion,
  • The spear stuck in, and forc’d him there to stay;
  • 455Achilles then came furiously on,
  • And with his sword he skimm’d his head away,
  • Helmet and all. Then Regmus, with a wound
  • Upon the belly, he slew with his spear,
  • Who from his char’ot fell unto the ground;
  • 460And after him he slew his char’oteer,
  • Areithous, whilst he his horses turns.
  • As a thick coppice, on a windy day,
  • If set on fire, unmercifully burns;
  • So went Achilles killing ev’ry way.
  • 465As oxen from the straw tread out the corn,
  • So trampling went his horses o’er the dead,
  • That with their bucklers by the wheels were torn,
  • And th’ axle-tree with blood was covered,
  • And spokes; in part with droppings from the wheels,
  • 470(For going on the ground the wheels were gory)
  • And partly beaten up with th’ horses’ heels,
  • And bloody were his hands; and all for glory.

  LIB. XXI.

  • When to the river Xanthus they were come,
  • The Trojans at the ford half of them pass’d,
  • And on the highway fled to Ilium;
  • The other leapt into the stream for haste,

  • Achilles, with great slaughter, pursues the Trojans to Scamander, and takes twelve alive to kill at Patroclus’s tomb.

  • 5And with the winding flood there swimming strive.
  • As locusts, when by sudden tier sprung,
  • In swarms into the river fly and dive;
  • So they themselves into Scamander flung,
  • And filled was the stream with horse and men.
  • 10Achilles on the bank-side left his spear,
  • Set up on end against a tree; and then
  • Achilles leapt in with his sword; and there
  • He kill’d as fast as he could turn and strike,
  • And with their blood the stream was dyed red.
  • 15And grievous ’twas to hear them groan and shriek,
  • That in the flood were by him massacred.
  • As when the dolphins in a river are,
  • The other fish scud to the banks in shoals,
  • So did it with the swimming Trojans fare;
  • 20They fled to th’ banks, and hid themselves in holes.
  • And twelve of them alive Achilles took,
  • And with their girdles hands behind them bound,
  • Then caus’d them to be led out of the brook,
  • And to the ships conveyed safe and sound,
  • 25To slay them at Patroclus’ funeral.
  • Then from the river out he came again,
  • And Priam’s son Lycaon met withal,
  • That from Scamander flying was in vain,
  • Whom prisoner he had taken once before,
  • 30When in his father’s ground he was by night,
  • Cutting of spoke staves from a sycamore,
  • And on him now the second time did light.
  • To Lemnos first he sent him to be sold,
  • And bought he there was by Eetion.
  • 35Achilles for him had good store of gold.
  • But he got loose and home again did run.
  • And there eleven days he staid; and well
  • Was entertained in his father’s house.
  • The twelfth into Achilles’ hands he fell
  • 40Again, that sent him then to Erebus.
  • Achilles seeing him without a spear,
  • Without a shield, and nothing on his head,
  • (For he had cast away his arms for fear,
  • When almost tir’d he from the river fled.)
  • 45Achilles, grumbling to himself, then said,
  • O strange! These Trojans are stout-hearted men,
  • That being sent away, will not be staid,
  • But to the war must needs come back again.
  • Here’s one I sent to Lemnos to be sold,
  • 50And now he’s come to fight with me again,
  • ’Tis strange the sea could not him from me hold,
  • That can against their will hold other men.
  • But well, I’ll give him of my spear a taste,
  • And send him to the earth that I may see

  • Achilles, with great slaughter, pursues the Trojans, &c.

  • 55Whether the earth or no can hold him fast,
  • By which are holden better men than he.
  • Whilst thus Achilles said, the man came near
  • To beg his life, for loath to die was he.
  • To wound him then Achilles lifts his spear,
  • 60But under it he got unto his knee,
  • And with one hand laid hold upon his spear,
  • And on Achilles’ knee the other laid.
  • And kneeling down before him shook with fear,
  • And lamentably to him speaking said,
  • 65Achilles, I beseech you pity me,
  • And save my life, although ’twere but for this,
  • That I your pris’ner was. Captivity
  • At least for life a sanctuary is.
  • And when you unto Lemnos sent me had,
  • 70You for me got a hundred oxen’s price;
  • And for my ransom now I should be glad
  • You would be pleas’d to take that value thrice.
  • ’Tis but twelve days since I came back to Troy,
  • And all the way had been in grievous pain,
  • 75And when I thought I should my friends enjoy,
  • I fallen am into your hands again.
  • O how have I so much incurr’d the hate
  • Of Jupiter to shorten thus my life!
  • Or from my mother cometh my hard fate,
  • 80Laothoe, whom Priam made his wife?
  • Altheus got her, king of Pedasus,
  • And she of Priam’s many wives was one,
  • For many more beside had Priamus,
  • And by her had me and another son.
  • 85And both of us must by you now be kill’d,
  • For Polydore you have already slain,
  • Whilst like a child he ran about the field.
  • And for myself, I fear, I pray in vain.
  • But what am I that must no quarter have?
  • 90Though by my father I am Hector’s brother,
  • That sent the good Patroclus to his grave,
  • Yet I am nothing to him by the mother.
  • Thus pleaded he. Achilles then replied:
  • Tell me no more of ransom or of quarter.
  • 95’Tis true, I did, before Patroclus died,
  • Suffer some Trojans for their lives to barter;
  • But now if any of the Trojans fall
  • Into my hands before the town of Troy,
  • And those of Priam’s race the least of all,
  • 100Must hope from me to get alive away.
  • But wherefore, friend, should you think much to die?
  • Patroclus, a much better man, is gone.
  • You see how strong and tall a man am I,
  • And of a noble father am the son,
  • 105And have a goddess for my mother. Yet
  • At morn, or noon, or night, with shaft or spear,
  • I’m sure by one or other to be hit
  • And lose my life. Why therefore should you fear?
  • This said, Lycaon’s heart and limbs both fail’d,
  • 110And of the spear let’s go his hold, and wide
  • His hands he spread and his sad fate bewail’d.
  • Achilles then his sword drew from his side,
  • And gave him on the neck a mighty wound,
  • The sword’s whole breadth into his neck he took,
  • 115And presently he fell dead to the ground.
  • Achilles threw him then into the brook,
  • And said insulting, Go now to the deep,
  • And feed the fishes that will lick your blood;
  • Your mother over you shall never weep,
  • 120But to the sea you go shall with the flood,
  • Where to the curled water leaps a fish,
  • Upon Lycaon’s dainty fat to feed;
  • And until Troy be by us won, I wish
  • That th’ other Trojans may no better speed,
  • 125But flying, by my spear be toss’d like hay.
  • Scamander shall afford them little aid,
  • Though to his stream they bulls and horses slay,
  • Till for Patroclus’ death they all have paid.
  • With these his haughty words, Scamander griev’d,
  • 130Contrived how Achilles to repel,
  • And how the Trojans best might be reliev’d,
  • That to escape into his water fell.
  • Achilles then Asteropæus spied,
  • Pelegon’s son, the son of Axius,
  • 135Of Axius the river deep and wide,
  • By th’ daughter of king Acessamenus.
  • And to him with a mind to kill him went,
  • As he was newly come out of the water.
  • But Xanthus gave him such encouragement,
  • 140(Because Achilles fill’d his stream with slaughter),
  • That there Asteropæus for him staid,
  • And both in right and left hand had a spear,
  • And never sought the combat to avoid.
  • And when they were to one another near,
  • 145Who are you, said Achilles, and whose son,
  • That in my anger dares approach me so?
  • For I in arms encounter’d am by none
  • But those whose parents destin’d are to woe.
  • Asteropæus to him then replied:
  • 150Why ask you me whose son and who I am?
  • The forces of Pæonia I guide;
  • To whom elev’n days since I hither came.
  • Of my descent, the author Axius is,
  • The fairest stream that on the earth doth run
  • 155His son was Pelegon, and I am his.
  • Thus who I am ’tis told you, and whose son.
  • And now, Achilles, it is time to fight.
  • This said, from his two hands his two spears fly,
  • For both Asteropæus’ hands were right,
  • 160The one of them his mighty shield did try,
  • But pierc’d it not; the plate of gold withstood.
  • The other gave his arm a little wound
  • Near to his elbow, and fetch’d out some blood,
  • And so beyond him went and stuck i’ th’ ground.
  • 165Achilles then his spear with all his strength
  • Incensed at Asteropæus threw,
  • Which missing, into th’ earth went half its length.
  • Then from his side his sword Achilles drew.
  • Asteropæus to Achilles’ spear
  • 170Went back, and at it thrice he pluck’d in vain;
  • Then thought to break it; but Achilles there
  • Was with his sword, and with that he was slain.
  • For by the sword his belly was so ripp’d,
  • That all his bowels issued at the wound.
  • 175There him Achilles of his armour stripp’d,
  • And o’er him crow’d as he lay on the ground.
  • Lie there, said he; shall rivers’ sons compare
  • With th’ offspring of the blessed Gods above?
  • The issue of a brook, you say, you are,
  • 180But I the issue am of mighty Jove;
  • For Peleus my father was, and his
  • Was Æacus, whom Jupiter begot.
  • But greater he than any river is,
  • Then equal to his race, their race is not.
  • 185A river great enough you had at hand,
  • But that you found had done you little good.
  • For nothing can the power of Jove withstand;
  • Not Achelous with his royal flood,
  • Nor th’ Ocean itself, of waters king,
  • 190From whose abundance seas their water take,
  • And ev’ry river, stream, and well, and spring
  • That goeth on the earth, and ev’ry lake;
  • Who, when they but a clap of thunder hear,
  • From Jove some danger presently they dread.
  • 195This said, from th’ earth he pulled out his spear,
  • And left o’ th’ sands Asteropæus dead,
  • Where Xanthus from the wound shall wash the blood,
  • And eels and other fish feed on his fat.
  • Achilles then pursued those that stood
  • 200Upon Scamander bank amazed at
  • The fury of the giddy stream; and when
  • They saw their leader killed in their sight
  • By th’ hand of terrible Achilles, then
  • They ev’ry one betook themselves to flight.
  • 205Then with his sword he slew Thersilochus,
  • And after him the stout Astypylus,
  • And Opholostes, Mydon, Ænius,
  • And after these, Mnesus and Thrasius,
  • And had shed yet much more Pæonian blood,
  • 210But that Scamander at it took offence,
  • And like a man above his water stood,
  • And to Achilles spake his mind from thence.
  • Achilles, truly you excel in might,
  • And acts you do of great iniquity,
  • 215And by the Gods assisted are in fight.
  • But though by Jove you should allowed be
  • To kill the Trojans, kill them on the plain.
  • My stream so choked is with carcasses,
  • I cannot drive my waters to the main.
  • 220I wonder you should do such deeds as these;
  • Let those you kill be killed openly.
  • Go therefore from me. Thus Scamander said.
  • And then unto the River answer’d he:
  • Divine Scamander, you shall be obey’d.
  • 225But to pursue the Trojans I mean still,
  • Till I have chas’d them up to Ilium.
  • And fight with Hector, if he stay, I will,
  • And see if his or my last day be come.
  • Scamander then unto Apollo spake:
  • 230Phœbus, said he, you Jove’s commandment slight,
  • That bade you of the Trojans care to take,
  • And to defend them all you could till night.
  • Into the stream Achilles leaps again,
  • At which Scamander swelling lifts his waves,
  • 235And out he throws the bodies of dead men,
  • And from Achilles’ hand the living saves.
  • Then throws a billow on Achilles’ head,
  • And heavy on his shield the current lay;
  • And on the ground by no means he could tread,
  • 240So fast the River carried him away.
  • But o’er the water hung an elmen limb
  • Which he laid hold on. Then fell down the tree
  • Into the river. And that saved him,
  • And served as a bridge to set him free.
  • 245And swiftly then Achilles from him ran,
  • But after him Scamander sent his water,
  • Resolv’d to quench the fury of the man,
  • And save the Trojans in his stream from slaughter.
  • And then as far as one can throw a spear
  • 250Achilles from the flood obliquely flies
  • Swift as a hawk; but yet was ne’er the near;
  • For still he water has before his eyes.
  • As when a man makes passage with his spade
  • For water to his garden from a hill,
  • 255The stream outruns him that the channel made;
  • So Xanthus was before Achilles still.
  • And ever as Achilles turn’d or stood
  • To see if any God would by him stand,
  • Above his shoulders rose the mighty flood,
  • 260And while he starts from’s feet removes the sand.
  • Achilles then himself bewailing said,
  • O Jupiter, and look’d up to the sky,
  • Let some God ’gainst this River give me aid,
  • And any other death then let me die.
  • 265But none I know on whom the fault to lay
  • But my dear mother, who to flatter me,
  • Said I should die before the walls of Troy,
  • And by Apollo only killed be.
  • O that I had by Hector’s hand been slain,
  • 270The best of all the men that fight for Troy.
  • But now I perish like a silly swain
  • Passing a torrent in a rainy day.
  • These words Achilles had no sooner said,
  • But Neptune and Athena with him were;
  • 275And on Achilles’ hand their hands they laid.
  • Then Neptune said, Achilles, do not fear.
  • Encouraged by two such Gods as we,
  • Pallas and I, and that by Jove’s command,
  • Retiring soon you shall the river see.
  • 280For fear of him you need not hold your hand.
  • But drive the Trojans all to Ilium
  • Save those that fly. And having Hector slain
  • (As we assure you you shall do) then come
  • Triumphantly unto the ships again.
  • 285This said, unto the Gods again they came.
  • Achilles boldly waded in the field,
  • Where many bodies dead and bucklers swam.
  • With so much courage Pallas had him fill’d,
  • And in the water stoutly lifts his knees.
  • 290For Pallas now his strength augmented had.
  • And Xanthus, vex’d before, when he saw this,
  • Foamed and roar’d as one that had been mad;
  • And cried out for help to Simois.
  • Brother, said he, assist me here, to stay
  • 295This raging man that t’ Ilium going is.
  • I am afraid he’ll take the town of Troy.
  • Make haste to help me; and your channel fill
  • With water both from torrent and from spring,
  • And stones and trees bring with you from the hill,
  • 300That on this furious man we may them fling;
  • So that his strength shall do him little good,
  • Nor armour, which upon the field shall lie
  • Concealed from the eyes of men in mud
  • And sand enough. Thus bury him will I,
  • 305And make his tomb. The Argives will not find
  • Where lie his bones. I’ll earth upon him throw.
  • They shall not need, if they should be so kind,
  • More monument upon him to bestow.
  • This said, he foam’d, and full of bodies dead
  • 310He at Achilles a great billow bowl’d,
  • Which coming to him cover’d had his head,
  • But Juno chanc’d to see it as it roll’d,
  • And unto Vulcan shriek’d in great affright,
  • Rise quickly, dear child, Cyllipodion,
  • 315Xanthus against you coming is to fight,
  • And to defend yourself your flames put on.
  • And I will Zephyrus and Notus call
  • From sea, that for you so shall blow the flame;
  • That the armour, and the heads o’ th’ Trojans all
  • 320Shall not be able to endure the same.
  • Go to his bank, and burn up ev’ry tree,
  • And then throw fire on him, and never fear,
  • Nor by his threats or pray’rs persuaded be
  • To cease, until again you from me hear.
  • 325And Vulcan then made ready a huge flame.
  • And first the dead he burn’d upon the plain;
  • Then to the water with his fire he came
  • To send it to the channel back again.
  • As when a field new moist’ned is with rain
  • 330In summer-time, ’tis quickly dried again
  • By Boreas; so soon dried was the plain,
  • And burn’d the bodies were of the dead men.
  • And to the river then his flame he turn’d,
  • Where th’ elms and willows, tamarisks, and lote,
  • 335Sedges, and many other plants he burn’d,
  • That in or by the river grew about.
  • And eels and fishes in the water hot
  • Tumbled and turn’d their bellies up with heat;
  • Into such pain by Vulcan they were put;
  • 340And Xanthus fainting cover’d was with sweat,
  • And then to Vulcan spake. Vulcan, said he,
  • No God is able to resist your might.
  • What are the Trojans or the Greeks to me?
  • Give over. I’ll no longer with you fight.
  • 345Thus spake Scamander, boiling all the while.
  • As when upon a fire of well-dried wood
  • The grease of a fat swine is made to boil;
  • So boiled he, and went not on, but stood,
  • Making to Juno his complaint, and said,
  • 350Why does your son on me more fiercely fly,
  • Than on the rest that do the Trojans aid,
  • And to be blamed more deserve than I?
  • Let him give over, and I’ll do so too;
  • And swear besides, if you my oath require,
  • 355That I will nothing for the Trojans do,
  • Although the Greeks should set the town on fire.
  • This Xanthus said; and Juno hearing it,
  • To Vulcan with a loud voice spake again:
  • Vulcan, now hold your hand. It is not fit
  • 360T’ offend a God too much, to pleasure men.
  • And Vulcan hearing her his fire puts out;
  • And Xanthus back into his channel went.
  • Thus were they parted, and no longer fought,
  • And Juno, though in choler, was content.
  • 365And then the Gods amongst themselves fell out,
  • And one against another stood in duel,
  • And heav’n and earth resounded as they fought,
  • Giving each other many wounds and cruel.
  • And up unto Olympus rose the cry,
  • 370Where Jove sat on his throne in majesty,
  • And casting on the fields of Troy his eye,
  • Laughed to see them fight that could not die.
  • Mars first began, and to Athena said,
  • You, impudent, that to engage in fight
  • 375The Gods amongst themselves are not afraid,
  • To satisfy your pride and endless spite,
  • Remember how you on me set Tydide
  • To throw his spear at me, and openly
  • Unto my body you the same did guide
  • 380With your own wicked hand, and wounded me,
  • I’ll pay you now. Which was no sooner spoken,
  • But Mars his spear was at Athena’s shield,
  • Which not Jove’s thunderbolt could e’er have broken.
  • Then took she up a stone that lay i’ th’ field,
  • 385Great, knobby, black, that had been heretofore
  • Set there, of some man’s land to show the bound,
  • And with the same she struck Mars o’er and o’er.
  • There lay he, and seven acres hid of ground.
  • And over him insulting, then said she,
  • 390Lie there, and know I can you overcome;
  • And that your mother glad of this will be
  • For fighting ’gainst the Greeks for Ilium.
  • This said, she from him turn’d. Then to him went
  • Venus, and led him groaning from the place.
  • 395Pallas, said Juno, see that impudent
  • That leads him out, and do her some disgrace.
  • Then Pallas to her went, and with her hand
  • Hit her o’ th’ breast; then both fell on the plain,
  • For Mars without her could no longer stand.
  • 400Then Pallas over them insults again:
  • So may, said she, lie all that stand for Troy
  • As these do here. Had it not been for them,
  • The war had ended been; we come away,
  • And Troy destroyed, with all Priam’s stem.
  • 405This Pallas said, and Juno smil’d; and to
  • Apollo Neptune straightway nearer came.
  • Why fight we not, said he, since others do?
  • If we stand still, we cannot without shame
  • Return to Jove, where scorned we shall be.
  • 410Have you forgot how to Laomedon,
  • To work for him, Jove once sent you and me,
  • And how our wages was agreed upon,
  • How I built houses for the Trojans all,
  • As he direction gave me standing by,
  • 415Besides, how hard I labour’d at the wall,
  • How fair I made it, and how strong and high,
  • And how he sent you, Phœbus, to attend
  • His herds of kine upon mount Ida side,
  • And when our work and th’ year was at an end,
  • 420How proudly he our wages us denied,
  • And threat’ned you to bind you hand and foot,
  • And sell you in some island for a slave,
  • And cut off both your and my ears to boot,
  • And forc’d we were by flight ourselves to save?
  • 425Yet for his people you have ever fought,
  • Though by you they deserve to be destroy’d,
  • And will not join with us to root them out.
  • To Neptune Phœbus then replied, and said,
  • O Neptune, you would think me mad, if I
  • 430Should fight with you for such a thing as man.
  • They are but leaves, now fresh, to-morrow die;
  • And when he this had said, away he ran,
  • For with his uncle loath he was to fight.
  • His sister then, Diana, to him came,
  • 435That angry was to see him put to flight;
  • Apollo, said she, is it not a shame
  • Thus easily to give the victory
  • To Neptune? Wherefore carry you a bow
  • And arrows, and to nothing them apply?
  • 440D’ye carry them, like children, for a show?
  • Let me not hear you boasting any more
  • That you to fight with Neptune did not fear,
  • As in my father’s house you did before.
  • Thus she; but Phœbus did not answer her.
  • 445Then Juno, angry, to Diana came;
  • Bold face, said she, how dare you with me fight,
  • That stronger than you are a great deal am?
  • D’ye think that in your bow there is such might?
  • I know to women you a lion are,
  • 450And Jove permits you which you will to kill;
  • But me to overcome ’tis harder far
  • Than t’ hunt a stag or boar upon a hill;
  • But since you have a mind to understand
  • What I can do, I’ll let you see it now.
  • 455Then both her wrists she seiz’d with her left hand,
  • With th’ other from her shoulders took her bow,
  • And beats her with the same about the ears,
  • And laugh’d to see her wriggling strive to fly.
  • At last she freed herself, and shedding tears
  • 460She fled (leaving her bow and shafts to lie
  • Upon the ground, dispersed here and there)
  • Then forth came Hermes and Latona bright,
  • And when they were to one another near,
  • Leto, said he, I will not with you fight,
  • 465That are Jove’s mistress. Boast amongst the Gods
  • That you have got the victory in fight,
  • And by no other means but the great odds
  • You have in strength; and I will not deny’t.
  • This said, Latona gather’d up the bow
  • 470And arrows of her daughter Artemis.
  • To Jove went Artemis, to let him know
  • How ill she had been us’d: and at his knees
  • She weeping sate. And Jove then made her rise,
  • And to her said, Dear child, what God was that,
  • 475That was so rash as t’ use you in this wise,
  • As one that openly had done a fault?
  • ’Twas Juno, then said Artemis, your wife;
  • And she it was that was of all the first
  • To set the Gods amongst themselves at strife.
  • 480Thus Jove and she between themselves discours’d.
  • Then Phœbus went into the town of Troy;
  • For still he had a care to guard the wall,
  • For fear the Greeks the city should destroy.
  • But to Olympus th’ other Gods went all,
  • 485One part triumphing, th’ other discontent,
  • And sate down by their father Jupiter.
  • Meanwhile Achilles fiercely forward went,
  • Killing of men and horses with his spear.
  • As in a town on fire the people all
  • 490Are busy, and the most of them undone,
  • So did it with the Trojans then befal;
  • Some slain were by Achilles, and some run.
  • Now Priam standing was upon a tower,
  • And saw the Trojans by Achilles chas’d,
  • 495And that to turn again they had no power,
  • And down unto the gates he came in haste,
  • And to the porters order gave, and said,
  • Open the gates and let the people in,
  • That from Achilles hither fly dismay’d,
  • 500And shut them when you see they are within;
  • For if that cruel man should with them get
  • Within the wall, ’twould be a dismal day.
  • The porters then the gates wide open set.
  • Then to the gates the Trojans took their way,
  • 505Pursued by Achilles as they fled,
  • And sure he taken had the town of Troy,
  • But that Apollo then encouraged
  • Agenor to oppose him by the way;
  • And lest he should be by Achilles slain,
  • 510He at the beech tree near him took his stand,
  • When need should be to bring him off again
  • Unwounded from Achilles’ heavy hand.
  • But when Agenor saw Achilles nigh,
  • He troubled was, and to himself thus spake:
  • 515What shall I do? If from him I should fly
  • To Ilium, the way that others take,
  • He’ll overtake me, and cut off my head,
  • For swifter much he is of foot than I.
  • What if I let him on the Trojans tread,
  • 520And I some other way to Ida fly,
  • And hide myself i’ th’ bushes there till night?
  • But why do I discourse thus foolishly?
  • I cannot pass the plain but in his sight,
  • And then I lost am without remedy.
  • 525But if I stay and fight with him, what then?
  • His body is not made of steel nor brass,
  • But mortal is, they say, like other men,
  • And like to other men but one life has;
  • His glorious acts are Jupiter’s not his.
  • 530This said, he for Achilles’ coming staid,
  • As when i’ th’ woods a panther roused is;
  • At hearing of the hounds he’s not afraid,
  • But to the hunter goes for all his spear,
  • And though pierc’d through therewith, will to him fly
  • 535Upon the spear itself; that being near
  • He either may revenged be or die;
  • So resolutely then Antenor’s son
  • Agenor, for Achilles waiting, staid,
  • And at him aim’d his spear as he came on,
  • 540And lifting up his voice, unto him said:
  • Achilles, Oh, you think this day to win
  • The town of Troy. There’s yet much work to do,
  • For many mighty men there are therein,
  • And many dangers to be waded through.
  • 545They of their wives and parents will take care,
  • And little babes; but you shall perish here,
  • As terrible and mighty as you are.
  • And as he spake, he at him threw his spear,
  • Which on his leg below the knee did light,
  • 550And with the stroke resounded then the tin;
  • But the celestial arms were of such might,
  • That it rebounded back, and went not in.
  • And when Achilles was to throw at him,
  • Away Apollo snatch’d him from his sight,
  • 555Concealed in a mist obscure and dim,
  • And carried him in safety from the fight.
  • And that the flying Trojans might escape
  • Achilles’ hand, and save themselves in Troy,
  • He took upon himself Agenor’s shape,
  • 560And put himself into Achilles’ way.
  • Achilles then pursues, and Phœbus flies
  • Along Scamander’s bank upon the plain,
  • And kept before him still, but in such wise,
  • As t’ overtake him he might hope in vain.
  • 565Achilles thus by Phœbus was deceived,
  • Till from the town he far was led away.
  • Meanwhile the flying Trojans were received,
  • And thronging got within the gates of Troy:
  • For none of them without the gate durst stay,
  • 570To ask who had escaped, and who not;
  • So glad they were of getting into Troy,
  • That how all others sped they never thought.

  LIB. XXII.

  • The death of Hector, and lamentation in Troy.

  • Thus were the Trojans driven into Troy
  • Like deer, and up unto the wall they went,
  • And from their bodies rubb’d the sweat away,
  • And with good wine renew’d their spirits spent,
  • 5And to the wall advancing was the foe.
  • But Hector, hamper’d by his cruel fate,
  • Into the town of Troy refus’d to go,
  • And staid without, before the Scæan gate.
  • Then to Achilles Phœbus spake, and said,
  • 10Why do you thus pursue me, Peleus’ son,
  • That am a God? which but by passion sway’d
  • You might have known; but rashly you run on,
  • And only look how you may slaughter men.
  • For else, why could you not contented be,
  • 15When you had pent the Trojans up; but then
  • Must leave your way so far to follow me,
  • And cannot kill me; for I cannot die?
  • At this Achilles vex’d was at the heart;
  • And to Apollo answer’d angrily;
  • 20Apollo, thou the most pernicious art
  • Of all the Gods, that hast me thus misled.
  • For had I unto Ilium kept my way,
  • I strewed had the field with Trojans dead
  • Before they could have enter’d into Troy.
  • 25But by your fraud that honour I have lost,
  • Because the strength of men you need not fear.
  • But I would make you pay for’t to your cost,
  • If to revenge myself I able were.
  • This said, to Troy he went a mighty pace,
  • 30And mighty things conceived in his mind,
  • And stretch’d his legs and knees, as in a race
  • Good horses do, to leave the rest behind.
  • Old Priam first upon him set his eyes;
  • For brightly from afar his armour shin’d
  • 35Like the fair star that does in autumn rise,
  • But agues brings, and is to men unkind,
  • And called is Orion’s dog. So bright
  • Achilles in his armour did appear,
  • And put the old man Priam in affright,
  • 40And made him groan, and roar, and tear his hair.
  • To Hector then he cried aloud and said,
  • Hector, come in; come in, my dearest son;
  • For mightily I for you am afraid;
  • Fight not against that cruel man alone.
  • 45Achilles stronger is than you by odds;
  • Lose not your life to give him victory.
  • Oh that he were beloved by the Gods
  • No better than he is belov’d by me!
  • He eaten had ere now been on the plain
  • 50By dogs and fowl, and I been comforted
  • A little for my sons whom he hath slain,
  • Or in the islands far hence trafficked.
  • Lycaon now I miss, and Polydore;
  • They came not into Troy with them that fled.
  • 55Their mother brought me with her wealth good store
  • To pay their ransom if they be not dead.
  • If they be slain, ’tis then remediless.
  • Their parents and the people all will grieve;
  • But yet their sorrow will be much the less
  • 60If Hector still preserved be and live.
  • Come, therefore, quickly in, dear child, and save
  • The Trojans and their wives, yourself and wife;
  • And do not let Achilles th’ honour have
  • Alone to have deprived you of life.
  • 65Besides, you should some pity take of me,
  • That now upon the very brink of age
  • The cruel slaughter of my sons must see,
  • And daughters dragg’d and hurried by the rage
  • Of the Achæans into slavery,
  • 70And chambers torn by the insulting foe,
  • And babes dash’d ’gainst the ground expiring lie,
  • Whilst into servitude their mothers go.
  • And after all this, slain must I be too;
  • My dogs will eat me raw, and lap my blood,
  • 75And pleased be (not knowing what they do),
  • That at my table daily take their food.
  • When young men slain are by the chance of war,
  • There nothing is whereof to be ashamed;
  • But when by dogs abus’d and eaten are
  • 80White heads and beards, and parts not to be named,
  • There’s nothing to a man more miserable.
  • Thus said old Priam, tugging his grey hairs,
  • But to prevail with Hector was not able.
  • And to him then his mother spake with tears,
  • 85And from her bosom layed out a teat,
  • Hector, if this e’er pleased you, said she,
  • Dear son, I pray you into Troy retreat,
  • And have compassion on my misery.
  • Come in; between you let there be a wall;
  • 90For if you should be slain, your wife and I
  • Shall not lament you at your funeral,
  • But at the ships a prey for dogs you’ll lie.
  • Thus weeping, he and she to Hector pray’d,
  • And nothing to them answer’d he again,
  • 95But obstinately for Achilles staid.
  • And as a snake roll’d up before his den,
  • With venom fed, when coming towards him
  • He sees a man, and stirred is his gall,
  • Looks cruelly; so Hector, looking grim,
  • 100Staid with his shield set up against the wall;
  • And grieving, to himself he spake, and said:
  • If I should now into the city go,
  • Polydamas the first would me upbraid,
  • That yesternight advis’d me to do so,
  • 105Then when Achilles in the field was seen.
  • But his good counsel I refused then,
  • Which to have follow’d had much better been;
  • Lost by my folly are so many men.
  • And now I fear the Trojans and their wives
  • 110Will censure me, and some man worse than I
  • Say I have cast away the people’s lives,
  • Presuming on my strength so foolishly.
  • So they will say; and therefore better ’tis
  • To venture on Achilles, though I die,
  • 115A better way I cannot take than this;
  • For should I lay my shield and helmet by,
  • And leave my spear set up against the wall,
  • And to Achilles thus disarmed come,
  • And offer Helen to restore with all
  • 120The wealth she with her brought to Ilium;
  • And to the Greeks give half the goods of Troy,
  • And take an oath that we will nothing hide,
  • Nor anything out of their sight convey,
  • But bring it forth and faithfully divide.
  • 125But whither to no purpose runs my mind?
  • I will not do’t, for it were but in vain.
  • I ne’er the sooner should his favour find,
  • But by him so much eas’lier be slain.
  • I cannot with him talk from hill nor tree,
  • 130As boys and wenches do; he is too nigh,
  • And therefore here I’ll stay for him, and see
  • Whether my fate it be or his to die.
  • Whilst yet he spake, Achilles near him was,
  • As terrible as Mars, and shook his spear;
  • 135As flaming fire relucent was the brass,
  • Or as the sun at morning doth appear.
  • Then Hector durst no longer stay, but fled:
  • Fear nimbly made his feet and knees to move;
  • Achilles no less swiftly followed.
  • 140As when a hawk is flying at a dove,
  • The dove flies out aside, herself to save;
  • But by the hawk again is followed,
  • That gives not over till the prey he have;
  • Achilles so pursu’d and Hector fled,
  • 145Keeping the cart-way still under Troy wall;
  • And to the watch-tow’r came and sicamore,
  • And the two springs that into Xanthus fall,
  • Whereof the one is always cover’d o’er
  • With smoke, as if upon a fire it were,
  • 150And with hot water all the year doth flow.
  • The water of the other all the year
  • As cold is as the hail, or ice, or snow,
  • And two fine washing-places built were there,
  • To which the Trojan women used to come,
  • 155And wash their garments when they sullied were,
  • Before the Argives came to Ilium.
  • This way they ran, and swiftly mov’d their thighs;
  • For ’twas not for a piece of flesh or hide,
  • Which of foot-races is the usual prize,
  • 160But for the life of Hector that they vied.
  • As when race-horses run for some great prize,
  • That used to it are, most swiftly run;
  • So Hector and Achilles now ran thrice
  • About Troy wall, the Gods all looking on.
  • 165Then, speaking to the Gods, Behold, said Jove,
  • I Hector see in danger to be slain,
  • A good and pious man, and whom I love,
  • And for him now my heart is in great pain;
  • For he hath made me many a sacrifice,
  • 170Both in my house on Ida and in Troy,
  • And now before the swift Achilles flies.
  • Say, shall he die, or be convey’d away?
  • Father, said Pallas then, what’s this you say?
  • He’s mortal, and by Fate condemned is,
  • 175And will you now the execution stay?
  • You may; but th’ other Gods will take’t amiss.
  • And Jove to Pallas then again replied:
  • Sweet child, it was not seriously meant,
  • But only said. You shall not be denied;
  • 180Do what you please yourself, I am content.
  • This said, Athena, glad, leapt down to Troy.
  • Achilles Hector still pursued; and as
  • A hound in view pursueth all the way
  • A frighted hare, so coursed Hector was;
  • 185Nor suffer’d was to double or to squat.
  • For when he to the gate ran for defence,
  • Between the gate and him Achilles gat,
  • So that he could not stay for help from thence.
  • Achilles never would the wall forsake;
  • 190But Hector still upon the cart-way fled.
  • As men can neither fly nor overtake
  • When in a dream they think it in their bed;
  • So Hector from Achilles could not fly,
  • Nor could Achilles Hector overtake;
  • 195For Phœbus Hector did with strength supply,
  • But of him then no further care did take.
  • Achilles by a sign all else forbad
  • To throw a spear, for fear the greatest glory
  • Some other of the Argives should have had,
  • 200And he come after but as accessory.
  • When to the spring the fourth time they were nigh,
  • Jove took his golden balance up, and laid
  • In one o’ th’ scales Achilles’ destiny,
  • And Hector’s in the other, and them weigh’d.
  • 205Hector’s was heaviest, and down fell the same
  • As low as hell, so much it overweigh’d.
  • Then Phœbus parted. And t’ Achilles came
  • Athena nigh, and speaking to him, said,
  • Achilles, now, I think, we shall not miss
  • 210Of killing Hector, but with honour go
  • To th’ ships, as greedy as of fight he is;
  • For sure I am he cannot ’scape us now,
  • Phœbus in vain to Jove shall for him pray.
  • But stay you here and breathe awhile; for I
  • 215Will to him go, and make him for you stay,
  • And so encourage him he shall not fly.
  • This said, Achilles, leaning on his spear,
  • Staid where he was. To Hector Pallas came.
  • So like Deiphobus she did appear
  • 220In shape and voice, he took her for the same.
  • And when she with him was, she to him said,
  • Brother, you still are by Achilles cours’d
  • About the wall of Troy. Be not afraid;
  • I’ll by you stand, and let him do his worst.
  • 225Deiphobus, said Hector, who before
  • Was dearest to me of my brothers all,
  • I bound am now to honour you much more,
  • That t’ aid me durst appear without the wall,
  • When all the rest remain within for fear.
  • 230Pallas to Hector then replied, and said,
  • Brother, my father and my mother dear,
  • And friends with their entreaties had me staid,
  • So dreadful is Achilles to them all,
  • But I would not. But come, let’s go and try
  • 235Whether it be our fate by him to fall,
  • Or his by Hector’s hand and spear to die.
  • This said, she went before him with her spear,
  • Lest he, some fraud mistrusting, should have staid.
  • And when they were unto Achilles near,
  • 240Hector spake first, and to Achilles said:
  • Pelides, though before you I have fled
  • Now thrice about the wall, and durst not stay,
  • Yet now to stand I am determined,
  • And fight till either I be slain or slay.
  • 245But come, let’s first the Gods to witness call,
  • Of what shall be agreed ’twixt you and me.
  • If by my hand it be your chance to fall,
  • Your body dead shall not abused be.
  • I’ll take your arms and send them into Troy;
  • 250Your body dead the Greeks shall have again
  • Entire, and not disgraced any way;
  • Do you the like to me if I be slain.
  • Achilles, sourly looking, said again,
  • Talk not of oaths and covenants to me,
  • 255That nothing worth ’twixt lions are and men,
  • And wolves with lambs on nothing can agree;
  • And you and I shall one another hate,
  • Nor oaths and pacts between us will stand good,
  • Till we blood-thirsty Mars shall satiate
  • 260Either with Hector’s or Achilles’ blood.
  • It now behoves you all your pow’r to show,
  • And be an able man of war indeed.
  • You cannot, as you did, run from me now,
  • Although, I think, you never had more need;
  • 265For by Athena slain you shall be here,
  • And for the slaughter of the Greeks be paid.
  • This said, he at him threw his heavy spear,
  • But Hector, stooping, did the same avoid,
  • And o’er his head the spear then harmless flew.
  • 270But Pallas quickly snatch’d it from the sand
  • Invisibly, which Hector never knew,
  • And put the same into Achilles’ hand.
  • Then Hector to Achilles spake, and said,
  • Achilles, you have miss’d. My fate unknown
  • 275Is to you yet; and me to make afraid,
  • You have devised fables of your own;
  • Upon my back your spear shall never fall.
  • If by it to be slain my fate it be,
  • It shall be on my breast, or not at all.
  • 280But how my spear will speed now let me see;
  • Oh, that it would into your body go!
  • The Trojans would the war much better bear,
  • Since from your hands proceeds the greatest woe.
  • And as he spake away he sent his spear,
  • 285And on Achilles’ shield it lighted just,
  • But enter’d not; and other he had none.
  • Upon Deiphobus lay all his trust;
  • But when he call’d Deiphobus was gone,
  • And Hector then perceiv’d his death was near;
  • 290And oh, said he, the Gods now for me call.
  • Deiphobus, I thought, stood by me here,
  • But Pallas ’twas; he’s still within the wall.
  • I shall not ’scape. I see, Jove heretofore,
  • And Phœbus too, did mean it should be so;
  • 295They sav’d me oft, but will do so no more.
  • But let me somewhat do before I go,
  • That men may speak of me in time to come,
  • And not ignoble die: and at that word
  • He roused up his fainting heart, and from
  • 300His side he drew his great and heavy sword.
  • As when an eagle stoopeth to the plain,
  • From a dark cloud, a tender lamb t’ invade,
  • Or fearful hare; so Hector went amain
  • T’ Achilles, brandishing his shining blade.
  • 305Achilles, angry, on the other side
  • Came on, and cruel thoughts had in his mind,
  • And up he kept his shield his breast to hide,
  • And on his head like fire his helmet shin’d;
  • And as he went, at ev’ry step he trod,
  • 310His plume, by Vulcan made of golden hair,
  • And to his crest applied, gave a nod,
  • And o’er his shoulders terribly did flare.
  • As Hesperus at midnight does appear,
  • The brightest star that shineth in the sky;
  • 315So gloriously the point shone of his spear.
  • Thus terribly to Hector he drew nigh,
  • And view’d his arms to see which way his spear
  • Might with most ease into his body pass.
  • But ev’rywhere entire and close they were,
  • 320Save at the neck a little gap there was.
  • At that he aim’d, and with great force he smote
  • Him with his mighty spear clean through the neck;
  • And yet the spear his wind-pipe wounded not.
  • Then down he fell, but able was to speak.
  • 325Achilles, over him insulting, said,
  • Hector, you thought, when you Patroclus kill’d,
  • You safe were, and of me were not afraid,
  • Because you knew I was not in the field;
  • And like a fool ne’er thought of what a friend
  • 330To take revenge he left had at the fleet;
  • Who now has brought you to an evil end
  • For dogs to eat, while he has burial meet.
  • Then Hector feebly to him said again,
  • Let not by dogs my body eaten be,
  • 235But be contented that you have me slain;
  • My friends at any price will ransom me.
  • Take brass and gold, as much as you require;
  • And to my father send my body home,
  • To be consumed in the fun’ral fire,
  • 340By th’ Trojans and their wives in Ilium.
  • Thus Hector said. Achilles answer’d to’t:
  • Hector, you dog, speak not of price to me;
  • If I myself could eat thee I would do’t;
  • But by the dogs I’m sure you’ll eaten be.
  • 345If they would give me twenty times as much,
  • Or buy thy body, weight for weight, with gold,
  • And promise as much more, your deeds are such,
  • Your body shall not at that price be sold.
  • Nor shall your mother lay you on a bed,
  • 350And over you lamenting stand and howl;
  • But in the open field you shall lie dead,
  • Until devour’d you be by dogs and fowl.
  • Hector replied (though ready now to die),
  • I knew you had a heart as hard as steel;
  • 355But thus much to you I will prophecy:
  • The vengeance of the Gods you’ll for it feel,
  • When one day Paris and Apollo shall,
  • As terrible and strong as you are now,
  • Make you before the Scæan gate to fall.
  • 360This said, he died; and to the shades below,
  • Leaving his limbs, his soul, bewailing, flew.
  • And yet Achilles did again reply,
  • And briefly to him answer’d, Now die you;
  • And when the Gods call for me, so will I.
  • 365This said, he from the body pluck’d the spear,
  • And laid it by him down upon the place,
  • And took his armour off. Then others near
  • Stood, gazing at his stature and his grace,
  • And wond’ring at him, t’ one another said:
  • 370We safely now to Hector may go nigher;
  • His raging fit is very much allay’d
  • Since when unto the ships he came with fire.
  • Then spake Achilles to the Greeks and said,
  • My friends, that in the army have command,
  • 375Since by the Gods this great man is destroy’d,
  • And lies before you killed by my hand,
  • Who did the Argive people more annoy
  • Than all the other Trojans put together,
  • Let’s armed as we are go up to Troy,
  • 380And see on what they are resolved, whether
  • They’ll quit the city, seeing Hector’s dead,
  • Or still defend the same without him will.
  • But why should this come now into my head
  • When unbewail’d Patroclus lieth still?
  • 385For my Patroclus I must not forget
  • As long as I am living and can go.
  • And when I come to th’ house of Hades, yet
  • I still shall think upon him there below.
  • But back unto the ships we now will go.
  • 390And let the youth of Argos pæans sing,
  • Whilst thither we in triumph bring the foe
  • With whose great praise the town of Troy did ring.
  • This said, he full of spite on Hector flies,
  • And slits his legs from th’ ankles to the heels,
  • 395And with a rope them to his char’ot ties.
  • Then drives away; and rais’d is by the wheels
  • A cloud of dust; and in it all the while,
  • Along the ground dragg’d was his comely head,
  • Once glorious, now by the Greeks made vile,
  • 400Since to them Jove had him delivered.
  • Which, when his mother from the wall beheld,
  • Enrag’d, she from her head pluck’d off her hood,
  • And threw it from her, tore her hair, and squeal’d.
  • And Priam lamentably sighing stood.
  • 405About him were the Trojans shedding tears,
  • Sighing, and sobbing, and in such affray,
  • As if all Troy had flam’d about their ears.
  • And much ado they Priam had to stay.
  • For down he lay, and spake to ev’ry one,
  • 410Forbear, said he; I will go to this man
  • As fierce and cruel as he is, alone,
  • And move him to compassion, if I can;
  • And what respect he hath to age I’ll see.
  • For Pelius is old as well as I,
  • 415That got that mischief both to Troy and me,
  • To th’ Trojans all, but me especially.
  • For he hath kill’d me many a goodly son,
  • Which all together make me not so smart,
  • Nor wounds so deep as Hector’s death hath done,
  • 420Which is alone enough to break my heart.
  • Oh blessed Gods, that it had been your will
  • He in his mother’s hands and mine had died,
  • That over him we might have wept our fill!
  • This said, the Trojans wept again and sigh’d.
  • 425Then Hecuba amongst the wives of Troy
  • Began her plaint. Hector, my son, said she,
  • O my dear son, my glory and my joy,
  • Why should I ’mongst the living longer be,
  • Since you are dead and gone, that night and day
  • 430The Trojans, men and women, did defend,
  • And as a God was honoured in Troy,
  • And now are come to an untimely end?
  • Thus wail’d his mother. But Andromache
  • Knew not how Hector sped without the gate;
  • 435For at a shining figur’d garment she
  • Within an inner chamber weaving sate,
  • And given had her maids command to set
  • A trivet on the fire, that Hector might,
  • When he came in, wash off his blood and sweat,
  • 440Contracted by great labour in the fight,
  • Not dreaming of her husband’s death. But when
  • She heard the lamentation at the wall,
  • And outcries both of women and of men,
  • She trembling stood, and let her shuttle fall.
  • 445And then unto her maids she call’d, and said,
  • Come hither two of you, and with me go;
  • I hear my mother cry, and am afraid
  • To Priam’s sons there happen’d is some woe.
  • I’ll to the tow’r go up myself, and see
  • 450What ’tis. My heart is at my mouth. I fear
  • Lest by Achilles Hector chased be
  • Alone, and will be killed by his spear.
  • Oh, how I tremble! he can never stay,
  • But out before the rest will always run,
  • 455And never unto any man give way,
  • As if his strength could matched be by none.
  • This said, out went she like a woman mad,
  • And panting, up into the tow’r she hied,
  • Where she no sooner look’d about her had,
  • 460But saw her husband to a char’ot tied,
  • And by Achilles dragg’d away, and dead.
  • And presently she fell into a swoon,
  • And all the comely dressings of her head,
  • Veil, kerchiefs, ribbons, knots, to th’ground came down,
  • 465And coronet unto her given by
  • Venus, when she with Hector married.
  • Her sister-laws, that stood about her nigh,
  • Then took her up, with sorrow almost dead;
  • And when again her spirits to her came,
  • 470She wept, and spake, and stopp’d, and spake again:
  • Hector, of women I most wretched am,
  • And you the most unfortunate of men;
  • Both born to one and the same evil fate,
  • You here in Ilium, king Priam’s son,
  • 475And I in Thebe child unfortunate
  • Of the unfortunate Eëtion.
  • And you now to the shades below are gone,
  • And me a woful widow here have left,
  • And with me my sweet babe your tender son,
  • 480And cannot, since you are of life bereft,
  • Do to him any good, nor he to you.
  • And though he should escape the Argives now,
  • Yet poverty and woe will him pursue,
  • And other men his goodly fields will plough.
  • 485A child that is an orphan has no friend;
  • And, though with tears, must stoop to whatsoe’er
  • To the supplying of his need shall tend,
  • When he his want of food no more can bear.
  • So to your friends my child shall go, and take
  • 490One by the cloak, another by the coat,
  • That give him may some wine for pity’s sake,
  • Enough to cool his lips, but not his throat.
  • Or else some son of them that sit at meat
  • May rate, or give him a good box o’th’ ear,
  • 495And bid him quickly out o’ th’ hall to get,
  • And tell him that his father dines not there.
  • Then weeping comes Astyanax to me,
  • That us’d was by his father to be fed
  • With mutton fat and marrow on his knee,
  • 500And with his nurse repose on a soft bed.
  • But since his father now is dead and gone,
  • Astyanax (whom so the Trojans call
  • Because defended were by you alone,
  • When you were here, the Trojan gates and wall),
  • 505Intolerable grief is like to find,
  • Since at the ships you dead and naked lie
  • For worms to feed on when the dogs have din’d,
  • While all your precious garments here have I
  • Of woman’s work, and burn them will, since you
  • 510Now never in them likely are to lie,
  • ’Tis to the wives of Troy an honour due.
  • This weeping spoken made the women sigh.

  LIB. XXIII.

  • Thus wail’d the Trojans then in Ilium.
  • To Hellespont th’ Achæans straight went down;
  • And when they to their hollow ships were come,
  • Dispers’d themselves each man unto his own,

  • The funeral games for Patroclus.

  • 5Achilles only staid his Myrmidons
  • Upon the place; and thus unto them spake.
  • You Myrmidons, my stout companions,
  • You must not from your cars your horses take,
  • With horses and with cars we first must go,
  • 10And for Patroclus weep about his bier.
  • And when we have by weeping eas’d our woe,
  • Untie your horses and we’ll all sup here.
  • This said, they wail’d. Achilles first began;
  • And thrice about Patroclus’ bier they drave.
  • 15And Thetis, fallen was so great a man,
  • Amongst them stood, and tears unto them gave,
  • Which down their armour fell into the sand.
  • Achilles bade him then with tears, farewell.
  • And laying on Patroclus’ breast his hand,
  • 20Rejoice, said he, Patroclus, though in hell;
  • For now I to you shall my word make good,
  • Since hither I have Hector dragged dead
  • For dogs to eat. And to revenge your blood,
  • Twelve Trojans I will at your pile behead.
  • 25This said, he Hector laid upon his face
  • I’ th’ dust before the bier disgracefully.
  • The Myrmidons meanwhile their arms unlace,
  • And th’ horses from the chariots untie.
  • And then down by Achilles’ ship they sat,
  • 30Who gave unto them all a fun’ral feast,
  • And for them slew both goats and muttons fat,
  • And swine good store, and many a well-fed beast.
  • But to Achilles then came in the lords,
  • To wait upon him t’ Agamemnon’s tent,
  • 35That he might try with comfortable words
  • If he could mitigate his discontent.
  • When they were there Atrides first commands
  • His ministers to bring in water hot,
  • To wash the gore from off his face and hands.
  • 40Achilles peremptorily said, Not,
  • And swearing, unto Agamemnon said,
  • By Jove, that is of all the Gods most high,
  • Till I Patroclus in the fire have laid,
  • And rais’d him have a tomb wherein to lie,
  • 45And with him burn’d these locks of mine, nor hand,
  • Nor face shall washed be by me. But now
  • Let’s sup. I’ th’ morning I will give command
  • That for his pile we may have wood enough,
  • That speedily the body we may burn.
  • 50And when out of our sight we have it laid,
  • The people to their business may return.
  • Thus he advised, and it was obey’d.
  • The people then in haste to supper went,
  • And had good cheer, and heartily they fed.
  • 55And when their hunger and their thirst was spent,
  • Into their tents went every man to bed.
  • Down went Achilles to the water’s side
  • Attended on by many Myrmidons,
  • And in a place clean washed by the tide
  • 60He laid him down to sleep upon the stones.
  • Nor was it long ere sleep upon him crept.
  • For labour’d very hard he had that day.
  • For Hector him in exercise had kept
  • Running before him round the wall of Troy.
  • 65And then the spirit of Patroclus dead,
  • Like him in stature, garments, voice, and eyes,
  • Appeared to him standing at his head,
  • And speaking said unto him in this wise.
  • You sleep, Achilles, and have me forgot,
  • 70Though when I was alive you lov’d me well.
  • Pray bury me, these spirits here will not
  • Let me come in within the gates of hell,
  • Nor let me mix with those beyond the river,
  • But make me wander ’bout the house of Dis.
  • 75Give me your hand upon’t, for I shall never
  • Return, when once my body burned is.
  • We shall no more together counsel take,
  • Since by my fate I taken am away,
  • And you yourself, divine Achilles, make
  • 80Account to die before the walls of Troy.
  • And then the favour let me have, I pray,
  • That when my flesh consum’d is in the flame,
  • My bones with yours you will be pleas’d to lay,
  • And let the urn that holds them be the same;
  • 85That golden urn which Thetis gave to you.
  • We long with one another lived have.
  • For when Amphidamus his son I slew,
  • Unto your house I fled my life to save,
  • From Opus, being little past a boy,
  • 90And childishly the quarrel took at chess;
  • And never meant him ill before that day,
  • And sorry was I for my foolishness.
  • Your father to his house then took me in,
  • Made me your man, and lov’d and cherish’d me,
  • 95And since so long we have together been,
  • Why should not now our bones together be?
  • Achilles to the shadow then replied,
  • Sweet friend, what need had you to come from hell
  • To tell me this? I for you do provide,
  • 100That all you say may be performed well.
  • Come nearer to me, that embrace we may
  • A little while, and one another moan.
  • This said, his arms he spreads; and then away
  • Patroclus sunk and left him there alone.
  • 105At this amazed, up Achilles starts.
  • Oh, oh, said he, I see ’tis certain then,
  • In hell there souls are, though they have no hearts,
  • But idols only are, and forms of men.
  • For by me standing was the soul all night
  • 110Of my Patroclus to me dictating,
  • And wonderfully like him ’twas t’ the sight;
  • And what he wanted told me ev’ry thing.
  • This said, again about the body dead
  • Achilles and the Myrmidons lament,
  • 115And so continued till the day was spread;
  • But to the wood then Agamemnon sent
  • From ev’ry part of th’ army men to Ide,
  • Whereof some axes carried in their hands,
  • And others ropes. And with them goes for guide
  • 120Meriones, and, as their chief, commands.
  • O’er hills and dales then to the woods they went,
  • Driving their mules before them all the way;
  • And lusty oaks unto the ground they sent,
  • And cleft them into pieces as they lay.
  • 125And those unto the mules with ropes they tied,
  • And every one of them took in his hand,
  • Either a heavy bough, or limb beside.
  • For so Meriones had given command.
  • This done, they back descended to the plain
  • 130Fast as they could, through bri’rs and bushes store;
  • And quickly at the ships they were again,
  • And laid their wood in order on the shore.
  • Then to the Myrmidons Achilles spake,
  • You Myrmidons, put on your arms, said he,
  • 135And, horsemen, all your char’ots ready make,
  • And mount into your seats and follow me.
  • When they were ready, foremost went the horse,
  • And by a cloud of foot were followed.
  • I’ th’ midst between them carried was the corse
  • 140With locks of hair thrown on him covered,
  • Which the sad mourners from their heads had shorn.
  • Achilles went himself next to the bier,
  • Who for his friend did principally mourn.
  • When at the place of funeral they were,
  • 145Upon the ground they layed down the bier,
  • And quickly in a pile they heap’d the wood.
  • Then cuts Achilles off his yellow hair,
  • And from the body at a distance stay’d,
  • And towards Greece and Phthia turn’d his eye,
  • 150And speaking to Spercheius’ river said.
  • My father to you made a vow, when I
  • Return’d, this hair should unto you be paid,
  • And to the other Gods a hecatomb,
  • And fifty fat rams at your spring to slay.
  • 155Thus vowed he. But I shall ne’er come home,
  • But here must die before the gates of Troy.
  • Since then my father’s wish you not fulfil,
  • Nor I return into my native land,
  • My hair now to Patroclus give I will.
  • 160And at that word he puts it in his hand.
  • At this the Greeks a-weeping fell again,
  • And wept had till the setting of the sun,
  • But that Achilles spake t’ Atrides then,
  • And pray’d him that the people might be gone.
  • 165King Agamemnon, will the Greeks, said he,
  • Be never with lamenting satisfied?
  • ’Tis in your pow’r; let them dispersed be
  • Unto their ships, their suppers to provide,
  • For we will of the fun’ral take a care.
  • 170But let the leaders of the army stay,
  • And such as specially concerned are.
  • This said, Atrides sent the rest away.
  • And then the wood into a pile they laid.
  • A hundred foot it was from side to side;
  • 175And on the top the corpse. Then kill’d and flay’d
  • Both sheep and beeves, and with their fat they hide
  • Patroclus’ body dead from head to foot.
  • And by it laid the cattle flay’d to burn.
  • To the bier Achilles went and laid into ’t
  • 180Of honey one, of oil another urn.
  • And of Patroclus’ horses four he slew;
  • And of nine little dogs he kept, kill’d two.
  • And those into the fun’ral pile he threw;
  • And last of all, twelve Trojans adds thereto.
  • 185This done, again he to Patroclus said,
  • My dear Patroclus, once again, farewell.
  • Twelve lusty Trojans on your pile are laid.
  • I’m faithful to you, though you be in hell,
  • But Hector for the dogs shall be a prey.
  • 190But Venus ’nointed him with oil of rose,
  • And so preserved him both night and day,
  • That not a dog did on him lay his nose.
  • Then Phœbus sent from heav’n a cloud obscure,
  • The place whereon his body lay to hide,
  • 195To th’ end it might the scorching sun endure,
  • And not be shrivell’d up, nor shrunk, nor dried.
  • And then Achilles a new bus’ness finds;
  • He could not set on flame the new-fell’d wood,
  • But forc’d he was to pray to the two Winds,
  • 200Zephyr and Boreas. Then off he stood,
  • And to them offer’d with a cup in’s hand,
  • And to them vowed a good sacrifice,
  • If they from sea would come, and by him stand,
  • And blow the fire until the flame did rise.
  • 205This Iris hearing, went unto the Winds,
  • To tell them how Achilles to them pray’d,
  • And at good cheer in Zephyr’s house them finds,
  • And fain they would her with them there have staid,
  • And made her sit; but she refused that.
  • 210The Gods, said she, feast at a hecatomb
  • In Blackmoor-land, and I must be thereat,
  • And must make haste, or thither cannot come.
  • To Zephyr now and Boreas I came,
  • To tell them that a plenteous sacrifice
  • 215Achilles make them will, if on a flame
  • They’ll set the pile whereon Patroclus lies.
  • This said, she parts. The Winds arise and roar,
  • And toss the clouds before them in the sky,
  • And at their feet tumble the waves ashore,
  • 220And then upon Patroclus’ pile they fly,
  • And fiercely blow. Inflamed was the pile,
  • And whistling at it staid the Winds all night,
  • Achilles standing by it all the while,
  • Invoking solemnly Patroclus’ spright;
  • 225And th’ earth with wine by cupfuls watered.
  • As one that mourneth for his eldest son,
  • That then dies, when he should be married;
  • So did he for Patroclus sigh and groan.
  • When in the sky the day-star did appear
  • 230To shew that after him Aurora came,
  • The pile and bodies dead consumed were
  • To ashes, and extinguish’d was the flame;
  • Away the Winds went o’er the seas of Thrace,
  • And passing, shook the waters of the deep.
  • 235Achilles went a little from the place,
  • And weary, laid him down and fell asleep.
  • And now ’twas day, the soldiers came again.
  • Then with their trampling did Achilles wake,
  • And up he stood and look’d about. And then
  • 240He to Atrides turn’d his eyes and spake:
  • Atrides, let us first with wine, said he,
  • Put out the fire as far as it is spread,
  • That taken up Patroclus’ bones may be
  • (For where they lie ’tis soon discovered;
  • 245Since in the midst we did his body lay,
  • But others, horse and men, at the outside lie)
  • That in a bason of pure gold they may
  • Reserved be until I also die.
  • And though no great tomb here I have design’d,
  • 250Yet may the Greeks that stay when I am gone,
  • When they think good, if they will be so kind,
  • And see cause for it, make a greater one.
  • This said, the fire they first extinguished;
  • Then down unto the ground the ashes came,
  • 255And up Patroclus’ bones they gathered,
  • And in a golden pan they laid the same;
  • And back into the ships they carried that,
  • To be reserved in Achilles’ tent,
  • Wrapp’d up within a double kell of fat.
  • 260And then about the pile to work they went,
  • And where the pile was, that they made their ground,
  • And earth abundance on the same they lay,
  • Till it became a mighty hill and round.
  • When they had done, Achilles made them stay
  • 265And sit o’ th’ ground, to see the games which he
  • Prepared had, the funeral to grace.
  • Then many prizes rich he caus’d to be
  • Brought from his ship and laid upon the place,
  • Brass cauldrons, tripods, and great iron bars,
  • 270Horses and mules, and cattle of great size,
  • And goodly women taken in the wars.
  • First for the horse; he tells each one his prize.
  • To th’ first a woman that could spin and weave,
  • Together with a tripod deep and wide.
  • 275The next a mare of six years should receive,
  • Together with her young mule by her side.
  • A handsome kettle to the third he gave,
  • Which never on the fire had yet been set.
  • Of gold two talents was the fourth to have;
  • 280The fifth a cup and cover was to get.
  • Then to them spake. These prizes here, said he,
  • Lie waiting for the horsemen on the plain,
  • If any horsemen in the host there be,
  • That with their char’ots hope the same to gain,
  • 285Come in. Had any else these games set forth,
  • The greatest of these prizes had been mine;
  • For of my horses you well know the worth,
  • And that they are immortal and divine,
  • Which Neptune gave to Peleus, he to me.
  • 290But I’ll sit out; my horses shall stay here,
  • Hanging their heads as they do heavily,
  • Since they have lost their gentle char’oteer.
  • Let any other of the Argives, who
  • Is of his horses confident, come in,
  • 295And presently prepare himself thereto,
  • And try which of the prizes he can win.
  • This said, the horsemen straight themselves present.
  • Eumelus first, Adrestus’ noble son,
  • That was for horsemanship most eminent.
  • 300Then Diomed with th’ horses which he won
  • From Venus’ son, when by her sav’d he was.
  • Then sitting on his chariot came forth
  • King Agamemnon’s brother Menelaus,
  • And at it horses two were of great worth.
  • 305The one of them, Podargus, was his own,
  • The other, Æthe, very swift she was,
  • A female, and for Agamemnon’s known,
  • To whom, when he to Ilium was to pass,
  • She given was by Echepolus, who
  • 310T’ excuse himself of following him to Troy
  • (For very rich he was, and loath to go)
  • And with his leave in Siryon to stay.
  • The fourth, with horses of the Pylian brood,
  • Was Nestor’s gallant son, Antilochus.
  • 315His father, careful of him, by him stood
  • Instructing him, and said unto him thus:
  • Antilochus, you have been taught so well
  • By Jove and Neptune, young man as you are,
  • The rules of horsemanship, I need not tell
  • 320You of the art, but pray you to take care;
  • Though you know how about the goal to wind,
  • Their horses somewhat are than yours more swift.
  • I fear you will in that some damage find;
  • But none of them know better how to shift.
  • 325’Tis care, not strength, makes a good carpenter,
  • And ships at sea are governed by care;
  • Force in foul weather little helps to steer;
  • Best char’oteers are they that best beware.
  • A man that on his horses’ speed relies,
  • 330May from the high-way sometimes drive aside,
  • But not come in again. But he that’s wise,
  • Will always tow’rds the goal directly guide,
  • And have an eye on him that goes before.
  • The goal I’ll tell you (lest you know it not)
  • 335A staff is, of a fathom high or more,
  • Of oak or pine, that is not apt to rot,
  • Standing between two great white stones upright,
  • And for a monument set up was there
  • In ancient time, of some deceased wight,
  • 340Or formerly there had a race been there,
  • And to that purpose served now again.
  • Be sure you drive your horses to it close,
  • And leaning, press a little th’ inner rein,
  • And let the farther horse’s rein go loose.
  • 345But let the near horse to it go as near
  • As can be, so the stones you still avoid;
  • You’ll wound your horses else, and char’ot tear,
  • And be asham’d whilst others will be joy’d.
  • If at the staff you once but get the start,
  • 350In coming back before you shall be none,
  • How good soe’er their horses be or art,
  • Though they the steeds were of Laomedon,
  • Or like Arion all their horses were,
  • Adrestus’ horse of the celestial race.
  • 355Thus Nestor his good son instructed there,
  • And having done, returned to his place.
  • The fifth and last came in Meriones.
  • Then up into their seats they mounted all;
  • And then by lots determin’d which of these
  • 360Should start the first. T’ Antilochus did fall
  • To start the first. The next t’ Eumelus came.
  • The third lot fell t’ Atrides Menelaus.
  • The fourth had on’t Meriones his name.
  • The best, and last to start Tydides was.
  • 365Then all a-row they stood. Achilles by,
  • Showed them the goal far off upon the plain;
  • And all at once hold up their whips on high,
  • And beat their horses each one with his rein;
  • And loud upon them call’d to make them run.
  • 370Old Phœnix at the staff was set to stay
  • And be a witness of what there was done,
  • And see there were amongst them no foul play.
  • And swiftly from the ships they part away,
  • In clouds of dust up to their breasts they fly,
  • 375And to the wind their spreading manes display;
  • Their cars sometimes are in the air a-high,
  • And sometimes on the ground. The char’oteers
  • Sit for all that still fast upon their seats,
  • And ev’ry one aloud his horses cheers,
  • 380While in his breast his heart with longing beats.
  • But when about the goal they turned were,
  • And coming back again unto the shore,
  • Then ’twas their virtue chiefly did appear,
  • And faster went their horses than before.
  • 385And now Eumelus’ horses foremost were,
  • And Diomed behind him was not far
  • With his male Trojan horses, but so near,
  • As if they would have gone into his car.
  • So near they were their heads did on it lie,
  • 390And made Eumelus’ back and shoulders hot
  • With breathing on them; and the victory
  • Had got, or doubtful made at least, had not
  • Apollo been to Diomed unkind,
  • And from his hand struck out his shining whip.
  • 395Tydides then again was left behind,
  • And wept to see Eumelus him outstrip.
  • When Pallas saw what wrong was to him done,
  • She puts the whip into his hand again,
  • And angry goes unto Admetus’ son,
  • 400And of his horses breaks the yoke in twain.
  • On one side of the way then went one mare,
  • And on the other side the other goes.
  • Down fell the pole, and with it he; and tare
  • His elbows and his eye-brows, mouth, and nose.
  • 405Tydides in the meantime passed by,
  • And got before them all a mighty length.
  • For Pallas to him meant the victory,
  • And gave unto his horses greater strength.
  • Behind Tydides next was Menelaus,
  • 410And next to him Antilochus; and he
  • Aloud unto his horses calling was.
  • Now let’s, said he, your utmost virtue see.
  • With Diomed you are not bid contend,
  • Whom victor now Athena means to make,
  • 415And strengthened hath his horses to that end;
  • But only Menelaus t’ overtake.
  • Were ’t not a shame that Æthe, but a mare,
  • Should leave you two such lusty steeds behind?
  • But if you now seek how yourselves to spare,
  • 420I tell you this, and true you will it find,
  • You shall be slain. Therefore use all your speed,
  • And when you come into a narrow place,
  • Leave it to me to do what I see need.
  • This said, the horses fearing mend their pace,
  • 425And now were close at Menelaus’ heels.
  • Then near unto a hollow way they came;
  • And lest they break should one another’s wheels,
  • Atrides turn’d aside into the same.
  • The other after him a little wide
  • 430The same way took. Atrides then afraid
  • That he would enter with him side by side,
  • Unto Antilochus cried out and said,
  • Antilochus, you drive too carelessly,
  • The way’s too narrow. Pray a little stay
  • 435Your horses; broader ’twill be by and by,
  • Lest both our cars lie broken on the way.
  • Antilochus then whipp’d his horses on
  • So much the faster, seeming not to hear.
  • And when they were a little further gone,
  • 440Atrides held his horses in, for fear
  • Their cars should clashing overturned be,
  • And with them they be thrown into the dust,
  • And to him spake, reviling: Go, said he,
  • Of all the men I know the most unjust,
  • 445And not so wise as th’ Argives thought you were.
  • But yet the prize you shall not so obtain,
  • But for it first you shall be put to swear.
  • And then his horses he drave on again,
  • And to encourage them unto them said,
  • 450His horses cannot keep before you long;
  • They old are both; strain hard. Be not dismay’d,
  • For both of you brave horses are, and young.
  • This said, at highest speed again they fly,
  • And to Antilochus came up again.
  • 455The Argives on the race now sat to spy
  • Who foremost coming was upon the plain.
  • Idomeneus sat in a place more high
  • Without the race, and heard a char’oteer,
  • Whose voice he knew, unto his horses cry,
  • 460And presently two horses did appear.
  • Of one of them the colour was bright bay,
  • But on his forehead had a spot of white,
  • And, as the moon at full, round ev’ry way,
  • And from afar conspicuous and bright.
  • 465Then to the Greeks he said, Is there no more
  • That see these horses coming back but I?
  • They are not those that foremost were before;
  • And ’tis another char’oteer I spy.
  • Eumelus some mischance has had I fear;
  • 470And yet about the goal he turned well,
  • But now I cannot see him any where.
  • Perhaps out of his hands their bridles fell;
  • No longer would the horses then obey,
  • But thrown him somewhere have o’ th’ field, or borne
  • 475Him in their fit by violence away,
  • And have his char’ot overturn’d, or torn.
  • Stand on your feet yourselves, and mark him well,
  • Whether or no it Diomedes be,
  • The son of Tydeus, for I cannot tell;
  • 480He like him is, and I believe ’tis he.
  • The lesser Ajax then, Oileus’ son,
  • With evil words t’ Idomeneus replied,
  • The mares upon the field are coming on,
  • But you must talk, though from the purpose wide.
  • 485Your eyes are now grown old, and less can see,
  • And yet to talk you love so much the more,
  • Though at discerning many better be;
  • Eumelus, as at first, is still before.
  • Ajax, said he, of all the Greeks the worst,
  • 490Except at railing, let’s a wager lay,
  • A tripod, or a cauldron, who comes first;
  • Atrides judge, that you may know and pay.
  • And Ajax then about was to reply;
  • Nor had the quarrel ’twixt them there been staid,
  • 495But that Achilles, who was sitting by,
  • Rose from his seat, and coming to them said,
  • Idomeneus and Ajax, ’tis a shame
  • For you in evil language to contend,
  • That others when they do so ought to blame.
  • 500Sit down, and but a little while attend,
  • They’ll soon be here. They strive for victory,
  • And driving are as fast as e’er they can;
  • Discerned then it will be easily
  • Which is the foremost, which the hindmost man.
  • 505This said, they saw Tydides very near,
  • Plying his whip; his horses seem’d to fly,
  • And cover’d was with dust the char’oteer,
  • And hard it was the track o’ th’ wheels to spy.
  • Then coming in, before the lords he stopp’d,
  • 510And to the ground leapt from his chariot;
  • With sweat his horses’ breasts and shoulders dropp’d.
  • Then Stenelus the prize neglected not,
  • But nimbly from his place he to it skips,
  • And by his friends there standing by his side
  • 515Sent th’ woman and the tripod to the ships;
  • And having done, the horses he untied.
  • Antilochus next to Tydides was,
  • That not by virtue of his steeds, but sleight,
  • Advantage gotten had of Menelaus,
  • 520When for them both he found the way too streight.
  • But Menelaus to him was so near,
  • As is a char’ot-horse unto the wheel,
  • Which of his tail doth sometimes touch the hair,
  • And makes the horse to run that does it feel.
  • 525So near unto him was Atrides then,
  • That was behind once a quoit’s cast or more.
  • But quickly to him he came up again,
  • For Æthe now ran faster than before,
  • And had they but a little longer run,
  • 530Atrides by Antilochus had pass’d,
  • And without doubt the second prize had won.
  • Meriones behind was a spear’s cast;
  • Slow steeds he had, and but small skill in courses.
  • Eumelus, whom Athena overthrew,
  • 535Came hindmost, and before him drave his horses,
  • And with his hands behind, his char’ot drew.
  • Achilles mov’d with pity was at this,
  • And spake unto the Argives in this wise:
  • Although he come the last, the best he is;
  • 540’Tis fit he have at least the second prize,
  • But Diomed the first, that has it won.
  • And just it seemed in the Argives’ sight,
  • And from Antilochus the prize had gone,
  • Had he not pleaded for it as his right.
  • 545Antilochus then to Achilles spake:
  • Though well, said he, in pity you incline
  • T’ Eumelus, yet my prize he must not take;
  • I won it have, and ’tis not yours, but mine.
  • His horses good, and horseman good he is;
  • 550And he and they upon the ground were laid
  • By some mischance; I’m not concern’d in this,
  • He should unto th’ immortal Gods have pray’d.
  • But you, that pity him, and at your tent
  • Have gold, brass, horses, women, cattle store,
  • 555May out of that, when you think fit, content
  • Eumelus with the value, or with more;
  • For whosoever means to have the mare,
  • Must for her with me fight. Thus pleaded he.
  • Achilles, that great love unto him bare,
  • 560Was glad, and said, Since you so counsel me,
  • The breast-plate I will to him give of brass,
  • That hemm’d is all about with shining tin,
  • With which Asteropæus armed was.
  • Automedon, into my tent go in,
  • 565And quickly to me bring the breast-plate forth.
  • And then Automedon no longer stands,
  • But fetches out the armour of great worth,
  • And puts the same into Eumelus’ hands.
  • Then up Atrides Menelaus stands,
  • 570And in his hand the crier a sceptre laid,
  • And silence to be kept i’ th’ court commands.
  • T’ Antilochus then Menelaus said,
  • Antilochus, what made you me disgrace,
  • Justling my horses in the hollow way,
  • 575When there was so much danger in the place
  • That ’t had been best for both of us to stay?
  • But you, the princes, hear the cause I pray,
  • And judge between us both impartially,
  • Lest any of the Greeks hereafter say
  • 580I did t’ Antilochus an injury,
  • And from him got the mare by fraud or might;
  • And that his horses than mine better were;
  • But come, I now know how myself to right.
  • Come, lay your hand upon the reins, and swear
  • 585By Neptune, that you did not willingly
  • And with prepensed malice cross my car.
  • To this Antilochus did then reply:
  • O Menelaus, since you elder are,
  • You know our faults upon the sudden rise,
  • 590And that before-hand young men study not;
  • Their wits are present, but the old are wise,
  • To do you injury I never thought.
  • The mare is yours; and if you please to send
  • For anything I have, that too I’ll give
  • 595Rather than with an oath the Gods offend,
  • And out of Menelaus’ favour live.
  • This said, he put the mare into his hand;
  • Then Menelaus look’d as fresh and gay
  • As dew, that on the growing corn doth stand,
  • 600Then when the fields are in their best array,
  • And to Antilochus replied again:
  • Antilochus, I angry am no more;
  • I see you were by youth transported then;
  • But putting tricks upon your friends give o’er.
  • 605I not so soon forgiven had another;
  • But you so much have suffer’d for my sake,
  • Together with your father and your brother,
  • That I can easy satisfaction take.
  • And now, to shew I got it not by might,
  • 610Take you the prize, although it be my share.
  • This said, he took t’ himself the cauldron bright,
  • And yielding to Antilochus the mare,
  • Unto Noëmon gave her to set up
  • (Noëmon was Antilochus his man).
  • 615One prize remain’d, which was the double cup;
  • Meriones the two gold talents wan.
  • Achilles rising then to Nestor went,
  • And unto him the double cup he gave.
  • This prize, said he, keep for a monument
  • 620Of my Patroclus lying in his grave.
  • You shall not for it arm your fists with lead,
  • Nor with young men at cast of spear engage,
  • Nor shall you on the foot-race need to tread;
  • Of all such work you are excus’d by age.
  • 625This said, the cup into his hand he laid,
  • Which joyfully he took, and thus replied:
  • Sweet son, you nothing but the truth have said.
  • My strength is past, it cannot be denied;
  • My hands I scarce can to my shoulders raise,
  • 630And heavily my feet both rise and fall.
  • Oh, that I were as young as in those days
  • When I saw Amarynceus’ funeral
  • Set forth most nobly in Buprasion.
  • There many prizes were, and many a man;
  • 635But like to me amongst them there was none,
  • Eperan, Pylian, nor Ætolian.
  • At fists the prize from Clytomed I won;
  • And wrestling with Ancæus I him threw,
  • And Iphiclus, swift as he was, outrun;
  • 640And with the spears I Polydore out-threw,
  • And at the horse-race only was outstripp’d
  • By th’ envy of the sons of Actor two;
  • For sitting on the char’ot they both whipp’d,
  • And from me won that prize with much ado.
  • 645Such then I was. But now to younger men
  • That work I leave. Old age I must obey;
  • But such I was amongst the Argives then.
  • And now, Achilles, here no longer stay,
  • Proceed with other games your friend to grace;
  • 650Your gift I take, and great content I find,
  • In that you shewn have in this public place,
  • Amongst the Greeks you have me in your mind.
  • Achilles having heard these praises all
  • Of Nestor, brought into the place a mule,
  • 655A prize for him that won at fist and ball,
  • A mule of six years old, and hard to rule.
  • As for the vanquish’d, he assign’d to him
  • A lesser prize, which was a silver cup,
  • That crook’d and wryed was about the brim.
  • 660Achilles then amongst the Greeks stood up.
  • Atrides, and you Argives all, said he,
  • Let two men fight for these at fist and ball;
  • The lusty mule shall for the victor be,
  • The cup for him that in the fight shall fall.
  • 665This said, Epeius, a huge man stood up,
  • And that had at this kind of fight great skill,
  • And seiz’d the mule, and said, As for the cup,
  • Let any one against me rise that will,
  • The mule is mine; at this game I am best.
  • 670Is’t not enough that th’ Argives value me
  • In fight but as a mean man like the rest?
  • For no man can the best at all things be.
  • But let him know, whoe’er with me contends,
  • I’ll break his bones. Which being to him known,
  • 675He may about him ready have his friends,
  • To take him up when I have knocked him down.
  • This said, Mecestes’ son, Euryalus,
  • That won the prize from the Cadmæans all,
  • At Thebes, upon the death of Œdipus,
  • 680When celebrated was his funeral,
  • Presents himself. About him, busy was
  • Tydides, wishing him the victory;
  • And gave him of strong leather well-wrought lace,
  • Wherewith the balls unto his wrists to tie.
  • 685The champions up their fists together have,
  • Which when they met so quick and mingled were,
  • That which was which a man could not perceive,
  • But how they rattled at their heads might hear.
  • Euryalus then chanc’d to look aside,
  • 690At which Epeius such a blow him hit,
  • Upon the cheek, that he was stupified,
  • And could no longer stand upon his feet.
  • As when the sea is curl’d by Zephyrus,
  • A little fish leaps up and falls again;
  • 695So started at the stroke Euryalus,
  • And fainted. To him went Epeius, then,
  • And took him up. His friends that by him stood,
  • Led him away trailing his feet behind,
  • His neck aside hanging, and spitting blood;
  • 700And wand’ring out of order was his mind.
  • Achilles other prizes then brought forth
  • For wrestlers; and for him that did the best,
  • A mighty three-foot pot esteemed worth,
  • By th’ company, twelve oxen at the least,
  • 705And for the vanquished a lesser prize,
  • A woman that in many works had skill;
  • And to the Argives speaking, said: Arise,
  • You that contend for the great tripod will!
  • Then up rose Ajax, up Ulysses rose,
  • 710And having girt themselves stood on the place,
  • And presently extend their arms, and close;
  • And one another with twin’d arms embrace.
  • As when a carpenter to keep the wind
  • Out of a house, the timber bows and pleats;
  • 715So were their arms with one another twin’d,
  • And each of them keeps fast his hold, and sweats,
  • And squeez’d until their sides were black and blue.
  • And weary were the Greeks with looking on,
  • When neither Ajax yet Ulysses threw,
  • 720Nor he the mighty son of Telamon.
  • And Ajax then unto Ulysses said,
  • Let’s lift each other; and withal him lifts,
  • And hop’d upon the ground to have him laid,
  • But he, then, not forgetful of his shifts,
  • 725Struck with his right foot Ajax on the ham,
  • So that to turn him Ajax strength did lack.
  • Then both together to the ground they came,
  • One on his breast, the other on his back.
  • And now Ulysses to lift Ajax is.
  • 730And from the ground he heav’d him, but not high,
  • And in he clapt one knee between both his,
  • Then both upon the ground again they lie.
  • Again they rise, and had not so giv’n o’er,
  • But that Achilles to them goes, and says,
  • 735You both are best; torment yourselves no more,
  • But equal prizes take, and go your ways,
  • That other Greeks for other prizes may
  • Their virtue show. This said, they him obey’d,
  • And from their bodies wip’d the dust away,
  • 740And with their coats themselves again array’d.
  • And then Achilles brought new prizes in,—
  • A silver temp’rer that six gallons held,
  • And by Sidonian workmen made had been,
  • And all that e’er they made before excell’d,
  • 745And by Phœnicians into Greece was brought,
  • And giv’n to Thoas, and from him it came
  • T’ Eunæus, Jason’s son. Eunæus bought
  • Lycaon of Patroclus with the same.
  • This was the prize for him that swiftest ran.
  • 750A great fat ox the second was to take;
  • And half a talent, gold, the hindmost man.
  • And then Achilles to the Argives spake.
  • Arise, said he, that for this prize will run.
  • Then Ajax rose, son of Oïleus,
  • 755The lesser Ajax. And then Nestor’s son,
  • The swiftest of the youth, Antilochus.
  • Arow they stand. Achilles to them shows
  • The goal about the which they were to run.
  • Together then they start; and foremost goes
  • 760The nimble-footed Ajax, Oïleus’ son.
  • But next him, and so near Ulysses is,
  • As from a woman’s distaff comes the thread,
  • And on his steps trod ere the dust aris,
  • And breathed all the way upon his head.
  • 765The Greeks upon him called all the way
  • To do his best, and wish’d him victory.
  • Then to Athena did Ulysses pray.
  • O help me, my good Goddess, now, said he.
  • And when almost they ended had the race,
  • 770Then chanced Ajax in the dung to fall
  • Of cattle which had kill’d been on the place,
  • B’ Achilles for Patroclus’ funeral,
  • And fill’d with cow-dung was his mouth and nose.
  • Ulysses on the temp’rer laid his hands.
  • 775And Ajax, spitting dung, again arose,
  • And with his ox before the Argives stands.
  • Oh, oh, said he, ’tis Pallas hath done this,
  • Who, as a careful mother of her child,
  • Upon Ulysses always waiting is.
  • 780And when he that had said th’ Achæans smil’d.
  • Antilochus th’ half talent took of gold,
  • And smil’d, and to the Argives said, You see
  • The Gods still give most honour to the old;
  • Ajax in age a little passeth me;
  • 785Again, Ulysses older is than he.
  • And younger men with these cannot contend
  • At running of a race, except it be
  • Achilles: whom he finely did commend.
  • Achilles, of that commendation glad,
  • 790Unto Antilochus replied again;
  • To your half-talent I’ll another add.
  • That word of yours shall not be said in vain.
  • Achilles then brought forth the shield, and spear,
  • And helmet of Sarpedon, for till he
  • 795Was killed by Patroclus his they were,
  • And said unto the Greeks: now let me see
  • Two valiant men, well-arm’d, contend for these;
  • And he that first draws blood shall bear away
  • This Thracian sword won from Asteropæus.
  • 800The arms in common they shall both enjoy,
  • And at my tent they both shall feasted be.
  • Up then great Ajax, up Tydides rose,
  • And came forth armed from the company,
  • And looking grimly, one to th’ other goes,
  • 805And thrice to one another fiercely leapt,
  • And Ajax’ spear pass’d through Tydides’ shield;
  • But by the breast-plate from his flesh was kept.
  • Good was his breast-plate, and not apt to yield.
  • But still at Ajax’ neck Tydides aim’d,
  • 810Above his shield still pushing with his spear;
  • At which the people standing by exclaim’d;
  • For then of Ajax’ life they stood in fear,
  • And to Achilles cried to part the fray
  • Betime, and let them equal prizes have.
  • 815And by Achilles then dismiss’d were they;
  • But yet the sword he to Tydides gave.
  • And then of iron he brought out a sough,
  • Such as at first it from the furnace came,
  • The which Eëtion was wont to throw;
  • 820Amongst whose goods Achilles found the same,
  • And to his ship he brought it with the rest.
  • And said to th’ Argives, He this prize shall gain,
  • That lets us see he throw it can the best.
  • It will his plough with iron five years maintain.
  • 825He needs not to the town for iron go.
  • Then Polypœtes and Leontes rise,
  • And Ajax, and together stand arow;
  • And last of all unto them comes Epeius.
  • First threw Epeius, and well laugh’d at was.
  • 830And next to him Leontes threw the same.
  • Then Ajax threw and did them both surpass.
  • But when to Polypœtes’ hand it came,
  • As far as doth a shepherd throw his hook
  • Seeing his sheep stand still or straggle out,
  • 835So far threw he. The prize his friends then took
  • And bare it to his tent. The people shout.
  • Achilles then brought other prizes in,
  • Ten double, and ten single axes keen,
  • The which the two best bowmen were to win,
  • 840And said, Now let your archery be seen.
  • And on the sands erects a ship-mast high,
  • And at the top he tied a dove unto’t
  • With slender thread, and said, Your skill now try.
  • For he that dead the tender dove shall shoot,
  • 845Shall have the double axes for his prize;
  • The single he that breaks the thread shall win.
  • Then Teucer and Meriones arise,
  • And lots they cast which of them shall begin.
  • And to begin to Teucer fell the lot.
  • 850And first he shot. But should have made a vow
  • A hecatomb to Phœbus, but forgot.
  • And therefore Phœbus would not him allow
  • To kill the bird. But yet he brake the thread,
  • And tow’rds the ground, it hung down from her feet.
  • 855The frighted dove in th’ air hovered,
  • And mightily the Argives shout to see’t.
  • Meriones then quickly drew his bow,
  • For th’ arrow fitted on’t already lay,
  • And presently to Phœbus made a vow
  • 860Of his first lambs a hecatomb to pay.
  • And seeing how the dove amazed went
  • Above his head this way and that way round,
  • His arrow keen he quickly to her sent,
  • Which pierc’d her thro’, and brought her to the ground.
  • 865The wounded dove unto a mast then flies,
  • And there her feathers sheds, and hangs her head,
  • And having sitten there not long she dies.
  • The Argives gazing at it wondered.
  • And then Meriones away did bear
  • 870The double axes. Teucer took the rest.
  • Achilles then new prizes fetch’d; a spear,
  • And a new cauldron worth an ox at least.
  • To throw the spear then rose the king Atrides,
  • And after him stood up Meriones
  • 875Idomeneus his squire. Then said Pelides,
  • There shall be no contention for these.
  • We know how much you are more excellent
  • At this than any of th’ Achæans here.
  • Take you these prizes therefore to your tent,
  • 880And give unto Meriones the spear,
  • If you think fit. Atrides was content,
  • And to Meriones he gave the spear,
  • And by Talthybius the cauldron sent
  • Unto the ships; and all well pleased were.

  LIB. XXIV.

  • The redemption of Hector, and his funeral.

  • Thus end the games. The Greeks dispersed are,
  • And ev’ry man returned to his tent,
  • And busy was his supper to prepare;
  • And after they had supp’d to bed they went.
  • 5Achilles all the night slept not a wink,
  • But on Patroclus’ worth, and company,
  • And on their common suff’rings still did think,
  • And lay upon his bed unquietly.
  • And weeping sometimes laid himself on this,
  • 10Sometimes on that side, sometimes on his face,
  • And sometimes on his back, and sometimes ris,
  • And walk’d upon the shore from place to place.
  • And soon as ere he saw the morning come,
  • He Hector to his char’ot ti’d again;
  • 15And dragg’d him thrice about Patroclus’ tomb,
  • And then went in, and left him on the plain,
  • With dust all over hidden, but not rent.
  • For Phœbus had him cover’d with his shield,
  • That torn his body was not as they went.
  • 20The Gods meanwhile sat looking on the field,
  • And griev’d to see Achilles show such spite;
  • And some of them advised Mercury
  • To steal away the body from his sight.
  • To this the other Gods did all agree,
  • 25But Neptune, Juno, Pallas, angry were
  • With Priam and with Troy, for Paris’ sake,
  • For that he Venus did so much prefer,
  • And of the others small account did make.
  • Thus pass’d it then. But twelve days after, came
  • 30Apollo to the Gods in council set,
  • And said, Ye Gods unjust, you are to blame.
  • What sacrifice did Hector e’er forget,
  • That to his father, mother, wife, and son,
  • That for his death lament, he must not come,
  • 35And buried be, since he is dead and gone,
  • And have a funeral in Ilium?
  • But to Achilles’ fury you give way,
  • Whose breast is void of all humanity.
  • As lions on men’s cattle love to prey;
  • 40Savage and proud on men so falleth he,
  • Asham’d of nothing. Though another man,
  • That had a loving brother lost, or son,
  • When he has wept a while, give over can,
  • And bear the ill that cannot be undone;
  • 45But he with Hector’s death is not content,
  • But drags his body at his chariot,
  • Not caring how we may the same resent.
  • He’ll find at last ’twere better he had not
  • Upon the senseless earth have shown such spite.
  • 50To this in anger Juno then replied,
  • If equal they had been, you had said right,
  • But that they equal are it is denied.
  • For Hector was a mortal woman’s son;
  • Achilles’ mother a great Goddess is,
  • 55Thetis, that nurs’d was and brought up by none
  • But by myself. The Gods can witness this,
  • Who, when I made her noble Peleus’ bride,
  • Came to the wedding all, and you too then
  • Were with your fiddle there well satisfied,
  • 60Perfidious God, companion of mean men.
  • Then Jupiter to Juno spake and said,
  • Look not so angrily upon the Gods,
  • Nor for Achilles’ honour be afraid.
  • ’Twixt him and Hector I know well the odds.
  • 65But Hector we of mortals love the best,
  • I do at least, of all the men of Troy.
  • He never is behind-hand with my feast,
  • But flesh and wine pays duly at my day.
  • But we’ll not Hector from Achilles steal;
  • 70Nor can, since Thetis for him is awake.
  • Call Thetis hither; for with her I’ll deal
  • To make him for his body ransom take.
  • This said, into the sea leap’d Iris straight
  • Between the isles of Imbros and of Same.
  • 75The water roar’d and started at her weight;
  • And she to th’ bottom like a plummet came,
  • Where in a hollow cave the Goddess sat,
  • Her sea-nymphs all about her sitting round,
  • She in the midst bewailing her son’s fate,
  • 80That was to perish on the Trojan ground.
  • And going to her near, Thetis, said she,
  • Jove calls you to him. She replied, Why so?
  • What has that mighty God to say to me?
  • I am not fit amongst the Gods to go.
  • 85But well; I go. I dare not disobey.
  • And on her head then throws she a black hood.
  • Then up they went, and Iris led the way.
  • To let them pass the sea divided stood,
  • And being landed, leap’d up to the sky,
  • 90When Jove in council and the Gods were met;
  • Where Thetis was received lovingly,
  • And next himself by Jupiter was set:
  • There Juno nectar, Pallas gave her place.
  • And Jove unto her spake. Thetis, said he,
  • 95I know your grief, but such is now the case,
  • You could not from th’ assembly spared be.
  • Nine days amongst ourselves we disagree
  • Concerning Hector’s body what to do;
  • The most would have him stol’n by Mercury,
  • 100But for your sake I would not yield thereto.
  • But go you, Thetis, to your son, and say
  • The Gods are angry, and I most of all,
  • That Hector’s body at the ships doth stay
  • Unransom’d, and without a funeral;
  • 105That he release it may for fear of me.
  • Meanwhile to Priam Iris shall be sent,
  • To bid him go t’ Achilles speedily,
  • And with fair presents fetch it from his tent.
  • This said, she from Olympus took her flight
  • 110T’ Achilles’ tent, and found him sitting there,
  • Where he, Patroclus still lamenting, sigh’d,
  • And with him friends providing dinner were;
  • And killed had a fat sheep in his tent.
  • Then in she went, and sat down by his side.
  • 115How long, said she, will you yourself torment?
  • Be comforted, and for your health provide;
  • And take delight in women’s company,
  • For here you know you are not long to stay,
  • And that at hand is now your destiny.
  • 120And hear what I from Jove must to you say.
  • From Jupiter I come, who bade me say
  • The Gods are angry, and he most of all,
  • That Hector’s body at the ships doth stay
  • Unransom’d, and without a funeral.
  • 125The ransom therefore take, and let him go.
  • To which Achilles a short answer gave.
  • Let him that will, since Jove will have it so,
  • The ransom bring, the body he shall have.
  • Whilst Thetis and her son discoursing were,
  • 130To Priam Jove swift Iris sent away.
  • Iris, said he, this message from me bear
  • To Priam, and relate what now I say.
  • Bid him unto Achilles’ tent to go,
  • And carry with him other Trojans none
  • 135But one old squire, his char’ot to look to,
  • And bring away the body of his son;
  • And honourable presents with him bear,
  • Wherewith Achilles may be well content.
  • And bid him death and danger not to fear,
  • 140So good a guardian with him shall be sent.
  • Hermes shall guide him to Achilles’ tent,
  • And being there he needs not fear at all.
  • Achilles will not kill him, but prevent
  • The hurt that might from others on him fall.
  • 145He wants not judgment, care, nor piety,
  • And pity has for them that to him pray.
  • This said, flew Iris from Olympus high
  • To Priam’s house, where little was of joy.
  • His sons about him weeping sat, and he
  • 150I’ th’ midst involved in his cloak so just,
  • That one th’ impression of his limbs might see,
  • His head and neck bedaub’d with dung and dust,
  • Which he himself had thrown upon his head.
  • His daughters, and his sons’ wives, howling went
  • 155About, for brothers and for husbands that were dead,
  • And to the shades by th’ Argives had been sent.
  • Then Iris unto Priam coming near,
  • With soft and gentle voice unto him said:
  • Priam, be bold, for no ill news I bear
  • 160(For trembling sat he, and was sore afraid),
  • Jove bids you to Achilles’ tent to go,
  • And carry with you other Trojans none
  • But one old squire, your char’ot to look to,
  • And bring away the body of your son;
  • 165And honourable presents with you bear,
  • Wherewith Achilles may be well content.
  • He bids you neither death nor danger fear,
  • So good a guardian with you shall be sent;
  • Hermes shall guide you to Achilles’ tent.
  • 170When you are there, past is the danger all;
  • Achilles will not kill you, but prevent
  • The harm that may from others on you fall.
  • He wants not judgment, care, nor piety,
  • And pity has on them that to him pray
  • 175In their distress, and at his mercy lie.
  • When Iris this had said, she went away.
  • Then Priam said unto his sons, Arise,
  • And make a waggon ready out of hand;
  • And to a cedar chamber down he hies,
  • 180Where his most precious household-stuff did stand,
  • And thither call’d his wife, and to her said,
  • Jove’s messenger t’ Achilles bids me go
  • With ransom for my son. I’m not afraid,
  • But what think you? Is’t best to go, or no?
  • 185At this, aloud she shriek’d, and said, Ay me,
  • What now is of the wit you had become,
  • For which so wise you once were thought to be,
  • By men abroad, and by your friends at home?
  • Will you go put yourself into the hand
  • 190Of him that hath your sons so many slain,
  • A man that does not pity understand,
  • Nor faith? No, no, he’ll not from you abstain.
  • But since the Fates designed had before
  • His birth, to th’ dogs he should be made a prey
  • 195By this hard-hearted man, you may deplore
  • Him here at home, and from Achilles stay.
  • Oh, that between my teeth I had his heart,
  • That to revenge my son I might it eat;
  • It would no little ease be to my smart,
  • 200And less the loss of him I should regret.
  • For Hector only for his country fought,
  • And of his enemies was not afraid,
  • Nor did him wrong, but valiant was and stout.
  • Then Priam to his wife replied, and said,
  • 205Nay, wife, since to him I am bent to go,
  • Dissuade me not, nor ill bird to me be
  • Here in my house, and bode me ill. For know,
  • Whate’er you say, ’twill not prevail with me.
  • If now a priest or prophet to me came,
  • 210And this had said, I thought it had a lie.
  • But howsoever, come what will, I am
  • With Hector in my arms content to die.
  • This said, the chests he presently unlocks,
  • And out he lays twelve robes for womankind,
  • 215As many coats, as many single cloaks,
  • And unto those as many that were lin’d;
  • And further twelve rich carpets out he laid,
  • And when he that had done, he gold brought forth,
  • Whereof he layed by ten talents weigh’d,
  • 220And two great black three-footed pots, much worth;
  • And unto those he set bright cauldrons four,
  • And the fine cup which giv’n him was when he
  • From Troy to Thrace was sent ambassador,
  • So long’d he to set Hector’s body free.
  • 225I’ th’ porch then standing many Trojans were,
  • That sorry for his grief, were thither come;
  • To whom he said, Rascals, what make you here?
  • Find you not cause of grief enough at home,
  • That you must hither come to trouble me,
  • 230As if too little ’twere to lose my son?
  • Hereafter you will eas’lier killed be,
  • Since Hector, who defended you, is gone.
  • As for myself, before I see that day,
  • I hope to be within th’ infernal gates.
  • 235Then with his staff he drave them all away;
  • And turning in again his sons he rates,
  • Paris and Agathon and Helenus,
  • Pammon, Polites, and Antiphobus,
  • Argavus, Deiphobus, Hippothous.
  • 240These nine he rated, saying to them thus,
  • Make haste, unworthy sons. I had been glad
  • If you in Hector’s stead had all been slain.
  • O how unfortunate am I, that had
  • So many and so valiant sons in vain!
  • 245Mestor and Troïlus both valiant men,
  • And godlike Hector. Sure I am accurs’d.
  • Since Mars of these depriv’d me has again,
  • And now I none have left me but the worst,
  • Domestic wolves, the bane of lamb and kid,
  • 250And good for nothing but to dance and lie.
  • Why stand you still? Were you not by me bid
  • The waggon to prepare? Then out they fly,
  • And speedily the waggon forth they bring,
  • And yoke well-fitted with an iron pin;
  • 255And fix’d it to the pole’s end with a ring,
  • And cord nine cubits long, to keep it in;
  • Which thrice about the boxen yoke they wind,
  • And to the waggon laid the ransom in;
  • And to it then the lusty mules they bind,
  • 260Which by the Mysians given him had been.
  • That done, king Priam’s horses to his car
  • Were by himself and by Idæus tied,
  • Of which he always taken had such care,
  • That while they fed he stayed by their side.
  • 265Then Hecuba came to them with a cup,
  • A golden cup of pleasant wine, that they
  • The same to Jupiter might offer up
  • Before unto their foes they went away.
  • Here, take this cup, said she, and pray to Jove
  • 270That he will let you see a lucky flight
  • Of that great bird which he the most doth love,
  • That you may be assured by the sight
  • That safe you shall again return to Troy.
  • For if that favour to you be denied
  • 275I should avise you by all means to stay.
  • And Priam then to Hecuba replied,
  • This counsel, wife, of yours with reason stands.
  • Jove pleased is when to him men look up.
  • For water then he call’d and wash’d his hands,
  • 280And from his wife receiv’d the golden cup.
  • Then looking up to heav’n, O Jove, said he,
  • Of all the Gods most glorious, high, and great,
  • Grant me that I may well received be
  • B’ Achilles at his tent, and well retreat.
  • 285And that thereof I may be confident,
  • Now show me of your bird a lucky flight.
  • This said, Jove presently an eagle sent,
  • Of colour spotted over black and white.
  • As wide as is a prince’s gate or more,
  • 290So wide her wings the mighty eagle spreads,
  • And as it over Ilium did soar,
  • The people joy’d to see it o’er their heads.
  • The old man then went up into his seat,
  • And through the city to the plain did pass.
  • 295The waggon wherein lay the treasure great
  • Before him driven by Idæus was.
  • And so far went his sons, and sons-in-law;
  • And then return’d again into the city.
  • When Jupiter upon the way him saw
  • 300In this estate, he moved was with pity;
  • And unto Hermes turn’d his eyes and said,
  • Since you men’s company do most frequent,
  • And whom you will can quickly hear and aid,
  • Go and guide Priam to Achilles’ tent.
  • 305But so as to be seen by none, until
  • He thither safely come. And Mercury
  • No sooner understood his father’s will
  • But sets himself about it willingly.
  • And first his shoes unto his feet he binds
  • 310Ambrosian shoes that over sea and land
  • Bear him as swift and lightly as the winds;
  • And then his rod he took into his hand,
  • Wherewith he layeth sleep on mortal eyes,
  • And takes it off again when he thinks good.
  • 315Then down to Troy and Hellespont he flies,
  • In likeness of a youth of royal blood,
  • When down begins t’ appear upon his face.
  • Idæus now and Priam at the brink
  • Of Xanthus were, and night came on apace,
  • 320And there they made their mules and horses drink.
  • Idæus near them then saw Mercury,
  • And in great fear, to Priam cried, I see
  • A man, O Priam, coming. Let us fly,
  • Or to him go and fall down at his knee.
  • 325And horribly was Priam then afraid;
  • His hair with fear upon him stood upright.
  • Then Mercury unto him came, and laid
  • His hand on his, and to him said, ’Tis night;
  • What makes you be abroad? Do you not fear
  • 330Your foes, the Greeks? If any of them knew
  • That you were with so great a treasure here,
  • In what a pitiful estate were you?
  • For you, and he that’s with you, both are old,
  • And neither of you can himself defend,
  • 335But as for any hurt from me, be bold;
  • I hither come t’ assist you as a friend,
  • So like, me thinks, you to my father are.
  • And Priam then to Mercury replied:
  • ’Tis true you say; and yet the Gods a care
  • 340Have of me still, to send me such a guide,
  • So great a man, so comely, and so wise,
  • That blessed are the parents you begat.
  • And Mercury to him again replies:
  • Indeed, old man, you say the truth in that.
  • 345But whither bear you your best goods away?
  • To some strange city, till the war be done?
  • Or are the Trojans all now leaving Troy,
  • Since killed is the best of them, your son,
  • That might with any of the Greeks compare?
  • 350Tell me, said Priam, pray ye, who are you,
  • And whence ye come, and who your parents are,
  • And how my son and his hard fate you knew?
  • You mean to try me now, said Mercury.
  • At th’ Argive ships I Hector frighted saw,
  • 355And how he made the Greeks before him fly,
  • And how he toss’d them in the field like straw,
  • Where we stood by, with wonder looking on;
  • Achilles had forbidden us to fight.
  • His man am I, by birth a Myrmidon,
  • 360And stood amongst the rest to see the fight.
  • My father is Polyctor, very rich,
  • But now an old man is, and like to you.
  • And seven sons he has in all, of which
  • I am the last. And lots at home we drew,
  • 365Which of us with Achilles should be sent
  • To th’ war of Troy. The lot then fell to me,
  • And with Achilles in his ship I went,
  • And hither come the place of fight to see.
  • The Greeks by break of day will hither come,
  • 370And try if now the city they can win;
  • Impatient of their stay at Ilium,
  • They cannot by their leaders be kept in.
  • Then Priam to him said again: Since you
  • Achilles’ servant are, is Hector yet
  • 375At th’ Argive ships, I pray you tell me true,
  • Or cut in joints, thrown to the dogs to eat?
  • And Hermes unto this again replies:
  • Nor dogs nor fowl upon him yet have fed,
  • But at the ships he still neglected lies,
  • 380And though he have twelve days now there been dead,
  • Yet is his body uncorrupt, and free
  • From worms that breed in other bodies slain,
  • And though it ev’ry morning dragged be
  • About Patroclus’ tomb, doth whole remain,
  • 385And undefac’d, the blood all wash’d away.
  • You would admire to see him look so fresh,
  • And cleansed of the filth that on him lay,
  • And at his wounds how closed is the flesh,
  • Though many from the Greeks receiv’d he had;
  • 390So kind the Gods were after he was dead.
  • These words of Mercury made Priam glad,
  • And thus again he to him answered:
  • Yes, yes, ’tis good to give the Gods their due,
  • A thing that Hector never did omit;
  • 395And therefore to him they this favour shew,
  • Although his soul be in th’ infernal pit.
  • But now t’ Achilles’ tent be you my guide,
  • And at my hand this handsome cup receive.
  • Again you try me, Mercury replied;
  • 400I dare not take’t without Achilles’ leave,
  • For of his anger in great fear I stand.
  • Without a bribe I’ll with you go along
  • To what place you think fit, by sea or land,
  • Though ’twere to Argos; none shall do you wrong.
  • 405For sure, so wretchedly I do not look,
  • But that a man may of me stand in fear.
  • Then up he leapt, and in his hands he took
  • The whip and reins, and serv’d as char’oteer.
  • When they were come to th’ Argive ditch and wall,
  • 410The watch that placed was the gate to keep,
  • Their supper to provide were busy all,
  • And Mercury there laid them all asleep,
  • Took off the bars, the gate wide open laid,
  • And in the char’ot and the waggon went,
  • 415With all the wealth for Hector to be paid,
  • And forward pass unto Achilles’ tent,
  • Built for him by his Myrmidons, and high,
  • With fir-trees tall, and cover’d over head
  • (To keep it out of danger from the sky)
  • 420With the deep vesture of the flow’ry mead,
  • And to it had a great court pal’d about,
  • And in the pale a high two-valved door,
  • For cars and waggons to go in and out,
  • And one great bar of fir-tree and no more,
  • 425So great that it requir’d three common men
  • Upon the lofty gate to set it on,
  • And three such men to take it off again;
  • None but Achilles shut it could alone.
  • This gate then Hermes open to him laid,
  • 430And with the car and waggon in he came,
  • Then leaping to the ground to Priam said,
  • Old father, I a God immortal am,
  • Hermes, and hither sent to be your guide,
  • From heav’n, on purpose by my father Jove.
  • 435But by Achilles I’ll not here be spied;
  • Gods must not shew to men such open love.
  • But go you to Achilles in, and try
  • What favour from him at his knees you’ll find,
  • And put him of his son in memory,
  • 440And father. That will work upon his mind.
  • This said, t’ Olympus Hermes went his way.
  • Then to the ground leapt Priam from his car,
  • And going in he bad Idæus stay,
  • And of the mules and horses have a care.
  • 445Achilles at his supper now was set,
  • And waiting on him stood Automedon
  • And Alimus, the table standing yet;
  • But supp’d he had, and appetite had none.
  • His other friends at distance from him sat,
  • 450And Priam to them then came in unseen,
  • And kiss’d the hands there of Achilles, that
  • Of many of his sons the death had been.
  • As when a man that kill’d another has,
  • And to another prince for safety flies,
  • 455Men at him stare; so he amazed was
  • When he saw Priam stand before his eyes.
  • The rest admir’d the comely man to see,
  • And both on him and one another look:
  • But Priam then upon Achilles’ knee
  • 460Laid both his hands, and thus unto him spoke:
  • Godlike Achilles, take into your thought
  • Your father, that an old man is as I,
  • And into trouble by his neighbours brought,
  • And has no friend on whom he may rely.
  • 465Yet he has many intervals of joy,
  • And thinking on his son, is comforted
  • With hope to see him back return from Troy.
  • Undone am I; for all my hopes are fled.
  • When th’ army of th’ Achæans landed here,
  • 470I by the Gods with fifty sons was bless’d,
  • Whereof sixteen my wife did to me bear,
  • And other women in my house the rest.
  • But in this war the most of them are lost.
  • And now by Mars reduced are to few.
  • 475And Hector, which of all I loved most,
  • Is lately, O Achilles, slain by you.
  • His body to redeem I hither come,
  • With precious gifts, and fall before your knee,
  • That I may bury it in Ilium.
  • 480Upon your father think, and pity me.
  • Yet is my case more pitiful than his.
  • For what calamity can greater be
  • Than th’ hands that have my children kill’d to kiss?
  • This said, Achilles wept. And from his knee,
  • 485With his, the hands of Priam gently mov’d;
  • And then aloud they both lamented. He
  • For Peleus, and Patroclus whom he lov’d,
  • And Priam for his own calamity,
  • And through the house were heard to sigh and groan.
  • 490Achilles, when his fit of tears was laid,
  • And eased was his heart, came from his throne,
  • And rais’d th’ old man that on his knees yet staid,
  • And to him spake. Alas, old man, said he,
  • You much have suffer’d, and your pain I feel.
  • 495But how alone durst you to come to me,
  • That slew your sons, unless your heart be steel?
  • But come, sit down. In vain lamenting is,
  • The hurt that’s done tears cannot take away,
  • Since so ’tis ordered by the Gods in bliss,
  • 500That men shall live in pain, and they in joy.
  • Two barrels in his cellar Jove has still,
  • Of gifts to be bestow’d on mortal wights,
  • One full of good, the other full of ill.
  • And usually to mingle them delights.
  • 505For they that only ill receive from Jove,
  • Exposed always are to injury,
  • And begging up and down the world shall rove,
  • And both by Gods and men despised be.
  • So Peleus at the first receiv’d much good,
  • 510And did in wealth his neighbours all surpass,
  • And with his subjects in great honour stood,
  • And join’d in wedlock to a Goddess was.
  • But after this the ill unto him came,
  • To leave no child behind him to succeed,
  • 515But only me that so short-lived am,
  • And from him live to vex you and your seed.
  • And you, O Priam, once were rich, they say,
  • And all that was in Lesbos did enjoy,
  • And over all the Hellespont did sway,
  • 520And that all Phrygia did you obey,
  • And with great store of children bless’d you were.
  • But now, you only fights and slaughter see,
  • And patiently you Hector’s death must bear.
  • He cannot with your tears revived be;
  • 525Much sooner you may suffer greater ill.
  • T’ Achilles, Priam then again replies,
  • O Thetis’ son, to sit I have no will,
  • Whilst at the ships my son unburied lies.
  • But bring him forth, that I my son may see,
  • 530And you the presents I have brought enjoy;
  • And prosperous unto you may they be,
  • And safely I again return to Troy.
  • Achilles, angry then, Old man, said he,
  • Provoke me not. I’ll put into your hand
  • 535The body of your son, because to me
  • From Jove my mother came with that command.
  • And very well I know you Priam are,
  • And that you hither had a God for guide.
  • What mortal to the army come would dare?
  • 540Or could have pass’d the watch and not been spied?
  • Or open to you could the gates have set?
  • Therefore take heed, and anger me no more,
  • Lest the command of Jove I should forget,
  • And without Hector send you out adoor.
  • 545This said, old Priam was afraid and sat.
  • Out went Achilles with Automedon
  • And Axamus, his two good servants, that
  • He lov’d the most, Patroclus being gone.
  • And they the horses and the mules untied,
  • 550And from the waggon in the goods they brought,
  • Only, wherewith the body dead to hide,
  • They left behind a handsome robe and coat.
  • Achilles then his drudging maids appointed
  • To bear the body to some chamber meet,
  • 555And see the same well wash’d and well anointed,
  • So secretly that Priam might not see’t,
  • Lest grieved he should something do or say,
  • That might so far Achilles’ anger move,
  • That in his passion he should Priam slay,
  • 560Forgetting the commandement of Jove.
  • And being wash’d, anointed, and array’d,
  • Achilles laid the body on a bed,
  • Which his two servants in the waggon laid.
  • This done, he to Patroclus spake and said,
  • 565O my Patroclus, if you hear in Hell,
  • That Hector’s body I have sent to Troy,
  • Forgive me, since I for it paid am well
  • With gifts, whereof what’s fit to you I’ll pay.
  • This said, Achilles to his tent retired,
  • 570And sat upon the seat from whence he ris.
  • Your son, said he, is freed as you desired,
  • And on a bed laid in your waggon is.
  • Tomorrow with him go, by break of day.
  • But let us not our supper now forget;
  • 575For Niobe twelve children lost, they say;
  • Yet did she not for that refuse to eat.
  • Six lusty sons, six daughters fair they were,
  • And killed all, only for saying this,
  • [Leto but two, and she did many bear.]
  • 580By Phœbus they, and these by Artemis,
  • The Goddess Leto’s daughter and her son.
  • Nine days and nights they lay unburied;
  • For Jove had chang’d the people into stone,
  • And then the Gods with earth them covered.
  • 585Yet Niobe, when she had weeping done,
  • Received food; and now doth somewhere lie
  • I’ th’ wolds of Sepylus, and turn’d to stone,
  • The hurt done by the Gods takes patiently.
  • Come then, old man, and lay your grief away,
  • 590And for the present think upon your meat,
  • And weep for Hector when you come to Troy,
  • For true it is your loss of him is great.
  • This said, forth goes Achilles, and appoints
  • A sheep for supper to be kill’d and flay’d;
  • 595Which straight was done, and cut out into joints,
  • And pierc’d with spits unto the fire was laid.
  • And when it was well roasted, taken up.
  • Automedon o’ th’ table laid the bread.
  • Achilles made the messes. Then they sup,
  • 600And on the meat they laid their hands and fed.
  • But when of food they had no more desire,
  • Priam admir’d Achilles’ form and face.
  • Achilles Priam did no less admire,
  • In his aspect and speech there was such grace.
  • 605When on each other they had look’d enough,
  • Priam began, and to Achilles spake.
  • Dismiss me, if you please, Achilles, now,
  • That I a little sleep at last may take.
  • For since my son was slain, I never slept,
  • 610But rolling on the soiled grass have lain
  • Perpetually, and for him sigh’d and wept,
  • Nor until now touch’d either meat or wine.
  • Achilles then to th’ women gave command
  • I’ th’ porch without to set him up a bed,
  • 615With handsome coverlets of purple, and
  • With fine soft blankets see it covered.
  • The women quickly his command obey’d,
  • And two beds ready made i’ th’ porch without.
  • Achilles smiling then to Priam said,
  • 620Old man, I from my tent must turn you out;
  • Lest some man should, from Agamemnon sent
  • With counsel, come and chance to see you here,
  • And let him know that you are at my tent,
  • And the redemption of your son defer.
  • 625But ere you go, old man, pray tell me right,
  • What time is needful for his obsequies?
  • That I so long may keep the Greeks from fight.
  • Then Priam to Achilles thus replies:
  • You know, Achilles, very well how far
  • 630The hills and woods are distant from the town,
  • And how afraid to go the Trojans are.
  • We need nine days to fetch the fuel down.
  • The tenth he shall be burnt and buried;
  • Th’ eleventh a mount upon him shall be laid;
  • 635The twelfth we’ll fight again if there be need.
  • To this Achilles answered, and said,
  • Old man, the time you asked granted is;
  • So long th’ Achæans shall from fight forbear.
  • This said, in Priam’s hand he layed his,
  • 640That of his faith he might not stand in fear.
  • There in the porch slept Priam and Idæus;
  • And then unto his bed Achilles went,
  • And there he slept, and with him fair Brisëis,
  • Within an inner chamber of his tent.
  • 645The other Gods and men slept all the night;
  • But sleep approached not to Hermes’ eyes,
  • But thinking lay on Priam, how he might
  • Conduct him safely from his enemies.
  • Then up he rose, and went to Priam’s head,
  • 650And to him said, Ho, Priam, sleep you here?
  • Since you redeem’d have Hector’s body dead,
  • You think you nothing farther have to fear.
  • Although you for him paid a lusty price,
  • Yet if alive Atrides find you here,
  • 655Your sons and friends shall pay that value thrice.
  • This said, he suddenly awak’d with fear,
  • And calling to Idæus made him rise.
  • Then Hermes to the waggon and the car,
  • Himself the lab’ring mules and horses ties.
  • 660And now into their seats they mounted are,
  • And through the Argive camp then Hermes drove
  • Unseen, till past Scamander ford they were;
  • Then Hermes left them and return’d to Jove.
  • And now the morning was display’d and clear.
  • 665Then sighing, on they went to Ilium,
  • But were by neither man nor woman spied,
  • Till up into the tow’r of Pergamum
  • Cassandra went, and thence she them discried,
  • And weeping, to the people cried, and said,
  • 670Ye men and women all of Ilium,
  • If ever you at Hector’s coming joy’d,
  • Run to the gates; I see him hither come.
  • Then, man nor woman left was in the town,
  • But Hector to behold went to the gate.
  • 675First came his loving wife and mother down,
  • And in the waggon by him weeping sate.
  • The people in a throng about him staid
  • Lamenting and lamented had all day,
  • But Priam from his car unto them said,
  • 680Trojans, unto the body dead give way.
  • And when within the house I have it laid,
  • Then for him weep till you be satisfied.
  • When this was said, the people him obey’d,
  • And to make way, themselves they then divide.
  • 685Then to the house they brought the body in,
  • And plac’d it on a bed. Then singers by
  • They set, the lamentation to begin.
  • Their song they sung; to which the women sigh.
  • Then to lament Andromache began.
  • 690Oh, my dear husband, you have lost your life
  • Unhappily, that were but a young man,
  • And made a wretched widow of your wife,
  • And with me left behind a tender son,
  • To evil fate begot by you and me.
  • 695To see him grow a man I hope have none;
  • This city first I fear destroy’d will be,
  • Since you are gone that was our sole defence.
  • T’ Achaia now the wives of Troy must go,
  • And with them I. And you my child must hence,
  • 700And in vile work employ’d be by the foe,
  • Or you may by some spiteful man or other
  • Be from the wall or some high tower thrown,
  • For Hector’s sake, that killed has his brother,
  • Or father, or his son before the town.
  • 705For many of the Greeks has Hector slain.
  • He went not to the battle bashfully.
  • For which the Trojans now are in great pain,
  • And I your loving wife especially.
  • O that you thus should in the dust be laid,
  • 710And not give me your hand before you died,
  • Without a word upon your death-bed said
  • For me to think on. Then the women sigh’d.
  • And Hecuba began. Hector, said she,
  • Of all my sons to me you were most dear.
  • 715And when arrived was your destiny,
  • You by the Gods, though dead, beloved were.
  • My other sons, when any taken by
  • Achilles were, beyond sea carried were
  • And sold, and made to suffer slavery
  • 720At Samos, Imbros, Lemnos, or elsewhere;
  • But when of life he had deprived you,
  • Because his friend, Patroclus, you had slain,
  • About his monument he oft you drew,
  • Though that could not bring him to life again.
  • 725But now he sent it to me has again,
  • As fresh and as well colour’d as if by
  • Apollo’s gentle shafts he had been slain.
  • This said, again the people sob and sigh.
  • Then Helen took her turn, Hector, said she,
  • 730Whom best I lov’d of all my brother-laws,
  • For you were so, since Paris married me,
  • Though when I married him accurs’d I was,
  • Now twenty years ’tis since I came to Troy,
  • And never did an ill word from you hear;
  • 735And when your kindred of me ill did say,
  • You took my part, and made them to forbear.
  • Since you are gone my joy is at an end,
  • And in your death I moan my own estate,
  • That now amongst the Trojans have no friend,
  • 740Who hate me as the author of their fate.
  • This, said with tears, provok’d the people’s pity;
  • But Priam then unto them spake, and said:
  • Go Trojans now and fetch wood to the city;
  • You need not of the Argives be afraid.
  • 745Achilles, when I parted from his tent,
  • Eleven days allow’d my son t’ inter
  • And fetch down wood without impediment;
  • So long the Argives should from fight forbear.
  • This said, to th’ hills with oxen, and with wains,
  • 750And mules they went, and busy were about
  • This work nine days together and took pains.
  • Upon the tenth the body was brought out,
  • And on the top of the great wood-pile laid,
  • And fire put to ’t; and all day long it burned,
  • 755And all the night. When morning was display’d,
  • Again the Trojans to the pile returned,
  • And th’ embers with black wine extinguished.
  • His bones then by his brothers and his kin,
  • Were from the ground together gathered,
  • 760And by them to an urn of gold laid in.
  • The urn, with purple robes then cover’d over,
  • Into a grave, which soon was made, they laid.
  • The grave with many and great stones they cover.
  • And last of all, because they were afraid,
  • 765Before their work were done the Greeks would come,
  • They sent out scouts on ev’ry side to spy.
  • And o’er his grave, in haste, they raise a tomb.
  • This done, away they went, and by-and-bye
  • To Priam’s house they came again, and there
  • 770He made a splendid supper for them all.
  • Then home they went, well pleased with their cheer.
  • Thus ended noble Hector’s funeral.

  end of the iliad.

• Back to Top

  2: 2. Aeschylus, Agamemenon

  We will be reading Aeschylus’s trilogy of plays known as “The Oresteia” beginning with “Agamemnon”.

  Aeschylus, The Lyrical Dramas of Aeschylus, translated into English Verse by John Stuart Blackie (London: J.M. Dent, 1906). Chapter: AGAMEMNON

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1039/107068 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  PERSONS

  Watchman.

  Chorus of Argive Elders.

  Clytemnestra, Wife of Agamemnon.

  Herald.

  Agamemnon, King of Argos and Mycenæ.

  Cassandra, a Trojan Prophetess, Daughter of Priam.

  Ægisthus, Son of Thyestes.

  Scene—The Royal Palace in Arges.

  INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

  The last sentence of this curious notice contains the Epic germ of which the famous trilogy—the Agamemnon, the Choephorœ, and the Eumenides of Æschylus—the three plays contained in the present volume, present the dramatic expansion. The celebrity of the legends with regard to the return of the mighty Atridan arose naturally from the prominent situation in which he stood as the admiral of the famous thousand-masted fleet; and, besides, the passage from the old Troezenian minstrel just quoted, is sufficiently attested by various passages—some of considerable length—in the Odyssey, which will readily present themselves to the memory of those who are familiar with the productions of the great Ionic Epopœist. In the very opening of that poem, for instance, occur the following remarkable lines:—

  • “Strange, O strange, that mortal men immortal gods will still be blaming,
  • Saying that the source of evil lies with us; while they, in sooth,
  • More than Fate would have infatuate with sharp sorrows pierce themselves!
  • Thus even now Ægisthus, working sorrow more than Fate would have,
  • The Atridan’s wife hath wedded, and himself returning slain,
  • Knowing well the steep destruction that awaits him, for ourselves
  • Sent the sharp-eyed Argus-slayer, Hermes, to proclaim our will,
  • That nor him he dare to murder, nor his wedded wife to woo.
  • Thus spoke Hermes well and wisely; but thy reckless wit, Ægisthus,
  • Moved he not; full richly therefore now thy folly’s fine thou payest.”

  Agamemnon, the son, or, according to a less common account (for which see Schol. ad Iliad II. 249), the grandson of Atreus, being distinguished above the other Hellenic princes for wealth and power, was either by special election appointed, or by that sort of irregular kingship common among half-civilized nations, allowed to conduct the famous expedition against Troy that in early times foreshadowed the conquests of Alexander the Great, and the influence of the Greek language and letters in the East. Such a distant expedition as this, like the crusades in the middle ages, was not only a natural living Epos in itself, but would necessarily give rise to that intense glow of popular sympathy, and that excited state of the popular imagination, which enable the wandering poets of the people to make the best poetic use of the various dramatic incidents that the realities of a highly potentiated history present. Accordingly we find, in the very outset of the expedition, the fleet, storm-bound in the harbour of Aulis, opposite Eubœa, enabled to pursue its course, under good omens, only by the sacrifice of the fairest daughter of the chief. This event—a sad memorial of the barbarous practice of human sacrifice, even among the polished Greeks—formed the subject of a special play, perhaps a trilogic series of plays,* by Æschylus. This performance, however, has been unfortunately lost; and we can only imagine what it may have been by the description in the opening chorus of the present play, and by the beautiful, though certainly far from Æschylean, tragedy of Euripides. For our present purpose, it is sufficient to note that, in the Agamemnon, special reference is made to the sacrifice of Iphigenia, both as an unrighteous deed on the part of the father, for which some retribution was naturally to be expected, and as the origin of a special grudge in the mind of the mother, which she afterwards gratifies by the murder of her husband

  As to that deed of blood itself, and its special adaptation for dramatic purposes, there can be no doubt; as little that Æschylus has used his materials in the present play in a fashion that satisfies the highest demands both of lyric and dramatic poetry, as executed by the first masters of both. The calm majesty and modest dignity of the much-tried monarch; the cool self-possession, and the smooth front of specious politeness that mark the character of the royal murderess the obstreperous bullying of the cowardly braggart, who does the deed with his heart, not with his hand; the half-wild, half-tender ravings of the horror-haunted Trojan prophetess; these together contain a combination of highly wrought dramatic elements, such as is scarcely excelled even in the all-embracing pages of our own Shakespere As far removed from common-place are the lyrical—in Æschylus never the secondary—elements of the piece The sublime outbreak of Cassandra’s prophetic horror is, as the case demanded, made to exhibit itself as much under the lyric as in the declamatory form; while the other choral parts, remarkable for length and variety, are marked not only by that mighty power of intense moral feeling which is so peculiarly Æschylean, but by the pictorial beauty and dramatic reality that distinguish the workmanship of a great lyric master from that of the vulgar dealer in inflated sentiment and sonorous sentences.

  AGAMEMNON

  Watch.

  • I pray the gods a respite from these toils,
  • This long year’s watch that, dog-like, I have kept,
  • High on the Atridan’s battlements,1 beholding
  • The nightly council of the stars, the circling
  • Of the celestial signs, and those bright regents,
  • High-swung in ether, that bring mortal men
  • Summer and winter. Here I watch the torch,
  • The appointed flame that wings a voice from Troy,
  • Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes,
  • The masculine-minded who is sovereign here2
  • And when night-wandering shades encompass round
  • My dew-sprent dreamless couch (for fear doth sit
  • In slumber’s chair, and holds my lids apart),
  • I chaunt some dolorous ditty, making song,
  • Sleep’s substitute, surgeon my nightly care,
  • And the misfortunes of this house I weep,
  • Not now, as erst, by prudent counsels swayed.
  • Oh! soon may the wished for sign relieve my toils,
  • Thrice-welcome herald, gleaming through the night!

  [The beacon is seen shining.]

  • All hail thou cresset of the dark! fair gleam
  • Of day through midnight shed, all hail! bright father
  • Of joy and dance, in Argos, hail! all hail!
  • Hillo! hilloa!
  • I will go tell the wife of Agamemnon
  • To shake dull sleep away, and lift high-voiced,3
  • The jubilant shout well-omened, to salute
  • This welcome beacon, if, indeed, old Troy
  • Hath fallen—as flames this courier torch to tell.
  • Myself will dance the prelude to this joy.
  • My master’s house hath had a lucky throw,
  • And thrice six falls to me,4 thanks to the flame!
  • Soon may he see his home; and soon may I
  • Carry my dear-loved master’s hand in mine!
  • The rest I whisper not, for on my tongue
  • Is laid a seal.5 These walls, if they could speak,
  • Would say strange things Myself to those that know
  • Am free of speech, to whoso knows not dumb.

  [Exit

  EnterChorusin procession. March time.

  Chorus.

  • Nine years have rolled, the tenth is rolling,
  • Since the strong Atridan pair,
  • Menelaus and Agamemnon,
  • Sceptied kings by Jove’s high grace,6
  • With a host of sworn alliance,
  • With a thousand triremes rare,
  • With a righteous strong defiance,
  • Sailed for Troy From furious breast
  • Loud they clanged the peal of battle;
  • Like the cry of vultures wild
  • O’er the lone paths fitful-wheeling,7
  • With their plumy oarage oaring
  • Over the nest by the spoiler spoiled,
  • The nest dispeopled now and bare,
  • Their long but fruitless care.
  • But the gods see it: some Apollo,
  • Pan or Jove, the wrong hath noted,
  • Heard the sharp and piercing cry
  • Of the startled birds, shrill-throated
  • Tenants of the sky;
  • And the late-chastising Fury8
  • Sent from above to track the spoiler,
  • Hovers vengeful nigh.
  • Thus great Jove, the high protector
  • Of the hospitable laws,9
  • ’Gainst Alexander sends the Atridans,
  • Harnessed in a woman’s cause,
  • The many-lorded fair.
  • Toils on toils shall come uncounted,
  • (Jove hath willed it so);
  • Limb-outwearying hard endeavour,
  • Where the strong knees press the dust,
  • Where the spear-shafts split and shiver,
  • Trojan and Greek shall know.
  • But things are as they are: the chain
  • Of Fate doth bind them; sighs are vain,
  • Tears, libations, fruitless flow,
  • To divert from purposed ire
  • The powers whose altars know no fire.10
  • But we behind that martial train
  • Inglorious left remain,
  • Old and frail, and feebly leaning
  • Strength as of childhood on a staff.
  • Yea! even as life’s first unripe marrow
  • In the tender bones are we,
  • From war’s harsh service free.
  • For hoary Eld, life’s leaf up-shrunken,
  • Totters, his three-footed way
  • Feebly feeling, weak as childhood,
  • Like a dream that walks by day.
  • But what is this? what wandering word,
  • Clytemnestra queen, hath reached thee?
  • What hast seen? or what hast heard
  • That from street to street swift flies
  • Thy word, commanding sacrifice?
  • All the altars of all the gods
  • That keep the city, gods supernal,
  • Gods Olympian, gods infernal,
  • Gods of the Forum, blaze with gifts;
  • Right and left the flame mounts high,
  • Spiring to the sky,
  • With the gentle soothings cherished
  • Of the oil that knows no malice,11
  • And the sacred cake that smokes
  • From the queen’s chamber in the palace.
  • What thou canst and may’st, declare,
  • Be the healer of the care
  • That bodes black harm within me; change it
  • To the bright and hopeful ray,
  • Which from the altar riseth, chasing
  • From the heart the sateless sorrow
  • That eats vexed life away.

  TheChorus,having now arranged themselves into a regular band in the middle of the Orchestra, sing the FirstChoral Hymn.

  • STROPHE.
  • I’ll voice the strain.12 What though the arm be weak
  • That once was strong,
  • The suasive breath of Heaven-sent memories stirs
  • The old man’s breast with song.
  • My age hath virtue left
  • To sing what fateful omens strangely beckoned
  • The twin kings to the fray,
  • What time to Troy concentuous marched
  • The embattled Greek array.
  • Jove’s swooping bird, king of all birds,* led on
  • The kings of the fleet with spear and vengeful hand:
  • By the way-side from shining seats serene,
  • Close by the palace, on the spear-hand seen,†
  • Two eagles flapped the air,
  • One black, the other silver-tipt behind,
  • And with keen talons seized a timorous hare,
  • Whose strength could run no more,
  • Itself, and the live burden which it bore.
  • Sing woe and well-a-day! But still
  • May the good omens shame the ill.
  • ANTISTROPHE.
  • The wise diviner of the host‡ beheld,
  • And knew the sign;
  • The hare-devouring birds with diverse wings
  • Typed the Atridan pair,
  • The diverse-minded kings,13
  • And thus the fate he chaunted:—Not in vain
  • Ye march this march to-day;
  • Old Troy shall surely fall, but not
  • Till moons on moons away
  • Have lingering rolled. Rich stores by labour massed
  • Clean-sweeping Fate shall plunder. Grant the gods,
  • While this strong bit for Troy we forge with gladness,
  • No heavenly might in jealous wrath o’ercast
  • Our mounting hope with sadness.
  • For the chaste Artemis§ a sore grudge nurses
  • Against the kings: Jove’s winged hounds she curses,14
  • The fierce war-birds that tore
  • The fearful hare, with the young brood it bore.
  • Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
  • May the good omens shame the ill.
  • EPODE.
  • The lion’s fresh-dropt younglings, and each whelp
  • That sucks wild milk, and through the forest roves,
  • Live not unfriended; them the fair goddess loves,15
  • And lends her ready help.
  • The vision of the birds shall work its end
  • In bliss, but dashed not lightly with black bane;*
  • I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send16
  • Contrarious blasts dark-lowering, to detain
  • The Argive fleet.
  • Ah! ne’er may she desire to feast her eyes
  • On an unblest unholy sacrifice,
  • From festal use abhorrent, mother of strife,
  • And sundering from her lawful lord the wife.†
  • Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath17
  • About the fore-doomed halls,
  • Weaving dark wiles, while with sure-memoried sting
  • Fury to Fury calls.
  • Thus hymned the seer, the doom, in dubious chaunt
  • Bliss to the chiefs dark-mingling with the bane,
  • From the way-haunting birds; and we
  • Respondent to the strain,
  • Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
  • May the good omens shame the ill.
  • STROPHE I.
  • Jove, or what other name18
  • The god that reigns supreme delights to claim,
  • Him I invoke; him of all powers that be,
  • Alone I find,
  • Who from this bootless load of doubt can free
  • My labouring mind.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Who was so great of yore,
  • With all-defiant valour brimming o’er,19
  • Is mute; and who came next by a stronger arm
  • Thrice-vanquished fell;
  • But thou hymn victor Jove: so in thy heart
  • His truth shall dwell.
  • STROPHE II.
  • For Jove doth teach men wisdom, sternly wins
  • To virtue by the tutoring of their sins,
  • Yea! drops of torturing recollection chill
  • The sleeper’s heart, ’gainst man’s rebellious will
  • Jove works the wise remorse:
  • Dread Powers, on awful seats enthroned, compel
  • Our hearts with gracious force.20
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • The elder chief, the leader of the ships,
  • Heard the dire doom, nor dared to ope his lips
  • Against the seer, and feared alone to stand
  • ’Gainst buffeting fate, what time the Chalcian strand*
  • Saw the vexed Argive masts
  • In Aulis tides hoarse-refluent,21 idly chained
  • By the fierce Borean blasts;
  • STROPHE III.
  • Blasts from Strymon† adverse braying,
  • Harbour-vexing, ship-delaying,
  • Snapping cables, shattering oars,
  • Wasting time, consuming stores,
  • With vain-wandering expectation,
  • And with long-drawn slow vexation
  • Wasting Argive bloom.
  • At length the seer forth-clanged the doom,
  • A remedy strong to sway the breeze,
  • And direful Artemis to appease,
  • But to the chiefs severe:
  • The Atridans with their sceptres struck the ground,
  • Nor could restrain the tear.
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • Then spake the elder. To deny,
  • How hard! still harder to comply!
  • My daughter dear, my joy, my life,
  • To slay with sacrificial knife,
  • And with life’s purple-gushing tide,
  • Imbrue a father’s hand, beside
  • The altar of the gods.
  • This way or that is ill: for how
  • Shall I despise my federate vow?
  • How leave the ships? That all conspire
  • Thus hotly to desire
  • The virgin’s blood—wind-soothing sacrifice—
  • Is the gods’ right. So be it22
  • STROPHE IV.
  • Thus to necessity’s harsh yoke he bared
  • His patient neck. Unblissful blew the gale
  • That turned the father’s heart23
  • To horrid thoughts unholy, thoughts that dared
  • The extreme of daring. Sin from its primal spring
  • Mads the ill-counsell’d heart, and arms the hand
  • With reckless strength. Thus he
  • Gave his own daughter’s blood, his life, his joy,
  • To speed a woman’s war, and consecrate24
  • His ships for Troy.
  • ANTISTROPHE IV.
  • In vain with prayers, in vain she beats dull ears
  • With a father’s name; the war-delighting chiefs
  • Heed not her virgin years.
  • The father stood; and when the priests had prayed
  • Take her, he said; in her loose robes enfolden,
  • Where prone and spent she lies,25 so lift the maid.
  • Even as a kid is laid,
  • So lay her on the altar; with dumb force
  • Her beauteous* mouth gag, lest it breathe a voice
  • Of curse to Argos.
  • STROPHE V.
  • And as they led the maid, her saffron robe26
  • Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart
  • She smote each from her eye,
  • Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak,
  • But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore;
  • Oft at her father’s festive board,
  • With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round,
  • The virgin strain they heard27
  • That did so sweetly pour
  • Her father’s praise, whom Heaven had richly crowned
  • With bounty brimming o’er.
  • ANTISTROPHE V.
  • The rest I know not, nor will vainly pry;
  • But Calchas was a seer not wont to lie.
  • Justice doth wait to teach
  • Wisdom by suffering. Fate will have its way.
  • The quickest ear is pricked in vain to-day,
  • To catch to-morrow’s note. What boots
  • To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing,28
  • The burthen’d hour shall bring.
  • But we, a chosen band,
  • Left here sole guardians of the Apian land,*
  • Pray Heaven, all good betide!

  EnterClytemnestra.

  Chorus.

  • Hail Clytemnestra! honour to thy sceptre!
  • When her lord’s throne is vacant, the wife claims
  • His honour meetly. Queen, if thou hast heard
  • Good news, or to the hope of good that shall be,
  • With festal sacrifice dost fill the city,
  • I fain would know; but nothing grudge thy silence.

  Clytem.

  • Bearing blithe tidings, saith the ancient saw,
  • Fair Morn be gendered from boon mother Night!
  • News thou shalt hear beyond thy topmost hope;
  • The Greeks have ta’en old Priam’s city.

  Chorus.

  • How!
  • Troy taken! the word drops from my faithless ear.

  Clytem.

  The Greeks have taken Troy. Can I speak plainer?

  Chorus.

  Joy o’er my heart creeps, and provokes the tear.

  Clytem.

  Thine eye accuses thee that thou art kind.

  Chorus.

  What warrant of such news? What certain sign?

  Clytem

  Both sign and seal, unless some god deceive me.

  Chorus.

  Dreams sometimes speak; did suasive visions move thee?

  Clytem.

  Where the soul sleeps, and the sense slumbers, there Shall the wise ask for reasons?

  Chorus.

  • Ever swift
  • Though wingless, Fame,29 with tidings fair hath cheered thee.

  Clytem

  Thou speak’st as one who mocks a simple girl.

  Chorus.

  Old Troy is taken? how?—when did it fall?

  Clytem.

  The self-same night that mothers this to-day.

  Chorus

  But how? what stalwart herald ran so fleetly?

  Clytem.

  • Hephæstus.* He from Ida shot the spark,30
  • And flaming straightway leapt the courier fire
  • From height to height; to the Hermæan rock
  • Of Lemnos, first from Ida; from the isle
  • The Athóan steep of mighty Jove received
  • The beaming beacon; thence the forward strength
  • Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly31
  • Athwart the broad sea’s back. The flaming pine
  • Rayed out a golden glory like the sun,
  • And winged the message to Macistus’ watch-tower.
  • There the wise watchman, guiltless of delay,
  • Lent to the sleepless courier further speed,
  • And the Messapian station hailed the torch
  • Far-beaming o’er the floods of the Eurípus.
  • There the grey heath lit the responsive fire,
  • Speeding the portioned message; waxing strong,
  • And nothing dulled across Asopus’ plain
  • The flame swift darted like the twinkling moon,
  • And on Cithæron’s rocky heights awaked
  • A new receiver of the wandering light.
  • The far-sent ray, by the faithful watch not spurned,
  • With bright addition journeying, bounded o’er
  • Gorgópus’ lake and Ægiplanctus’ mount,
  • Weaving the chain unbroken.32 Hence it spread
  • Not scant in strength, a mighty beard of flame,33
  • Flaring across the headlands that look down
  • On the Saronic gulf.34 Speeding its march,
  • It reached the neighbour-station of our city,
  • Arachne’s rocky steep; and thence the halls
  • Of the Atridæ recognised the signal,
  • Light not unfathered by Idæan fire.
  • Such the bright train of my torch-bearing heralds,
  • Each from the other fired with happy news,
  • And last and first was victor in the race35
  • Such the fair tidings that my lord hath sent,
  • A sign that Troy hath fallen.

  Chorus.

  • And for its fall
  • Our voice shall hymn the gods anon: meanwhile
  • I’m fain to drink more wonder from thy words.

  Clytem.

  • This day Troy fell. Methinks I see’t; a host
  • Of jarring voices stirs the startled city,
  • Like oil and acid, sounds that will not mingle,
  • By natural hatred sundered. Thou may’st hear
  • Shouts of the victor, with the dying groan,
  • Battling, and captives’ cry, upon the dead—
  • Fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, wives—
  • The living fall—the young upon the old;
  • And from enthralléd necks wail out their woe
  • Fresh from the fight, through the dark night the spoilers
  • Tumultuous rush where hunger spurs them on,
  • To feast on banquets never spread for them.
  • The homes of captive Trojan chiefs they share
  • As chance decides the lodgment; there secure
  • From the cold night-dews and the biting frosts,
  • Beneath the lordly roof, to their hearts’ content36
  • They live, and through the watchless night prolong
  • Sound slumbers Happy if the native gods
  • They reverence, and the captured altars spare,37
  • Themselves not captive led by their own folly!
  • May no unbridled lust of unjust gain
  • Master their hearts, no reckless rash desire!
  • Much toil yet waits them. Having turned the goal,38
  • The course’s other half they must mete out,
  • Ere home receive them safe Their ships must brook
  • The chances of the sea; and, these being scaped,
  • If they have sinned39 the gods their own will claim,
  • And vengeance wakes till blood shall be atoned.
  • I am a woman; but mark thou well my words;
  • I hint the harm; but with no wavering scale,
  • Prevail the good! I thank the gods who gave me
  • Rich store of blessings, richly to enjoy.

  Chorus.

  • Woman, thou speakest wisely as a man,
  • And kindly as thyself. But having heard
  • The certain signs of Agamemnon’s coming,
  • Prepare we now to hymn the gods; for surely
  • With their strong help we have not toiled in vain.
  • • O regal Jove! O blessed Night!
    • Thou hast won thee rich adornments,
    • Thou hast spread thy shrouding meshes
    • O’er the towers of Priam Ruin
    • Whelms the young, the old. In vain
    • Shall they strive to o’erleap the snare,
    • And snap the bondsman’s galling chain,
    • In woe retrieveless lost.
    • Jove, I fear thee, just protector
    • Of the wrong’d host’s sacred rights;
    • Thou didst keep thy bow sure bent
    • ’Gainst Alexander; not before
    • The fate-predestined hour, and not
    • Beyond the stars, with idle aim,
    • Thy cunning shaft was shot.
  • CHORAL HYMN.
    STROPHE I.
  • The hand of Jove hath smote them; thou
  • May’st trace it plainly,
  • What the god willed, behold it now
  • Not purposed vainly!
  • The gods are blind,40 and little caring,
  • So one hath said, to mark the daring
  • Of men, whose graceless foot hath ridden
  • O’er things to human touch forbidden.
  • Godless who said so; sons shall rue
  • Their parents’ folly,
  • Who flushed with wealth, with insolence flown,
  • The sober bliss of man outgrown,
  • The trump of Mars unchastened blew,
  • And stirred red strife without the hue
  • Of justice wholly.
  • Live wiselier thou, not waxing gross
  • With gain, thou shalt be free from loss.
  • Weak is his tower, with pampering wealth
  • In brief alliance
  • Who spurns great Justice’ altar dread
  • With damned defiance,
  • Him the deep hell shall claim, and shame
  • His vain reliance.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Self-will fell Até’s daughter,41 still
  • Fore-counselling ruin,
  • Shall spur him on resistless borne
  • To his undoing.
  • Fined with sharp loss beyond repairing,
  • His misery like a beacon flaring,
  • Shall shine to all. Like evil brass,
  • That tested shows a coarse black mass,
  • His deep distemper he shall show
  • By dints of trial.
  • Even as a boy in wanton sport,42
  • Chasing a bird to his own hurt,
  • And to the state’s redeemless loss,
  • Whom, when he prays, the gods shall cross
  • With sheer denial,
  • And sweep the lewd and lawless liver
  • From earth’s fair memory for ever;
  • Thus to the Atridans’ palace came
  • False Alexander,
  • And shared the hospitable board,
  • A bold offender,
  • Filching his host’s fair wife away
  • To far Scamander.
  • STROPHE II.
  • She went, and to the Argive city left
  • Squadrons shield-bearing,
  • Battle preparing,
  • Swords many-flashing,
  • Oars many-plashing;
  • She went, destruction for her dowry bearing,
  • To the Sigean shore;
  • Light with swift foot she brushed the doorstead, daring
  • A deed undared before.
  • The prophets of the house loud wailing,43
  • Cried with sorrow unavailing,
  • “Woe to the Atridans! woe!
  • The lofty palaces fallen low!
  • The marriage and the marriage bed,
  • The steps once faithful, fond to follow
  • There where the faithful husband led!”
  • He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath,44
  • His own eye scarce believing,
  • As he followed her flight beyond the path
  • Of the sea-wave broadly heaving.
  • And phantoms sway each haunt well known,
  • Which the lost loved one wont to own,
  • And the statued forms that look from their seats
  • With a cold smile serenely,
  • He loathes to look on; in his eye
  • Pines Aphrodité* leanly.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • In vain he sleeps; for in the fretful night
  • Shapes of fair seeming
  • Flit through his dreaming,
  • Soothing him sweetly,
  • Leaving him fleetly
  • Of bliss all barren. The shape fond fancy weaves him
  • His eager grasp would keep,
  • In vain; it cheats the hand; and leaves him, sweeping
  • Swift o’er the paths of sleep.
  • These sorrows pierce the Atridan chiefs,
  • And, worse than these, their private griefs,
  • But general Greece that to the fray
  • Sent her thousands, mourns to-day;
  • And Grief stout-hearted at each door
  • Sits to bear the burden sore
  • Of deathful news from the Trojan shore.
  • Ah! many an Argive heart to-day
  • Is pricked with wail and mourning,
  • Knowing how many went to Troy,
  • From Troy how few returning!
  • The mothers of each house shall wait
  • To greet their sons at every gate,
  • But, alas! not men, but dust of men
  • Each sorrowing house receiveth,
  • The urn in which the fleshly case
  • Its cindered ruin leaveth.
  • STROPHE III.
  • For Mars doth market bodies, and for gold
  • Gives dust, and in the battle of the bold
  • Holds the dread scales of Fate.
  • Burnt cinders, a light burden, but to friends
  • A heavy freight,
  • He sends from Troy; the beautiful vase he sends
  • With dust, for hearts, well lined, on which descends
  • The frequent tear.
  • And friends do wail their praise; this here
  • Expert to wield the pointed spear,
  • And this who cast his life away,
  • Nobly in ignoble fray,
  • For a strange woman’s sake.
  • And in their silent hearts hate burns;
  • Against the kings
  • The moody-muttered grudge creeps forth,
  • And points its stings.
  • Others they mourn who ’neath Troy’s wall
  • Entombed, dark sleep prolong,
  • Low pressed beneath the hostile sod,
  • The beautiful, the strong!
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • O hard to bear, when evil murmurs fly,
  • Is a nation’s hate; unblest on whom doth lie
  • A people’s curse!
  • My heart is dark, in my fear-procreant brain
  • Bad begets worse.
  • For not from heaven the gods behold in vain
  • Hands red with slaughter. The black-mantled train*
  • Who watch and wait,
  • In their own hour shall turn to bane
  • The bliss that grew from godless gain.
  • The mighty man with heart elate
  • Shall fall; even as the sightless shades,
  • The great man’s glory fades.
  • Sweet to the ear is the popular cheer
  • Forth billowed loudly;
  • But the bolt from on high shall blast his eye45
  • That looketh proudly.
  • Be mine the sober bliss, and far
  • From fortune’s high-strung rapture,
  • Not capturing others, may I never
  • See my own city’s capture!
  • EPODE.
  • Swift-winged with thrilling note it came,
  • The blithe news from the courier-flame;
  • But whether true and witnessed well,
  • Or if some god hath forged a lie,
  • What tongue can tell?
  • Who is so young, so green of wit,
  • That his heart should blaze with a fever fit,
  • At a tale of this fire-courier’s telling,
  • When a new rumour swiftly swelling,
  • May turn him back to dole? To lift the note
  • Of clamorous triumph ere the fight be fought,
  • Is a light chance may fitly fall,
  • Where women wield the spear.46
  • A wandering word by woman’s fond faith sped
  • Swells and increases,
  • But with dispersion swift a woman’s tale
  • Is lost and ceases.

  EnterClytemnestra.

  • Soon shall we know if the light-bearing lamps
  • And the bright signals of the fiery changes
  • Spake true or, dream-like, have deceived our sense
  • With smiling semblance. For, behold, where comes,
  • Beneath the outspread olive’s branchy shade,
  • A herald from the beach; and thirsty dust,
  • Twin-sister of the clay, attests his speed.
  • Not voiceless he, nor with the smoking flame
  • Of mountain pine will bring uncertain news.
  • His heraldry gives increase to our joy,
  • Or—but to speak ill-omened words I shun;—
  • May fair addition fair beginning follow!

  Chorus.

  • Whoso fears evil where no harm appears,
  • Reap first himself the fruit of his own fears.

  EnterHerald.

  • Hail Argive land! dear fatherland, all hail!
  • This tenth year’s light doth shine on my return!
  • And now this one heart’s hope from countless wrecks
  • I save! Scarce hoped I e’er to lay my bones
  • Within the tomb where dearest dust is stored.
  • I greet thee, native land! thee, shining sun!
  • Thee, the land’s Sovereign, Jove! thee, Pythian King,
  • Shooting no more thy swift-winged shafts against us.
  • Enough on red Scamander’s banks we knew
  • Thee hostile; now our saviour-god be thou,
  • Apollo, and our healer from much harm!47
  • And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight,
  • I here invoke; and thee, my high protector,
  • Loved Hermes, of all heralds most revered.
  • And you, all heroes that sent forth our hosts,
  • Bring back, I pray, our remnant with good omens.
  • O kingly halls! O venerated seats!
  • O dear-loved roofs, and ye sun-fronting gods,48
  • If ever erst, now on this happy day,
  • With these bright-beaming eyes, duly receive
  • Your late returning king; for Agamemnon
  • Comes, like the sun, a common joy to all.
  • Greet him with triumph, as beseems the man,
  • Who with the mattock of justice-bringing Jove
  • Hath dug the roots of Troy, hath made its altars
  • Things seen no more, its towering temples razed,
  • And caused the seed of the whole land to perish.
  • Such yoke on Ilium’s haughty neck the elder
  • Atridan threw, a king whom gods have blessed
  • And men revere, ’mongst mortals worthy most
  • Of honour; now nor Paris, nor in the bond
  • Partner’d with him, old Troy more crime may boast
  • Than penalty; duly in the court of fight,
  • In the just doom of rape and robbery damned,
  • His pledge is forfeited,49 his hand hath reaped
  • Clean bare the harvest of all bliss from Troy.
  • Doubly they suffer for a double crime.

  Chorus.

  Hail soldier herald, how farest thou?

  Herald.

  • Right well!
  • So well that I could bless the gods and die.

  Chorus.

  Doubtless thy love of country tried thy heart?

  Herald.

  To see these shores I weep for very joy.

  Chorus.

  And that soul-sickness sweetly held thee?

  Herald.

  • How?
  • Instruct my wit to comprehend thy words.

  Chorus.

  Smitten with love of them that much loved thee.

  Herald.

  Say’st thou? loved Argos us as we loved Argos?

  Chorus.

  Ofttimes we sorrowed from a sunless soul.

  Herald.

  • How so? Why should the thought of the host have clouded
  • Thy soul with sadness?

  Chorus.

  • Sorrow not causeless came;
  • But I have learned to drug all woes by silence.

  Herald.

  Whom should’st thou quail before, the chiefs away?

  Chorus.

  I could have used thy phrase, and wished to die.

  Herald.

  • Die now, an’ thou wilt, for joy! The rolling years
  • Have given all things a prosperous end, though some
  • Were hard to bear; for who, not being a god,
  • Can hope to live long years of bliss unbroken?
  • A weary tale it were to tell the tithe
  • Of all our hardships; toils by day, by night,
  • Harsh harbourage, hard hammocks, and scant sleep.
  • No sun without new troubles, and new groans,
  • Shone on our voyage; and when at length we landed,
  • Our woes were doubled; ’neath the hostile walls,
  • On marshy meads night-sprinkled by the dews,
  • We slept, our clothes rotted with drenching rain,
  • And like wild beasts with shaggy-knotted hair.
  • Why should I tell bird-killing winter’s sorrows,
  • Long months of suffering from Idéan snows,
  • Then summer’s scorching heat, when noon beheld
  • The waveless sea beneath the windless air
  • In sleep diffused; these toils have run their hour.
  • The dead care not to rise; their roll our grief
  • Would muster o’er in vain; and we who live
  • Vainly shall fret at the cross strokes of fate.
  • Henceforth to each harsh memory of the past
  • Farewell! we who survive this long-drawn war
  • Have gains to count that far outweigh the loss.
  • Well may we boast in the face of the shining sun,
  • O’er land and sea our winged tidings wafting,
  • The Achæan host hath captured Troy; and now
  • On the high temples of the gods we hang
  • These spoils, a shining grace, there to remain
  • An heritage for ever.50 These things to hear
  • Shall men rejoice, and with fair praises laud
  • The state and its great generals, laud the grace
  • Of Jove the Consummator. I have said.

  Chorus.

  • I own thy speech the conqueror; for a man
  • Can never be too old to learn good news,
  • And though thy words touch Clytemnestra most,
  • Joy to the Atridan’s halls is wealth to me.

  Clytem.

  • I lifted first the shout of jubilee,
  • Then when the midnight sign of the courier fire
  • Told the deep downfall of the captured Troy,
  • But one then mocked my faith, that I believed
  • The fire-sped message in so true a tale.
  • ’Tis a light thing to buoy a woman’s heart
  • With hopeful news, they cried; and with these words
  • They wildered my weak wit. And yet I sped
  • The sacrifice, and raised the welcoming shout
  • In woman’s wise, and at a woman’s word
  • Forthwith from street to street uprose to the gods
  • Well-omened salutations, and glad hymns,
  • Lulling the fragrant incense-feeding flame.
  • What needs there more? The event has proved me right,
  • Himself—my lord—with his own lips shall speak
  • The weighty tale; myself will go make ready
  • With well-earned honour to receive the honoured.
  • What brighter bliss on woman’s lot may beam,
  • Than when a god gives back her spouse from war,
  • To ope the gates of welcome. Tell my husband,
  • To his loved home, desired of all, to haste.
  • A faithful wife, even as he left her, here
  • He’ll find expectant, like a watch-dog, gentle
  • To him and his, to all that hate him harsh.
  • The seals that knew his stamp, when hence he sailed,
  • Unharmed remain, untouched: and for myself
  • Nor praise nor blame from other man I know,
  • No more than dyer’s art can tincture brass.51

  Herald.

  • A boast like this, instinct with very truth,
  • Comes from a noble lady without blame.

  Chorus.

  • Wise words she spake, and words that need no comment
  • To ears that understand. But say, good Herald,
  • Comes Menelaus safe back from the wars,
  • His kindly sway in Argos to resume?

  Herald.

  • I cannot gloss a lie with fair pretence;
  • The best told lie bears but a short-lived fruit.

  Chorus.

  • Speak the truth plainly, if thou canst not pleasantly;
  • These twain be seldom wedded; and here, alas!
  • They stand out sundered with too clear a mark.

  Herald

  • The man is vanished from the Achæan host,
  • He and his vessel. Thou hast heard the truth.

  Chorus.

  • Sailed he from Ilium separate from the fleet?
  • Or did the tempest part him from his friends!

  Herald.

  • Like a good marksman thou hast hit the mark,
  • In one short sentence summing many sorrows.

  Chorus.

  • Alive is he or dead? What word hath reached you?
  • What wandering rumour from sea-faring men?

  Herald.

  • This none can tell, save yon bright sun aloft,
  • That cherishes all things with his friendly light.

  Chorus.

  • How came the storm on the fleet? or how was ended
  • The wrath of the gods?

  Herald.

  • Not well it suits to blot
  • With black rehearsal this auspicious day.
  • Far from the honors of the blissful gods52
  • Be grief’s recital. When with gloomy visage
  • An ugly tale the herald’s voice unfolds,
  • At once a general wound, and private grief,
  • An army lost, the sons of countless houses
  • Death-doomed by the double scourge so dear to Ares,*
  • A twin-speared harm, a yoke of crimson slaughter:
  • A herald saddled with such woes may sing
  • A pæan to the Erinnyes. But I,
  • Who to this city blithe and prosperous
  • Brought the fair news of Agamemnon’s safety,
  • How shall I mingle bad with good, rehearsing
  • The wintry wrath sent by the gods to whelm us?
  • Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,53
  • Made friendly league to sweep the Achæan host
  • With swift destruction pitiless. Forth rushed
  • The tyrannous Thracian blasts, and wave chased wave,
  • Fierce ’neath the starless night, and ship on ship
  • Struck clashing; beak on butting beak was driven;
  • The puffing blast, the beat of boiling billows,
  • The whirling gulph (an evil pilot) wrapt them
  • In sightless death. And when the shining sun
  • Shone forth again, we see the Ægean tide
  • Strewn with the purple blossoms of the dead,
  • And wrecks of shattered ships. Us and our bark
  • Some god, no man, the storm-tost hull directing,
  • Hath rescued scathless, stealing us from the fray,
  • Or with a prayer begging our life from Fate.
  • Kind Fortune helmed us further, safely kept
  • From yeasty ferment in the billowy bay,
  • Nor dashed on far-ledged rocks. Thus having ’scaped
  • That ocean hell,54 scarce trusting our fair fortune,
  • We hailed the lucid day; but could we hope,
  • The chance that saved ourselves had saved our friends?
  • Our fearful hearts with thoughts of them we fed,
  • Far-labouring o’er the loosely-driving main.55
  • And doubtless they, if yet live breath they breathe,
  • Deem so of us, as we must fear of them,
  • That they have perished. But I hope the best.
  • And first and chief expect ye the return
  • Of Menelaus. If the sun’s blest ray
  • Yet looks on him, where he beholds the day
  • By Jove’s devising,56 not yet willing wholly
  • To uproot the race of Atreus, hope may be
  • He yet returns. Thou hast my tale; and I
  • Have told the truth untinctured with a lie.

  [Exit.

  • CHORAL HYMN.
    STROPHE I.
  • Who gave her a name
  • So true to her fame?
  • Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word?
  • Sways there in heaven a viewless power
  • O’er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour?
  • Who gave her a name,
  • This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame,
  • The spear-wooed maid of Greece?
  • Helen the taker!57 ’tis plain to see
  • A taker of ships, a taker of men,
  • A taker of cities is she.
  • From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled,
  • By the breath of giant58 Zephyr sped,
  • And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array
  • Hounded her flight o’er the printless way,
  • Where the swift-plashing oar
  • The fair booty bore
  • To swirling Simois’ leafy shore,
  • And stirred the crimson fray.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • For the gods sent a bride,
  • Kin but not kind,59
  • Ripe with the counsel of wrath to Troy,
  • In the fulness of years, the offender to prove,
  • And assert the justice of Jove;
  • For great Jove is lord
  • Of the rights of the hearth and the festal board.
  • The sons of Priam sang
  • A song to the praise of the bride:
  • From jubilant throats they praised her then,
  • The bride from Hellas brought;
  • But now the ancient city hath changed
  • Her hymn to a doleful note.
  • She weeps bitter tears; she curses the head
  • Of the woe-wedded Paris; she curses the bed
  • Of the beautiful bride
  • That crossed the flood,
  • And filched the life of her sons, and washed
  • Her wide-paved streets with blood.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Whoso nurseth the cub of a lion
  • Weaned from the dugs of its dam, where the draught
  • Of its mountain-milk was free,
  • Finds it gentle at first and tame.
  • It frisks with the children in innocent game,
  • And the old man smiles to see;
  • It is dandled about like a babe in the arm,
  • It licketh the hand that fears no harm,
  • And when hunger pinches its fretful maw,
  • It fawns with an eager glee.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • But it grows with the years; and soon reveals
  • The fount of fierceness whence it came:
  • And, loathing the food of the tame,
  • It roams abroad, and feasts in the fold,
  • On feasts forbidden, and stains the floor
  • Of the house that nursed it with gore.
  • A curse they nursed for their own undoing,
  • A mouth by which their own friends shall perish;
  • A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin,60
  • Some god hath taught them to cherish.
  • STROPHE III.
  • Thus to Troy came a bride of the Spartan race,
  • With a beauty as bland as a windless calm,
  • Prosperity’s gentlest grace;
  • And mild was love’s blossom that rayed from her eye,
  • The soft-winged dart that with pleasing pain
  • Thrills heart and brain.
  • But anon she changed: herself fulfilled
  • Her wedlock’s bitter end;
  • A fatal sister, a fatal bride,
  • Her fateful head she rears;
  • Herself the Erinnys from Jove to avenge
  • The right of the injured host, and change
  • The bridal joy to tears.
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • ’Twas said of old, and ’tis said to-day,
  • That wealth to prosperous stature grown
  • Begets a birth of its own:
  • That a surfeit of evil by good is prepared,
  • And sons must bear what allotment of woe
  • Their sires were spared.
  • But this I rebel to believe: I know
  • That impious deeds conspire
  • To beget an offspring of impious deeds
  • Too like their ugly sire.
  • But whoso is just, though his wealth like a river
  • Flow down, shall be scathless his house shall rejoice
  • In an offspring of beauty for ever.
  • STROPHE IV.
  • The heart of the haughty delights to beget
  • A haughty heart.61 From time to time
  • In children’s children recurrent appears
  • The ancestral crime.
  • When the dark hour comes that the gods have decreed,
  • And the Fury burns with wrathful fires,
  • A demon unholy, with ire unabated,
  • Lies like black night on the halls of the fated:
  • And the recreant son plunges guiltily on
  • To perfect the guilt of his sires.
  • ANTISTROPHE IV.
  • But Justice shines in a lowly cell;
  • In the homes of poverty, smoke-begrimed,
  • With the sober-minded she loves to dwell.
  • But she turns aside
  • From the rich man’s house with averted eye,
  • The golden-fretted halls of pride
  • Where hands with lucre are foul, and the praise
  • Of counterfeit goodness smoothly sways:
  • And wisely she guides in the strong man’s despite
  • All things to an issue of right.

  Chorus.

  • But, hail the king! the city-taking
  • Seed of Atreus’ race.
  • How shall I accost thee! How
  • With beseeming reverence greet thee?
  • Nor above the mark, nor sinking
  • Beneath the line of grace?
  • Many of mortal men there be,
  • ’Gainst the rule of right preferring
  • Seeming to substance; tears are free
  • In the eye when woe its tale rehearseth,
  • But the sting of sorrow pierceth
  • No man’s liver; many force
  • Lack-laughter faces to relax
  • Into the soft lines traced by joy.
  • But the shepherd true and wise
  • Knows the faithless man, whose eyes,
  • With a forward friendship twinkling,
  • Fawn with watery love.62
  • For me, I nothing hide. O King,
  • In my fancy’s picturing,
  • From the Muses far I deemed thee,
  • And thy soul not wisely helming
  • When thou drew’st the knife
  • For Helen’s sake, a woman, whelming
  • Thousands in ruin, rushing rashly
  • On unwelcome strife.
  • But now all’s well. No shallow smiles
  • We wear for thee, thy weary toils
  • All finished. Thou shalt know anon
  • What friends do serve thee truly,
  • And who in thy long absence used
  • Their stewardship unduly.

  EnterAgamemnonwith attendants;Cassandrabehind.

  Aga.

  • First Argos hail! and ye, my country’s gods,
  • Who worked my safe return, and nerved my arm
  • With vengeance against Priam! for the gods,
  • Taught by no glozing tongue, but by the sight
  • Of their own eyes knew justice; voting ruin
  • And men-destroying death to ancient Troy,
  • Their fatal pebbles in the bloody urn
  • Not doubtingly they dropt; the other vase,
  • Unfed with hope of suffrage-bearing hand,
  • Stood empty. Now the captured city’s smoke
  • Points where it fell. Raves Ruin’s storm; the winds
  • With crumbled dust and dissipated gold
  • Float grossly laden. To the immortal gods
  • These thanks, fraught with rich memory of much good,
  • We pay; they taught our hands to spread the net
  • With anger-whetted wit, a woman’s frailty
  • Laid bare old Ilium to the Argive bite,
  • And with the setting Pleiads outleapt a birth
  • Of strong shield-bearers from the fateful horse.
  • A fierce flesh-tearing lion leapt their walls,
  • And licked a surfeit of tyrannic blood.
  • This prelude to the gods. As for thy words
  • Of friendly welcome, I return thy greeting,
  • And as your thought, so mine; for few are gifted
  • With such rich store of love, to see a friend
  • Preferred and feel no envy; ’tis a disease
  • Possessing mortal men, a poison lodged
  • Close by the heart, eating all joy away
  • With double barb—his own mischance who suffers
  • And bliss of others sitting at his gate,
  • Which when he sees he groans. I know it well;
  • They who seemed most my friends, and many seemed,
  • Were but the mirrored show, the shadowy ghost
  • Of something like to friendship, substanceless.
  • Ulysses only, most averse to sail,
  • Was still most ready in the yoke with me
  • To bear the harness; living now or dead,
  • This praise I frankly give him. For the rest,
  • The city and the gods, we will take counsel
  • In full assembly freely. What is good
  • We will give heed that it be lasting; where
  • Disease the cutting or the caustic cure
  • Demands, we will apply it. I, meanwhile,
  • My hearth and home salute, and greet the gods,
  • Who, as they sent me to the distant fray,
  • Have brought me safely back. Fair victory,
  • Once mine, may she dwell with me evermore!

  Clytem.

  • Men! Citizens! ye reverend Argive seniors,
  • No shame feel I, even in your face, to tell
  • My husband-loving ways. Long converse lends
  • Boldness to bashfulness. No foreign griefs,
  • Mine own self-suffered woes I tell. While he
  • Was camping far at Ilium, I at home
  • Sat all forlorn, uncherished by the mate
  • Whom I had chosen; this was woe enough
  • Without enforcement; but, to try me further,
  • A host of jarring rumours stormed my doors,
  • Each fresh recital with a murkier hue
  • Than its precedent; and I must hear all.
  • If this my lord, had borne as many wounds
  • In battle as the bloody fame recounted,
  • He had been pierced throughout even as a net;
  • And had he died as oft as Rumour slew him,
  • He might have boasted of a triple coil63
  • Like the three-bodied Geryon, while on earth
  • (Of him below I speak not), and like him
  • Been three times heaped with a cloak of funeral dust.
  • Thus fretted by cross-grained reports, oft-times
  • The knotted rope high-swung had held my neck,
  • But that my friends with forceful aid prevented.
  • Add that my son, pledge of our mutual vows,
  • Orestes is not here; nor think it strange.
  • Thy Phocian spear-guest,64 the most trusty Strophius,
  • Took him in charge, a twofold danger urging
  • First thine beneath the walls of Troy, and further
  • The evil likelihood that, should the Greeks
  • Be worsted in the strife, at home the voice
  • Of many-babbling anarchy might cast
  • The council down, and as man’s baseness is,
  • At fallen greatness insolently spurn.
  • Moved by these thoughts I parted with my boy,
  • And for no other cause. Myself the while
  • So woe-worn lived, the fountains of my grief
  • To their last drop were with much weeping drained;
  • And far into the night my watch I’ve kept
  • With weary eyes, while in my lonely room
  • The night-torch faintly glimmered. In my dream
  • The buzzing gnat, with its light-brushing wing,
  • Startled the fretful sleeper; thou hast been
  • In waking hours, as in sleep’s fitful turns
  • My only thought. But having bravely borne
  • This weight of woe, now with blithe heart I greet
  • Thee, my heart’s lord, the watch-dog of the fold,
  • The ship’s sure mainstay, pillared shaft whereon
  • Rests the high roof, fond parent’s only child,
  • Land seen by sailors past all hope, a day
  • Lovely to look on when the storm hath broken,
  • And to the thirsty wayfarer the flow
  • Of gushing rill. O sweet it is, how sweet
  • To see an end of the harsh yoke that galled us!
  • These greetings to my lord; nor grudge me, friends,
  • This breadth of welcome; sorrows we have known
  • Ample enough. And now, thou precious head,
  • Come from thy car, nay, do not set thy foot,
  • The foot that trampled Troy, on common clay.
  • What ho! ye laggard maids! why lags your task
  • Behind the hour? Spread purple where he treads.
  • Fitly the broidered foot-cloth marks his path,
  • Whom Justice leadeth to his long-lost home
  • With unexpected train. What else remains
  • Our sleepless zeal, with favour of the gods,
  • Shall order as befits.

  Aga.

  • Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house!
  • Almost thou seem’st to have spun thy welcome out
  • To match my lengthened absence; but I pray thee
  • Praise with discretion, and let other mouths
  • Proclaim my pæans. For the rest, abstain
  • From delicate tendance that would turn my manhood
  • To woman’s temper. Not in barbaric wise
  • With prostrate reverence base, kissing the ground,
  • Mouth sounding salutations; not with purple,
  • Breeder of envy, spread my path. Such honors
  • Suit the immortal gods; me, being mortal,
  • To tread on rich-flowered carpetings wise fear
  • Prohibits. As a man, not as a god,
  • Let me be honored. Not the less my fame
  • Shall be far blazoned, that on common earth
  • I tread untapestried. A sober heart
  • Is the best gift of God; call no man happy
  • Till death hath found him prosperous to the close.
  • For me, if what awaits me fall not worse
  • Than what hath fallen, I have good cause to look
  • Bravely on fate.

  Clytem.

  • Nay, but my good lord will not
  • In this gainsay my heart’s most warm desire.

  Aga.

  My wish and will thou shalt not lightly mar.

  Clytem.

  Hast thou a vow belike, and fear’st the gods?

  Aga.

  If e’er man knew, I know my will in this.

  Clytem.

  Had Priam conquered, what had Priam done?

  Aga.

  His feet had trod the purple; doubt it not.

  Clytem.

  • What Priam would, thou may’st, unless the fear
  • Of popular blame make Agamemnon quail.

  Aga.

  But popular babble strengthens Envy’s wing.

  Clytem.

  Thou must be envied if thou wilt be great.

  Aga.

  Is it a woman’s part to hatch contention?

  Clytem.

  For once be conquered; they who conquer may Yield with a grace.

  Aga.

  • And thou in this vain strife
  • Must be perforce the conqueror; is it so?

  Clytem.

  ’Tis even so: for once give me the reins.

  Aga.

  • Thou hast thy will. Come, boy, unbind these sandals,65
  • That are the prostrate subjects to my feet,
  • When I do tread; for with shod feet I never
  • May leave my print on the sea-purple, lest
  • Some god with jealous eye look from afar
  • And mark me. Much I fear with insolent foot
  • To trample wealth, and rudely soil the web
  • Whose precious threads the pure-veined silver buys.
  • So much for this. As for this maid, receive
  • The stranger kindly: the far-seeing gods
  • Look down with love on him who mildly sways.
  • For never yet was yoke of slavery borne
  • By willing neck; of all the captive maids
  • The choicest flower she to my portion fell.
  • And now, since thou art victor o’er my will,
  • I tread the purple to my father’s hall.

  Clytem.

  • The wide sea flows; and who shall dry it up?
  • The ocean flows, and in its vasty depths
  • Is brewed the purple’s die, as silver precious,
  • A tincture ever-fresh for countless robes.
  • But Agamemnon’s house is not a beggar;
  • With this, and with much more the gods provide us;
  • And purple I had vowed enough to spread
  • The path of many triumphs, had a god
  • Given me such ’hest oracular to buy
  • The ransom of thy life. We have thee now,
  • Both root and trunk, a tree rich leafage spreading
  • To shade this mansion from the Sirian dog.
  • Welcome, thou double blessing [Editor: illegible character] to this hearth
  • That bringest heat against keen winter’s cold,
  • And coolness when the sweltering Jove prepares
  • Wine from the crudeness of the bitter grape;
  • Enter the house, made perfect by thy presence.
  • Jove, Jove, the perfecter! perfect thou my vow,66
  • And thine own counsels quickly perfect thou!

  [Exeunt.

  • CHORAL HYMN.
    STROPHE I.
  • Whence these shapes of fear that haunt me?
  • These hovering portents why?
  • Is my heart a seer inspired,
  • To chaunt unbidden and unhired67
  • Notes of dark prophecy?
  • Blithe confidence, my bosom’s lord,*
  • That swayed the doubtful theme,
  • Arise, and with thy clear command
  • Chase the vain-vexing dream!
  • Long years have rolled; and still I fear,
  • As when the Argive band
  • Unloosed their cables from the shore,68
  • And eager plied the frequent oar
  • To the far Ilian strand.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Now they return: my vouching eyes
  • To prop my faith conspire,
  • And yet my heart, in self-taught hymns,
  • As with a Fury’s burden brims,
  • And will not own the lyre.
  • I fear, I fear: the bold-faced Hope
  • Hath left my heart all drear;
  • And my thought, not idly tossed within,
  • Feels evil creeping near.
  • For the heart hath scent of things to come
  • And prophesies by fear;
  • And yet I pray, may all conspire
  • To prove my boding heart a liar,
  • And me a foolish seer.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Full-blooded health, that in the veins
  • With lusty pulses hotly wells,
  • Shall soon have check. Disease beside it
  • Wall to wall, ill-sundered, dwells.
  • The proud trireme, with sudden shock,
  • In its mid career, on a sunken rock
  • Strikes, and all is lost.
  • Yet there is hope; the ship may rein
  • Its plunge, from whelming ruin free,
  • If with wise sling the merchant fling
  • Into the greedy sea
  • A part to save the whole. And thus
  • Jove, that two-handed stores for us,
  • In our mid woe may pause,
  • Heap gifts on gifts from yearly furrows,
  • And save the house from swamping sorrows,
  • And lean starvation’s jaws.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • But, oh! when black blood stains the ground,
  • And the mortal mortal lies,
  • Shall the dead hear when thou chauntest?
  • To thy charming shall he rise?
  • Once there was a leech so wise
  • Could raise the dead,* but, from the skies,
  • Struck by Jove, he ceased.
  • But cease my song. Were link with link
  • In the chain of things not bound together69
  • That each event must wait its time,
  • Nor one dare trip the other,
  • My tongue had played the prophet’s part,
  • And rolled the burden from my heart;
  • But now, to doubt resigned,
  • With smothered fears, all dumb I wait
  • The unravelling hour; while sparks of fate
  • Flit through my darksome mind.

  EnterClytemnestra.

  Clytem.

  • Come thou, too, in; this maid, I mean; Cassandra!
  • For not in wrath Jove sent thee here to share
  • Our family lustrations, and to stand,
  • With many slaves, beside the household altar.70
  • Step from this car, nor bear thy spirit proudly
  • Above thy fate, for even Alcmena’s son,
  • To slavery sold, once bore the hated yoke.
  • What must be, must be; rather thank the chance
  • That gave thee to an old and wealthy house;
  • For they who reap an unexpected growth
  • Of wealth, are harsh to slaves beyond the line
  • Of a well-tempered rule. Here thou shalt find
  • The common use of bondage.

  Chorus.

  • Plainly she speaks;
  • And thou within Fate’s iron toils once caught
  • Wert wise to go—if go thou wilt—but, soothly,
  • Thou hast no willing look.

  Clytem.

  • Nay! an’ she be not
  • Barbarian to the bone, and speaking nought
  • Save swallow jabber,* she shall hear my voice.
  • I’ll pierce her marrow with it.

  Chorus

  • Captive maid,
  • Obey! thou shouldst; ’tis best; be thou persuaded
  • To leave thy chariot-seat and follow her.

  Clytem.

  • No time have I to stand without the gate
  • Prating with her. Within, on the central hearth,
  • The fire burns bright, the sheep’s fat slaughter waiting,
  • To furnish forth a banquet that transcends
  • The topmost of our hopes. Wilt thou obey,
  • Obey me quickly! If with stubborn sense
  • Thou hast nor ear to hear, nor voice to speak,
  • Answer my sign with thy barbarian hand.

  Chorus.

  • A wise interpreter the maid demands;
  • Like a wild beast new caught, even so she stands.

  Clytem.

  • Ay! she is mad; her wit to sober counsels
  • Is deaf; she comes from the new-captured city,
  • Untaught to bear the Argive bit with patience,
  • But foams and dashes bloody froth. I will not
  • Make myself base by wasting words on her.

  [Exit.

  Chorus.

  • Poor maid, I may not blame; I pity thee.
  • Come, leave thy seat, for, though the yoke be strange,
  • Necessity compels, and thou must bear it.

  STROPHE I.

  Cass.

  • Ah! ah! woes me! woe! woe!
  • Apollo! O Apollo!

  Chorus.

  • Why dost thou wail to Loxias?† is he
  • A gloomy god that he should list sad tales?

  ANTISTROPHE I.

  Cass.

  • Ah! ah! woes me! woe! woe!
  • Apollo! O Apollo!

  Chorus.

  • Again with evil-omened voice she cries
  • Upon the god least fit to wait on woe.

  STROPHE II.

  Cass.

  • Apollo! Apollo!
  • My way-god, my leader Apollo!71
  • Apollo the destroyer!
  • Thou with light labour hast destroyed me quite.

  Chorus.

  • Strange oracles against herself she speaks;
  • Ev’n in the bondsman’s bosom dwells the god.

  ANTISTROPHE II.

  Cass.

  • Apollo! Apollo!
  • Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?72
  • My way-god, Apollo?
  • What homes receive thy captive prophetess?

  Chorus.

  • The Atridæ’s homes. This, an’ thou knowst it not,
  • I tell thee, and the words I speak are true.

  STROPHE III.

  Cass.

  • Ha! the house of the Atridæ!*
  • Well the godless house I know,
  • With the dagger and the rope,
  • And the self-inflicted blow!
  • Where red blood is on the floor,
  • And black murder at the door—
  • This house—this house I know.

  Chorus.

  • She scents out slaughter, mark me, like a hound,
  • And tracks the spot where she shall feast on blood.

  ANTISTROPHE III.

  Cass.

  • Ay! I scent a truthful scent,
  • And the thing I say I know.
  • See! see! these weeping children,
  • How they vouch the monstrous woe!
  • Their red wounds are bleeding fresh,
  • And their father eats their flesh,
  • This bloody house I know.

  Chorus.

  • The fame of thy divinings far renowned
  • Have reached us, but we wish no prophets here.

  STROPHE IV.

  Cass.

  • Ha! ha! what plots she now!
  • A new sorrow, a new snare
  • To the house of the Atridæ,
  • And a burden none may bear!
  • A black harm to all and each,
  • A disease that none may leech,
  • And the evil plot to mar
  • All help and hope is far.

  Chorus.

  • Nay now I’m lost and mazed in vain surmise.
  • What first she said I knew—the common rumour.

  ANTISTROPHE IV.

  Cass.

  • Ha! woman wilt thou dare?
  • Thy bed’s partner and thy mate
  • In the warm refreshing bath
  • Shall he find his bloody fate?
  • How shall I dare to say
  • What comes and will not stay?
  • See, to do her heart’s command
  • Where she stretches her red hand!

  Chorus.

  • Not yet I understand: through riddles dark
  • And cloudy oracles my wits are wandering.

  STROPHE V.

  Cass.

  • Ha! what bloody sight is this!
  • ’Tis a net of Hades spread—
  • ’Tis a snare to snare her lord,
  • The fond sharer of her bed.
  • The black chorus of the place*
  • Shout for vengeance o’er the race,
  • Whose offence cries for atoning,
  • With a heavy death of stoning!

  STROPHE VI.

  Chorus.

  • What black Fury of the place
  • Shall shout vengeance o’er the race?
  • Such strange words I hate to hear.
  • The blithe blood, that crimson ran73
  • In my veins, runs pale and wan
  • With the taint of yellow fear,
  • As when in the mortal anguish,74
  • Life’s last fitful glimpses languish
  • And Fate, as now, is near!

  ANTISTROPHE V.

  Cass.

  • Ha! ha! the work proceeds!
  • From the bull keep back the cow!
  • Lo! now she seizes him
  • By the strong black horn,75 and now
  • She hath wrapt him round with slaughter;
  • She strikes! and in the water
  • Of the bath he falls. Mark well,
  • In the bath doth murder dwell.

  ANTISTROPHE VI.

  Chorus.

  • No prophetic gift is mine
  • The dark saying to divine,
  • But this sounds like evil quite;
  • For to mortal man was never
  • The diviner’s voice the giver
  • Of a message of delight,
  • But in words of mazy mourning,
  • Comes the prophet’s voice of warning,
  • With a lesson of affright.

  STROPHE VII.

  Cass.

  • Fill the cup, and brim the woe!
  • ’Tis my own heart’s blood must flow
  • Me! miserable me!
  • From old Troy why didst thou bring me
  • Poor captive maid, to sing thee
  • Thy dirge, and die with thee?

  STROPHE VIII.

  Chorus.

  • By a god thou art possessed,
  • And he raveth in thy breast,
  • And he sings a song of thee
  • That hath music, but no glee.
  • Like a dun-plumed nightingale,*
  • That, with never-sated wail,
  • Crieth Itys! Itys! aye,76
  • As it scatters, in sweet flow,
  • The thick blossoms of its woe,77
  • So singest thou to-day.

  ANTISTROPHE VII.

  Cass.

  • Ah! the clear-toned nightingale!
  • Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,†
  • For the good gods gave to thee
  • A light shape of fleetest winging,
  • A bright life of sweetest singing,
  • But a sharp-edged death to me.

  ANTISTROPHE VIII.

  Chorus.

  • By a god thou art possessed,
  • And he goads thee without rest,
  • And he racks thy throbbing brain
  • With a busy-beating pain,
  • And he presses from thy throat
  • The heavy struggling note,
  • And the cry that rends the air.
  • Who bade her tread this path,
  • With the prophecy of wiath,
  • And the burden of despair?

  STROPHE IX.

  Cass.

  • O the wedlock and the woe
  • Of the evil Alexander,
  • To his chiefest friends a foe!
  • O my native stream Scamander,
  • Where in youth I wont to wander,
  • And was nursed for future woes,
  • Where thy swirling current flows!
  • But now on sluggish shore
  • Of Cocytus I shall pour,
  • ’Mid the Acherusian glades,
  • My divinings to the shades.

  STROPHE X.

  Chorus.

  • Nothing doubtful is the token;
  • For the words the maid hath spoken
  • To a very child are clear.
  • She hath pierced me to the marrow;
  • And her cry of shrieking sorrow
  • Ah! it crushes me to hear.

  ANTISTROPHE IX.

  Cass.

  • The proud city lieth lowly,
  • Nevermore to rise again!
  • It is lost and ruined wholly;
  • And before the walls in vain
  • Hath my pious father slain
  • Many meadow-cropping kine,
  • To appease the wrath divine.
  • Where it lieth it shall lie,
  • Ancient Ilium: and I
  • On the ground, when all is past,
  • Soon my reeking heart shall cast.78

  ANTISTROPHE X.

  Chorus.

  • Ah! the mighty god, wrath-laden,
  • He hath smote the burdened maiden
  • With a weighty doom severe.
  • From her heart sharp cries he wringeth,
  • Dismal, deathful strains she singeth,
  • And I wait the end in fear.

  Cass.

  • No more my prophecy, like a young bride
  • Shall from a veil peep forth, but like a wind
  • Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face,79
  • And curl high-crested surges of fierce woes,
  • That far outbillow mine. I’ll speak no more
  • In dark enigmas. Ye my vouchers be,
  • While with keen scent I snuff the breath of the past,
  • And point the track of monstrous crimes of eld.
  • There is a choir, to destiny well-tuned,
  • Haunts these doomed halls, no mellow-throated choir,
  • And they of human blood have largely drunk:
  • And by that wine made bold, the Bacchanals
  • Cling to their place of revels. The sister’d Furies
  • Sit on these roofs, and hymn the prime offence
  • Of this crime-burthened race; the brother’s sin
  • That trod the brother’s bed.* Speak! do I hit
  • The mark, a marksman true? or do I beat
  • Your doors, a babbling beggar prophesying
  • False dooms for hire? Be ye my witnesses,
  • And with an oath avouch, how well I know
  • The hoary sins that hang upon these walls

  Chorus.

  • Would oaths make whole our ills, though I should wedge them
  • As stark as ice?80 But I do marvel much
  • That thou, a stranger born, from distant seas,
  • Dost know our city as it were thine own.

  Cass.

  Even this to know, Apollo stirred my breast.

  Chorus.

  Apollo! didst thou strike the god with love?

  Cass.

  Till now I was ashamed to hint the tale.

  Chorus.

  • The dainty lips of nice prosperity
  • Misfortune opens.

  Cass.

  • Like a wrestler he
  • Strove for my love; he breathed his grace upon me.

  Chorus.

  And hast thou children from divine embrace?

  Cass.

  I gave the word to Loxias, not the deed

  Chorus.

  Hadst thou before received the gift divine?

  Cass.

  I had foretold my countrymen all their woes

  Chorus.

  Did not the anger of the god pursue thee?

  Cass.

  It did; I warned, but none believed my warning.

  Chorus

  • To us thou seem’st to utter things that look
  • Only too like the truth.

  Cass.

  • Ah me! woe! woe!
  • Again strong divination’s troublous whirl
  • Seizes my soul, and stirs my labouring breast
  • With presages of doom. Lo! where they sit,
  • These pitiful young ones on the fated roof,
  • Like to the shapes of dreams! The innocent babes,
  • Butchered by friends that should have blessed them, and
  • In their own hands their proper bowels they bear,
  • Banquet abhorred, and their own father eats it.*
  • This deed a lion, not a lion-hearted
  • Shall punish; wantonly in her bed, whose lord
  • Shall pay the heavy forfeit, he shall roll,
  • And snare my master—woe’s me, even my master,
  • For slavery’s yoke my neck must learn to own.
  • Ah! little weens the leader of the ships,
  • Troy’s leveller, how a hateful bitch’s tongue,
  • With long-drawn phrase, and broad-sown smile, doth weave
  • His secret ruin. This a woman dares;
  • The female mars the male. Where shall I find
  • A name to name such monster? dragon dire,
  • Rock-lurking Scylla, the vexed seaman’s harm,
  • Mother of Hades, murder’s Mænad, breathing
  • Implacable breath of curses on her kin.81
  • All-daring woman! shouting in her heart,
  • As o’er the foe, when backward rolls the fight,
  • Yet hymning kindliest welcome with her tongue.
  • Ye look mistrustful; I am used to that.
  • That comes which is to come; and ye shall know
  • Full soon, with piteous witness in your eyes,
  • How true, and very true, Cassandra spake.

  Chorus.

  • Thyestes’ banquet, and his children’s flesh
  • I know, and shudder; strange that she should know
  • The horrors of that tale; but for the rest
  • She runs beyond my following.

  Cass.

  • Thus I said;
  • Thine eyes shall witness Agamemnon’s death

  Chorus.

  • Hush, wretched maiden! lull thy tongue to rest,
  • And cease from evil-boding words!

  Cass.

  • Alas!
  • The gods that heal all evil, heal not this.

  Chorus

  If it must be, but may the gods forefend!

  Cass.

  Pray thou, and they will have more time to kill.

  Chorus.

  What man will dare to do such bloody deed?

  Cass.

  I spake not of a man: thy thoughts shoot wide

  Chorus.

  The deed I heard, but not whose hand should do it.

  Cass.

  And yet I spake good Greek with a good Greek tongue.

  Chorus.

  Thou speakest Apollo’s words: true, but obscure.

  Cass.

  • Ah me! the god! like fire within my breast
  • Burns the Lycéan god.* Ah me! pain! pain!
  • A lioness two-footed with a wolf
  • Is bedded, when the noble lion roamed
  • Far from his den; and she will murder me.
  • She crowns the cup of wrath; she whets the knife
  • Against the neck of the man, and he must pay
  • The price of capture, I of being captive.
  • Vain gauds, that do but mock my grief, farewell!
  • This laurel-rod, and this diviner’s wreath
  • About my neck, should they outlive the wearer?
  • Away! As ye have paid me, I repay.
  • Make rich some other prophetess with woe!
  • Lo! where Apollo looks, and sees me now
  • Doff this diviner’s garb, the self-same weeds
  • He tricked me erst withal, to live for him,
  • The public scorn, the scoff of friends and foes,
  • The mark of every ribald jester’s tongue,
  • The homeless girl, the raving mountebank,
  • The beggar’d, wretched, starving maniac.
  • And now who made the prophetess unmakes her,
  • And leads me to my doom—ah! not beside
  • My father’s altar doomed to die! the block
  • From my hot life shall drink the purple stain.
  • But we shall fall not unavenged: the gods
  • A mother-murdering shoot shall send from far
  • To avenge his sire; the wanderer shall return
  • To pile the cope-stone on these towering woes.
  • The gods in heaven a mighty oath have sworn,
  • To raise anew the father’s prostrate fate
  • By the son’s arm.—But why stand here, and beat
  • The air with cries, seeing what I have seen;
  • When Troy hath fallen, suffering what it suffered,
  • And they who took the city by the doom
  • Of righteous gods faring as they shall fare?
  • I will endure to die, and greet these gates
  • Of Hades gaping for me Grant me, ye gods,
  • A mortal stroke well-aimed, and a light fall
  • From cramped convulsion free! Let the red blood
  • Flow smoothly from its fount, that I may close
  • These eyes in peaceful death.

  Chorus.

  • O hapless maid!
  • And wise as hapless! thou hast spoken long!
  • But if thou see’st the harm, why rush on fate
  • Even as an ox, whom favouring gods inspire
  • To stand by the altar’s steps, and woo the knife.

  Cass.

  I’m in the net. Time will not break the meshes.

  Chorus.

  But the last moment of sweet life is honoured.

  Cass.

  My hour is come, what should I gain by flight?

  Chorus.

  Thou with a stout heart bravely look’st on fate.

  Cass.

  Bravely thou praisest: but the happy hear not Such commendations.82

  Chorus.

  • Yet if death must come,
  • His fame is fair who nobly fronts the foe.

  Cass.

  Woe’s me, the father and his noble children!

  Chorus.

  Whither now? What father and what children? Speak.

  Cass.

  • [Approaching and starting back from the house.]
  • Woe! woe!

  Chorus.

  What means this woe? What horrid fancy scares thee?

  Cass.

  Blood-dripping murder reeks from yonder house.

  Chorus.

  How? ’Tis the scent of festal sacrifice.

  Cass.

  The scent of death—a fragrance from the grave.

  Chorus.

  Soothly no breath of Syrian nard she names.

  Cass.

  • But now the time is come. I go within
  • To wail for Agamemnon and myself.
  • I’ve done with life. Farewell! My vouchers ye,
  • Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird,83
  • Above the bush I cry. Yourselves shall know it
  • Then when, for me a woman, a woman dies,
  • And for a man ill-wived a man shall fall
  • Trust me in this. Your honest faith is all
  • The Trojan guest, the dying woman, craves.

  Chorus.

  O wretched maid! O luckless prophetess

  Cass.

  • Yet will I speak one other word, before
  • I leave this light. Hear thou my vows, bright sun,
  • And, though a slave’s death be a little thing,
  • Send thou the avenging hand with full requital,
  • To pay my murderers back, as they have paid.
  • Alas! the fates of men! their brightest bloom
  • A shadow blights; and, in their evil day,
  • An oozy sponge blots out their fleeting prints,
  • And they are seen no more. From bad to worse
  • Our changes run, and with the worst we end.84

  [Exit.

  Chorus.

  • Men crave increase of riches ever
  • With insatiate craving. Never
  • From the finger-pointed halls
  • Of envied wealth their owner calls,
  • “Enter no more! I have enough!”
  • This man the gods with honour crowned;
  • He hath levelled with the ground
  • Priam’s city, and in triumph
  • Glorious home returns;
  • But if doomed the fine to pay
  • Of ancient guilt, and death with death
  • To guerdon in the end,
  • Who of mortals will not pray,85
  • From high-perched Fortune’s favour far,
  • A blameless life to spend.

  Aga.

  [From within.] O I am struck! struck with a mortal blow!

  Chorus.

  Hush! what painful voice is speaking there of strokes and mortal blows?

  Aga.

  O struck again! struck with a mortal blow!

  Chorus.

  • ’Tis the king that groans; the work, the bloody work, I fear, is doing.
  • Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.86

  1st Chorus.

  • I give my voice to lift the loud alarm,
  • And rouse the city to besiege the doors.

  2nd Chorus.

  • Rather forthwith go in ourselves, and prove
  • The murderer with the freshly-dripping blade.

  3rd Chorus.

  • I add my pebble to thine. It is not well
  • That we delay. Fate hangs upon the moment.

  4th Chorus.

  • The event is plain, with this prelusive blood
  • They hang out signs of tyranny to Argos.

  5th Chorus.

  • Then why stay we? Procrastination they
  • Tramp underfoot; they sleep not with their hands.

  6th Chorus.

  • Not so. When all is dark, shall we unwisely
  • Rush blindfold on an unconsulted deed?

  7th Chorus.

  • Thou speakest well. If he indeed be dead,
  • Our words are vain to bring him back from Hades.

  8th Chorus.

  • Shall we submit to drag a weary life
  • Beneath the shameless tyrants of this house?

  9th Chorus.

  • Unbearable! and better far to die!
  • Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.

  10th Chorus.

  • First ask we this, if to have heard a groan
  • Gives a sure augury that the man is dead.

  11th Chorus.

  • Wisdom requires to probe the matter well:
  • To guess is one thing, and to know another.

  12th Chorus.

  • So wisely spoken87 With full-voiced assent
  • Inquire we first how Agamemnon fares.

  [The scene opens from behind, and discoversClytemnestrastanding over the dead bodies ofAgamemnonandCassandra.]

  Clytem.

  • I spoke to you before; and what I spoke
  • Suited the time; nor shames me now to speak
  • Mine own refutal. For how shall we entrap
  • Our foe, our seeming friend, in scapeless ruin,
  • Save that we fence him round with nets too high
  • For his o’erleaping? What I did, I did
  • Not with a random inconsiderate blow,
  • But from old Hate, and with maturing Time.
  • Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand,
  • Upon the finished deed:88 the blow so given,
  • And with wise forethought so by me devised,
  • That flight was hopeless, and to ward it vain.
  • With many-folding net, as fish are caught,
  • I drew the lines about him, mantled round
  • With bountiful destruction; twice I struck him,
  • And twice he groaning fell with limbs diffused
  • Upon the ground; and as he fell, I gave
  • The third blow, sealing him a votive gift
  • To gloomy Hades, saviour of the dead.
  • And thus he spouted forth his angry soul,
  • Bubbling a bitter stream of frothy slaughter,
  • And with the dark drops of the gory dew
  • Bedashed me; I delighted nothing less
  • Than doth the flowery calix, full surcharged
  • With fruity promise, when Jove’s welkin down
  • Distils the rainy blessing. Men of Argos,
  • Rejoice with me in this, or, if ye will not,
  • Then do I boast alone. If e’er ’twas meet
  • To pour libations to the dead, he hath them
  • In justest measure. By most righteous doom,
  • Who drugged the cup with curses to the brim,
  • Himself hath drunk damnation to the dregs.

  Chorus.

  • Thou art a bold-mouthed woman. Much we marvel
  • To hear thee boast thy husband’s murder thus.

  Clytem.

  • Ye tempt me as a woman, weak, unschooled.
  • But what I say, ye know, or ought to know,
  • I say with fearless heart. Your praise or blame
  • Is one to me. Here Agamemnon lies,
  • My husband, dead, the work of this right hand—
  • The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.

  STROPHE.

  Chorus.

  • Woman! what food on wide earth growing
  • Hast thou eaten of? What draught
  • From the briny ocean quaffed,
  • That for such deed the popular breath
  • Of Argos should with curses crown thee,
  • As a victim crowned for death?
  • Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut off
  • Thine own husband:89 thou shalt be
  • From the city of the free
  • Thyself a cast-off: justly hated
  • With staunch hatred unabated.

  Clytem.

  • My sentence thou hast spoken; shameful flight,
  • The citizens’ hate, the people’s vengeful curse:
  • For him thou hast no curse, the bloody man
  • Who, when the fleecy flocks innumerous pastured,
  • Passed the brute by, and sacrificed my child,
  • My best-beloved, fruit of my throes, to lull
  • The Thracian blasts asleep. Why did thy wrath,
  • In righteous guerdon of this foulest crime,
  • Not chase this man from Greece? A greedy ear
  • And a harsh tongue thou hast for me alone.
  • But mark my words,90 threats I repay with threats;
  • If that thou canst subdue me in fair fight,
  • Subdue me; but if Jove for me decide,
  • Thou shalt be wise, when wisdom comes too late.

  ANTISTROPHE.

  Chorus.

  • Thou art high and haughty-hearted,
  • And from lofty thoughts within thee
  • Mighty words are brimming o’er:
  • For thy sober sense is madded
  • With the purple-dripping gore;
  • And thine eyes with fatness swell91
  • From bloody feasts: but mark me well,
  • Time shall come, avenging Time,
  • And hunt thee out, and track thy crime:
  • Then thou, when friends are far, shalt know
  • Stroke for stroke, and blow for blow.

  Clytem.

  • Hear thou this oath, that seals my cause with right:
  • By sacred Justice, perfecting revenge,
  • By Até, and the Erinnys of my child,
  • To whom I slew this man, I shall not tread
  • The threshold of pale Fear, the while doth live
  • Ægisthus, now, as he hath been, my friend,
  • Stirring the flame that blazes on my hearth,
  • My shield of strong assurance. For the slain,
  • Here lieth he that wronged a much-wronged woman,
  • Sweet honey-lord of Trojan Chryseids.
  • And for this spear-won maid, this prophetess,
  • This wise diviner, well-beloved bed-fellow,
  • And trusty messmate of great Agamemnon,
  • She shares his fate, paying with him the fee
  • Of her own sin, and like a swan hath sung
  • Her mortal song beside him. She hath been
  • Rare seasoning added to my banquet rare.

  STROPHE I.92

  Chorus.

  • O would some stroke of Fate—no dull disease
  • Life’s strings slow-rending,
  • No bed-bound pain—might bring, my smart to soothe,
  • The sleep unending!
  • For he, my gracious lord, my guide, is gone,
  • Beyond recalling;
  • Slain for a woman’s cause, and by the hands
  • Of woman falling.
  • STROPHE II.
  • O Helen! Helen! phrenzied Helen,
  • Many hearts of thee are telling
  • Damned destruction thou hast done,
  • There where thousands fell for one
  • ’Neath the walls of Troy
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • Bloomed from thee the blossom gory
  • Of famous Agamemnon’s glory;
  • Thou hast roused the slumbering strife,
  • From age to age, with eager knife,
  • Watching to destroy.

  STROPHE III.

  Clytem.

  • Death invoke not to relieve thee
  • From the ills that vainly grieve thee!
  • Nor, with ire indignant swelling,
  • Blame the many-murdering Helen!
  • Damned destruction did she none,
  • There, where thousands fell for one,
  • ’Neath the walls of Troy.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls93
  • With might prevailest,
  • Weak woman’s breast to do thy headlong will
  • With murder mailest!
  • O’er his dead body, like a boding raven,
  • Thou tak’st thy station,
  • Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymn
  • Of exultation.

  ANTISTROPHE III.

  Clytem.

  • Nay, but now thou speakest wisely;
  • This thrice-potent god precisely
  • Works our woe, and weaves our sorrow.
  • He with madness stings the marrow,
  • And with greed that thirsts for blood;
  • Ere to-day’s is dry, the flood
  • Flows afresh to-morrow.

  STROPHE IV.

  Chorus.

  • Him, even him, this terrible god, to bear
  • These walls are fated;
  • From age to age he worketh wildly there
  • With wrath unsated.
  • Not without Jove, Jove cause and end of all,
  • Nor working vainly.
  • Comes no event but with high sway the gods
  • Have ruled it plainly.

  STROPHE V.

  Chorus.

  • O the king! the king! for thee
  • Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
  • Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
  • As in a spider’s web thou liest;
  • Godless meshes spread for thee,
  • An unworthy death thou diest!

  STROPHE VI.

  Chorus.

  • There, even there thou liest, woe’s me, outstretched
  • On couch inglorious;
  • O’er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
  • Deceit victorious.

  STROPHE VII.

  Clytem.

  • Nay, be wise, and understand;
  • Say not Agamemnon’s wife
  • Wielded in this human hand
  • The fateful knife.
  • But a god, my spirit’s master,
  • The unrelenting old Alastor94
  • Chose this wife, his incarnation,
  • To avenge the desecration
  • Of foul-feasting Atreus, he
  • Gave, to work his wrath’s completion
  • To the babes this grown addition.

  ANTISTROPHE IV.

  Chorus.

  • Thy crime is plain: bear thou what thou hast merited,
  • Guilt’s heavy lading;
  • But that fell Spirit, from sire to son inherited,
  • Perchance was aiding.
  • Black-mantled Mars through consanguineous gore
  • Borne onwards blindly,
  • Old horrors to atone, fresh Murder’s store
  • Upheaps unkindly.
  • ANTISTROPHE V.
  • O the king! the king! for thee
  • Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
  • Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
  • As in a spider’s web thou liest;
  • Godless meshes spread for thee,
  • An unworthy death thou diest.

  ANTISTROPHE VI.

  Chorus.

  • There, even there, thou liest, woe’s me, outstretched
  • On couch inglorious!
  • O’er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
  • Decent victorious.

  ANTISTROPHE VII.

  Clytem.

  • Say not thou that he did die
  • By unworthy death inglorious,
  • Erst himself prevailed by damned
  • Deceit victorious,
  • Then when he killed the deep-lamented
  • Iphigenía, nor relented
  • When for my body’s fruit with weeping
  • I besought him. Springs his reaping
  • From what seed he sowed. Not he
  • In Hades housed shall boast to-day;
  • So slain by steel as he did slay.

  STROPHE VIII.

  Chorus.

  • I’m tossed with doubt, on no sure counsel grounded,
  • With fear confounded.
  • No drizzling drops, a red ensanguined shower,
  • Upon the crazy house, that was my tower,
  • Comes wildly sweeping,
  • On a new whetstone whets her blade the Fate
  • With eyes unweeping.

  STROPHE IX.

  Chorus.

  • O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
  • And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
  • Ere I had seen my dear-loved lord
  • In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
  • Who will bury him? and for him
  • With salt tears what eyes shall brim?
  • Wilt thou do it—thou, the wife
  • That slew thy husband with the knife?
  • Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
  • Thus to offer a graceless grace?
  • With false show of pious moaning,
  • Thine own damned deed atoning?

  STROPHE X.

  Chorus.

  • What voice the praises of the godlike man
  • Shall publish clearly?
  • And o’er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
  • Shall drop sincerely?

  STROPHE XI.

  Clytem.

  • In vain thy doubtful heart is tried
  • With many sorrows. By my hand
  • Falling he fell, and dying died.95
  • I too will bury him; but no train
  • Of mourning men for him shall plain
  • In our Argive streets; but rather
  • In the land of sunless cheer
  • She shall be his convoy; she,
  • Iphigenía, his daughter dear.
  • By the stream of woes* swift-flowing,
  • Round his neck her white arms throwing,
  • She shall meet her gentle father,
  • And greet him with a kiss.

  ANTISTROPHE VIII.

  Chorus.

  • Crime quitting crime, and which the more profanely
  • Were questioned vainly;
  • ’Tis robber robbed, and slayer slain, for, though
  • Oft-times it lag, with measured blow for blow
  • Vengeance prevaileth,
  • While great Jove lives.96 Who breaks the close-linked woe
  • Which Heaven entaileth?

  ANTISTROPHE IX.

  Chorus.

  • O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
  • And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
  • Ere I had seen my dear-loved lord
  • In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
  • Who will bury him? and for him
  • With salt tears, what eyes shall brim?
  • Wilt thou do it? thou, the wife
  • That killed thy husband with the knife?
  • Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
  • Thus to offer a graceless grace?
  • With false show of pious moaning
  • Thine own damned deed atoning?

  ANTISTROPHE X.

  Chorus.

  • What voice the praises of the god-like man
  • Shall publish clearly?
  • And o’er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
  • Shall drop sincerely?

  ANTISTROPHE XI.

  Clytem.

  • Cease thy cries. Where Heaven entaileth,
  • Thyself didst say, woe there prevaileth.
  • But for this tide enough hath been
  • Of bloody work. My score is clean.
  • Now to the ancient stern Alastor,
  • That crowns the Pleisthenids* with disaster,
  • I vow, having reaped his crop of woe
  • From me, to others let him go,
  • And hold with them his bloody bridal,
  • Of horrid murders suicidal!
  • Myself, my little store amassed
  • Shall freely use, while it may last,
  • From murdering madness healed.

  EnterÆgisthus.

  Ægis.

  • O blessed light! O happy day proclaiming
  • The justice of the gods! Now may I say
  • The Olympians look from heaven sublime, to note
  • Our woes, and right our wrongs, seeing as I see
  • In the close meshes of the Erinnyes tangled
  • This man—sweet sight to see!—prostrate before me,
  • Having paid the forfeit of his father’s crime.
  • For Atreus, ruler of this Argive land,
  • This dead man’s father—to be plain—contending
  • About the mastery, banished from the city
  • Thyestes, his own brother and my father.
  • In suppliant guise back to his hearth again
  • The unhappy prince returned, content if he
  • Might tread his native acres, not besprent
  • With his own blood. Him with a formal show
  • Of hospitality—not love—received
  • The father of this dead, the godless Atreus;
  • And to my father for the savoury use
  • Of festive viands gave his children’s flesh
  • To feed on; in a separate dish concealed
  • Were legs and arms, and the fingers’ pointed tips,97
  • Broke from the body. These my father saw not;
  • But what remained, the undistinguished flesh,
  • He with unwitting greed devoured, and ate
  • A curse to Argos. Soon as known, his heart
  • Disowned the unholy feast, and with a groan
  • Back-falling he disgorged it. Then he vowed
  • Dark doom to the Pelopidae, and woes
  • Intolerable, while with his heel he spurned98
  • The supper, and thus voiced the righteous curse:
  • Thus perish all the race of Pleisthenes!
  • See here the cause why Agamemnon died,
  • And why his death most righteous was devised
  • By me; for I, Thyestes’ thirteenth son,
  • While yet a swaddled babe, was driven away
  • To houseless exile with my hapless sire.
  • But me avenging Justice nursed, and taught me,
  • Safer by distance, with invisible hand
  • To reach this man, and weave the brooded plot,
  • That worked his sure destruction. Now ’tis done;
  • And gladly might I die, beholding him,
  • There as he lies where Vengeance trapped his crimes.

  Chorus.

  • Ægisthus, that thou wantonest in the woe
  • Worked by thy crime I praise not. Thou alone
  • Didst slay this man, and planned the piteous slaughter
  • With willing heart. So say’st thou: but mark well,
  • Justice upon thy head the stony curse
  • Shall bring avoidless from the people’s hand.

  Ægis.

  • How? Thou who sittest on the neathmost bench,
  • Speak’st thus to me who ply the upper oar?
  • ’Tis a hard task to teach an old man wisdom,
  • And dullness at thy years is doubly dull;
  • But chains and hunger’s pangs sure leeches are,
  • And no diviner vends more potent balms
  • To drug a doting wit.99 Have eyes, and see,
  • Kick not against the pricks, nor vainly beat
  • Thy head on rocks.

  Chorus[toClytemnestra].

  • Woman, how couldst thou dare,
  • On thine own hearth to plot thy husband’s death;
  • First having shamed his bed, to welcome him
  • With murder from the wars?

  Ægis.

  • Speak on; each word shall be a fount of tears,
  • I’ll make thy tongue old Orpheus’ opposite.
  • He with sweet sounds led wild beasts where he would,
  • Thou where thou wilt not shalt be led, confounding
  • The woods with baby cries. Thou barkest now,
  • But, being bound, the old man shall be tame.

  Chorus.

  • A comely king wert thou to rule the Argives!
  • Whose wit had wickedness to plan the deed,
  • But failed the nerve in thy weak hand to do it.

  Ægis.

  • ’Twas wisely schemed with woman’s cunning wit
  • To snare him. I, from ancient date his foe,
  • Stood in most just suspicion. Now, ’tis done;
  • And I, succeeding to his wealth, shall know
  • To hold the reins full tightly. Who rebels
  • Shall not with corn be fatted for my traces,
  • But, stiffly haltered, he shall lodge secure
  • In darkness, with starvation for his mate.

  Chorus.

  • Hear me yet once. Why did thy dastard hand
  • Shrink from the deed? But now his wife hath done it,
  • Tainting this land with murder most abhorred,
  • Polluting Argive gods. But still Orestes
  • Looks on the light; him favouring Fortune shall
  • Nerve with one stroke to smite this guilty pair.

  Ægis.

  Nay, if thou for brawls art eager, and for battle, thou shalt know—

  Chorus.

  • Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye!100 ’tis an earnest business now!
  • Quick, each hand with sure embracement hold the dagger by the hilt!

  Ægis.

  I can also hold a hilted dagger—not afraid to die.

  Chorus.

  Die!—we catch the word thou droppest, lucky chance, if thou wert dead!

  Clytem.

  • Not so, best-beloved! there needeth no enlargement to our ills.
  • We have reaped a liberal harvest, gleaned a crop of fruitful woes,
  • Gained a loss in brimming measure: blood’s been shed enough to-day.
  • Peacefully, ye hoary Elders, enter now your destined homes,
  • Ere mischance o’ertake you, deeming what is done hath so been done,
  • As it behoved to be, contented if the dread god add no more,
  • He that now the house of Pelops smiteth in his anger dire.
  • Thus a woman’s word doth warn ye, if that ye have wit to hear.

  Ægis.

  • Babbling fools are they; and I forsooth must meekly bear the shower,
  • Flowers of contumely cast from doting drivellers, tempting fate!
  • O! if length of hoary winters brought discretion, ye should know
  • Where the power is; wisely subject you the weak to me the strong.

  Chorus.

  Ill beseems our Argive mettle to court a coward on a throne.

  Ægis.

  Shielded now, be brave with words; my deeds expect some future day.

  Chorus.

  Ere that day belike some god shall bring Orestes to his home.

  Ægis.

  Feed, for thou hast nothing better, thou and he, on empty hope.

  Chorus.

  Glut thy soul, a lusty sinner, with sin’s fatness, while thou may’st.

  Ægis.

  Thou shalt pay the forfeit, greybeard, of thy braggart tongue anon.

  Chorus.

  Oh, the cock beside its partlet now may crow right valiantly!

  Clytem.

  • Heed not thou these brainless barkings. While to folly folly calls,
  • Thou and I with wise command shall surely sway these Argive halls.

  NOTES TO THE AGAMEMNON

  • πάρεστι σιγὰς (σιγηλος) ἄτιμος ἀλόιδορος
  • ἄληστος ἀϕεμένων ἰο̂εɩ̂ν;

  modified thus by Orelli—

  • ἄπιστος ἀϕεμέναν ἰδεɩ̂ν

  • —(See Wellauer)

  With a reference to Menelaus and not to Helen. In doing so, I am not at all moved by any merely philological consideration; but I may observe that the remark made by Well., Peile, and Con, that the words cannot refer to Menelaus, because he has not yet been mentioned, can have little weight in the present chorus, in the first antistrophe of which Paris is first alluded to, by dim indications, and afterwards distinctly by name This method of merely hinting at a person, before naming him, is common in all poetry, but peculiarly characteristic of Æschylus. Besides, it is impossible to deny that the πόθος in the next line refers to Menelaus, and can refer to no other. Con., who refers the words to Helen, translates thus—

  • “She stands in silence, scorned, yet unrebuking,
  • Most sweetly sorrowfully looking
  • Of brides that have from wedlock fled,”

  to which I have this further objection, that it is contrary to the poet’s intention and to the moral tone of the piece, to paint the fair fugitive with such an engaging look of reluctance to leave her husband; on the contrary, he blames her in the strongest language, ἄτλητα τλα̂σα, and represents her as leaving Argos with all the hurry of a common elopement, where both parties are equally willing for the amorous flight, βέβακε ρίμϕα διὰ πυλα̂ν. After which our fancy has nothing to do but imagine her giving her sails to the wind as swiftly as possible, and bounding gaily over the broad back of ocean with her gay paramour. In this connection, to say “shestands,” appears quite out of place. In my view of this “very difficult and all but desperate passage” (Peile) I am supported by Sym. in an able note, which every student ought to read, by Med. and Sew., Buck., Humb., and Droys. Neither is Fr. against me, because, though following a new reading of Hermann,

  • πάρεστι σιγὰς ἀτίμους ἀλοιδόρους
  • ’αισχρωˆς ἀϕειμενων ιδειν,

  he avoids all special allusions to Menelaus, it is evident that the picture of solitary desolation given in his translation can have no reference but to the palace of the king of Sparta—

  • “Ein Schweigen, sieh! voll von Schmach, nicht gebrochen church
  • Vorwurf, beherrscht die Einsamkeit”

  [* ]See Welcker’s Trilogie, Darmstadt, 1824, p. 408, who, however, here, as in other parts of the same learned work, expends much superfluity of ingenious conjecture on subjects which, from their very nature, are necessarily barren of any certain result.

  [* ]Jove to Priam sent the eagle, of all flying things that be
  
  Noblest made, his dark-winged hunter

  [† ]i e The right hand—the hand which brandishes the spear, χερὸς ἐκ δοριπάλτου; the right being the lucky side in Greek augury —Iliad, xxiv 320

  [‡ ]Calchas, the famous soothsayer of the Iliad.

  [§ ]Diana

  [* ]This excellent version I took from an article in the Quarterly Review.—Vol. lxx. p. 340

  [† ]The sacrifice of Iphigenia displeasing to Clytemnestra.

  [* ]Chalcis a city in Eubœa, opposite Aulis.

  [† ]A river in Macedonia.

  [* ]The epithet καλλιπρώρου, beautiful fronted, applied to στόματος, being contrary to the genius of the English language, the translator must content himself with the simple epithet.

  [* ]An old name for the Peloponnesus

  [* ]Vulcan.

  [* ]Venus.

  [* ]The Furies.

  [* ]Mars

  [* ]“My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne.”
  
  Shakespere, quoted by Symmons.

  [* ]Æsculapius.

  [* ]Swallow jabber.—“Barbarians are called swallows because their speech cannot be understood any more than the twitter of swallows.”—Stanley, from Hesychius.

  [† ]An epithet of Apollo, from λοξὸς oblique, for which Macrobius (Sat. I. 17) gives astronomical reasons; but it seems more obvious to say that the god is so called from the obliqueness or obscurity of his oracles

  [* ]From the looseness of the laws of quantity in English versification, it may be as well to state here that I wish these lines of seven syllables to be read as υ υ —′, υ —′, υ —′, not —′ υ, —′ υ, —′ υ, —′.

  [* ]The Furies.

  [* ]Dun-plumed. ξουθὰ.

  • “Because the poor brown bird, alas
  • Sings in the garden sweet and true.”
  • Miss Barbett

  [† ]

  • “Most musical, most melancholy bird!”
  • A melancholy bird? O idle thought!
  • In Nature there is nothing melancholy.
  • Coleridge

  [* ]See Introductory Remarks.

  [* ]The banquet of his own children, which Atreus offered to Thyestes.—See Introductory Remarks.

  [* ]Apollo.

  [* ]πόρθμευμ αχέων, whence Acheron, so familiar to English ears; as in the same way Cocytus, from κωκυω, to avail, and the other infernal streams, with a like appropriateness.

  [* ]The house of Atreus, so called from Pleisthenes, one of the ancestry of Agamemnon.

  [Note 1 (p 43).]

  • “High on the Atridan’s battlements.”

  
  
  Dunbar, Sewell, and Connington plead strongly for translating ἄγκαθεν here as in Eumen. v. 80, thus—

  • “As I lie propped on my arm
  • Upon the Atridan housetop, like a dog”

  But this idea has always appeared to be more like the curious conceit of an ingenious philologist, than the natural conception of a great poet. Supposing the original reading to have been ἀνέλαθεν, the mere accidental lengthening of the leg of the ν by a hurried transcriber, would give the word the appearance of γ to a careless scrutinizer; and that this blunder was actually made the metre proves in Eumen. 361, in which passage, whatever Sew. may ingeniously force into it, the meaning from above is that which is most in harmony with the context. Besides, in such matters, I am conservative enough to have a certain respect for tradition

  [Note 2 (p. 43).]

  • “The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.”

  
  
  “ἀνδρόβουλον seems to be used here ambiguously, and to be the first hint of lurking mischief. The gradual development of the coming evil from these casual hints is one of the chief dramatic beauties of the Agamemnon.”—Sew.

  [Note 3 (p. 43)]

  • “ . . and lift high-voiced
  • The jubilant shout”

  
  
  I have strongly rendered the strong term, ἐπορθιάζειν, which would necessarily suggest to the Greek the high-keyed notes of the νόμος ὄρθιος mentioned by Herod I. 22, as sung by Arion to the sailors. I think, however, it is going beyond the mark to say, with Symmons, “With loud acclaim, and Orthian minstrelsy,” retaining the word ὄρθιος, which is only suggested, not expressed in the text, and printing it with a capital letter, as if it were a sort of music as distinct as the Mysian and Maryandine wailing, mentioned in the Persians. Thus, ὀρθίον κωκυμάτων ϕωνή, in Soph. Antigone, 1206, means nothing but the voice of shrill wails, or, as Donaldson well translates the whole passage,

  • “The voice of lamentation treble-toned,
  • Peals from the porch of that unhallowed cell.’

  [Note 4 (p. 43).]

  • “Thrice six falls to me.”

  
  
  That is, the highest throw in the dice. “The dice (tessera, κύβοι), in games of chance among the ancients, were numbered on all the six sides, like the dice now in use; and three were used in playing Hence arose the proverb, ᾔ τρὶς [Editor: illegible character]ξ ᾔ τρεɩ̂ς κύβοι, either three sixes or three aces, all or none.”—Dr. Smith’s Antiq. Dict vocetessera.

  [Note 5 (p. 43).]

  • “Is laid a seal.”

  
  
  Literally, a hugc ox hath gone, an expression supposed to be derived from the figure of an ox, as the symbol of wealth, expressed on an old coin; in which case, to put the ox on a man’s tongue, would be equivalent to tipping it with silver, that is to say, giving money with injunction of secrecy. After the expression became proverbial, it might be used generally to express secrecy without any idea of bribery, which, as Con. remarks, is quite foreign to this place, and therefore Franz is wrong to translate “mir verschliesst ein golden Schloss den Mund.” I follow here, however, Humboldt and Sym. in not introducing the ox into the text, as it is apt to appear ludicrous; and, besides, the origin of the expression seems only conjectural.

  [Note 6 (p. 44).]

  • “Sceptred kings by Jove’s high grace.”

  
  
  Διόθεν. “ἐκ δε Διός βασιλη̂ες,” says the theogony. Homer also considers the kingly office as having a divine sanction, and Agamemnon on Earth represents Jupiter in Heaven.—Iliad I. 279; II. 197. And there can be no doubt that the highest authority in a commonwealth, whether regal or democratic, has a divine sanction, so long as it is exercised within its own bounds, and according to the laws of natural justice.

  [Note 7 (p. 44).]

  • “O’er the lone paths fitful-wheeling.”

  
  
  I have endeavoured to combine both the meanings of ἐκπατιόις which have any poetical value; that of Sym.lonely, and that of Klausen,wandering, and therefore excessive, which Con. well gives “with a wandering grief.” The same beautiful image is used by Shelley in his Adonais.

  [Note 8 (p. 44).]

  • “. . . The late-chastising Fury.”

  
  
  That the divine vengeance for evil deeds comes not immediately, but slowly, at a predestined season, is a doctrine as true in Christian theology as it is familiar to the Heathen dramatists Therefore, Tiresias, in the Antigone, prophesies to Creon that “the avenging spirits of Hades and of Heaven, storing up mischief for a future day (ὑστεροϕθόροι), would punish him for his crimes. But when the sword of Olympian justice is once drawn, then the execution of the divine judgment comes swiftly and by a short way, and no mortal can stay it.” As the same Sophocles says—

  • συντέμνουσι γὰρ
  • Θεωˆν ποδώκεις τὸυς κακὸϕρονας βλάβαι.
  • Antig. V. 1104.

  [Note 9 (p. 44).]

  • “. . . Jove, the high protector
  • Of the hospitable laws.”

  
  
  As he is the supreme ruler of the physical, so Jove has a providential supervision of the moral world, and in this capacity is the special punisher of those who sin (where human laws are weak to reach), by treachery or ingratitude, as was the case with Paris. This function of the Hellenic Supreme Deity is often piously recognized by Homer, as in Odys. XIV. 283—

  • “But he feared the wrath of Jove, lord of the hospitable board,
  • Jove who looks from Heaven in anger on the evil deeds of men”

  [Note 10 (p 44).]

  • “The powers whose altars know no fire.”

  
  
  ἀπύρων ὶερωˆν, “fireless holy things” By “fireless” is here meant, so far as I can see, not to be propitiated by fire, persons to whom all sacrificial appeals are vain. Whether the Fates or the Furies are meant there are no means of ascertaining; for both agree with the tone of feeling, and with the context; and as they are, in fact, fundamentally the same, as powers that always act in unison (Eumen, 165 and 949), the reader need not much care. It is possible, however, that the whole passage may bear the translation of “powers wroth for fireless altars,” i.e. neglected sacrifices.—So Humb and Fr. Nor are we bound to explain what sacrifices, or by whom neglected; for omission of religious rites, known or unknown, was a cause, always at hand, with the ancients, to explain any outpouring of divine wrath. Buckley, following Bamberger and Dindorf, considers that the sacrifice of Iphigenia is alluded to; which is also probable enough. No commentary can make clear what the poet has purposely left dark.

  [Note. 11 (p 45).]

  • “The oil that knows no malice.”

  
  
  We see in this passage the religious significancy, as it were, of the oil used in their sacred rites by the ancients; and we may further remark, with Sew., that “the oil used in religious rites was of great value. Compare the directions given in the Scriptures for making that which was used in the service of the Tabernacle,” and, generally—see Leviticus c ii. for a description of the various kinds of sacred cakes made of fine flour and oil used in the sacrificial offerings of the Jews.

  [Note 12 (p. 45).]

  • “I’ll voice the strain.”

  
  
  I have carefully read all that has been written on this difficult passage, and conclude that it is better to rest contented with the natural reference of ἀιὼν to the old age of the singer, indicated by ἐτι, and the previous tone of the Anapests, than to venture with Fr., Hum., and Linwood, on a reference which I cannot but think is more far-fetched. The line ἀλκὰν σύμϕυτος ἀιων is corrupt, and no rigid rendering of it ought to be attempted. Buckley in a note almost disclaims his own version.

  [Note 13 (p. 46).]

  • “The diverse-minded kings.”

  
  
  δυό λήμασι δισσούς. Surely this expression is too distinct and prominent to be slurred over lightly, as Con seems inclined to do. I follow my own feeling of a passage so strongly marked by a peculiar phraseology, and Linwood. It will be observed that, in the Iliad, while Agamemnon behaves in a high and haughty style to Achilles, Menelaus conducts himself everywhere, and especially in the case of Antilochus (xxiii. 612), with mildness and moderation, so as justly to allow himself the boast,

  • “ὠς ἐμὸς ὀύποτε θυμὸς νˆπερϕιάλος κὰι ἀπηνής.”

  [Note 14 (p. 46).]

  • “Winged hounds.”

  
  
  “This is one of those extravagances of expression in which the wild fancy of Æschylus often indulged, and for which he is rallied by Aristophanes.”—Harford. I cannot allow this to pass without remark. No expression could be more appropriate to picture that singular combination of the celerity of the bird nature, with the ferocity of the quadruped, which is described here, and in the Prometheus, in the speech of Mercury. Besides, in the present case the prophetic style would well excuse the boldness of the phrase, were any excuse required Harford has put the tame expression, “Eagles,” into his text, but Shelley in his “Prometheus Unbound,” had not the least hesitation to adopt the Greek phrase.

  [Note 15 (p. 47).]

  • “The fair goddess.”

  
  
  ἁ καλὰ, “the beauteous one.”—Sew. An epithet which Con. was surely wrong to omit, for it is characteristic. To this Muller has called attention in his Prolegomena zu ciner wissensch, Mythologie (p 75; edit. 1825) noting the expressions of Sappho, ἀρίστη καὶ καλλίστη, the best and the fairest, as applied to Artemis, according to the testimony of Pausanias, I. 29. The prominence given by Æschylus here to that function of Artemis, by which, as the goddess of beauty, she is protectress of the wild beasts of the forest, is quite Homeric; as we may see from these three lines of the Odyssey:—

  • “Even as Artemis, dart-rejoicing, o’er the mountains walks sublime,
  • O’er the lofty ridge of Taygetus, o’er the Erymanthian steep,
  • And with gladsome heart beholds the wild boar and the nimble stag”
  • VI 102.

  According to the elemental origin of mythology, this superintendence naturally arose from the fact, that Artemis was the Moon, and that the wild beasts go abroad to seek for prey in the night time.

  [Note 16 (p. 47).]

  • “I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send.”

  
  
  In the original Ιήἴον παια̂να, a well-known epithet of Apollo, as in the opening chorus of the Œdipus Tyrannos, Ιήιέ δάλιε παιάν, containing an invocation of the Delphic god, quoted by Peile. From the practice of frequently invoking the name of the gods in the public hymns, as in the modern Litanies, the name of the divine person passed over to the song that voiced his praises—(Iliad I. 473)—and thence became the appellation—as in the modern word pæan—for a hymn generally—(Proclus Chrestom. Gaisford. Hephaest., p. 419)—or at least a hymn of jubilee, sadness and sorrow of every kind being naturally abhorrent from the worship of the beneficent sun god (p. 72, above).

  [Note 17 (p. 47).]

  • “Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath.”

  
  
  This passage is obscure in the original, and, no doubt, purposely so, as became the prophetic style. I do not, therefore, think we are bound, with Sym., to give the

  • Child-avenging wrath

  a special and distinctly pronounced reference to Clytemnestra, displeased with Agamemnon for allowing the sacrifice of Iphigenia—
  
  

  • “Homeward returning see her go,
  • And sit alone in sullen woe;
  • While child-avenging anger waits
  • Guileful and horrid at the palace gates.’

  Though I have no doubt she is alluded to among other Furies that haunt the house of Atreus, and the poet very wisely supplies here a motive. So Well, and Lin.; and my version, though free, I hope does nothing more than express this idea of a retributive wrath brooding through long years over a doomed family, and ever and anon, when apparently laid, breaking out with new manifestations—an idea, however, so expressed in the present passage that, as Dr. Peile says, “No translation can adequately set it forth.”

  [Note 18 (p. 47).]

  • “Jove, or what other name.”

  
  
  After the above sublime introduction follows the Invocation of Jove, as the supreme over-ruling Deity, who alone, by his infinite power and wisdom, is able to lead the believing worshipper through the intricacies of a seemingly perplexed Providence. The passage is one of the finest in ancient poetry, and deserves to be specially considered by theological students. The reader will note carefully the reverential awe with which the Chorus names the god invoked—a feeling quite akin to that anxiety which takes possession of inexperienced people when they are called on to address written or spoken words to persons of high rank. Many instances of this kind are quoted from the ancients by Victorius, in Stanley’s notes, by Sym., and by Peile. The most familiar instance to which I can refer the general reader is in the second chapter of Livy’s first book:— “Situs est Æneas, quemcumque eum dici jus fasque est, super Numicium flumen. Jovem indigetem appellant.” If in so obvious a matter a profound mythologist like Welcker—(Tril., p. 104)—should have found in this language of deepest reverence signs of free-thinking and irony, we have only another instance of the tyrannous power of a favourite idea to draw facts from their natural coheston, that they may circle round the nucleus of an artificial crystallization. Sewell has also taken up the same idea with regard to the scepticism of this passage, and in him, no less, must we attribute this notion to the influence of a general theory with regard to the religious opinions of Æschylus, rather than to any criticism which the present passage could possibly warrant.

  [Note 19 (p. 47).]

  • “With all-defiant valour brimming o’er.”

  
  
  A very literal rendering of the short, but significant, original παμμαχῳ θρὰσει βρύων, on which Sym. remarks that “it presents the magnificent and, to us, incongruous image of a giant all-steeled for battle, and bearing his boldness like a tree bearing its blossoms.” But there is no reason that I know for confining Βρύω here to its special use in Iliad XVII. 56 (Βρύει [Editor: illegible character]υθει λευκῳ) and other such passages. It rather suggests generally, as Sew. says, “ideas of violence, exuberance, and uproar,” like βρυάζων in Suppl. 856. He has accordingly given

  • “With all-defying spirit, like a boiling torrent roaring,’

  from which I have borrowed one word, with a slight alteration, but consider myself safer in not tying down the general word βρύων, to the special case of a torrent any more than of a tree. The recent Germans—“Im Gefuhle stolzer Kraft” (Fr.), and “allbewahrteu Trotzes hehr”—are miserably tame after Humboldt’s admirable “strotzend kampfbegierig frech.” As to the meaning of the passage, the three celestial dynasties of Uranus, Saturn, and Jove are plainly indicated, though who first threw this light on a passage certainly obscure, I cannot say. So far as I can see, it was Shutz. The Scholiast (A in Butler) talks of the Titans and Typhon, which is, at all events, on the right scent Neither Abresch nor Stan. seem to have understood the passage; and Potter, disdaining to take a hint from the old Scholiast, generalises away about humanity.

  [Note 20 (p 48).]

  • “Our hearts with gracious force.”

  
  
  The βιαίως certainly refers to the χάρις, and not to the ημένων, with the diluted sense of pollenter given it by Well.; and in this view I have no objection, with Blomfield and Con., to read βίαιος. I am not, however, so sure as Con. that the common reading is wrong. βιαίως may be an abrupt imperfectly enunciated expression (and there are not a few such in Æschylus) for exercising or using compulsion. Poets are not always the most accurate of grammarians.

  [Note 21 (p. 48).]

  • “In Aulis tides hoarse refluent.”

  
  
  The harbour of Aulis, opposite Euboea the district still called Ulike—(Wordsworth’s Athens and Attica, c I.). In narrow passages of the sea, as at Corryvreckan, on the west coast of Scotland, there are apt to be strong eddies and currents; and this is specially noted of the channel between Aulis and Chalcis, by Livy (XXVIII. 6. haud facile aita infestior classi statio est) and other passages adduced by But. in Peile.

  [Note 22 (p. 49).]

  • “Is the gods’ right. So be it.”

  
  
  I am unable to see how the translation of this passage, given by Sym. agrees with the context and with the spirit of Agamemnon’s conduct, and the view of it taken by the poet. Sym. says—

  • “They’re not her parents, they may call aloud
  • For the dire rite to smoothe the stormy flood
  • All fierce and thirsty for a virgin’s blood.”

  And Droysen, though more literally, says the same thing—“Dass sie das windstillende Suhnopfer, das jungfrauliche Blut heischen und schreien, ist es denn recht? Nein, sieg das Gute!” and Fr. also takes θέμις out of Agamemnon’s mouth, and gives it to the Greeks. “Finden sie recht. Zum Heil sey’s!” Perhaps the reason for preferring this version with the Germans lies in giving too great a force and prominence to the μετέγνω in the following strophe. But this may refer only to the change of a father’s instinctive feelings (expressed by silence only in this ode) to the open resolution of making common cause with the diviner and the chieftain.

  [Note 23 (p. 49).]

  • “. . . Unblissful blew the gale
  • That turned the father’s heart.”

  
  
  These words include both the τροπαίαν and the μετέγνω of the original. I join βρότους or βρότοις with the following clause, the sense being the same according to either reading. The verb θρασύνει, according to Con.’s very just reasoning, seems grammatically to require βρότους, though Fr. says, with a reference to Bernhardy, that βρότοις may be defended. Sym. has given a translation altogether different; though he admits that the sense given in my version, and in all the modern versions, is the most obvious one. His objection to connecting βρότους with the following sentence I do not understand.

  [Note 24 (p 49).]

  • “. . . consecrate
  • His ships for Troy.”

  
  
  προτέλεια ναωˆν, First fruits, literally, as Sew. has it, will scarcely do here; “first piation of the wind-bound fleet” of Sym. is very good. Humb., Droy., and Fr. all use Weihe in different combinations; a word which seems to suit the present passage very well, and I have accordingly adopted the corresponding English term.

  [Note 25 (p. 49)]

  • “Where prone and spent she lies.”

  
  
  παντὶ θυμῷ προνωπη̂, literally “prone with her whole soul;” “body and soul,” as Con. has it. The words are so arranged that it is impossible to determine to what παντὶ θυμῳ refers, whether to the general action λαβεɩ̂ν, or to the special position προνωπη̂ Sewell’s remark that “there is far more intensity of thought in applying παντὶ θυμῷ to λαβεɩ̂ν,” may be turned the other way. The phrase certainly must give additional intensity to whichever word it is joined with. The act itself is sufficiently cruel, without adding any needless traits of ferocity.

  [Note 26 (p 49).]

  • “. . . her saffron robe
  • Sweeping the ground.”

  
  
  κρόκου βαϕὰς εις πέδον χέουσα; “dropping her saffron veil,” says Sym.; perhaps rightly, but I see no ground for certainty. The application of κρόκου βαϕὰς to the drops of blood seems a modern idea, which has proceeded from some critic who had not poetry enough to understand the application of χεόυσα to anything but a liquid Except in peculiar circumstances, the word κρόκος, as Con. justly observes (see note 73 below), cannot be applied to the blood; and, in the present passage, it is plain the final work of the knife is left purposely undescribed.

  [Note 27 (p. 49).]

  • “The virgin strain they heard.”

  
  
  I cannot sufficiently express my astonishment that Humb., Droy., and Fr., as if it were a point of Germanism, have all conspired to wrench the ἐτίμα out of its natural connection in this beautiful passage, and to apply the whole concluding clause to the self-devotion of Iphigenia at the altar, rather than to her dutiful obedience at the festal scene just described The fine poetical feeling of Sym protested against this piece of tastelessness. “These commentators,” says he, “seem to have been ignorant of the poet’s intention, who raises interest, pity, and honor to the height, by presenting Iphigenia at the altar, and unveiling herself preparatory to her barbarous execution, on which point of the picture he dwells, contrasting her present situation with her former happiness, her cheerfulness, her songs, and the festivities in her father’s house.” It is strange that the Germans do not see that ἔυποτμον ἀιωˆνα is the most unfortunate of all terms to apply to the condition of Agamemnon, as a sacrificer; while it is most pertinent to his previous fortunes, before his evil destiny began to be revealed in the sacrifice of his beloved daughter.

  [Note 28 (p. 50).]

  • “. . . What boots
  • To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing.”

  
  
  It is both mortifying and consoling to think that all the learning which has been expended on this corrupt passage from Δίκα down to ἀυγαɩ̂ς, brings out nothing more than what already lies in the old Scholiast. As to the details of the text, I wish I could say, with the same confidence as Con., that Well. and Her’s σύνορθρον ἀυγαɩ̂ς is a bit more certain than Fr.’s σύναρθρον ἀταις, which, however, I am inclined to prefer, from its agreeing better with the general sombre hue of the ode.

  [Note 29 (p. 50).]

  • “Ever swift
  • Though wingless, Fame.”

  
  
  ἄπτερος is an epithet by negation after a fashion not at all uncommon in the Greek drama; the meaning being, though fame is not a bird, and has no wings, yet it flies as fast as if it had. The idea that ἄπτερος is the same as πτερωτὸς I agree with Con. is the mere expedient of despair. I have not the slightest doubt that Rumour is called a wingless messenger, just as Dust is called a voiceless messenger in the Seven against Thebes. Sym. is too subtle in explaining ἄπτερος after the analogy of the beautiful simile in Virgil, Æneid V. 215, so swift as not to appear to move its wings.

  [Note 30 (p. 51).]

  • “. . . He from Ida shot the spark.”

  
  
  The geographical mountain points in the following famous descriptive passages are as follows: (1) Mount Ida, near Troy, (2) the Island of Lemnos, in the Ægean, half-way between Asia and Europe, due West; (3) Mount Athos, the South point of the most Easterly of the three peninsulas that form the South part of Macedonia; (4) a station somewhere betwixt Athos and Bœotia, which the poet has characterised only by the name of the Watchman Macistus; (5) the Messapian Mount, West of Anthedon in the North of Bœotia; (6) Mount Cithœron, in the South of Bœotia; (7) Mount Aegiplanctus, between Megara and Corinth; (8) Mount Arachne, in Argolis, between Tiryns and Epidaurus, not far from Argos.

  [Note 31 (p. 51).]

  • “ . . the forward strength
  • Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly.”

  
  
  I have not had the courage with Sym. to reject the πρὸς ἡδονὴν and supply a verb The phrase is not colloquial, as he says, but occurs, as Well. points out, in Prom. 492. Medwyn has “crossing the breast of ocean with a speed plumed by its joy” That there is some blunder in the passage the want of a verb seems to indicate, but, with our present means, it appears wise to let it alone; not, like Fr., from a mere conjecture, to introduce ἰχθνˆς for ἰσχύς, and translate—

  • “Und fern hin dass der Wanderflamme heller Schein,
  • In lust die Fische auf des Meeres Rücken trieb”

  Are we never to see an end of these extremely ingenious, but very useless conjectures?

  [Note 32 (p 51).]

  • “Weaving the chain unbroken.”

  
  
  μη κατιζεσθαι—Heath. The true reading not to be discovered.

  [Note 33 (p. 51).]

  • “. . . a mighty beard of flame”

  
  
  The Hindoos in their description of the primeval male who, with a thousand heads and a thousand faces, issued from the mundane egg, use the same image—“the hairs of his body are trees and plants, of his head the clouds, of his beard, lightning, and his nails are rocks.”—Colonel Vans Kennedy, Ch. VIII. Our translators generally (except Sew. and Con.) have eschewed transplanting this image literally into English; and even the Germans have stumbled, Fr. giving Feuersaule most unhappily. Droy., when he says “Schweife,” gives the true idea, but I am not afraid to let the original stand.

  [Note 34 (p 51).]

  • “. . . the headlands that look down
  • On the Saronic gulf.”

  
  
  I see no proof that πρωˆν ever means anything but a promontory, and so cannot follow Con. in reading κάτοπτρον.

  [Note 35 (p. 51).]

  • “Each from the other fired with happy news,” etc.

  
  
  An allusion to the famous λαμπαδηϕορία, or torch race, practised by the Greeks at the Parthenon and other festivals. In this race a burning torch was passed from hand to hand, so that, notwithstanding the extreme celerity of the movement, the flame might not go out. See the article by Liddell in the Dict. Antiq. where difficulties in the detail are explained.

  [Note 36 (p. 52).]

  • “To their hearts’ content.”

  
  
  The reading of Well. and the MS ὡς δυσδαίμονες will never do, though Med. certainly has shown genius by striking out of it

  • “Soundly as mariners when the danger’s past
  • They sleep”

  The connection decidedly requires ωˆς ε̂υδαιμονες, neither more nor less than “to their hearts’ content,” as I have rendered it. But one would almost be reconciled to the sad state of the text of Æschylus, if every difficulty were cleared with such a masterly bound as Med. here displays. The Germans, Fr. and Dr., incapable, or not liking such capers, adhere to the simple ε̂υδαίμονες. Humb., according to his general practice, follows the captainship of Hermann, and gives “Gotterngleich (ὡς δε δαίμονες).”

  [Note 37 (p 52)]

  • “. . . Happy if the native gods
  • They reverence.”

  
  
  This sober fear of the evil consequences of excess in the hour of triumph, so characteristic a trait of ancient poetry, and purposely introduced here by Clytemnestra to serve her own purpose, finds an apt illustration in the conduct of Camillus at the siege of Veii, as reported by Livy (V. 21)—
  
  “Ad prædam miles permissu dictatoris discurnt Quæ quum ante oculos ejus aliquantum spe atque opinione major majorisque pretii rerum ferretur, dicitur, manus ad cœlum tollens precatus esse, ut si cui deorum hominumque nimia sua fortuna populique Romani videretur, ut eam invidiam lenire quam minimo suo privato incommodo, publicoque populo Romano liceret

  [Note 38 (p. 52).]

  • “Having turned the goal.”

  
  
  The reader is aware that in the ancient racecourse there was a meta, or goal, at each end of the course, round which the racers turned round (metaque fervidis evitata rotis.—Hor. Carm I. 1; and Æneid V. 129).

  [Note 39 (p. 52).]

  • “If they have sinned.”

  
  
  ἀμπλακητος. In defence of this reading, which, with Well., I prefer, Con. has a very excellent note, to which I refer the critical reader. Fr., following Ahrens (as he often does), makes a bold transposition of the lines, but the sense remains pretty much the same As to the guilt incurred by the Greeks, spoken of here and in the previous lines, the poet has put it, as some palliation of her own contemplated deed, into the mouth of Clytemnestra, but in perfect conformity also with the Homeric thelogy, which supposes that suffering must always imply guilt. Thus in the Odyss. III. 130-135, old Nestor explains to Telemachus.—

  • “But when Priam’s high-perched city by the Greeks was captured, then
  • In their swift ships homeward sailing, they were scattered by a god,
  • To the Greeks great Jove had purposed in his heart a black return,
  • For not all bad understanding, and not all observant lived
  • Of Justice”

  [Note 40 (p. 53).]

  • “The gods are blind.”

  
  
  I cannot here forbear recalling to the reader’s recollection a similar passage in Milton:—

  • “Just are the ways of God
  • And justifiable to men,
  • Unless there be who think not God at all.
  • If any be, they walk obscure
  • For of such doctrine never was there school,
  • But the heart of the fool,
  • And no man therein doctor but himself.”
  • —Samson Agonistes.

  [Note 41 (p. 53).]

  • “Self-will fell Até’s daughter.”

  
  
  I have here paraphrased a little the two lines—

  • βια̂ται δ’ἁ τάλαινα πειθὼ
  • προβουλόπαις ἄϕερτος Ἄτας—

  in which two evil powers are personified—Ate, destruction, and Peitho, persuasion, which here must be understood of that evil self-persuasion, by which, in the pride of self-will and vain confidence, a man justifies his worst deeds to himself, and is driven recklessly on to destruction. The case of Napoleon, in his Russian expedition, is in point. What follows shows that Paris is meant As to the strange, truly Æschylean compound, προβουλόπαις, Con says well, that the simple πρόβουλος means “one who joins in a preliminary vote,” and, of course, the compound is, as Lin has it, a “forecounselling child”

  [Note 42 (p. 54).]

  • “Even as a boy in wanton sport.”

  
  
  There is a great upheaping of incongruous images in this passage for which, perhaps, the poet may be blamed; as the one prevents the other from coming with a vivid and distinct impression on the mind. This image of the boy chasing the butterfly is, however, the one which places the inconsiderate love of Paris and Helen most distinctly before us, and it comes, therefore, with peculiar propriety, preceded by the more general and vague images, and immediately before the mention of the offender.

  [Note 43 (p. 54)]

  • “The prophets of the house loud wailing.”

  
  
  δόμων προϕη̂ται. I have retained the original word here, because it appears most appropriate to the passage; but the reader must be warned, by a reference to the familiar example in Epist Tit I 12, that with the ancients the characters of poet and prophet were confounded in a way that belongs not at all to our modern usage of the same words. Epimenides of Crete, in fact, to whom the Apostle Paul alludes, was not only a prophet, but also a physician, like Apollo (ἱατρόμαντις, Eumen. v. 62). In the same way the Hebrew word Nabah, prophetess, is applied to Miriam, Exod. xv. 20; and it may well be, that Æschylus, in the true spirit of these old times, and also following the deep religious inspiration of his Muse, alludes here to a character more sacred than the Homeric ἀοιδὸς, Minstrel or Bard, and this distinction should, of course, be preserved in the translation Sew. with great happiness, in my opinion, has given “the bards of fate;” but it were useless to press any such nice matter in this passage, especially when we call to mind the high estimation in which the Homeric ἀοιδὸς stands in the Odyss, and the remarkable passage, III. 267, where a minstrel is represented as appointed by Agamemnon to counsel and control Clytemnestra in his absence, pretty much as a family confessor would do in a modern Roman Catholic family

  [Note 44 (p. 54)]

  • “He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath.”

  
  
  Here commences one of the most difficult, and at the same time one of the most beautiful passages in the Agamemnon. The words,

  • πάρεστι σιγα̂ς’, ἄτιμος, ἀλόιδορος
  • ἅδιστος ἀϕἐμένων ἰδεɩ̂ν,

  are so corrupt, that a translator is quite justified in striking that sense out of them which is most fit on grounds of taste, and in this view I have little hesitation in adopting Hermann’s reading,

  [Note 45 (p. 56).]

  • “The bolt from on high shall blast his eye.”

  
  
  “Peile greatly admires Klausen’s interpretation”—

  • “Jacitur oculis a Jove fulmen,”

  but the passages which the latter adduce are not to the point. The Greeks do not attribute any governing virtue to the eyes of the gods, further than this, that the immortal beings who are supposed to govern human affairs must see, and take cognizance of them. Jupiter’s eye may glare like lightning, but the real lightning is always hurled from his hand. Compare Soph. Antiq 157 The words βάλλεται ὄσσοις Λιόθεν can bear no other sense naturally than “is flashed in the eyes from Jove.”—Con.

  [Note 46 (p. 57)]

  • “Where women wield the spear.”

  
  
  The spear (δόρυ) is with the Greeks the regular emblem of war, as the sword is with us; so a famous warrior in Homer is δουρικλυτὸς, a famous spearman, and a warrior generally ἀιχμητὴς. Further, as in the heroic or semi-civilized age, authority presents itself, not under the form of law and peaceful order, so much as under that of force and war, the spear comes to be a general emblem of authority; so in the present passage. St. Paul’s language, Rom xiii. 4, the magistrate weareth not the sword (μάχαιραν) in vain, gives the modern counterpart of the Æschylean phraseology.

  [Note 47 (p 57).]

  • “. . . our healer from much harm.”

  
  
  παιώνιος. I have no hesitation whatever in leaving Well. here, much as I generally admire his judicious caution. “Ἀγώνίους in the next line,” says Con, “at once convicts the old reading of tautology, and accounts for its introduction.” When a clear cause for a corrupt reading is shown by a natural wandering of the eye, I see no wisdom in obstinately adhering to a less appropriate reading. The emendation originated, according to Peile, with a writer in the Classical Journal; and was thence adopted by Scholefield, Peile, Con., and Franz, who names Ahrens as its author. Linw. also calls it “very probable.”

  [Note 48 (p. 57).]

  • “. . . ye sun-fronting gods.”

  
  
  δαίμονες ἀντήλιοτ. Med. has given the words a special application—

  • “Ye images of our gods that stand
  • Before the eastern gate.”

  But I suppose the reference may be only to the general custom of placing the statues of the gods in open public places, and in positions where they might front the sun.—See Hesychius and Tertullian, quoted by Stan.

  [Note 49 (p. 58).]

  • “His pledge is forfeited.”

  
  
  I agree with Con. that the juridical language used in the previous line fixes down the meaning of ρυσίου here beyond dispute; which meaning, indeed—ἐνέχυρον, a pledge or gage, is that given by the Scholiast on Iliad XI. 674. Stan. enounces this clearly in his Notes; only there is no need of supposing, with him, that the gage means Helen, or any one else. ’Tis merely a juridical way of saying that Paris was worsted in battle—he has forfeited his caution-money.

  [Note 50 (p. 59).]

  • “These spoils, a shining grace, there to remain
  • An heritage for ever.”

  
  
  The word ἀρχαɩ̂ον in this version seems most naturally to have a prospective reference, to express which a paraphrase seems necessary in English; but a similar use of Vetustas is common in Latin.—Cic. Attic. XIV. 9, pro-Mil. 35. Virgil’s Æneid X. 792. Sew. takes it retrospectively; thus

  • “Unto their ancient homes in Hellas land
  • A pride and joy.”

  [Note 51 (p. 60).]

  • “No more than dyer’s art can tincture brass.”

  
  
  χαλκονˆ βαϕὰς. One cannot dye a hard impenetrable substance, like copper or brass, by the mere process of steeping, as may be done with a soft substance like cloth. Clytemnestra seems to say that her ears are impenetrable in the same way. So Sym., Con., Sew.; and I have little doubt as to this being the true meaning—but should we not read χαλκὸς more than the brass knows dyeing?

  [Note 52 (p. 60).]

  • “Far from the honors of the blissful gods.”

  
  
  χωρὶς ἡ τιμὴ θεωˆν. I translate so, simply because this rendering seems to lie most naturally in the words, when interpreted by the immediately preceding context. The other translation which I originally had here,

  • “To every god his separate hour belongs
  • Of rightful honor,”

  seems to spring from the contrast of the “pæan to the Furies” mentioned below, with the hymns of joyful thanksgivings to the gods that suit the present occasion. But when the term “gods” is used generally on a joyful occasion, it seems more agreeable to Greek feeling to interpret it as excluding than as including the Furies. The hymns in the Eumenides show that they were considered as a dreadful power in the background, rather than prominent figures in the foreground of Hellenic polytheism But, however this be, the more obvious key to such a doubtful passage is surely that of the train of thought which immediately precedes.

  [Note 53 (p. 61).]

  • “Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,” etc.

  
  
  This passage, in the original, boils with a series of high-sounding words, δυσλύμαντα, κεροτοπούμεναι, [Editor: illegible character]μβροκτύπῳ, extremely characteristic both of the general genius of the poet and the special subject of poetic description. I have endeavoured, according to the best of my ability, not to lose a single line of this powerful painting; but, as it is more than likely I may have missed some point, or brought it feebly out, I would refer the reader to the able versions of Sym. and Med., which are very good in this place. About the κακὸς ποιμὴν, whether it refer to the whole tempest, as Sym. makes it, or to a part of it (στρόβος) as in my version, there can be no doubt, I think, that here ποιμὴν can mean nothing but “pilot,” as in the Persian ποιμάνωρ means a commander There can be no objection to retaining the word “shepherd,” but I do not like Con.’s “demon-swain” at all. It seems to me to bring in a foreign, and somewhat of a Gothic idea.

  [Note 54 (p. 61).]

  • “That ocean hell.”

  
  
  ἄδην πόντιον, I took this from Med. and give him a thousand thanks for supplying me with so literal, and yet so admirable a translation. Sym. is also excellent here, though, as usual, too fine—

  • “O how the day looked lovely, when ashore
  • We crawled, escaped from the watery jaws
  • Of a sea death.”

  [Note 55 (p. 61).]

  • “Far-labouring o’er the loosely-driving main.”

  
  
  There is a fine word in the original here, σποδουμένου, easily and admirably rendered by Fr.—serstaubt—but to express which I have found myself forced to have recourse to a cognate idea. The main idea is dispersion and diffusion, to drive about like dust, or, perhaps, the meaning may be, to rub down to dust —See Passow. In the present passage the context makes the former meaning preferable.

  [Note 56 (p. 61).]

  • “By Jove’s devising.”

  
  
  The reader will note here the supreme controlling power of Jove, forming, as it were, a sort of monotheistic keystone to the many-stoned arch of Hellenic Polytheism. Μηχαναɩ̂ς Διὸς here is just equivalent to our phrase by Divine interposition, or, by the interposition of Divine Providence, or the supreme moral superintendence of Jove.

  [Note 57 (p. 62).]

  • “Helen the taker!”

  
  
  There is an etymological allusion in the original here, concerning which see the Notes to the Prometheus Bound, v 85. The first syllable of Helen’s name in Greek means to take, from ἁιρέω 2 aor [Editor: illegible character]ιλον. “No one who understands the deep philosophy of Æschylus and his oriental turn of thought will suspect the play upon the name of Helen to be a frigid exercise of wit,” says Sew., who has transmuted the pun into English in no bad fashion thus—

  • “Helen, since as suited well
  • Hell of nations, heroes’ hell,
  • Hell of cities, from the tissued
  • Harem-chamber veils she issued”

  [Note 58 (p 62).]

  • “. . . giant Zephyr”

  
  
  I see no reason why so many translators, from Stan downward, should have been so fond to render γίγαντος “earth-born” here, as if there were any proof that any such genealogical idea was hovering before the mind of the poet when he used the word. I entirely agree with Con. that the notion of strength may have been all that was intended (as, indeed, we find in Homer the Zephyr always the strongest wind), and, therefore, I retain the original word. Sym Anglicising, after his fashion, says, not inaptly—

  • “Fanned by Zephyr’s buxom gales,”

  and Con. changes giant into Titan, perhaps wisely, to avoid certain ludicrous associations.

  [Note 59 (p 62).]

  • “Kin but not kind.”

  
  
  Another etymological allusion; κ[Editor: illegible character]δος meaning both kin and care.Sew. has turned it differently—

  • “And a marriage truly hight,
  • A marjoy,” etc

  Harf, does not relish this “absurd punning” at all, and misses it out in this place; so also Potter; but I agree altogether with Sew. that “there is nothing more fatal to any poet than to generalize his particularities.” Shakespere also puts puns into his most serious passages; a peculiarity which we must even tolerate like an affected way of walking or talking in a beautiful woman; though, for the reason stated in the note to the Prometheus, above referred to, the ancient, when he puns upon proper names, is by no means to be considered as an offender against the laws of good taste, in the same way as the modern.

  [Note 60 (p 63).]

  • “A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin.”

  
  
  Até the goddess of destruction, already mentioned (p 53), and whose name has been naturalized in English by the authority of Shakespere. In Homer ατη appears (1) as an infatuation of mind leading to perdition; (2) as that perdition effected; (3) as an allegorical personage, eldest born of Jove, the cause of that infatuation of mind and consequent perdition (II. XIX. v. 91). In the tragedians, [Editor: illegible character]τη is more habitually clothed with a distinct and prominent personality.

  [Note 61 (p 64).]

  • “A haughty heart.”

  
  
  In a passage hopelessly corrupt, and where no two editors agree in the reading, I have necessarily been reduced to the expedient of translating with a certain degree of looseness from the text of the MSS. as given by Well. Through this text, broken and disjointed as it is, the meaning glimmers with a light sufficient to guide the reader, who wishes only to arrive at the idea, without aspiring at the reconstitution of the lost grammatical form of the text, and it is a satisfaction to think that all the translators, from Pot. to Con, however they may vary in single phrases, give substantially the same idea, and in a great measure the same phrase. This idea, a most important one in the Greek system of morals, is well expressed by Sym. in his note on this place—“The Chorus here moralizes and dwells on the consequences to succeeding generations of the crimes of their predecessors. He traces, as it were, a moral succession, handed down from father to son, where one transgression begets another as its inevitable result. The first parent stock was ‘[Editor: illegible character]βρις’ a spirit of insolence or insubordination, breaking out into acts of outrage, the forerunner of every calamity in a Grecian republic, against which the philosophers and tragedians largely declaimed. They denounced it as well from a principle of policy as a sentiment of religion. In short, the poet treats here of the moral concatenation of cause and effect, the consequence to the descendants of their progenitors’ misconduct, operating either by the force of example or of hereditary disposition, which in the mind of the Chorus produces the effect of an irresistible fatality.”—I may mention that I have retained the original word δάιμων in its English form “demon,” this being, according to my feeling, one of the few places where the one can be used for the other without substituting a modern, and, therefore, a false idea.

  [Note 62 (p. 65).]

  • “Fawn with watery love.”

  
  
  νˆδαρεɩ̂ σάινειν ϕιλότητι. This is one of those bold dramatic touches which mark the hand of a Shakespere, or an Æschylus, and, by transmuting or diluting which, the translator, in my opinion, commits a capital sin. Harf., with his squeamish sensibility, has slurred over the whole passage, and even Fr., like all Germans, an advocate for close translation, gives the rapid generality of “trugend,” Med., from carelessness, I hope, and not from principle, has sinned in the same way, and Kennedy likewise; but I am happy in having both Con. and Sym. for my companions, when I retain a simile which is as characteristic of my author as a crooked beak is of an eagle. This note may serve for not a few similar cases, where the nice critic will do well to consult the Greek author before he blames the English translator.

  [Note 63 (p. 67).]

  • “He might have boasted of a triple coil.”

  
  
  I consider it quite legitimate in a translator, where critical doctors differ, and where decision is difficult or impossible, to embody in his version the ideas of both parties, where that can be done naturally, and without forcing, as in the present instance. It seems to me on the one hand that την κάτω γὰρ όυ λέγω has more pregnancy of expression when applied to the dead Geryon, than when interpreted of the earth; and, on the other hand, I cannot think with Sym. that the expression τρίμοιρον χλαɩ̂ναν, when applied to the earth, is “rank nonsense” There are many phrases in Æschylus that, if translated literally, sound very like nonsense in English The parenthetic clause “of him below I speak not,” is added from a superstitious feeling, to avoid the bad omen of speaking of a living person as dead. So Well. and Sym., and this appears the most natural qualification in the circumstances.

  [Note 64 (p. 7).]

  • “Thy Phocian spear-guest”

  
  
  Speaking of the era of the great Doric migration with regard to Megara, Bishop Thirlwall (Hist. Greece, c. VII.) writes as follows:—“Megara itself was, at this time, only one, though probably the principal, among five little townships which were independent of each other, and were not unfrequently engaged in hostilities, which, however, were so mitigated and regulated by local usage as to present rather the image than the reality of war. They were never allowed to interrupt the labours of the husbandman. The captive taken in these feuds was entertained as a guest in his enemy’s house, and when his ransom was fixed, was dismissed before it was paid. If he discharged his debt of honour he became, under a peculiar name (δορύξενος), the friend of his host; a breach of the compact dishonoured him for life both among the strangers and his neighbours—a picture of society which we could scarcely believe to have been drawn from life, if it did not agree with other institutions which we find described upon the best authority as prevailing at the same period in other parts of Greece.”

  [Note 65 (p 69).]

  • “Come, boy, unbind these sandals”

  
  
  This passage will at once suggest to the Christian reader the well-known passage in Exod. iii. 5, “take off thy shoes from thy feet, for the ground where thou standest is holy ground,” which Ken. aptly adduces, and compares it with Lev. xxx. 19, and Juvenal Sat. VI. 159—

  • “Observant ubi fests mero pede Sabbata reges,”

  and other passages. In the same way the hand held up in attestation before a bench of grave judges, according to our modern usage, must be ungloved.

  [Note 66 (p 69)]

  • “Jove, Jove the perfecter! perfect thou my vow.”

  
  
  Ζενˆ τέλειε I see no reason in the connection of this passage to give the epithet of τέλειος a special allusion to Jove, as along with Juno, the patron of marriage. Blom., Peile, and among the translators, Med and Ken. take this view. But Pot., Sym., Con., Fr., Voss., and Droys content themselves with the more obvious and general meaning. It is not contended, I presume, by any one that the epithet τέλειος, when applied to Jove, necessarily refers to marriage, independently of the context, as for instance in Eumen. 28. The origin of the epithet may be seen in Homer, Il. IV. 160-168, etc.

  [Note 67 (p. 69).]

  • “. . . unbidden and unhired”

  
  
  “Poor Louis! With them it is a hollow phantasmagoria, where, like mimes, they mope and mow, and utter false sounds for hire, but with thee it is frightful earnest.”—Carlyle’s French Revolution, the ancient and the modern, with equal felicity, alluding to the custom prevalent in ancient times of hiring women to mourn for the dead. We must also note, however, that there is an example here of that spontaneous prophecy of the heart by god-given presentiment, which is so often mentioned in Homer. The ancients, indeed, were the furthest possible removed from that narrow conception of a certain modern theology, which confines the higher influences of inspiration to a privileged sacerdotal order. In St. Paul’s writings, the whole Church prophesies; and so in Homer the fair Helen, who had no pretensions to the character of a professional soothsayer, pre faces her interpretation of an omen by saying,

  • “Hear my word, as in my heart the immortal gods suggest the thought,
  • I will read the omen rightly, as the sure event shall show”
  • Odys. XV. 172

  The words used by Homer to express this action of the divine on the human mind are βάλλειν ὑποτίθεσθαι, and such like, to throw into, and to put under, or suggest.

  [Note 68 (p. 70).]

  • “Unloosed their cables from the shore.”

  
  
  I have not been curious in rendering this passage, as the word παρήβησεν is hopelessly corrupt; but the general notion of my translation is taken from Sym.’s note.

  [Note 69 (p 71).]

  • “. . Were link with link
  • In the chain of things not bound together.”

  
  
  ἐι δὲ μὴ τεταγμένα μοɩ̂ρα κ. τ. λ. In my opinion, Sym., Con., and Peile, are wrong in giving a different meaning to μοɩ̂ραν from that which they assign to μοɩ̂ρα immediately preceding. In such phrases as “truditur dies die” (Horace) and “Day uttereth speech unto day,” the reader naturally attaches the same idea to the same word immediately repeated. The literal translation of this passage, “if by the ordinance of the gods ordered Fate did not hinder Fate,” seems merely to express the concatenation of things by divine decree as given in my version. Sym’s version is—

  • “I pause Some Fate from Heaven forbids
  • The Fate within to utter more,
  • Else had my heart outrun my tongue,
  • And poured the torrent o’er.”

  Med. gives three lines substantially identical with mine—

  • “Nor would I counteract the laws of Heaven,
  • My heart would chain my tongue, e’en were it given
  • To drag the secret of the Fates to the day”

  [Note 70 (p. 71).]

  • “. . . the household altar.”

  
  
  κτησίου βωμονˆ. Literally, the altar of our family wealth or possession. In the same way, Jove, the supreme disposer of all human wealth, is called Ζεὺς κτήσιος, possessory Jove. See the Suppliants, v. 440—my translation.

  [Note 71 (p. 72)]

  • “My way-god, my leader Apollo!”

  
  
  “Agyieus (from ἀγυιὰ, a way), a surname of Apollo, describing him as the protector of the streets and public places As such he was worshipped at Acharnæ, Mycenæ, and Tegea”—Dr. Schmitz, in the Mythol. Dict. In the same way, by ενοδιον θεὰν (Soph. Antig. 1200), or “the way goddess,” is understood Hecate The Hindoos make their god Pollear perform a similar function, placing his image in all temples, streets, highways, and, in the country, at the foot of some tree, that travellers may make their adorations and offerings to him before they pursue their journey.—Sonnerat in notes to the Curse of Kehama, Canto V.

  [Note 72 (p. 73).]

  • “Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?”

  
  
  In this Antistrophe, and the preceding Strophe, there is one of those plays on the name of the god addressed, which appear inappropriate to us, but were meant earnestly enough by the ancients, accustomed to deal with an original language from which the significancy of proper names had not been rubbed away.—See note on Prometheus, v. 85. Besides this, there was naturally a peculiar significancy attached to the names of the gods —See note 18, p. 338, above. In the present passage the first pun is on the name Απόλλων, Apollo, and the verb ἀπόλλυμι, which signifies to destroy) so the Hebrew Abaddon from Abad, he perished.—Apoc. ix. 11), a function of the Sun god familiar enough to the Greek mind, from the description of the pestilence in the opening scene of the Iliad. The second pun is on the title ἀγυιεὺς, leader, or way-god, concerning which see previous note. I have here, as in the case of Helen and Prometheus (v. 85), taken the simple plan of explaining the epithet in the text. The translator who will not do this must either, like Con. and Sym, leave the play on the words altogether unperceptible to the English reader, or, like Sew, be driven to the necessity of inventing a new pun, which may not always be happy English, and is certainly not Greek, thus—

  • “Apollo! Apollo!
  • Leader! appaller mine!
  • Yea! for the second time thou hast with ease
  • Appalled me, and destroyed me.”

  [Note 73 (p 74).]

  • “The blithe blood, that crimson ran
  • In my veins, runs pale and wan”

  
  
  With this Sym aptly compares a passage from the speech of Theodosius in Massinger’s Emperor of the East—

  • “What an earthquake I feel in me!
  • And on the sudden my whole fabric totters;
  • My blood within me turns, and through my veins
  • Parting with natural redness, I discern it
  • Changed to a fatal yellow”

  Even more strongly expressed than in our Greek poet, perhaps a little too strongly, the words, I discern it, certainly not improving the passage. Harf., as is his fashion, fears to follow the boldness of his author, and translates—
  
  

  • “The ruddy drop is curdling at my heart.”

  And in the same spirit Fr. gives dunkelroth.

  [Note 74 (p 74).]

  • “As when in the mortal anguish.”

  
  
  Sym. takes his stand too confidently on a corrupt text, when he says, “Pot. has entirely omitted the fallen warrior bleeding drop by drop, which is, as it were, introduced into the background by the poet to aggravate the gloom of the picture.” I read καιρία with Dind., Con., Linw., and Fr., with which single word the fallen warrior disappears, who comes in, even in Sym.’s version, rather abruptly.

  [Note 75 (p. 74).]

  • “. . . she seizes him
  • By the strong black horn.”

  
  
  Harf. finds this rough Homeric trait too strong for him. Med. has—

  • “With her black horn she buts him
  • What is that wrapt round his head?”

  But, though there is some colour for this translation in the old Scholiast, I think the reader will scarcely judge very favourably of it, after considering what Peile and Con. have judiciously said on the point. As for authority, all the translators, except Med. and Hume, from Pot. downwards, English and German, are with me. It is scarcely necessary to remark against Harford’s squeamishness, that the bull in ancient symbolical language (see poets and coins, passim) was an animal in every respect as noble and kingly as the lion and the eagle still remain.

  [Note 76 (p. 75).]

  • “Crieth Itys! Itys! aye.”

  
  
  Procne and Philomele, according to one of the most familiar of old Greek legends, were daughters of Pandion, king of Athens; and one of them having been given in marriage to Tereus, a king of the Thracians, in Daulis, who, after the marriage, offered violence to her sister—the result was, that the wife, in a fit of mad revenge, murdered her own son Itys, and gave his flesh to her husband to eat, and, being afterwards changed into a nightingale, was supposed in her melodious wail continually to repeat the name of this her luckless offspring.

  [Note 77 (p. 75).]

  • “The thick blossoms of its woe”

  
  
  ἀμϕιθαλη̂ κακοɩ̂ς βίον. I hope this expression will not be considered too strong by those who consider as well the general style of our poet, as the ὁρωˆμεν ἀνθουν πέλαγος Ἀιγα̂ιον νεκρο̂ις, v. 645 of this play (see my translation, supra, p. 61), and the μανιας δεινόν ὰποστάζει άνθηρόν τε μένος of Sophocles.—Antig. v. 960.

  [Note 78 (p. 77).]

  • “Soon my reeking heart shall cast.”

  
  
  If the reader thinks this a bold phrase, he must bear in mind that it is Cassandra who speaks, and Æschylus who writes. The translation, indeed, is not literal, but the word “θερμόνους,” as Con. says, “has all the marks of genuineness,” and I was more afraid of weakening it in translation than of exaggerating it. Other translations are—

  • “And I my warm blood soon on earth shall pour.”
  • —Sym
  • “But I shall soon press my hot heart to Earth”
  • —Con
  • “Ich aber stúrze bald zur Erd im heissen Kampf”
  • —Fr.
  • “Ich aber sinke bald im heissen Todeskampf”
  • —Droys.

  [Note 79 (p. 77).]

  • “Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face”

  
  
  “The beauty of this image can only be properly appreciated by those who have observed the extraordinary way in which the waves of the sea appear to rush towards the rising sun.”—English Prose Tr. Oxon.

  [Note 80 (p. 77).]

  • “. . . though I should wedge them
  • As stark as ice?”

  
  
  I read πη̂γμα with Well and the majority of editors and translators. Sym., who is sometimes a little too imperative in his style, calls this to “obtrude an unnecessary piece of frigidity or fustian on Æschylus.” The reader, of course, will judge for himself; but there are many things in our poet more worthy of the term “fustian” than the word πη̂γμα, applied to πρκος.

  [Note 81 (p. 78).]

  • “Implacable breath of curses on her kin.”

  
  
  Well. forgets his usual caution, when he receives ἄρην into his text, and rejects ἀρὰν, the reading of the MS. It is paltry to object to the phrase ἄσπονδον ἀρὰν in an author like Æschylus. Franz receives the emendation of Lobeck, modified into Λρη.

  [Note 82 (p. 80).]

  • “Bravely thou praisest; but the happy hear not
  • Such commendations”

  
  
  I have here, in opposition to Fr., Sym., Med., and even the cautious Well., reverted to the original order of this and the next line, as they appear in the MSS , being chiefly moved by what is said by Con. “The words ἀλλ ἐυκλεωˆς τοι κατθανε̂ιν χάρις βροτῷ could never have been put by Æschylus into the mouth of Cassandra, who is as far as possible from cherishing the common view of a glorious death, and, indeed, shows in her next speech very plainly what feelings such a thought suggests to her.”

  [Note 83 (p. 80)]

  • “Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird.”

  
  
  “Fearing a wild beast about its nest,” says the Scholiast; fearing the fowler with “its limed wings,” says Med. The original is short and obscure; but there is no need of being definite; nothing is more common than to see a bird fruitlessly fluttering about a bush, and uttering piteous cries. A fit image of vain lamentation without purpose or result.

  [Note 84 (p. 81).]

  • “. . . From bad to worse
  • Our changes run, and with the worst we end.”

  
  
  This translation is free, because it did not occur to me that the laconism of the Greek, if literally translated, would be sufficiently intelligible. I have no doubt as to the correctness of this version of a passage which is certainly not a little puzzling at first sight. Two phases of human life are spoken of in the previous lines; one is the change from prosperity to adversity, the other, from adversity down to utter ruin and death. The preference expressed in the line καὶ τανˆτ ἒκέινων κ τ.λ. can refer to nothing but these two So Peile and Con.; and there is a terrible darkness of despair about Cassandra’s whole tone and manner, which renders this account of human life peculiarly natural in her parting words.

  [Note 85 (p. 81).]

  • “Who of mortals will not pray.”

  
  
  The line τίς ἀν ἔυξαιτο βροτωˆν ἀσινε̂ι, being deficient in metre, one may either supply ὄυκ, with Canter, which gives the meaning expressed in the text, or, retaining the affirmative form, read βροτός, ὤν, with Both. and Fr., which gives an equally good sense thus—

  • “Who of mortals then may hope
  • To live an unharmed life, when he
  • Fell from such height of honor?”

  so Pot., Med., Humb., Droys., Fr., and Voss.

  [Note 86 (p 81).]

  • “Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.”

  
  
  I follow Müller here in dividing the Chorus among twelve, not fifteen speakers. The internal evidence plainly points to this; and for any external evidence of scholiasts and others in such matters, even if it were uncontradicted, I must confess that I think it is worth very little.

  [Note 87 (p 82).]

  • “So wisely spoken.”

  
  
  Most lame and impotent conclusion!—so the reader has no doubt been all the while exclaiming. Our great poet has here contrived to make one of the most tragic moments of the play consummately ridiculous; and it is in vain to defend him. No doubt, old men are apt enough to be irresolute, and to deliberate, while the decisive moment for action slips through their fingers. So far in character. But why does the poet bring this vacillation so laboriously forward, that it necessarily appears ludicrous? This formal argumentation turns the character of the Chorus into caricature. Nor will it do to say with Con. that this impotent scene was “forced on Æschylus, by the fact of the existence of a Chorus, and the nature of the work he had to do.” A short lyrical ode might have covered worthily that irresolution, which a formal argumentation only exposes. No one blames the Chorus for doing nothing; that is all right enough; but every one must blame the poet for making them talk with such a show of solemn gravity and earnest loyalty about doing nothing.

  [Note 88 (p 82).]

  • “Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand
  • Upon the finished deed.”

  
  
  The natural attitude of decision. So when Brutus administered the famous oath to the Roman people, “neminem Romæ regnare passuros,” he and his colleagues are described by Dionysius (V. 1) as σταντες ἐπι των τομίων.

  [Note 89 (p. 83).]

  • “Thou hast cast off thou hast cut off
  • Thine own husband.”

  
  
  I have endeavoured to express the repetition of the off three times as in the original; but the Greek is far more emphatic, the repetition taking place in the same line, ἀπέδικες, ἀπέταμες ἀπόπολις δ ἕσῃ.

  [Note 90 (p. 83).]

  • “But mark my words.”

  
  
  There is much difficulty in settling the reading and the construction of the Greek here; but having compared all the translations, I find that, from Pot. down to Mrd and Fr, substantially the same sentiment is educed. Sym. who praises Blom’s arrangement, gives—

  • “Threaten away, for I too am prepared
  • In the like manner Rule me if thou canst,
  • Get by thy band the mastery—rule me then.
  • But if,” etc.

  Well. whom I follow, and who objects to Blom.’s construction, gives— “Jubeo antem te, quum et ego ad similes minas paratas sim, victoria vi reportata, mihi imperare, sin minus, et si contraria Dii perfecerint, damno edoctus sero sapere disces.”

  [Note 91 (p. 84).]

  • “And thine eyes with fatness swell.”

  
  
  I do not know whether I may not have gone too far in retaining the original force of λίπος in this passage I perceive that few of the translators, not even Sew, so curious in etymological translation, keep me in countenance However, I am always very loath to smooth down a strong phrase in Æschylus, merely because the modern ear may think it gross. In this case, I am glad to find that I am supported by Droys.

  • “Ueber dem Auge glänzt fett Dir das Tropfenblüt.”

  though my rendering is a little more free.

  [Note 92 (p. 84).]
  
  Strophe i. In the arrangement of the following lyric dialogue, I have followed But, Blom., and Peile, in opposition to that given by Herm., Well, and Fr., not for any metrical reasons sufficiently strong to influence me either one way or other in constituting the text; but because I find the sense complete and continuous after ννˆν δετελειάν, and this alone is a sufficient reason why I, in my subordinate function of a translator, should not suppose anything to have fallen out of the text in this place. How much, however, we are all in the dark about the matter appears from this, that in the place where Blom. and Peile suppose an immense lacuna, the sense in the mouth of Clytemnestra ννˆν δ’ ὤρθωσας runs on with a continuous allusion to the preceding words of the Chorus. For which reason I have not hinted the existence of an omission, nor is it at all likely that the reader has lost much These are matters which belonged to the ancient symmetrical arrangement of the Chorus before the eyes and ears of the spectators, and which I much fear it it impossible for us, readers of a dry MS., to revive at this time of day.

  [Note 93 (p. 85)]

  • “O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls.”

  
  
  I am afraid I stand alone, among the translators, in translating δαɩ̂μον in this and similar places, by the English word god; but persuaded as I am that the English words Fiend and Demon are steeped in modern partly Gothic, partly Christian associations of a character essentially opposed to the character and genius of the Greek theology, I choose rather to offend the taste than to confound the judgment of my reader in so important a matter. The Greeks habitually attributed to their gods actions and sentiments, which we attribute only to devils and demons Such beings (in the English sense) were, in fact, altogether unknown to the Greeks. Their gods, as occasion required, performed all the functions of our Devil; so that, to use a familiar illustration, instead of the phrase, what the devil are you about? so familiar to a genuine English ear, the Athenians would have said, what the god are you about? Hence the use of δαιμόνιε in Homer.

  [Note 94 (p. 86).]

  • “The unrelenting old Alastor.”

  
  
  Along with Sym. and Con. I retain the Greek word here, partly from the reason given in the previous note with regard to δαίμων, partly because the word is familiar to many poetical ears from Shelley’s poetry, partly, also, because I take care so to explain it in the context, that it cannot be misunderstood by the English reader The Greek word ἀλάστωρ means an evil genius. Clement of Alexandria, in a passage quoted by Sym. (Protrept c. II.) classes the Alastors of the ancient tragedy with the Furies and other terrible ministers of heaven’s avenging justice. About the etymology of the word the lexicographers and critics are not agreed. Would there be any harm in connecting it with ἀλαστέω (Il. XII. 163), and ἐπαλαστέω (Odys. I. 252), so that it should signify an angry or wrathful spirit.

  [Note 95 (p. 88).]

  • “Falling he fell, and dying died.”

  
  
  I have here taken advantage of a Hebraism familiar, through the pages of the Bible, to the English ear, in order to give somewhat of the force of the fine alliteration in the original κάππεσε, κάτθανε .καὶ καταθάψομεν. In the next three lines I have filled up a blank in the text, by what must obviously have been the import of the lost lines, if, indeed, Paley, Klausen, and Con. are not rather right in not insisting on an exact response of stanza to stanza in the anapæstic systems of the musical dialogue.

  [Note 96 (p. 88).]

  • “While great Jove lives.’

  
  
  μίμνοντος ὲν χρόνῳΔιὸς “The meaning is sufficiently plain, if we do not disturb it by any philosophical notions about the difference between time and cternity.”—Con. The reader will note here the grand idea of retributive justice pursuing a devoted family from generation to generation, and, as it were, entailing misery upon them, concerning which see Sewell’s remarks above, p. 349. Sophocles strikes the same keynote in the choric chaunt of the Antigone, ἀρχαɩ̂α τα Δαβδακιδα̂ν ὄικων ὁρωˆμαι.

  [Note 97 (p. 90).]

  • “. . . in a separate dish concealed
  • Were legs and arms, and the fingers’ pointed tips”

  
  
  Editors have a great difficulty in settling the text here; but there is enough of the meaning visible—especially when the passage is compared with Herod. I. 119, referred to by Schutz—to enable the translator to proceed on the assumption of a text substantially the same as that given by Fr., where the second line is supplied—

  • Τὰ μὲν ποδήρη και χε̂ρων ἄκρους κτένας
  • [Ἔθετο κάτωθεν πὰντα συγκρύψας τὰ δ ἀυ]
  • Ἔθρυπτ ἄνωθεν ὰνδρακὰς καθημένοις
  • Ἄσήμ’ · ὁ δ ἄυτωˆν ἀυτικ’ αγνόιᾳ λαβὼν.

  The reader will observe that in these and such like passages, where, after all the labours of the learned, an uncertainty hangs over the text, I think myself safer in giving only the general undoubted meaning that shines through the passage, without venturing on the slippery ground of translating words of which the proper connection may he lost, or which, perhaps, were not written at all by the poet.

  [Note 98 (p. 90).]

  • “. . . while with his heel he spurned
  • The supper.”

  
  
  I quite agree with Con. that there is not the slightest reason for rejecting the natural meaning of λακτίσμα δείπνου in this passage. Such expressions are quite Æschylean in their character, and the analogy of the feast of Tereus in Ovid, Met VI. 661,

  • “Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit,”

  adduced by Con. is very happy. To push the table away, whether with hand or heel, or with both, in such a case, is the most natural action in the world.

  [Note 99 (p. 90).]

  • “And no diviner vends more potent balms
  • To drug a doting wit”

  
  
  I have here expanded the text a little, to express the whole force of the Greek word Ἱατρομάντεις, concerning which see Note to the Eumen. v. 62, below.

  [Note 100 (p. 91).]

  • “Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye!”

  
  
  These two lines in the mouth of the Chorus make a good consecutive sense; but the symmetrical response of line to line, so characteristic of Greek tragedy, has led Herm., Well., and the other editors of note, to suppose that a line from Ægisthus has fallen out between these lines of the Chorus Blanks of this kind, however, the translator will wisely overlook, so long as they do not seriously disturb the sense.

• Back to Top

  3: 3. Aeschylus, The Libation Bearers

  This is the 2nd play in Aeschylus’s trilogy of plays known as “The Oresteia”.

  Aeschylus, The Lyrical Dramas of Aeschylus, translated into English Verse by John Stuart Blackie (London: J.M. Dent, 1906). Chapter: CHOEPHORÆ OR, THE LIBATION-BEARERS A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1039/107071 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CHOEPHORÆ OR, THE LIBATION-BEARERS
  
  A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

  • Ἐκ γὰρ Ὀρέσταο τίσις [Editor: illegible character]σσεται Ἀτρέιδαο
  • Ὀπποτ [Editor: illegible character]ν ‘ηβήσ[Editor: illegible character] τε κὰι ἠ̂ς ἱμείρεται ἄιης.

  • Homer.

  • Think upon our father,
  • Give the sword scope—think what a man was he

  • Landoe.

  PERSONS

  Orestes, Son of Agamemnon.

  Pylades, Friend of Orestes

  Chorus of Captive Women.

  Electra, Sister of Orestes.

  Nurse of Orestes.

  Clytemnestra, Mother of Orestes.

  Ægisthus.

  Servant.

  Sceneas in the preceding piece. The Tomb of Agamemnon in the centre of the Stage.

  INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

  “Good, how good, when one who dies unjustly leaves a son behind him To avenge his death!”

  —Odyss. iii. 196,

  As a composition, the Choephoræ is decidedly inferior both to the Agamemnon which precedes, and the Eumenides which follows it; and the poet, as if sensible of this weakness, following the approved tactics of rhetoricians and warriors, has dexterously placed it in a position where its deficiencies are least observed. At the same time, in passing a critical judgment on this piece we must bear in mind two things—first, that some parts of this play that appear languid, long-drawn, and ineffective to us who read, may have been overflowing with the richest emotional power in their living musical exhibition; and, secondly, that many parts, especially of the choral chaunts, have been so maimed and shattered by time that the modern commentator is perhaps as much chargeable with the faults of the translation as the ancient tragedian.

  EnterOrestesandPylades.

  Orest.

  • Hermes, that wieldest underneath the ground
  • What power thy father lent,1 be thou my saviour
  • And my strong help, and grant his heart’s request
  • To the returning exile! On this mound,
  • My father’s tomb, my father I invoke,
  • To hear my cry!
  • * * * * * *
  • * * My early growth of hair
  • To Inachus I vowed;2 this later lock
  • The right of grief for my great sire demands.
  • * * * * *
  • But what is this? what sad procession comes
  • Of marshalled maids in sable mantles clad?
  • What mission brings them? Some new woe that breaks
  • Upon our fated house? Or, do they come
  • To soothe the ancient anger of the dead
  • With sweet libations for my father’s tomb?
  • ’Tis even so for lo! Electra comes—
  • My sister—with them in unblissful grief
  • Pre-eminent. O Jove, be thou mine aid,3
  • And nerve my hand to avenge my father’s wrong!
  • Stand we aside, my Pylades, that we
  • May learn the purpose of the murky pomp.

  [They go aside.

  Chorus,dressed in sable vestments, bearing vessels with libations.

  • STROPHE I.
  • Missioned from these halls I come
  • In the sable pomp of woe,
  • Here to wail and pour libations,
  • with the bosom-beating blow;
  • And my cheeks, that herald sorrow,4
  • With the fresh-cut nail-ploughed furrow,
  • Grief’s vocation show.
  • See! my rent and ragged stole
  • Speaks the conflict of my soul;
  • My vex’d heart on grief is feeding,
  • Night and day withouten rest;
  • Riven with the ruthless mourning,
  • Hangs the linen vest, adorning
  • Woefully my breast.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Breathing wrath through nightly slumbers,
  • By a dream-encompassed lair,
  • Prophet of the house of Pelops,
  • Terror stands with bristling hair.
  • Through the dark night fitful yelling,
  • He within our inmost dwelling
  • Did the sleeper scare.
  • Heavily, heavily terror falls
  • On the woman-governed halls!
  • And, instinct with high assurance,
  • Speak the wise diviners all;
  • “The dead, the earth-hid dead are fretful,
  • And for vengeance unforgetful,
  • From their graves they call.”
  • STROPHE II.
  • This graceless grace to do, to ward
  • What ills the dream portendeth
  • This pomp—O mother Earth!—and me
  • The godless woman sendeth.
  • Thankless office! Can I dare,
  • Naming thee, to mock the air?
  • Blood that stains with purple track
  • The ground, what price can purchase back?
  • O the hearth beset with mourning!
  • O the proud halls’ overturning!
  • Darkness, blithe sight’s detestation,
  • Sunless sorrow spread
  • Round the house of desolation,
  • Whence the lord is fled.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • The kingly majesty that was
  • The mighty, warlike-hearted,
  • That swayed the general ear and will,
  • The unconquered, hath departed.
  • And now fear rules,5 and we obey,
  • Unwillingly, a loveless sway.
  • Who holds the key of plenty’s portals
  • Is god, and more than god to mortals;
  • But justice from her watchful station,
  • With a sure-winged visitation
  • Swoops; and some in blazing noon
  • She for doom doth mark,
  • Some in lingering eve, and some
  • In the deedless dark.
  • EPODE.
  • When mother Earth hath drunk black gore,
  • Printed on the faithful floor,
  • The staring blot remaineth;
  • There the deep disease is lurking;
  • There thrice double-guilt is working
  • Woes that none restraineth.
  • As virgin-chambers once polluted
  • Never may be pure again,
  • So filthy hands with blood bedabbled6
  • All the streams of all the rivers
  • Flow to wash in vain
  • For me I suffer what I must;
  • By ordinance divine,
  • Since Troy was levelled with the dust
  • The bondman’s fate is mine.
  • What the masters of my fate
  • In their strength decree,7
  • Just or unjust, matters not,
  • Is the law to me.
  • I must look content; and chain
  • Strongest hate with tightest rein;
  • I for my mistress’ woes must wail,
  • And for my own, beneath the veil;8
  • I must sit apart,
  • And thaw with tears my frozen heart,
  • When no eye may see.

  EnterElectra.

  Elect.

  • Ye ministering maids with dexterous heed
  • That tend this household, as with me ye share
  • This pomp of supplication, let me share
  • In your good counsel. Speak, and tell me how,
  • This flood funereal pouring on the tomb,
  • I shall find utterance in well-omened words?
  • Shall I declare me bearer of sweet gifts
  • From a dear wife to her dear lord? I fear
  • To mingle faslehood with libations pure,
  • Poured on my father’s tomb.9 Or shall I pray,
  • As mortals wont to pray, that he may send
  • Just retribution, and a worthy gift
  • Of ill for ill to them that sent these garlands?
  • Or shall I silent stand, nor with my tongue
  • Give honour, as in dumb dishonoured death
  • My father died, and give the Earth to drink
  • A joyless stream, as who throws lustral ashes10
  • With eyes averse, and flings the vase away?
  • Your counsel here I crave; ye are my friends,
  • And bear with me, within these fated halls
  • A common burden. Speak, and no craven fear
  • Lurk in your breasts! The man that lives most free,
  • And him to sternest masterdom enthralled,
  • One fate abides Lend me your wisdom, friends.

  Chorus.

  • Thy father’s tomb shall be to me an altar;
  • As before God I’ll speak the truth to thee.

  Elect.

  Speak thus devoutly, and thou’lt answer well.

  Chorus

  • Give words of seemly honour, as thou pourest,
  • To all that love thy father.

  Elect.

  Who are they?

  Chorus.

  Thyself the first, and whoso hates Ægisthus.

  Elect.

  That is myself and thou.

  Chorus.

  Thyself may’st judge.

  Elect.

  Hast thou none else to swell the scanty roll?

  Chorus.

  One far away, thy brother, add—Orestes.

  Elect.

  ’Tis well remembered, very well remembered.

  Chorus.

  Nor them forget that worked the deed of guilt.

  Elect.

  Ha! what of them? I’d hear of this more nearly.

  Chorus.

  Pray that some god may come, or mortal man.

  Elect.

  Judge or avenger?

  Chorus.

  • Roundly pray the prayer,
  • Some god or man may come to slay the slayer.

  Elect.

  And may I pray the gods such boon as this?

  Chorus.

  • Why not? What other quittance to a foe
  • Than hate repaid with hate, and blow with blow?11

  Elect.

  • [approaching to the tomb of Agamemnon]. Hermes, that
  • swayest underneath the ground,*12
  • Of powers divine, Infernal and Supernal,
  • Most weighty herald, herald me in this,
  • That every subterranean god, and earth,
  • Even mother earth, who gave all things their birth,
  • And nurseth the reviving germs of all,
  • May hear my prayer, and with their sleepless eyes
  • Watch my parental halls. And while I dew
  • Thy tomb with purifying stream, O father,
  • Pity thou me, and on thy loved Orestes
  • With pity look, and to our long lost home
  • Restore us!—us, poor friendless outcasts both,
  • Bartered by her who bore us, and exchanged
  • Thy love for his who was thy murderer.
  • Myself do menial service in this house;
  • Orestes lives in exile; and they twain
  • In riot waste the fruits of thy great toils.
  • Hear thou my prayers, and quickly send Orestes
  • With happy chance to claim his father’s sceptre!
  • And give thou me a wiser heart, and hand
  • More holy-functioned than the mother’s was
  • That bore thy daughter. Thus much for myself,
  • And for my friends. To those that hate my father,
  • Rise thou with vengeance mantled-dark to smite
  • Those justly that unjustly smote the just.
  • These words of evil imprecation dire,13
  • Marring the pious tenor of my prayer,
  • I speak constrained: but thou for me and mine
  • Send good, and only good, to the upper air,
  • The gods being with thee, mother Earth, and Justice
  • With triumph in her train. This prayer receive
  • And these libations. Ye, my friends, the while
  • Let your grief blossom in luxuriant wail,
  • Lifting the solemn pæan of the dead.

  Chorus.

  14

  • Flow! in plashing torrents flow!
  • Wretched grief for wretched master!
  • O’er this heaped mound freely flow,
  • Refuge of my heart’s disaster!
  • O thou dark majestic shade,
  • Hear, O hear me! While anear thee
  • Pours this sorrow-stricken maid
  • The pure libation,
  • May the solemn wail we lift
  • Atone the guilt that taints the gift
  • With desecration!
  • O that some god from Scythia far,
  • To my imploring,
  • Might send a spearman strong in war,
  • Our house restoring!
  • Come Mars, with back-bent bow, thy hail
  • Of arrows pouring,
  • Or with the hilted sword assail,
  • And in the grapple close prevail,
  • Of battle roaring!

  Elect.

  15

  • These mild libations, earth-imbibed, my father
  • Hath now received. Thy further counsel lend.

  Chorus

  In what? Within me leaps my heart for fear.

  Elect

  Seest thou this lock of hair upon the tomb?

  Chorus.

  A man’s hair is it, or a low-zoned maid’s?16

  Elect.

  Few points there are to hit. ’Tis light divining

  Chorus.

  I am thine elder, yet I fain would reap Instruction from young lips

  Elect.

  • If it was clipt
  • From head in Argos, it should be my own.17

  Chorus.

  • For they that should have shorn the mourning lock
  • Are foes, not friends.

  Elect.

  ’Tis like, O strange! how like!

  Chorus.

  Like what? What strange conception stirs thy brain?

  Elect

  • ’Tis like—O strange!—to these same locks I wear.
  • And yet—

  Chorus.

  • Not being yours, there’s none, I know,
  • Can claim it but Orestes.

  Elect.

  • In sooth, ’tis like
  • Trimmed with one plume Orestes was and I

  Chorus.

  But how should he have dared to tread this ground?

  Elect.

  • Belike, he sent it by another’s hand,
  • A votive lock to grace his father’s tomb.

  Chorus.

  • Small solace to my grief, if that he lives,
  • Yet never more may touch his native soil.

  Elect.

  • I, too, as with a bitter wave was lashed,
  • And pierced, as with an arrow, at the sight
  • Of this loved lock; and from my thirsty eyne
  • With troubled overflowings unrestrained
  • The full tide gushes: for none here would dare
  • To gift a lock to Agamemnon’s grave;
  • No citizen, much less the wife that slew him.
  • My mother most unmotherly, her own children
  • With godless hate pursuing, evil-minded:
  • And though to think this wandering lock have graced
  • My brother’s head—even his—my loved Orestes,
  • Were bliss too great, yet will I hold the hope.
  • O that this lock might with articulate voice
  • Pronounce a herald’s tale, and I no more
  • This way and that with dubious thought be swayed!
  • That I might know if from a hostile head
  • ’Twas shorn, and hate it as it hate deserves,
  • Or, if from friends, my sorrows’ fellow make it,
  • The dearest grace of my dear father’s tomb!
  • But the gods know our woes; them we invoke,
  • Whirled to and fro in eddies of dark doubt,
  • Like vessels tempest-tossed. If they will save us,
  • They have the power from smallest seed to raise
  • The goodliest tree. But lo! a further proof18 —
  • Footsteps, a perfect print, that seem to bear
  • A brotherhood with mine! Nay, there are two—
  • This claimed by him, and that by some true friend
  • That shares his wanderings. See, the heel, the sole,
  • Thus measured with my own, prove that they were
  • Both fashioned in one mould ’Tis very strange!
  • I’m racked with doubt, my wits are wandering.

  Orest.

  • [coming forward]. Nay, rather thank the gods! Thy first prayer granted,
  • Pray that fair end may fair beginning follow.19

  Elect.

  Sayest thou? What cause have I to thank the gods?

  Orest.

  Even here before thee stands thine answered prayer.

  Elect.

  One man I wish to see: dost know him—thou?

  Orest.

  Thy wish of wishes is to see Orestes.

  Elect.

  Even so: but wishing answers no man’s prayer.

  Orest.

  • I am the man. No dearer one expect
  • That wears that name.

  Elect.

  Nay, but this is some plot?

  Orest.

  That were to frame a plot against myself.

  Elect.

  Unkind, to scoff at my calamities!

  Orest.

  To scoff at thine, were scoffing at mine own.

  Elect.

  And can it be? Art thou indeed Orestes?

  Orest.

  • My bodily self thou seest, and dost not know!
  • And yet the votive lock shorn from my head,
  • Being to thine, my sister’s hair, conform,
  • And my foot’s print with curious ardour scanned,
  • Could wing thy faith beyond the reach of sense,
  • That thou didst seem to see me! Take the lock,
  • And match it nicely with this mother crop
  • That bore it. More; behold this web,20 the fruit
  • Of thine own toil, the strokes of thine own shuttle,
  • The wild beasts of the woods by thine own hand
  • Empictured! Nay, be calm, and keep thy joy
  • Within wise bounds Too well I know that they
  • Who should be friends here are our bitterest foes.

  Elect.

  • O of my father’s house the chiefest care!
  • Seed of salvation, hope with many tears
  • Bewept, with thy strong arm thou shalt restore
  • Thy father’s house. O my life’s eye, thou dost
  • Four several functions corporate in one
  • Discharge for me! My father thou, and thine
  • The gentler love that should have been my mother’s,
  • My justly hated mother; and in her place,
  • Who died by merciless immolation,* thou
  • Must be my sister, so even as thou art
  • My faithful brother, loved much and revered.
  • May Power and Justice aid thee, mighty Twain,21
  • And a third mightier, Jove supremely great.

  Orest.

  • O Jove, great Jove, of all these things be thou
  • Spectator! And behold the orphan’d brood,
  • Of eagle father strangled in the folds
  • And deadly coil of loathly basilisk!
  • Them sireless see in dire starvation’s gripe,
  • Too weak of wing to bear unto the nest
  • Their father’s prey. So we before thee stand,
  • Myself and this Electra, sire-bereaved,
  • And exiles both from our paternal roof.
  • If we, the chickens of the pious father
  • That crowned thee with much sacrifice, shall fail,
  • Where shalt thou find a hand like his, to offer
  • Gifts from the steaming banquet? If the brood
  • Of the eagle perish, where shall be thy signs,
  • That speak from Heaven persuasive to mankind?
  • If all this royal trunk shall rot, say who,
  • When blood of oxen flows on holidays,
  • Shall stand beside thine altar? O give ear,
  • And of this house so little now, and fallen
  • So low, rebuild the fortunes!

  Chorus.

  • Hush, my children!
  • If ye would save your father’s house, speak softly,
  • Lest some one hear, and, with swift babblement,
  • Inform their ears who rule; whom may I see
  • Flayed on a fire, with streaming pitch well fed!

  Orest.

  • Fear not. The mighty oracle of Loxias,
  • By whose commands I dare the thing I dare,
  • Will not deceive me. He, with shrill-voiced warning,
  • Foretold that freezing pains through my warm liver
  • Should torturing shoot, if backward to avenge
  • My father’s death, and even as he was slain,
  • To slay the slayers, exasperate at the loss22
  • Of my so fair possessions. Thus to do
  • He gave me strict injunction: else myself
  • With terrible pains, of filial zeal remiss,
  • Should pay the fine. The evil-minded Powers
  • Beneath the Earth23 would visit me in wrath,
  • A leprous tetter with corrosive tooth
  • Creep o’er my skin, and fasten on my flesh,
  • And with white scales the white hair grow, defacing
  • My bloom of health; and from my father’s tomb
  • Ripe with avenging ire the Erinnyes
  • Should ruthlessly invade me. Thus he spake,
  • And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.24
  • Sharp arrows through the subterranean night,
  • Shot by dear Shades that through the Infernal halls
  • Roam peaceless, madness, and vain fear o’ nights,
  • Prick with sharp goads, and chase from street to street,
  • With iron scourge, the meagre-wasted form
  • Of the Fury-hunted sinner; him no share
  • In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop
  • Of pure libation;25 the paternal wrath,
  • Hovering unseen, shall drive him from the altar;
  • Him shall no home receive, no lodgment hold,
  • Unhonoured and unfriended he shall die,
  • Withered and mummied with the hot dry plague.
  • Such oracle divine behoves me trust
  • With single faith, or, be I faithless, still
  • The vengeance must be done. All things concur
  • To point my purpose; the divine command
  • My sore heart-grief for a loved father’s death,
  • The press of want, the spoiling of my goods,
  • The shame to see these noble citizens,
  • Proud Troy’s destroyers, basely bent beneath
  • The yoke of two weak women: for he hath
  • A woman’s soul: if not, the proof is near.

  Chorus.

  • Mighty Fates, divinely guiding
  • Human fortunes to their end,
  • Send this man, with Jove presiding,
  • Whither Justice points the way.
  • Words of bitter hatred duly
  • Pay with bitter words for thus
  • With loud cry triumphant shouting
  • Justice pays the sinner’s debt.
  • Blood for blood and blow for blow,
  • Thou shalt reap as thou didst sow;
  • Age to age with hoary wisdom
  • Speaketh thus to men.26

  STROPHE I.

  Orest.

  • O father, wretched father, with what air
  • Of word or deed impelling,
  • Shall I be strong to waft the filial prayer
  • To thy dim distant dwelling?
  • There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest,27
  • Be our sharp wailing
  • (Grace of the dead, and Hades’ honour highest),
  • With thee prevailing!

  STROPHE II.

  Chorus.

  • Son, the strong-jawed funeral fire
  • Burns not the mind in the smoky pyre;
  • Sleeps, but not forgets the dead
  • To show betimes his anger dread.
  • For the dead the living moan,
  • That the murderer may be known.
  • They who mourn for parent slain
  • Shall not pour the wail in vain,
  • Bright disclosure shall not lack
  • Who through darkness hunts the track.

  ANTISTROPHE I.

  Elect.

  • Hear thou our cries, O father, when for thee
  • The frequent tear is falling;
  • The wailing pair o’er thy dear tomb to thee
  • From their hearts’ depths are calling;
  • The suppliant and the exile at one tomb
  • Their sorrow showering,
  • Helpless and hopeless; mantled round with gloom,
  • Woe overpouring!

  Chorus.

  • Nay, be calm; the god that speaks
  • With voice oracular shall attune
  • Thy throat to happier notes;
  • Instead the voice of wail funereal,
  • Soon the jubilant shout shall shake
  • His father’s halls with joy, and welcome
  • The new friend to his home.

  STROPHE III.

  Orest.

  • If but some Lycian spear, ’neath Ilium’s walls,
  • Had lowly laid thee,
  • A mighty name in the Atridan halls
  • Thou wouldst have made thee!
  • Then hadst thou pitched thy fortune like a star,
  • To son and grandson shining from afar;
  • Beyond the wide-waved sea, the high-heaped mound
  • Had told for ever
  • Thy feats of battle, and with glory crowned
  • Thy high endeavour.

  ANTISTROPHE II.

  Chorus.

  • Ah! would that thou hadst found thy end
  • There, where dear friend fell with friend,
  • And marched with them to Hades dread,
  • The monarch of the awful dead,28
  • Sitting beside the throne with might
  • Of them that rule the realms of night;
  • For thou in life wert monarch true,
  • Expert each kingly deed to do,
  • Leading, with thy persuasive rod,
  • Submissive mortals like a god.

  ANTISTROPHE III.

  Elect.

  • Thou wert a king, no fate it was for thee
  • To die as others
  • ’Neath Ilium’s walls, far, far beyond the sea,
  • With many brothers.
  • Unworthy was the spear to drink thy blood,
  • Where far Scamander rolls his swirling flood.
  • Justly who slew had drawn themselves thy lot,
  • And perished rather,
  • And thou their timeless fate had welcomed, not
  • They thine, my father.

  Chorus.

  • Child, thy grief begetteth visions
  • Brighter than gold, and overtopping
  • Hyperborean bliss.29
  • Ah, here the misery rudely riots,
  • With double lash. These twins, their help
  • Sleeps beneath the ground; and they
  • Who hold dominion here, alas!
  • With unholy sceptre sway.
  • Woe is me! but chiefly woe
  • Children dear to you!

  STROPHE IV.

  Elect.

  • Chiefly to me! Thy words shoot like an arrow,
  • And pierce my marrow.
  • O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from below30
  • The retribution slow,
  • Against the stout heart and bold hand,
  • That dared defy thy high command.
  • Even though a parent feel the woe,
  • Prepare, prepare the finished blow.

  STROPHE V.

  Chorus.

  • Mine be soon to lift the strain,
  • O’er the treacherous slayer slain,
  • To shout with bitter exultation,
  • O’er the murtherous wife’s prostration!
  • Why should I the hate conceal,
  • That spurs my heart with promptest zeal,
  • Bitter thoughts, that gathering grow,
  • Like blustering winds, that beat the plunging vessel’s prow?

  ANTISTROPHE IV.

  Orest.

  • O thou that flourishest, and mak’st to flourish,
  • By thy hands perish
  • All they that hate me! Cleave the heads of those,
  • That are Orestes’ foes!
  • Pledge the land in peace to live,
  • For injustice justice give;
  • Ye that honoured reign below,31
  • Furies! prepare the crowning blow.

  Chorus.

  • Wont hath been, and shall be ever,
  • That when purple gouts bedash
  • The guilty ground, then blood doth blood
  • Demand, and blood for blood shall flow.
  • Fury to Havoc cries, and Havoc,
  • The tainted track of blood pursuing,
  • From age to age works woe.

  STROPHE VI.

  Elect.

  • Ye powers of Hades dread!
  • Fell Curses of the Dead,
  • Hear me when I call!
  • Behold! The Atridan hall,
  • Dashed in dishonoured fall,
  • Lies low and graceless all.
  • O mighty Jove, I see
  • Mine only help in thee!

  ANTISTROPHE V.

  Chorus.

  • Thy piteous tale doth make my heart
  • From its central hold back start;
  • Hope departs, and blackening Fear
  • Rules my fancy, while I hear.
  • And if blithe confidence awhile32
  • Lends my dull faith the feeble smile,
  • Soon, soon departs that glimpse of cheer,
  • And all my map of things is desolate and drear.

  ANTISTROPHE VI.

  Orest.

  • For why! our tale of wrong
  • In hate of parents strong,
  • Spurneth the flatterer’s arm,
  • Mocketh the soothing charm.
  • The mother gave her child33
  • This wolfish nature wild;
  • And I from her shall learn
  • To be thus harsh and stern.

  STROPHE VII.

  Chorus.

  • Like a Persian mourner34
  • Singing sorrow’s tale,
  • Like a Cissian wailer,
  • I did weep and wail.
  • O’er my head swift-oaring
  • Came arm on arm amain,
  • The voice of my deploring
  • Like the lashing rain!
  • Sorrow’s rushing river
  • O’er me flooding spread,
  • Black misfortune’s quiver
  • Emptied on my head!

  Elect.

  • Mother bold, all-daring,
  • On a bloody bier
  • Thine own lord forth bearing
  • Slain without a tear.
  • Alone, unfriended he did go
  • Down to the sunless homes below.

  STROPHE VIII.

  Orest.

  • Thou hast named the dire dishonor;
  • The gods shall send swift judgment on her.
  • By Heaven’s command,
  • By her own son’s hand,
  • Slain she shall lie;
  • And I, having dealt the fated death,
  • Myself shall die!

  ANTISTROPHE VII.

  Elect.

  • Be the butcher’s work remembered,
  • Mangled was he, and dismembered;
  • Like vilest clay,
  • She cast him away,
  • With burial base;
  • Mocking the son, the father branding
  • With dark disgrace.

  ANTISTROPHE VIII.

  Orest.

  • Thou dost tell too truly
  • All my father’s woe.

  Elect.

  • I, the while, accounted
  • Lower than most low,35
  • Like a dog, was sundered
  • From my father’s hearth,
  • An evil dog, and wandered
  • Far from seats of mirth;
  • In my chamber weeping
  • Tears of silent woe,
  • From rude gazers keeping
  • Grief too great for show.
  • Hear these words; and hearing
  • Nail them in thy soul,
  • With steady purpose nearing,
  • And noiseless pace, thy goal.
  • Go where just wrath leads the way,
  • With stout heart tread the lists to-day.

  STROPHE IX.

  Orest.

  O father, help thy friends, when helping thee!

  Elect.

  My tears, if they can help, shall flow for thee.

  Chorus.

  • And this whole mingled choir shall raise for thee
  • The sistered cry: O hear!
  • In light of day appear,
  • And help thy banded friends, to avenge thy foes for thee!

  ANTISTROPHE IX.

  Orest.

  Now might with might engage, and right with right!

  Elect.

  And the gods justly the unjust shall smite.

  Chorus.

  36

  • The tremulous fear creeps o’er my frame to hear
  • Thy words; for, though long-dated,
  • The thing divinely fated
  • Shall surely come at last, our cloudy prayers to clear.

  STROPHE X.

  Elect.

  • O home-bred pain,
  • Stroke of perdition that refuses
  • Concord with the holy Muses!
  • O burden more than heart can bear,
  • Disease that no physician’s care
  • Makes sound again!

  ANTISTROPHE X.

  Orest.

  • So; even so.
  • No far-sent leech this tetter uses;
  • A home-bred surgery it chooses.
  • I the red strife myself pursue,
  • Pouring this dismal hymn to you,
  • Ye gods below!

  Chorus.

  • Blessed powers, propitious dwelling,
  • Deep in subterranean darkness,
  • Hear this pious prayer;
  • May all trials end in triumph
  • To the suppliant pair!

  Orest.

  • Father, who died not as a king should die,
  • Give me to rule, as thou didst rule, these halls.

  Elect.

  • My supplication hear, thy strong help lend me,
  • Scathless myself37 to work Ægisthus’ harm.

  Orest.

  • Thus of the rightful feasts that soothe the Shades
  • Thou too shalt taste,38 and not dishonoured lie,
  • When savoury fumes mount to our country’s dead.

  Elect.

  • And I my whole of heritage will offer,
  • The blithe libations of my marriage feast.
  • Thy tomb before all tombs I will revere.

  Orest.

  • O Earth, relax thy hold, and give my father
  • To see the fight!

  Elect.

  • O Persephassa,* send
  • The Atridan forth, in beauty clad and strength.

  Orest.

  The bath that drank thy life remember, father.

  Elect.

  The close-drawn meshes of thy death remember.

  Orest.

  • The chain, not iron-linked, that bound thee, then
  • When to the death the kingly game was hunted.

  Elect.

  Then when with treacherous folds they curtained thee.

  Orest.

  Wake, father, wake to avenge thy speechless wrongs!

  Elect.

  Lift, father, lift thy dear-loved head sublime!

  Orest.

  • Send justice forth to work the just revenge,
  • Like quit with like, and harm with harm repay;
  • Thou wert the conquered then, rise now to conquer.

  Elect.

  • And hear this last request, my father, looking
  • On thy twin chickens nestling by thy tomb;
  • Pity the daughter, the male seed protect,
  • Nor let the name revered of ancient Pelops
  • Be blotted from the Earth! Thou art not dead,
  • Though housed in Hades, while thy children live,
  • For children are as echoes that prolong
  • Their parents’ fame; the floating cork are they
  • That buoyant bear the net deep sunk in the sea.
  • Hear, father—when we weep, we weep for thee,
  • And, saving us, thou savest thine own honour.

  Chorus.

  • Well spoken both:39 and worthily fall the tears
  • On this dear tomb, too long without them. Now,
  • If to the deed thy purpose thou hast buckled,
  • Orestes, try what speed the gods may give thee.40

  Orest.

  • I’ll do the deed. Meanwhile not idly this
  • I ask of thee—what moved her soul to send
  • These late libations, limping remedy
  • For wounds that cannot heal? A sorry grace
  • To feed the senseless dead with sacrifice,
  • When we have killed the living. What she means
  • I scarce may guess, but the amend is less
  • Than the offence. All ocean poured in offering
  • For the warm life-drops of one innocent man
  • Is labour lost. Old truth thus speaks to all.
  • How was it?

  Chorus.

  • That I well may tell, for I
  • Was with her. Hideous dreams did haunt her sleep;
  • Night-wandering terrors scared her godless breast,
  • That she did send these gifts to soothe the Shades.

  Orest.

  What saw she in her dream?

  Chorus.

  • She dreamt, she said,
  • She had brought forth a serpent.

  Orest.

  A serpent, say’st thou?

  Chorus.

  • Ay! and the dragon birth portentous moved,
  • All swaddled like a boy.

  Orest.

  Eager for food, doubtless, the new-born monster?

  Chorus.

  The nurturing nipple herself did fearless bare.

  Orest.

  How then? escaped the nipple from the bite?

  Chorus.

  • The gouted blood did taint the milk, that flowed
  • From the wounded paps.

  Orest.

  • No idle dream was this.
  • And he who sent it was my father.

  Chorus.

  • Then
  • She from her sleep up started, and cried out,
  • And many lamps, whose splendour night had blinded,
  • Rushed forth, to wait upon their mistress’ word.
  • Straightway she sends us with funereal gifts,
  • A medicinal charm, if medicine be
  • For griefs like hers!

  Orest.

  • Now hear me, Earth profound,
  • And my dear father’s tomb, that so this dream
  • May find in me completion! Thus I read it—
  • As left the snake the womb that once hid me,
  • And in the clothes was swathed that once swathed me
  • And as it sucked the breast that suckled me,
  • And mingled blood with milk once sucked by me,
  • And as she groaned with horror at the sight,
  • Thus it beseems who bore a monstrous birth
  • No common death to die. I am the serpent
  • Shall bite her breast. It is a truthful dream.
  • My seer be thou. Say have I read it well?

  Chorus.

  • Bravely. Now, for the rest, thy friends instruct
  • What things to do, and what things to refrain.

  Orest.

  • ’Tis said in few. Electra, go within,
  • And keep my counsels in wise secrecy;
  • For, as they killed an honourable man
  • Deceitfully, by cunning and deceit
  • Themselves shall find the halter. Thus Apollo,
  • A prophet never known to lie, foretold.
  • Myself will come, like a wayfaring man
  • Accoutred, guest and spear-guest of this house,*
  • With Pylades, my friend, to the court gates.
  • We both will speak with a Parnassian voice,
  • Aping the Phocian tongue. If then it chance
  • (As seems most like, for this whole house with ills
  • Is sheer possessed)41 that with a welcome greeting
  • No servant shall receive us, we will wait
  • Till some one pass, and for their churlish ways
  • Rate them thus sharply. “Sirs, why dare ye shut
  • Inhospitable doors against the stranger,42
  • Making Ægisthus sin against the gods?”
  • When thus I pass the threshold of his courts,
  • And see him sitting on my father’s throne,
  • When he shall scan me face to face, and seek
  • To hear my tale; ere he may say the word,
  • Whence is the stranger? I will lay him dead,
  • Dressing him trimly o’er with points of steel.
  • The Fury thus, not scanted of her banquet,
  • Shall drink unmingled blood from Pelops’ veins,
  • The third and crowning cup.43 Now, sister, see to ’t
  • That all within be ordered, as shall serve
  • My end most fitly. Ye, when ye shall speak,
  • Speak words of happy omen; teach your tongue
  • Both to be silent, and to speak in season.
  • For what remains, his present aid I ask,
  • Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.44

  [Exeunt.

  • CHORAL HYMN.
    STROPHE I.
  • Earth breeds a fearful progeny,45
  • To man a hostile band,
  • With finny monsters teems the sea,
  • With creeping plagues the land;
  • And winged portents scour mid-air,
  • And flaring lightnings fly,
  • And storms, sublimely coursing, scare
  • The fields of the silent sky.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • But Earth begets no monster dire
  • Than man’s own heart more dreaded,
  • All-venturing woman’s dreadful ire,46
  • When love to woe is wedded.
  • No mate with mate there gently dwells,
  • There peace and joy depart,
  • Where loveless love triumphant swells,
  • In fearless woman’s heart.
  • STROPHE II.
  • This the light-witted may not know,
  • The wise shall understand,
  • Who hear the tale from age to age,
  • How Thestios’ daughter, wild with rage,47
  • Lighted the fatal brand,
  • The brand that burned with conscious flashes
  • At the cry of her new-born son;
  • And, when the brand had burned to ashes,
  • His measured course was run.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • And yet a tale of bloody love
  • From hoary eld I know,
  • How Scylla gay, in gold arrayed,48
  • The gift of Minos old, betrayed
  • Her father to the foe.
  • Sleeping all careless as he lay,
  • She cut the immortal hair,
  • And Hermes bore his life away,
  • From the bold and blushless fair.
  • STROPHE III.
  • Ah me! not far needs fancy range
  • For tales of harshest wrong:
  • Here, even here, damned wedlock thrives,
  • And lawless loves are strong.
  • Within these halls, where blazes now
  • No holy hearth, a bloody vow
  • Against her liege lord’s life
  • She vowed; and he, the king divine,
  • Whose look back-drove the bristling line,
  • Bled by a woman’s knife.
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • O woman! woman! Lemnos saw49
  • Your jealous fountains flow,
  • And, when the worst of woes is named,
  • It is a Lemnian woe.
  • From age to age the infected tale,
  • Far echoed by a wandering wail,
  • To East and West shall go;
  • And honor from the threshold hies,
  • On which the doom god-spoken lies;50
  • Speak I not wisely so?
  • STROPHE IV.
  • Right through the heart shall pierce the blow,
  • When Justice is the sinner’s foe,
  • With the avenging steel;
  • In vain with brief success they strove,
  • Who trampled on the law of Jove,
  • With unregarding heel.
  • ANTISTROPHE IV.
  • Firm is the base of Justice. Fate,
  • With whetted knife, doth eager wait
  • At hoary Murder’s door;
  • The Fury, with dark-bosomed ire,
  • Doth send the son a mission dire,
  • To clear the parent’s score.

  EnterOrestes.

  Orest.

  • What, ho! dost hear no knocking? boy! within!
  • Is none within, boy? ho! dost hear me call
  • The third time at thy portal? Is Ægisthus
  • A man, whose ears are deaf to the strangers’ cry?

  Ser.

  [appearing at the door]. Enough I hear thee. Who art thou, and whence?

  Orest.

  • Tell those within that a poor stranger waits
  • Before the gate, bearer of weighty news.
  • Speed thee; night’s dusky chariot swoopeth down,
  • And the dark hour invites the travelling man
  • To fix his anchor ’neath some friendly roof.
  • Thy mistress I would see, if here a mistress
  • Rules, or thy master rather, if a master.
  • For with a man a man may plainly deal,
  • But nice regard for the fine feeling ear51
  • Oft mars the teller’s tale, when women hear.

  EnterClytemnestra.

  Clytem

  • Strangers, speak your desire. Whate’er becomes
  • This house to give is free to you to share.
  • Hot baths,52 a couch to soothe your travelled toil,
  • Blithe welcoming eyes, and gentle tendance; these
  • I freely give. If aught beyond ye crave,
  • There’s counsel with my lord. I’ll speak to him.

  Orest.

  • I am a stranger come from Phocian Daulis.
  • When I, my burden to my back well saddled,
  • Stood for the road accoutred, lo! a man
  • To me not known, nor of me knowing more,
  • But seeing only that my feet were bound
  • For Argos, thus accosted me (his name,
  • I learned, was Strophius the Phocian): Stranger,
  • If Argos be thy purpose, bear this message
  • From me to whom it touches near. Orestes
  • Is dead; charge well thy memory with the tale,
  • And bring me mandate back, if so his friends
  • Would have him carried to his native home,
  • Or he with us due sepulture shall find,
  • A sojourner for ever. A brazen urn
  • Holds all the remnant of the much-wept man,
  • The ashes of his clay. Thus Strophius spake:
  • And if ye are the friends, whom chiefly grief
  • Pricks for his loss, my mission’s done; at least
  • His parents will be grieved to hear ’t.

  Elect.

  53

  • Woe’s me!
  • Sheer down we topple from proud height; harsh fate
  • Is ours to wrestle with. O jealous Curse,
  • How dost thou eye us fatal from afar,
  • And with thy well-trimmed bow shoot chiefly there
  • Where thou wert least suspect! Thou hast me now
  • A helpless captive lorn, and reft of all
  • My trustiest friends. Orestes also gone,
  • Whose feet above the miry slough most sure
  • Seemed planted! Now our revelry of hope,
  • The fair account that should have surgeoned woe,
  • Is audited at nothing!54

  Orest.

  • Would the gods,
  • Where happy hosts give welcome, I were guest
  • On a more pleasant tale! The entertained
  • No greater joy can know than with good news
  • To recreate his entertainer’s ears;
  • But piety forbade, nor faith allowed
  • To lop the head of truth.

  Clytem.

  • Thou shalt not fare the worse for thy bad news,
  • Nor be less dear to us. Hadst thou been dumb,
  • Some other tongue had vented the sad tale.
  • But ye have travelled weary leagues to-day,
  • And doubtless need restoring. Take him, boy,
  • With the attendant sharers of his travel,
  • To the men’s chambers. See them well bestowed,
  • And do all things as one, that for neglect
  • Shall give account. Meanwhile, our lord shall know
  • What fate hath chanced, his wit and mine shall find
  • What solace may be for these news unkind.

  [Exeunt into the house.

  Chorus.

  • When, O when, shall we, my sisters,
  • Lift the strong full-throated hymn,
  • To greet Orestes’ triumph? Thou,
  • O sacred Earth, and verge revered
  • Of this lofty mound, where sleeps
  • The kingly helmsman of our State,
  • Hear thou, and help! prevail the hour
  • Of suasive wile, and smooth deceit!55
  • Herald him Hermes—lead him, thou
  • The nightly courier of the dead,56
  • Through this black business of the sword!
  • In sooth the host hath housed a grievous guest;
  • For see where comes Orestes’ nurse, all tears!
  • Where goest thou, nurse, beyond our gates to walk,
  • And why walks Grief, an unfee’d page, with thee!

  EnterNurse.

  Nurse.

  • My mistress bids me bring Ægisthus quickly,
  • To see the strangers face to face, that he
  • May of their sad tale more assurance win
  • From their own mouths. Herself to us doth show
  • A murky-visaged grief; but in her eye
  • Twinkles a secret joy, that time hath brought
  • The consummation most devoutly wished
  • By her—to us and Agamemnon’s house
  • Most fatal issue, if these news be true.
  • Ægisthus, too, with a light heart will hear
  • These Phocian tidings. O wretched me! what weight
  • Of mingled woes from sire to son bequeathed,
  • Have the gods burdened us withal! Myself,
  • How many griefs have shaken my old heart;
  • But this o’ertops them all! The rest I bore,
  • As best I might, with patience: but Orestes,
  • My own dear boy, my daily, hourly care,
  • Whom from his mother’s womb these breasts did suckle—
  • How often did I rise o’ nights, and walked
  • From room to room, to soothe his baby cries;
  • But all my nursing now, and all my cares
  • Fall fruitless. ’Tis a pithless thing a child,
  • No forest whelp so helpless; one must even
  • Wait on its humour, as the hour may bring.
  • No voice it has to speak its fitful wants,
  • When hunger, thirst, or Nature’s need commands.
  • The infant’s belly asks no counsel. I
  • Was a wise prophetess to all his wants,
  • Though sometimes false, as others are. I was
  • Nurse to the child, and fuller to its clothes,
  • And both to one sad end. Alack the day!
  • This double trade with little fruit I plied,
  • What time I nursed Orestes for his father;
  • For he is dead, and I must live to hear it.
  • But I must go, and glad his heart, who lives
  • Plague of this house, with news that make me weep.

  Chorus.

  What say’st thou, Nurse? how shall thy master come?

  Nurse.

  How say’st thou? how shall I receive the question?

  Chorus.

  Alone, I mean, or with his guards?

  Nurse.

  • She says
  • His spearmen shall attend him.

  Chorus.

  • Not so, Nurse!
  • If thou dost hate our most hate-worthy master,
  • Tell him to come alone, without delay,
  • To hear glad tidings with exulting heart.
  • The bearer of a tale can make it wear
  • What face he pleases.57

  Nurse.

  • Well! if thou mean’st well,
  • Perhaps—

  Chorus.

  • Perhaps that Jove may make the breeze
  • Yet veer to us.

  Nurse.

  • How so? Our only hope,
  • Orestes, is no more.

  Chorus.

  • Softly, good Nurse;
  • Thou art an evil prophet, if thou say’st so.

  Nurse.

  How? hast thou news to a different tune?

  Chorus.

  • Go! go!
  • Mind thine own business, and the gods will do
  • What thing they will do.

  Nurse.

  • Well! I’ll do thy bidding!
  • The gods lead all things to a fair conclusion!
  • CHORAL HYMN.58
    STROPHE I.
  • O thou, o’er all Olympian gods that be,
  • Supremely swaying,
  • With words of wisdom, when I pray to thee,
  • Inspire my praying.
  • We can but pray; to do, O Jove, is thine,
  • Thou great director;
  • Of him within, who works thy will divine,
  • Be thou protector!
  • Him raise, the orphaned son whom thou dost see
  • In sheer prostration;
  • Twofold and threefold he shall find from thee
  • Just compensation.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • But hard the toil. Yoked to the car of Fate,
  • When harshly driven,
  • O rein him thou! his goaded speed abate
  • Wisely from Heaven!
  • Jove tempers all, steadies all things that reel;
  • When wildly swerveth
  • From the safe line life’s burning chariot wheel,
  • His hand preserveth.
  • Ye gods, that guard these gold-stored halls, this day
  • Receive the claimant,
  • Who comes, that old Wrong to young Right may pay
  • A purple payment.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Blood begets blood; but, when this blow shall fall,
  • O thou, whose dwelling
  • Is Delphi’s fuming throat, may this be all!
  • Of red blood, welling
  • From guilty veins, enough. Henceforth may joy
  • Look from the eyes of the Atridan boy,
  • Discerning clearly
  • From his ancestral halls the clouds unrolled,
  • That hung so drearly.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • And thou, O Maia’s son,* fair breezes blow,
  • The full sail swelling!
  • Cunning art thou through murky ways to go,
  • To Death’s dim dwelling;
  • Dark are the doings of the gods; and we,
  • When they are clearest shown, but dimly see;
  • Yet faith will follow
  • Where Hermes leads, the leader of the dead,
  • And thou, Apollo.
  • EPODE.
  • Crown ye the deed; then will I freely pour
  • The blithe libation,
  • And, with pure offerings, cleanse the Atridan floor
  • From desecration!
  • Then with my prosperous hymn the lyre shall blend
  • Its kindly chorus,
  • And Argos shall be glad, and every friend
  • Rejoice before us!
  • Gird thee with manhood, boy; though hard to do,
  • It is thy father’s work; to him be true.
  • And, when she cries—Son, wilt thou kill thyMother?
  • Cry—Father, Father! and with that name smother
  • The rising ruth. As Perseus, when he slew
  • The stony Dread,* was stony-hearted, do
  • Thy mission stoutly;
  • For him below, and her above,† pursue
  • This work devoutly.
  • The gods by thee, in righteous judgment, show
  • Their grace untender!
  • Thou to the man, that dealt the deathful blow,
  • Like death shalt render.

  EnterÆgisthus.

  Ægis.

  • Not uninvited come I, having heard
  • A rumour strange, by certain strangers brought,
  • No pleasant tale—Orestes’ death. In sooth,
  • A heavy fear-distilling sorrow this,
  • More than a house may bear, whose wounds yet bleed,
  • And ulcerate from the fangs of fate. But say,
  • Is this a fact that looks us in the face,
  • Or startling words of woman’s fears begotten,
  • That shoot like meteors through the air, and die?
  • What proof, ye maids, what proof?

  Chorus.

  • Our ears have heard.
  • But go within; thyself shalt see the man;
  • Try well the teller, e’er thou trust the tale.

  Ægis.

  • I’ll scan him well, and prove him close, if he
  • Himself was at the death, or but repeat
  • From blind report the news another told.
  • It will go hard, if idle breath cheat me.
  • My eyes are in my head, and I can see.

  [Exit into the house.

  Chorus.

  • Jove! great Jove! What shall I say?
  • How with pious fervour pray,
  • That from thee the answer fair
  • Be wafted to my friendly prayer?
  • Now the keen-edged axe shall strike,
  • With a life-destroying blow;
  • Now, or, plunged in deep perdition,
  • Agamemnon’s house sinks low,
  • Or the hearth with hope this day
  • Shall blaze, through all the ransomed halls,
  • And the son his father’s wealth
  • Shall win, and with his sceptre sway.
  • In the bloody combat fresh,
  • He shall risk it, one with two;
  • Hand to hand the fight shall be.
  • Godlike son of Agamemnon,
  • Jove give strength to thee!

  Ægis.

  [from within]. Ah me! I fall. Ah! Ah!

  Chorus.

  • Hear’st thou that cry? How is’t? Whose was that groan?
  • Let’s go aside, the deed being done, that we
  • Seem not partakers of the bloody work.59
  • ’Tis ended now.

  EnterServant.

  Serv.

  • Woe’s me! my murdered master!
  • Thrice woeful deed! Ægisthus lives no more.
  • Open the women’s gates! uncase the bolts!
  • Were needed here a Titan’s strength—though that
  • Would nothing boot the dead. Ho! hillo! ho!
  • Are all here deaf? or do I babble breath
  • In sleepers’ ears? Where, where is Clytemnestra?
  • What keeps my mistress? On a razor’s edge
  • Her fate now lies; the blow’s already poised,
  • That falls on her too—nor unjustly falls.

  EnterClytemnestra.

  Clytem.

  Well! what’s the matter? why this clamorous cry?

  Serv.

  He, who was dead, has slain the quick. ’Tis so.

  Clytem.

  • Ha! Thou speak’st riddles; but I understand thee.
  • We die by guile, as guilefully we slew.
  • Bring me an axe! an axe to kill a man!
  • Quickly!—or conqueror or conquered, I
  • Will fight it out. To this ’tis come at last.

  EnterOrestes,dragging in the dead body ofÆgisthus;with himPylades.

  Orest.

  Thee next I seek. For him, he hath enough.

  Clytem.

  Ah me! my lord, my loved Ægisthus dead!

  Orest.

  • Dost love this man? then thou shalt sleep with him,
  • In the same tomb. He was thy bedmate living,
  • Be thou his comrade, dead.

  Clytem.

  • Hold thee, my son!
  • Look on this breast, to which with slumbrous eyes
  • Thou oft hast clung, the while thy baby gum
  • Sucked the nutritious milk.

  Orest.

  • What say’st thou, Pylades?
  • Shall I curtail the work, and spare my mother?

  Pyl.

  • Bethink thee well; the Loxian oracles,
  • Thy sure-pledged vows, where are they, if she live?
  • Make every man thy foe, but fear the gods.

  Orest.

  • Thy voice shall rule in this; thou judgest wisely.
  • Follow this man, here, side by side with him,
  • I’ll butcher thee. Seemed he a fairer man
  • Than was my father when my father lived?
  • Sleep thou, where he sleeps; him thou lovest well,
  • And whom thou chiefly shouldst have loved thou hatedst.

  Clytem.

  I nursed thy childhood, and in peace would die.60

  Orest.

  Spare thee to live with me—my father’s murderer?

  Clytem.

  Not I; say rather Fate ordained his death.

  Orest.

  The self-same Fate ordains thee now to die.

  Clytem.

  My curse beware, the mother’s curse that bore thee.

  Orest

  That cast me homeless from my father’s house.

  Clytem.

  Nay; to a friendly house I lent thee, boy.

  Orest.

  Being free-born, I like a slave was sold.

  Clytem.

  I trafficked not with thee. I gat no gold.

  Orest.

  Worse—worse than gold—a thing too foul to name!

  Clytem.

  Name all my faults; but had thy father none?

  Orest.

  • Thou art a woman sitting in thy chamber.61
  • Judge not the man that goes abroad, and labours.

  Clytem.

  Hard was my lot, my child, alone, uncherished.

  Orest.

  • Alone by the fire, while for thy gentle ease
  • The husband toiled.

  Clytem.

  Thou wilt not kill me, son?

  Orest.

  I kill thee not. Thyself dost kill thyself.

  Clytem.

  Beware thy mother’s anger-whetted hounds.*

  Orest.

  My father’s hounds have hunted me to thee.

  Clytem.

  • The stone that sepulchres the dead art thou,
  • And I the tear on’t.

  Orest.

  • Cease: I voyaged here,
  • With a fair breeze; my father’s murder brought me.

  Clytem.

  Ah me! I nursed a serpent on my breast.

  Orest.

  62

  • Thou hadst a prophet in thy dream, last night;
  • And since thou kill’d the man thou shouldst have spared,
  • The man, that now should spare thee, can but kill.

  [He drives her into the house, and there murders her.

  Chorus.

  • There’s food for sorrow here; but rather, since
  • Orestes could not choose but scale the height
  • Of bloody enterprise, our prayer is this:
  • That he, the eye of this great house, may live.63
  • CHORAL HYMN.
    STROPHE I.
  • Hall of old Priam, with sorrow unbearable,
  • Vengeance hath come on the Argive thy foe;
  • A pair of grim lions, a double Mars terrible,64
  • Comes to his palace, that levelled thee low.
  • Chanced hath the doom of the guilty precisely,
  • Even as Phœbus foretold it, and wisely
  • Where the god pointed, was levelled the blow.
  • Lift up the hymn of rejoicing; the lecherous,
  • Sin-laden tyrant shall lord it no more;
  • No more shall the mistress so bloody and treacherous
  • Lavish the plundered Pelopidan store.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Sore chastisement65 came on the doomed and devoted,
  • With dark-brooding purpose and fair-smiling show;
  • And the daughter of Jove the eternal was noted,
  • Guiding the hand that inflicted the blow—
  • Bright Justice, of Jove, the Olympian daughter;
  • But blasted they fell with the breath of her slaughter
  • Whose deeds of injustice made Justice their foe.
  • Her from his shrine sent the rock-throned Apollo,66
  • The will of her high-purposed sire to obey,
  • The track of the blood-stained remorseless to follow,
  • Winged with sure death, though she lag by the way.
  • EPODE.
  • Ye rulers on Earth, fear the rulers in Heaven,
  • No aid by the gods to the froward is given;
  • For the bonds of our thraldom asunder are riven,
  • And the day dawns clear.
  • Lift up your heads; from prostration untimely
  • Ye halls of the mighty be lifted sublimely!
  • All-perfecting Time shall bring swift restitution,
  • And cleanse the hearth pure from the gory pollution,
  • Now the day dawns clear.
  • And blithely shall welcome them Fortune the fairest,67
  • The brother and sister, with omens the rarest;
  • Each friend of this house show the warm love thou bearest,
  • Now the day dawns clear!

  EnterOrestes,with the body ofClytemnestra.

  Orest.

  • Behold this tyrant pair, my father’s murderers,
  • Usurpers of this land, and of this house
  • Destroyers. They this throne did use in pride,
  • And now in love, as whoso looks may guess,
  • They lie together, all their vows fulfilled.
  • Death to my hapless father, and to lie
  • Themselves on a common bier—this was their vow;
  • And they have vowed it well. Behold these toils,
  • Wherewith they worked destruction to my father,
  • Chained his free feet, and manacled his hands.
  • There—spread it forth—approach—peruse it nicely.
  • This mortal vest, that so the father—not
  • My father, but the Sun that fathers all
  • With light68 —may see what godless deed was done
  • Here by my mother. Let him witness duly,
  • That not unjustly I have spilt this blood—
  • My mother’s; for Ægisthus recks me not;
  • As an adulterer should, he died: but she,
  • That did devise such foul detested wrong
  • Against the lord, to whom beneath her zone
  • She bore a burden, once so valued, now
  • A weight that damns her; what was she?—a viper
  • Or a torpedo—that with biteless touch
  • Strikes numb who handles.69 Harsh the smoothest phrase
  • To name the bold unrighteous will she used.
  • And for this fowler’s net—this snare—this trap—
  • This cloth to wrap the dead70 —this veil to curtain
  • A bloody bath—teach me a name for it!
  • Such murderous toils the ruffians use, who spill
  • Their neighbour’s blood, that they may seize his gold,
  • And warm their heart with plenty not their own.
  • Lodge no such mate with me! Sooner may I
  • Live by high Heaven accursed, and childless die.

  Chorus.

  • A sorry work—alas! alas!
  • A dismal death she found.
  • Nor sorrow quite from man may pass
  • That lives above the ground.

  Orest.

  • A speaking proof! Behold, Ægisthus’ sword
  • Hath left its witness on this robe; the time
  • Hath paled the murtherous spot, but where it was
  • The sumptuous stole hath lost its radiant dye.
  • Alas! I know not, when mine eyes behold
  • This father-murdering web, if I should own
  • Joy lord, or grief. Let grief prevail. I grieve
  • Our crimes, our woes, our generation doomed,
  • Our tearful trophies blazoned with a curse.

  Chorus.

  • The gods so will that, soon or late,
  • Each mortal taste of sorrow;
  • A frown to-day from surly Fate,
  • A biting blast to-morrow.

  Orest.

  • Others ’twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate
  • Is fixed and scapeless.71 Like a charioteer,
  • Dragged from his course by steeds that spurned the rein,
  • Thoughts past control usurp me. Terror lifts,
  • Even now, the prelude to her savage hymn,
  • Within my heart exultant. But, while yet
  • My sober mind remains, witness ye all
  • My friends, this solemn abjuration! Not
  • Unjustly, when I slew, I slew my mother—
  • That mother, with my father’s blood polluted,
  • Of every god abhorred. And I protest
  • The god that charmed me to the daring point
  • Was Loxias, with his Pythian oracles,
  • Pledging me blameless, this harsh work once done,
  • Not done, foredooming what I will not say;
  • All thoughts most horrible undershoot the mark.
  • And now behold me, as a suppliant goes,
  • With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch,72
  • Addressed for Delphi, the firm-seated shrine
  • Of Loxias, navel of earth, where burns the flame
  • Of fire immortal named.73 For I must flee
  • This kindred blood, and hie me where the god
  • Forespoke me refuge. Once again I call
  • On you, and Argive men of every time,
  • To witness my great griefs. I go an exile
  • From this dear soil. Living, or dead, I leave
  • These words, the one sad memory of my name.

  Chorus.

  • Thou hast done well; yoke not thy mouth this day
  • To evil words. Thou art the liberator
  • Of universal Argos, justly greeted,
  • Who from the dragon pair the head hath lopped.

  [TheFuriesappear in the background.

  Orest.

  • Ah, me! see there! like Gorgons! look! look there!
  • All dusky-vested, and their locks entwined
  • With knotted snakes. Away! I may not stay.

  Chorus.

  • O son, loved of thy sire, be calm, nor let
  • Vain phantoms fret thy soul, in triumph’s hour.

  Orest.

  • These are no phantoms, but substantial horrors;
  • Too like themselves they show, the infernal hounds
  • Sent from my mother!

  Chorus.

  • ’Tis the fresh-gouted blood
  • Upon thy hand, that breeds thy brain’s distraction.

  Orest.

  • Ha! how they swarm! Apollo! more—yet more!
  • And from their fell eyes droppeth murderous gore.

  Chorus.

  • There is atonement.74 Touch but Loxias’ altar,
  • And he from bloody stain shall wash thee clean.

  Orest.

  • Ye see them not. I see them.75 There!—Away!
  • The hell-hounds hunt me: here I may not stay.

  Chorus.

  • Nay, but with blessing go. From fatal harm
  • Guard thee the god whose eyes in love behold thee!76
  • Blown hath now the third harsh tempest,
  • O’er the proud Atridan palace,
  • Floods of family woe!
  • First thy damned feast, Thyestes,
  • On thy children’s flesh abhorrent;
  • Then the kingly man’s prostration,
  • And thy warlike pride, Achaia,
  • Butchered in a bath,
  • Now he, too, our greeted Saviour
  • Red with this new woe!
  • When shall Fate’s stern work be ended,
  • When shall cease the boisterous vengeance,
  • Hushed in slumbers low?

  NOTES TO THE CHOEPHORÆ

  Here we have a notable example of the terms of that sort of excommunication which the religious and social feeling of the ancients passed against the perpetrators of atrocious crimes. See Introductory Remarks to the Eumenides.

  • “προς γαρ Διος ἐισιν ἂπαντες
  • ξεινοί τε πτωχοί τε.”
  • ἄλγεα
  • Πολλὰ μἀλ’ δσσα τε μητρὸς Ἐριννύες ἐκτελέουσιν.

  • Odyssey xi. 289.

  • My solitude is solitude no more,
  • But peopled with the Furies

  • Byron.

  PERSONS

  The Pythoness of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.

  Apollo.

  Hermes (Mute).

  The Shade of Clytemnestra.

  Chorus of Furies.

  Pallas Athena.

  Judges of the Court of Areopagus (Mute).

  Convoy of the Furies.

  Scene—First at Delphi in the Temple of Apollo; then on the Hill of Mars, Athens.

  INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

  Πολλὰ κατηρατο, στυγερὰς δ’ ἐπίκεκλετ Εριννῠς,

  In order to understand thoroughly the situation of the matricide Orestes, in the present play, we must consider further the ancient doctrine of pollution attaching to an act of murder, and the consequent necessity of purification to the offender. The nature of this is distinctly set forth by Orestes himself in a reply to his sister Iphigenia, put into his mouth by Euripides. “Loxias,” he says, “first sent me to Athens, and

  • There first arrived, no host would entertain me,
  • As being hated of the immortal gods,
  • And some, who pitied me, before me placed
  • Cold entertainment on a separate board;
  • Beneath the same roof though I lodged with them,
  • No interchange of living voice I knew,
  • But sat apart and ate my food alone.”

  • Iphig. Taur. 954.

  Like an unclean leper among the Jews, the man polluted with human blood wandered from land to land, as with a Cain’s mark upon his brow, and every fellow-being shrank from his touch as from a living plague.

  • “For wisely thus our ancestors ordained,
  • That the blood-tainted man should know no joy
  • From sight of fellow-mortal or from touch,
  • But with an horrid sanctitude protected
  • Range the wide earth an exile.”

  • Eurip. Orest. 512.

  But Æschylus is not a patriot only, and a pious worshipper of his country’s gods in this play, he is also, to some small extent at least, manifestly a politician. The main feature of the constitutional history of Athens in the period immediately following the great Persian war, to which period our trilogy belongs, was the enlargement and the systematic completion of those democratic forms, of which the timocratic legislation of Solon, about a century and a-half before, had planted the first germs. Of these changes, Pericles, the man above all others who knew both to understand and to control his age, was the chief promoter; and in a policy whose main tendency was the substitution of a numerous popular for a narrow professional control of public business, it could not fail to be a main feature, that the authority of the judges of the old aristocratic courts was curtailed in favour of those bodies of paid jurymen, the institution of which is specially attributed to Pericles and his coadjutor Ephialtes.† Whether these changes were politic or not, in the large sense of that word, need not be inquired here; Mr. Grote has done much to lengthen the focus of those short-sighted national spectacles, through which the English eye has been accustomed to view the classic democracies; but let it be that Pericles kept within the bounds of a wise liberty in giving a fair and a large trial to the action of democratic principles at that time and place; or let it be, on the other hand, that he overstepped the line

  • “Which whoso passes, or who reaches not,
  • Misses the mark of right”—

  in either case, where decision was so difficult, and discretion so delicate, no one can accuse the thoughtful tragic poet of a stolid conservatism, when he comes forward, in this play, as the advocate of the only court of high jurisdiction in Athens, now left unshaken by the great surge of those popular billows, that were yet swelling everywhere with the eager inspiration of Marathon and Salamis.* The court of Areopagus was not now, since the legislation of Solon, and the further democratic movement of Cleisthenes, in any invidious or exclusive sense an aristocratic assembly, such as the close corporations of the old Roman aristocracy before the series of popular changes introduced by Licinius Stolo; it was a council, in fact, altogether without that family and hereditary element, in which the principal offence of aristocracy has always lain; its members were composed entirely (not recruited merely like our House of Lords) of those superior magistrates—archons annually elected by the people—who had retired from office. To magnify the authority of such a body, and maintain intact the few privileges that had now been left it, was, when an obvious opportunity offered, not only excusable in a great national tragedian, but imperative. One thing his political attitude in this matter certainly proves, that he was not a vulgar hunter after popularity, delighting to swell to the point of insane exaggeration the cry of the hour, but one of those men of high purpose, who prove a greater strength of patriotism by stemming the popular stream, than by swimming with it.

  Besides the championship of the Court of the Areopagus, there is another political element in this rich drama, which, though of less consequence, must not be omitted. No sooner had the Persian invaders been fairly driven back from the Hellenic shore, than that old spirit of narrow local jealousy, which was the worm at the heart of Grecian political existence, broke out with renewed vigour, and gave ominous indications in the untoward affair of Tanagra, of that terrible collision which shook the two great rival powers a few years afterwards in the famous Peloponnesian war. Sparta and Athens, opposed as they were by race, by geographical position, and by political character, after some public attempts at co-operation, in which Cimon was the principal actor, shrunk back, as in quiet preparation for the great trial of strength, into a state of isolated antagonism. But, though open hostility was deferred, wise precaution could not sleep; and, accordingly, we find the Athenians, about this time, anxious to secure a base of operations, so to speak, against Sparta in the Peloponnesus, by entering into an alliance with Argos. As a genuine Athenian, Æschylus, whatever his political feelings might be towards Cimon and the Spartan party, could not but look with pleasure on the additional strength which this Argive connection gave to Athens in the general council of Greece; and, accordingly, he dexterously takes advantage of the circumstance of Orestes being an Argive, to trace back the now historical union of the two countries to a period where Fancy is free to add what links she pleases to the brittle bonds of international association

  Such is a rapid sketch of the principal religious and political relations, some notion of which is necessary to enable the general English reader to enter with sympathy on the perusal of the very powerful and singular drama of the Eumenides The professional student, of course, will not content himself with what he finds here, but will seek for complete satisfaction in the luminous pages of Thirlwall and Grote—in the learned articles of Dr. Smith’s Dictionary of Antiquities, in the notes of Schoemann, and, above all, in the rare Dissertations of Ottfried Muller, accompanying his edition of the Eumenides—a work which I have read once and again with mingled admiration and delight—from which I have necessarily drawn with no stinted hand in my endeavours to comprehend the Orestean trilogy for myself, and to make it comprehensible to others; and which I most earnestly recommend to all classical students as a pattern-specimen of erudite architecture raised by the hand of a master, from whom, even in his points of most baseless speculation (as what German is without such?), more is to be learned than from the triple-fanged certainties of vulgar commentators.

  [* ]Hermes, or Mercury, in his capacity of guide of the dead (ψυχοπομπός) is here called Χθόνιος, or subterranean.

  [* ]Iphigenia.

  [* ]Proserpine.

  [* ]See Note 64 to Agamemnon.

  [* ]Hermes or Mercury. See Notes 55 and 56 above.

  [* ]The Gorgon Medusa.

  [† ]Agamemnon and Electra.

  [* ]The Furies.—See next piece.

  [Note 1 (p 99)]

  • “What power thy father lent.”

  
  
  Jove was regarded as the grand source of the power exercised by all the other gods, even Apollo receiving the gift of prophecy from him. There is a peculiar propriety in the allusion to the father Zeus, as Mercury is requested to perform the same office of σωτήρ or Saviour to Orestes that Jove in a peculiar manner performs to all mankind —See Muller on Zeus Soter. (Eumenides, § 94), whose observations, however, on this particular passage, seem to force an artificial accent on the epithet σώτηρ The opening lines of this piece are wanting in the MSS. and were supplied by Stan. from the Frogs of Aristophanes.

  [Note 2 (p 99)]

  • “* * My early growth of hair
  • To Inachus I vowed.”

  
  
  These words will recall to the student of Homer a passage from the twenty-third book of the Iliad, where an account is given of the funeral ceremonies of Patroclus.

  • “First the horsemen came, and then a cloud of infantry behind,
  • Tens of thousands, his companions bore Patroclus in the midst,
  • And the corpse they sadly covered with the locks which grief had shorn”
  • v. 133-5.

  And again—
  
  

  • “Then another deed devised Achilles godlike, swift of foot,
  • Stationed sad behind the pyre he clipt his locks of yellow hair,
  • Which, luxuriant shed, he cherished to Spercheius’ flowing stream.”
  • v 140-3

  Compare the beautiful passage on the Greek mythology in Wordsworth’s Excursion, Book IV.

  [Note 3 (p 99).]

  • “O Jove, be thou mine aid”

  
  
  Of the high functions which belong to the supreme god of the Greeks, that of avenger is not the least notable, and is alluded to with special frequency in the Odyssey, of which poem, retribution in this life for wicked works is the great moral—whence the frequent line—

  • ἀι κε πόθι Ζεὺς δωˆσι παλίντιτα [Editor: illegible character]ργα γενέσθαι.

  [Note 4 (p. 99)]

  • “And my cheeks, that herald sorrow.”

  
  
  “As these violent manifestations of grief were forbidden by Solon (Plut. 21), we are to look upon them in this place as peculiarly characteristic of the foreign captive maidens who compose the chorus”—Kl.; though the epithet of ἄμϕιδρυϕὴς ἄλοχος applied to the wife of Protesilaus by Homer (Il. ii. 700, xi. 393), shows that, in the heroic times, at least, the expression of sorrow was almost as violent on the west as on the east side of the Hellespont.

  [Note 5 (p. 101).]

  • “And now fear rules.”

  
  
  ϕοβεɩ̂τας δέ τις. “People are afraid, and dare not speak out”—Peile. The abruptness of this passage renders it difficult to see the allusion. Paley gives it quite a different turn. “Sunt qui ob commissi sceleris quo adepts sint magnam fortunam (το ἐυτυχε̂ίν) conscientiam torqueantur.” But I do not think that this rendering agrees so well with the words that follow. The thought seems to be—the world judges by results, and men are content, even in fear, to obey a usurper, who shows his right by his success. This brings out a beautiful contrast to the σέβας, or feeling of loyal reverence that filled the public mind towards Agamemnon, who is alluded to in the first words of the Antistrophe.

  [Note 6 (p 101)]

  • “So filthy hands with blood bedabbled.”

  
  
  I do not see why Well and Kl. should object to πόροι being taken, as the Scholiast hints, for an equivalent to ποταμοὶ. The word simply means “channels,” and in the present connection of purification would naturally explain itself to a Greek ear, as channels of water.Kl.’s rendering of πόρος, ratio expiandae caedis, has no merit but being unpoetical. The ἰονˆσαν ἄτην holds concealed some hopeless blunder; but for the need the κλύσειαν άν μάτην of Fr. may be adopted.

  [Note 7 (p. 101).]

  • “What the masters of my fate
  • In their strength decree.”

  “There is a proverb, Δο̂υλε δεσποτωˆν ἄκουε καὶ δίκαια καὶ αδικα. Slave hear thy master whether right or wrong.” —Scholiast.

  [Note 8 (p 101).]

  • “. . . beneath the veil.”

  
  
  ὑϕ ε̂ιμάτων. Stan quotes the beautiful picture of Telemachus (Odyssey IV. 114), endeavouring to conceal his filial sorrow from the eyes of Menelaus at Sparta—

  • “From his eye the tear-drop fell when he heard his father’s name,
  • And with both his hands before his eyes he held the purple cloak.”

  [Note 9 (p. 102)]

  • “. . . libations pure,
  • Poured on my father’s tomb.”

  
  
  These libations are described in various passages of the Classics, of which the following may suffice.—

  • “Then to all the dead I poured libations, first with honied milk,
  • Then with sweetest wine, and then with water, and I strewed the grains
  • Of whitest meal.”
  • —Odyssey XI. 26
  • “Go, my Hermione, without the door,
  • And these libations take, and take my hair,
  • And, standing over Clytemnestra’s tomb,
  • Milk-mingled honey and the winy foam
  • Pour, and thus speak”
  • —Eurip, Orest 112.
  • “And with the due libation’s triple flow
  • She crowns the corpse”
  • —Soph. Antig, 429.

  The χοα̂ισι πρισπόνδαισι, being the wine, water, and milk, particularised in the above extract from Homer. Compare Virgil’s Æn. V. 78, and St. Augustine’s Confessions vi. 2, with regard to his mother’s offering at the tombs of the martyrs—pultes et panem et merum.

  [Note 10 (p 102)]

  • “. . . as who throws lustral ashes.”

  
  
  καθάρματα. “Ashes of lustral offerings”—Peile. “Alluding to the custom of the Athenians, who, after purifying their houses with incense in an earthen vessel, threw the vessel into the streets, and retired with averted eyes.”—Scholiast.

  [Note 11 (p. 102).]

  • “What other quittance to a foe
  • Than hate repaid with hate, and blow with blow?”

  
  
  Why not? πωˆς δ’ου; how should it be otherwise? Observe, here, how far the Christian rule, love thine enemies, was from the Heathen mind. It is very far yet from our practice; though it is difficult to over-estimate the value of having such ideal moral maxims as those of the New Testament to refer to as a generally recognized standard.

  [Note 12 (p. 103).]

  • “Hermes, that swayest underneath the ground”
  • All the recent editors agree in bringing up the line—
  • κήρυξ μέγιστε των άνω τε καὶ κάτω,

  from v. 162 to this place, where the initial words are plainly wanting. “Hermes is invoked here as the great mediator between the living and the dead.”—Kl. “Herald me in this”—κηρύξας ’εμοι—perform a herald’s function to me in this, the verb chosen with special reference to the name κήρυξ, according to the common practice of the Greek writers. In the second line below, I can have no hesitation in adopting Stan.’s emendation of ὸωμάτων for ομμάτων. Ahrens (in Fr) has tried to make the passage more pregnant by reading ἁιμάτων, but this scarcely seems such an obvious emendation.

  [Note 13 (p 103)]

  • “These words of evil imprecation dire.”

  
  
  This is said to avoid the bad omen of mingling a curse with a blessing. The ancients were very scrupulous as to the use of evil words in religious services, and, when such were either necessary, or had accidentally crept in, they always made a formal apology. This I have expressed more largely than my text warrants in the next line, where I follow Schutz in reading καλη̂ς for κακη̂ς; a correction which, though not absolutely necessary, is sufficiently plausible to justify Blom., Schol., and Pal. in their adoption of it.

  [Note 14 (p. 103)]
  
  Chorus. This chorus seems hopelessly botched in the first half, and all the attempts to mend it are more or less unsatisfactory. If any one think “plashing torrents” a strong phrase, he must know that it is no stronge. than καναχὲς in the original, a word familiar to every student of Homerr The ἐρυμα (or ἐρμα—Herm.), I agree with every interpreter, except Klausen, in applying to the tomb of Agamemnon; of the κακωˆν κεδνωˆν τε, I can make nothing, beyond incorporating the Scholiast’s gloss, ἀπότροπον των ἠμετέρων κακωˆν.

  [Note 15 (p. 104)]
  
  Electra The reader will find in Pot. a somewhat amplified translation of the line here—

  • κήρυξ μεγιστε των άνω τε καὶ κάτω,

  mentioned above as having been thrown back by Hermann to the commencement of Electra’s address over the tomb of her father, immediately preceding the short choral ode. It is literally translated by E. P., Oxon.—
  
  

  • “O mightiest herald of the powers above and below,”

  but comes in quite awkwardly, and manifestly out of place.

  [Note 16 (p. 104).]

  • “. . . a low-zoned maid’s.”

  
  
  βαθυζώνου. “High-bosomed,” Potter; “hochgeschurzt,” Droysen; “deep-bosomed,” E. P., Oxon; “Weib im Festgewand,” Franz. Not having a distinct idea of what is meant by this epithet, I have contented myself with a literal rendering.

  [Note 17 (p. 104).]

  • “If it was clipt
  • From head in Argos, it should be my own.”

  
  
  This passage has given great trouble to commentators, who cannot see how Electra should say that no person but herself could have owned this lock, which yet she knew was not her own. They have, accordingly, at least Lin., Peile, and Pal., adopted Dobrees’ emendation of ἑνος (one person, i e., Orestes), instead of ἐμου, mine, which, though ingenious, does not appear to me at all necessary. Electra means to say, nobody here could have done it but me, and yet it is not mine (this implied); therefore, of course, the conclusion to be made is clear, ἐυξύμβολον τὸδ ἐστι δοξάσαι, it must have been Orestes!

  [Note 18 (p 105).]

  • “. . . But lo! a further proof”

  
  
  Imagine such evidence produced as a step in the chain of circumstantial evidence before a court of justice! Even the perturbed state of Electra’s mind may not redeem it from the charge of being grossly ludicrous. Well. and Fr., with that solemn conscientious gravity for which the Germans are notable, have, however, taken it under their wing, followed here, strangely enough, by Peile If the circumstance is to be defended at all, we had better suppose that Æschylus has given the details of the recognition exactly as he had received them from the old popular legend in the mouth of some story-teller. But why should not the father of tragedy, as well as the father of Epos, sometimes nod?

  [Note 19 (p. 105).]

  • “Pray that fair end may fair beginning follow”

  
  
  This seems to have been a sort of proverbial prayer among the Greeks, used for the sake of a good omen, as we find Clytemnestra, in the Agamemnon (p. 57 above), saying the same thing.

  • [Editor: illegible character]υ γὰρ πρὸς έυ ϕανε̂ισι προσθήκη πελοι.
  • v. 486.

  [Note 20 (p 106)]

  • “ . . behold this web”

  
  
  “The ladies, in the simplicity of ancient times, valued themselves much and, indeed, were highly esteemed, for their skill in embroidery; those rich wrought vests made great part of the wealth of noble houses. Andromache, Helen, and Penelope, were celebrated for their fine work, of which Minerva herself was the patroness, and Dido was as excellent as the best of them.”—Pot. The student will recall a familiar instance from Virgil—

  • “Munera practrea Iliacis crepta ruinis
  • Ferre jubet, pallam signis auroque rigentem
  • Et circumtextum croceo velamen acantho
  • Ornatus Argivae Helenæ.”
  • —Æneid I 651.

  evidently modelled on Odys. xix. 225.

  [Note 21 (p. 106).]

  • “May Power and Justice and thee, mighty Twain.”

  
  
  The reader will note this theological triad as very characteristic of the Greeks. Power (Κράτος) is coupled with Jove, as being his most peculiar physical attribute. Personified, this attribute appears in the Prometheus; and in Homer,

  • “Jove, the lofty pealing Thunderer, and in power the chiefest god,”

  answers to the opening words of our own solemn addresses to the Supreme Being—Almighty God Justice, again, belongs to Jove as the highest moral attribute; and this conjunction we find also very distinctly expressed in Homer.

  • “By Olympian Jove I charge you, and by Themis who presides
  • O’er the assemblies of the people”
  • —Odyssey II 68

  [Note 22 (p. 107)]

  • “. . . exasperate at the loss
  • Of my so fair possessions.”

  
  
  ἀποχρημάτοισι ζημιάις ταυρόυμενον. Kl. has made sad havoc of this line; but his objections to the old translation are weak, and his transpositions, so far as I can see, only make confusion more confounded. I stick by Stan. Ἀποχρήματος ζημιά est damnum bonorum omnium. Huc facit illud quod sequitur v. 299. και προσπιέζει χρημάτων ἀχηνία.

  [Note 23 (p. 107).]

  • “. . The evil-minded Powers
  • Beneath the Earth.”

  
  
  I am quite at a loss to explain the original of this passage further than that I see nothing harsh (as Lin. does) in referring the general term δυσϕρὁνων to the Furies, who are specially mentioned afterwards. It is quite common with Æschylus to give a general description first, and then specialise, and, moreover, in the present instance the λιχήνος which the δυσϕρονες are to send on the flesh of the sinner, are strictly analogous to the λιχὴν ἀϕυλλος (Eumen. v. 788), with which, in the Eumenides, they threaten to curse the Athenian soil. For the rest I should have little objection, in the present state of the MSS., to adopt Lobeck’s suggestion, μηνίματα, into the text, and have in effect so translated.

  [Note 24 (p 107)]

  • “And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.”

  
  
  The reference of this impracticable line to Apollo comes from Pauw, and has been adopted by Schwenck, who reads—

  • Ὁρωˆν τε λαμπρὸν ὲν σκότῳ νωμωˆν τ’ ’οϕρὺν.

  Another way of squeezing a meaning from the line is to refer it to Agamem non—
  
  

  • “With trains of heavier woes
  • Raised by the Furies from my father’s blood,
  • Who in the realms of night sees this, and bends
  • His gloomy brows”
  • —Pot.

  The other translations proposed are meagre and unpoetical.

  [Note 25 (p. 107).]

  • “. . . him no share
  • In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop
  • Of pure libation.”

  [Note 26 (p 108)]

  • “Age to age with hoary wisdom
  • Speaketh thus to men.”

  
  
  The old Jewish maxim of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, will here recur to every one; and, indeed, it is, to the present day, an instinctive dictate of social justice, however insufficient it may be as a general motive for individual conduct. In this spirit, wise old Nestor, in the Iliad (II. 354), considers that it would be disgraceful for the Greeks to think of returning home “before some Greek had slept with the wife of some Trojan,” as a retaliation for the woes that Paris had inflicted on Greek social life, in the matter of Helen. In Dante’s Inferno there are many instances, sometimes ingenious, sometimes only ridiculous, of the application of this principle to retributive punishment in a future life.

  [Note 27 (p. 108)]

  • “There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest.”

  
  
  Kl. appears to me to have supplied the true key to σκότω ϕάος ’ισόμοιρον, by comparing the exclamation of Ajax in Sophocles, v. 394—

  • Ιω σκότος ’εμὸν ϕάος
  • [Editor: illegible character]ερεβος ὠ ϕαεννότατον ὡς εμόι!

  The gloomy state of the dead in Hades is pictured yet more darkly, by saying that the night, which covers them, is all that serves them for day

  [Note 28 (p. 109).]

  • “The monarch of the awful dead.”

  
  
  The Hades of the ancients was, as is well remarked by Kl on this place, in all things an image of this upper world; an observation to be made on the surface of Virgil—

  • “Quae gratia currum
  • Armorumque fuit viris, quæ cura nitentes
  • Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos”
  • Æneid VI 653.

  But the parallel most striking to the present passage occurs in the address of Ulysses to Achilles, Odyssey XI 482—
  
  

  • “Achilles,
  • Never man before was happier, nor shall ever be, than thou,
  • When thou wert among the living all the Argives honoured thee
  • Like a god, and now amid the dead thou sway’st with mighty power”

  To which address the hero gave the well-known reply, a reply characteristic at once of his own tremendous energy, and of the Greek views of a future state:—

  • “Noble Ulysses, praise me not the state of death; for I would rather
  • Be a serf, and break the clods to him that owneth acres few
  • On Earth, than reign the mighty lord of millions of the shadowy dead.’

  [Note 29 (p. 110)]

  • “Hyperborean bliss.”

  
  
  “Fair birds have fair feathers;” so the Greeks, who had sent no voyages of discovery to the Arctic seas, were free, without contradiction, to place Utopia at the North Pole. (See Herodot. III. 106, quoted by Nitzsh in his comments on the Phœacians, Od. VII. 201-6) Schutz quotes Pomp. Mela. III. 5—“diutius quam ulli mortalium et beatius vivunt.” Some of these Hyperboreans drank nothing but milk (γαλακτοϕάγοι, Hom. II. XIII. 6), and from this practice the alleged purity of their manners, according to certain modern theories of dietetics, may have arisen.

  [Note 30 (p 110).]

  • “O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from below.”

  
  
  “Zeus, though his proper region is above, yet, by reason of his perfect concord with his brother in the moral government of the world, exercises authority also in Hades”—Kl This is one of the many instances to be found in Homer and Æschylus of the Monotheistic principle of an enlightened Deism controlling and overruling the apparent confusion and anarchy of Polytheism

  [Note 31 (p. 111).]

  • “Ye that honoured reign below.”

  
  
  What the true reading of the corrupt original here is, no one can know; but it may be some satisfaction to the student to note that the different readings of all the emendators bring out substantially the same sense. I give the various translations as follows:—

  • You, whose dreaded power
  • The infernal realms revere, ye Furies, hear me!
  • —Pot.
  • O ye powers that are honoured among the dead, listen to my prayer.
  • —E. P., Oxon.
  • Höret ihr Herrscher der Tiefe, hört mïch.
  • —Droy.
  • Höret mich Erd, und des Abgrund’s mächte!
  • —Fr

  Neither this “Earth,” nor my “Furies,” can be looked on as part of the text. They are only put in to fill up a gap, where nothing better can be done.

  [Note 32 (p 111).]

  • “And if blithe confidence awhile.”

  
  
  This passage is desperate. I follow Peile in the translation; though, if I were editing the Greek, I should prefer to follow Well and Pal. in doing nothing.

  [Note 33 (p. 111).]

  • “The mother gave her child
  • This wolfish nature wild.”

  
  
  This translation, which is supported by Peile, and Pal., and Lin., seems to me to give θυμὸς that reference to Orestes which connects it best with the previous lines, while it, at the same time, gives the least forced explanation of ’εκ μάτρος.

  [Note 34 (p. 112)]

  • “Like a Persian mourner.”

  
  
  The student will find a very remarkable difference between this version and that in Pot. and E P. Oxon., arising from the conversion of the word πολεμιστρίας into ’ιηλεμιστρίας, a conjectural emendation which we owe to Hermann and Ahrens, and which appears to me to be one of the most satisfactory that has ever been made on the text of Æschylus. It has, accordingly, been adopted by Kl., Peile, Pal., Fr., and Droy. The oriental wailers were famous, and the “Maryandine and Mysian wailers” are especially mentioned by our poet in the final chorus of “the Persians;” which will be the best commentary on the exaggerated tone of the present passage. I have followed the recent German editors and translators in giving the first part of this Strophe to the Chorus. There seems to be a natural division at the words Ἰὼ, Ἰὼ δαία.

  [Note 35 (p 112)]
  
  OrestesWell. has certainly made a great oversight in running on continuously with these two Strophes. However the division be made, a new person must commence with Αέγεις πατρώιον μόρον.

  [Note 36 (p. 113)]
  
  Chorus. Here again I follow the later editors and translators in dividing the part given to the Chorus by Well. There is a sort of natural partition of the style and sentiment palpable to any reader. It may also be remarked in general, that the broken and exclamatory style of the lamentation in this Chorus is quite incompatible with long continuous speeches (such as Pot. has given), out of one mouth. The order of persons I give as in Peile.

  [Note 37 (p. 114).]

  • “Scathless myself”

  
  
  ϕυγεɩ̂ν. Fr. has unnecessarily changed this into τυχεɩ̂ν. In Odyssey XX. 43, Ulysses uses the same language to Athena.

  [Note 38 (p. 114).]

  • “Thou too shalt taste”

  
  
  That the dead were believed actually to eat the meat and drink that was prepared for them at the funeral feast is evident from the eleventh book of the Odyssey, where they come up in fluttering swarms and sip the pool of blood from the victim which he had sacrificed.

  [Note 39 (p. 115).]

  • “Well spoken both.”

  
  
  With Kl., Peile, Fr., and Pal., I adopt Hermann’s emendation—

  • κὰι μὴν ἀμεμϕη̂ τον δ ἐτείνατον λόγον.

  and with him give the four lines to the Chorus. A very obvious and natural sense is thus brought out, besides that καὶ μὴν naturally indicates a change of person

  [Note 40 (p. 115).]

  • “. . . try what speed the gods may give thee.”

  
  
  δαίμονος πειρωˆμενος. Literally trying your god—the dependence of fortune upon God being a truth so vividly before the Greek mind that the term δαίμων came to be used for both in a manner quite foreign to the use of the English language, and which can only be fully expressed by giving both the elements of the word in a sort of paraphrase.

  [Note 41 (p 116).]

  • “. . . this whole house with ills
  • Is sheer possessed.”

  
  
  δαὶμον[Editor: illegible character] δόμος κακοɩ̂ς. Literally, “the house is godded with ills,” that is, so beset with evil that we can attribute it only to a special superhuman power—to a god, as the Greeks expressed it, to the devil, as we say.

  [Note 42 (p. 116).]

  • “. . . Sirs, why dare ye shut
  • Inhospitable doors against the stranger?”

  
  
  To shut the door upon a stranger or a beggar, seems, in Homer’s days, to have been accounted as great a sin, as it is now, from change of circumstances, necessarily looked on as almost a virtue. Every book of the Odyssey has some testimony to this; suffice it to quote the maxim—

  [Note 43 (p 116).]

  • “The third and crowning cup.

  
  
  “Alluding first to the slaughter of the children of Thyestes by Atreus, then to the murder of Agamemnon by Clytemnestra, and thirdly, that of Clytemnestra and Ægisthus presently to take place.”—Kl.

  [Note 44 (p. 116).]

  • “. . . his present aid I ask”
  • Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.”

  
  
  I am inclined with Schutz, Kl, and Peile, to think that there is more propriety in referring this to Apollo than to Pylades. It is true, also, as Schutz remarks, that Æschylus generally, if not invariably, applies the word ἐποπτεύω to the notice taken of anything by a god.

  [Note 45 (p. 117).]

  • “Earth breeds a fearful progeny”

  
  
  The sentiment of this chorus was familiar to the ancients, and was suggested with peculiar force to the minds of the tragedians, from the contemplation of those terrible deeds of old traditionary crime, which so often formed the subject of their most popular and most powerful efforts. Sophocles had a famous chorus in the Antigone, beginning in the same strain, though ranging over a wider and a more ennobling field—“πολλὰ τα δεινὰ κ’ουδὲν ανθρώπου δεινότερον πέλει”

  • “Things of might hath Nature many
  • In her various plan,
  • But of daring powers who dareth
  • Most on Earth is man”

  In imitation of which, the
  
  

  • “Audax omnia perpeti
  • Gens humana ruit in vetitum nefas”

  of Horace has become proverbial. In modern times, the pages of the Times newspaper will supply more ample and various illustrations of the same great truth than the most learned ancient could have collected. In England especially, the strong nature of the Saxon shows something Titanic, both in feats of mechanical enterprise and in crime.

  [Note 46 (p. 117).]

  • “All-venturing woman’s dreadful ire.”

  
  
  Kl. quotes here the Homeric

  • ὡς ὀυκ ἀινότερον και κύντερον ἀλλο γυναικὸς.
  • “Woman like a dog unblushing deeds of terrible name will do.”

  So a friend who was in Paris, at the time of the Revolution in 1848, wrote to me—“With the men I can easily manage, but the women are tigers.”

  [Note 47 (p 117).]

  • “Thestios’ daughter, wild with rage.”

  
  
  Althea, the mother of the famous Calydonian boar-hunter, Meleager, who is so often seen on the sides of ancient sarcophagi. “When Meleager was seven days old, it is said the Fates appeared, declaring that the boy would die, as soon as the piece of wood that was burning on the hearth should be consumed. When Althea heard this, she extinguished the fire-brand, and concealed it in a chest. Meleager himself became invulnerable; but when—in the war between the Calydonians and the Curetes—he had unfortunately killed his mother’s brother, she lighted the piece of wood, and Meleager died”—Dict. Biog.

  [Note 48 (p 117)]

  • “How Scylla, gay, in gold arrayed.”

  
  
  The daughter of Nisus, king of Megara, who, when Minos, in his expedition against Athens, took Megara, betrayed the city to the enemy, by cutting off the purple or golden hair which grew on the top of her father’s head, and on which his life and the preservation of the city depended —Dict., Biog., voceNisus, and Virgil Georg. I. 404, and Ovid. Met. VIII. 90, quoted here by Sian

  [Note 49 (p. 118)]

  • “O woman! woman! Lemnos saw”

  
  
  The Lemnian women, as Apollodorus relates (I. 9, 17), having neglected to pay due honor to Venus, were, by that goddess, made so ill-favoured and intolerable to consort with (αυταɩ̂ς έμβάλλη δοσοσμίαν), that their husbands, abandoning them, took themselves other wives from among the captive women that they had brought over from Thrace The Lemnian women, in revenge, murdered both their fathers and their husbands; from which atrocious act, and another bloody deed mentioned by Herodotus (VI. 138), “it hath been the custom,” says the historian, “to call by the name Lemnian any monstrous and inhuman action.”

  [Note 50 (p. 118).]

  • “And honor from the threshold hies,
  • On which the doom god-spoken lies”

  
  
  We are not always sufficiently alive to the deep moral power which lay concealed beneath the harlequin dress of the old Greek Polytheism What Æschylus puts into the mouth of a theatrical chorus in sounding rhythm, Xenophon, in plain prose, teaches from the mouth of a Greek captain thus—“Whosoever violates an oath to which the gods are witness, him I can never be brought to look on as a happy man. For, when the gods are once hostile, no one can escape their anger—not by hiding himself in darkness—not by fencing himself within a strong place. For all things are subject to the gods.”—Anab. II 5. Think on some of the Psalms!

  [Note 51 (p. 119).]

  • “But nice regard for the fine feeling ear.”

  
  
  I have here with a certain freedom of version expressed Kl ’s idea, that the preference expressed by Orestes for a male ear to receive his message arose from the nature of his news; but I do not think it is “inept” to believe, with Bl. and Peiie, that we have here merely an instance of the general secluded state in which Greek women lived, so that it was esteemed not proper to talk with them, in public—as Achilles says, in Euripides—

  • ἀισχρὸν δέ μοὶ γυναιξὶν συμβὰλλειν λόγους.
  • “For me to hold exchange of words with women
  • Were most improper”
  • —Iphig Aulid 830.

  [Note 52 (p. 119).]

  • “Hot baths.”

  
  
  To an English ear this sounds more like the apparatus of modern luxury than the accompaniment of travel in the stout heroic times. It is a fact, however, as Kl. well notes, that of nothing is there more frequent mention in Homer than of warm baths. This is especially frequent in the Odyssey, where so many journeys are made Telemachus, for instance, at Pylus, is washed by the beautiful Polycaste, the youngest daughter of his venerable host; and the poet records with pleasure how “out of the bath he came in appearance like to the immortal gods” (III. 468), a verse which might serve as a very suitable motto to a modern work on Hydropathy.

  [Note 53 (p 119)]
  
  ElectraWell. is very imperative in taking these words out of Electra’s mouth, and giving them to some other person, he does not exactly know who; but, though she left the stage before, there is no reason why she should not come back; and, in fact, she is just doing what she ought to do in appearing here, and carrying on the deception.

  [Note 54 (p. 120).]

  • “Is audited at nothing.”

  
  
  The passage is corrupt. I read παρ’ ὀυδέν, with Blomfield. ’Tis certainly difficult to say whether βακχείας καλης should be made to depend on ἐλπὶς, as I have made it, or being changed into κακης, be referred to Clytemnestra.

  [Note 55 (p. 120)]

  • “. . . suasive wile, and smooth deceit!”

  
  
  The reader need hardly be reminded that these qualities, so necessary to the present transaction, render the invocation (in the next line) peculiarly necessary of the god, who was the recognised patron of thieves, and of whom the Roman lyrist, in a well-known ode sings—

  • “Te boves olim nisi reddidisses
  • Per dolum amotas puerum minaci
  • Voce dum terret, viduus pharetra
  • Risit Apollo’

  [Note 56 (p. 120).]

  • “The nightly courier of the dead.”

  
  
  τὸν νύχιον. That there is a great propriety in the epithet nightly, as applied to Mercury, both in respect of his general function as πομπα̂ιος, or leader of the dead through the realms of night, and in respect of the particular business now in hand, and the particular time of the action, is obvious. In spite of some grammatical objections, therefore, I cannot but think it far-fetched in Blom. and Peile to refer the epithet to Orestes. Were I editing the text I should be very much inclined to follow Herm. and Pal. in putting καὶ τὸν νύχιον within brackets, as perhaps a gloss.

  [Note 57 (p. 122).]

  • “The bearer of a tale can make it wear
  • What face he pleases.”

  
  
  I translate thus generally, in order to avoid the necessity of settling the point whether κυπτὸς or κρυπτὸς is the proper reading—a point, however, of little consequence to the translator of Æschylus, as the Venetian Scholiast to Il. O. 207 has been triumphantly brought forward to prove the real meaning of this otherwise corrupt and unintelligible verse. Pot. was not in a condition to get hold of the true text—so he has given the best version he could of what he had—

  • “For the mind catches from the messenger
  • A secret elevation and bold swell,”

  evidently from the reading of Paw.—

  [Note 58 (p. 122).]
  
  Choral Hymn. The text of this Chorus is a ruin, with here a pillar and there a pillar, some fragments of a broken cornice, and something like the cell of a god, but the rubbish is so thick, and the excavations so meagre, that perfect recovery of the original scheme is in some places impossible, and restoration in a great measure conjectural. Under these circumstances, with the help of the Commentators (chiefly Peilr and Lin.), I have endeavoured to piece out a connection between the few fragments that are intelligible; but I have been guided throughout more by a sort of poetical instinct than by any philological science, and have allowed myself all manner of liberties, convinced that in this case the most accurate translation is sure to be the worst. In the metre, I follow Peile.

  [Note 59 (p. 125).]

  • “Let’s go aside, the deed being done, that we
  • Seem not partakers of the bloody work.”

  
  
  ’Tis a misfortune, arising from having such a body as a Chorus always on the stage, that they are often found to be spectators, where they cannot be partakers of a great work, and thus their attitude as secret sympathisers, afraid to show their real sentiments, becomes on many occasions the very reverse of heroic. This strikes us moderns very strongly, apt as we are, from previous associations, to take the Chorus along with the other characters of the play, and judge it accordingly; but to the Greeks, who felt that the Chorus was there only for the purpose of singing, criticisms of this kind were not likely to occur.

  [Note 60 (p. 126).]

  • “I nursed thy childhood, and in peace would die.”

  
  
  Clytemnestra says only that she wished to be allowed to spend her old age in peace; but she implies further, according to a natural feeling strongly expressed by Greek writers, that it was the special duty of her son to support her old age, and thus pay the fee of his nursing. Thus, in Homer, it is a constant lament over one who dies young in battle—

  • “Not to his parents
  • The nursing fee (θρέπτρα) he paid”
  • —Il. IV. 478.

  “In general it was accounted a great misfortune by the Greeks to die childless (ἄπαιδα γηράσκειν, Eurip Ion 621). And at Athens there was a law making it imperative on an heir to afford aliment to his mother.”—Klausen.

  [Note 61 (p. 126).]

  • “Thou art a woman sitting in thy chamber.”
  • “Go to thy chamber, mother, and mind the business that suits thee;
  • Tend the loom and the spindle, and give thy maidens the order
  • Each to her separate work; but leave the bow and the arrows
  • To the men and to me—for the man in the house is the master”
  • Odyssey XXI. 350.

  So Telemachus says to his mother; and on other occasions he uses what we should think, rather sharp and undutiful language—but in Greece a woman who left the woman’s chamber without a special and exceptional call subjected herself to just rebuke. With regard to the matter here at issue between Orestes and Clytemnestra, Kl. notes that, though the wandering Ulysses is allowed without blame to form an amorous alliance with Calypso, the same excuse is not allowed for the female sitting quietly in her “upper chamber” (ὑπερώιον, Il. II. 514) as Homer has it. For “in ancient times,” says the Scholiast to that passage, “the Greeks shut up their women in garrets (ὑπερ τονˆ δυσεντεύκτους ἀυτάς [Editor: illegible character]ιναι) that they might be difficult to get at.”—How Turkish!

  [Note 62 (p 126)]
  
  Orestes. I have little doubt that Kl., Peile, Fr., Well., and Pal., are right in giving the line ἠ̂ κάρτα μάντις to Orestes. I should be inclined to agree with Well. and Pal. also, that after this line a verse has dropt out—“in quo instantem sibi mortem deprecata sit Clytemnestra;” but there is no need of indicating the supposed blank in the translation, as the sense runs on smoothly enough without it.

  [Note 63 (p. 127)]

  • “ . . the eye of this great house, may live.”

  
  
  An Oriental expression, to which the magnificent phraseology of our Celestial brother who sells tea, has made the English ear sufficiently familiar. He calls our king, or our consul, I forget which, “the Barbarian eye.” Other examples of this style occur in the Persians and the Eumenides.—See p. 172 above.

  [Note 64 (p. 127).]

  • “A pair of grim lions, a double Mars terrible.”

  
  
  Klausen, who, like other Germans, has a trick, sometimes, of preferring what is far-fetched to what is obvious, considers that this double Mars is the double death, first of Agamemnon in the previous piece, then of Clytemnestra in this; but notwithstanding what he says, the best comment on this passage is that given by the old Scholiast, when he writes “Pylades and Orestes.”

  [Note 65 (p 127).]

  • “Sore chastisement.”

  
  
  ποινὰ. Ahrens, with great boldness, changes this into Ἐρμα̂ς, which reading has been rashly thrown into the text by Fr. If any special allusion is needed, I agree with Pal. that Orestes is indicated, who is mentioned in the next clause as inflicting the blow, under the guidance of celestial Justice.

  [Note 66 (p. 127).]

  • “Her from his shrine sent the rock-throned Apollo.”

  
  
  In this corrupt passage I adopt Hermann’s correction of τάν περ for τάπέρ. How much the whole meaning is guesswork, the reader may see, by comparing my translation with Pot. and the E. P. Oxon, in this place, who follow the old Scholiast in referring χρονισθε̂ισαυ to Clytemnestra.

  [Note 67 (p. 127).]

  • “And blithely shall welcome them Fortune the fairest.”

  
  
  This passage being very corrupt, is rendered freely. I adopt Stan.’s conjecture [Editor: illegible character]δεɩ̂ν ἀκονˆσαι θ’ [Editor: illegible character]εμενοις, and suppose μέτοικοι to refer to Orestes and Electra.

  [Note 68 (p. 128).]

  • “. . . not
  • My father, but the Sun that fathers all
  • With light.”

  
  
  There is a certain mannerism in this description of a thing by the negation of what is similar, to which the tragedians were much addicted. As to the invocation of the sun, see the note in the Prometheus to the speech beginning

  • O divine ether and swift-winged winds.

  [Note 69 (p. 128)]

  • “Or a torpedo, that with biteless touch
  • Strikes numb who handles.”

  
  
  Literally, a lamprey, μύραινα; but to translate so would have been ludicrous; and besides, as Blom. has noted from Athenaeus, it was not a common lamprey that, in the imagination of the Greeks, was coupled with a viper, but “a sort of monstrous reptile begotten between a viper and a lamprey.”

  [Note 70 (p. 128).]

  • “This cloth to wrap the dead.”

  
  
  ’Tis difficult to say whether δρόιτη, in this place, means the bath in which Agamemnon was murdered, or the bier on which any dead body is laid after death. Kl. supports this latter interpretation. I have incorporated a reference to both versions.

  [Note 71 (p. 129).]

  • “Others ’twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate
  • Is fixed and scapeless.”

  
  
  I read—

  • Ἄλλοις ἄν ἐι δή. τουτ’ ἂρ διδ δπη τελε̂ι.
  • Peile.

  [Note 72 (p 129)]

  • “With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch.”

  
  
  These insignia of suppliants are familiar to every reader of the Classics. I shall only recall two of the most familiar intances In the opening scene of the Iliad the priest of Apollo appears before Agamemnon, and

  • “In his hand he held the chaplet of the distant-darting Phœbus
  • On a golden rod”

  And in the opening lines of the Œdipus Tyrannus, the old King asks the Chorus—

  • “Why swarm ye here around the seats of the gods,
  • With branches furnished such as suppliants bear?”

  [Note 73 (p 129).]

  • “. . . navel of earth, where burns the flame
  • Of fire immortal”

  
  
  As the old astronomers made Earth the centre of the planetary system, and as men are everywhere, and at all times, apt to consider their own position and point of view as of more importance in the great whole of things than it really is; so the Greeks, in their ignorant vanity, considered their own Delphi to be the navel, or central point of Earth. As to the immortal fire, Stan. quotes here from Plutarch, who, in his life of Numa (c. ix.), describing the institution of the Vestal Virgins, takes occasion to mention the sacred fire kept alive in Greece at two places, Delphi and Athens, which, if extinguished, was always rekindled from no earthly spark, but from the Sun.

  [Note 74 (p. 130).]

  • “There is atonement.”

  
  
  Ἐισιν καθαρμόι, Schutz, Pal.; [Editor: illegible character] σται καθαρμός, Bothe. Either of these seems preferable to the vulgate ἐισω. Franz has [Editor: illegible character]ις σοι καθαρμὸς. Eins bleibt Dir Suhnung.

  [Note 75 (p. 130).]

  • “Ye see them not. I see them”

  
  
  Ghosts and gods are never visible to the bystander, but only to the person or persons who may be under their special influence at the moment of their appearance—so in the Iliad (I. 197), Pallas Athena—

  • “There behind him stood, and by the yellow hair she seized Pelides,
  • Seen to him alone, the others saw not where the goddess stood”

  and so in a thousand places of the poet To the spectator, however, in the theatre, spiritual beings must be visible, because (as Muller, Eumen 3, properly remarks) they are the very persons from before whose eyes it is the business of the poet to remove the veil that interposes between our everyday life and the spiritual world. That the Furies of the following piece were seen bodily at this part of the present play, and are not supposed to exist merely in the brain of Orestes, is only what a decent regard for common poetical consistency on the part of a great tragic poet seems to imply.

  [Note 76 (p. 130).]

  • “ . . the god whose eyes in love behold thee!”

  
  
  What god is not said, but the word θεός is used indefinitely without the article. The Greeks had an indefinite style when talking of the divine providence—a god, or some god, or the god, or the gods—a style which arose naturally out of the Polytheistic form of celestial government. Examples of all the different kinds of phraseology are frequent in Homer. Sometimes, in that author, the expression, though indefinite in itself, has a special allusion, plain enough from the context; and in the present passage I see no harm in supposing an allusion to Apollo, under whose immediate patronage Orestes acts through the whole of this piece and that which follows.

  [† ]“Καὶ τὴν μὲν ἐν Ἀρείῳ πάγῳ βουλὴν Ἐϕιάλτης ἐκόλουσ[Editor: illegible character] καὶ Περικλη̂ς. τὰ δὲ δικαστήρια μισθοϕόρα κατέστησε Περικλη̂ς.”—Aristotle, Pol. II. 9. 3.

  [* ]“Τη̂ς ναναρχίας γὰρ ἐν τοɩ̂ς Μηδικοɩ̂ς ὀ δη̂μος ἄιτιος γενόμενος ἐϕρονηματίσθη.”—Aristotle,ibid.

• Back to Top

  4: 4. Aeschylus, The Eumenides

  This is the 3rd play in Aeschylus’s trilogy of plays known as “The Oresteia”.

  Aeschylus, The Lyrical Dramas of Aeschylus, translated into English Verse by John Stuart Blackie (London: J.M. Dent, 1906). Chapter: THE EUMENIDES

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1039/107077 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  THE EUMENIDES

  Scene.—In front of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.

  The Pythoness.

  • Old Earth, primeval prophetess, I first
  • With these my prayers invoke; and Themis1 next,
  • Who doth her mother’s throne and temple both
  • Inherit, as the legend runs; and third
  • In lot’s due course, another Earth-born maid
  • The unforced homage of the land received,
  • Titanian Phœbe;* she in natal gift
  • With her own name her hoary right bequeathed
  • To Phœbus: he from rocky Delos’ lake2
  • To Attica’s ship-cruised bays was wafted, whence
  • He in Parnassus fixed his sure abode.
  • Hither with pious escort they attend him:
  • The Sons of Vulcan pioneer his path,3
  • Smoothing the rugged desert where he comes:
  • The thronging people own him, and king Delphos,
  • The land’s high helmsman, flings his portals wide.
  • Jove with divinest skill his heart inspires,
  • And now the fourth on this dread seat enthroned
  • Sits Loxias,† prophet of his father Jove.4
  • These be the gods, whom chiefly I invoke:
  • But thee, likewise, who ’fore this temple dwellest,5
  • Pallas, I pray, and you, ye Nymphs that love
  • The hollow Corycian rock,6 the frequent haunt
  • Of pleasant birds, the home of awful gods.
  • Thee, Bromius, too, I worship,7 not unweeting
  • How, led by thee, the furious Thyads rushed
  • To seize the godless Pentheus,8 ev’n as a hare
  • Is dogged to death. And you, the fountains pure
  • Of Pleistus,‡ and Poseidon’s§ mighty power9
  • I pray, and Jove most high, that crowns all things
  • With consummation. These the gods that lead me
  • To the prophetic seat, and may they grant me
  • Best-omened entrance; may consulting Greeks,
  • If any be, by custom’d lot approach;
  • For as the gods my bosom stir, I pour
  • The fateful answer.

  [She goes into the Temple, but suddenly returns.

  • O horrid tale to tell! O sight to see
  • Most horrible! that drives me from the halls
  • Of Loxias, so that I nor stand nor run,
  • But, like a beast fourfooted stumble on,
  • Losing the gait and station of my kind,
  • A gray-haired woman, weaker than a child!10
  • Up to the garlanded recess I walked,
  • And on the navel-stone* behold! a man
  • With crime polluted to the altar clinging,
  • And in his bloody hand he held a sword
  • Dripping with recent murder, and a branch
  • Of breezy olive, with flocks of fleecy wool
  • All nicely tipt. Even thus I saw the man;
  • And stretched before him an unearthly host
  • Of strangest women, on the sacred seats
  • Sleeping—not women, but a Gorgon brood,
  • And worse than Gorgons, or the ravenous crew
  • That filched the feast of Phineus11 (such I’ve seen
  • In painted terror); but these are wingless, black,
  • Incarnate horrors, and with breathings dire
  • Snort unapproachable, and from their eyes
  • Pestiferous beads of poison they distil.
  • Such uncouth sisterhood, apparel’d so,12
  • From all affinity of gods or men
  • Divorced, from me and from the gods be far,
  • And from all human homes! Nor can the land,
  • That lends these unblest hags a home, remain
  • Uncursed by fearful scourges. But the god,
  • Thrice-potent Loxias himself will ward
  • His holiest shrine from lawless outrage. Him
  • Physician, prophet, soothsayer, we call,
  • Cleansing from guilt the blood-polluted hall.

  [Exit.

  The interior of the Delphic Temple is now presented to view.Orestesis seen clinging to the navel-stone; theEumenideslie sleeping on the seats around. In the backgroundHermesbesideOrestes.EnterApollo.

  Apollo[to Orestes].

  • Trust me, I’ll not betray thee. Far or near,
  • Thy guardian I, and to thine every foe
  • No gentle god. Thy madded persecutors
  • Sleep-captured lie: the hideous host is bound.
  • Primeval virgins, hoary maids, with whom
  • Nor god, nor man, nor beast hath known communion.
  • For evil’s sake they are: in evil depth
  • Of rayless Tartarus, underneath the ground,
  • They dwell, of men and of Olympian gods
  • Abhorred. But hence! nor faint thy heart, though they
  • Are mighty to pursue from land to land
  • O’er measureless tracks, from rolling sea to sea,
  • And sea-swept cities. A bitter pasture truly
  • Was thine from Fate;13 but bear all stoutly. Hie thee
  • Away to Pallas’ city, and embrace
  • Her ancient image14 with close-clinging arms.
  • Just Judges there we will appoint to judge
  • Thy cause, and with soft-soothing pleas will pluck
  • The sting from thy offence, and free thee quite
  • From all thy troubles. Thou know’st that I, the god,
  • When thou didst strike, myself the blow directed.

  Orest.

  • Liege lord Apollo, justice to the gods
  • Belongs; in justice, O remember me.
  • Thy power divine assurance gives that thou
  • Can’st make thy will a deed.

  Apollo.

  • Fear nought. Trust me.
  • [To Hermes] And thou, true brother’s blood, true father’s son,
  • Hermes, attend, and to this mission gird thee.
  • Fulfil the happy omen of thy name,
  • The Guide,* and guide this suppliant on his way.
  • For Jove respects thy function and thy pride,
  • The prosperous convoy, and the faithful guide.

  [ExitHermes,leadingOrestes. Apolloretires.

  Enterthe Shade of Clytemnestra.

  Clytem.

  • Sleeping? All sleeping! Ho! What need of sleepers?
  • While I roam restless, of my fellow-dead
  • Dishonoured and reproached, by fault of you,
  • That when I slew swift vengeance overtook me.
  • But being slain myself, my avengers sleep
  • And leave my cause to drift! Hear me, sleepers!
  • Such taunts I bear, such contumelious gibes,
  • Yet not one god is touched with wrath to avenge
  • My death, who died by matricidal hands.
  • Behold these wounds!15 look through thy sleep, and see!
  • Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan
  • More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt,
  • Nor garish day confounds.16 Full oft have ye
  • Of my libations sipped the wineless streams,
  • The soothings of my sober sacrifice,
  • The silent supper from the solemn altar,
  • At midnight hour when only ye are worshipped.
  • But now all this beneath your feet lies trampled.
  • The man is gone; fled like a hind! he snaps
  • The meshes of your toils, and makes—O shame!
  • Your Deity a mark for scoffers’ eyes
  • To wink at! Hear me, ye infernal hags,
  • Unhoused from hell! For my soul’s peace I plead,
  • Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.17

  [TheChorusmoans.

  • Ye moan! the while the man hath fled, and seeks
  • For help from those that are no friends to me.18

  [TheChorusmoans again.

  • Sleep-bound art thou. Hast thou no bowels for me?
  • My Furies sleep, and let my murderer flee.

  [TheChorusgroans.

  • Groaning and sleeping! Up! What work hast thou
  • To do, but thine own work of sorrow? Rouse thee!

  [TheChorusgroans again.

  • Sleep and fatigue have sworn a league to bind
  • The fearful dragon with strong mastery.

  Chorus

  [with redoubled groans and shrill cries].

  Hold! seize him! seize him! seize there! there! there! hold!

  Clytem.

  • Thy dream scents blood, and, like a dog that doth
  • In dreams pursue the chase, even so dost thou
  • At phantasms bark and howl. To work! to work!
  • Let not fatigue o’ermaster thus thy strength,
  • Nor slumber soothe the sense of sharpest wrong.
  • Torture thy liver with reproachful thoughts;
  • Reproaches are the pricks that goad the wise.
  • Up! blow a blast of bloody breath behind him!
  • Dry up his marrow with the fiery vengeance!
  • Follow! give chase! pursue him to the death!

  Chorus,19starting up in hurry and confusion.

  Voice 1.

  Awake! awake! rouse her as I rouse thee!

  Voice 2.

  • Dost sleep? arise! dash drowsy sleep away!
  • Brave dreams be prelude to brave deed! Ho, sisters!

  STROPHE I.

  Voice 1.

  • Shame, sisters, shame!
  • Insult and injury!
  • Shame, O shame!

  Voice 2.

  Shame on me, too: a bootless, fruitless shame!

  Voice 1.

  • Insult and injury,
  • Sorrow and shame!
  • Burden unbearable,
  • Shame! O shame!

  Voice 2.

  The snare hath sprung: flown is the goodly game.

  Voice 3.

  • I slept, and when sleeping
  • He sprang from my keeping;
  • Shame, O shame!

  ANTISTROPHE I.

  Voice 1.

  • O son of Jove, in sooth,
  • If thou wilt hear the truth,
  • Robber’s thy name!

  Voice 2.

  Thou being young dost overleap the old.20

  Voice 1.

  • A suppliant, godless,
  • And bloodstained, I see,
  • And bitter to parents,
  • Harboured by thee.

  Voice 2.

  Apollo’s shrine a mother-murderer’s hold!

  Voice 3.

  • Apollo rewardeth
  • Whom Justice discardeth,
  • And robber’s his name!

  STROPHE II.

  Voice 1.

  • A voice of reproach
  • Came through my sleeping,
  • Like a charioteer
  • With his swift lash sweeping.

  Voice 2.

  • Thorough my heart,
  • Thorough my liver,
  • Keen as the cold ice
  • Shot through the river.

  Voice 3.

  • Harsh as the headsman,
  • Ruthless exacter,
  • When tearless he scourges
  • The doomed malefactor.

  ANTISTROPHE II.

  Voice 1.

  • All blushless and bold
  • The gods that are younger
  • Would rule o’er the old,
  • With the right of the stronger.

  Voice 2.

  • The Earth’s navel-stone
  • So holy reputed,
  • All gouted with blood,
  • With fresh murder polluted,
  • Behold, O behold!

  Voice 3.

  • By the fault of the younger,
  • The holiest holy
  • Is holy no longer.

  STROPHE III.

  Voice 1.

  • Thyself thy hearth with this pollution stained
  • Thyself, a prophet, free and unconstrained

  Voice 2.

  • O’er the laws of the gods
  • Thou hast recklessly ridden,
  • Dispensing to men
  • Gifts to mortals forbidden;

  Voice 3.

  • Us thou hast reft
  • Of our name and our glory,
  • Us and the Fates,
  • The primeval, the hoary.

  ANTISTROPHE III.

  Voice 1.

  • I hate the god. Though underneath the ground
  • He hide my prey, there, too, he shall be found.

  Voice 2.

  • I at each shrine
  • Where the mortal shall bend him,
  • Will jealously watch,
  • That no god may defend him.

  Voice 3.

  • Go where he will,
  • A blood-guilty ranger,
  • Hotly will hound him still
  • I, the Avenger!

  Apollo.

  • Begone! I charge thee, leave these sacred halls!
  • From this prophetic cell avaunt! lest thou
  • A feathered serpent in thy breast receive,
  • Shot from my golden bow; and, inly pained,
  • Thou vomit forth black froth of murdered men,
  • Belching the clotted slaughter by thy maw
  • Insatiate sucked. These halls suit not for thee;
  • But where beheading, eye-out-digging dooms,21
  • Abortions, butcheries, barrenness abound,
  • Where mutilations, flayings, torturings,
  • Make wretches groan, on pointed stakes impaled,
  • There fix your seats; there hold the horrid feasts,
  • In which your savage hearts exultant revel,
  • Of gods abominate—maids whose features foul
  • Speak your foul tempers plainly. Find a home
  • In some grim lion’s den sanguinolent, not
  • In holy temples which your breath pollutes.
  • Depart, ye sheep unshepherded, whom none
  • Of all the gods may own!

  Chorus.

  • Liege lord, Apollo,
  • Ours now to speak, and thine to hear: thyself
  • Not aided only, but the single cause
  • Wert thou of all thou blamest.

  Apollo.

  How so? Speak!

  Chorus.

  Thine was the voice that bade him kill his mother.

  Apollo.

  Mine was the voice bade him avenge his father.

  Chorus.

  All reeking red with gore thou didst receive him.

  Apollo.

  Not uninvited to these halls he came.

  Chorus.

  • And we come with him. Wheresoe’er he goes,
  • His convoy we. Our function is to follow.

  Apollo.

  • Follow! but from this holy threshold keep
  • Unholy feet.

  Chorus.

  • We, where we must go, go
  • By virtue of our office.

  Apollo.

  • A goodly vaunt!
  • Your office what?

  Chorus.

  • From hearth and home we chase
  • All mother-murderers.

  Apollo.

  • She was murdered here,
  • That murdered first her husband.22

  Chorus.

  • Yet should she
  • By her own body’s fruitage have been slain?

  Apollo.

  • Thus speaking, ye mispraise the sacred rites
  • Of matrimonial Hera23 and of Jove,
  • Unvalued make fair Aphrodite’s grace,
  • Whence dearest joys to mortal man descend.
  • The nuptial bed, to man and woman fated,24
  • Hath obligation stronger than an oath,
  • And Justice guards it. Ye who watch our crimes,
  • If that loose reins to nuptial sins ye yield,
  • Offend, and grossly. If the murtherous wife
  • Escape your sharp-set vengeance, how can ye
  • Pursue Orestes justly? I can read
  • No even judgment in your partial scales,
  • In this more wrathful, and in that more mild.
  • She who is wise shall judge between us, Pallas.

  Chorus.

  The man is mine already. I will keep him.

  Apollo.

  He’s gone; and thou’lt but waste thy toil to follow.

  Chorus.

  Thy words shall not be swords, to cut my honors.

  Apollo.

  Crowned with such honors, I would tear them from me!

  Chorus.

  • A mighty god beside thy father’s throne
  • Art thou, Apollo. Me this mother’s blood
  • Goads on to hound this culprit to his doom.

  Apollo.

  • And I will help this man, champion and save him,
  • My suppliant, my client; should I not,
  • Both gods and men would brand the treachery.

  The scene changes to the Temple of Pallas in Athens. A considerable interval of time is supposed to have elapsed between the two parts of the Play.

  EnterOrestes.

  Orest.

  • Athena queen, at Loxias’ hest I come.
  • Receive the suppliant with propitious grace.
  • Not now polluted, nor unwashed from guilt
  • I cling to the first altar; time hath mellowed
  • My hue of crime, and friendly men receive
  • The curse-beladen wanderer to their homes.
  • True to the god’s oracular command,
  • O’er land and sea with weary foot I fare,
  • To find thy shrine, O goddess, and clasp thine image;
  • And now redemption from thy doom I wait.

  EnterChorus.

  Chorus.

  • ’Tis well. The man is here. His track I know.
  • The sure advisal of our voiceless guide
  • Follow; as hound a wounded stag pursues,
  • We track the blood, and snuff the coming death.
  • Soothly we pant, with life-outwearying toils
  • Sore overburdened! O’er the wide sea far
  • I came, and with my wingless flight outstripped
  • The couriers of the deep. Here he must lie,
  • In some pent corner skulking. In my nostrils
  • The scent of mortal blood doth laugh me welcome.

  Chorus.25

  Voice 1.

  Look, sisters, look!

  Voice 2.

  • On the right, on the left, and round about,
  • Search every nook!

  Voice 3.

  • Warily watch him,
  • The blood-guilty ranger,
  • That Fraud may not snatch him,
  • From me the Avenger!

  Voice 1.

  • At the shrine of the goddess,
  • He bendeth him lowly,
  • Embracing her image,
  • The ancient the holy.

  Voice 2.

  • With hands crimson-reeking,
  • He clingeth profanely,
  • A free pardon seeking
  • From Pallas—how vainly!

  Voice 3.

  • For blood, when it floweth,
  • For once and for ever
  • It sinks, and it knoweth
  • To mount again never.

  Voice 1.

  • Thou shalt pay me with pain;
  • From thy heart, from thy liver
  • I will suck, I will drain
  • Thy life’s crimson river.

  Voice 2.

  • The cup from thy veins
  • I will quaff it, how rarely!
  • I will wither thy brains,
  • Thou shalt pine late and early.

  Voice 3.

  • I will drag thee alive,
  • For thy guilt matricidal,
  • To the dens of the damned,
  • For thy lasting abidal.

  EPODE.

  Tutti.

  • There imprisoned thou shalt see
  • All who living sinned with thee,
  • ’Gainst the gods whom men revere,
  • ’Gainst honoured guest, or parents dear;
  • All the guilty who inherited
  • Woe, even as their guilt had merited.
  • For Hades,* in his halls of gloom,
  • With a justly portioned doom,26
  • Binds them down securely:
  • All the crimes of human kind,
  • In the tablet of his mind,
  • He hath graven surely.

  Orest.

  • By manifold ills I have been taught to know
  • All expiations; and the time to speak
  • I know, and to be silent. In this matter
  • As a wise master taught me, so my tongue
  • Shapes utterance. The curse that bound me sleeps,
  • My harsh-grained guilt is finer worn, the deep
  • Ensanguined stain washed to a softer hue;
  • Still reeking fresh with gore, on Phœbus’ hearth,
  • The blood of swine hath now wrought my lustration,*
  • And I have held communings with my kind
  • Once and again unharming. Time, that smooths
  • All things, hath smoothed the front of my offence.
  • With unpolluted lips I now implore
  • Thy aid, Athena, of this land the queen.
  • Myself, a firm ally, I pledge to thee,
  • Myself, the Argive people, and their land,
  • Thy bloodless prize. And whether distant far
  • On Libyan plains beside Tritonian pools,
  • Thy natal flood, with forward foot firm planted,
  • Erect, or with decorous stole high-seated,27
  • Thy friends thou aidest, or with practised eye
  • The ordered battle on Phlegrean fields
  • Thou musterest28 —come!—for gods can hear from far—
  • And from these woes complete deliverance send!

  Chorus.

  • Not all Apollo’s, all Athena’s power
  • Shall aid thee. Thou, of gods and men forsook,
  • Shalt pine and dwindle, stranger to the name
  • Of joy, a wasted shadow, bloodless sucked
  • To fatten wrathful gods. Thou dost not speak,
  • But, as a thing devoted, standest dumb,
  • My prey, even mine! my living banquet thou,
  • My fireless victim. List, and thou shalt hear
  • My song, that binds thee with its viewless chain.

  Chorus.

  • Deftly, deftly weave the dance!
  • Sisters lift the dismal strain!
  • Sing the Furies, justly dealing
  • Dooms deserved to guilty mortals;
  • Deftly, deftly lift the strain!
  • Whoso lifted hands untainted
  • Him no Furies’ wrath shall follow,
  • He shall live unharmed by me;
  • But who sinned, as this offender,
  • Hiding foul ensanguined hands,
  • We with him are present, bearing
  • Unhired witness for the dead;
  • We will tread his heels, exacting
  • Blood for blood, even to the end.
  • CHORAL HYMN.29
    STROPHE I.
  • • Mother Night that bore me,
    • A scourge, to go before thee,
    • To scourge, with stripes delightless,
    • The seeing and the sightless,30
    • Hear me, I implore thee,
    • O Mother Night!
    • Mother Night that bore me,
    • The son of Leto o’er me
    • Rough rides, in thy despite.
    • From me, the just pursuer,
    • He shields the evil-doer,
    • The son to me devoted,
    • For mother-murder noted,
    • He claims against the right.
  • • Where the victim lies,
    • Let the death-hymn rise!
    • Lift ye the hymn of the Furies amain!
    • The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain,31
    • That bindeth the heart with a viewless chain,
    • With notes of distraction and maddening sorrow,
    • Blighting the brain, and burning the marrow!
    • Where the victim lies,
    • Let the death-hymn rise,
    • The hymn that binds with a viewless chain!
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • • Mother Night that bore me,
    • The Fate that was before me,
    • This portion gave me surely,
    • This lot for mine securely,
    • To bear the scourge before thee,
    • O Mother Night!
    • And, in embrace untender
    • To hold the red offender,
    • That sinned in gods’ despite,
    • And wheresoe’er he wend him,
    • His keepers close we tend him.
    • In living or in dying,
    • From us there is no flying,
    • The daughters of the Night.
  • • Where the victim lies,
    • Let the death-hymn rise!
    • Lift ye the hymn of the Furies amain!
    • The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain,
    • That bindeth the heart with a viewless chain,
    • With notes of distraction and maddening sorrow,
    • Blighting the brain, and burning the marrow!
    • Where the victim lies,
    • Let the death-hymn rise,
    • The hymn that binds with a viewless chain!
  • STROPHE II.
  • • From primal ages hoary,
    • This lot, our pride and glory,
    • Appointed was to us,
    • To Hades’ gloomy portal,
    • To chase the guilty mortal,
    • But from Olympians, reigning
    • In lucid seats,* abstaining,
    • Their nectared feasts we taste not,
    • Their sun-white robes invest not
    • The maids of Erebus.
  • • But, with scourge and with ban,
    • We prostrate the man,
    • Who with smooth-woven wile,
    • And a fair-faced smile,
    • Hath planted a snare for his friend;
    • Though fleet, we shall find him,
    • Though strong, we shall bind him,
    • Who planted a snare for his friend.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • • This work of labour earnest,32
    • This task severest, sternest,
    • Let none remove from us.
    • To all their due we render,
    • Each deeply-marked offender
    • Our searching eye reproveth,
    • Though blissful Jove removeth,
    • From his Olympian glory,
    • Abhorr’d of all and gory,
    • The maids of Erebus.
  • • But, swift as the wind,
    • We follow and find,
    • Till he stumbles apace,
    • Who had hoped in the race,
    • To escape from the grasp of the Furies!
    • And we trample him low,
    • Till he writhe in his woe,
    • Who had fled from the chase of the Furies.
  • STROPHE III.
  • The thoughts heaven-scaling
  • Of men haughty-hearted,
  • At our breath, unavailing
  • Like smoke they departed.
  • Our jealous foot hearing,
  • They stumble before us,
  • And bite the ground, fearing
  • Our dark-vested chorus.
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • They fall, and perceive not
  • The foe that hath found them;
  • They are blind and believe not,
  • Thick darkness hath bound them.
  • From the halls of the fated,
  • A many-voiced wailing
  • Of sorrow unsated
  • Ascends unavailing.
  • STROPHE IV.
  • For the Furies work readily
  • Vengeance unsparing,
  • Surely and steadily
  • Ruin preparing.
  • Dark crimes strictly noted,
  • Sure-memoried they store them;
  • And, judgment once voted,
  • Prayers vainly implore them.
  • For they know no communion
  • With the bright-throned union
  • Of the gods of the day;
  • Where the living appear not,
  • Where the pale Shades near not,
  • In regions delightless,
  • All sunless and sightless,
  • They dwell far away.
  • ANTISTROPHE IV.
  • What mortal reveres not
  • Our deity awful?
  • When he names us, who fears not
  • To work deeds unlawful?
  • From times hoary-dated,
  • This statute for ever
  • Divinely was fated;
  • Time takes from it never.
  • For dishonour we bear not,
  • Though the bright thrones we share not
  • With the gods of the day.
  • Our right hoary-dated
  • We claim unabated,
  • Though we dwell, where delightless
  • No sun cheers the sightless,
  • ’Neath the ground far away.

  EnterAthena.

  Athena.

  • The cry that called me from Scamander’s banks33
  • I heard afar, even as I hied to claim
  • The land for mine which the Achæan chiefs
  • Assigned me, root and branch, my portion fair
  • Of the conquered roods, a goodly heritage
  • To Theseus’ sons. Thence, with unwearied foot,
  • I journeyed here by these high-mettled steeds
  • Car-borne, my wingless ægis in the gale
  • Full-bosomed whirring. And now, who are ye,
  • A strange assembly, though I fear you not,
  • Here gathered at my gates? I speak to both,
  • To thee the stranger, that with suppliant arms
  • Enclasps my statue—Whence art thou? And you,
  • Like to no generation seed-begotten,
  • Like to no goddess ever known of gods,
  • Like to no breathing forms of mortal kind;
  • But to reproach with contumelious phrase
  • Who wrong not us, nor courtesy allows,
  • Nor Themis wills. Whence are ye?

  Chorus.

  • Daughter of Jove,
  • ’Tis shortly said: of the most ancient Night
  • The tristful daughters we, and our dread name,
  • Even from the fearful Curse we bear, we borrow.*

  Athena.

  I know you, and the dreaded name ye bear.

  Chorus.

  Our sacred office, too—

  Athena.

  That I would hear.

  Chorus.

  The guilty murderer from his home we hunt.

  Athena.

  And the hot chase, where ends it?

  Chorus.

  • There, where joy
  • Is never named.

  Athena.

  • And is this man the quarry,
  • That, with hoarse-throated whoop, thou now pursuest?

  Chorus.

  He slew his mother—dared the worst of crimes.

  Athena.

  • What mightier fear, what strong necessity
  • Spurred him to this?

  Chorus.

  • What fear so strong that it
  • Should prompt a mother’s murder?

  Athena.

  There are two parties. Only one hath spoken.

  Chorus.

  He’ll neither swear himself, nor take my oath.34

  Athena.

  • The show of justice, not fair Justice self,
  • Thou lovest.

  Chorus.

  How? Speak—thou so rich in wisdom.

  Athena.

  Oaths are no proof, to make the wrong the right.

  Chorus.

  Prove thou. A true and righteous judgment judge.

  Athena.

  • I shall be judge, betwixt this man and thee
  • To speak the doom.

  Chorus.

  • Even thou. Thy worthy deeds
  • Give thee the worth in this high strife to judge.

  Athena.

  • Now, stranger, ’tis thy part to speak. Whence come,
  • Thy lineage what, and what thy fortunes, say,
  • And then refute this charge against thee brought.
  • For well I note the sacredness about thee,
  • That marks the suppliant who atonement seeks,
  • In old Ixíon’s guise;35 and thou hast fled
  • For refuge, to my holy altar clinging.
  • Answer me this, and plainly tell thy tale.

  Orest.

  • Sovran Athena, first from these last words
  • A cause of much concernment be removed.
  • I seek for no atonement; no pollution
  • Cleaves to thy sacred image from my touch.
  • Of this receive a proof. Thou know’st a murderer
  • Being unatoned a voiceless penance bears,
  • Till, from the hand of friendly man, the blood
  • Of a young beast from lusty veins hath sprent him,
  • Cleansing from guiltiness. These sacred rites
  • Have been performed: the blood of beasts hath sprent me,
  • The lucent lymph hath purged the filthy stain.
  • For this enough. As for my race, I am
  • An Argive born: and for my father, he
  • Was Agamemnon, king of men, by whom
  • The chosen admiral of the masted fleet,
  • The ancient city of famous Priam thou
  • Didst sheer uncity.36 Sad was his return;
  • For, with dark-bosomed guile, my mother killed him,
  • Snared in the meshes of a tangled net,
  • And of the bloody deed the bath was witness.
  • I then, returning to my father’s house
  • After long exile—I confess the deed—
  • Slew her who bore me, a dear father’s murder
  • With murder quitting. The blame—what blame may be—
  • I share with Loxias, who fore-augured griefs
  • To goad my heart if, by my fault, such guilt
  • Should go unpunished. I have spoken. Thou
  • What I have done, if justly or unjustly,
  • Decide. Thy doom, howe’er it fall, contents me.

  Athena.

  • In this high cause to judge, no mortal man
  • May venture; nor may I divide the law
  • Of right and wrong, in such keen strife of blood.
  • For thee, in that thou comest to my halls,37
  • In holy preparation perfected,
  • A pure and harmless suppliant, I, as pledged
  • Already thy protector, may not judge thee.
  • For these, ’tis no light thing to slight their office.
  • For, should I send them hence uncrowned with triumph,
  • Dripping fell poison from their wrathful breasts,
  • They’d leave a noisome pestilence in the land
  • Behind them. Thus both ways I’m sore perplexed;
  • Absent or present, they do bring a curse.
  • But since this business needs a swift decision,
  • Sworn judges I’ll appoint, and they shall judge
  • Of blood in every age. Your testimonies
  • And proofs meanwhile, and all that clears the truth,
  • Provide. Myself, to try this weighty cause,
  • My choicest citizens will choose, and bind them
  • By solemn oath to judge a righteous judgment.
  • CHORAL HYMN.38
    STROPHE I.
  • Ancient rights and hoary uses
  • Now shall yield to young abuses,
  • Right and wrong together chime,
  • If the vote
  • Fail to note
  • Mother-murder for a crime.
  • Murder now, made nimble-handed,
  • Wide shall rage without control;
  • Sons against their parents banded
  • Deeds abhorred
  • With the sword
  • Now shall work, while ages roll.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Now no more, o’er deeds unlawful,
  • Shall the sleeping Mænads* awful
  • Watch, with jealous eyes to scan;
  • Free and chainless,
  • Wild and reinless,
  • Stalks o’er Earth each murtherous plan.
  • Friend to friend his loss deploreth,
  • Lawless rapine, treacherous wound,
  • But in vain his plaint he poureth;
  • To his bruises
  • Earth refuses
  • Balm; no balm on Earth is found.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Now no more, from grief’s prostration,
  • Cries and groans
  • Heaven shall scale with invocation—
  • “Justice hear my supplication,
  • Hear me, Furies, from your thrones!”
  • From the recent sorrow bleeding,
  • Father thus or mother calls,
  • Vainly with a piteous pleading,
  • For the House of Justice falls.
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • Blest the man in whose heart reigneth
  • Holy Fear;
  • Fear his heart severely traineth;
  • Blest, from troublous woe who gaineth
  • Ripest fruits of wisdom clear;*
  • But who sports, a careless liver,39
  • In the sunshine’s flaunting show,
  • Holy Justice, he shall never
  • Thy severest virtue know.
  • STROPHE III.
  • Lordless life, or despot-ridden,
  • Be they both from me forbidden.
  • To the wise mean strength is given,40
  • Thus the gods have ruled in heaven;
  • Gods, that gently or severely
  • Judge, discerning all things clearly.
  • Mark my word, I tell thee truly,
  • Pride, that lifts itself unduly,41
  • Had a godless heart for sire.
  • Healthy-minded moderation
  • Wins the wealthy consummation,
  • Every heart’s desire.
  • ANTISTROPHE III.
  • Yet, again, I tell thee truly,
  • At Justice’ altar bend thee duly.
  • Wean thine eye from lawless yearning
  • After gain; with godless spurning
  • Smite not thou that shrine most holy.
  • Punishment, that travels slowly,
  • Comes at last, when least thou fearest.
  • Yet, once more; with truth sincerest,
  • Love thy parents and revere,
  • And the guest, that to protect him,
  • Claims thy guardian roof, respect him,
  • With an holy fear.*
  • STROPHE IV.
  • Whoso, with no forced endeavour,
  • Sin-eschewing liveth,
  • Him to hopeless ruin never
  • Jove the Saviour giveth.
  • But whose hand, with greed rapacious,
  • Draggeth all things for his prey,
  • He shall strike his flag audacious,
  • When the god-sent storm shall bray,
  • Winged with fate at last;
  • When the stayless sail is flapping,
  • When the sail-yard swings, and, snapping,
  • Crashes to the blast.
  • ANTISTROPHE IV.
  • He shall call, but none shall hear him,
  • When dark ocean surges;
  • None with saving hand shall near him,
  • When his prayer he urges.
  • Laughs the god, to see him vainly
  • Grasping at the crested rock;
  • Fool, who boasted once profanely
  • Firm to stand in Fortune’s shock;
  • Who so great had been
  • His freighted wealth with fearful crashing,
  • On the rock of Justice dashing,
  • Dies, unwept, unseen.

  EnterAthena,behind a Herald.

  Athena.

  • Herald, proclaim the diet, and command
  • The people to attention; with strong breath
  • Give the air-shattering Tyrrhene trump free voice,42
  • To speak shrill-throated to the assembled throngs;
  • And, while the judges take their solemn seats,
  • In hushed submission, let the city hear
  • My laws that shall endure for aye; and these,
  • In hushed submission, wait the righteous doom.

  EnterApollo.43

  Chorus.

  • Sovran Apollo, rule where thou art lord;
  • But here what business brings the prophet? Speak.

  Apollo.

  • I come a witness of the truth; this man
  • Is suppliant to me, he on my hearth
  • Found refuge, him I purified from blood.
  • I, too, am patron of his cause, I share
  • The blame, if blame there be, in that he slew
  • His mother. Pallas, order thou the trial.

  Athena [to the Furies].

  • Speak ye the first, ’tis wiseliest ordered thus,
  • That, who complains, his plaint set forth in order,
  • Point after point, articulately clear.

  Chorus.

  • Though we be many, yet our words are few.
  • Answer thou singly, as we singly ask;
  • This first—art thou the murderer of thy mother?

  Orest.

  I did the deed. This fact hath no denial.

  Chorus.

  Once worsted! With three fits I gain the trial.

  Orest.

  Boast, when thou seest me fall. As yet I stand.

  Chorus.

  This answer now—how didst thou do the deed.

  Orest.

  • Thus; with my pointed dagger, in the neck
  • I smote her.

  Chorus.

  Who the bloody deed advised?

  Orest.

  The god of oracles. Here he stands to witness.

  Chorus.

  Commanding murder with prophetic nod?

  Orest.

  Ay! and even now I do not blame the god.

  Chorus.

  • Soon, soon, thou’lt blame him, when the pebble drops
  • Into the urn of justice with thy doom.

  Orest.

  My murdered sire will aid me from the tomb.

  Chorus.

  Trust in the dead; in thy dead mother trust.

  Orest.

  She died, with two foul blots well marked for vengeance.

  Chorus.

  How so? This let the judges understand

  Orest.

  The hand that killed her husband killed my father.

  Chorus.

  If she for her crimes died, why livest thou?

  Orest.

  If her thou didst not vex, why vex me now?

  Chorus.

  She slew a man, but not of kindred blood.

  Orest.

  • Is the son’s blood all to the mother kin,
  • None to the father?

  Chorus.

  • Peace, thou sin-stained monster!
  • Dost thou abjure the dearest blood, the mother’s
  • That bore thee ’neath her zone?

  Orest. [to Apollo].

  • Be witness thou.
  • Apollo, speak for me, if by the rule
  • Of Justice she was murdered. That the deed
  • Was done, and by these hands, I not deny;
  • If justly or unjustly blood was spilt,
  • Thou knowest. Teach me how to make reply.

  Apollo.

  • I speak to you, Athena’s mighty council;
  • And what I speak is truth: the prophet lies not.
  • From my oracular seat was published never
  • To man, to woman, or to city aught
  • By my Olympian sire unfathered* Ye
  • How Justice sways the scale will wisely weigh;
  • But this remember—what my father wills
  • Is law. Jove’s will is stronger than an oath.

  Chorus.

  • Jove, say’st thou, touched thy tongue with inspiration,
  • To teach Orestes that he might avenge
  • A father’s death by murdering a mother?

  Apollo.

  • His was no common father—Agamemnon,
  • Honoured the kingly sceptre god-bestowed
  • To bear—he slain by a weak woman, not
  • By furious Amazon with far-darting bow,
  • But in such wise as I shall now set forth
  • To thee, Athena, and to these that sit
  • On this grave bench of judgment. Him returning
  • All prosperous from the wars, with fairest welcome
  • She hailed her lord, and in the freshening bath
  • Bestowed him; there, ev’n while he laved, she came
  • Spreading death’s mantle out, and, in a web
  • Of curious craft entangled, stabbed him. Such
  • Was the sad fate of this most kingly man,
  • Of all revered, the fleet’s high admiral.
  • A tale it is to prick your heart with pity,
  • Even yours that seal the judgment.

  Chorus.

  • Jove, thou sayest,
  • Prefers the father: yet himself did bind
  • With bonds his hoary-dated father Kronos.44
  • Make this with that to square, and thou art wise.
  • Ye judges, mark me, if I reason well.

  Apollo.

  • O odious monsters, of all gods abhorred!
  • A chain made fast may be untied again.
  • This ill hath many cures; but, when the dust
  • Hath once drunk blood, no power can raise it. Jove
  • Himself doth know no charm to disenchant
  • Death; other things he turns both up and down,
  • At his good pleasure, fainting not in strength.

  Chorus.

  • Consider well whereto thy words will lead thee.
  • How shall this man, who spilt his mother’s blood,
  • Dwell in his father’s halls at Argos? How
  • Devoutly kneel at the public altar? How
  • With any clanship share lustration?45

  Apollo.

  • This
  • Likewise I’ll answer. Mark me! whom we call
  • The mother begets not;46 she is but the nurse,
  • Whose fostering breast the new-sown seed receives.
  • The father truly gets; the dam but cherishes
  • A stranger-bud, that, if the gods be kind,
  • May blossom soon, and bear. Behold a proof!
  • Without a mother may a child be born,
  • Not so without a father. Which to witness
  • Here is this daughter of Olympian Jove,
  • Not nursed in darkness, in the womb, and yet
  • She stands a goddess, heavenly mother ne’er
  • Bore greater. Pallas, here I plight my faith
  • To magnify thy city and thy people;
  • And I this suppliant to thy hearth hath sent,
  • Thy faithful ally ever. May the league
  • Here sworn to-day their children’s children bind!

  Athena

  Now judges, as your judgment is, I charge you, So vote the doom. Words we have had enough.

  Chorus.

  Our quiver’s emptied. We await the doom.

  Athena

  How should the sentence fall to keep me free Of your displeasure?

  Chorus.

  • What we said we said.
  • Even as your heart informs you, nothing fearing,
  • So judges justly vote, the oath revering.

  Athena.

  • Now, hear my ordinance, Athenians!47 Ye,
  • In this first strife of blood, umpires elect,
  • While age on age shall roll, the sons of Aegeus
  • This Council shall revere. Here, on this hill,
  • The embattled Amazons pitched their tents of yore,48
  • What time with Theseus striving, they their tents
  • Against these high-towered infant walls uptowered.
  • To Mars they sacrificed, and, to this day,
  • This Mars’ Hill speaks their story. Here, Athenians,
  • Shall reverence of the gods, and holy fear,
  • That shrinks from wrong, both night and day possess.
  • A place apart, so long as fickle change
  • Your ancient laws disturbs not; but, if this
  • Pure fount with muddy streams ye trouble, ye
  • Shall draw the draught in vain From anarchy
  • And slavish masterdom alike my ordinance
  • Preserve my people! Cast not from your walls
  • All high authority; for where no fear
  • Awful remains, what mortal will be just?
  • This holy reverence use, and ye possess
  • A bulwark, and a safeguard of the land,
  • Such as no race of mortals vaunteth, far
  • In Borean Scythia, or the land of Pelops.*
  • This council I appoint intact to stand
  • From gain, a venerated conclave, quick
  • In pointed indignation, when all sleep
  • A sleepless watch These words of warning hear,
  • My citizens for ever. Now ye judges
  • Rise, take your pebbles, and by vote decide,
  • The sacred oath revering. I have spoken.

  TheAeropagitesadvance; and, as each puts his pebble into the urn, theChorusandApolloalternately address them as follows:

  Chorus.

  • I warn ye well: the sisterhood beware,
  • Whose wrath hangs heavier than the land may bear.

  Apollo.

  • I warn ye well: Jove is my father; fear
  • To turn to nought the words of me, his seer.

  Chorus.

  • If thou dost plead, where thou hast no vocation,
  • For blood, will men respect thy divination?

  Apollo.

  • Must then my father share thy condemnation,
  • When first he heard Ixion’s supplication?

  Chorus.

  • Thou say’st.49 But I, if justice be denied me,
  • Will sorely smite the land that so defied me.

  Apollo.

  • Among the gods the elder, and the younger,
  • Thou hast no favour; I shall prove the stronger.

  Chorus.

  • Such were thy deeds in Pheres’ house,50 deceiving
  • The Fates, and mortal men from death reprieving.

  Apollo.

  • Was it a crime to help a host? to lend
  • A friendly hand to raise a sinking friend?

  Chorus.

  • Thou the primeval Power didst undermine,
  • Mocking the hoary goddesses with wine.

  Apollo.

  • Soon, very soon, when I the cause shall gain,
  • Thou’lt spit thy venom on the ground in vain.

  Chorus.

  • Thou being young, dost jeer my ancient years
  • With youthful insolence; till the doom appears,
  • I’ll patient wait; my hot-spurred wrath I’ll stay,
  • And even-poised betwixt two tempers sway.

  Athena.

  • My part remains; and I this crowning pebble
  • Drop to Orestes; for I never knew
  • The mother’s womb that bore me.* I give honor,
  • Save in my virgin nature, to the male
  • In all things; all my father lives in me.51
  • Not blameless be the wife, who dared to slay
  • Her husband, lord and ruler of her home.
  • My voice is for Orestes; though the votes
  • Fall equal from the urn, my voice shall save him.
  • Now shake the urn, to whom this duty falls,
  • And tell the votes.

  Orest.

  • O Phœbus, how shall end
  • This doubtful issue?

  Chorus.

  • O dark Night, my mother,
  • Behold these things!

  Orest.

  • One moment blinds me quite,
  • Or to a blaze of glory opes my eyes.

  Chorus.

  We sink to shame, or to more honor rise.

  Apollo.

  52

  • Judges, count well the pebbles as they fall,
  • And with just jealousy divide them. One
  • Being falsely counted works no simple harm.
  • One little pebble saves a mighty house.

  Athena.

  • Hear now the doom. This man from blood is free.
  • The votes are equal; he escapes by me.

  Orest.

  • O Pallas, Saviour of my father’s house,
  • Restorer of the exile’s hope, Athena,
  • I praise thee! Now belike some Greek will say,
  • The Argive man revisiteth the homes
  • And fortunes of his father, by the aid
  • Of Pallas, Loxias, and Jove the Saviour
  • All-perfecting, who pled the father’s cause,
  • Fronting the wrathful Furies of the mother!
  • I now depart: and to this land I leave,
  • And to this people, through all future time,
  • An oath behind me, that no lord of Argos
  • Shall ever brandish the well-pointed spear
  • Against this friendly land.† When, from the tomb,
  • I shall perceive who disregards this oath
  • Of my sons’ sons, I will perplex that man
  • With sore perplexities inextricable;
  • Ways of despair, and evil-birded paths*
  • Shall be his portion, cursing his own choice.
  • But if my vows be duly kept, with those
  • That in the closely-banded league shall aid
  • Athena’s city, I am present ever.
  • Then fare thee well, thou and thy people! Never
  • May foe escape thy grasp! When thou dost struggle,
  • Safety and victory attend thy spear!

  [Exit.

  Chorus.

  • Curse on your cause,
  • Ye gods that are younger!
  • O’er the time-hallowed laws
  • Rough ye ride as the stronger.
  • Of the prey that was ours
  • Ye with rude hands bereave us,
  • ’Mid the dark-dreaded Powers
  • Shorn of honor ye leave us.
  • Behold, on the ground
  • From a heart of hostility,
  • I sprinkle around
  • Black gouts of sterility!
  • A plague I will bring,
  • With a dry lichen spreading;
  • No green blade shall spring
  • Where the Fury is treading.
  • To abortion I turn
  • The birth of the blooming,
  • Where the plague-spot shall burn
  • Of my wrath, life-consuming.
  • I am mocked,† but in vain
  • They rejoice at my moaning;
  • They shall pay for my pain,
  • With a fearful atoning,
  • Who seized on my right,
  • And, with wrong unexampled,
  • On the daughters of Night
  • High scornfully trampled.

  Athena

  • Be ruled by me your heavy-bosomed groans
  • Refrain Not vanquished thou, but the fair vote
  • Leapt equal from the urn, with no disgrace
  • To thee. From Jove himself clear witness came;
  • The oracular god that urged the deed, the same
  • Stood here to vouch it, that Orestes might not
  • Reap harm from his obedience. Soothe ye, therefore;
  • Cast not your bolted vengeance on this land,
  • Your gouts of wrath divine distil not, stings
  • Of pointed venom, with keen corrosive power
  • Eating life’s seeds, all barrenness and blight.
  • A home within this land I pledge you, here
  • A shrine, a refuge, and a hearth secure,
  • Where ye on shining thrones shall sit, my city
  • Yielding devoutest homage to your power.

  Chorus.

  • Curse on your cause,
  • Ye gods that are younger!
  • O’er the time-hallowed laws
  • Rough ye ride, as the stronger.
  • Of the prey that was ours
  • Ye with rude hands bereave us,
  • ’Mid the dark-dreaded Powers
  • Shorn of honor ye leave us.
  • Behold, on the ground
  • From a heart of hostility,
  • I sprinkle around
  • Black gouts of sterility!
  • A plague I will bring
  • With a dry lichen spreading;
  • No green blade shall spring
  • Where the Fury is treading.
  • To abortion I turn
  • The birth of the blooming,
  • Where the plague-spot shall burn
  • Of my wrath, life-consuming.
  • I am mocked, but in vain
  • They rejoice at my moaning;
  • They shall pay for my pain,
  • With a fearful atoning,
  • Who seized on my right,
  • And, with wrong unexampled,
  • On the daughters of Night
  • High scornfully trampled.

  Athena.

  • Dishonoured are ye not: Spit not your rancour
  • On this fair land remediless. Rests my trust
  • On Jove, the mighty, I of all the gods
  • Sharing alone the strong keys that unlock
  • His thunder-halls:53 but this I name not here.
  • Yield thou: cast not the seed of reckless speech
  • To crop the land with woe Soothing the waves
  • Of bitter anger darkling in thy breast,
  • Dwell in this land, thy dreadful deity
  • Sistered with me. When thronging worshippers .
  • Henceforth shall cull choice firstlings for thine altars,
  • Praying thy grace to bless the wedded rite,
  • And the child-bearing womb—then honoured so,
  • How wise my present counsel thou shalt know.

  Chorus.

  Voice 1.

  • I to dwell ’neath the Earth
  • All clipt of my glory,
  • In the dark-chambered Earth,
  • I, the ancient, the hoary!

  Voice 2.

  • I breathe on thee curses,
  • I cut through thy marrow,
  • For the insult that pierces
  • My heart like an arrow.

  Voice 3.

  • Hear my cry, mother Night,
  • ’Gainst the gods that deceived me!
  • With their harsh-handed might
  • Of my right they bereaved me.

  Athena.

  • Thy anger I forgive; for thou’rt the elder
  • But though thy years bring wisdom, to me also
  • Jove gave a heart, not undiscerning. You—
  • Mark well my words—if now some foreign land
  • Ye choose, will rue your choice, and long for Athens.
  • The years to be shall float more richly fraught
  • With honor to my citizens; thou shalt hold
  • An honoured seat beside Erectheus’ home,54
  • Where men and women in marshalled pomp shall pay thee
  • Such homage, as no land on Earth may render.
  • But cast not ye on this my chosen land
  • Whetstones of fury, teaching knives to drink
  • The blood of tender bowels, madding the heart
  • With wineless drunkenness, that men shall swell
  • Like game cocks for the battle; save my city
  • From brothered strife, and from domestic brawls.55
  • Without the walls, and far from kindred hearths
  • Rage war, where honor calls, and glory crowns.
  • A bird of blood within the house I love not.
  • Use thine election; wisely use it; give
  • A blessing, and a blessing take; with me
  • May this land dear to the gods be dear to thee!

  Chorus.

  Voice 1.

  • I to dwell ’neath the Earth
  • All clipt of my glory,
  • In the dark-chambered Earth
  • I, the ancient, the hoary!

  Voice 2.

  • I breathe on thee curses,
  • I cut through thy marrow,
  • For the insult that pierces
  • My heart like an arrow.

  Voice 3.

  • Hear my cry, mother Night,
  • ’Gainst the gods that deceived me!
  • With their harsh-handed might
  • Of my right they bereaved me.

  Athena

  • To advise thee well I faint not. Never more
  • Shalt thou, a hoary-dated power, complain
  • That I, a younger, or my citizens,
  • From our inhospitable gates expelled thee
  • Of thy due honors shortened. If respect
  • For sacred Peitho’s* godhead, for the honey
  • And charming of the tongue may move thee, stay;
  • But, if ye will go, show of justice none
  • Remains, with rancour, wrath, and scathe to smite
  • This land and people. Stands your honoured lot
  • With me for ever, so ye scorn it not.

  Chorus.

  Sovran Athena, what sure home receives me?

  Athena.

  A home from sorrow free. Receive it freely.

  Chorus.

  And when received, what honors wait me then?

  Athena.

  No house shall prosper where thy blessing fails.

  Chorus.

  This by thy grace is sure?

  Athena.

  • I will upbuild
  • His house who honours thee.

  Chorus.

  This pledged for ever?

  Athena.

  I cannot promise what I not perform

  Chorus.

  • Thy words have soothed me, and my wrath relents.

  Athena.

  Here harboured thou wilt number many friends.

  Chorus

  Say, then, how shall my hymn uprise to bless thee?

  Athena

  • Hymn things that strike fair victory’s mark: from Earth,
  • From the sea’s briny dew, and from the sky
  • Bring blessings, the benignly-breathing gales
  • On summer wings be wafted to this land,
  • Let the Earth swell with the exuberant flow
  • Of fruits and flowers, that want may be unknown.
  • Bless human seed with increase, but cast out
  • The impious man; even as a gardener, I
  • Would tend the flowers, the briars and the thorns
  • Heaped for the burning. This thy province I
  • In feats of Mars conspicuous will not fail
  • To plant this city ’fore all eyes triumphant.

  STROPHE I.

  Chorus.

  • Pallas, thy welcome so kindly compelling
  • Hath moved me; I scorn not to mingle my dwelling
  • With thine, and with Jove’s, the all-ruling, thy sire.
  • The city I scorn not, where Mars guards the portals,
  • The fortress of gods,56 the fair grace of Immortals.
  • I bless thee prophetic; to work thy desire
  • To the Sun, when he shines in his full-flooded splendour,
  • Her tribute to thee may the swelling Earth render,
  • And bounty with bounty conspire!

  Athena.

  • Athens, no trifling gain I’ve won thee.
  • With rich blessing thou shalt harbour,
  • Through my grace, these much-prevailing
  • Sternest-hearted Powers. For they
  • Rule, o’er human fates appointed,
  • With far-reaching sway.
  • Woe to the wretch, by their wrath smitten!57
  • With strokes he knows not whence descending,
  • Not for his own, for guilt inherited,58
  • They with silent-footed vengeance
  • Shall o’ertake him: in the dust,
  • Heaven with piercing cries imploring,
  • Crushed the sinner lies.

  ANTISTROPHE I.

  Chorus.

  • Far from thy dwelling, and far from thy border,
  • By the grace of my godhead benignant I order
  • The blight that may blacken the bloom of thy trees.
  • Far from thy border, and far from thy dwelling
  • Be the hot blast that shrivels the bud in its swelling,
  • The seed-rotting taint, and the creeping disease!
  • Thy flocks still be doubled, thy seasons be steady,
  • And, when Hermes is near thee,59 thy hand still be ready
  • The Heaven-dropt bounty to seize!

  Athena.

  • Hear her words, my city’s warders,
  • Fraught with blessing; she prevaileth
  • With Olympians and Infernals,
  • Dread Erinnys much revered.
  • Mortal fates she guideth plainly
  • To what goal she pleaseth, sending
  • Songs to some, to others days
  • With tearful sorrows dulled.

  STROPHE II.

  Chorus.

  • Far from your dwelling
  • Be death’s early knelling,
  • When falls in his green strength the strong
  • Your virgins, the fairest,
  • To brave youths the rarest
  • Be mated, glad life to prolong!
  • Ye Fates, high-presiding,60
  • The right well dividing,
  • Dread powers darkly mothered with me;
  • Our firm favour sharing,
  • From judgment unsparing
  • The homes of the just man be free!
  • But the guilty shall fear them,
  • When in terror shall near them
  • The Fates, sternly sistered with me.

  Athena.

  • Work your perfect will, dread maidens,
  • O’er my land benignly watching!
  • I rejoice. Blest be the eyes
  • Of Peitho, that with strong persuasion
  • Armed my tongue, to soothe the fierce
  • Refusal of these awful maids.
  • Jove, that rules the forum, nobly
  • In the high debate hath conquered.61
  • In the strife of blessing now,
  • You with me shall vie for ever.

  ANTISTROPHE II.

  Chorus

  • Far from thy border
  • The lawless disorder,
  • That sateless of evil shall reign!
  • Far from thy dwelling
  • The dear blood welling,
  • That taints thy own hearth with the stain,
  • When slaughter from slaughter
  • Shall flow, like the water,
  • And rancour from rancour shall grow!
  • But joy with joy blending
  • Live, each to all lending,
  • And hating one-hearted the foe!
  • When bliss hath departed,
  • From will single-hearted,
  • A fountain of healing shall flow.

  Athena.

  • Wisely now the tongue of kindness
  • Thou hast found, the way of love;
  • And these terror-speaking faces
  • Now look wealth to me and mine.
  • Her so willing, ye more willing
  • Now receive, this land and city,
  • On ancient right securely throned,
  • Shall shine for evermore

  STROPHE III

  Chorus.

  • Hail, and all hail! mighty people be greeted!
  • On the sons of Athena shine sunshine the clearest!
  • Blest people, near Jove the Olympian seated,
  • And dear to the virgin his daughter the dearest.
  • Timely wise ’neath the wings of the daughter ye gather;
  • And mildly looks down on her children the father.

  Athena.

  • Hail, all hail to you! but chiefly
  • Me behoves it now to lead you
  • To your fore-appointed homes.
  • Go, with holy train attendant,
  • With sacrifice, and torch resplendent.
  • Underneath the ground.
  • Go, and with your potent godhead
  • Quell the ill that threats the city,
  • Spur the good to victory’s goal.
  • Lead the way ye sons of Cranaus,*
  • To these strangers, strange no more;
  • Their kindly thoughts to you remember,
  • Grateful evermore.

  ANTISTROPHE III.

  Chorus.

  • Hail, yet again, with this last salutation,
  • Ye sons of Athena, ye citizens all!
  • On gods, and on mortals, in high congregation
  • Assembled, my blessing not vainly shall fall.
  • O city of Pallas, while thou shalt revere me,
  • Thy walls hold the pledge that no harm shall come near thee.

  Athena.

  • Well hymned. My heart chimes with you, and I send
  • The beamy-twinkling torches to conduct you
  • To your dark-vaulted chambers ’neath the ground.
  • They who attend my shrine, with pious homage,
  • Shall be your convoy. The fair eye of the land,
  • The marshalled host of Theseus’ sons shall march
  • In festive train with you, both man and woman,
  • Matron and maid, green youth and hoary age.
  • Honor the awful maids, clad with the grace
  • Of purple-tinctured robes; and let the flame
  • March ’fore their path bright-rayed; and, evermore,
  • With populous wealth smile every Attic rood
  • Blessed by this gracious-minded sisterhood.62

  Convoy,conducting theEumenidesin festal pomp to their subterranean temple, with torches in their hands:

  • STROPHE I.
  • Go with honor crowned and glory,
  • Of hoary Night the daughters hoary,
  • To your destined hall.
  • Where our sacred train is wending,
  • Stand, ye pious throngs attending,
  • Hushed in silence all.
  • ANTISTROPHE I.
  • Go to hallowed habitations,
  • ’Neath Ogygian* Earth’s foundations:
  • In that darksome hall
  • Sacrifice and supplication
  • Shall not fail. In adoration
  • Silent worship all.
  • STROPHE II.
  • Here, in caverned halls, abiding,
  • High on awful thrones presiding,
  • Gracious ye shall reign.
  • March in torches’ glare rejoicing!
  • Sing, ye throngs, their praises, voicing
  • Loud the exultant strain!
  • ANTISTROPHE II.
  • Blazing torch, and pure libation
  • From age to age this pious nation
  • Shall not use in vain.
  • Thus hath willed it Jove all-seeing,
  • Thus the Fate. To their decreeing
  • Shout the responsive strain!

  NOTES TO THE EUMENIDES

  [* ]The progany of Earth and Heaven were called Titans, among whom Phœbe is numbered by Hesiod — Theog. 136.

  [† ]Apollo.

  [‡ ]One of the waters that descend from Parnassus.

  [§ ]Neptune.

  [* ]See note to Choephoræ, No. 73

  [* ]πομπα̂ιος. Of the dead specially, but also of the living: as of Ulysses in the Odyssey, Book X.

  [* ]Literally the unseen world. Sometimes used for the King of the unsoon world—Pluto.

  [* ]See Introductory Remarks.

  [* ]Lucidae sedes.- Horace III. 3

  [* ]See Introductory Remarks. They designate themselves here from their origin ’Apal or imprecations.

  [* ]That is, the Furies themselves.

  [* ]Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,
  
  Und durch die kummervollen Nächte
  
  Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,
  
  Er kennt Euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte!—Goethe.

  [* ]“For strangers and the poor are from Jove.”—Homer.

  [* ]See above, p. 141, Note 4.

  [* ]That is, Asia. See Introduction to the Agamemnon.

  [* ]Alluding to the well-known and beautiful allegoric myth that the goddess of wisdom sprang, full-armed, into birth from the brain of the all-wise Omipotent, without the intervention of a mother.

  [† ]See the Preliminary Remarks.

  [* ]παρόρνιθας, as we say ill-starred—that is, unfortunate, unlucky, the metaphor being varied, according to the changes of fashions in the practice of divination.

  [† ]Alii γελωˆμαι—“fortasse non male”—Paley

  [* ]The goddess of Persuasion—πειθὼ.

  [* ]Like Erectheus (p. 167 above), one of the most ancient Earth-born kings of Attica

  [* ]So the Greeks called anything very ancient, from Ogyges, an old Bœotian king.

  [Note 1 (p. 141)]

  • “Old earth, primeval prophetess, I first
  • With these my prayers invoke; and Themis next.”

  
  
  Earth, or Gaea, as the Greeks name her, is described here, and in Pausanias (X. 5), as the most ancient prophetess of Delphi, for two reasons; first, because out of the earth came those intoxicating fumes or vapours, by the inspiration of which the oracles were given forth (see Diodorus XVI. 26); second, because, as Schoemann well observes, Gaea, as the aboriginal divine mother, out of whose womb all the future celestial genealogies were developed, necessarily contained in herself the law of their development, and is accordingly represented by Hesiod as exercising a prophetic power with regard to the fates of the other gods —(Theog 463, 494, 625) The same writer remarks with equal ingenuity and truth, that Themis, her successor in the prophetic office, is only a personification of that law of development which, by necessity of her divine nature, originally lay in Gaea, and I would remark, further, how admirable the instinct was of those old mythologists, who placed Love and Right, and other ineradicable feelings or notions of the human mind, among the very oldest of the gods It is notable also, that previous to Apollo, all the presidents of prophecy at Delphi—including the famous Phemonoe, not mentioned here but by Pausanias l[Editor: illegible character]c, were women, and even Loxias himself could not give forth oracles without the help of a Pythoness. There is a great fitness in this, as women are naturally both more pious and more emotional than men. Hence their peculiar fitness for exercising prophetic functions, of which ancient Germany was witness—(see Cæsar b.c I. 50).

  [Note 2 (p 141)]

  • “. . . rocky Delos’ lake.”

  
  
  There can be no question that Schutz was right in translating λίμνη, in this passage, lake (and not sea, as Abresch did), it being impossible that a well-informed Athenian, on hearing this passage in the theatre, should not understand the poet to refer to the circular lake in Delos, described by Herodotus in II. 170.

  [Note 3 (p. 141).]

  • “The Sons of Vulcan pioneer his path”

  
  
  i.e. “The Athenians”—Scholiast—“who,” adds Stan., “were called the sons of Vulcan, because they were skilled in all the arts of which Vulcan and Pallas were patrons; or, because Erichthonius, from whom the Athenians were descended, was the son of Vulcan;” with which latter view Muller and Schoemann concur; and it appears to me sufficiently reasonable. There is no reason, however, for not receiving, along with this explanation, another which has been given, that the sons of the fire-god mean “smiths.” Artificers of this kind were necessary to pioneer the path for the procession of the god in the manner here described, and would naturally form, at least, a part of the convoy.

  [Note 4 (p. 141).]

  • “. . . Loxias, prophet of his father Jove.”

  
  
  ’Tis plain from the whole language of Homer, both in the Iliad and Odyssey, that the fountain of the whole moral government of the world is Jove, and, of course, that all divination and inspiration comes originally from him. Even Phœbus Apollo acts only as his instrument (Nagelsbach Homerische Theologie, p. 105). Stan. compares Virgil Æneid III. 250.

  [Note 5 (p. 141)]

  • “. . . thee, likewise, who ’fore this temple dwellest”

  
  
  The reading προνάια (or προνᾴα), which I translate, is that of Well. and all the MSS.; but Lin has put πρόνοια, providential or foresecing, into the text, following out a criticism of Lennep on Phalaris, which has been stoutly defended by Hermann, in his remarks on Müller’s Eumenides (Opusc. VI. v. 2, p. 17). This, however, in the face of an express passage of Herodotus (I. 92), as Pal. well observes, has been done rashly; and now Fr. and Schoe. bring forward inscriptions which prove that there is not the slightest cause for tampering with the text. I have not been able to learn the substance of Lennep’s remarks otherwise than from the account of them by Muller in the Anhang, p. 14, but, taken at their highest value, they seem only to prove that a vagueness had taken hold of the ancients themselves in respect to the designation of this temple, not certainly that Æschylus and Herodotus both made a mistake in calling it προνᾴα, or that all the transcribers of their texts made a blunder.

  [Note 6 (p. 141).]

  • “. . . ye Nymphs that love
  • The hollow Corycian rock.”

  
  
  “From Delphi, which lies pretty high, the traveller ascended about 60 stadia, or two hours’ travel, till he arrived at the Corycian cave, dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs, in which there were many stalactites and live fountains.”—Sickler.alte geog. II. 134.

  [Note 7 (p. 141).]

  • “Thee, Bromius, too, I worship.”

  
  
  Bacchus, so called from βρέμω, fremo—the roaring or boisterous god. His connection with Apollo (though drinking songs are not so common now as they were last century) is obvious enough; and some places of the ancient poets where the close connection of these two gods is described, may be seen in Stan. The Scholiast to Euripides Phœnissai (v. 227, Matthiae) says expressly that Apollo and Artemis were worshipped on the one peak of Parnassus, and Bacchus on the other.

  [Note 8 (p. 141).]

  • “. . . the godless Pentheus.”

  
  
  “A son of Echion and Agave, the daughter of Cadmus. He was the successor of Cadmus as king of Thebes, and being opposed to the introduction of the worship of Dionysus in his kingdom, was torn to pieces by his own mother and two other Mænads, Ino and Autonoe, who in their Bacchic frenzy believed him to be a wild beast The place where Pentheus suffered death is said to have been Mount Cithæron; but, according to some, it was Mount Parnassus.”—Myth. Dict.

  [Note 9 (p. 141).]

  • “Poseidon’s mighty power.”

  
  
  Next to Jove, Poseidon is the strongest of the gods, as the element which he rules demands; and this strength, in works of art, is generally indicated by the breadth of chest given to this god. So Homer, also, wishing to magnify Agamemnon, says—

  • “Like to Jove that rules the thunder were his kingly head and eyes;
  • Belted round the loins like Ares, like Poseidon was his breast.”
  • Il. II. 478.

  The connection of the god of the waters with Delphi is given by Pausanias x. 5, where it is said, that originally Poseidon possessed the oracle in common with Gaea; a legend easily explained by the fact, that all high mountains necessarily produce copious streams of water of which, no less than of the waves of ocean, Poseidon is lord.

  [Note 10 (p. 142).]

  • “A gray-haired woman, weaker than a child.”

  
  
  Stan. refers here to the account given by Diodorus of the origin of the Delphic oracle, c. xvi. 26, where he relates, that in the most ancient times the prophetess was a young woman; but that, afterwards, one Echecrates, a Spartan, being smitten with the beauty of a prophetess, had offered violence to her, in consequence of which an edict was published by the Delphians, forbidding any female to assume the office of Pythoness till she was fifty years old.

  [Note 11 (p. 142)]

  • “. . . the ravenous crew
  • That filched the feast of Phineus.”

  
  
  The Harpies; who, from the names given to them in Homer and Hesiod (and specially from Odyssey xx 66 and 77 compared) seem to have been impersonations of sudden and tempestuous gusts of wind; though, again, it is not impossible that these winds may be symbolical of the rapacious power of swift and sudden death—

  • “Venit Mors velociter
  • Rapit nos atrociter,”

  as suggested by Braun. See the article by Dr Schmitz in the Biographical Dictionary.

  [Note 12 (p. 142).]

  • “Such uncouth sisterhood, apparel’d so”

  
  
  With regard to the dress of the Furies, Stan. quotes a curious passage from Diogenes Laertius, which I shall translate:—“Menedemus, the Cynic,” says he, “went to such fantastic excess as to go about in the dress of the Furies, saying, that he was sent as a visitant of human iniquity from Hades, that he might descend again, and report to the Infernal powers. His garb was as follows—a dun-coloured tunic (χιτων) reaching down to the feet, girt with a crimson sash, on his head an Arcadian cap, with the twelve signs of the Zodiac inwoven; tragic buskins, a very long beard, and an ashen rod in his hand.”—VI. 9. 2 The Romans were once put to flight by the Gauls, dressed in the terrible garb of the Furies, with burning torches in their hands.—Livy VII. 17.

  [Note 13 (p. 143)]

  • “ . . A bitter pasture truly
  • Was thine from Fate.”

  
  
  So I have thought it best to translate somewhat freely τὸνδε βουκολούμενος πόνον in order to express the original meaning of the verb βουκολουμαι. In this I have followed Müller—diese Schmerzentrift zu weiden This is surely more pregnant and poetical than to say with Fr. “Diese Lebensbahn durcheilend.” The idea of soothing and beguiling, the only one given by Hesychius, cannot apply to this place Pal, who agrees with me in this, translates the word in both places of our author where it occurs (here and in Agam 655) by “brooding over,” which differs little from my idea of feeding on.

  [Note 14 (p. 143).]

  • “Her ancient image.”

  
  
  “The image of Athena Pallas, on the citadel, which existed in the days of Pausanias, and had maintained for ages its place here by a sort of inviolable holiness In the narrow area of the temple, on the north-east slope of the Acropolis, Erechtheus had placed a carved image, either first made by himself, or, perhaps, fallen from Heaven; and round this, as a centre, the most ancient groups of Attic religion and legend assembled themselves.”—Gerhard, “uber die Minerven Idole Athen’s,” quoted by Schoe.

  [Note 15 (p. 144).]

  • “Behold these wounds.”

  
  
  I am not able to see what objection lies against the literal rendering of

  • ὁρά δε πληγὰς τάσδε καρδίᾴ σέθεν,

  as I read with Fr. and Linw. Pal and Schoe. take πληγὰς metaphorically to signify the contumelious language used by Clytemnestra to the Furies; but this is surely rather going out of the way. If there were any necessity for deserting the literal meaning, I would rather take Hermann’s way of turning it (Opusc VI. v. 2, p. 28), and read—

  • ὁρα δε πληγὰς τάσδε καρδιάς δθεν.
  • Siehe diese Wunden meines Herzens woher sie kommen!

  [Note 16 (p. 144)]

  • “Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan
  • More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt,
  • Nor garish day confounds”

  
  
  This method of speaking is quite in keeping with ancient ideas on the nature of the connection ’twixt mind and body, as Schoe. has proved from Galen (Kuhn Med gr V. 301) As to the sentiment which follows, Stan. has quoted—“Quum ergo est somno sevocatus animus a societate et a contagione corporis, tum meminit praeteritorum, praesentia cernit, futura providet”—Cic. Divinat. I 30 According to Aelian (var. hist. III. 11). the Peripatetics held the same opinion.

  [Note 17 (p 144).]

  • “Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.”

  
  
  There is another translation of this passage—the old one in Stan —

  • In somno enim vos nunc Clytemnestra voco,”

  to which Pot., E P Oxon., and Mul. adhere; but I cannot help thinking with Hermann (Opusc. VI. p ii. 30), that it is rather flat (matt) when compared with the other. Which of the two the poet meant cannot perhaps be settled now, as the meaning might depend on the rhetorical accent which the player was taught to give by the poet; but I am certain that the version in the text, sanctioned as it is by Wakefield, Schütz, Herm., Lin., and Pal. does not deserve to be stigmatised (in E. P.’s language) as “fanciful nonsense.” When Clytemnestra calls herself “a dream,” she uses the same sort of language which Achilles does to Ulysses regarding his own unsubstantial state as a Shade.—Odys XI.

  [Note 18 (p. 144)]

  • “. . . and seeks
  • For help from those that are no friends to me.”

  
  
  I have thought it better to retain the old and most obvious interpretation of this passage; not seeing any proof that προσίκτορες can be used in this general way as applied to the gods who are supplicated, without being affixed as an epithet to some special god; as when we say Ζεὺς ἀϕίκτωρ (Suppl. 1.)

  [Note 19 (p. 144)]
  
  Chorus. Whether Hermann in his “Dissertatio de Choro Eumenidum” (Leipzig, 1816) was the first that directed special attention to the peculiar character of this Chorus as indicated by the Scholiast, I do not know (Wellauer says so, and I presume he knew). Certain it is that Pot., by neglecting this indication, has lost a great deal of the dramatic effect of this part of the tragedy. The style of the chorus is decidedly fitful and exclamatory throughout, and must have formed a beautiful contrast to the steady stability of the solemn hymn that follows, beginning, “Mother night that bore me.” As to the particular distribution of the parts of this chorus, that is a matter on which, as Schoe. remarks, no two critics are likely to agree; nor is minute accuracy in this respect, even if it were attainable, a matter of any importance to the dramatic effect of the composition as now read. The only thing to be taken care of is, that we do not blend in a false continuity what was evidently spoken fitfully, and by different speakers, with a sort of staccato movement, as the musicians express it. This is Pot.’s grand error, not only here, but in many other of the choral parts of our poet; and, in this view, some of Hermann’s remarks (Opusc. VI. 2, 38) on Muller’s division are perfectly just. As for myself, by distributing the parts of the chorus among three voices, I mean nothing more than that these parts were likely spoken by separate voices. Scholefield and Dyer’s view (Classical Museum, Vol. I. p 281), that there were three principal Furies prominent above the rest in this piece, is not improbable, but admits of no proof. In my versification I have endeavoured to imitate the rapid Dochmiacs of the original.

  [Note 20 (p. 145)]

  • “Thou being young dost overleap the old.”

  
  
  The idea of a succession of celestial dynasties proceeding on a system of “development,” as a certain class of modern philosophers are fond to express it, is characteristic of the Greek mythology.—(See p. 47 above, Antistrophe I.) The Furies, according to all the genealogies given of them, were more ancient gods than Apollo, with whom they are here brought into collision. Our poet, as we shall see in the opening invocation of the first grand choral hymn of this piece, makes them the daughters of most ancient Night, who, according to the Theogony (v. 123), proceeded immediately from the aboriginal Chaos. Hesiod himself makes the Errinyes, along with the giants, to be produced from the blood of Uranus, when his genitals were cut off by Kronos (Theog. 185); a genealogy, by the way, quite in consistency with the Homeric representation given in the Introductory Remarks, of the origin of the Furies from the curses uttered by injured persons, worthy of special veneration, on those by whom their sacrosanct character had been violated.

  [Note 21 (p. 147).]

  • “But where beheading, eye-out-digging dooms.”

  
  
  In this enumeration of horros I have omitted κακονˆ τε χλο̂υνις, concerning which Lin. says, “Omnino de hoc loco maximis in tenebris versamur; nam neque de lectione, ncque de verborum significatione certi quidquam constat.”

  [Note 22 (p. 147).]

  • “She was murdered here,
  • That murdered first her husband.”

  
  
  The reasons given by Well. and Her. (Opusc. vi. 2. 42) why the two lines, 203-4 W., should not both be given with Stan., Schutz, and Mul., to Apollo, have satisfied Lin., Pal., Fr., Schoe., Dr., E. P. Oxon., and But. Certainly the epithets ὅμαιμος and αυθέντης (which latter the Scholiast interprets μιαρὸς) sound anything but natural in the mouth of Apollo. The emphasis put on δμαιμος in this very connection by the Furies, in v. 575, infra, noted by Hermann, should decide the question.

  [Note 23 (p. 147).]

  • “. . . matrimonail Hera.”

  
  
  Literally the perfect Hera, the perfecting or consummating Hera, Ἤρα τελεια, marriage being considered the sacred consummating ceremony of social life, and, therefore, designated among the Greeks by the same term, τέλος, which they used to express initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries. As Jove presides over all important turns in human fate, there is also neces sarily a Ζὲυς τελειος. See Blom Agam. 946, and Passow in voce τέλειος. Conf. Æn. iii. 605, Juno pronuba.

  [Note 24 (p. 147).]

  • “The nuptial bed, to man and woman fated.”

  
  
  Stan. has remarked that this word fated, μορσίμη, so applied, is Homeric (Od. XVI. 392); and, indeed, though we seem to choose our wives, we choose them oft-times so strangely, that a man may be said, without exaggeration, to have as little to do with his marriage as with his birth or his death—but all the three in a peculiar sense belong to that Μοɩ̂ρα, or divine lot, which distributes all the good and evil of which human life is made up.

  [Note 25 (p. 149)]
  
  Chorus. For the arrangement of this Chorus I refer the reader back to what I said on the previous one. The concluding part I have here arranged as an Epode, because it seems more continuous in its idea than what precedes—less violent and exclamatory.

  [Note 26 (p. 150).]

  • “On Libyan plains beside Tritonian pools.”

  
  
  Æschylus here follows the tradition of Apollodorus (I. 3, § 6), that the epithet Τριτογένεια, given by Homer to Pallas, was derived from the lake Tritonis in Libya, near which she is said to have been born. Compare Virgil Æn. IV. 480.

  [Note 27 (p. 150).]

  • “. . . with forward foot firm planted,
  • Erect, or with decorous stole high-seated.”

  
  
  I have not the slightest doubt that τίθησιν·ο̂ρθὸν πόδα in this passage can only mean to plant the foot down firmly and stand erect; if so, τίθησι κατηρεϕη̂ πόδα can only mean to sit, “the feet being covered by the robes while sitting”—Lin.; so also Pal. and Schoe. Sitting statues of the gods were very common in ancient times, as we see in the Egyptian statues, and in the common representations of the Greek and Roman Jupiter (see Thirlwall’s History of Greece, c. VI.). I am sorry that Hermann (p. 57) should have thrown out the idea that κατηρεϕη̂ς in this passage may mean “enveloped in clouds,” which has been taken up by Franz—

  • “Sichtbar sic jezt herschreitet, oder Wolkumhüllt,”

  because manifestly κατηρεϕη̂ς, in this sense, forms no natural contrast to ὀρθὸς. The “forward foot firm-planted,” I have taken from Muller’s note, p. 112, as, perhaps, pointing out more fully what may have been in the poet’s eye, without, however, meaning to assert seriously against a severe critic like Hermann, that the words of the text necessarily imply anything of the kind.

  [Note 28 (p. 150).]

  • “The ordered battle on Phlegrean fields
  • Thou musterest”

  
  
  The peninsula of Pallene in Macedonia, as also the district of Campania about Baiæ and Cumae, were called Phlegraean, or fire-fields (ϕλέγω), in all likelihood from the volcanic nature of the country, to which Strabo (Lib. V. p. 245) alludes. These volcanic movements in the religious symbolism of early Greece became giants; and against these the Supreme Wisdom and his wise daughter had to carry on a war worthy of gods.

  [Note 29 (p. 151)]
  
  Choral Hymn. “This sublime hymn is of a character, in some respects, kindred to the καταδέσεις, or incantations of antiquity, which were directed to Hermes, the Earth, and other infernal Deities for the pupose of binding down certain hated persons to destruction. For this reason it is called ὔμνος δέσμιος This character is specially indicated by the refrain or burden, which occurs in the first pair of Strophes; such repetitions containing the emphatic words of the incantation being common in all magical odes. So in Theocritus (Idyll. 2), we have constantly repeated, ‘Iungx, bring me the man, the man whom I mean, to my dwelling,’ and, in the song of the Fates at the marriage of Thetis in Catullus, the line—‘Currite ducentes subtemina, currite fusi!’ and there can be no question, the movements and gestures of the Furies while singing this hymn were such as to indicate the scapeless net of woe with which they were now encompassing their victim.”—Mül The reader will observe how impressively the metre changes on the recurrence of this burden, the rhythm in the original being Pæonic υ υ υ—, the agitated nature of which foot, when several times repeated, is sufficiently obvious. I have done what I could to make the transition and contrast sensible to the modern ear.

  [Note 30 (p. 151).]

  • “The seeing and the sightless”

  
  
  αλαο̂ισι και δεδορκόσι, i.e. the living and the dead, an expression familiar to the Greeks, and characteristic of a people who delighted to live in the sun. βλέπειν ϕάος—to look on the light, is the most common phrase in the tragedians for to live; and wisely so—

  • “Since light so necessary is to life,
  • And almost life itself, if it be true
  • That light is in the soul,
  • The soul in every part.”
  • —Milton

  Pot. has allowed himself to be led quite astray here by a petulant criticism of De Pauw.

  [Note 31 (p. 151).]

  • “The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain.”

  
  
  ὔμνος ’αϕόρμιγκτος. “The musical character of this Choral Hymn must be imagined as working upon the feelings with a certain solemn grandeur. The κιθάρα or lyre is silent; an instrument which, as the Greeks used it, always exercised a soothing power, restorative of the equipoise of the mind: only the flute is heard, whose notes, according to the unanimous testimony of antiquity, excited feelings, now of thrilling excitement, now of mute awe; always, however, disturbing the just emotional tenor of the soul. Assuredly the ὔτνος ἀϕόρμιγκτος in this place is no mere phrase.”—Muller.

  [Note 32 (p 152).]

  • “This work of labour earnest”

  
  
  I have paraphrased, or rather interpolated, in this Antistrophe, a little, because I do not see much in it that is either translatable or worth translating. A meaning has been squeezed out of the two lines beginning σπευδόμενοι; but one cannot help feeling, after all, that there is something wrong, and saying with honest Wellauer, “certi nihil video.” The main idea, shimmering through the first three lines, is plain enough—that the Furies exercise a function, the legitimacy of which no one is entitled to question This the words, μηδ ες ἄγκρισιν ’ελθεɩ̂ν, plainly indicate; and it is upon this, and Schoe.’s conjectural emendation of the first line—

  • σπευδομένος ἀπέχειν τινὰ τα̂σδε μερίμνας,
  • “Diesem Geschäft das wir treiben verbleibe man ferne,”

  that my paraphrase proceeds. With regard to the second part of this Strophe, beginning with Μάλα γὰρ δυν, I follow Well. and all the later editors, except Schoe., in retaining it for metrical reasons, in the place to which Heath transposed it. Schoe’s observations, however, are worthy of serious consideration, as it is manifest that, if these Pæonic lines be replaced to where they stand in all the old editions, viz.:—between ὀρχησμοɩ̂ς τ’ ε̂πιϕθόνοις ποδός and πιπτων δ’ουκ ὀιδεν, their connection with what precedes, and also with what follows, will be more obvious than what it is now. Fr.’s observation, however, in answer to this, is not to be kept out of view—that this second part of the Antistrophe takes up the idea, as it takes up the measure, with which the corresponding part of the Strophe, as now arranged, ends, viz.—διόμεναί κρατερὸν ὄνθ, which the reader will find clearly brought out in my version—the concluding lines of the Pæonic section of the Strophe—
  
  

  • “Though fleet we shall find him,”

  being taken up in the opening lines of the Pæonic section of the Antistrophe—

  • “But swift as the wind,
  • We follow and find.”

  [Note 33 (p. 154).]

  • “The cry that called me from Scamander’s banks.”

  
  
  The Sigean territory in the Troad was disputed between the Athenians and the people of Mitylene; which strife Herodotus informs us (V. 94) ended, by the activity of Pisistratus, in favour of the Athenians—b. c. 606. In that same territory, continues the historian, there was a temple of Pallas, where the Athenians hung up the arms of the poet Alcæus, who, though “ferox bello,” had been obliged to flee from the battle which decided the matter in favour of the Athenians Æschylus, like a true patriot and poet, throws the claim of the Athenians to this territory as far back into the heroic times as possible; and, by the words put into the mouth of Athena, makes the claim on the part of the Lesbians tantamount to sacrilege.—See Scholiast and Stan.

  [Note 34 (p. 155).]

  • “He’ll neither swear himself, nor take my oath.”

  
  
  “The Greek words, ἀλλ ὅρκον ὀυ δεξαιτ [Editor: illegible character]ν, ὀυ δονˆναι θέλει, have, in the juridical language of Athens, decidedly only this meaning; and, in the present passage, there is no reasonable ground for taking them in any other sense, though it is perfectly true that in some passages, ὅρκου διδόναι signifies simply to swear, and ὅρκον δέχεσθαι, to accept an attestation on oath.”—Schoemann.

  [Note 35 (p. 155).]

  • “In old Ixíon’s guise.”

  
  
  “Ixíon was the son of Phlegyas, his mother Dia, a daugher of Deioneus. He was king of the Lapithæ, or Phlegyes, and the father of Peirithous. When Deioneus demanded of Ixíon the bridal gifts he had promised, Ixíon treacherously invited him as though to a banquet, and then contrived to make him fall into a pit filled with fire. As no one purified Ixíon from this treacherous murder, and all the gods were indignant at him, Zeus took pity on him, purified him, and invited him to his table.”—Mythol. Dict.

  [Note 36 (p. 156).]

  • “The ancient city of famous Priam thou
  • Didst sheer uncity.”

  
  
  The original ἄπολιν Ιλίου πόλιν [Editor: illegible character]θηκας, contains a mannerism of the tragedians too characteristic to be omitted ’Tis one of the many tricks of that wisdom of words which the curious Greeklings sought, and did not find, in the rough Gospel of St. Paul.

  [Note 37 (p. 156).]

  • “For thee, in that thou comest to my halls.”

  
  
  The best exposition that I have seen of the various difficulties of this speech, is that of Schoe., unfortunately too long for extract. As to κατηρτὺκὼς, Lin. has, in the notes to his edition, justly characterised his own translation of it, in the Dictionary as durissimum. The first δμως, of course, must go; and there is nothing better than changing it with Pauw, Müll., and Schoe., into ’εμο̂ις. The second δμως must likewise go; say ὀσιὼς with Müll. or ὅυτως with Schoe. There is then no difficulty.

  [Note 38 (p. 157)]
  
  Choral Hymn. This chorus contains a solemn enumeration of some of the main texts of Greek morality, and is in that view very important. The leading measure is the heptasyllabic trochaic verse so common in English, varied with cretics and dactyles. I have amused myself with giving a sort of imitation of the rhythm, so far as the trochees and cretics are concerned; to introduce the dactyles in the places where they occur, would produce—as I found by experiment—a tripping effect altogether out of keeping with the general solemnity of the piece

  [Note 39 (p. 158).]

  • “But who sports, a careless liver.”

  
  
  ’Tis impossible not to agree with Schoe. that these two lines are corrupt beyond the hope of emendation. He proposes to read—

  • τίς δὲ μηδὲν ἐυσεβεɩ̂
  • καρδίας ἄγᾳ τρεων.

  A very ingenious restoration; and one which, as matters now stand, I should have little scruple in introducing into the text; but, for poetical purposes, I have not been willing to lose the image with which the present reading, ἐν ϕἀει, supplies me and Fr.—

  • “Wer der nicht bei Wonneglanz
  • Trauer auch im Herzen hegt,” etc.

  [Note 40 (p. 158).]

  • “To the wise mean strength is given,
  • Thus the gods have ruled in heaven.”

  
  
  This is one of those current common-places of ancient wisdom, which are now so cheap to the ear, but are still as remote from the general temper and the public heart as they were some thousands of years ago, when first promulgated by some prophetic Phemonoe of the Primeval Pelasgi. The great philosopher of common sense, Aristotle, seized this maxim, as the groundwork of practical ethics, some three hundred years before Christ—‘Φθείρεται γαρ, says he, ἡ σωϕροσύνη και ἡ ἀνδρεία ὑπὸ τη̂ς ὑπερβολη̂ς καὶ τη̂ς ’ελλειψεως, ὑπὸ δὲ τη̂ς μεσότητος σώζεται; and Horace, the poet of common sense, preachea many a quiet, tuneful sermon to the same ancient text—

  • “Auream quisquis mediocritatem
  • Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
  • Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
  • Sobrius aula.”

  [Note 41 (p. 158).]

  • “Pride, that lifts itself unduly”

  
  
  I will not multiply citations here to show the reader how this pride or insolence of disposition, [Editor: illegible character]βρις (the German Uebermuth), is marked by the Greek moralists as the great source of all the darker crimes with which the annals of our floundering race are stained (See Note, p. 349 above). They are wrong who tell us that Humility is a Christian and not a Heathen virtue: no doubt the name ταπεινοϕροσύνη, used in the New Testament, was not the fashionable one among the Greeks: but that they had the thing, every page of their poetry testifies, with this difference, however, to be carefully noted, that while Heathen humility is founded solely on a sense of dependence, Christian humility proceeds also, and perhaps more decidedly, from a sense of guilt. Neither does the phraseology of Heathen and Christian writers on this subject differ always so much as people seem to imagine; between the μη ὐπερϕρονε̂ιν παρ [Editor: illegible character] δεɩ̂ ϕρονεɩ̂ν of St. Paul (Rom. xii. 3), and the ὀυδεπώποτε ὐπερ ἄνθρωπον ἐϕρόνησα of Xenophon (Cyropaed. VIII), it were a foolish subtlety that should attempt to make a distinction.

  [Note 42 (p. 159).]

  • “Give the air-shattering Tyrrhene trump free voice.”

  
  
  “It is a correct and significant observation made by the Scholiast on Iliad XVIII. 219, that Homer never mentions the trumpet (σάλπιγξ) in the narrative part of his poem, but only for a comparison: familiar as he was with the instrument, he was not ignorant that the use of it was new, and not native in Greece. Indeed, it was never universally adopted in that country: the Spartans and Cretans marching into battle, first to the accompaniment of the lyre, and afterwards of the flute. The tragedians again are quite familiar with the Tuscan origin of the trumpet, though they make no scruple of introducing it into their descriptions of the Hellenic heroic age”—Müll.; Etrusker I. p. 286.

  [Note 43 (p. 160)]
  
  EnterApollo Here commences a debate between the daughters of Night and the god accusing and defending, which, as Grote (History of Greece, I. 512) remarks, is “eminently curious.” And not only curious, but unfortunately, to our modern sense at least, not a little ludicrous in some places. The fact is, that the strange moral contradictions and inconsistencies so common in the Greek mythology, so long as they are concealed or palliated under a fair imaginative show, give small offence; but when placed before the understanding, in order to be interrogated by the strict forms of judicial logic, they necessarily produce a collision with our practical reason and a smile is the result.

  [Note 44 (p 161).]

  • “. . . himself did bind
  • With bonds his hoary-dated father Kronos.”

  
  
  “In the fable of the binding of Kronos by his son Jove, Æschylus saw nothing disrespectful to the character of the supreme ruler, but only the imaginative embodiment of the fact, that one celestial dynasty had been succeeded by another. The image of binding, and of the battles of the Titans generally, might seem to his mind not the most appropriate; but the offence that lay in them was softened not a little by the consideration that the enchainment of Kronos and the Titans was only a temporary affair, leading to a reconciliation The result was, that the Titans themselves at last acknowledged the justice of their punishment, and submitted themselves to Jove, as the alone legitimate ruler of Earth; and Herr Welcker is quite wrong in supposing that either here, or in the Agamemnon, or the Prometheus, there is any indication that the mind of Æschylus was fundamentally at war with his age in regard to the celestial dynasties.”—Schoemann’s Prometheus, p. 97.

  [Note 45 (p. 162).]

  • “. . . How
  • With any clanship share lustration?”

  
  
  Or, with Buck., “what laver of his tribe shall receive him?”—the word in the original being ϕρατόρων. The ancient Hellenic tribes ϕράτραι were social unions, founded originally in the family tie, and afterwards extended. These unions had certain religious ceremonies which they performed in common, and to which allusion is here made. (Compare Livy VI. 40, 41, nos privatim auspicia habemus of the Patrician families.) To be ἀϕρήτωρ, or excluded from a tribe (Il. IX. 63), was among the Greeks of the heroic ages a penalty half-civil, half-religious, similar in character to the excommunciation of the middle ages. Of this extremely interesting subject, the English reader will find a most luminous exposition in Grote’sGreece, vol. iii. p. 74.

  [Note 46 (p. 162).]

  • “. . . whom we call
  • The mother begets not.”

  
  
  Strange as this doctrine may seem to our modern physiologists, it seems founded on a very natural notion; and to the Greeks, who had such a low estimate of women, must have appeared perfectly orthodox. The same doctrine is enunciated by the poet in the Suppliants, v. 279, when he says, “the male artist has imprinted a Cyprian character on your female features”—the image being borrowed from the art of coining. And this, like many fancies cherished by the Greeks, seems to have had its home originally in Egypt. Stan. quotes from Diodorus I. 80, who says—“The Egyptians count none of their sons bastards, not even the sons of a bought slave. For they are of opinion that the father is the only author of generation; the mother but supplieth space and nourishment to the fœtus.” In the play of Euripides, Orestes uses the same argument (Orest. 543).

  [Note 47 (p 162)]

  • “Now, hear my ordinance, Athenians!”

  
  
  This address of the goddess, of practical wisdom, in constituting the Court of the Areopagus, was pointed by the poet directly against the democratic spirit, in his day beginning to become rampant in Athens; and is applicable not less to all times in which great and, perhaps, necessary social changes take place. The poet states, with the most solemn distinctness, that the mere love of liberty will never protect liberty from degenerating into licentiousness; but that a religious reverence for law is as essential to society as a religious jealousy of despotism. Only he who profoundly fears God can dispense with the fear of man; and he who fears both God and man is the only good citizen.

  [Note 48 (p. 162)]

  • “. . . Here, on this hill,
  • The embattled Amazons pitched their tents of yore.”

  
  
  The Amazons, “as strong as men” (αντιάνειραι, Il. III. 189), are famous in the history of the Trojan war; and their expedition against Athens, mentioned here, was familiar to every Athenian eye, from the painting in the Stoa Pæcile, described by Pausanias (I. 15). As to the historical reality of these hardy females, the sober Arrian (VII. 13) is by no means inclined (after the modern German fashion) to brush them, with a stroke of his pen, out of the world of realities; and, considering what a strange and strangely adaptable creature man is, I see no reason why we should be sceptical as to their historical existence.

  [Note 49 (p 163).]

  • “Thou say’st.”

  
  
  “This is an ancient way of replying to a captious question, as we see in the Gospel (Matth. xxvii.), where, when Pilate asks, ‘art thou the king of the Jews,’ our Lord, Jesus Christ, answers in these very words Συ λέγεις—‘Thou say’st.’ ”—Stan.

  [Note 50 (p. 163).]

  • “Such were thy deeds in Pheres’ house.”

  
  
  “Alluding to Admetus, son of Pheres, whom Apollo raised from the dead, having obtained this boon from the Fates, on condition that some one should die in his stead.—See the well-known play of Euripides, the Alcestes.”—Stan. The Scholiast on that play, v. 12, as Dindorf notes, remarks that, on this occasion, Apollo moved the inflexible goddesses by the potent influence of wine. This is alluded to a few lines below.

  [Note 51 (p. 164).]

  • “. . . all my father lives in me.”

  
  
  κάρτα δ’ειμι τονˆ πατρος; specially wisdom and energy.—So Milton—

  • “All my father shines in me.”
  • —Paradise Lost, VII.

  Compare the Homeric epithet of Pallas ὁβριμοπάτρη with Nagelsbach’s Comprehensive Commentary—Hom. Theologie, p. 100.

  [Note 52 (p. 164)]
  
  Apollo.Fr., who examined the Medicean Codex, says that there is here discernible the mark which introduces a new speaker. Who that speaker is, however, the sense does not allow us to decide; but Orestes and the Chorus having spoken, I do not see why Apollo, who showed such eagerness before, should not now also, put in his word; and, therefore, deserting Well., I follow the old arrangement of Vict. and Stan.

  [Note 53 (p. 167).]

  • “Sharing alone the strong keys that unlock
  • His thunder-halls.”

  
  
  As Pallas possesses all her father’s characteristic qualities of wisdom and strength, so she is entitled to wield all his instruments, and even the thunder. Stan quotes—

  • “Ipsa (Pallas) Jovis rapidum jaculata e nubibus ignem.”
  • —Virgil, Æn I. 46

  And Wakefield compares Callim, Lavac. Pall, 132. So the aegis, or shield of dark-rushing storms (ἀισσω), belongs to Pallas no less than to Zeus (Il. V. 738).

  [Note 54 (p. 167).]

  • “. . . thou shalt hold
  • An honoured seat beside Erectheus’ home.”

  
  
  Erectheus, who, as his name signifies ([Editor: illegible character]ραζε, Eretz, Heb, Erde, Teut., Earth), was the earth-born, or Adam of Attic legend, had a temple on the Acropolis, beside the temple of the city-protecting (πολιάς) Pallas, of which the ruins yet remain. The cave of the Furies was on the Hill of Mars, directly opposite.—See Introductory Remarks.

  [Note 55 (p. 168).]

  • “. . . save my city
  • From brothered strife, and from domestic brawls.”

  
  
  It was a principle with the Romans that no victory in a civil war should be followed by a triumph; and, accordingly, in the famous triumph of Julius Cæsar, which lasted three days, there was nothing to remind the Roman eye that the conqueror of Pharsalia had ever plucked a leaf from Pompey’s laurels. In v. 826, I read with Mul. ’ου δόμοις παρων, the present reading, μόλις, being clumsy any way that I have seen it translated.

  [Note 56 (p. 169).]

  • “The fortress of gods.”

  
  
  This designation is given to Athens with special reference to the Persian wars; for the Persians destroyed everywhere the temples of the Greek gods (only in the single case of Delos are they said to have made an exception), and the Athenians, in conquering the Persians, saved not only their own lives, but the temples of the gods from destruction.

  [Note 57 (p. 169).]

  • “Woe to the wretch, by their wrath smitten.”

  
  
  Well., as usual, is too cautious in not changing μὴ κύρσας into δὴ κύρσας with Pauw and Mül., or μὴν with Lin. and Schoe.

  [Note 58 (p 169)]

  • “Not for his own, for guilt inherited.”

  
  
  “The sins of the fathers, as in the Old Testament, so also among the Greeks, are visited on the children even to the third and fourth generation; nay, even the idea of original sin, derived from the Titanic men of the early ages, and exhibiting itself as a rebellious inclination against the gods more or less in all—this essentially Christian idea was not altogether unknown to the ancient Greeks.”—Schoemann.

  [Note 59 (p. 170)]

  • “And, when Hermes is near thee.”

  
  
  What we call a “god-send,” or a “wind-fall,” was called by the Greeks [Editor: illegible character]ρμαιον, or a thing given by the grace of Hermes. In his original capacity as the patron god of Arcadian shepherds, Hermes was, in like manner, looked on as the giver of patriarchal wealth in the shape of flocks.—Il. xiv. 490.

  [Note 60 (p 170).]

  • “Ye Fates, high-presiding.”

  
  
  There is no small difficulty in this passage, from the state of the text; but, unless it be the Furies themselves that are spoken of, as Kl imagines (Theol. p. 45), I cannot think there are any celestial powers to whom the strong language of the Strophe will apply but the Fates If the former supposition be adopted, we must interrupt the chaunt between Athena and the Furies, putting this Strophe into the mouth of the Areopagites, as, indeed, Kl. proposes; but this seems rather a bold measure, and has found no favour. It remains, therefore, only to make such changes in the text as will admit of the application of the whole passage to the Fates, who stand in the closest relation to the Furies, as is evident from Strophe III. of the chorus (p. 146 above). This Mül. has done; and I follow him, not, however, without desiring some more distinct proof that ματροκασιγνη̂ται, in Greek, can possibly mean sisters.—See Schoe.’s note.

  [Note 61 (p. 170).]

  • “Jove, that rules the forum, nobly
  • In the high debate hath conquered.”

  
  
  Ζεὺς ἀγορα̂ιος. The students of Homer may recollect the appeal of Telemachus to the Ithacans in council assembled (Odys. II. 68). Jove, as we have already had occasion to remark, has a peculiar right of presidency over every grand event of human life, and every important social institution; so that, on certain occasions, the Greek Polytheism becomes, for the need, a Monotheism—somewhat after the same fashion as the aristocratic Government of the old Roman Republic had the power of suddenly changing itself, on important occasions, into an absolute monarchy, by the creation of a Dictator.

  [Note 62 (p. 172).]

  • “Gracious-minded sisterhood.”

  
  
  The Furies were called Ευμενίδες, or gracious, to propitiate their stern deity by complimentary language. Suidas says (voc. Ευμενίδες) that Athena, in this play, calls the Furies expressly by this name; but the fact is, that it does not occur in the whole play. Either, therefore, the word ἔυϕρων, which I have translated “gracious-minded” in the play, must be considered to have given occasion to the remark of the lexicographer (which seems sufficient), or, with Hermann and Schoe., we must suppose something to have fallen out of the present speech.
  
  note
  
  On p. 132, after the dramatis persona, I perceive that I have stated that the scene of this piece changes from Delphi to the Hill of Mars, Athens. This is either inaccurate, or, at least, imperfect; for the first change of scene is manifestly (as stated p. 148), to the temple of Athena Pallas, on the Acropolis; and, though the imagination naturally desires that the institution of the Court of the Areopagus should take place on the exact seat of its future labours, yet the construction of the drama by no means necessitates another change of scene, and the allusion to the Hill of Mars in p 162 is easily explicable on the supposition that it lies directly opposite the Acropolis, and that Pallas points to it with her finger.

• Back to Top

  5: 5. Sophocles, Antigone

  This is the third play in the Oedipus trilogy.

  Sophocles, The Tradegies of Sophocles, translated into English prose by Sir Richard C. Jebb (Cambridge University Press, 1904). Chapter: ANTIGONE.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1155/94542 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  ANTIGONE.

  PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

  Antigone} daughters of Oedipus.

  Ismene

  Creon,King of Thebes.

  Eurydice,his wife.

  Haemon,his son.

  Teiresias,the blind prophet.

  Guard,set to watch the corpse of Polyneices.

  First Messenger.

  Second Messenger,from the house.

  Chorus of Theban Elders.

  Scene: Before the Royal Palace at Thebes.

  Polyneices, supported by an Argive army, had marched against Thebes, in order to wrest the sovereignty from his brother Eteocles. The day before that on which the drama opens had been disastrous for the invaders. At six of the city’s seven gates, a Theban champion slew his Argive opponent: at the seventh, Eteocles met Polyneices, and each fell by the other’s hand. The Argive army fled in the night. Creon, now King of Thebes, has just issued an edict, proclaiming that Eteocles shall be interred with public honours, but that the corpse of Polyneices shall be left unburied.

  Antigone.

  Ismene, sister, mine own dear sister, knowest thou what ill there is, of all bequeathed by Oedipus, that Zeus fulfils not for us twain while we live? Nothing painful is there, nothing fraught with ruin, no shame, no dishonour, that I have not seen in thy woes and mine.

  And now what new edict is this of which they tell, that our Captain hath just published to all Thebes? Knowest thou aught? Hast thou heard? Or is it hidden from thee that our friends are threatened with the doom of our foes?10

  Ismene.

  No word of friends, Antigone, gladsome or painful, hath come to me, since we two sisters were bereft of brothers twain, killed in one day by a twofold blow; and since in this last night the Argive host hath fled, I know no more, whether my fortune be brighter, or more grievous.

  An. I knew it well, and therefore sought to bring thee beyond the gates of the court, that thou mightest hear alone.

  Is. What is it? ’Tis plain that thou art brooding20 on some dark tidings.

  An. What, hath not Creon destined our brothers, the one to honoured burial, the other to unburied shame? Eteocles, they say, with due observance of right and custom, he hath laid in the earth, for his honour among the dead below. But the hapless corpse of Polyneices—as rumour saith, it hath been published to the town that none shall entomb him or mourn, but leave unwept, unsepulchred,30 a welcome store for the birds, as they espy him, to feast on at will.

  Such, ’tis said, is the edict that the good Creon hath set forth for thee and for me,—yes, for me,—and is coming hither to proclaim it clearly to those who know it not; nor counts the matter light, but, whoso disobeys in aught, his doom is death by stoning before all the folk. Thou knowest it now; and thou wilt soon show whether thou art nobly bred, or the base daughter of a noble line.

  Is. Poor sister,—and if things stand thus, what40 could I help to do or undo?

  An. Consider if thou wilt share the toil and the deed.

  Is. In what venture? What can be thy meaning?

  An. Wilt thou aid this hand to lift the dead?

  Is. Thou wouldst bury him,—when ’tis forbidden to Thebes?

  An. I will do my part,—and thine, if thou wilt not,—to a brother. False to him will I never be found.

  Is. Ah, over-bold! when Creon hath forbidden?

  An. Nay, he hath no right to keep me from mine own.

  Is.50 Ah me! think, sister, how our father perished, amid hate and scorn, when sins bared by his own search had moved him to strike both eyes with self-blinding hand; then the mother wife, two names in one, with twisted noose did despite unto her life; and last, our two brothers in one day,—each shedding, hapless one, a kinsman’s blood,—wrought out with mutual hands their common doom. And now we in turn—we two left all alone—think how we shall perish, more miserably than all the rest, if, in defiance of the law, we brave60 a king’s decree or his powers. Nay, we must remember, first, that we were born women, as who should not strive with men; next, that we are ruled of the stronger, so that we must obey in these things, and in things yet sorer. I, therefore, asking the Spirits Infernal to pardon, seeing that force is put on me herein, will hearken to our rulers; for ’tis witless to be over busy.

  An. I will not urge thee,—no, nor, if thou yet shouldst have the mind, wouldst thou be welcome as70 a worker with me. Nay, be what thou wilt; but I will bury him: well for me to die in doing that. I shall rest, a loved one with him whom I have loved, sinless in my crime; for I owe a longer allegiance to the dead than to the living: in that world I shall abide for ever. But if thou wilt, be guilty of dishonouring laws which the gods have stablished in honour.

  Is. I do them no dishonour; but to defy the State,—I have no strength for that.

  An. Such be thy plea:—I, then, will go to heap the80 earth above the brother whom I love.

  Is. Alas, unhappy one! How I fear for thee!

  An. Fear not for me: guide thine own fate aright.

  Is. At least, then, disclose this plan to none, but hide it closely,—and so, too, will I.

  An. Oh, denounce it! Thou wilt be far more hateful for thy silence, if thou proclaim not these things to all.

  Is. Thou hast a hot heart for chilling deeds.

  An. I know that I please where I am most bound to please.

  Is.90 Aye, if thou canst; but thou wouldst what thou canst not.

  An. Why, then, when my strength fails, I shall have done.

  Is. A hopeless quest should not be made at all.

  An. If thus thou speakest, thou wilt have hatred from me, and will justly be subject to the lasting hatred of the dead. But leave me, and the folly that is mine alone, to suffer this dread thing; for I shall not suffer aught so dreadful as an ignoble death.

  Is. Go, then, if thou must; and of this be sure,—that, though thine errand is foolish, to thy dear ones thou art truly dear.

  [ExitAntigoneon the spectators’ left.Ismeneretires into the palace by one of the two side-doors.

  Chorus.

  str. 1.Beam of the sun, fairest light that ever dawned on100 Thebè of the seven gates, thou hast shone forth at last, eye of golden day, arisen above Dircè’s streams! The warrior of the white shield, who came from Argos in his panoply, hath been stirred by thee to headlong flight, in swifter career;

  syst. 1.who set forth against our land by reason of the vexed claims of Polyneices; and, like shrill-screaming110 eagle, he flew over into our land, in snow-white pinion sheathed, with an armèd throng, and with plumage of helms.

  ant. 1.He paused above our dwellings; he ravened around our sevenfold portals with spears athirst for blood; but120 he went hence, or ever his jaws were glutted with our gore, or the Fire-god’s pine-fed flame had seized our crown of towers. So fierce was the noise of battle raised behind him, a thing too hard for him to conquer, as he wrestled with his dragon foe.

  syst. 2.For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue; and when he beheld them coming on in a great stream, in the haughty pride of clanging gold,130 he smote with brandished fire one who was now hasting to shout victory at his goal upon our ramparts.

  str. 2.Swung down, he fell on the earth with a crash, torch in hand, he who so lately, in the frenzy of the mad onset, was raging against us with the blasts of his tempestuous hate. But those threats fared not as he hoped; and to other foes the mighty War-god dispensed their several dooms, dealing havoc around, a mighty helper at our need.140

  syst. 3.For seven captains at seven gates, matched against seven, left the tribute of their panoplies to Zeus who turns the battle; save those two of cruel fate, who, born of one sire and one mother, set against each other their twain conquering spears, and are sharers in a common death.

  ant. 2.But since Victory of glorious name hath come to us, with joy responsive to the joy of Thebè whose150 chariots are many, let us enjoy forgetfulness after the late wars, and visit all the temples of the gods with night-long dance and song; and may Bacchus be our leader, whose dancing shakes the land of Thebè.

  syst. 4.But lo, the king of the land comes yonder, Creon, son of Menoeceus, our new ruler by the new fortunes that the gods have given; what counsel is he pondering,160 that he hath proposed this special conference of elders, summoned by his general mandate?

  EnterCreon,from the central doors of the palace, in the garb of king; with two attendants.

  Cr. Sirs, the vessel of our State, after being tossed on wild waves, hath once more been safely steadied by the gods: and ye, out of all the folk, have been called apart by my summons, because I knew, first of all, how true and constant was your reverence for the royal power of Laïus; how, again, when Oedipus was ruler of our land, and when he had perished, your steadfast170 loyalty still upheld their children. Since, then, his sons have fallen in one day by a twofold doom,—each smitten by the other, each stained with a brother’s blood,—I now possess the throne and all its powers, by nearness of kinship to the dead.

  No man can be fully known, in soul and spirit and mind, until he hath been seen versed in rule and lawgiving. For if any, being supreme guide of the State, cleaves not to the best counsels, but, through some fear,180 keeps his lips locked, I hold, and have ever held, him most base; and if any makes a friend of more account than his fatherland, that man hath no place in my regard. For I—be Zeus my witness, who sees all things always—would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead of safety, coming to the citizens; nor would I ever deem the country’s foe a friend to myself; remembering this, that our country is the ship that bears us safe, and that only while she prospers in our voyage can we make true190 friends.

  Such are the rules by which I guard this city’s greatness. And in accord with them is the edict which I have now published to the folk touching the sons of Oedipus;—that Eteocles, who hath fallen fighting for our city, in all renown of arms, shall be entombed, and crowned with every rite that follows the noblest dead to their rest. But for his brother, Polyneices,—who came back from exile, and sought to consume utterly200 with fire the city of his fathers and the shrines of his fathers’ gods,—sought to taste of kindred blood, and to lead the remnant into slavery;—touching this man, it hath been proclaimed to our people that none shall grace him with sepulture or lament, but leave him unburied, a corpse for birds and dogs to eat, a ghastly sight of shame.

  Such the spirit of my dealing; and never, by deed of mine, shall the wicked stand in honour before the just; but whoso hath good will to Thebes, he shall be210 honoured of me, in his life and in his death.

  Ch. Such is thy pleasure, Creon, son of Menoeceus, touching this city’s foe, and its friend; and thou hast power, I ween, to take what order thou wilt, both for the dead, and for all us who live.

  Cr. See, then, that ye be guardians of the mandate.

  Ch. Lay the burden of this task on some younger man.

  Cr. Nay, watchers of the corpse have been found.

  Ch. What, then, is this further charge that thou wouldst give?

  Cr. That ye side not with the breakers of these commands.

  Ch.220 No man is so foolish that he is enamoured of death.

  Cr. In sooth, that is the meed; yet lucre hath oft ruined men through their hopes.

  EnterGuard.

  Gu. My liege, I will not say that I come breathless from speed, or that I have plied a nimble foot; for often did my thoughts make me pause, and wheel round in my path, to return. My mind was holding large discourse with me; ‘Fool, why goest thou to thy certain doom?’ ‘Wretch, tarrying again? And if Creon hears this from230 another, must not thou smart for it?’ So debating, I went on my way with lagging steps, and thus a short road was made long. At last, however, it carried the day that I should come hither—to thee; and, though my tale be nought, yet will I tell it; for I come with a good grip on one hope,—that I can suffer nothing but what is my fate.

  Cr. And what is it that disquiets thee thus?

  Gu. I wish to tell thee first about myself—I did not do the deed—I did not see the doer—it were not right that I should come to any harm.240

  Cr. Thou hast a shrewd eye for thy mark; well dost thou fence thyself round against the blame:—clearly thou hast some strange thing to tell.

  Gu. Aye, truly; dread news makes one pause long.

  Cr. Then tell it, wilt thou, and so get thee gone?

  Gu. Well, this is it.—The corpse—some one hath just given it burial, and gone away,—after sprinkling thirsty dust on the flesh, with such other rites as piety enjoins.

  Cr. What sayest thou? What living man hath dared this deed?

  Gu. I know not; no stroke of pickaxe was seen there, no earth thrown up by mattock; the ground was250 hard and dry, unbroken, without track of wheels; the doer was one who had left no trace. And when the first day-watchman showed it to us, sore wonder fell on all. The dead man was veiled from us; not shut within a tomb, but lightly strewn with dust, as by the hand of one who shunned a curse. And no sign met the eye as though any beast of prey or any dog had come nigh to him, or torn him.

  Then evil words flew fast and loud among us, guard accusing guard; and it would e’en have come to blows260 at last, nor was there any to hinder. Every man was the culprit, and no one was convicted, but all disclaimed knowledge of the deed. And we were ready to take red-hot iron in our hands;—to walk through fire;—to make oath by the gods that we had not done the deed,—that we were not privy to the planning or the doing.

  At last, when all our searching was fruitless, one spake, who made us all bend our faces on the earth in270 fear; for we saw not how we could gainsay him, or escape mischance if we obeyed. His counsel was that this deed must be reported to thee, and not hidden. And this seemed best; and the lot doomed my hapless self to win this prize. So here I stand,—as unwelcome as unwilling, well I wot; for no man delights in the bearer of bad news.

  Ch. O king, my thoughts have long been whispering, can this deed, perchance, be e’en the work of gods?

  Cr.280 Cease, ere thy words fill me utterly with wrath, lest thou be found at once an old man and foolish. For thou sayest what is not to be borne, in saying that the gods have care for this corpse. Was it for high reward of trusty service that they sought to hide his nakedness, who came to burn their pillared shrines and sacred treasures, to burn their land, and scatter its laws to the winds? Or dost thou behold the gods honouring the wicked? It cannot be. No! From the first there were290 certain in the town that muttered against me, chafing at this edict, wagging their heads in secret; and kept not their necks duly under the yoke, like men contented with my sway.

  ’Tis by them, well I know, that these have been beguiled and bribed to do this deed. Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be current among men. This lays cities low, this drives men from their homes, this trains and warps honest souls till they set themselves to works of shame; this still teaches folk to practise villanies,300 and to know every godless deed.

  But all the men who wrought this thing for hire have made it sure that, soon or late, they shall pay the price. Now, as Zeus still hath my reverence, know this—I tell it thee on my oath:—If ye find not the very author of this burial, and produce him before mine eyes, death alone shall not be enough for you, till first, hung up alive, ye have revealed this outrage,—that henceforth ye may thieve with better knowledge whence lucre310 should be won, and learn that it is not well to love gain from every source. For thou wilt find that ill-gotten pelf brings more men to ruin than to weal.

  Gu. May I speak? Or shall I just turn and go?

  Cr. Knowest thou not that even now thy voice offends?

  Gu. Is thy smart in the ears, or in the soul?

  Cr. And why wouldst thou define the seat of my pain?

  Gu. The doer vexes thy mind, but I, thine ears.

  Cr. Ah, thou art a born babbler, ’tis well seen.320

  Gu. May be, but never the doer of this deed.

  Cr. Yea, and more,—the seller of thy life for silver.

  Gu. Alas! ’Tis sad, truly, that he who judges should misjudge.

  Cr. Let thy fancy play with ‘judgment’ as it will;—but, if ye show me not the doers of these things, ye shall avow that dastardly gains work sorrows. [Exit.

  Gu. Well, may he be found! so ’twere best. But, be he caught or be he not—fortune must settle that—truly thou wilt not see me here again. Saved, even330 now, beyond hope and thought, I owe the gods great thanks. [Exit.

  Chorus.

  str. 1.Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man; the power that crosses the white sea, driven by the stormy south-wind, making a path under surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, turning340 the soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs go to and fro from year to year.

  ant. 1.And the light-hearted race of birds, and the tribes of savage beasts, and the sea-brood of the deep, he snares in the meshes of his woven toils, he leads captive, man excellent in wit. And he masters by his arts the beast whose lair is in the wilds, who roams the hills;350 he tames the horse of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon its neck, he tames the tireless mountain bull.

  str. 2.And speech, and wind-swift thought, and all the moods that mould a state, hath he taught himself; and how to flee the arrows of the frost, when ’tis hard lodging under the clear sky, and the arrows of the rushing rain;360 yea, he hath resource for all; without resource he meets nothing that must come: only against Death shall he call for aid in vain; but from baffling maladies he hath devised escapes.

  ant. 2.Cunning beyond fancy’s dream is the fertile skill which brings him, now to evil, now to good. When he honours the laws of the land, and that justice which he hath sworn by the gods to uphold, proudly stands his city: no city hath he who, for his rashness, dwells370 with sin. Never may he share my hearth, never think my thoughts, who doth these things!

  Enter the Guard on the spectators’ left, leading inAntigone.

  What portent from the gods is this?—my soul is amazed. I know her—how can I deny that yon maiden is Antigone?

  O hapless, and child of hapless sire,—of Oedipus!380 What means this? Thou brought a prisoner?—thou, disloyal to the king’s laws, and taken in folly?

  Guard.

  Here she is, the doer of the deed:—we caught this girl burying him:—but where is Creon?

  Ch. Lo, he comes forth again from the house, at our need.

  Cr. What is it? What hath chanced, that makes my coming timely?

  Gu. O king, against nothing should men pledge their word; for the after-thought belies the first intent. I could have vowed that I should not soon be here390 again,—scared by thy threats, with which I had just been lashed: but,—since the joy that surprises and transcends our hopes is like in fulness to no other pleasure,—I have come, though ’tis in breach of my sworn oath, bringing this maid; who was taken showing grace to the dead. This time there was no casting of lots; no, this luck hath fallen to me, and to none else. And now, sire, take her thyself, question her, examine her, as thou wilt; but I have a right to free and final400 quittance of this trouble.

  Cr. And thy prisoner here—how and whence hast thou taken her?

  Gu. She was burying the man; thou knowest all.

  Cr. Dost thou mean what thou sayest? Dost thou speak aright?

  Gu. I saw her burying the corpse that thou hadst forbidden to bury. Is that plain and clear?

  Cr. And how was she seen? how taken in the act?

  Gu. It befell on this wise. When we had come to the place,—with those dread menaces of thine upon410 us,—we swept away all the dust that covered the corpse, and bared the dank body well; and then sat us down on the brow of the hill, to windward, heedful that the smell from him should not strike us; every man was wide awake, and kept his neighbour alert with torrents of threats, if any one should be careless of this task.

  So went it, until the sun’s bright orb stood in mid heaven, and the heat began to burn: and then suddenly a whirlwind lifted from the earth a storm of dust, a trouble in the sky, and filled the plain, marring all the420 leafage of its woods; and the wide air was choked therewith: we closed our eyes, and bore the plague from the gods.

  And when, after a long while, this storm had passed, the maid was seen; and she cried aloud with the sharp cry of a bird in its bitterness,—even as when, within the empty nest, it sees the bed stripped of its nestlings. So she also, when she saw the corpse bare, lifted up a voice of wailing, and called down curses on the doers of that deed. And straightway she brought thirsty dust in her hands; and from a shapely ewer of bronze,430 held high, with thrice-poured drink-offering she crowned the dead.

  We rushed forward when we saw it, and at once closed upon our quarry, who was in no wise dismayed. Then we taxed her with her past and present doings; and she stood not on denial of aught,—at once to my joy and to my pain. To have escaped from ills one’s self is a great joy; but ’tis painful to brng friends to ill. Howbeit, all such things are of less account to me440 than mine own safety.

  Cr. Thou—thou whose face is bent to earth—dost thou avow, or disavow, this deed?

  An. I avow it; I make no denial.

  Cr. (To Guard.) Thou canst betake thee whither thou wilt, free and clear of a grave charge. [Exit Guard.

  (ToAntigone.) Now, tell me thou—not in many words, but briefly—knewest thou that an edict had forbidden this?

  An. I knew it: could I help it? It was public.

  Cr. And thou didst indeed dare to transgress that law?

  An. Yes; for it was not Zeus that had published450 me that edict; not such are the laws set among men by the Justice who dwells with the gods below; nor deemed I that thy decrees were of such force, that a mortal could override the unwritten and unfailing statutes of heaven. For their life is not of to-day or yesterday, but from all time, and no man knows when they were first put forth.

  Not through dread of any human pride could I460 answer to the gods for breaking these. Die I must,—I knew that well (how should I not?)—even without thy edicts. But if I am to die before my time, I count that a gain: for when any one lives, as I do, compassed about with evils, can such an one find aught but gain in death?

  So for me to meet this doom is trifling grief; but if I had suffered my mother’s son to lie in death an unburied corpse, that would have grieved me; for this, I am not grieved. And if my present deeds are foolish470 in thy sight, it may be that a foolish judge arraigns my folly.

  Ch. The maid shows herself passionate child of passionate sire, and knows not how to bend before troubles.

  Cr. Yet I would have thee know that o’er-stubborn spirits are most often humbled; ’tis the stiffest iron, baked to hardness in the fire, that thou shalt oftenest see snapped and shivered; and I have known horses that show temper brought to order by a little curb; there is no room for pride, when thou art thy neighbour’s480 slave.—This girl was already versed in insolence when she transgressed the laws that had been set forth; and, that done, lo, a second insult,—to vaunt of this, and exult in her deed.

  Now verily I am no man, she is the man, if this victory shall rest with her, and bring no penalty. No! be she sister’s child, or nearer to me in blood than any that worships Zeus at the altar of our house,—she and her kinsfolk shall not avoid a doom most dire; for indeed I charge that other with a like share in the490 plotting of this burial.

  And summon her—for I saw her e’en now within,—raving, and not mistress of her wits. So oft, before the deed, the mind stands self-convicted in its treason, when folks are plotting mischief in the dark. But verily this, too, is hateful,—when one who hath been caught in wickedness then seeks to make the crime a glory.

  An. Wouldst thou do more than take and slay me?

  Cr. No more, indeed; having that, I have all.

  An. Why then dost thou delay? In thy discourse there is nought that pleases me,—never may there be!—and500 so my words must needs be unpleasing to thee. And yet, for glory—whence could I have won a nobler, than by giving burial to mine own brother? All here would own that they thought it well, were not their lips sealed by fear. But royalty, blest in so much besides, hath the power to do and say what it will.

  Cr. Thou differest from all these Thebans in that view.

  An. These also share it; but they curb their tongues for thee.

  Cr. And art thou not ashamed to act apart from510 them?

  An. No; there is nothing shameful in piety to a brother.

  Cr. Was it not a brother, too, that died in the opposite cause?

  An. Brother by the same mother and the same sire.

  Cr. Why, then, dost thou render a grace that is impious in his sight?

  An. The dead man will not say that he so deems it.

  Cr. Yea, if thou makest him but equal in honour with the wicked.

  An. It was his brother, not his slave, that perished.

  Cr. Wasting this land; while he fell as its champion.

  An. Nevertheless, Hades desires these rites.

  Cr.520 But the good desires not a like portion with the evil.

  An. Who knows but this seems blameless in the world below?

  Cr. A foe is never a friend—not even in death.

  An. ’Tis not my nature to join in hating, but in loving.

  Cr. Pass, then, to the world of the dead, and, if thou must needs love, love them. While I live, no woman shall rule me.

  EnterIsmenefrom the house, led in by two attendants.

  Ch. Lo, yonder Ismene comes forth, shedding such tears as fond sisters weep; a cloud upon her brow casts530 its shadow over her darkly-flushing face, and breaks in rain on her fair cheek.

  Cr. And thou, who, lurking like a viper in my house, wast secretly draining my life-blood, while I knew not that I was nurturing two pests, to rise against my throne—come, tell me now, wilt thou also confess thy part in this burial, or wilt thou forswear all knowledge of it?

  Is. I have done the deed,—if she allows my claim,—and share the burden of the charge.

  An. Nay, justice will not suffer thee to do that: thou didst not consent to the deed, nor did I give thee part in it.

  Is. But, now that ills beset thee, I am not ashamed540 to sail the sea of trouble at thy side.

  An. Whose was the deed, Hades and the dead are witnesses: a friend in words is not the friend that I love.

  Is. Nay, sister, reject me not, but let me die with thee, and duly honour the dead.

  An. Share not thou my death, nor claim deeds to which thou hast not put thy hand: my death will suffice.

  Is. And what life is dear to me, bereft of thee?

  An. Ask Creon; all thy care is for him.

  Is. Why vex me thus, when it avails thee nought?550

  An. Indeed, if I mock, ’tis with pain that I mock thee.

  Is. Tell me,—how can I serve thee, even now?

  An. Save thyself: I grudge not thy escape.

  Is. Ah, woe is me! And shall I have no share in thy fate?

  An. Thy choice was to live; mine, to die.

  Is. At least thy choice was not made without my protest.

  An. One world approved thy wisdom; another, mine.

  Is. Howbeit, the offence is the same for both of us.

  An. Be of good cheer; thou livest; but my life560 hath long been given to death, that so I might serve the dead.

  Cr. Lo, one of these maidens hath newly shown herself foolish, as the other hath been since her life began.

  Is. Yea, O king, such reason as nature may have given abides not with the unfortunate, but goes astray.

  Cr. Thine did, when thou chosest vile deeds with the vile.

  Is. What life could I endure, without her presence?

  Cr. Nay, speak not of her ‘presence’; she lives no more.

  Is. But wilt thou slay the betrothed of thine own son?

  Cr. Nay, there are other fields for him to plough

  Is.570 But there can never be such love as bound him to her.

  Cr. I like not an evil wife for my son.

  An. Haemon, beloved! How thy father wrongs thee!

  Cr. Enough, enough of thee and of thy marriage!

  Ch. Wilt thou indeed rob thy son of this maiden?

  Cr. ’Tis Death that shall stay these bridals for me.

  Ch. ’Tis determined, it seems, that she shall die.

  Cr. Determined, yes, for thee and for me.—(To the two attendants.) No more delay—servants, take them within! Henceforth they must be women, and not range at large; for verily even the bold seek to fly, when they580 see Death now closing on their life.

  [Exeunt attendants, guardingAntigoneandIsmene.—Creonremains.

  Ch. Blest are they whose days have not tasted of evil. For when a house hath once been shaken from heaven, there the curse fails nevermore, passing from life to life of the race; even as, when the surge is driven over the darkness of the deep by the fierce breath of Thracian sea-winds, it rolls up the black sand from the590 depths, and there is a sullen roar from wind-vexed headlands that front the blows of the storm.

  I see that from olden time the sorrows in the house of the Labdacidae are heaped upon the sorrows of the dead; and generation is not freed by generation, but some god strikes them down, and the race hath no deliverance.

  For now that hope of which the light had been spread above the last root of the house of Oedipus—that600 hope, in turn, is brought low—by the blood-stained dust due to the gods infernal, and by folly in speech, and frenzy at the heart.

  Thy power, O Zeus, what human trespass can limit? That power which neither Sleep, the all-ensnaring, nor the untiring months of the gods can master; but thou, a ruler to whom time brings not old age, dwellest in the dazzling splendour of Olympus.610

  And through the future, near and far, as through the past, shall this law hold good: Nothing that is vast enters into the life of mortals without a curse.

  For that hope whose wanderings are so wide is to many men a comfort, but to many a false lure of giddy620 desires; and the disappointment comes on one who knoweth nought till he burn his foot against the hot fire.

  For with wisdom hath some one given forth the famous saying, that evil seems good, soon or late, to him whose mind the god draws to mischief; and but for the briefest space doth he fare free of woe.

  But lo, Haemon, the last of thy sons;—comes he grieving for the doom of his promised bride, Antigone,630 and bitter for the baffled hope of his marriage?

  EnterHaemon.

  Cr. We shall know soon, better than seers could tell us.—My son, hearing the fixed doom of thy betrothed, art thou come in rage against thy father? Or have I thy good will, act how I may?

  Hae. Father, I am thine; and thou, in thy wisdom, tracest for me rules which I shall follow. No marriage shall be deemed by me a greater gain than thy good guidance.

  Cr. Yea, this, my son, should be thy heart’s fixed640 law,—in all things to obey thy father’s will. ’Tis for this that men pray to see dutiful children grow up around them in their homes,—that such may requite their father’s foe with evil, and honour, as their father doth, his friend. But he who begets unprofitable children—what shall we say that he hath sown, but troubles for himself, and much triumph for his foes? Then do not thou, my son, at pleasure’s beck, dethrone thy reason for a woman’s sake; knowing that this is a joy that soon grows cold in clasping arms,—an evil650 woman to share thy bed and thy home. For what wound could strike deeper than a false friend? Nay, with loathing, and as if she were thine enemy, let this girl go to find a husband in the house of Hades. For since I have taken her, alone of all the city, in open disobedience, I will not make myself a liar to my people—I will slay her.

  So let her appeal as she will to the majesty of kindred blood. If I am to nurture mine own kindred in naughtiness, needs must I bear with it in aliens. He660 who does his duty in his own household will be found righteous in the State also. But if any one transgresses, and does violence to the laws, or thinks to dictate to his rulers, such an one can win no praise from me. No, whomsoever the city may appoint, that man must be obeyed, in little things and great, in just things and unjust; and I should feel sure that one who thus obeys would be a good ruler no less than a good subject, and in the storm of spears would stand his ground where he670 was set, loyal and dauntless at his comrade’s side.

  But disobedience is the worst of evils. This it is that ruins cities; this makes homes desolate; by this, the ranks of allies are broken into headlong rout; but, of the lives whose course is fair, the greater part owes safety to obedience. Therefore we must support the cause of order, and in no wise suffer a woman to worst us. Better to fall from power, if we must, by a man’s680 hand; then we should not be called weaker than a woman.

  Ch. To us, unless our years have stolen our wit, thou seemest to say wisely what thou sayest.

  Hae. Father, the gods implant reason in men, the highest of all things that we call our own. Not mine the skill—far from me be the quest!—to say wherein thou speakest not aright; and yet another man, too, might have some useful thought. At least, it is my natural office to watch, on thy behalf, all that men say,690 or do, or find to blame. For the dread of thy frown forbids the citizen to speak such words as would offend thine ear; but I can hear these murmurs in the dark, these moanings of the city for this maiden; ‘no woman,’ they say, ‘ever merited her doom less,—none ever was to die so shamefully for deeds so glorious as hers; who, when her own brother had fallen in bloody strife, would not leave him unburied, to be devoured by carrion dogs, or by any bird:—deserves not she the meed of golden honour?’

  700 Such is the darkling rumour that spreads in secret. For me, my father, no treasure is so precious as thy welfare. What, indeed, is a nobler ornament for children than a prospering sire’s fair fame, or for sire than son’s? Wear not, then, one mood only in thyself; think not that thy word, and thine alone, must be right. For if any man thinks that he alone is wise,—that in speech, or in mind, he hath no peer,—such a soul, when laid open, is ever found empty.

  No, though a man be wise, ’tis no shame for him to710 learn many things, and to bend in season. Seest thou, beside the wintry torrent’s course, how the trees that yield to it save every twig, while the stiff-necked perish root and branch? And even thus he who keeps the sheet of his sail taut, and never slackens it, upsets his boat, and finishes his voyage with keel uppermost.

  Nay, forego thy wrath; permit thyself to change. For if I, a younger man, may offer my thought, it were far best, I ween, that men should be all-wise by nature;720 but, otherwise—and oft the scale inclines not so—’tis good also to learn from those who speak aright.

  Ch. Sire, ’tis meet that thou shouldest profit by his words, if he speaks aught in season, and thou, Haemon, by thy father’s; for on both parts there hath been wise speech.

  Cr. Men of my age—are we indeed to be schooled, then, by men of his?

  Hae. In nothing that is not right; but if I am young, thou shouldest look to my merits, not to my years.

  Cr. Is it a merit to honour the unruly?730

  Hae. I could wish no one to show respect for evildoers.

  Cr. Then is not she tainted with that malady?

  Hae. Our Theban folk, with one voice, denies it.

  Cr. Shall Thebes prescribe to me how I must rule?

  Hae. See, there thou hast spoken like a youth indeed.

  Cr. Am I to rule this land by other judgment than mine own?

  Hae. That is no city, which belongs to one man.

  Cr. Is not the city held to be the ruler’s?

  Hae. Thou wouldst make a good monarch of a desert.

  Cr.740 This boy, it seems, is the woman’s champion.

  Hae. If thou art a woman; indeed, my care is for thee.

  Cr. Shameless, at open feud with thy father!

  Hae. Nay, I see thee offending against justice.

  Cr. Do I offend, when I respect mine own prerogatives?

  Hae. Thou dost not respect them, when thou tramplest on the gods’ honours.

  Cr. O dastard nature, yielding place to woman!

  Hae. Thou wilt never find me yield to baseness.

  Cr. All thy words, at least, plead for that girl.

  Hae. And for thee, and for me, and for the gods below.

  Cr.750 Thou canst never marry her, on this side the grave.

  Hae. Then she must die, and in death destroy another.

  Cr. How! doth thy boldness run to open threats?

  Hae. What threat is it, to combat vain resolves?

  Cr. Thou shalt rue thy witless teaching of wisdom.

  Hae. Wert thou not my father, I would have called thee unwise.

  Cr. Thou woman’s slave, use not wheedling speech with me.

  Hae. Thou wouldest speak, and then hear no reply?

  Cr. Sayest thou so? Now, by the heaven above us—be sure of it—thou shalt smart for taunting me in this opprobrious strain. Bring forth that hated thing,760 that she may die forthwith in his presence—before his eyes—at her bridegroom’s side!

  Hae. No, not at my side—never think it—shall she perish; nor shalt thou ever set eyes more upon my face:—rave, then, with such friends as can endure thee.

  [ExitHaemon.

  Ch. The man is gone, O king, in angry haste; a youthful mind, when stung, is fierce.

  Cr. Let him do, or dream, more than man—good speed to him!—But he shall not save these two girls from their doom.

  Ch. Dost thou indeed purpose to slay both?770

  Cr. Not her whose hands are pure: thou sayest well.

  Ch. And by what doom mean’st thou to slay the other?

  Cr. I will take her where the path is loneliest, and hide her, living, in a rocky vault, with so much food set forth as piety prescribes, that the city may avoid a public stain. And there, praying to Hades, the only god whom she worships, perchance she will obtain release from death; or else will learn, at last, though late, that it is lost labour to revere the dead.780[ExitCreon.

  str.Ch. Love, unconquered in the fight, Love, who makest havoc of wealth, who keepest thy vigil on the soft cheek of a maiden; thou roamest over the sea, and among the homes of dwellers in the wilds; no immortal 790 can escape thee, nor any among men whose life is for a day; and he to whom thou hast come is mad.

  ant.The just themselves have their minds warped by thee to wrong, for their ruin: ’tis thou that hast stirred up this present strife of kinsmen; victorious is the love-kindling light from the eyes of the fair bride; it is a power enthroned in sway beside the eternal laws; for800 there the goddess Aphrodite is working her unconquerable will.

  But now I also am carried beyond the bounds of loyalty, and can no more keep back the streaming tears, when I see Antigone thus passing to the bridal chamber where all are laid to rest.

  str. 1.An. See me, citizens of my fatherland, setting forth on my last way, looking my last on the sunlight that is810 for me no more; no, Hades who gives sleep to all leads me living to Acheron’s shore; who have had no portion in the chant that brings the bride, nor hath any song been mine for the crowning of bridals; whom the lord of the Dark Lake shall wed.

  syst. 1.Ch. Glorious, therefore, and with praise, thou departest to that deep place of the dead: wasting sickness820 hath not smitten thee; thou hast not found the wages of the sword; no, mistress of thine own fate, and still alive, thou shalt pass to Hades, as no other of mortal kind hath passed.

  ant. 1.An. I have heard in other days how dread a doom befell our Phrygian guest, the daughter of Tantalus, on the Sipylian heights; how, like clinging ivy, the growth of stone subdued her; and the rains fail not, as men tell, from her wasting form, nor fails the snow, while beneath her weeping lids the tears bedew her bosom;830 and most like to hers is the fate that brings me to my rest.

  syst. 2.Ch. Yet she was a goddess, thou knowest, and born of gods; we are mortals, and of mortal race. But ’tis great renown for a woman who hath perished that she should have shared the doom of the godlike, in her life, and afterward in death.

  str. 2.An. Ah, I am mocked! In the name of our fathers’ gods, can ye not wait till I am gone,—must840 ye taunt me to my face, O my city, and ye, her wealthy sons? Ah, fount of Dircè, and thou holy ground of Thebè whose chariots are many; ye, at least, will bear me witness, in what sort, unwept of friends, and by what laws I pass to the rock-closed prison of my strange tomb, ah me unhappy! who have no home on850 the earth or in the shades, no home with the living or with the dead.

  str. 3.Ch. Thou hast rushed forward to the utmost verge of daring; and against that throne where Justice sits on high thou hast fallen, my daughter, with a grievous fall. But in this ordeal thou art paying, haply, for thy father’s sin.

  ant. 2.An. Thou hast touched on my bitterest thought,—awaking860 the ever-new lament for my sire and for all the doom given to us, the famed house of Labdacus. Alas for the horrors of the mother’s bed! alas for the wretched mother’s slumber at the side of her own son,—and my sire! From what manner of parents did I take my miserable being! And to them I go thus, accursed,870 unwed, to share their home. Alas, my brother, illstarred in thy marriage, in thy death thou hast undone my life!

  ant. 3.Ch. Reverent action claims a certain praise for reverence; but an offence against power cannot be brooked by him who hath power in his keeping. Thy self-willed temper hath wrought thy ruin.

  ep.An. Unwept, unfriended, without marriage-song, I am led forth in my sorrow on this journey that can880 be delayed no more. No longer, hapless one, may I behold yon day-star’s sacred eye; but for my fate no tear is shed, no friend makes moan.

  Cr. Know ye not that songs and wailings before death would never cease, if it profited to utter them? Away with her—away! And when ye have enclosed her, according to my word, in her vaulted grave, leave her alone, forlorn—whether she wishes to die, or to live a buried life in such a home. Our hands are clean as890 touching this maiden. But this is certain—she shall be deprived of her sojourn in the light.

  An. Tomb, bridal-chamber, eternal prison in the caverned rock, whither I go to find mine own, those many who have perished, and whom Persephone hath received among the dead! Last of all shall I pass thither, and far most miserably of all, before the term of my life is spent. But I cherish good hope that my coming will be welcome to my father, and pleasant to thee, my mother, and welcome, brother, to thee; for,900 when ye died, with mine own hands I washed and dressed you, and poured drink-offerings at your graves; and now, Polyneices, ’tis for tending thy corpse that I win such recompense as this.

  [And yet I honoured thee, as the wise will deem, rightly. Never, had I been a mother of children, or if a husband had been mouldering in death, would I have taken this task upon me in the city’s despite. What law, ye ask, is my warrant for that word? The husband lost, another might have been found, and child from another, to replace the first-born; but, father and910 mother hidden with Hades, no brother’s life could ever bloom for me again. Such was the law whereby I held thee first in honour; but Creon deemed me guilty of error therein, and of outrage, ah brother mine! And now he leads me thus, a captive in his hands; no bridal bed, no bridal song hath been mine, no joy of marriage, no portion in the nurture of children; but thus, forlorn of friends, unhappy one, I go living to the vaults of death.]920

  And what law of heaven have I transgressed? Why, hapless one, should I look to the gods any more,—what ally should I invoke,—when by piety I have earned the name of impious? Nay, then, if these things are pleasing to the gods, when I have suffered my doom, I shall come to know my sin; but if the sin is with my judges, I could wish them no fuller measure of evil than they, on their part, mete wrongfully to me.

  Ch. Still the same tempest of the soul vexes this930 maiden with the same fierce gusts.

  Cr. Then for this shall her guards have cause to rue their slowness.

  An. Ah me! that word hath come very near to death.

  Cr. I can cheer thee with no hope that this doom is not thus to be fulfilled.

  An. O city of my fathers in the land of Thebè! O ye gods, eldest of our race!—they lead me hence—now,940 now—they tarry not! Behold me, princes of Thebes, the last daughter of the house of your kings,—see what I suffer, and from whom, because I feared to cast away the fear of Heaven!

  [Antigoneis led away by the guards.

  str. 1.Ch. Even thus endured Danaë in her beauty to change the light of day for brass-bound walls; and in that chamber, secret as the grave, she was held close prisoner; yet was she of a proud lineage, O my950 daughter, and charged with the keeping of the seed of Zeus, that fell in the golden rain.

  But dreadful is the mysterious power of fate; there is no deliverance from it by wealth or by war, by fenced city, or dark, sea-beaten ships.

  ant. 1.And bonds tamed the son of Dryas, swift to wrath, that king of the Edonians; so paid he for his frenzied taunts, when, by the will of Dionysus, he was pent in a rocky prison. There the fierce exuberance of his madness slowly passed away. That man learned to960 know the god, whom in his frenzy he had provoked with mockeries; for he had sought to quell the godpossessed women, and the Bacchanalian fire; and he angered the Muses that love the flute.

  str. 2.And by the waters of the Dark Rocks, the waters of the twofold sea, are the shores of Bosporus, and Thracian Salmydessus; where Ares, neighbour to the970 city, saw the accurst, blinding wound dealt to the two sons of Phineus by his fierce wife,—the wound that brought darkness to those vengeance-craving orbs, smitten with her bloody hands, smitten with her shuttle for a dagger.

  ant. 2.Pining in their misery, they bewailed their cruel doom, those sons of a mother hapless in her marriage;980 but she traced her descent from the ancient line of the Erechtheidae; and in far-distant caves she was nursed amid her father’s storms, that child of Boreas, swift as a steed over the steep hills, a daughter of gods; yet upon her also the gray Fates bore hard, my daughter.

  EnterTeiresias,led by a Boy, on the spectators’ right.

  Te. Princes of Thebes, we have come with linked steps, both served by the eyes of one; for thus, by a990 guide’s help, the blind must walk.

  Cr. And what, aged Teiresias, are thy tidings?

  Te. I will tell thee; and do thou hearken to the seer.

  Cr. Indeed, it has not been my wont to slight thy counsel.

  Te. Therefore didst thou steer our city’s course aright.

  Cr. I have felt, and can attest, thy benefits.

  Te. Mark that now, once more, thou standest on fate’s fine edge.

  Cr. What means this? How I shudder at thy message!

  Te. Thou wilt learn, when thou hearest the warnings of mine art. As I took my place on mine old seat1000 of augury, where all birds have been wont to gather within my ken, I heard a strange voice among them; they were screaming with dire, feverish rage, that drowned their language in a jargon; and I knew that they were rending each other with their talons, murderously; the whirr of wings told no doubtful tale.

  Forthwith, in fear, I essayed burnt-sacrifice on a duly kindled altar: but from my offerings the Fire-god showed no flame; a dank moisture, oozing from the thigh-flesh, trickled forth upon the embers, and smoked,1010 and sputtered; the gall was scattered to the air; and the streaming thighs lay bared of the fat that had been wrapped round them.

  Such was the failure of the rites by which I vainly asked a sign, as from this boy I learned; for he is my guide, as I am guide to others. And ’tis thy counsel that hath brought this sickness on our State. For the altars of our city and of our hearths have been tainted, one and all, by birds and dogs, with carrion from the hapless corpse, the son of Oedipus: and therefore the gods no more accept prayer and sacrifice at our hands,1020 or the flame of meat-offering; nor doth any bird give a clear sign by its shrill cry, for they have tasted the fatness of a slain man’s blood.

  Think, then, on these things, my son. All men are liable to err; but when an error hath been made, that man is no longer witless or unblest who heals the ill into which he hath fallen, and remains not stubborn.

  Self-will, we know, incurs the charge of folly. Nay, allow the claim of the dead; stab not the fallen; what prowess is it to slay the slain anew? I have sought1030 thy good, and for thy good I speak: and never is it sweeter to learn from a good counsellor than when he counsels for thine own gain.

  Cr. Old man, ye all shoot your shafts at me, as archers at the butts;—ye must needs practise on me with seer-craft also;—aye, the seer-tribe hath long trafficked in me, and made me their merchandise. Gain your gains, drive your trade, if ye list, in the silver-gold of Sardis and the gold of India; but ye shall not hide that man in the grave,—no, though the eagles of Zeus1040 should bear the carrion morsels to their Master’s throne—no, not for dread of that defilement will I suffer his burial:—for well I know that no mortal can defile the gods.—But, aged Teiresias, the wisest fall with a shameful fall, when they clothe shameful thoughts in fair words, for lucre’s sake.

  Te. Alas! Doth any man know, doth any consider...

  Cr. Whereof? What general truth dost thou announce?

  Te.1050 How precious, above all wealth, is good counsel.

  Cr. As folly, I think, is the worst mischief.

  Te. Yet thou art tainted with that distemper.

  Cr. I would not answer the seer with a taunt.

  Te. But thou dost, in saying that I prophesy falsely.

  Cr. Well, the prophet-tribe was ever fond of money.

  Te. And the race bred of tyrants loves base gain.

  Cr. Knowest thou that thy speech is spoken of thy king?

  Te. I know it; for through me thou hast saved Thebes.

  Cr. Thou art a wise seer; but thou lovest evil deeds.

  Te.1060 Thou wilt rouse me to utter the dread secret in my soul.

  Cr. Out with it!—Only speak it not for gain.

  Te. Indeed, methinks, I shall not,—as touching thee.

  Cr. Know that thou shalt not trade on my resolve.

  Te. Then know thou—aye, know it well—that thou shalt not live through many more courses of the sun’s swift chariot, ere one begotten of thine own loins shall have been given by thee, a corpse for corpses; because thou hast thrust children of the sunlight to the shades,1070 and ruthlessly lodged a living soul in the grave; but keepest in this world one who belongs to the gods infernal, a corpse unburied, unhonoured, all unhallowed. In such thou hast no part, nor have the gods above, but this is a violence done to them by thee. Therefore the avenging destroyers lie in wait for thee, the Furies of Hades and of the gods, that thou mayest be taken in these same ills.

  And mark well if I speak these things as a hireling. A time not long to be delayed shall awaken the wailing of men and of women in thy house. And a tumult of hatred against thee stirs all the cities whose mangled1080 sons had the burial-rite from dogs, or from wild beasts, or from some winged bird that bore a polluting breath to each city that contains the hearths of the dead.

  Such arrows for thy heart—since thou provokest me—have I launched at thee, archer-like, in my anger,—sure arrows, of which thou shalt not escape the smart.—Boy, lead me home, that he may spend his rage on younger men, and learn to keep a tongue more temperate, and to bear within his breast a better mind than1090 now he bears. [ExitTeiresias.

  Ch. The man hath gone, O king, with dread prophecies. And, since the hair on this head, once dark, hath been white, I know that he hath never been a false prophet to our city.

  Cr. I, too, know it well, and am troubled in soul. ’Tis dire to yield; but, by resistance, to smite my pride with ruin—this, too, is a dire choice.

  Ch. Son of Menoeceus, it behoves thee to take wise counsel.

  Cr. What should I do, then? Speak, and I will obey.

  Ch. Go thou, and free the maiden from her rocky1100 chamber, and make a tomb for the unburied dead.

  Cr. And this is thy counsel? Thou wouldst have me yield?

  Ch. Yea, King, and with all speed; for swift harms from the gods cut short the folly of men.

  Cr. Ah me, ’tis hard, but I resign my cherished resolve,—I obey. We must not wage a vain war with destiny.

  Ch. Go, thou, and do these things; leave them not to others.

  Cr. Even as I am I’ll go:—on, on, my servants, each and all of you,—take axes in your hands, and1110 hasten to the ground that ye see yonder! Since our judgment hath taken this turn, I will be present to unloose her, as I myself bound her. My heart misgives me, ’tis best to keep the established laws, even to life’s end.

  str. 1.Ch. O thou of many names, glory of the Cadmeian bride, offspring of loud-thundering Zeus! thou who watchest over famed Italia, and reignest, where all guests1120 are welcomed, in the sheltered plain of Eleusinian Deô! O Bacchus, dweller in Thebè, mother-city of Bacchants, by the softly-gliding stream of Ismenus, on the soil where the fierce dragon’s teeth were sown!

  ant. 1.Thou hast been seen where torch-flames glare through smoke, above the crests of the twin peaks, where move1130 the Corycian nymphs, thy votaries, hard by Castalia’s stream.

  Thou cornest from the ivy-mantled slopes of Nysa’s hills, and from the shore green with many-clustered vines, while thy name is lifted up on strains of more than mortal power, as thou visitest the ways of Thebè:

  str. 2.Thebè, of all cities, thou holdest first in honour, thou, and thy mother whom the lightning smote; and now, when all our people is captive to a violent plague,1140 come thou with healing feet over the Parnassian height, or over the moaning strait!

  ant. 2.O thou with whom the stars rejoice as they move, the stars whose breath is fire; O master of the voices of the night; son begotten of Zeus; appear, O king, with thine attendant Thyiads, who in night-long frenzy1150 dance before thee, the giver of good gifts, Iacchus!

  EnterMessenger,on the spectators’ left hand.

  Me. Dwellers by the house of Cadmus and of Amphion, there is no estate of mortal life that I would ever praise or blame as settled. Fortune raises and Fortune humbles the lucky or unlucky from day to day, and no one can prophesy to men concerning those things1160 which are established. For Creon was blest once, as I count bliss; he had saved this land of Cadmus from its foes; he was clothed with sole dominion in the land; he reigned, the glorious sire of princely children. And now all hath been lost. For when a man hath forfeited his pleasures, I count him not as living,—I hold him but a breathing corpse. Heap up riches in thy house, if thou wilt; live in kingly state; yet, if there be no gladness therewith, I would not give the shadow of a1170 vapour for all the rest, compared with joy.

  Ch. And what is this new grief that thou hast to tell for our princes?

  Me. Death; and the living are guilty for the dead.

  Ch. And who is the slayer? Who the stricken? Speak.

  Me. Haemon hath perished; his blood hath been shed by no stranger.

  Ch. By his father’s hand, or by his own?

  Me. By his own, in wrath with his sire for the murder.

  Ch. O prophet, how true, then, hast thou proved thy word!

  Me. These things stand thus; ye must consider of the rest.

  Ch.1180 Lo, I see the hapless Eurydicè, Creon’s wife, approaching; she comes from the house by chance, haply,—or because she knows the tidings of her son.

  EnterEurydicè.

  Eu. People of Thebes, I heard your words as I was going forth, to salute the goddess Pallas with my prayers. Even as I was loosing the fastenings of the gate, to open it, the message of a household woe smote on mine ear: I sank back, terror-stricken, into1190 the arms of my handmaids, and my senses fled. But say again what the tidings were; I shall hear them as one who is no stranger to sorrow.

  Me. Dear lady, I will witness of what I saw, and will leave no word of the truth untold. Why, indeed, should I soothe thee with words in which I must presently be found false? Truth is ever best.—I attended thy lord as his guide to the furthest part of the plain, where the body of Polyneices, torn by dogs, still lay unpitied. We prayed the goddess of the roads, and Pluto, in mercy to restrain their wrath; we washed the1200 dead with holy washing; and with freshly-plucked boughs we solemnly burned such relics as there were. We raised a high mound of his native earth; and then we turned away to enter the maiden’s nuptial chamber with rocky couch, the caverned mansion of the bride of Death. And, from afar off, one of us heard a voice of loud wailing at that bride’s unhallowed bower; and came to tell our master Creon.

  And as the king drew nearer, doubtful sounds of1210 a bitter cry floated around him; he groaned, and said in accents of anguish, ‘Wretched that I am, can my foreboding be true? Am I going on the wofullest way that ever I went? My son’s voice greets me.—Go, my servants,—haste ye nearer, and when ye have reached the tomb, pass through the gap, where the stones have been wrenched away, to the cell’s very mouth,—and look, and see if ’tis Haemon’s voice that I know, or if mine ear is cheated by the gods.’

  This search, at our despairing master’s word, we went to make; and in the furthest part of the tomb1220 we descried her hanging by the neck, slung by a thread-wrought halter of fine linen; while he was embracing her with arms thrown around her waist,—bewailing the loss of his bride who is with the dead, and his father’s deeds, and his own ill-starred love.

  But his father, when he saw him, cried aloud with a dread cry, and went in, and called to him with a voice of wailing:—‘Unhappy, what a deed hast thou done! What thought hath come to thee? What manner of1230 mischance hath marred thy reason? Come forth, my child! I pray thee—I implore!’ But the boy glared at him with fierce eyes, spat in his face, and, without a word of answer, drew his cross-hilted sword:—as his father rushed forth in flight, he missed his aim;—then, hapless one, wroth with himself, he straightway leaned with all his weight against his sword, and drove it, half its length, into his side; and, while sense lingered, he clasped the maiden to his faint embrace, and, as he gasped, sent forth on her pale cheek the swift stream of the oozing blood.

  1240 Corpse enfolding corpse he lies; he hath won his nuptial rites, poor youth, not here, yet in the halls of Death; and he hath witnessed to mankind that, of all curses which cleave to man, ill counsel is the sovereign curse. [Eurydicèretires into the house.

  Ch. What wouldst thou augur from this? The lady hath turned back, and is gone, without a word, good or evil.

  Me. I, too, am startled; yet I nourish the hope that, at these sore tidings of her son, she cannot deign to give her sorrow public vent, but in the privacy of the house will set her handmaids to mourn the household1250 grief. For she is not untaught of discretion, that she should err.

  Ch. I know not; but to me, at least, a strained silence seems to portend peril, no less than vain abundance of lament.

  Me. Well, I will enter the house, and learn whether indeed she is not hiding some repressed purpose in the depths of a passionate heart. Yea, thou sayest well: excess of silence, too, may have a perilous meaning.

  [ExitMessenger.

  EnterCreon,on the spectators’ left, with attendants, carrying the shrouded body ofHaemonon a bier.

  Ch. Lo, yonder the king himself draws near, bearing that which tells too clear a tale,—the work of no stranger’s madness,—if we may say it,—but of his own1260 misdeeds.

  str. 1.Cr. Woe for the sins of a darkened soul, stubborn sins, fraught with death! Ah, ye behold us, the sire who hath slain, the son who hath perished! Woe is me, for the wretched blindness of my counsels! Alas, my son, thou hast died in thy youth, by a timeless doom, woe is me!—thy spirit hath fled,—not by thy folly, but by mine own!

  str. 2.Ch. Ah me, how all too late thou seemest to see the right!1270

  Cr. Ah me, I have learned the bitter lesson! But then, methinks, oh then, some god smote me from above with crushing weight, and hurled me into ways of cruelty, woe is me,—overthrowing and trampling on my joy! Woe, woe, for the troublous toils of men!

  EnterMessengerfrom the house.

  Me. Sire, thou hast come, methinks, as one whose hands are not empty, but who hath store laid up besides; thou bearest yonder burden with thee; and thou1280 art soon to look upon the woes within thy house.

  Cr. And what worse ill is yet to follow upon ills?

  Me. Thy queen hath died, true mother of yon corpse—ah, hapless lady!—by blows newly dealt.

  ant. 1.Cr. Oh Hades, all-receiving, whom no sacrifice can appease! Hast thou, then, no mercy for me? O thou herald of evil, bitter tidings, what word dost thou utter? Alas, I was already as dead, and thou hast smitten me anew! What sayest thou, my son? What is this new1290 message that thou bringest—woe, woe is me!—of a wife’s doom,—of slaughter heaped on slaughter?

  Ch. Thou canst behold: ’tis no longer hidden within.

  [The doors of the palace are opened, and the corpse ofEurydicèis disclosed.

  ant. 2.Cr. Ah me,—yonder I behold a new, a second woe! What destiny, ah what, can yet await me? I have but now raised my son in my arms,—and there, again, I see1300 a corpse before me! Alas, alas, unhappy mother! Alas, my child!

  Me. There, at the altar, self-stabbed with a keen knife, she suffered her darkening eyes to close, when she had wailed for the noble fate of Megareus who died before, and then for his fate who lies there,—and when, with her last breath, she had invoked evil fortunes upon thee, the slayer of thy sons.

  str. 3.Cr. Woe, woe! I thrill with dread. Is there none to strike me to the heart with two-edged sword?—O miserable that I am, and steeped in miserable anguish!1310

  Me. Yea, both this son’s doom, and that other’s, were laid to thy charge by her whose corpse thou seest.

  Cr. And what was the manner of the violent deed by which she passed away?

  Me. Her own hand struck her to the heart, when she had learned her son’s sorely lamented fate.

  str. 4.Cr. Ah me, this guilt can never be fixed on any other of mortal kind, for my acquittal! I, even I, was thy slayer, wretched that I am—I own the truth. Lead1320 me away, O my servants, lead me hence with all speed, whose life is but as death!

  Ch. Thy counsels are good, if there can be good with ills; briefest is best, when trouble is in our path.

  ant. 3.Cr. Oh, let it come, let it appear, that fairest of fates for me, that brings my last day,—aye, best fate1330 of all! Oh, let it come, that I may never look upon to-morrow’s light.

  Ch. These things are in the future; present tasks claim our care: the ordering of the future rests where it should rest.

  Cr. All my desires, at least, were summed in that prayer.

  Ch. Pray thou no more; for mortals have no escape from destined woe.

  ant. 4.Cr. Lead me away, I pray you; a rash, foolish1340 man; who have slain thee, ah my son, unwittingly, and thee, too, my wife—unhappy that I am! I know not which way I should bend my gaze, or where I should seek support; for all is amiss with that which is in my hands,—and yonder, again, a crushing fate hath leapt upon my head.

  [AsCreonis being conducted into the house, the Coryphaeus speaks the closing verses.

  Ch. Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness; and reverence towards the gods must be inviolate. Great1350 words of prideful men are ever punished with great blows, and, in old age, teach the chastened to be wise.

• Back to Top

  6: 6. Thucydides, The History Part 1

  The first part of Thucydides’ history of the Peloponnesian Wars.

  Thucydides, The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury; Now First Collected and Edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart., (London: Bohn, 1839-45). 11 vols. Vol. 8.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/771 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  

  ADVERTISEMENT.

  The merit of Hobbes’ translation of Thucydides lies principally in the simplicity and force of the language: bearing in that respect some affinity to the original. Viewed merely as a translation, it will be found to contain, owing partly to the corrupt state of the Greek text of his day, partly to his habitual disregard of minute details so that accuracy were attained in essentials, manifold errors and omissions. As these defects disfigure the narrative, and sometimes perplex the reader, it has been considered worth while to attempt, by short notes, something towards their removal: without however affecting to offer a translation either critically correct or even free from many errors. In the performance of this task the interpretations of Goeller, Arnold, Thirlwall and others, have been followed wheresoever they were available: where such help failed, the editor had to rely on his own imperfect resources.

  To render the work more useful to the English reader and those not deeply versed in Grecian history, some historical notes have been added, drawn for the most part in substance from Mueller’s history of the Dorians, Hermann’s Grecian Antiquities, Thirlwall’s history of Greece, Niebuhr’s history of Rome, &c. Wheresoever Aristotle is cited, his Politics will be understood to be the work referred to.

  Several phrases having been marked by Hobbes himself with square brackets, to designate them as interpolations, the same marks have been added for the same purpose to other words and passages.

  Those corrections of the Greek text by Bekker and others only have been noticed, which serve to explain the cause of Hobbes’ departure in those instances from the right interpretation.

  It has been considered useless to reprint the maps belonging to the original edition, and referred to in the Epistle to the Reader. These were unavoidably rude and imperfect, and have been long superseded both by the more general maps to be found in any modern Atlas, and the numerous maps and plans which have been published of late years for the particular illustration of this history. It has however been thought useful to append Goeller’s map of the siege of Syracuse, which is accessible only in his edition of the text.

  E. G.

  TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR WILLIAM CAVENDISH, knight of the bath, baron of hardwick, and earl of devonshire.

  Right Honourable, I take confidence from your Lordship’s goodness in the very entrance of this Epistle, to profess, with simplicity and according to the faith I owe my master now in heaven, that it is not unto yourself, but to your Lordship’s father that I dedicate this my labour, such as it is. For neither am I at liberty to make choice of one to whom I may present it as a voluntary oblation; being bound in duty to bring it in as an account to him, by whose indulgence I had both the time and ammunition to perform it. Nor if such obligation were removed, know I any to whom I ought to dedicate it rather. For by the experience of many years I had the honour to serve him, I know this: there was not any, who more really, and less for glory’s sake favoured those that studied the liberal arts liberally, than my Lord your father did; nor in whose house a man should less need the university than in his. For his own study, it was bestowed, for the most part, in that kind of learning which best deserveth the pains and hours of great persons, history and civil knowledge: and directed not to the ostentation of his reading, but to the government of his life and the public good. For he read, so that the learning he took in by study, by judgment he digested, and converted into wisdom and ability to benefit his country: to which also he applied himself with zeal, but such as took no fire either from faction or ambition. And as he was a most able man, for soundness of advice and clear expression of himself, in matters of difficulty and consequence, both in public and private: so also was he one whom no man was able either to draw or justle out of the straight path of justice. Of which virtue, I know not whether he deserved more by his severity in imposing it (as he did to his last breath) on himself, or by his magnanimity in not exacting it to himself from others. No man better discerned of men: and therefore was he constant in his friendships, because he regarded not the fortune nor adherence, but the men; with whom also he conversed with an openness of heart that had no other guard than his own integrity and that nil conscire. To his equals he carried himself equally, and to his inferiors familiarly; but maintaining his respect fully, and only with the native splendour of his worth. In sum, he was one in whom might plainly be perceived, that honour and honesty are but the same thing in the different degrees of persons. To him therefore, and to the memory of his worth, be consecrated this, though unworthy, offering.

  And now, imitating in this civil worship the religious worship of the gentiles; who, when they dedicated any thing to their gods, brought and presented the same to their images: I bring and present this gift of mine, the history of thucydides, translated into English with much more diligence than elegance, to your Lordship; who are the image of your father, (for never was a man more exactly copied out than he in you), and who have in you the seeds of his virtues already springing up: humbly intreating your Lordship to esteem it amongst the goods that descend upon you, and in your due time to read it. I could recommend the author unto you, not impertinently, for that he had in his veins the blood of kings; but I choose rather to recommend him for his writings, as having in them profitable instruction for noblemen, and such as may come to have the managing of great and weighty actions. For I may confidently say, that notwithstanding the excellent both examples and precepts of heroic virtue you have at home, this book will confer not a little to your institution; especially when you come to the years to frame your life by your own observation. For in history, actions of honour and dishonour do appear plainly and distinctly, which are which; but in the present age they are so disguised, that few there be, and those very careful, that be not grossly mistaken in them. But this, I doubt not, is superfluously spoken by me to your Lordship. Therefore I end with this prayer: that it will please God to give you virtues suitable to the fair dwelling he hath prepared for them, and the happiness that such virtues lead unto both in and after this world.

  Your Lordship’s most humble servant,

  Tho: Hobbes.

  TO THE READERS.

  Though this translation have already past the censure of some, whose judgments I very much esteem: yet because there is something, I know not what, in the censure of a multitude, more terrible than any single judgment, how severe or exact soever, I have thought it discretion in all men, that have to do with so many, and to me, in my want of perfection, necessary, to bespeak your candour. Which that I may upon the better reason hope for, I am willing to acquaint you briefly, upon what grounds I undertook this work at first; and have since, by publishing it, put myself upon the hazard of your censure, with so small hope of glory as from a thing of this nature can be expected. For I know, that mere translations have in them this property: that they may much disgrace, if not well done; but if well, not much commend the doer.

  It hath been noted by divers, that Homer in poesy, Aristotle in philosophy, Demosthenes in eloquence, and others of the ancients in other knowledge, do still maintain their primacy: none of them exceeded, some not approached, by any in these later ages. And in the number of these is justly ranked also our Thucydides; a workman no less perfect in his work, than any of the former; and in whom (I believe with many others) the faculty of writing history is at the highest. For the principal and proper work of history being to instruct and enable men, by the knowledge of actions past, to bear themselves prudently in the present and providently towards the future: there is not extant any other (merely human) that doth more naturally and fully perform it, than this of my author. It is true, that there be many excellent and profitable histories written since: and in some of them there be inserted very wise discourses, both of manners and policy. But being discourses inserted, and not of the contexture of the narration, they indeed commend the knowledge of the writer, but not the history itself: the nature whereof is merely narrative. In others, there be subtle conjectures at the secret aims and inward cogitations of such as fall under their pen; which is also none of the least virtues in a history, where conjecture is thoroughly grounded, not forced to serve the purpose of the writer in adorning his style, or manifesting his subtlety in conjecturing. But these conjectures cannot often be certain, unless withal so evident, that the narration itself may be sufficient to suggest the same also to the reader. But Thucydides is one, who, though he never digress to read a lecture, moral or political, upon his own text, nor enter into men’s hearts further than the acts themselves evidently guide him: is yet accounted the most politic historiographer that ever writ. The reason whereof I take to be this. He filleth his narrations with that choice of matter, and ordereth them with that judgment, and with such perspicuity and efficacy expresseth himself, that, as Plutarch saith, he maketh his auditor a spectator. For he setteth his reader in the assemblies of the people and in the senate, at their debating; in the streets, at their seditions; and in the field, at their battles. So that look how much a man of understanding might have added to his experience, if he had then lived a beholder of their proceedings, and familiar with the men and business of the time: so much almost may he profit now, by attentive reading of the same here written. He may from the narrations draw out lessons to himself, and of himself be able to trace the drifts and counsels of the actors to their seat.

  These virtues of my author did so take my affection, that they begat in me a desire to communicate him further: which was the first occasion that moved me to translate him. For it is an error we easily fall into, to believe that whatsoever pleaseth us, will be in like manner and degree acceptable to all: and to esteem of one another’s judgment, as we agree in the liking or dislike of the same things. And in this error peradventure was I, when I thought, that as many of the more judicious as I should communicate him to, would affect him as much as I myself did. I considered also, that he was exceedingly esteemed of the Italians and French in their own tongues: notwithstanding that he be not very much beholden for it to his interpreters. Of whom (to speak no more than becomes a candidate of your good opinion in the same kind) I may say this: that whereas the author himself so carrieth with him his own light throughout, that the reader may continually see his way before him, and by that which goeth before expect what is to follow; I found it not so in them. The cause whereof, and their excuse, may be this: they followed the Latin of Laurentius Valla, which was not without some errors; and he a Greek copy not so correct as now is extant. Out of French he was done into English (for I need not dissemble to have seen him in English) in the time of King Edward the Sixth: but so, as by multiplication of error he became at length traduced, rather than translated into our language. Hereupon I resolved to take him immediately from the Greek, according to the edition of Æmilius Porta: not refusing or neglecting any version, comment, or other help I could come by. Knowing that when with diligence and leisure I should have done it, though some error might remain, yet they would be errors but of one descent; of which nevertheless I can discover none, and hope they be not many. After I had finished it, it lay long by me: and other reasons taking plaee, my desire to communicate it ceased.

  For I saw that, for the greatest part, men came to the reading of history with an affection much like that of the people in Rome: who came to the spectacle of the gladiators with more delight to behold their blood, than their skill in fencing. For they be far more in number, that love to read of great armies, bloody battles, and many thousands slain at once, than that mind the art by which the affairs both of armies and cities be conducted to their ends. I observed likewise, that there were not many whose ears were well accustomed to the names of the places they shall meet with in this history; without the knowledge whereof it can neither patiently be read over, perfectly understood, nor easily remembered: especially being many, as here it falleth out. Because in that age almost every city both in Greece and Sicily, the two main scenes of this war, was a distinct commonwealth by itself, and a party in the quarrel.

  Nevertheless I have thought since, that the former of these considerations ought not to be of any weight at all, to him that can content himself with the few and better sort of readers: who, as they only judge, so is their approbation only considerable. And for the difficulty arising from the ignorance of places, I thought it not so insuperable, but that with convenient pictures of the countries it might be removed. To which purpose, I saw there would be necessary especially two: a general map of Greece, and a general map of Sicily. The latter of these I found already extant, exactly done by Philip Cluverius; which I have caused to be cut, and you have it at the beginning of the sixth book. But for maps of Greece, sufficient for this purpose, I could light on none. For neither are the tables of Ptolomy, and descriptions of those that follow him, accommodate to the time of Thucydides; and therefore few of the places by him mentioned, therein described: nor are those that be, agreeing always with the truth of history. Wherefore I was constrained to draw one as well as I could myself. Which to do, I was to rely for the main figure of the country on the modern description now in reputation: and in that, to set down those places especially (as many as the volume was capable of) which occur in the reading of this author, and to assign them that situation, which, by travel in Strabo, Pausanias, Herodotus, and some other good authors, I saw belonged unto them. And to shew you that I have not played the mountebank in it, putting down exactly some few of the principal, and the rest at adventure, without care and without reason, I have joined with the map an index, that pointeth to the authors which will justify me where I differ from others. With these maps, and those few brief notes in the margin upon such passages as I thought most required them, I supposed the history might be read with very much benefit by all men of good judgment and education, (for whom also it was intended from the beginning by Thucydides), and have therefore at length made my labour public, not without hope to have it accepted. Which if I obtain, though no otherwise than in virtue of the author’s excellent matter, it is sufficient.

  OF THE LIFE AND HISTORY of THUCYDIDES.

  We read of divers men that bear the name of Thucydides. There is Thucydides a Pharsalian, mentioned in the eighth book of this history; who was public host of the Athenians in Pharsalus, and chancing to be at Athens at the time that the government of the four hundred began to go down, by his interposition and persuasion kept asunder the factions then arming themselves, that they fought not in the city to the ruin of the commonwealth. There is Thucydides the son of Milesias, an Athenian, of the town of Alope, of whom Plutarch speaketh in the life of Pericles; and the same, in all probability, that in the first book of this history is said to have had the charge of forty galleys sent against Samos, about twenty–four years before the beginning of this war. Another Thucydides the son of Ariston, an Athenian also, of the town of Acherdus, was a poet; though of his verses there be nothing extant. But Thucydides the writer of this history, an Athenian, of the town of Halimus, was the son of Olorus (or Orolus) and Hegesypele. His father’s name is commonly written Olorus, though in the inscription on his tomb it was Orolus. Howsoever it be written, it is the same that was borne by divers of the kings of Thrace; and imposed on him with respect unto his descent from them. So that though our author (as Cicero saith of him, lib. ii. De Oratore,) had never written an history, yet had not his name not been extant, in regard of his honour and nobility. And not only Plutarch, in the life of Cimon, but also almost all others that have touched this point, affirm directly that he was descended from the Thracian kings: adducing this for proof, that he was of the house of Miltiades, that famous general of the Athenians against the Persians at Marathon; which they also prove by this, that his tomb was a long time extant amongst the monuments of that family. For near unto the gates of Athens, called Melitides, there was a place named Coela; and in it the monuments called Cimoniana, belonging to the family of Miltiades, in which none but such as were of that family might be buried. And amongst those was the monument of Thucydides; with this inscription, Thucydides Oroli Halimusius. Now Miltiades is confessed by all, to have descended from Olorus king of Thrace; whose daughter another Miltiades, grandfather to this, married and had children by. And Miltiades, that won the memorable victory at Marathon, was heir to goodly possessions and cities in the Chersonnesus of Thrace; over which also he reigned. In Thrace lay also the possessions of Thucydides, and his wealthy mines of gold: as he himself professeth in his fourth book. And although those riches might come to him by a wife (as is also by some affirmed) which he married in Scapte–Hyle, a city of Thrace; yet even by that marriage it appeareth, that his affairs had a relation to that country, and that his nobility was not there unknown. But in what degree of kindred Miltiades and he approached each other, is not anywhere made manifest. Some also have conjectured that he was of the house of the Peisistratides: the ground of whose conjecture hath been only this, that he maketh honourable mention of the government of Peisistratus and his sons, and extenuateth the glory of Harmodius and Aristogeiton; proving that the freeing of the state of Athens from the tyranny of the Peisistratides was falsely ascribed to their fact, (which proceeded from private revenge in a quarrel of love), by which the tyranny ceased not, but grew heavier to the state, till it was at last put down by the Lacedæmonians. But this opinion, as it is not so well–grounded, so neither is it so well received as the former.

  Agreeable to his nobility, was his institution in the study of eloquence and philosophy. For in philosophy, he was the scholar (as also was Pericles and Socrates) of Anaxagoras; whose opinions, being of a strain above the apprehension of the vulgar, procured him the estimation of an atheist: which name they bestowed upon all men that thought not as they did of their ridiculous religion, and in the end cost him his life. And Socrates after him for the like causes underwent the like fortune. It is not therefore much to be regarded, if this other disciple of his were by some reputed an atheist too. For though he were none, yet it is not improbable, but by the light of natural reason he might see enough in the religion of these heathen, to make him think it vain and superstitious; which was enough to make him an atheist in the opinion of the people. In some places of his history he noteth the equivocation of the oracles; and yet he confirmeth an assertion of his own, touching the time this war lasted, by the oracle’s prediction. He taxeth Nicias for being too punctual in the observation of the ceremonies of their religion, when he overthrew himself and his army, and indeed the whole dominion and liberty of his country, by it. Yet he commendeth him in another place for his worshipping of the gods1 , and saith in that respect, he least of all men deserved to come to so great a degree of calamity as he did. So that in his writings our author appeareth to be, on the one side not superstitious, on the other side not an atheist.

  In rhetoric, he was the disciple of Antiphon; one (by his description in the eighth book of this history) for power of speech almost a miracle, and feared by the people for his eloquence. Insomuch as in his latter days he lived retired, but so as he gave counsel to, and writ orations for other men that resorted to him to that purpose. It was he that contrived the deposing of the people, and the setting up of the government of the four hundred. For which also he was put to death, when the people again recovered their authority, notwithstanding that he pleaded his own cause the best of any man to that day.

  It need not be doubted, but from such a master Thucydides was sufficiently qualified to have become a great demagogue, and of great authority with the people. But it seemeth he had no desire at all to meddle in the government: because in those days it was impossible for any man to give good and profitable counsel for the commonwealth, and not incur the displeasure of the people. For their opinion was such of their own power, and of the facility of achieving whatsoever action they undertook, that such men only swayed the assemblies, and were esteemed wise and good commonwealth’s men, as did put them upon the most dangerous and desperate enterprizes. Whereas he that gave them temperate and discreet advice, was thought a coward, or not to understand, or else to malign their power. And no marvel: for much prosperity (to which they had now for many years been accustomed) maketh men in love with themselves; and it is hard for any man to love that counsel which maketh him love himself the less. And it holdeth much more in a multitude, than in one man. For a man that reasoneth with himself, will not be ashamed to admit of timorous suggestions in his business, that he may the stronglier provide; but in public deliberations before a multitude, fear (which for the most part adviseth well, though it execute not so) seldom or never sheweth itself or is admitted. By this means it came to pass amongst the Athenians, who thought they were able to do anything, that wicked men and flatterers drave them headlong into those actions that were to ruin them; and the good men either durst not oppose, or if they did, undid themselves. Thucydides therefore, that he might not be either of them that committed or of them that suffered the evil, forbore to come into the assemblies; and propounded to himself a private life, as far as the eminency of so wealthy a person, and the writing of the history he had undertaken, would permit.

  For his opinion touching the government of the state, it is manifest that he least of all liked the democracy. And upon divers occasions he noteth the emulation and contention of the demagogues for reputation and glory of wit; with their crossing of each other’s counsels, to the damage of the public; the inconsistency of resolutions, caused by the diversity of ends and power of rhetoric in the orators; and the desperate actions undertaken upon the flattering advice of such as desired to attain, or to hold what they had attained, of authority and sway amongst the common people. Nor doth it appear that he magnifieth anywhere the authority of the few: amongst whom, he saith, every one desireth to be the chief; and they that are undervalued, bear it with less patience than in a democracy; whereupon sedition followeth, and dissolution of the government. He praiseth the government of Athens, when it was mixed of the few and the many; but more he commendeth it, both when Peisistratus reigned, (saving that it was an usurped power), and when in the beginning of this war it was democratical in name, but in effect monarchical under Pericles. So that it seemeth, that as he was of regal descent, so he best approved of the regal government. It is therefore no marvel, if he meddled as little as he could in the business of the commonwealth; but gave himself rather to the observation and recording of what was done by those that had the managing thereof. Which also he was no less prompt, diligent, and faithful by the disposition of his mind, than by his fortune, dignity, and wisdom able, to accomplish. How he was disposed to a work of this nature, may be understood by this: that when being a young man he heard Herodotus the historiographer reciting his history in public, (for such was the fashion both of that, and many ages after), he felt so great a sting of emulation, that it drew tears from him: insomuch as Herodotus himself took notice how violently his mind was set on letters, and told his father Olorus1 . When the Peloponnesian war began to break out, he conjectured truly that it would prove an argument worthy of his labour: and no sooner it began, than he began his history; pursuing the same not in that perfect manner in which we see it now, but by way of commentary or plain register of the actions and passages thereof, as from time to time they fell out and came to his knowledge. But such a commentary it was, as might perhaps deserve to be preferred before a history written by another. For it is very probable that the eighth book is left the same as it was when he first writ it: neither beautified with orations, nor so well cemented at the transitions, as the former seven books are1 . And though he began to write as soon as ever the war was on foot; yet began he not to perfect and polish his history, till after he was banished.

  For notwithstanding his retired life upon the coast of Thrace, where his own possessions lay, he could not avoid a service to the state which proved to him afterwards very unfortunate. For whilst he resided in the isle Thasos, it fell out that Brasidas the Lacedæmonian besieged Amphipolis; a city belonging to the Athenians, on the confines of Thrace and Macedonia, distant from Thasos about half a day’s sail. To relieve which, the captain thereof for the Athenians sent to Thucydides, to levy a power and make haste unto him: for Thucydides was one of the Strategi, that is, had authority to raise forces in those parts for the service of the commonwealth2 . And he did accordingly; but he came thither one night too late, and found the city already yielded up. And for this he was afterwards banished; as if he had let slip his time through negligence, or purposely put it off upon fear of the enemy. Nevertheless he put himself into the city of Eion, and preserved it to the Athenians with the repulse of Brasidas; which came down from Amphipolis the next morning, and assaulted it. The author of his banishment is supposed to have been Cleon; a most violent sycophant in those times, and thereby also a most acceptable speaker amongst the people. For where affairs succeed amiss, though there want neither providence nor courage in the conduction; yet with those that judge only upon events, the way to calumny is always open, and envy, in the likeness of zeal to the public good, easily findeth credit for an accusation.

  After his banishment he lived in Scapte–Hyle, a city of Thrace before mentioned, as Plutarch writeth; but yet so, as he went abroad, and was present at the actions of the rest of the war; as appeareth by his own words in his fifth book, where he saith, that he was present at the actions of both parts, and no less at those of the Peloponnesians, by reason of his exile, than those of the Athenians. During this time also he perfected his history, so far as is now to be seen; nor doth it appear that after his exile he ever again enjoyed his country. It is not clear in any author, where, or when, or in what year of his own age he died. Most agree that he died in banishment: yet there be that have written, that after the defeat in Sicily the Athenians decreed a general revocation of all banished persons, except those of the family of Peisistratus; and that he then returned, and was afterwards put to death at Athens. But this is very unlikely to be true, unless by after the defeat in Sicily, be meant so long after, that it was also after the end of the Peloponnesian war; because Thucydides himself maketh no mention of such return, though he outlived the whole war, as is manifest by his words in the fifth book. For he saith he lived in banishment twenty years after his charge at Amphipolis; which happened in the eighth year of this war: which, in the whole, lasted but twenty–seven years complete. And in another place he maketh mention of the razing of the long walls between Peiræus and the city; which was the last stroke of this war. They that say he died at Athens, take their conjecture from his monument which was there. But this is not a sufficient argument; for he might be buried there secretly, (as some have written he was), though he died abroad: or his monument might be there, and (as others have affirmed) he not buried in it. In this variety of conjecture, there is nothing more probable than that which is written by Pausanias, where he describeth the monuments of the Athenian city; and saith thus: “The worthy act of Œnobius in the behalf of Thucydides, is not without honour”: meaning that he had a statue. “For Œnobius obtained to have a decree passed for his return; who returning was slain by treachery; and his sepulchre is near the gates called Melitides.” He died, as saith Marcellinus, after the seven and fiftieth year of his age. And if it be true that is written by A. Gellius, of the ages of Hellanicus, Herodotus, and Thucydides, then died he not before the sixty–eighth year. For if he were forty when the war began, and lived (as he did certainly) to see it ended, he might be more when he died, but not less than sixty–eight years of age. What children he left, is not manifest. Plato in Menone, maketh mention of Milesias and Stephanus, sons of a Thucydides of a very noble family; but it is clear they were of Thucydides the rival of Pericles, both by the name Milesias, and because this Thucydides also was of the family of Miltiades, as Plutarch testifieth in the life of Cimon. That he had a son, is affirmed by Marcellinus out of the authority of Polemon; but of his name there is no mention, save that a learned man readeth there in the place of θεο .... (which is in the imperfect copy), Timotheus. Thus much of the person of Thucydides.

  Now for his writings, two things are to be considered in them: truth and elocution. For in truth consisteth the soul, and in elocution the body of history. The latter without the former, is but a picture of history; and the former without the latter, unapt to instruct. But let us see how our author hath acquitted himself in both. For the faith of this history, I shall have the less to say: in respect that no man hath ever yet called it into question. Nor indeed could any man justly doubt of the truth of that writer, in whom they had nothing at all to suspect of those things that could have caused him either voluntarily to lie, or ignorantly to deliver an untruth. He overtasked not himself by undertaking an history of things done long before his time, and of which he was not able to inform himself. He was a man that had as much means, in regard both of his dignity and wealth, to find the truth of what he relateth, as was needful for a man to have. He used as much diligence in search of the truth, (noting every thing whilst it was fresh in memory, and laying out his wealth upon intelligence), as was possible for a man to use. He affected least of any man the acclamations of popular auditories, and wrote not his history to win present applause, as was the use of that age: but for a monument to instruct the ages to come; which he professeth himself, and entitleth his book ΚΤΗΜΑ ΕΣ ΑΕΙ, a possession for everlasting. He was far from the necessity of servile writers, either to fear or flatter. And whereas he may peradventure be thought to have been malevolent towards his country, because they deserved to have him so; yet hath he not written any thing that discovereth such passion. Nor is there any thing written of them that tendeth to their dishonour as Athenians, but only as people; and that by the necessity of the narration, not by any sought digression. So that no word of his, but their own actions do sometimes reproach them. In sum, if the truth of a history did ever appear by the manner of relating, it doth so in this history: so coherent, perspicuous and persuasive is the whole narration, and every part thereof.

  In the elocution also, two things are considerable: disposition or method, and style. Of the disposition here used by Thucydides, it will be sufficient in this place briefly to observe only this: that in his first book, first he hath, by way of exordium, derived the state of Greece from the cradle to the vigorous stature it then was at when he began to write: and next, declared the causes, both real and pretended, of the war he was to write of. In the rest, in which he handleth the war itself, he followeth distinctly and purely the order of time throughout; relating what came to pass from year to year, and subdividing each year into a summer and winter. The grounds and motives of every action he setteth down before the action itself, either narratively, or else contriveth them into the form of deliberative orations in the persons of such as from time to time bare sway in the commonwealth. After the actions, when there is just occasion, he giveth his judgment of them; shewing by what means the success came either to be furthered or hindered. Digressions for instruction’s cause, and other such open conveyances of precepts, (which is the philosopher’s part), he never useth; as having so clearly set before men’s eyes the ways and events of good and evil counsels, that the narration itself doth secretly instruct the reader, and more effectually than can possibly be done by precept.

  For his style, I refer it to the judgment of divers ancient and competent judges. Plutarch in his book, De gloria Atheniensium, saith of him thus: “Thucydides aimeth always at this; to make his auditor a spectator, and to cast his reader into the same passions that they were in that were beholders. The manner how Demosthenes arranged the Athenians on the rugged shore before Pylus; how Brasidas urged the steersman to run his galley aground; how he went to the ladder or place in the galley for descent; how he was hurt, and swooned, and fell down on the ledges of the galley; how the Spartans fought after the manner of a land–fight upon the sea, and the Athenians of a sea–fight upon land: again, in the Sicilian war, how a battle was fought by sea and land with equal fortune: these things, I say, are so described and so evidently set before our eyes, that the mind of the reader is no less affected therewith than if he had been present in the actions.” There is for his perspicuity. Cicero in his book entitled Orator, speaking of the affection of divers Greek rhetoricians, saith thus: “And therefore Herodotus and Thucydides are the more admirable. For though they lived in the same age with those I have before named,” (meaning Thrasymachus, Gorgias, and Theodorus), “yet were they far from this kind of delicacy, or rather indeed foolery. For the one without rub, gently glideth like a still river; and the other” (meaning Thucydides) “runs stronglier, and in matter of war, as it were, bloweth a trumpet of war. And in these two (as saith Theophrastus) history hath roused herself, and adventured to speak, but more copiously, and with more ornament than in those that were before them.” This commends the gravity and the dignity of his language. Again in his second book, De Oratore, thus: “Thucydides, in the art of speaking, hath in my opinion far exceeded them all. For he is so full of matter, that the number of his sentences doth almost reach to the number of his words; and in his words he is so apt and so close, that it is hard to say whether his words do more illustrate his sentences, or his sentences his words.” There is for the pithiness and strength of his style. Lastly, for the purity and propriety, I cite Dionysius Halicarnassius: whose testimony is the stronger in this point, because he was a Greek rhetorician for his faculty, and for his affection, one that would no further commend him than of necessity he must. His words are these: “There is one virtue in eloquenee, the chiefest of all the rest, and without which there is no other goodness in speech. What is that? That the language be pure, and retain the propriety of the Greek tongue. This they both observe diligently. For Herodotus is the best rule of the Ionic, and Thucydides of the Attic dialect.” These testimonies are not needful to him that hath read the history itself; nor at all, but that this same Dionysius hath taken so much pains, and applied so much of his faculty in rhetoric, to the extenuating of the worth thereof. Moreover, I have thought it necessary to take out the principal objections he maketh against him; and without many words of mine own to leave them to the consideration of the reader. And first, Dionysius saith thus: “The principal and most necessary office of any man that intendeth to write a history, is to choose a noble argument, and grateful to such as shall read it. And this Herodotus, in my opinion, hath done better than Thucydides. For Herodotus hath written the joint history both of the Greeks and barbarians, to save from oblivion, &c. But Thucydides writeth one only war, and that neither honourable nor fortunate; which principally were to be wished never to have been; and next, never to have been remembered nor known to posterity. And that he took an evil argument in hand, he maketh it manifest in his proeme, saying: that many cities were in that war made desolate and utterly destroyed,partly by barbarians, partly by the Greeks themselves: so many banishments, and so much slaughter of men, as never was the like before, &c.: so that the hearers will abhor it at the first propounding. Now by how much it is better to write of the wonderful acts both of the barbarians and Grecians, than of the pitiful and horrible calamities of the Grecians; so much wiser is Herodotus in the choice of his argument than Thucydides.”

  Now let any man consider whether it be not more reasonable to say: That the principal and most necessary office of him that will write a history, is to take such an argument as is both within his power well to handle, and profitable to posterity that shall read it, which Thucydides, in the opinion of all men, hath done better than Herodotus: for Herodotus undertook to write of those things, of which it was impossible for him to know the truth; and which delight more the ear with fabulous narrations, than satisfy the mind with truth: but Thucydides writeth one war; which, how it was carried from the beginning to the end, he was able certainly to inform himself: and by propounding in his proeme the miseries that happened in the same, he sheweth that it was a great war, and worthy to be known; and not to be concealed from posterity, for the calamities that then fell upon the Grecians; but the rather to be truly delivered unto them, for that men profit more by looking on adverse events, than on prosperity: therefore by how much men’s miseries do better instruct, than their good success; by so much was Thucydides more happy in taking his argument, than Herodotus was wise in choosing his.

  Dionysius again saith thus: “The next office of him that will write a history, is to know where to begin, and where to end. And in this point Herodotus seemeth to be far more discreet than Thucydides. For in the first place he layeth down the cause for which the barbarians began to injure the Grecians; and going on, maketh an end at the punishment and the revenge taken on the barbarians. But Thucydides begins at the good estate of the Grecians; which, being a Grecian and an Athenian, he ought not to have done: nor ought he, being of that dignity amongst the Athenians, so evidently to have laid the fault of the war upon his own city, when there were other occasions enough to which he might have imputed it. Nor ought he to have begun with the business of the Corcyræans, but at the more noble acts of his country, which they did immediately after the Persian war: which afterward in convenient place he mentioneth, but it is but cursorily, and not as he ought. And when he had declared those with much affection, as a lover of his country, then he should have brought in, how that the Lacedæmonians, through envy and fear, but pretending other causes, began the war: and so have descended to the Corcyræan business, and the decree against the Megareans, or whatsoever else he had to put in. Then in the ending of his history, there be many errors committed. For though he profess he was present in the whole war, and that he would write it all: yet he ends with the naval battle at Cynos–sema, which was fought in the twenty–first year of the war. Whereas it had been better to have gone through with it, and ended his history with that admirable and grateful return of the banished Athenians from Phile; at which time the city recovered her liberty.”

  To this I say, that it was the duty of him that had undertaken to write the history of the Peloponnesian war, to begin his narration no further off than at the causes of the same, whether the Grecians were then in good or in evil estate. And if the injury, upon which the war arose, proceeded from the Athenians; then the writer, though an Athenian and honoured in his country, ought to declare the same; and not to seek nor take, though at hand, any other occasion to transfer the fault. And that the acts done before the time comprehended in the war he writ of, ought to have been touched but cursorily, and no more than may serve for the enlightening of the history to follow, how noble soever those acts have been. Which when he had thus touched, without affection to either side, and not as a lover of his country but of truth; then to have proceeded to the rest with the like indifferency. And to have made an end of writing, where the war ended, which he undertook to write; not producing his history beyond that period, though that which followed were never so admirable and acceptable. All this Thucydides hath observed.

  These two criminations I have therefore set down at large, translated almost verbatim, that the judgment of Dionysius Halicarnassius may the better appear concerning the main and principal virtues of a history. I think there was never written so much absurdity in so few lines. He is contrary to the opinion of all men that ever spake of this subject besides himself, and to common sense. For he makes the scope of history, not profit by writing truth, but delight of the hearer, as if it were a song. And the argument of history, he would not by any means have to contain the calamities and misery of his country; these he would have buried in silence: but only their glorious and splendid actions. Amongst the virtues of an historiographer, he reckons affection to his country; study to please the hearer; to write of more than his argument leads him to; and to conceal all actions that were not to the honour of his country. Most manifest vices. He was a rhetorician; and it seemeth he would have nothing written, but that which was most capable of rhetorical ornament. Yet Lucian, a rhetorician also, in a treatise entitled, How a history ought to be written, saith thus: “that a writer of history ought, in his writings, to be a foreigner, without country, living under his own law only, subject to no king, nor caring what any man will like or dislike, but laying out the matter as it is.”

  The third fault he finds is this: that the method of his history is governed by the time, rather than the periods of several actions: for he declares in order what came to pass each summer and winter, and is thereby forced sometimes to leave the narration of a siege, or sedition, or a war, or other action in the middest, and enter into a relation of somewhat else done at the same time, in another place, and to come to the former again when the time requires it. This, saith he, causes confusion in the mind of his hearer, so that he cannot comprehend distinctly the several parts of the history.

  Dionysius aimeth still at the delight of the present hearer; though Thucydides himself profess that his scope is not that, but to leave his work for a perpetual possession for posterity: and then have men leisure enough to comprehend him thoroughly. But indeed, whosoever shall read him once attentively, shall more distinctly conceive of every action this way than the other. And the method is more natural; forasmuch as his purpose being to write of one Peloponnesian war, this way he has incorporated all the parts thereof into one body; so that there is unity in the whole, and the several narrations are conceived only as parts of that. Whereas the other way, he had sewed together many little histories, and left the Peloponnesian war, which he took for his subject, in a manner unwritten: for neither any part nor the whole could justly have carried such a title.

  Fourthly, he accuseth him for the method of his first book: in that he deriveth Greece from the infancy thereof to his own time: and in that he setteth down the narration of the quarrels about Corcyra and Potidæa, before he entreateth of the true cause of the war; which was the greatness of the Athenian dominion, feared and envied by the Lacedæmonians.

  For answer to this, I say thus. For the mentioning of the ancient state of Greece, he doth it briefly, insisting no longer upon it than is necessary for the well understanding of the following history. For without some general notions of these first times, many places of the history are the less easy to be understood; as depending upon the knowledge of the original of several cities and customs, which could not be at all inserted into the history itself, but must be either supposed to be foreknown by the reader, or else be delivered to him in the beginning as a necessary preface. And for his putting first the narration of the public and avowed cause of this war, and after that the true and inward motive of the same; the reprehension is absurd. For it is plain, that a cause of war divulged and avowed, how slight soever it be, comes within the task of the historiographer, no less than the war itself. For without a pretext, no war follows. This pretext is always an injury received, or pretended to be received. Whereas the inward motive to hostility is but conjectural; and not of that evidence, that a historiographer should be always bound to take notice of it: as envy to the greatness of another state, or fear of an injury to come. Now let any man judge, whether a good writer of history ought to handle, as the principal cause of war, proclaimed injury or concealed envy. In a word, the image of the method used by Thucydides in this point, is this: “The quarrel about Corcyra passed on this manner; and the quarrel about Potidæa on this manner”: relating both at large: “and in both the Athenians were accused to have done the injury. Nevertheless, the Lacedæmonians had not upon this injury entered into a war against them, but that they envied the greatness of their power, and feared the consequence of their ambition.” I think a more clear and natural order cannot possibly be devised.

  Again he says, that he maketh a funeral oration (which was solemnly done on all occasions through the war) for fifteen horsemen only, that were slain at the brooks called Rheiti: and that for this reason only, that he might make it in the person of Pericles, who was then living, but before another the like occasion happened was dead.

  The manner of the Athenians was, that they that were slain the first in any war, should have a solemn funeral in the suburbs of the city. During this war, they had many occasions to put this custom in practice. Seeing therefore it was fit to have that custom and the form of it known, and that once for all, the manner being ever the same; it was the fittest to relate it on the first occasion, what number soever they were that were then buried: which nevertheless is not likely to have been so few as Dionysius saith. For the funeral was not celebrated till the winter after they were slain: so that many more were slain before this solemnity, and may all be accounted amongst the first. And that Pericles performed the office of making their funeral oration, there is no reason alledged by him why it should be doubted.

  Another fault he finds, is this: that he introduceth the Athenian generals, in a dialogue with the inhabitants of the Isle of Melos, pretending openly for the cause of their invasion of that isle, the power and will of the state of Athens; and rejecting utterly to enter into any disputation with them concerning the equity of their cause, which, he saith, was contrary to the dignity of the state.

  To this may be answered, that the proceeding of these generals was not unlike to divers other actions, that the people of Athens openly took upon them: and therefore it is very likely they were allowed so to proceed. Howsoever, if the Athenian people gave in charge to these their captains, to take in the island by all means whatsoever, without power to report back unto them first the equity of the islanders’ cause; as is most likely to be true; I see then no reason the generals had to enter into disputation with them, whether they should perform their charge or not, but only whether they should do it by fair or foul means; which is the point treated of in this dialogue. Other cavils he hath touching the matter and order of this history, but not needful to be answered.

  Then for his phrase, he carpeth at it in infinite places, both for obscure and licentious. He that will see the particular places he reprehendeth, let him read Dionysius himself, if he will: for the matter is too tedious for this place. It is true, that there be some sentences in him somewhat long: not obscure to one that is attentive: and besides that, they are but few. Yet is this the most important fault he findeth. For the rest, the obscurity that is, proceedeth from the profoundness of the sentences; containing contemplations of those human passions, which either dissembled or not commonly discoursed of, do yet carry the greatest sway with men in their public conversation. If then one cannot penetrate into them without much meditation, we are not to expect a man should understand them at the first speaking. Marcellinus saith, he was obscure on purpose; that the common people might not understand him. And not unlikely: for a wise man should so write, (though in words understood by all men), that wise men only should be able to commend him. But this obscurity is not to be in the narrations of things done, nor in the descriptions of places or of battles, in all which Thucydides is most perspicuous: as Plutarch in the words before cited hath testified of him. But in the characters of men’s humours and manners, and applying them to affairs of consequence: it is impossible not to be obscure to ordinary capacities, in what words soever a man deliver his mind. If therefore Thucydides in his orations, or in the description of a sedition, or other thing of that kind, be not easily understood; it is of those only that cannot penetrate into the nature of such things, and proceedeth not from any intricacy of expression. Dionysius further findeth fault with his using to set word against word: which the rhetoricians call antitheta. Which, as it is in some kind of speech a very great vice, so is it not improper in characters: and of comparative discourses, it is almost the only style.

  And whereas he further taxeth him for licentiousness in turning nouns into verbs, and verbs into nouns, and altering of genders, cases, and numbers; as he doth sometimes for the more efficacy of his style, and without solœcism; I leave him to the answer of Marcellinus: who says, “That Dionysius findeth fault with this, as being ignorant” (yet he was a professed rhetorician) “that this was the most excellent and perfect kind of speaking.”

  Some man may peradventure desire to know, what motive Dionysius might have to extenuate the worth of him, whom he himself acknowledgeth to have been esteemed by all men for the best by far of all historians that ever wrote, and to have been taken by all the ancient orators and philosophers for the measure and rule of writing history. What motive he had to it, I know not: but what glory he might expect by it, is easily known. For having first preferred Herodotus, his countryman, a Halicarnassian, before Thucydides, who was accounted the best; and then conceiving that his own history might perhaps be thought not inferior to that of Herodotus: by this computation he saw the honour of the best historiographer falling on himself. Wherein, in the opinion of all men, he hath misreckoned. And thus much for the objections of Denis of Halicarnasse.

  It is written of Demosthenes, the famous orator, that he wrote over the history of Thucydides with his own hand eight times. So much was this work esteemed, even for the eloquence. But yet was this his eloquence not at all fit for the bar; but proper for history, and rather to be read than heard. For words that pass away (as in public orations they must) without pause, ought to be understood with ease, and are lost else: though words that remain in writing for the reader to meditate on, ought rather to be pithy and full. Cicero therefore doth justly set him apart from the rank of pleaders; but withal, he continually giveth him his due for history, (lib. ii. De Oratore): “What great rhetorician ever borrowed any thing of Thucydides? Yet all men praise him, I confess it, as a wise, severe, grave relator of things done: not for a pleader of causes at the bar, but a reporter of war in history. So that he was never reckoned an orator: nor if he had never written a history, had his name therefore not been extant, being a man of honour and nobility. Yet none of them imitate the gravity of his words and sentences; but when they have uttered a kind of lame and disjointed stuff, they presently think themselves brothers of Thucydides.” Again, in his book De Optimo Oratore, he saith thus: “But here will stand up Thucydides: for his eloquence is by some admired; and justly. But this is nothing to the orator we seek: for it is one thing to unfold a matter by way of narration; another thing to accuse a man, or clear him by arguments. And in narrations, one thing to stay the hearer, another to stir him.” Lucian, in his book entitled How a history ought to be written, doth continually exemplify the virtues which he requires in an historiographer by Thucydides. And if a man consider well that whole discourse of his, he shall plainly perceive that the image of this present history, preconceived in Lucian’s mind, suggested unto him all the precepts he there delivereth. Lastly, hear the most true and proper commendation of him from Justus Lipsius, in his notes to his book De Doctrina Civili in these words: “Thucydides, who hath written not many nor very great matters, hath perhaps yet won the garland from all that have written of matters both many and great. Everywhere for elocution grave; short, and thick with sense; sound in his judgments; everywhere secretly instructing and directing a man’s life and actions. In his orations and excursions, almost divine. Whom the oftener you read, the more you shall carry away; yet never be dismissed without appetite. Next to him is Polybius, &c.”

  And thus much concerning the life and history of Thucydides.

  THE FIRST BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  The estate of Greece, derived from the remotest known antiquity thereof, to the beginning of the Peloponnesian War.—The occasion and pretexts of this war, arising from the controversies of the Athenians with the Corinthians concerning Corcyra and Potidæa.—The Lacedæmonians, instigated by the confederates, undertake the war; not so much at their instigation, as of envy to the greatness of the Athenian dominion.—The degrees by which that dominion was acquired.—The war generally decreed by the confederates at Sparta.—The demands of the Lacedæmonians.—The obstinacy of the Athenians; and their answer by the advice of Pericles.

  To make it appear that this war was greater than any before it, the author showeth the imbecility of former times; describing three periods: 1. From the beginning of the Grecian memory to the war of Troy. 2. The war itself. 3. The time from thence to the present war which he writeth.

  1. Thucydides, an Athenian, wrote the war of the Peloponnesians and the Athenians as1 they warred against each other, beginning to write as soon as the war was on foot; with expectation it should prove a great one, and most worthy the relation of all that had been before it: conjecturing so much, both from this, that they flourished on both sides in all manner of provision; and also because he saw the rest of Greece siding with the one or the other faction, some then presently and some intending so to do. For this was certainly the greatest commotion that ever happened amongst the Grecians, reaching also to part of the barbarians1 , and, as a man may say, to most nations. For the actions that preceded this, and those again that are yet more ancient, though the truth of them through length of time cannot by any means clearly be discovered; yet for any argument that, looking into times far past, I have yet light on to persuade me, I do not think they have been very great, either for matter of war or otherwise.

  The state of Greece before the Trojan war.

  2. For it is evident that that which now is called Hellas2 , was not of old constantly inhabited; but that at first there were often removals, every one easily leaving the place of his abode to the violence always of some greater number. For whilst traffic was not, nor mutual intercourse but with fear, neither by sea nor land; and every man so husbanded the ground as but barely to live upon it, without any stock of riches3 , and planted nothing; (because it was uncertain when another should invade them and carry all away, especially not having the defence of walls); but made account to be masters, in any place, of such necessary sustenance as might serve them from day to day: they made little difficulty to change their habitations. And for this cause they were of no ability at all, either for greatness of cities or other provision. But the fattest soils were always the most subject to these changes of inhabitants; as that which is now called Thessalia, and Bœotia, and the greatest part of Peloponnesus, except Arcadia; and of the rest of Greece, whatsoever was most fertile. For the goodness of the land increasing the power of some particular men, both caused seditions, whereby they were ruined at home; and withal made them more obnoxious to the insidiation of strangers. From hence it is that Attica1 , from great antiquity for the sterility of the soil free from seditions, hath been inhabited ever by the same people2 . And it is none of the least evidences of what I have said, that Greece3 , by reason of sundry transplantations, hath not in other parts received the like augmentation. For such as by war or sedition were driven out of other places, the most potent of them, as to a place of stability, retired themselves to Athens; where receiving the freedom of the city, they long since so increased the same in number of people, as Attica, being incapable of them itself, they sent out colonies into Ionia.

  The original of the name of Hellas.The name of Hellenes not given to all the Grecians in the time that Homer wrote his poems.The Trojan war was the first enterprise where the Grecians combined their forces.

  3. And to me the imbecility of ancient times is not a little demonstrated also by this [that followeth]. For before the Trojan war nothing appeareth to have been done by Greece in common; nor indeed was it, as I think, called all by that one name of Hellas; nor before the time of Hellen, the son of Deucalion, was there any such name at all. But Pelasgicum1 (which was the farthest extended) and the other parts, by regions, received their names from their own inhabitants. But Hellen and his sons being strong in Phthiotis, and called in for their aid into other cities; these cities, because of their conversing with them, began more particularly to be called Hellenes: and yet could not that name of a long time after prevail upon them all. This is conjectured principally out of Homer. For though born long after the Trojan war, yet he gives them not anywhere that name in general; nor indeed to any but those that with Achilles came out of Phthiotis, and were the first so called: but in his poems he mentioneth Danaans, Argives, and Achæans. Nor doth he likewise use the word barbarians; because the Grecians2 , as it seemeth unto me, were not yet distinguished by one common name of Hellenes, oppositely answerable unto them. The Grecians3 then, neither as they had that name in particular by mutual intercourse, nor after, universally so termed, did ever before the Trojan war, for want of strength and correspondence, enter into any action with their forces joined. And to that expedition they came together by the means of navigation, which the most part1 of Greece had now received.

  Minos, king of Creta, the first that had a navy.

  4. For Minos was the most ancient of all that by report we know to have built a navy. And he made himself master of the now Grecian Sea2 ; and both commanded the isles called Cyclades, and also was the first that sent colonies into most of the same, expelling thence the Carians and constituting his own sons there for governors; and also freed the seas of pirates as much as he could, for the better coming in, as is likely, of his own revenue.

  A digression touching the piracies and robberies of old time; with other notes of savageness.Robbing had in honour.

  5. For the Grecians in old time, and such barbarians as in the continent lived near unto the sea, or else inhabited the islands, after once they began to3 cross over one to another in ships, became thieves, and went abroad under the conduct of their most puissant men, both to enrich themselves and to fetch in maintenance for the weak; and falling upon towns unfortified and scatteringly4 inhabited, rifled them, and made this the best means of their living; being a matter at that time nowhere in disgrace, but rather carrying with it something of glory. This is manifest by some that dwell on the continent, amongst whom, so it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed as an ornament. The same also is proved by some of the ancient poets, who introduce men questioning1 of such as sail by, on all coasts alike, whether they be thieves or not; as a thing neither scorned by such as were asked, nor upbraided by those that were desirous to know. They also robbed one another within the main land. And much of Greece useth that old custom, as the Locrians called Ozolæ2 , the Acarnanians, and those of the continent in that quarter, unto this day. Moreover, the fashion of wearing iron remaineth yet with the people of that continent from their old trade of thieving.

  Continual wearing of armour in fashion.The Athenians grew first civil.

  6. For once they were wont throughout all Greece to go armed, because their houses were unfenced and travelling was unsafe; and accustomed themselves, like the barbarians, to the ordinary wearing of their armour. And the nations of Greece that live so yet, do testify that the same manner of life was anciently universal to all the rest. Amongst whom, the Athenians were the first that laid by their armour, and growing civil, passed into a more tender kind of life. And such of the rich as were anything stepped into years, laid away upon the same3 delicacy, not long after, the fashion of wearing linen coats and golden grasshoppers1 , which they were wont to bind up in the locks of their hair. From whence also the same fashion, by reason of their affinity, remained a long time in use amongst the ancient Ionians. But the moderate2 kind of garment, and conformable to the wearing of these times, was first taken up by the Lacedæmonians; amongst whom also, both in other things and especially in the culture of their bodies, the nobility observed the most equality with the commons. The same were also the first, that when they were to contend in the Olympic games3 , stripped themselves naked4 and anointed their bodies with ointment: whereas in ancient times, the champions did also in the Olympic games use breeches; nor is it many years since this custom ceased. Also there are to this day amongst the barbarians, especially those of Asia, prizes propounded of fighting with fists and of wrestling, and the combatants about their privy parts wear breeches in the exercise. It may likewise by5 many other things be demonstrated, that the old Greeks used the same form of life that is now in force amongst the barbarians of the present age.

  The cities of Greece, how seated, and for what causes.

  7. As for cities, such as are of late foundation and since the increase of navigation, inasmuch as they have had since more plenty of riches, have been walled about and built upon the shore; and have taken up isthmi, [that is to say, necks of land between sea and sea], both for merchandise and for the better strength against confiners. But the old cities, men having been1 in those times for the most part infested by thieves, are built farther up, as well in the islands as in the continent. For others2 also that dwelt on the sea–side, though not seamen, yet they molested one another with robberies. And even to these times, those people are planted up high in the country.

  The Carians and Phœnicians were those that committed the most robberies.

  8. But these robberies were the exercise especially of the islanders, namely, the Carians and the Phœnicians. For by them were the greatest part of the islands3 inhabited; a testimony whereof is this. The Athenians, when in this present war4 they hallowed the isle of Delos and had digged up the sepulchres of the dead, found that more than half of them were Carians5 ; known so to be, both by the armour buried with them, and also by their manner of burial at this day. And1 when Minos his navy was once afloat, navigators had the sea more free. For he expelled the malefactors out of the islands, and in the most of them planted colonies of his own. By which means they who inhabited the sea–coasts, becoming more addicted to riches, grew more constant to their dwellings; of whom some, grown now rich, compassed their towns about with walls. For out of desire of gain, the meaner sort underwent servitude with the mighty; and the mighty with their wealth brought the lesser cities into subjection. And so it came to pass, that rising to power they proceeded afterward to the war against Troy.

  The action of Troy.Peloponnesus, so called from Pelops.The increase of the power of the Pelopians.Atreus king of Mycenæ after the death of Pelops.

  9. And to me it seemeth that Agamemnon2 got together that fleet, not so much for that he had with him the suitors3 of Helena, bound thereto by oath to Tindareus, as for this, that he exceeded the rest in power. For they that by tradition of their ancestors know the most certainty of the acts4 of the Peloponnesians, say that first Pelops, by the abundance of his wealth which he brought with him out of Asia to men in want, obtained such power amongst them, as, though he were a stranger, yet the country was called1 after his name; and that this power was also increased by his posterity. For Euristheus being slain in Attica by the Heracleides2 , Atreus, that was his uncle3 by the mother, and was then abiding4 with him as an exiled person for fear of his father for the death of Chrysippus5 , and to whom Euristheus, when he undertook the expedition, had committed Mycenæ and the government thereof, for that he was his kinsman; when as Euristheus came not back, (the Mycenians being willing to it for fear of the Heracleides, and because he was an able man and made much of the common people), obtained the kingdom of Mycenæ, and of whatsoever else was under Euristheus, for himself; and the power of the Pelopides became greater than that of the Perseides6 . To which greatness Agamemnon7 succeeding, and also far excelling the rest in shipping, took that war in hand, as I conceive it, and assembled the said forces, not so much upon favour as by fear. For it is clear, that he himself both conferred most ships to that action, and that some also he lent to the Arcadians. And this is likewise declared by Homer, (if any think his testimony sufficient); who, at the delivery of the sceptre unto him, calleth him1 , “of many isles and of all Argos King.” Now he could not, living in the continent, have been lord of the islands, other than such2 as were adjacent, which cannot be many, unless he had also had a navy. And by this expedition we are to estimate what were those of the ages before it.

  Mycenæ, though no great city, yet was of great power.The city of Sparta less, and the city of Athens greater, than for the proportion of their power.A survey of the fleetsent to Troy.

  10. Now seeing Mycenæ was3 but a small city, or if any other of that age seem but of light regard, let not any man for that cause, on so weak an argument, think that fleet to have been less than the poets have said, and fame reported it to be4 . For if the city of Lacedæmon were now desolate, and nothing of it left but the temples and floors of the buildings, I think it would breed much unbelief in posterity long hence of their power in comparison of the fame. For although of five parts5 of Peloponnesus it possess two6 , and hath the leading of the rest, and also of many confederates without; yet the city being not close built, and the temples and other edifices not costly, and because1 it is but scatteringly inhabited after the ancient manner of Greece, their power would seem inferior to the report. Again, the same things happening to Athens, one would conjecture, by the sight of their city, that their power were double to what it is. We ought not therefore to be incredulous [concerning the forces that went to Troy], nor have in regard so much the external show of a city as the power: but we are to think, that that expedition was indeed greater than those that went before it, but yet inferior to those of the present age; if in this also2 we may credit the poetry of Homer, who being a poet was like to set it forth to the utmost. And yet even thus it cometh short. For he maketh it to consist of twelve hundred vessels; those that were of Bœotians carrying one hundred and twenty men a–piece, and those which came with Philoctetes fifty: setting forth, as I suppose, both the greatest sort and the least; and therefore of the bigness of any of the rest, he maketh in his catalogue no mention at all: but declareth that they who were3 in the vessels of Philoctetes, served both as mariners and soldiers; for he writes, that they who were at the oar, were all of them archers. And for such as wrought not, it is not likely that many went along, except kings1 and such as were in chief authority; especially being to pass the sea with munition of war, and in bottoms without decks, built after the old and piratical fashion. So then, if by the greatest and least one estimate the mean of their shipping, it will appear that the whole number of men considered as sent jointly from all Greece, were not very many.

  The poverty of the Greeks was the cause why the Trojans could so long hold out.

  11. And the cause hereof was not so much want of men, as of wealth. For, for want of victual they carried the lesser army, and no greater than they hoped2 might both follow the war and also maintain itself. When upon their arrival they had gotten the upper hand in fight, (which is manifest; for else they could not have fortified their camp), it appears that from that time forward they employed not there their whole power, but that for want of victual they betook themselves, part of them to the tillage of Chersonesus, and part to fetch in booties; whereby divided, the Trojans the more easily made that ten years resistance, as being ever a match for so many as remained at the siege. Whereas1 , if they had gone furnished with store of provision, and with all their forces, eased of boot–haling and tillage, since they were masters of the field, they had also easily taken the city. But they strove not with their whole power, but only with such a portion of their army as at the several occasions chanced to be present; when as, if they had pressed the siege, they had won the place both in less time and with less labour. But through want of money, not only they were weak matters, all that preceded this enterprise; but also this, which is of greater name than any before it, appeareth to be in fact beneath the fame and report, which by means of the poets now goeth of it.

  The state of Greece after the Trojan war.A. C. 1124. A. 1m. Ol. 347.Bœotia, more anciently Cadmeis.A. C. 1104. A. 1m. Ol. 327.The Ionians were the colonies of the Athenians.

  12. For also after the Trojan war the Grecians continued still their shiftings and transplantations; insomuch as never resting, they improved not their power. For the late return of the Greeks from Ilium caused not a little innovation; and in most of the cities there arose seditions; and those which were driven out, built2 cities for themselves in other places. For those that are now called Bœotians, in the sixtieth year after the taking of Troy, expelled Arne by the Thessalians, seated themselves in that country, which now Bœotia, was then called Cadmeis. (But there was in the same country a certain portion of that nation before, of whom also were they that went to the warfare of Troy). And in the eightieth year, the Dorians1 together with the Heracleides seized on Peloponnesus. And with much ado, after long time, Greece had constant rest; and shifting their seats no longer, at length sent colonies abroad. And the Athenians planted Ionia and most of the islands; and the Peloponnesians most of Italy1 and Sicily, and also certain parts of the rest of Greece. But these colonies were all planted after the Trojan war.

  The difference between tyranny and regal authority.At Corinth were made the first triremes, or gallies of three tire of oars one above another.A. C. 704. Olymp. 19. 1.A. C. 667. Olymp. 28. 2.The means of the wealth of Corinth.Corinth surnamed the rich.The Ionians had a navy in Cyrus’ time.Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, had a navy in the time of Cambyses.About A. C. 600. Olymp. 45.

  13. But when the power of Greece was now improved, and2 the desire of money withal, their revenues being enlarged, in most of the cities there were erected tyrannies: (for before that time, kingdoms with honours limited were hereditary): and the Grecians built navies, and became more seriously addicted to the affairs of the sea. The Corinthians are said to have been the first that changed the form of shipping3 into the nearest to that which is now in use; and at Corinth are reported to have been made the first4 gallies of all Greece. Now5 it is well known that Aminocles, the ship–wright of Corinth, built four ships at Samos: and from the time that Aminocles went to Samos until the end6 of this present war, are at the most but three hundred years. And the most ancient naval battle that we know of, was fought between the Corinthians and the Corcyræans7 ; and from that battle to the same time, are but two hundred and sixty years. For Corinth, seated on an isthmus, had been always a place of traffic; (because the Grecians of old, from within and without Peloponnesus, trading by land more than by sea, had no other intercourse one to another but through the Corinthians’ territory); and was also wealthy in money, as appears by the1 poets, who have surnamed this town the rich. And after the Grecians had2 commerce also by sea, then likewise having furnished themselves with a navy, they scoured the sea of pirates; and affording traffic both by sea and land, mightily increased their city in revenue of money. After this, the Ionians, in the times of Cyrus first king of the Persians, and of his son Cambyses, got together a great navy; and making war on Cyrus, obtained for a time the dominion of that part of the sea that lieth on their own coast. Also Polycrates3 , who in the time of Cambyses tyrannised in Samos, had a strong navy, wherewith he subdued divers of the islands; and amongst the rest having won Rhenea4 , he consecrated the same to Apollo of Delos. The5 Phocæans likewise, when they were building the city of Marseilles, overcame the Carthaginians6 in a fight at sea.

  The shipping of Greece very mean before this war.A. C. 493. Ol. 71. 4.

  14. These were the greatest navies extant. And yet even these, though many ages after the time of Troy, consisted, as it seems, but of a few galleys, and were made up with vessels1 of fifty oars and with long boats, as well as those of former times. And it was but a little before the Medan war2 and death of Darius, successor of Cambyses in the kingdom of Persia, that the tyrants of Sicily and the Corcyræans had of galleys any number. For these3 last were the only navies worth speaking of in all Greece, before the invasion of the Medes. And the people of Ægina and the Athenians4 had but small ones, and the most of them consisting but of fifty oars a–piece; and that so lately5 , as but from the time that the Athenians making war on Ægina, and withal expecting the coming of the barbarian, at the persuasion of Themistocles built those ships which they used in that war. And these also not all had decks.

  The causes why the Grecians never joined their forces in any great action.

  15. Such were then the navies of the Greeks, both ancient and modern. Nevertheless, such as applied themselves to naval business gained by them no small power, both in revenue of money and in dominion over other people. For with their navies (especially those men that had not sufficient land, where they inhabited, to maintain themselves) they subdued the islands. But as for war by land, such as any state might acquire power by, there was none at all: and such as were, were only between borderer and borderer. For the Grecians had never yet gone out with any army to conquer any nation far from home; because the lesser cities neither brought in their forces to the great ones, as subjects, nor concurred as equals in any common enterprise; but such as were neighbours warred against each other hand to hand. For the war of old between the Chalcideans and the Eretrians1 was it wherein the rest of Greece was most divided and in league with either party.

  The Ionians kept down by the Persians.

  16. As others by other means were kept back from growing great, so also the Ionians by this: that the Persian affairs prospering, Cyrus and the Persian kingdom, after the defeat of Crœsus, made war upon all that lieth from the river Halys to the sea–side, and so subdued all the cities which they possessed in the continent: and Darius afterward, when he had overcome2 the Phœnician fleet, did the like unto them in the islands.

  A. C. 548. Ol. 58. 1.

  17. And as for the tyrants that were in the Grecian cities, who forecasted only for themselves, how with as much safety as was possible to look to their own persons and their own families, they resided for the most part in the cities1 and did no action worthy of memory, unless it were against their neighbours. For as for the tyrants of Sicily2 , they were already arrived at greater power. Thus was Greece for a long time3 hindered, that neither jointly it could do anything remarkable, nor the cities singly be adventurous.

  The Lacedæmonians put down the tyrants through all Greece.A. C. 510. Ol. 67. 2.A. C. 804.A. C. 490. Ol. 72. 3.Olymp. 75. 1.All Greece divided into two leagues; the Lacedæmonians and their league, and the Athenians and their league.

  18. But after that the tyrants, both of Athens4 and of the rest of Greece where tyrannies5 were, were the most and last of them, excepting those of Sicily, put down by the Lacedæmonians; (for Lacedæmon, after that it was built by the Dorians that inhabited6 the same, though it hath been longer troubled with seditions7 than any other city we know, yet hath it had for the longest time good laws, and been also always free8 from tyrants: for it is unto the end of this war four hundred years and something more, that the Lacedæmonians have used one and the same government, and thereby being of power themselves, they also ordered the affairs in the other cities); I say, after the dissolution of tyrannies in Greece, it was not long before the battle was fought by the Medes against the Athenians in the fields of Marathon. And in the tenth year again after that, came the barbarian with the great fleet1 into Greece, to subdue it. And Greece being now in great danger, the leading of the Grecians that leagued in that war was given to the Lacedæmonians, as to the most potent state. And the Athenians, who had purposed so much before and already stowed2 their necessaries, at the coming in of the Medes went a ship–board3 and became seamen. When they had jointly beaten back the barbarian, then did the Grecians, both such as were revolted from the king and such as had in common made war upon him, not long after divide themselves into leagues, one part with the Athenians and the other with the Lacedæmonians; these two cities appearing to be the mightiest; for this had the power by land, and the other by sea. But this confederation lasted but awhile: for afterwards the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians, being at variance4 , warred each on other together with their several confederates. And the rest of Greece, where any discord chanced to arise, had recourse presently to one of these. In so much, that from the war of the Medes to this present war being continually [exercised] somtimees in peace sometimes in war, either one against the other or against revolted confederates, they arrived at this war, both well furnished with military provisions and also expert; because their practice was with danger.

  The manner how the Lacedæmonians dealt with their confederates.The manner how the Athenians handled their confederates.

  19. The Lacedæmonians governed not their confederates so as to make them tributaries, but only drew them by fair means to embrace the oligarchy, convenient to their own policy. But the Athenians, having with time taken into their hands the galleys of all those that stood out, (except the Chians and Lesbians), reigned1 over them, and ordained every of them to pay a certain tribute of money. By which means, their own particular provision was greater in the beginning of this war, than when2 in their flourishing time, the league between them and the rest of Greece remaining whole, it was at the most.

  20. Such then I find to have been the state of things past; hard to be believed3 , though one produce proof for every particular thereof. For1 men receive the report of things, though of their own country, if done before their own time, all alike, from one as from another, without examination.

  Digression to show how negligently men receive the fame of things past, by the example of their error touching the story of Hippias the son of Pisistratus: which it seems he willingly mentions, both here and hereafter, on light occasion.A. C. 514. Ol. 46. 2.

  For the vulgar sort of Athenians think that Hipparchus was the tyrant, and slain by Harmodius and Aristogeiton: and know not that Hippias had the government, as being the eldest son of Pisistratus, and that Hipparchus and Thessalus were his brethren; and that Harmodius and Aristogeiton, suspecting that some of their complices had that day, and at that instant2 , discovered unto Hippias somewhat of their treason, did forbear Hippias as a man forewarned; and desirous to effect somewhat, though with danger, before they should be apprehended, lighting on Hipparchus slew him near the temple called Leocorium, whilst he was setting forth the Panathenaical3 show. And likewise divers other things now extant, and which time hath not yet involved in oblivion, have been conceived amiss by other Grecians; as that the kings of Lacedæmon, in giving their suffrages, had not single4 , but double votes: and5 that Pitanate was a band of soldiers so called there; whereas there was never any such. So impatient of labour are the most men in search of truth, and embrace soonest the things that are next to hand.

  21. Now he1 , that by the arguments here adduced, shall frame a judgment of the things past, and not believe rather that they were such as the poets have sung, or prose–writers have composed, more delightfully to the ear than conformably to the truth, as being things not to be disproved, and by length of time turned for the most part into the nature of fables without credit; but shall think them here searched out by the most evident signs that can be, and sufficiently too, considering their antiquity; he, I say, shall not err. And though men always judge the present war wherein they live to be greatest, and when it is past, admire more those that were before it; yet if they consider of this war by the acts done in the same, it will manifest itself to be greater than any of those before mentioned2 .

  The diligence of the author in the inquiry of the truth of what he wrote: both touching the orations and the actions.

  22. What particular persons have spoken1 when they were about to enter into the war or when they were in it, were hard2 for me to remember exactly; whether they were speeches which I have heard myself, or have received at the second hand. But as any man seemed to me, that knew what was nearest to the sum3 of the truth of all that had been uttered, to speak most agreeably to the matter still in hand, so I have made it spoken here. But of the acts themselves done in the war, I thought not fit to write all that I heard from all authors, nor such as I myself did but think to be true; but only those whereat I was myself present, and those of which with all diligence I had made particular inquiry. And yet even of those things it was hard to know the certainty; because such as were present at every action, spake not all after the same manner; but as they were affected to the parts, or as they could remember.

  The use of this history.

  To hear this history rehearsed, for that there be inserted in it no fables, shall be perhaps not delightful. But he that desires to look into the truth of things done, and which (according to the condition of humanity) may be done again, or at least their like, he shall find4 enough herein to make him think it profitable. And it is compiled rather for an everlasting possession1 , than to be rehearsed for a prize.

  The greatness of the present war.Earthquakes, eclipses, famine, pestilence, concomitants of this war.A. C. 415. Ol. 83. 3. The causes of the war.Fear necessitates the war in the Lacedæmonians.

  23. The greatest action before this was that against the Medes2 ; and yet that, by two battles by sea and as many by land, was soon decided. But as for this war, it both lasted long, and the harm it did to Greece was such, as the like in the like space had never been seen before. For neither had there ever been so many cities expugned and made desolate, what by the barbarians3 and what by the Greeks warring on one another4 ; (and some cities there were, that when they were taken changed their inhabitants5 ); nor so much banishing and slaughter, some by the war some by sedition6 , as was in this. And those things which concerning former time there went a fame of, but in fact rarely confirmed, were now made credible: as earthquakes, general to the greatest part of the world, and most violent withal: eclipses of the sun, oftener than is reported of any former time: great droughts in some places, and thereby famine: and that which did none of the least hurt, but destroyed also its part7 , the plague. All8 these evils entered together with this war: which began from the time that the Athenians and Peloponnesians brake the league, which immediately after the conquest of Eubœa had been concluded between them for thirty years. The causes why they brake the same, and their quarrels, I have therefore set down first, because no man should be to seek from what ground so great a war amongst the Grecians could arise. And the truest quarrel1 , though least in speech, I conceive to be the growth of the Athenian power; which putting the Lacedæmonians into fear necessitated the war. But the causes of the breach of the league publicly voiced, were these.

  The first pretext.A. C. 627. Ol. 38. 2.

  24. Epidamnus2 is a city situate on the right hand to such as enter into the Ionian Gulf. Bordering upon it are the Taulantii, barbarians, a people of Illyris3 . This was planted by the Corcyræans4 ; but the captain of the colony was one Phalius, the son of Heratoclidas, a Corinthian of the lineage of Hercules, and, according to an5 ancient custom, called to this charge out of the metropolitan city. Besides that, the colony itself consisted in part of Corinthians, and others1 of the Doric nation. In process of time the city of Epidamnus became great and populous; and2 having for many years together been annoyed with sedition, was by a war, as is reported, made upon them by the confining barbarians, brought low and deprived of the greatest part of their power. But that which was the last accident before this war, was, that the nobility, forced by the commons to fly the city, went and joined with the barbarians, and both by land and sea robbed those that remained within. The Epidamnians that were in the town, oppressed in this manner, sent their ambassadors to Corcyra, as being their mother city, praying the Corcyræans not to see them perish, but to reconcile unto them those whom they had driven forth, and to put an end to the barbarian war. And this they entreated in the form of suppliants3 , sitting down in the temple of Juno. But the Corcyræans, not admitting their supplication, sent them away again without effect.

  The Epidamnians neglected by their mother city Corcyra, procure the protection of the Corinthians.A. C. 436. Ol. 86. 1.A. C. 436. Ol. 85. 4./86. 1.

  25. The Epidamnians now despairing of relief from the Corcyræans, and at a stand how to proceed in their present affairs, sending to Delphi enquired at the oracle, whether it were not best to deliver up their city into the hands of the Corinthians as of their founders, and make trial what aid they should obtain from thence. And when the oracle had answered, that they should deliver it and take the Corinthians for their leaders, they went to Corinth, and according to the advice of the oracle gave their city1 to them, and declared2 how the first founder of it was a Corinthian, and what answer the oracle had given them, entreating their help, and that they would not stand by beholding their destruction. And the Corinthians undertook their defence, not only for the equity of the cause, as thinking them no less their own than the Corcyræans’ colony, but also for hatred of the Corcyræans; who being their colony yet contemned them, and allowed3 them not their due honour in public meetings, nor in the distribution of the sacrifice began at a Corinthian, as was the custom of other colonies; but being equal to the richest Grecians of their time for store of money, and1 strongly furnished with ammunition of war, had them in contempt. Also they sticked not sometimes to boast how much they excelled in shipping; and that Corcyra had been once inhabited by the Phæaces2 , who flourished in glory of naval affairs: which was also the cause why they the rather provided themselves of a navy. And they were indeed not without power that way; for when they began this war, they had one hundred and twenty galleys.

  The Corinthians send inhabitants to Epidamnus.A. C. 436. Ol. 86. 1.The Corcyræans angry at the aids sent by the Corinthians, make war on Epidamnus.A. C. 436. Ol. 86. 1. The Corcyræans besiege Epidamnus.

  26. The Corinthians therefore having all these criminations against them, relieved Epidamnus willingly, not only giving leave to whosoever would to go and dwell there, but also sent thither a garrison of Ambraciots, Leucadians, and of their own citizens. Which succours, for fear the Corcyræans should have hindered their passage by sea, marched by land to Apollonia1 . The Corcyræans, understanding that new inhabitants and a garrison were gone to Epidamnus, and that the colony was delivered to the Corinthians, were vexed extremely at the same; and sailing presently thither with twenty–five galleys, and afterwards with another fleet, in an insolent2 manner commanded them both to recall those whom they had banished, (for these banished3 men of Epidamnus had been now at Corcyra, and pointing to the sepulcres of their ancestors and claiming kindred, had entreated the Corcyræans to restore them), and to send away the garrison and inhabitants sent thither by the Corinthians. But the Epidamnians gave no ear to their commandments. Whereupon the Corcyræans with forty galleys, together with the banished men, (whom they pretended to reduce), and with the Illyrians, whom they had joined to their part, warred upon them; and having laid siege to the city, made proclamation, that such of the Epidamnians as would, and all strangers, might depart safely, or otherwise were to be proceeded against as enemies. But when this prevailed not, the place being an isthmus, they enclosed the city in on every side.

  The Corinthians send an army to relieve it.

  27. The Corinthians, when news was brought from Epidamnus how it was besieged, presently made ready their army: and at the same time caused a proclamation to be made for the sending thither of a colony, and that such as would go should have equal and like privileges1 with those that were there before: and that such as desired to be sharers in the same, and yet were unwilling to go along in person at that present, if they would contribute fifty Corinthian drachmas, might stay behind. And they were very many, both that went and that laid down their silver. Moreover they sent to the Megareans, for fear of being stopped in their passage by the Corcyræans, to aid2 them with some galleys: who accordingly furnished out eight; the citizens of Pale in Cephalonia, four. They also required galleys of the Epidaurians, who sent them five: the citizens of Hermione, one: the Trœzenians, two: the Leucadians, ten: the Ambraciots, eight. Of the Thebans and Phliasians they required money: of the Eleans, both money and empty galleys. And of the Corinthians themselves, there were ready thirty galleys and three thousand men of arms3 .

  A. C. 435. Ol. 86. 2. The Corcyræans offer to stand to arbitrement.The Corinthians unwilling to accept it, and not without cause.

  28. The Corcyræans, advertised of this preparation, went to Corinth in company of the ambassadors of the Lacedæmonians and of the Sicyonians, whom they took with them; and required the Corinthians to recall the garrison and inhabitants which they had sent to Epidamnus, as being a city, they said, wherewith they had nothing to do; or if they had anything to1 allege, they were content to have the cause judicially tried in such cities of Peloponnesus as they should both agree on; and they then should hold the colony, to whom the same should be adjudged. They said also, that they were content to refer their cause to the oracle at Delphi: that war they would make none; but if they must needs have it, they should, by the violence of them, be forced in their own defence to seek out better2 friends than those whom they already had. To this the Corinthians answered, that if they would put off with their fleet and dismiss the barbarians from before Epidamnus, they would then consult of the matter: for before they could not honestly do it; because whilst they should be pleading the case, the Epidamnians should be suffering the misery of a siege. The Corcyræans replied to this, that if they would call back those men of theirs already in Epidamnus, that then they also would do as the Corinthians had required them; or otherwise they were content to let the men on both sides stay where they were, and3 to suspend the war till the cause should be decided.

  A. C. 435. Ol. 86. 2. The Corinthian fleet.A. C. 435. Ol. 86. 2. The Corcyræan fleet.The Corcyræans have the victory at sea, and on the same day take the city.

  29. The Corinthians not assenting to any of these propositions, since1 their galleys were manned and their confederates present, having defied them first by a herald, put to sea with seventy–five galleys and two thousand2 men of arms, and set sail for Epidamnus against the Corcyræans. Their fleet was commanded by Aristeus the son of Pellicas, Callicrates the son of Callias, and Timanor the son of Timanthes: and the land forces by Archetimus the son of Eurytimus, and Isarchidas the son of Isarchus. After they were come as far as Actium, in the territory of Anactorium, (which is a temple of Apollo, and ground consecrated unto him), in the mouth of the Gulf of Ambracia, the Corcyræans sent a herald to them at3 Actium, to forbid their coming on; and in the meantime manned out their fleet; and having repaired4 and made fit for service their old galleys, and furnished5 the rest with things necessary, shipped their munition and went aboard6 . The herald was no sooner returned from the Corinthians with an answer not inclining to peace, but having1 their galleys already manned and furnished to the number of eighty sail, (for forty2 attended always the siege of Epidamnus), they put to sea, and arranging themselves came to a battle: in which the Corcyræans were clearly victors; and on the part of the Corinthians there perished fifteen galleys. And the same day it happened likewise, that they that besieged Epidamnus had the same3 rendered unto them, with conditions, that the strangers therein found should be4 ransomed, and the Corinthians kept in bonds till such time as they should be otherwise disposed of.

  A. C. 435. Ol. 86. 2.The Corcyræans masters of the sea.A. C. 435. Ol. 86. 2.

  30. The battle being ended, the Corcyræans, after they had set up their trophy5 in Leucimna, a promontory of Corcyra, slew their other prisoners, but kept the Corinthians still in bonds. After this, when the Corinthians6 with their vanquished fleet were gone home to Corinth, the Corcyræans, masters now of the whole sea in those parts, went first and wasted the territory of Leucas7 , a Corinthian colony; and then sailed to Cyllene, which is the arsenal of the Eleans, and burnt it, because they had both with money and shipping given aid to the Corinthians. And they were masters of those seas, and infested the confederates of Corinth, for the most part of that year; till such time as in the beginning of the summer1 following the Corinthians sent a fleet and soldiers unto Actium, the which, for the more safe keeping of Leucas and of other cities their friends, encamped about Chimerium in Thesprotis2 : and the Corcyræans, both with their fleet and land soldiers, lay over against them in Leucimna. But neither part stirred against the other; but after they had lyen quietly opposite all the1 summer, they retired in winter both the one side and the other to their cities.

  A. C. 434. 3. Ol. 86. 3. 4. The Corinthians prepare a greater navy.Both Corcyræans and Corinthians send their ambassadors to Athens.A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  31. All this year, as well before as after the battle2 , the Corinthians, being vexed3 at the war with the Corcyræans, applied themselves to the building of galleys and to the preparing of a fleet, the strongest4 they were able to make, and to procure mariners5 out of Peloponnesus and all other parts of Greece. The Corcyræans having intelligence of their preparations, began to fear; and (because they had never6 been in league with any Grecian city, nor were in the roll of the confederates either of the Athenians or Lacedæmonians) thought it best now to send to Athens7 , to see if they could procure any aid from thence. This being perceived by the Corinthians, they also sent their ambassadors to Athens, lest the addition of the Athenian navy to that of the Corcyræans might hinder them from carrying the war as they desired. And the assembly at Athens being met, they came to plead against each other; and the Corcyræans spake to this effect.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4. oration of the ambassadors of corcyra.A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  32. “Men of Athens, it is but justice that such as come to implore the aid of their neighbours, (as now do1 we), and cannot pretend by any great benefit or league some precedent merit, should, before they go any farther, make it appear, principally, that what they seek conferreth profit, or if not so, yet is not prejudicial at least to those that are to grant it: and next, that they will be constantly thankful for the same: and if they cannot do this, then not to take it ill though their suit be rejected. And the Corcyræans being fully persuaded that they can make all this appear on their own parts, have therefore sent us hither, desiring you to ascribe them to the number of your confederates. Now so it is, that we have had a custom, both unreasonable in respect of our suit to you, and also for the present unprofitable to our own estate. For having ever till now been unwilling to admit others into league with us, we are now not only suitors for league to others, but also left destitute by that means of friends in this our war with the Corinthians. And that which before we thought wisdom, namely, not to enter with others into league, because we would not at the discretion of others enter into danger, we now find to have been our weakness and imprudence. Wherefore, though alone we repulsed the Corinthians in the late battle by sea, yet since they are set to invade us with greater preparation out of Peloponnesus and the rest of Greece; and seeing with our own single power we are not able to go1 through; and since also the danger, in case they subdue us, would be very great to all Greece: it is necessary that we seek the succours both of you and of whomsoever else we can; and we are also to be pardoned, though we make bold to cross our former custom of not having to do with other men, proceeding not from malice, but error of judgment.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  33. “Now if you yield unto us in what we request, this coincidence2 on our part of need will on your part be honourable, for many reasons. First, in this respect, that you lend your help to such as have suffered, and not to such as have committed the injustice. And next, considering that you receive into league such as have at stake their whole fortune, you shall so place3 your benefit as to have a testimony of it, if ever any can be so, indelible. Besides this, the greatest navy but your own, is ours. Consider then, what rarer hap, and of greater grief to your enemies, can befal you, than that that power, which you would have prized above any money or other requital, should come voluntarily, and without all danger or cost present itself to your hands; bringing with it reputation amongst most men, a grateful mind from those you defend, and strength to yourselves. All which have not1 happened at once to many. And few there be of those that sue for league, that come not rather to receive strength and reputation, than to confer it. If any here think, that the war wherein we may do you service will not at all be, he is in an error, and seeth not how the Lacedæmonians, through fear of you, are already in labour of the war; and that the Corinthians, gracious with them and enemies to you, making way for their enterprize2 , assault us now in the way to the invasion of you hereafter, that we may not stand amongst the rest of their common enemies, but that they may be sure beforehand3 , either to weaken us, or to strengthen their own estate. It must therefore be your4 part, we offering and you accepting the league, to begin with them, and to anticipate plotting rather than to counterplot against them.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  34. “If they object injustice, in that you receive their colony, henceforth let them learn that all colonies, so long as they receive no wrong from their mother city, so long they honour her; but when they suffer injury from her, they then become alienate; for they are not sent out to be the slaves of them that stay, but to be their equals. That they have done us the injury, is manifest; for when we offered them a judicial trial of the controversy touching Epidamnus, they chose to prosecute their quarrel rather by arms than judgment. Now let that which they have done unto us, who are their kindred, serve you for some argument, not to be seduced1 by their demands, and made their instruments before you be aware. For he lives most secure, that hath fewest benefits bestowed upon him by his enemies to repent of.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  35. “As for the articles between you and the Lacedæmonians, they are not broken by receiving us into your league, because we are in league with neither party. For there2 it is said, that whosoever is confederate of neither party, may have access lawfully to either. And sure it were very unreasonable, that the Corinthians should have the liberty to man their fleet out of the cities comprised in the league, and3 out of any other parts of Greece, and not the least out of places4 in your dominion; and we be denied both the league now propounded, and also all other help from whencesoever. And5 if they impute it to you as a fault, that you grant our request; we shall take it for a greater, that you grant it not. For therein you shall reject us that are invaded, and be none of your enemies; and them, who are your enemies and make the invasion, you shall not only not oppose, but also suffer to raise unlawful1 forces in your dominions. Whereas you ought in truth, either not to suffer them to take up mercenaries in your states, or else to send us succours also, in such manner as you shall think good yourselves; but especially by taking us into your league, and so aiding us. Many commodities2 , as we said in the beginning, we show unto you, but this for the greatest; that whereas they are your enemies, (which is manifest enough), and not weak ones, but able to hurt those that stand up against them, we offer you a naval, not a terrestrial league; and the want of one of these is not as the want of the other. Nay rather, your principal aim, if it could be done, should be to let none at all have shipping but yourselves; or at least, if that cannot be, to make such your friends as are best furnished therewith.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  36. “If any man now think thus, that what we have spoken is indeed profitable, but fears, if it were admitted, the league were thereby broken: let that man consider, that his fear joined with strength will make his enemies fear, and his confidence, having (if he reject us) so much the less strength, will so much the less be1 feared. Let him also remember, that he is now in consultation no less concerning Athens than Corcyra; wherein he forecasteth none of the best, (considering the present state of affairs), that makes a question, whether against a war at hand and only not already on foot, he should join unto it or not that city, which with most important advantages or disadvantages will be2 friend or enemy. For it lieth so conveniently for sailing into Italy and Sicily, that it can both prohibit any fleet to come to Peloponnesus from thence, and convoy any coming from Peloponnesus3 thither: and is also for divers other uses most commodious. And to comprehend all in brief, consider whether we be to be abandoned or not, by this. For Greece having but three navies of any account, yours, ours, and that of Corinth, if you suffer the other two to join in one by letting the Corinthians first seize us, you shall have to fight by sea at one time both against the Corcyræans and the Peloponnesians; whereas by making league with us, you shall, with your1 fleet augmented, have to deal against the Peloponnesians alone.”

  Thus spake the Corcyræans: and after them the Corinthians, thus.

  oration of the ambassadors of corinth.A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  37. “The Corcyræans in their oration having made mention not only of your taking them into league, but also that they are wronged and unjustly warred on; it is also necessary for us first to answer concerning both those points, and then afterwards to proceed to the rest of what we have to say: to the end you may foreknow2 that ours are the safest demands for you to embrace, and that you may upon reason reject the needy3 estate of those others. Whereas they allege in defence of their refusing to enter league with other cities, that the same hath proceeded from modesty, the truth is, that they took up that custom, not from any virtue, but mere wickedness; as4 being unwilling to have any confederate for a witness of their evil actions, and to be put to blush by calling them. Besides, their city being by the situation sufficient within itself, giveth them this point; that when they do any man a wrong, they themselves are the judges of the same, and not men appointed by consent. For going seldom forth against other nations, they intercept such as by necessity are driven into their harbour. And in this consisteth1 their goodly pretext for not admitting confederates, not because they would not be content to accompany others in doing evil, but because they had rather do it alone; that where they were too strong, they might oppress; and when there should be none to observe them, the less of the profit might be shared from them; and that they might escape the shame, when they took any thing. But if they had been honest men, (as they themselves say they are), by how much the less they are obnoxious2 to accusation, so much the more means they have, by giving and taking what is3 due, to make their honesty appear. 38. But they are not such, neither towards others nor towards us. For being our colony, they have not only been ever in revolt; but now they also make war upon us, and say they were not sent out to be injured by us. But we say again, that we did not send them forth to be scorned by them, but to have the leading of them, and to be regarded by them as is fit. For4 our other colonies both honour and love us much: which is an argument, seeing the rest are pleased with our actions, that these have no just cause to be offended alone; and that without some manifest wrong, we should not have had colour1 to war against them. But say we had been in an error, it had been well done in them to have given way to our passion, as it had been also dishonourable in us to have insulted over their modesty. But through pride and wealth they have done wrong, both in many other things, and also in this; that Epidamnus being ours, which whilst it was vexed with wars they never claimed, as soon as we came to relieve it, was forcibly seized by them, and so holden.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.

  39. “They say2 now, that before they took it, they offered to put the cause to trial of judgment. But you are not to think that such a one will stand to judgment, as hath advantage and is sure already of what he offereth to plead for; but rather he, that before the trial will admit equality in the matter itself as well as in the pleading. Whereas contrarily, these men offered not this specious pretence of a judicial trial, before they had besieged the city, but after, when they saw we meant not to put it3 up. And now hither they be come, not content to have been faulty in that business themselves, but to get in you; into their confederacy? no; but into their conspiracy; and to receive them in this name, that they are enemies to us. But they should have come to you then, when they were most in safety; not now, when we have the wrong, and they the danger; and when you, that never1 partaked of their power, must2 impart unto them of your aid, and having been free from their faults, must have an equal share from us of the blame. They should3 communicate their power before hand, that mean to make common the issue of the same; and they that share not in the crimes, ought also to have no part in the sequel of them.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.A. C. 440. Ol. 85. 1.

  40. “Thus it appears, that we come for our parts with arguments of equity and right; whereas the proceedings of these other are nothing else but violence and rapine. And now we shall show you likewise, that you cannot receive them in point of justice. For although it be in the articles4 , that the cities written with neither of the parties may come in to whether of them they please; yet it holds not for such as do so to the detriment of either; but only for those, that having revolted1 from neither part, want protection, and bring not a war with them instead of peace to those (if they be wise2 ) that receive them. For3 you shall not only be auxiliaries unto these; but to us, instead of confederates, enemies. For if you go with them, it follows, they4 must defend themselves not without you. You should do most uprightly, to stand out of both our ways; and if not that, then to take our parts against the Corcyræans; (for between the Corinthians and you there are articles of peace, but with the Corcyræans you never had so much as a truce); and not to constitute a new law, of receiving one another’s rebels. For neither did we give our votes against you, when the Samians revolted, though the rest of Peloponnesus was divided in opinion5 ; but plainly alleged, that it was reason, that every one should have liberty to proceed against their own revolting confederates. And if you shall once receive and aid the doers of wrong, it will be seen that they will come over as fast from you to us; and you shall set up a law, not so much against us, as against yourselves.

  A. C. 433. Ol. 86. 3. 4.A. C. 491. Ol. 72. 2.

  41. “These are the points of justice we had to show you, conformable to the law of the Grecians. And now we come to matter of advice, and claim of favour; which (being not so much your enemies as to hurt you, nor such friends as to surcharge you) we say, ought in the present occasion to be granted us by way of requital. For when you had want of long barks against the Æginetæ, a little before the Medan war, you had twenty lent unto you by the Corinthians; which benefit of ours, and that other against the Samians, when by us it was that the Peloponnesians did not aid them, was the cause both of your victory1 against the Æginetæ, and of the punishment of the Samians. And these things were done for you in a season, when men, going to fight against their enemies, neglect all respects but2 of victory. For3 even a man’s domestic affairs are ordered the worse, through eagerness of present contention.

  A. C. 433. Ol.86.3.4.

  42. “Which benefits considering, and the younger sort taking notice of them from the elder, be you pleased to defend4 us now in the like manner. And have not this thought: that though in what we have spoken there be equity, yet, if the war should arise, the profit would be found in the contrary. For utility followeth those actions most, wherein we do the least wrong; besides that the likelihood of the war, wherewith the Corcyræans frighting you go about to draw you to injustice, is yet obscure, and not worthy to move you to a manifest and present hostility with the Corinthians; but it were rather fit for you, indeed, to take away our former jealousies1 concerning the Megareans. For the last good turn done in season, though but small, is able to cancel an accusation of much greater moment. Neither suffer yourselves to be drawn on by the greatness of the navy which now shall be at your service by this league. For to do no injury to our equals, is a firmer power, than that addition of strength, which, puffed up2 with present shows, men are to acquire with danger.

  43. “And since we be come to this, which once before we said at Lacedæmon, that every one ought to proceed as he shall think good against his own confederates, we claim that liberty now of you; and that you that have been helped by our votes, will not hurt us now by yours, but render like for like; remembering, that now is that occasion, wherein he that aideth us is our greatest friend, and he that opposeth us our greatest enemy: and that you will not receive3 these Corcyræans into league against our wills, nor defend them in their injuries. These things if you grant us, you shall both do as is fit, and also advise the best for the good of your own affairs.”

  This was the effect of what was spoken by the Corinthians.

  A. C. 433. Ol.86.3.4. A league defensive made between the Athenians and Corcyræans.

  44. Both sides having been heard, and the Athenian people twice assembled; in the former assembly they approved no less of the reasons of the Corinthians than of the Corcyræans. But in the latter they changed their minds; not so as to make a league with the Corcyræans both offensive and defensive, that the friends and enemies of the one should be so of the other; (for then, if the Corcyræans should have required them to go against Corinth, the peace had been broken with the Peloponnesians); but made it only defensive, that if any one should invade Corcyra or Athens, or any of their confederates, they were then mutually to assist one another. For they expected that even thus they should grow to war with the Peloponnesians, and were therefore unwilling to let Corcyra, that had so great a navy, to fall into the hands of the Corinthians; but rather, as much as in them lay, desired to break them one against another; that if need required, they might have to do with the Corinthians, and others that had shipping, when they should be weakened to their hands. And the island seemed also to lie conveniently for passing into Italy and Sicily.

  They aid Corcyra with ten galleys.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  45. With this mind the people of Athens received the Corcyræans into league; and when the Corinthians were gone, sent ten galleys not long after to their aid. The commanders of them were Lacedæmonius the son of Cimon, Diotimus the son of Strombichus, and Proteas the son of Epicles; and1 had order not to fight with the Corinthians, unless they invaded Corcyra, or offered to land there or in some other place of theirs: which, if they did, then with all their might to oppose them. This1 they forbad, because they would not break the peace concluded with the Peloponnesians. So these galleys arrived at Corcyra.

  The Corinthian fleet.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  46. The Corinthians, when they were ready, made towards Corcyra with one hundred and fifty sail; of the Eleans ten, of the Megareans twelve, of the Leucadians ten, of the Ambraciots twenty–seven, of the Anactorians one, and ninety of their own. The commanders of these were men chosen out of the said several cities, for the several parts of the fleet which they sent in; and over those of Corinth was Xenocleides the son of Euthicles, with four others. After they were all come2 together upon the coast of the continent over against Corcyra, they sailed from Leucas, and came to Chimerium in the country of Thesprotis. In3 this place is a haven, and above it, farther from the sea, the city of Ephyra, in that part of Thesprotis which is called Elæatis; and near unto it disbogueth into the sea the lake Acherusia, and into that (having first passed through Thesprotis) the river Acheron, from which it taketh the name. Also the river Thyamis runneth here, which divideth Thesprotis from Cestrine4 ; betwixt which two rivers ariseth this promontory of Chimerium. To this part of the continent came1 the Corinthians, and encamped.

  The Corcyræan fleet.

  47. The Corcyræans understanding that they made against them, having ready one hundred and ten galleys under the conduct of Miciades, Æsimides, and Eurybatus, came and encamped in one of the islands called Sybota: and the ten galleys of Athens were also with them. But their land forces stayed in the promontory of Leucimna, and with them one thousand men of arms of the Zacynthians that came to aid them. The Corinthians also had in the continent the aids of many barbarians, which in those quarters have2 been evermore their friends.

  The Corinthians set forward.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  48. The Corinthians, after they were ready and had taken aboard three days’ provision of victual, put off by night from Chimerium with purpose to fight; and about break of day, as they were sailing, descried the galleys of the Corcyræans, which were also put off from Sybota and coming on to fight with the Corinthians3 . As soon as they had sight one of another, they put themselves into order of battle. In the right wing4 of the Corcyræans were placed the galleys of Athens; and the rest being their own5 , were divided into three commands, under the three commanders, one under one. This was the order of the Corcyræans. The Corinthians had in their right wing the galleys of Megara and of Ambracia; in the middle, other their confederates in order; and opposite to the Athenians and right wing of the Corcyræans they were themselves placed, with such galleys as were best of sail, in the left.

  The battle.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.The Corinthians have the better.The Athenians and Corinthians fight.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  49. The standard1 being on either side lift up, they joined battle; having on both parts2 both many men of arms and many archers and slingers, but after the old fashion as yet somewhat unskilfully appointed. The battle was not so artificially as cruelly fought; near unto the manner of a fight at land. For after they had once3 run their galleys up close aboard one of another, they could not for the number and throng be easily gotten asunder again, but relied for the victory especially upon their men of arms, who fought where they stood whilst the galleys remained altogether without motion. Passages4 through each other they made none, but fought it out with courage and strength, rather than with skill. Insomuch as the battle was in every part not without much tumult and disorder: in which the Athenian galleys, being always, where the Corcyræans were oppressed, at hand, kept the enemies in fear, but yet began no assault, because their commanders stood in awe of the prohibition of the Athenian people. The right wing of the Corinthians was in the greatest distress; for the Corcyræans with twenty galleys had made them turn their backs, and chased them dispersed to the continent; and sailing to their very camp, went aland, burnt their abandoned tents and took away their baggage. So that in this part the Corinthians and their confederates were vanquished, and the Corcyræans had the victory. But in the left wing, where the Corinthians were themselves, they were far superior; because the Corcyræans had twenty galleys of their number, which was at first less than that of the Corinthians, absent in the chase of the enemy. And the Athenians, when they saw the Corcyræans were in distress, now aided them manifestly1 ; whereas before, they had abstained from making assault upon any. But when once they fled outright, and that the Corinthians lay sore upon them, then every one fell to the business without making difference any longer: and it came at last to this necessity, that they undertook one another, Corinthians and Athenians.

  Sybota of the continent, a haven.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.A supply of twenty sail from Athens.

  50. The Corinthians, when their enemies fled, staid not to fasten the hulls of the galleys they had sunk1 unto their own galleys, that so they might tow them after; but made after the men, rowing up and down, to kill rather than to take alive; and through ignorance (not knowing that their right wing had been discomfited) slew also some of their own friends. For the galleys of either side being many and taking up a large space at sea, after they were once in the medley they could not easily discern who were of the victors, and who of the vanquished party. For this was the greatest naval battle, for number of ships, that ever had been before of Grecians against Grecians. When2 the Corinthians had chased the Corcyræans to the shore, they returned to take up the broken galleys and bodies of their dead; which for the greatest part they recovered and brought to Sybota, where also lay the land–forces of the barbarians that were come to aid them. This Sybota is a desert haven of Thesprotis. When they had done, they reunited themselves, and made again to the Corcyræans. And they likewise, with such galleys as they had fit for the sea remaining3 of the former battle, together with those of Athens, put forth to meet them, fearing lest they should attempt to land upon their territory. By this time the day was far spent, and the song1 which they used to sing when they came to charge, was ended, when suddenly the Corinthians began to row astern: for they had descried twenty Athenian galleys2 , sent from Athens to second the former ten; for fear lest the Corcyræans (as it also fell out) should be overcome, and those ten galleys of theirs be too few3 to defend them.

  The Corinthians fall off.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  51. When the Corinthians therefore had sight of these galleys, suspecting that they were of Athens and more in number than they were, by little and little they fell off. But the Corcyræans (because the course of these galleys was unto them more out of sight4 ) descried them not, but wondered why the Corinthians rowed astern; till at last some that saw them, said they were enemies5 ; and then retired also the Corcyræans. For by this time it was dark, and the Corinthians had turned about the heads of their galleys and dissolved themselves. And thus were they parted, and the battle ended1 in night. The Corcyræans lying at Leucimna, these twenty Athenian galleys, under the command of Glaucon the son of Leagrus, and Andocides the son of Leogorus, passing through the midst of the floating carcases and wrecks, soon after they were descried arrived at the camp of the Corcyræans in Leucimna. The Corcyræans at first (being night) were afraid they had been enemies, but knew them afterwards; so they2 anchored there.

  The Corcyræans offer battle again.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The Corinthians expostulate with the Athenians, to sound their purpose.The answer of the Athenians.

  52. The next day, both the thirty galleys of Athens and as many of Corcyra as were fit for service, went to the haven in Sybota, where the Corinthians lay at anchor, to see if they would fight. But the Corinthians, when they had put off from the land and arranged themselves in the wide sea, stood quiet, not meaning of their own accord to begin the battle; both for that they saw the supply of fresh galleys from Athens, and for many difficulties that happened to them, both about the safe custody of their prisoners aboard, and also for that being in a desert place their galleys were not yet3 repaired; but took thought rather how to go home, for fear lest the Athenians, having the peace for already broken in that they had fought against each other, should not suffer them to depart. 53. They therefore thought good to send1 afore unto the Athenians certain men without privilege of heralds, for to sound them, and to say in this manner: “Men of Athens, you do unjustly to begin the war and violate the articles: for whereas we go about to right us on our enemies, you stand in our way and bear arms against us: if therefore you be resolved to hinder our going against Corcyra or whatsoever place else we please, dissolve2 the peace, and laying hands first upon us that are here, use us as enemies.” Thus said they: and the Corcyræans, as many of the army as heard them, cried out immediately to take and kill them. But the Athenians made answer thus: “Men of Peloponnesus, neither do we begin the war nor break the peace; but we bring aid to these our confederates, the Corcyræans: if you please therefore to go any whither else, we hinder you not; but if against Corcyra, or any place belonging unto it, we will not3 suffer you.”

  The Corinthians go home.Both the Corcyræans and Corinthians challenge the victory, and both set up trophies.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  54. When the Athenians had given them this answer, the Corinthians made ready to go home, and set up a trophy in Sybota of the continent. And the Corcyræans also both took up the wreck and bodies of the dead, which carried every way by the waves and the winds that arose the night before, came driving to their hands; and, as if they had had the victory, set up a trophy likewise in Sybota the island. The victory was thus challenged on both sides upon these grounds. The Corinthians did set up a trophy, because in the battle they had the better all day, having1 gotten more of the wreck and dead bodies than the other, and taken no less than a thousand prisoners, and sunk about seventy of the enemies’ galleys. And the Corcyræans set up a trophy, because they had sunk thirty2 galleys of the Corinthians, and had, after the arrival of the Athenians, recovered the wreck and dead bodies that drove to them by reason of the wind; and because the day before, upon sight of the Athenians, the Corinthians had rowed astern and went away from them: and lastly, for that when they3 went to Sybota, the Corinthians came not out to encounter them. Thus each side claimed victory.

  The Corinthians in their way home, take Anactorium, and keep two hundred and fifty of the best men prisoners, being Corcyræans, and use them well.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  55. The Corinthians in their way homeward took in Anactorium, a town seated in the mouth of the Gulf of Ambracia, by deceit; (this town was common to them and to the Corcyræans); and having put into it Corinthians only4 , departed and went home. Of the Corcyræans, eight hundred that were servants5 , they sold; and kept prisoners two hundred and fifty, whom they used with very much favour, that they might be a means, at their return, to bring Corcyra into the power of the Corinthians; the greatest part of these being principal men of the city. And thus was Corcyra delivered1 of the war of Corinth, and the Athenian galleys went from them. This was the first cause that the Corinthians had of war against the Athenians: namely, because they had taken part with the Corcyræans in a battle by sea against the Corinthians, with whom they were comprised in the same articles of peace.

  The second pretext of the war:Potidæa suspected.Potidæa commanded to give hostages, and to pull down part of their wall.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 2.

  56. Presently after this, it came to pass that other differences arose between the Peloponnesians and the Athenians, to induce the war. For whilst the Corinthians studied2 to be revenged, the Athenians, who had their hatred in jealousy, commanded the citizens of Potidæa, a city seated in the Isthmus of Pallene3 , a colony of the Corinthians, but confederate and tributary to the Athenians, to pull down that part of the wall of their city that stood towards4 Pallene, and to give them hostages, and also to send away and no more receive the Epidemiurgi5 , (magistrates so called), which were sent unto them year by year from Corinth; fearing lest through the persuasion of Perdiccas1 and of the Corinthians they should revolt, and draw to revolt with them their other confederates in Thrace2 .

  The Athenians give orders to the generals they were sending against Perdiccas, to secure their cities in those parts.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  57. These things against the Potidæans, the Athenians had precontrived presently after the naval battle fought at Corcyra. For the Corinthians and they were now manifestly at difference; and Perdiccas, who before had been their confederate and friend, now warred3 upon them. And the cause why he did so was, that when his brother Philip and Derdas joined in arms against him, the Athenians had made a league with them. And therefore being afraid, he both sent to Lacedæmon to negotiate the Peloponnesian war, and also reconciled himself to the Corinthians the better to procure the revolt of Potidæa. And likewise he practised with the Chalcideans of Thrace, and with the Bottiæans, to revolt with them: for if he could make these confining cities his confederates, with the help of them he thought his war would be the easier. Which the Athenians perceiving, and intending to prevent the revolt of these cities, gave order to the commanders of the fleet, (for they were now sending thirty galleys with a thousand men of arms, under the command of Archestratus the son of Lycomedes, and ten others, into the territories of Perdiccas), both to receive hostages of the Potidæans, and to demolish their walls1 ; and also to have an eye to the neighbouring cities, that they revolted not.

  The Potidæans seek the protection of the Lacedæmonians.The revolt of Potidæa, Bottiæa, and Chalcidice, from the Athenians.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  58. The Potidæans having sent ambassadors to Athens, to try if they could persuade the people not to make any alteration amongst them; by other ambassadors, whom they sent along with the ambassadors of Corinth to Lacedæmon, dealt2 with the Lacedæmonians at the same time, if need required, to be ready to revenge their quarrel. When after long solicitation at Athens and no good done, the fleet was sent away against them no less than against Macedonia: and when the magistrates of Lacedæmon had promised them, if the Athenians went to Potidæa, to invade Attica: then at last they revolted, and together with them the Chalcideans and Bottiæans, all mutually sworn in the same conspiracy. For3 Perdiccas had also persuaded the Chalcideans to abandon and pull down their maritime towns, and to go up and dwell at Olynthus, and that one city to make strong: and unto those that removed, gave part of his own, and part4 of the territory of Mygdonia, about the lake Bolbe, to live on, so long as the war against the Athenians should continue. So when1 they had demolished their cities, and were gone up higher into the country, they prepared themselves to the war.

  The Athenian fleet, finding Potidæa and other cities already lost, go into Macedonia.

  59. The Athenian galleys, when they arrived in Thrace, found Potidæa and the other cities already revolted. And the commanders of the fleet conceiving it to be impossible, with their present forces, to make war both against Perdiccas and the towns revolted, set sail again for Macedonia, against which they had been at first sent out; and there staying, joined with Philip and the brothers of Derdas, that had invaded the country from above.

  The Corinthians send their forces to Potidæa to defend it.

  60. In the meantime after Potidæa was revolted, and whilst the Athenian fleet lay on the coast of Macedonia, the Corinthians, fearing what might become of the city, and making the danger their own, sent unto it, both of their own city2 , and of other Peloponnesians which they hired, to the number of sixteen hundred men of arms and four hundred light3 armed. The charge of these was given to Aristeus the son of Adimantus, for whose sake4 most of the volunteers of Corinth went the voyage: for he had been ever a great favourer of the Potidæans. And they arrived in Thrace after the revolt of Potidæa forty days.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The Athenians send forces against Potidæa.Veria.

  61. The news of the revolt of these cities was likewise quickly brought to the Athenian people; who hearing withal of the forces sent unto them under Aristeus, sent forth against the places revolted two thousand men of arms and forty galleys, under the conduct of Callias the son of Calliades1 . These coming first into Macedonia, found there the former thousand, who by this time had taken Therme2 , and were now besieging the city of Pydna; and staying, helped for a while to besiege it with the rest. But shortly after they took composition; and having made a necessary3 league with Perdiccas, (urged thereto by the affairs of Potidæa, and the arrival there of Aristeus), departed from Macedonia. Thence coming to Berrhœa4 , they attempted to take it: but when they could not do it, they turned back, and marched towards Potidæa by land. They were of their own number three thousand men of arms, besides many of their confederates; and of Macedonians that had served with Philip and Pausanias, six hundred horsemen. And their galleys, seventy in number, sailing by them along the coast5 , by moderate journeys came in three days to Gigonus, and there encamped.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The Athenians and those with Aristeus prepare themselves for battle.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The victory falleth to the Athenians.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  62. The Potidæans and the Peloponnesians under Aristeus, in expectation of the coming of the Athenians, lay now encamped in the isthmus near unto1 Olynthus, and had the market kept for them without2 the city. And the leading of the foot the confederates had assigned to Aristeus, and of the horse to Perdiccas: for he fell off again presently from the Athenians, and having left Iolaus governor in his place, took part with the Potidæans. The purpose of Aristeus was, to have the body of the army with himself within the isthmus3 , and therewith to attend the coming on of the Athenians; and to have the Chalcideans and their confederates without the isthmus, and also the two hundred horse under Perdiccas, to stay in Olynthus, and when the Athenians were4 passed by, to come on their backs and to inclose the enemy betwixt them. But Callias the Athenian general, and the rest that were in commission with him, sent out before them their Macedonian horsemen and some few of their confederates to Olynthus, to stop those within from making any sally from the town; and then dislodging marched on towards Potidæa. When they were come on as far as the isthmus, and saw the enemy make ready to fight, they also did the like; and not long after they joined battle. That wing wherein was Aristeus himself, with the chosen men of the Corinthians and others, put to flight that part of their enemies that stood opposite unto them, and followed execution a great way. But the rest of the army of the Potidæans and Peloponnesians were by the Athenians defeated, and fled into the city. 63. And Aristeus, when he came back from the execution1 , was in doubt what way to take, to Olynthus or to Potidæa. In the end he resolved of the shortest2 way, and with his soldiers about him ran as hard as he was able into Potidæa; and with much ado got in at the pier3 through the sea, cruelly shot at, and with the loss of a few, but the safety of the greatest part of his company. As soon as the battle began4 , they that should have seconded the Potidæans from Olynthus, (for it is at most but sixty furlongs5 off, and in sight), advanced a little way to have aided them; and the Macedonian horse opposed themselves likewise in order of battle, to keep them back. But the Athenians having quickly gotten the victory, and the standards being taken1 down, they retired again; they of Olynthus into that city, and the Macedonian horsemen into the army of the Athenians. So2 that neither side had their cavalry at the battle. After the battle the Athenians erected a trophy, and gave truce to the Potidæans for the taking up of the bodies of their dead. Of the Potidæans and their friends there died somewhat less than three hundred; and of the Athenians themselves one hundred and fifty, with Callias one of their commanders.

  The Athenians begin to besiege Potidæa.The Athenians send Phormio with sixteen hundred men of arms to Potidæa.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Potidæa straightly besieged on all sides.

  64. Presently upon this, the Athenians raised a wall before the city on the part towards3 the isthmus, which they kept with a garrison; but the part to Pallene–ward they left unwalled. For they thought themselves too small a number, both to keep a guard in the isthmus, and withal to go over and fortify in Pallene; fearing lest the Potidæans and their confederates should assault them when divided. When the people of Athens understood that Potidæa was unwalled on the part toward Pallene, not long after they sent thither sixteen hundred men of arms under the conduct of Phormio the son of Asopius: who arriving in Pallene, left4 his galleys at Aphytis, and marching easily to Potidæa wasted the territory as he passed through. And when none came out to give him battle, he raised a wall before the city on that part also that looketh towards Pallene. Thus was Potidæa on both sides strongly besieged; and also from the sea by the Athenian galleys, that came up and rode before it.

  The advice of Aristeus, to carry all the people but five hundred men out of the city, that their victual might the better hold out, refused.Aristeus getteth out of the city, unseen of the Athenians.And staying in Chalcidice, slew certain of the city of Sermylius by ambushment.Phormio wasteth the territories of the Chalcideans and Bottiæans.

  65. Aristeus, seeing the city enclosed on every side, and without hope of safety save what might come from Peloponnesus or some other unexpected way, gave advice to all but five hundred, taking the opportunity of a wind, to go out by sea, that the provision might the longer hold out for the rest; and of them that should remain within offered himself to be one. But when his counsel took not place, being desirous to settle their business1 , and make the best of their affairs abroad, he got out by sea unseen of the Athenian guard; and staying amongst the Chalcideans, amongst other actions of the war2 , laid an ambush before Sermylius and slew many of that city, and solicited the sending of aid from Peloponnesus. And Phormio, after the siege laid to Potidæa, having with him his sixteen hundred men of arms, wasted the territory of the Chalcideans and Bottiæans, and some small towns he took in.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.The solicitation of the war by the Corinthians and other confederates of the Lacedæmonians.Complaints exhibited against the Athenians in the council of Sparta.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  66. These were3 the quarrels between the Peloponnesians and the Athenians. The Corinthians quarrelled the Athenians, for besieging Potidæa, and in it the men of Corinth and Peloponnesus. The Athenians quarrelled the Peloponnesians, for causing their confederate and tributary city to revolt; and for that they had come thither, and openly fought against them in the behalf of Potidæa. Nevertheless the war brake not openly forth as yet, and they yet abstained from arms; for this was but a particular action of the Corinthians. 67. But when Potidæa was once besieged, both for their men’s sakes that were within, and also for fear to lose the place, they could no longer hold. But out of hand, they procured1 of their confederates to go to Lacedæmon; and thither also they went themselves with clamours and accusations against the Athenians, that they had broken the league and wronged the Peloponnesians. The Æginetæ, though not openly by ambassadors for fear of the Athenians, yet privily instigated them to the war as much as any; alledging that they were not permitted to govern themselves according to their own laws, as by the articles2 they ought to have been. So the Lacedæmonians having called together the confederates, and whosoever else had any injustice to lay to the charge of the Athenians, in the ordinary council3 of their own state commanded them to speak. Then presented every one his accusation; and amongst the rest the Megareans, besides many other their great differences, laid open this especially, that contrary to the articles they were forbidden the Athenian markets and havens1 . Last of all, the Corinthians, when they had suffered the Lacedæmonians to be incensed first by the rest, came in and said as followeth.

  oration of the ambassadors of corinth.A. C. 432. Ol 87. 1.

  68. “Men of Lacedæmon, your own fidelity, both in matter of estate and conversation, maketh you the less apt to believe us, when we accuse others of the contrary2 . And hereby you gain indeed a reputation of equity3 , but you have less experience in the affairs of foreign states. For although we have oftentimes foretold you, that the Athenians would do us a mischief; yet from time to time when we told it you, you never would take information of it; but have suspected rather, that what we spake hath proceeded from our own private differences. And you have therefore called hither these confederates, not before we had suffered, but now when the evil is already upon us. Before whom our speech must be so much the longer, by how much our objections are the greater, in that we have both by the Athenians been injured, and by you neglected. If the Athenians lurking in some obscure place, had done these wrongs unto the Grecians, we should then have needed to prove the same before you as to men that knew it not. But now what cause have we to use long discourse, when you see already that some1 are brought into servitude, and that they are contriving the like against others2 , and especially against our confederates; and are themselves, in case war should be made against them, long since prepared for it? For else they would never have taken Corcyra, and holden it from us by force, nor have besieged Potidæa; whereof the one was most commodious for any action against Thrace3 , and the other had brought unto the Peloponnesians a most fair navy.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  69. “And of all this you are yourselves the authors, in that you suffered them upon the end of the Persian war to fortify their city, and again afterwards to raise their long walls; whereby you have hitherto deprived of their liberty, not only the states by them already subdued, but also your own confederates. For not he that bringeth into slavery, but he that being able to hinder it neglects the same, is most truly said to do it; especially if they assume the honour to be esteemed the deliverers of Greece [as you do]. And for all that, we are hardly yet come together, and indeed not yet with any certain resolution what to do. For the question1 should not have been put, whether or not we have received injury, but rather in what manner we are to repair it. For they2 that do the wrong, having consulted upon it beforehand, use no delay at all, but come upon them whom they mean to oppress, whilst they be yet irresolute. And we know, not only3 that the Athenians have incroached upon their neighbours, but also by what ways they have done it. And as long as they think they carry it closely through your blindness, they are the less bold: but when they shall perceive that you see, and will not see, they will then press us strongly indeed. For, Lacedæmonians, you are the only men of all Greece, that sitting still defend others, not with your forces, but with promises4 ; and you are also the only men, that love to pull down the power of the enemy, not when it beginneth, but when it is doubled. You have indeed a report5 to be sure; but yet it is more in fame that, than in fact. For we ourselves know, that the Persian came against6 Peloponnesus from the utmost parts of the earth, before you encountered him as became your state. And also now you connive at the Athenians, who are not as the Medes, far off, but hard at hand; choosing rather to defend yourselves from their invasion, than to invade them; and by having to do with them when their strength is greater, to put yourselves upon the chance of fortune. And yet we1 know that the barbarian’s own error, and in our war against the Athenians, their own oversights, more than your assistance, was the thing that gave us victory. For the hope of your aid hath been the destruction of some, that relying on you, made no preparation for themselves by other means. Yet let not any man think that we speak this out of malice, but only by way of expostulation: for expostulation is with friends that err, but accusation against enemies that have done an injury.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  70. “Besides, if there be any that may challenge to exprobate his neighbour, we think ourselves may best do it; especially on so great quarrels as these, whereof you neither seem2 to have any feeling, nor to consider what manner of men, and how different from you in every kind the Athenians be, that you are to contend withal. For they love innovation, and are swift to devise, and also to execute what they resolve on. But you on the contrary are only apt to save your own; not devise any thing new, nor scarce3 to attain what is necessary. They again are bold beyond their strength, adventurous above their own reason, and in danger hope still the best. Whereas your actions are ever beneath your power, and you distrust even what your judgment1 assures; and being in a danger, never think to be delivered. They are stirrers, you studiers; they love to be abroad, and you at home the most of any. For they make account by being abroad to add to their estate; you, if you should go forth against the state of another, would think to impair your2 own. They, when they overcome their enemies advance the farthest, and when they are overcome by their enemies, fall off the least; and as for their bodies, they use them in the service of the commonwealth as if they were none of their own; but their minds, when they would serve the state, are right their own. Unless they take in hand3 what they have once advised on, they account so much lost of their own. And when they take it in hand, if they obtain any thing, they think lightly of it in respect of what they look to win by their prosecution. If they fail in any attempt, they do what is necessary for the present, and enter presently into other hopes.4 For they alone both have and hope for at once whatsoever they conceive, through their celerity in execution of what they once resolve on. And in this manner they labour and toil all the days of their lives. What they have, they have no leisure to enjoy, for continual getting of more: nor holiday esteem they any, but whereon they effect some matter profitable; nor think they ease with nothing to do, a less torment than laborious business. So that, in a word, to say they are men born neither to rest themselves, nor suffer others, is to say the truth. 71. Now notwithstanding, men of Lacedæmon, that this city, your adversary, be such as we have said, yet you still delay time; not knowing, that those only are they to whom it may suffice for the most part of their time to sit still1 , who, though they use not their power to do injustice, yet bewray a mind unlikely to swallow injuries; but placing equity belike in this, that you neither do any harm to others, nor receive it in defending of yourselves. But this is a thing you hardly could attain, though the states about you were of the same2 condition. But, as we have before declared, your customs are in respect of theirs antiquated; and of necessity, as it happeneth in arts, the new ones will prevail. True it is, that for a city living for the most part in peace, unchanged customs are the best; but for such as be constrained to undergo many matters, many devices will be needful. Which is also the reason why the Athenian customs, through much experience, are more new to you than yours are to them3 . Here therefore give a period to your slackness; and4 by a speedy invasion of Attica, as you promised, relieve both Potidæa and the rest: lest otherwise you betray your friends and kindred5 to their cruelest enemies; and lest we and6 others be driven through despair to seek out some other league. Which to do were no injustice, neither against the Gods, judges of men’s oaths, nor against men, the hearers1 of them. For not they break the league, who being abandoned have recourse to others; but they that yield not their assistance to whom they have sworn it. But if you mean to follow the business seriously, we will stay; for else we should do irreligiously, neither should we find any other more conformable to our manners, than yourselves. Therefore deliberate well of these points; and take such a course, that Peloponnesus may not by your leading fall into worse estate, than it was left unto you by your progenitors.”

  The Athenian ambassadors residing in Lacedæmon upon their business, desire to make answer to the oration of the Corinthians.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  72. Thus spake the Corinthians. The Athenian ambassadors, who chanced to be residing at Lacedæmon upon their2 business, when they heard of this oration, thought fit to present themselves before the Lacedæmonians, not to make apology for what they were charged with by the other cities, but to show in general3 , that it was not fit for them in this case to take any sudden resolution, but farther time to consider. Also they desired to lay open the power of their city; to the elder sort, for a remembrance of what they knew already, and to the younger, for an information of what they knew not: supposing, that when they should have spoken, they would incline to quietness rather than to war. And therefore they presented themselves before the Lacedæmonians, saying, that they also, if they might have leave, desired to speak in the assembly; who willed them to come in. And the Athenians went into the assembly and spake to this effect.

  oration of the ambassadors of athens.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  73. “Though our embassage was not to this end, that we should argue against our1 confederates, but about such other affairs as the city was pleased to employ us in; yet having heard of the great exclamation against us, we came into the court, not to make answer to the criminations of the cities, (for to plead before you here, were not to plead before the judges either of them or us), but to the end you may not be drawn away to take the worse resolution at the persuasion of the confederates, in matters of so great importance: and withal, touching the sum of the oration made against us, to inform you that what we possess, we have it justly, and that our city deserveth reputation. But what need we now to speak of matters long past, confirmed more by hearsay, than by the eyes of those that are to hear us relate them? But our actions against the Persian, and such as you yourselves know as well as we, those, though it be tedious2 to hear them ever objected, we must of necessity recite. For when we did them, we hazarded ourselves for some benefit, of which, as you had your parts in the substance3 , so must we have ours (if that be any benefit) in the commemoration. And we shall make recital of them, not by way of deprecation, but of protestation1 and declaration of what a city, in case you take ill advice, you have to enter the list withal. We therefore say, that we not only first and alone hazarded battle against the barbarian in the fields of Marathon, but also afterwards, when he came again, being unable to resist him by land, embarked ourselves, every man that was able to bear arms, and gave him battle amongst the rest by sea at Salamis; which was the cause that kept him back from sailing to Peloponnesus, and laying it waste city after city: for against so many galleys you were not able to give each other mutual succour. And the greatest proof of this is the Persian himself; who when his fleet was overcome, and that he had2 no more such forces, went away in haste with the greatest part of his army.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  74. “Which being so, and evident that the whole state of the Grecians was embarked in their fleet, we conferred to the same3 the three things of most advantage; namely, the greatest number of galleys, the most prudent commander, and the most lively courage. For of four hundred galleys in the whole, our own were few less than two–thirds; and for commander Themistocles, who was the principal cause that the battle was fought in the strait4 , whereby he clearly saved the whole business, and whom, though a stranger, you your selves have honoured for it more than any man that came unto you. And a forwardness we showed more adventurous than any other, in this, that when none of them had aided us by land before, and the rest of the cities, as far as to our own, were brought into servitude, we were nevertheless content both to quit our city and lose our goods; and even in that estate, not to betray the common cause of the confederates, or divided from them to be unuseful, but to put ourselves into our navy and undergo the danger with them; and that without passion against you for not having formerly defended us in the like manner. So that we may say, that we have no less conferred a benefit upon you, than we received it from you. You came indeed to aid us, but it was from cities inhabited, and to the end you might still keep them so; and when you were afraid, not of our danger, but your own. Whereas1 we, coming from a city no more being2 , and putting ourselves into danger for a city3 hopeless ever to be again, saved both you in4 part, and ourselves. But if we had joined with the Persian, fearing (as others did) to have our territories wasted; or afterwards, as men lost, durst not have put ourselves into our galleys, you must not have fought with him by sea, because your fleet had been too small; but his affairs had1 succeeded as he would himself.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of the Atheniaus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of the Athenians.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of the Athenians.A. C. 432 Ol. 87. 1. Oration of the Athenians.

  75. “Therefore, men of Lacedæmon, we deserve not so great envy of the Grecians2 , for our courage at that time and for our prudence, and for the dominion we hold, as we now undergo. Which dominion we obtained not by violence, but because the confederates, when yourselves would not stay out the relics of the war against the barbarian, came in and entreated us to take the command of their own accord. So that at first we were forced to advance our dominion to what it is, out of the nature of the thing itself; as chiefly for fear, next for honour, and lastly for profit. For when we had the envy of many, and had reconquered some that had already revolted, and seeing you were no more our friends as you had been, but suspected and quarrelled us, we held it no longer a safe course, laying by our power to put ourselves into your danger3 . For the revolts from us, would all have been made to you. Now it is no fault for men in danger, to order their affairs to the best. 76. For you also4 , men of Lacedæmon, have command over the cities of Peloponnesus, and order them to your best advantage. And had you, when the time was1 , by staying it out, been envied in your command, as we know well, you would have been no less heavy to the confederates than we, you must have been constrained to rule imperiously, or to have fallen into danger. So that, though overcome by three the greatest things, honour, fear, and profit, we have both accepted the dominion delivered us and refuse again to surrender it, we have therein done nothing to be wondered at nor beside the manner of men. Nor have we been the first in this kind, but it hath been ever a thing fixed, for the weaker to be kept under by the stronger. Besides, we took the government upon us as esteeming ourselves worthy of the same; and of you also so esteemed, till having computed the commodity, you now fall to allegation of equity; a thing which no man that had the occasion to achieve anything by strength, ever so far preferred as to divert him from his profit. Those men are worthy of commendation, who following the natural inclination of man in desiring2 rule over others, are juster than for their own power they need. And therefore if another had our power, we think it would best make appear our own moderation; and yet our moderation hath undeservedly incurred contempt3 rather than commendation. 77. For1 though in pleas of covenants with our confederates, when in our own city we have allowed them trial by laws equal both to them and us, the judgment hath been given against us, we have then nevertheless been reputed contentious. None of them considering that2 others, who in other places have dominion and are toward their subject states less moderate than we, yet are never upbraided for it. For they that have the power to compel, need not at all to go to law. And yet3 these men having been used to converse with us upon equal terms, if they lose anything which they think they should not, either by sentence or by the power of our government, they are not thankful for the much they retain, but take in worse part the little they forego, than if at first, laying law aside, we had openly taken their goods by violence. For in this kind also4 they themselves cannot deny, but the weaker must give way to the stronger. And men, it seems, are more passionate for injustice, than for violence. For that, coming as from an equal, seemeth rapine; and the other, because from one stronger, but necessity. Therefore when they suffered worse things under the Medes’ dominion, they bore it; but think ours to be rigorous. And good reason; for to men in subjection, the present is ever the worst estate. Insomuch as you also, if you should put us down and reign yourselves, you would soon find a change of the love which they bear you now for fear of us, if you should do again as you did1 for a while, when you were their commanders against the Medes. For not only your own institutions are different2 from those of others, but also when any one of you comes abroad [with charge], he neither useth those of yours, nor yet those of the rest of Greece. 78. Deliberate therefore of this a great while, as of a matter of great importance; and do not upon the opinions and criminations of others procure your own trouble. Consider before you enter, how unexpected the chances of war be. For a long war for the most part endeth in calamity, from which we are equally far off; and whether part it will light on, is to be tried with uncertainty. And men, when they go to war, use many times to fall first to action, the which ought to come behind; and when they have taken harm, then they fall to reasoning. But since we are neither in such error ourselves, nor do find that you are, we advise you, whilst good counsel is in both our elections, not to break the peace nor violate your oaths; but according to the articles, let the controversy be decided by judgment; or else we call the gods you have sworn by to witness, that if you begin the war, we will endeavour to revenge ourselves the same way that you shall walk in before us.”

  The Lacedæmonians amongst themselves take counsel how to proceed.

  79. Thus spake the Athenians. After the Lacedæmonians had heard both the complaints of the confederates against the Athenians, and the Athenians’ answer, they put them every one out of the court1 , and consulted of the business amongst themselves. And the opinions of the greatest part concurred in this; that the Athenians had done unjustly, and ought speedily to be warred on. But Archidamus their king, a man reputed both wise and temperate, spake as followeth.

  oration of archidamus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.

  80. “Men of Lacedæmon, both I myself have the experience of many wars, and I see you of the same age with me to have the like; insomuch as you2 cannot desire this war either through inexperience, as many do, nor yet as apprehending it to be profitable or safe. And whosoever shall temperately consider the war we now deliberate of, will find it to be no small one. For though in respect of the Peloponnesians and our neighbour states we have equal1 strength, and can quickly be upon them; yet against men whose territory is remote, and are also expert seamen, and with all other things excellently furnished, as money, both private and public, shipping, horses, arms, and number, more than any one part of Greece besides; and that have many confederates paying them tribute: against such, I say, why should we lightly undertake the war? And since we are unfurnished, whereon relying should we make such haste to it? On our navy? But therein we are too weak: and if we will provide2 and prepare against them, it will require time. On our money? But therein also we are more too weak3 ; for neither hath the state any, nor will private men readily contribute. 81. But it may be, some rely on this; that we exceed them in arms and multitude of soldiers, so that we may waste their territories with incursions. But there is much other land under their dominion, and by sea they are able to bring in whatsoever they shall stand in need of. Again, if we essay to alienate their confederates, we must aid them with shipping, because the most of them are islanders. What a war then will this of ours be? For unless we have the better of them in shipping, or take from them their revenue, whereby their navy is maintained, we shall do the most hurt to ourselves. And in this case to let fall the war again, will be no honour for us, when we are chiefly thought to have begun it. As1 for the hope, that if we waste their country, the war will soon be at an end; let that never lift us up: for I fear we shall transmit it rather to our children. For it is likely the Athenians have the spirit not to be slaves to their earth; nor as men without experience, to be astonished at the war. 82. And yet I do not advise that we should stupidly suffer our confederates to be wronged, and not apprehend the Athenians in their plots against them; but only not yet to take up arms, but to send and expostulate with them, making no great show neither of war nor of sufferance: and in the mean time to make our provision, and make friends both of Greeks and barbarians, such as in any place we can get of power either in shipping or money; (nor are they to be blamed, that being laid in wait for, as we are by the Athenians, take unto them not Grecians only, but also barbarians for their safety); and withal to set forth2 our own. If they listen to our ambassadors, best of all; if not, then two or three years passing over our heads, being better appointed, we may war3 upon them if we will. And when they see our preparation4 , and hear words that import no less, they will perhaps relent the sooner; especially having their grounds unhurt, and consulting upon commodities extant and not yet spoiled. For we must think their territory to be nothing but an hostage, and so much the more, by how much the better husbanded. The which we ought therefore to spare as long as we may; lest making them desperate, we make them also the harder to expugn. For if unfurnished as we be, at the instigation of the confederates we waste their territory; consider if1 in so doing we do not make the war both more dishonourable to the Peloponnesians, and also more difficult. For though accusations, as well against2 cities as private men, may be cleared again, a war for the pleasure of some taken up by all, the success whereof cannot be foreseen, can hardly with honour be letten fall again. 83. Now let no man think it cowardice, that being many cities3 , we go not presently and invade that one city. For of confederates that bring them in money, they have more than we; and war is not so much war of arms as war of money, by means whereof arms are useful; especially when it is a war of land–men against sea–men. And therefore let us first provide ourselves of money, and not first raise the war upon the persuasion of the confederates. For we that must be thought the causers of all events, good or bad, have reason also to take some leisure in part to foresee them. 84. As for the slackness and procrastination wherewith5 we are reproached by the confederates, be never ashamed of it; for the more haste you make to the war, you will4 be the longer before you end it, for that you go to it unprovided. Besides, our city hath been ever free and well thought of: and this which they object, is rather to be called a modesty proceeding upon judgment. For by that it is, that we alone are neither arrogant upon good success, nor shrink so much as others in adversity. Nor are we, when men provoke us to it with praise, through the delight thereof moved to undergo danger more than we think fit ourselves; nor when they sharpen us with reprehension, doth the smart thereof a jot the more prevail upon us. And this modesty of ours maketh us both good soldiers, and good counsellors: good soldiers, because shame begetteth1 modesty, and valour is most sensible of shame: good counsellors, in this, that we are brought up more simply than to disesteem the laws, and by severity more modestly than to disobey them: and also in that, we do not, like men exceeding wise in things needless, find fault bravely with the preparation of the enemy and in effect not assault him accordingly; but do think our neighbour’s cogitations like our own, and that the events of fortune cannot be discerned by a speech2 ; and do therefore always so furnish ourselves really against the enemy, as against men well advised. For we are not to build our hopes upon the oversights of them, but upon the safe foresight of ourselves. Nor must we think that there is much difference between man and man; but him only to be the best, that hath been brought up amongst the most difficulties3 . 85. Let us not therefore cast aside the institutions1 of our ancestors, which we have so long retained to our profit; nor let us of many men’s lives, of much money, of many cities, and much honour, hastily resolve in so small a part of one day, but at leisure; the which we have better commodity than any other to do, by reason of our power. Send to the Athenians about the matter of Potidæa; send about that wherein the confederates say they are injured; and the rather, because they be content to refer the cause to judgment; and one that offereth himself to judgment, may not lawfully be invaded as a doer of injury, before the judgment be given. And prepare withal for the war. So shall you take the most profitable counsel for yourselves, and the most formidable to the enemy.”

  Thus spake Archidamus. But Sthenelaidas, then one of the Ephori, stood up last of all and spake to the Lacedæmonians in this manner:

  oration of sthenelaidas.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Sthenelaidas.

  86. “For my part, I understand not the many words used by the Athenians; for though they have been much in their own praises, yet they have said nothing to the contrary but that they have done injury to our confederates and to Peloponnesus. And if they carried themselves well against the Medes, when time was, and now ill against us, they deserve a double punishment; because they are not good as they were, and because they are evil as they were not. Now are we the same we were2 ; and mean not (if we be wise) either to connive at the wrongs done to our confederates, or defer to repair them; for the harm they suffer, is not deferred. Others have much money, many galleys, and many horses; and we have good confederates, not to be betrayed to the Athenians, nor to be defended with words1 , (for they are not hurt in words), but to be aided with all our power and with speed. Let no man tell me, that after we have once received the injury we ought to deliberate. No, it belongs rather to the doers of injury to spend time in consultation. Wherefore, men of Lancedæmon, decree the war, as becometh the dignity of Sparta; and let not the Athenians grow yet greater, nor let us betray our confederates, but in the name of the Gods proceed against the doers of injustice.”

  The Lacedæmonians by question conclude that the Athenians had broken the peace.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  87. Having thus spoken, being himself Ephor, he put it to the question in the assembly of the Lacedæmonians; and saying afterwards, that he could not discern whether was the greater cry, (for they used there to give their votes viva voce, and not with balls2 ), and desiring that it might be evident that their minds were inclined most to the war1 , he put it unto them again, and said, “to whomsoever of you it seemeth that the peace is broken and that the Athenians have done unjustly, let him arise and go yonder,” and withal he showed them a certain place: “and to whomsoever it seemeth otherwise, let him go to the other side”. So they arose and the room was divided; wherein far the greater number were those that held the peace to be broken.

  Then calling in the confederates, they told them, that for their own parts their sentence was that the Athenians had done them wrong: but yet they desired to have all their confederates called together, and then to put it to the question again; that if they would, the war might be decreed by common consent2 . This done, their confederates went home: and so did also afterwards the Athenians, when they had dispatched the business they came about. This decree of the assembly that the peace was broken, was made in the fourteenth year of those thirty years, for which a peace had been formerly concluded after the actions past in Eubœa.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The true cause of this war being the fear the Lacedæmonians had of the power of Athens, the author digresseth to show how that power grew first up.

  88. The Lacedæmonians gave sentence that the peace was broken and that war was to be made, not so much for the words of the confederates, as for fear the Athenian greatness should still increase. For they saw that a great part of Greece was fallen already into their hands.

  The means by which the Athenians came to have the command of the common forces of Greece against the Persian, by which they raised their empire.The Athenians return to their city.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. They repair their city, and wall it.

  89. Now the manner how the Athenians came to the administration of those affairs by which they so raised themselves, was this. After that the Medes, overcome by sea and land, were departed, and such of them as had escaped by sea to Mycale1 were there also utterly overthrown; Leotychides king of the Lacedæmonians, then commander of the Grecians at Mycale, with their confederates of Peloponnesus went home. But the Athenians with their confederates of Ionia and the Hellespont, as many as were already revolted from the king, staid behind and besieged Sestus, holden then by the Medes; and when they had lain before it all the winter, they took it abandoned by the barbarians2 . And after this they set sail from the Hellespont, every one to his own city. And the body3 of the Athenians, as soon as their territory was clear of the barbarians, went home also, and fetched thither their wives and children, and such goods as they had, from the places where they had been put out to keep; and went about the reparation1 of their city and walls. For there were yet standing some pieces of the circuit of their wall, and likewise a few houses (though the most were down) which the principal of the Persians had reserved for their own lodgings.

  The Lacedæmonians advise them to the contrary for their own ends, pretending the common good.Themistocles adviseth them to build on.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. His subtilty in deluding the Lacedæmonians.The building hastened.Themistocles goeth to Lacedæmon ambassador.He adviseth the Lacedæmonians to send ambassadors to see if the wall went up or not.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. He sendeth letters to Athens secretly, to have those ambassadors stayed till the return of himself and his fellows from Lacedæmon.And hearing that the walls were finished, he justifies it.A. C. 478. Ol. 75. 3.The Lacedæmonians dissembled their dislike.

  90. The Lacedæmonians hearing what they went about, sent thither their ambassadors, partly because they would themselves have been glad that neither the Athenians nor any other had had walls; but principally as incited thereto by their confederates, who feared not only the greatness of their navy, which they had not before, but also their courage showed against the Persians: and entreated them not to build their walls, but rather to join with them in pulling down the walls of what cities soever without Peloponnesus had them yet standing: not discovering their meaning, and the jealousy they had of the Athenians; but pretending this, that if the barbarian returned, he might find no fortified city to make the seat of his war, as he did2 of Thebes: and that Peloponnesus was sufficient for them all whereinto to retire, and from whence to withstand the war. But the Athenians, by the advice of Themistocles, when the Lacedæmonian ambassadors had so said, dismissed them presently with this answer; that they would presently send ambassadors about the business they spake of to Lacedæmon. Now Themistocles willed them to send himself to Lacedæmon for one, and that as speedily as they could; but such as were chosen ambassadors with him, not to send away presently, but to stay them till the walls were so raised as to fight upon them from a sufficient height1 ; and that all the men in the city, in the mean time, both they and their wives and children, sparing neither private nor public edifice that might advance the work, but pulling all down whatsoever, should help to raise it. When he had thus instructed them, adding that he would himself do the rest at Lacedæmon, he took his journey. And when he came to Lacedæmon he went not to the state2 , but delaying the time excused himself; and when any of those that were in office, asked him why he did not present himself to the state, answered, “that he stayed for his fellow–ambassadors, who upon some business that fell out were left behind, but he expected them very shortly and wondered they were not come already”. 91. Hearing this, they gave credit to Themistocles for the love they bore him; but when others coming thence averred plainly that the wall went up, and that it was come to good height already, they could not then choose but believe it. Themistocles, when he saw this, wished them not to be led by reports, but rather to send thither some of their own, such as were honest men, and having informed themselves would relate the truth: which they also did. And Themistocles sendeth privily to the Athenians about the same men, to take order for their stay with as little appearance of it as they could, and not to dismiss them till their own ambassadors were returned: (for by this time were arrived those that were joined with him, namely, Abronychus the son of Lysicles, and Aristides the son of Lysimachus, and brought him word that the wall was of a sufficient height): for he feared lest the Lacedæmonians, when they knew the truth, would refuse to let them go. The Athenians therefore kept there those ambassadors, according as it was written to them to do. Themistocles coming now to his audience before the Lacedæmonians, said plainly, “that the city of Athens was already walled, and that sufficiently for the defence of those within: and that if it shall please the Lacedæmonians1 upon any occasion to send ambassadors unto them, they were to send thenceforward as to men that understood what conduced both to their own, and also to the common good of all Greece. For when they thought it best to quit their city and put themselves into their galleys, he2 said, they were bold to do it without asking the advice of them: and in common counsel, the advice of the Athenians was as good as the advice of them. And now at this time their opinion is, that it will be best, both for themselves in particular and for all the confederates in common, that their city should be walled. For that in strength1 unequal, men cannot alike and equally advise for the common benefit of Greece. Therefore, said he, either must all the confederate cities be unwalled, or you must not think amiss of what is done by us.” The Lacedæmonians when they heard him, though they made no show of being angry with the Athenians; (for they had not sent their ambassadors to forbid them, but by way of advice, to admonish them not to build the wall2 ; besides they bare them affection then, for their courage shown against the Medes); yet they were inwardly offended, because they missed of their will. And the ambassadors returned home of either side without complaint.

  The walls of Athens built in haste.A. C. 473. Ol. 76. 4.Themistocles author to the Athenians of assuming the dominion of the sea, and of fortifying Piræus. A. C. 493. Ol. 71. 4.The reason why Themistocles was most addicted to affairs by sea.A. C. 478. Ol. 75. 3.

  93. Thus the Athenians quickly raised their walls; the structure itself making manifest3 the haste used in the building. For the foundation consisteth of stones of all sorts; and those in some places unwrought, and as they were brought to the place. Many pillars also taken from sepulchres4 , and polished stones were piled together amongst the rest. For the circuit of the city was set every way farther out, and therefore hastening they took alike whatsoever came next to hand. Themistocles likewise persuaded them to build up the rest of Piræus5 ; for it was begun in the year that himself was archon of Athens; as conceiving the place both1 beautiful, in that it had three natural havens, and that being now seamen, it would very much conduce to the enlargement of their power. For he was indeed the first man that durst tell them, that they ought to take upon them the command of the sea, and withal presently helped them in the obtaining it. By his counsel also it was, that they built the wall of that breadth about Piræus which is now to be seen. For two carts carrying stones2 met and passed upon it one by another. And yet within it there was neither rubbish nor mortar [to fill it up], but it was made all of great stones, cut square3 and bound together with iron and lead. But for height, it was raised but to the half, at the most, of what he had intended. For he would have had it able to hold out the enemy both by the height and breadth; and that a few and the less serviceable men might have sufficed to defend it, and the rest have served in the navy. For principally he was addicted to the sea, because, as I think, he had observed that the forces of the king had easier access to invade them by sea than by land; and thought that Piræus was more profitable than the city above. And oftentimes he would exhort the Athenians, that in case they were oppressed4 by land, they should go down thither, and with their galleys make resistance against what enemy soever. Thus the Athenians built their walls, and fitted themselves in other kinds, immediately upon the departure of the Persians.

  Pausanias sent general of the Greeks, to pursue the relics of the Persian war.A. C. 477. Ol. 75. 3.Pausanias growing insolent, the Ionians offended desire the protection of the Athenians.Pausanias sent for home to answer to certain accusations.A. C. 477. Ol. 75. 3. In his absence, the Grecians give the Athenians the leading of them.Pausanias acquit, but sent general no more.The Grecians refuse the command of Dorcis, sent from Sparta to be their general.

  94. In the meantime was Pausanias, the son of Cleombrotus, sent from Lacedæmon commander of the Grecians with twenty galleys out of Peloponnesus; with which went also thirty sail of Athens, besides a multitude of other confederates; and making war on Cyprus, subdued the greatest part of the same: and afterwards, under the same commander, came before Byzantium1 , which they besieged and won. 95. But Pausanias being now grown insolent, both the rest of the Grecians, and especially the Ionians, who2 had newly recovered their liberty from the king, offended with him, came unto the Athenians, and requested them for consanguinity’s3 sake to become their leaders, and to protect them from the violence of Pausanias. The Athenians accepting the motion, applied themselves both to the defence of these, and also to the ordering of the rest of the affairs there in such sort as it should seem best unto themselves. In the mean time the Lacedæmonians sent for Pausanias home, to examine him of such things as they had heard against him. For great crimes had been laid to his charge by the Grecians that came from thence; and his government was rather an imitation of tyranny, than a command in war. And it was his hap to be called home at the same time that the confederates, all but the soldiers of Peloponnesus, out of hatred to him had turned to the Athenians. When he came to Lacedæmon, though he were censured1 for some wrongs done to private men, yet of the greatest matters he was acquit; especially2 of Medising, the which seemed to be the most evident of all. Him therefore they sent general no more; but Dorcis, and some others with him, with no great army; whose command the confederates refused; and they finding that, went their ways likewise. And after that the Lacedæmonians sent no more; because they feared lest such as went out, would prove the worse for the state, as they had seen by Pausanias; and also because they desired to be rid of the Persian war, conceiving the Athenians to be sufficient leaders and at that time their friends.

  A. C. 477. Ol. 75. 4.The Athenians assess their confederates for the sustaining of the war. A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.The original of the tribute paid to the Athenians.

  96. When the Athenians had thus gotten the command, by the confederates’ own accord for the hatred they bare to Pausanias, they then set down an order, which cities should contribute money for this war against the barbarians, and which galleys. For they pretended to repair the injuries they had suffered, by laying waste the territories of the king. And then first came up amongst the Athenians the office of Treasurers of Greece, who were receivers of the tribute3 ; for so they called this money contributed. And the first tribute that was taxed, came to four hundred and sixty talents4 . The treasury was at Delos1 , and their meetings were kept there in the temple.

  A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4. The history of the time between the Persian and Peloponnesian war, pretermitted by other writers, briefly delivered by Thucydides.

  97. Now using their authority, at first, in such manner as that the confederates lived under their own laws, and were admitted to common council; by [the] war and administration of the common affairs of Greece from the Persian war to this, what against the barbarians, what against their own innovating confederates, and what against such of the Peloponnesians as chanced always in every war to fall in, they effected those great matters following. Which also I have therefore written, both because this place hath been pretermitted by all that have written before me: (for they have either compiled the Grecian acts before the invasion of the Persians, or that invasion only; of which number is Hellanicus, who hath also touched them in his Attic History, but briefly, and without exact mention of the times): and also because they carry with them a demonstration of how the Athenian empire grew up2 .

  The steps of the Athenians towards their great dominion. The Athenians take Eion:A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4. and Scyros:and Carystus: A. C. 467. Ol. 78. 2.and Naxos, their confederate. A. C. 466. Ol. 78. 3.

  98. And first, under the conduct of Cimon the son of Miltiades they took Eion3 upon the river Strymon from the Medes by siege, and carried away1 the inhabitants captives. Then the isle Scyros, in the Ægean sea, inhabited by the Dolopes, the inhabitants whereof they also carried away captives, and planted therein a colony of their own. Likewise they made war on the Carystians alone without the rest of the Eubœans; and those also after a time came in by composition. After this they warred on the revolted Naxians, and brought them in by siege. And this was the first confederate city, which contrary to the ordinance2 they deprived of their free estate; though afterwards, as it came to any of their turns, they did the like by the rest.

  The cause of revolts from the Athenians.A. C. 466. Ol. 78. 3.

  99. Amongst other causes of revolts, the principal was their failing to bring in their tribute and galleys, and their refusing (when they did so) to follow the wars3 . For the Athenians exacted strictly, and were grievous to them, by imposing a necessity of toil which they were neither accustomed nor willing to undergo. They were also otherwise not so gentle in their government as they had been, nor followed the war upon equal terms; and could easily bring back to their subjection such as should revolt. And of this the confederates themselves were the causes. For4 through this refusal to accompany the army, the most of them, to the end they might stay at home, were ordered to excuse their galleys with money, as much as it came to: by which means the navy of the Athenians was increased at the cost of their confederates; and themselves unprovided and without means to make war, in case they should revolt.

  The Athenians defeat the Persian upon the river of Eurymedon.They war on Thasos. A. C. 465. Ol. 78. 3. 4.They take Amphipolis, and afterwards receive a great overthrow at Drabescus in Thrace.A. C. 465. Ol. 78. 3. 4. The Lacedæmonians intending to invade Attica, are hindered by an earthquake.A. C. 465.A. C. 463. Ol. 79. 1. 2. Thasos rendered to the Athenians. The Lacedæmonians send for aid to the Athenians, in their war against Ithome. A. C. 461. Ol. 79. 3. 4.The first dissension between the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians.The Athenians being had in suspicion by the Lacedæmonians, join with the Argives.A. C. 461. Ol. 79. 3. 4.

  100. After this it came to pass that the Athenians and their confederates fought against the Medes, both by land and by water, upon the river of Eurymedon in Pamphilia; and in one and the same day the Athenians had victory in both1 ; and took or sunk all the Phœnician fleet, to the number of two hundred galleys. After this again happened the revolt of Thasos, upon a difference about the places of trade and about the mines they possessed in the opposite parts of Thrace2 . And the Athenians going thither with their fleet, overthrew them in a battle at sea, and landed in the island. But having about the same time sent ten thousand of their own and of their confederates’ people unto the river of Strymon, for a colony to be planted in a place called then the Nine–ways, now Amphipolis; they won the said Nine–ways, which was held by the Eidonians; but advancing farther towards the heart of the country of Thrace, they were defeated3 at Drabescus, a city of the Eidonians, by the whole power of the Thracians, that were enemies to this new–built town of the Nine–ways. 101. The Thasians in the meantime, being overcome in divers battles and besieged, sought aid of the Lacedæmonians, and entreated them to divert the enemy by an invasion of Attica: which, unknown to the Athenians, they promised to do, and also had done it, but by an earthquake that then happened they were hindered. In which earthquake their Helots1 , and of neighbouring towns2 the Thuriatæ and Æthæans, revolted and seized on Ithome. Most of these Helots were the posterity of the ancient Messenians, brought into servitude in former3 times; whereby also it came to pass that they were called all Messenians. Against these had the Lacedæmonians now a war at Ithome. The4 Thasians in the third year of the siege rendered themselves to the Athenians, upon condition to raze their walls; to deliver up their galleys; to pay both the money behind and for the future, as much as they were wont; and to quit both the mines and the continent. 102. The Lacedæmonians, when the war against those in Ithome grew long, amongst other their confederates sent for aid to the Athenians; who also came with no small forces under the command of Cimon. They were sent for principally for their reputation in mural assaults, the long continuance of the siege seeming to require men of ability in that kind; whereby they might perhaps have gotten the place by force1 . And upon this journey, grew the first manifest dissension between the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians. For the Lacedæmonians, when they could not take the place by assault, fearing lest the audacious and innovating humour of the Athenians, whom withal they esteemed of a contrary race2 , might, at the persuasion of those in Ithome, cause some alteration if they staid, dismissed them alone of all the confederates; not discovering their jealousy, but alleging that they had no farther need of their service. But the Athenians perceiving that they were not sent away upon good3 cause, but only as men suspected, made it a heinous matter; and conceiving that they had better deserved at the Lacedæmonians’ hands, as soon as they were gone1 , left the league which they had made with the Lacedæmonians against the Persian, and became confederates with their enemies the Argives; and then both Argives and Athenians took the same oath and made the same league with the Thessalians.

  The Helots in Ithome, after ten years’ siege, compound and quit Peloponnesus. A. C. 455. Ol. 81. 1. 2.The Athenians receive them, and place them in Naupactus.Megara revolteth from the Lacedæmonians to the Athenians.

  103. Those in Ithome, when they could no longer hold out, in the tenth year of the siege rendered the place to the Lacedæmonians, upon condition of security to depart out of Peloponnesus, and that they should no more return; and whosoever should be taken returning, to be the slave of him that should take him. For the Lacedæmonians had before been warned by a certain answer of the Pythian oracle, to let go the suppliant of Jupiter Ithometes. So they came forth, they and their wives and their children. And the Athenians, for hatred they bore2 to the Lacedæmonians, received them and put them into Naupactus; which city they had lately taken from the Locrians of Ozolæ. The Megareans also revolted from the Lacedæmonians and came to the league of the Athenians, because they were holden down by the Corinthians with a war about the limits of their territories. Whereupon Megara and Pegæ were put into the hands of the Athenians; who built for the Megareans the long walls from the city to Nisæa, and maintained them with a garrison of their own. And from hence it was chiefly, that the vehement hatred grew of the Corinthians against the Athenians.

  A. C. 460. Ol. 80. 1. The Athenians send an army into Egypt, to aid the rebels against the king of Persia.Cairo.The Athenians fight by land, against the Corinthians and Epidaurians. A. C. 458. Ol. 80. 2. 3.After that, against the Peloponnesians.Then against the Æginetæ.The Peloponnesians aid Ægina. A. C. 457. Ol. 80. 3. 4.A. C. 457. Ol. 80. 3. 4.The Corinthians receive a great loss in Megaris.A. C. 457. Ol. 80. 3. 4.

  104. Moreover Inarus, the son of Psammetticus, an African1 , king of the Africans that confine on Egypt, making war from Mareia above Pharus, caused the greatest part of Egypt to rebel against the king Artaxerxes; and when he had taken the government of them upon himself, he brought in the Athenians to assist him; who chancing to be then warring on Cyprus with two hundred galleys, part their own and part their confederates, left Cyprus and went to him. And going from the sea up the river of Nilus, after they had made themselves masters of the river and of two parts of the city of Memphis, assaulted the third part, called the White–Wall. Within were of the Medes and Persians, such as had escaped, and of the Egyptians, such as had not revolted amongst the rest. 105. The Athenians came also with a fleet to Halias, and landing their soldiers fought by land with the Corinthians and Epidaurians; and the Corinthians had the victory. After this, the Athenians fought by sea against the fleet of the Peloponnesians at Cecryphaleia, and the Athenians had the victory. After this again, the war being on foot of the Athenians against the Æginetæ, a great battle was fought between them by sea upon the coast of Ægina, the confederates of both sides being at the same, in which the Athenians had the victory; and having taken seventy galleys landed their army and besieged the city, under the conduct of Leocrates the son of Strœbus. After this, the Peloponnesians desiring to aid the Æginetæ, sent over into Ægina itself three hundred men of arms, of the same that had before aided the Corinthians and Epidaurians, and with other forces1 seized on the top of Geraneia. And the Corinthians and their confederates came down from thence into the territory of Megara; supposing that the Athenians, having much of their army absent in Ægina and in Egypt, would be unable to aid the Megareans, or if they did, would be forced to rise from before Ægina. But the Athenians stirred not from Ægina, but those that remained at Athens, both young and old, under the conduct of Myronides went to Megara; and after they had fought with doubtful victory, they parted asunder again, with an opinion on both sides not to have had the worse in the action. And the Athenians, who notwithstanding had rather the better, when the Corinthians were gone away erected a trophy. But the Corinthians having been reviled at their return by the ancient men of the city, about twelve days after came again prepared and set up their trophy likewise, as if the victory had been theirs. Hereupon the Athenians sallying out of Megara with a huge shout2 , both slew those that were setting up the trophy, and charging the rest got the victory. 106. The Corinthians being overcome, went their way; but a good part of them, being hard followed and missing their way, lighted into the enclosed ground of a private man, which fenced with a great ditch had no passage through. Which the Athenians perceiving, opposed them1 at the place by which they entered with their men of arms, and encompassing the ground with their light armed soldiers killed those that were entered with stones. This was a great loss to the Corinthians; but the rest2 of their army got home again.

  The Athenians build their long walls from both sides of the city to the sea.A. C. 457. Ol. 80. 3. 4.The Lacedæmonians fight with the Athenians at Tanagra.A. C. 457. Ol. 80. 4.A. C. 456. Ol. 80. 4. The Athenians overthrow the Bœotians at Œnophyta, [that is to say, the vineyards], and subdue Bœotia and Phocis.Ægina yielded to the Athenians.The Athenians sail round Peloponnesus, and waste it.

  107. About this time the Athenians began the building of their long walls, from the city down to the sea, the one reaching to the haven called Phaleron, the other to Peiræus. The Phoceans also making war upon Bœum, Cytinium, and Erineus, towns that belonged to the Dorians3 , of whom the Lacedæmonians are descended, and having taken one of them, the Lacedæmonians, under the conduct of Nicomedes the son of Cleombrotus, in the place of Pleistoanactes son of king Pausanias, who was yet in his minority, sent unto the aid of the Dorians fifteen hundred men of arms of their own, and of their confederates ten thousand. And when they had forced the Phoceans upon composition to surrender the town they had taken, they went their ways again. Now if they would go home by sea through the Crisæan Gulf, the Athenians going1 about with their fleet would be ready to stop them; and to pass over Geraneia they thought unsafe, because the Athenians had in their hands Megara and Pegæ. For Geraneia was not only a difficult passage of itself, but was also always guarded by the Athenians2 . They thought good therefore to stay amongst the Bœotians, and to consider which way they might most safely go through. Whilst3 they were there, there wanted not some Athenians, that privily solicited them to come to the city, hoping to have put the people out of government, and to have demolished the long walls then building. But the Athenians, with the whole power of their city, and a thousand Argives, and other confederates as they could be gotten together, in all fourteen thousand men, went out to meet them: for4 there was suspicion that they came thither to depose the democracy. There also came to the Athenians5 certain horsemen out of Thessaly, which in the battle turned to the Lacedæmonians. 108. They fought at Tanagra of Bœotia, and the Lacedæmonians had the victory; but the slaughter was great on both sides. Then the Lacedæmonians entering into the territories of Megara, and cutting down the woods before them, returned home by the way of Geraneia and the Isthmus. Upon the two–and–sixtieth day after this battle, the Athenians, under the conduct of Myronides, made a journey against the Bœotians and overthrew them at Œnophyta, and brought the territories of Bœotia and Phocis under their obedience; and withal razed the walls of Tanagra, and took of the wealthiest of the Locrians of Opus a hundred hostages; and finished also at the same time their long walls at home. After this, Ægina also yielded to the Athenians on these conditions: that they should have their walls pulled down, and should deliver up their galleys, and pay their taxed tribute for the time to come. Also the Athenians made a voyage about Peloponnesus1 wherein they burnt the arsenal of the Lacedæmonians’ navy, took Chalcis2 a city of the Corinthians, and landing their forces in Sicyonia overcame in the fight those that made head against them.

  A. C. 456. Ol. 80. 4. The end of the Athenian forces in Egypt.A supply of Athenians going to Egypt, defeated by the forces of the king.A. C. 456. Ol. 80. 4.

  109. All this while the Athenians stayed still in Egypt3 , and saw much variety of war. First the Athenians were masters of Egypt: and the king of Persia sent one Megabazus, a Persian, with money to Lacedæmon, to procure the Peloponnesians to invade Attica, and by that means to draw the Athenians out of Egypt. But when this took no effect, and money was spent to no purpose, Megabazus returned with the money he had left into Asia. And1 then was Megabazus the son of Zopyrus, a Persian, sent into Egypt with great forces, and coming in by land overthrew the Egyptians and their confederates in a battle, drave the Grecians out of Memphis, and finally inclosed them in the isle of Prosopis2 . There he besieged them a year and a half, till such time as having drained the channel and turned the water another way, he made their galleys lie aground and the island for the most part continent, and so came over and won the island with land soldiers. 110. Thus was the army of the Grecians lost after six years’ war; and few of many passing through Africa saved themselves in Cyrene: but the most perished. So Egypt returned to the obedience of the king, except only Amyrtæus, that reigned in the fens. For him they could not bring in, both because the fens are great, and the people of the fens3 of all the Egyptians the most warlike. But Inarus, king of the Africans, and author of all this stir in Egypt, was taken by treason and crucified. The Athenians moreover had sent fifty galleys more into Egypt, for a supply of those that were there already; which putting in at Mendesium, one of the mouths of Nilus, knew nothing of what had happened to the rest: and being assaulted from the land by the army, and from the sea by the Phœnician fleet, lost the greatest part of their galleys, and escaped home again with the lesser part. Thus ended the great expedition of the Athenians and their confederates into Egypt.

  The Athenians invade Thessaly.A. C. 454. Ol. 81. 2. 3. The Athenians under Pericles besiege Œniades.

  111. Also Orestes the son of Echecratidas, king of the Thessalians, driven out of Thessaly, persuaded the Athenians to restore him. And the Athenians, taking with them the Bœotians and Phoceans1 , their confederates, made war against Pharsalus2 , a city of Thessaly; and were masters of the field as far as they strayed not from the army3 , (for the Thessalian horsemen kept them from straggling); but could not win the city nor yet perform anything else of what they came for, but came back again without effect, and brought Orestes with them. Not long after this, a thousand Athenians went aboard the gallies that lay at Pegæ, (for Pegæ was in the hands of the Athenians), under the command of Pericles the son of Xantippus, and sailed into Sicyonia4 , and landing put to flight such of the Sicyonians as made head; and then presently took up forces in Achaia; and putting over made war on Œnias5 , a city of Acarnania, which they besieged. Nevertheless they took it not, but returned home.

  Truce for five years between the Athenians and Peloponnesians.The Athenians war on Cyprus.Cimon dieth. A. C. 449. Ol. 82. 3. 4.The Holy War. A. C. 448. Ol. 82. 4./83. 1.The Athenians recover Chæroneia, taken by the Bœotian outlawsA. C. 448. Ol. 82. 4./83. 1. The Athenians defeated at Coroneia by the outlaws, lose BœotiaEubœa revolteth from the Athenians. A. C. 446. Ol. 83. 2. 3. Megara revolteth Ol. 83. 3.A. C. 445 Ol. 83. 3. Eubœa subdued by the AtheniansPeace for thirty years between the Athenians and Peloponnesians.A. C. 440. Ol. 85. 1.The Athenians war upon Samos.A. C. 440. Ol. 85. 1.A. C. 440. Ol. 85. 1.Samos yielded to the Athenians.A. C. 440. Ol. 85. 1.

  112. Three years after this6 , was a truce made between the Peloponnesians and Athenians for five years. And the Athenians gave over the Grecian war; and with two hundred galleys, part their own, and part confederates, under the conduct of Cimon, made war on Cyprus. Of these there went sixty sail into Egypt, sent for by Amyrtæus that reigned in the fens; and the rest lay at the siege of Citium. But Cimon there dying and a famine arising in the army1 , they left Citium; and when they had passed Salamis2 in Cyprus, fought at once both by sea and land against the Phœnicians, Cyprians, and Cilicians, and having gotten victory in both returned home, and with them the rest of their fleet, now come back from Egypt. After this, the Lacedæmonians took in hand the war called the holy war; and having won the temple at Delphi, delivered the possession thereof to the Delphians3 . But the Athenians afterward, when the Lacedæmonians were gone, came with their army, and regaining it, delivered the possession to the Phoceans. 113. Some space of time after this, the outlaws of Bœotia being seized of Orchomenus and Chæroneia and certain other places of Bœotia, the Athenians made war upon those places, being their enemies, with a thousand men of arms of their own and as many of their confederates as severally came in, under the conduct of Tolmidas the son of Tolmæus. And when they had taken Chæroneia, they carried away the inhabitants4 captives, and leaving a garrison in the city departed. In their return, those outlaws that were in Orchomenus, together with the Locrians of Opus, and the Eubœan outlaws, and others of the same faction, set upon them at Coroneia1 , and overcoming the Athenians in battle some they slew and some they took alive. Whereupon the Athenians relinquished all Bœotia, and made peace with condition to have their prisoners released. So the outlaws and the rest2 returned, and lived again under their own laws. 114. Not long after revolted Eubœa from the Athenians; and when Pericles had already passed over into it with the Athenian army, there was brought him news that Megara was likewise revolted, and that the Peloponnesians were about to invade Attica; and that the Megareans had slain the Athenian garrison, except only such as fled into Nisæa. Now the Megareans, when they revolted, had gotten to their aid the Corinthians, Epidaurians, and Sicyonians. Wherefore Pericles forthwith withdrew his army from Eubœa; and the Lacedæmonians afterward brake into Attica, and wasted the country about Eleusine and3 Thriasium, under the conduct of Pleistoanax the son of Pausanias, king of Lacedæmon, and came no farther on, but so went away. After which the Athenians passed again into Eubœa1 , and totally subdued it: the Hestiæans they put quite out, taking their territory into their own hands; but ordered the rest of Eubœa according to composition made. 115. Being returned from Eubœa, within a while after they made a peace with the Lacedæmonians and their confederates for thirty years; and rendered Nisæa, Achaia2 , Pegæ, and Trœzene, (for these places the Athenians held of theirs), to the Peloponnesians. In the sixth year of this peace fell out the war between the Samians and Milesians, concerning Priene; and the Milesians being put to the worse, came to Athens and exclaimed against the Samians. Wherein also certain private men of Samos itself took part with the Milesians, out of desire to alter the form of government. Whereupon the Athenians went to Samos with a fleet of forty galleys, and set up the democracy there, and took of the Samians fifty boys and as many men for hostages; which when they had put into Lemnos, and set a guard upon them1 , they came home. But certain of the Samians (for some of them not enduring the popular government were fled into the continent) entering into a league with the mightiest of them in Samos, and with Pissuthnes the son of Hystaspes, who then was governor of Sardis, and levying about seven hundred auxiliary soldiers, passed over into Samos in the evening, and first set upon the popular faction, and brought most of them into their power; and then stealing their hostages out of Lemnos, they revolted, and delivered the Athenian guard and such captains as were there2 into the hands of Pissuthnes, and withal prepared to make war against Miletus. With these also revolted the Byzantines. 116. The Athenians, when they heard of these things, sent to Samos sixty galleys, sixteen whereof they did not use; (for some of them went into Caria to observe the fleet of the Phœnicians, and some to fetch in succours from Chios and Lesbos); but with the forty–four that remained, under the command of Pericles and nine others, fought3 with seventy galleys of the Samians, (whereof twenty were such as served for the transport of soldiers), as they were coming altogether from Miletus; and the Athenians had the victory. After this came a supply of forty galleys more from Athens, and from Chios and Lesbos twenty–five. With these having landed their men, they overthrew the Samians in battle, and besieged the city; which they inclosed with a triple wall4 , and shut it up by sea with their galleys. But Pericles taking with him sixty galleys out of the road, made haste towards Caunus and Caria, upon intelligence of the coming against them of the Phœnician fleet. For Stesagoras with five galleys was already gone out of Samos, and others out of other places, to meet the Phœnicians. 117. In the mean time, the Samians coming suddenly forth with their fleet and falling upon the harbour1 of the Athenians, which was unfortified, sunk the galleys that kept watch before it, and overcame the rest2 in fight; insomuch that they became masters of the sea near their coast for about fourteen days together, importing and exporting what they pleased. But Pericles returning shut them up again with his galleys. And after this, there came to him from Athens a supply of forty sail, with Thucydides3 , Agnon, and Phormio, and twenty with Tlepolemus and Anticles; and from Chios and Lesbos thirty more. And though the Samians fought against these a small battle at sea, yet unable to hold out any longer, in the ninth month of the siege they rendered the city upon composition: namely, to demolish their walls, to give hostages, to deliver up their navy, and to repay the money spent by the Athenians in the war at days appointed. And the Byzantines also yielded, with condition to remain subject to them in the same manner as they had been before their revolt.

  The business about Corcyra and Potidæa, before related.Between the Persian and Peloponnesian war, fifty years.The oracle consulted by the Lacedæmonians, encourageth them to the war.A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4.Consultation of the Peloponnesians in general, whether they should enter into a war or not. A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4. / 87. 1.

  118. Now not many years after this happened the matters before related, of the Corcyræans and the Potidæans, and whatsoever other intervenient1 pretext of this war. These things done by the Grecians one against another or against the barbarians, came to pass all within the compass of fifty years at most, from the time of the departure of Xerxes to the beginning of this present war. In which time, the Athenians both assured their government over the confederates, and also much enlarged their own particular wealth. This the Lacedæmonians saw, and opposed not, save now and then a little; but, as men that had ever before been slow to war without necessity, and also for that they were hindered sometimes with domestic war, for the most part of the time stirred not against them: till now at last, when the power of the Athenians was advanced manifestly indeed, and that they had done injury to their confederates, they could forbear no longer; but thought it necessary to go in hand with the war with all diligence, and to pull down, if they could, the Athenian greatness. For which purpose it was2 by the Lacedæmonians themselves decreed, that the peace was broken and that the Athenians had done unjustly: and also having sent to Delphi, and enquired of Apollo, whether they should have the better in the war or not; they received, as it is reported, this answer: “That if they warred with their whole power, they should have victory, and that himself would be on their side, both called and uncalled”. 119. Now when they had assembled their confederates again, they were to put it to the question amongst them, “whether they should make war or not”. And the ambassadors of the several confederates coming in, and the council set, as well the rest spake what they thought fit, most of them accusing the Athenians of injury, and desiring the war; as also the Corinthians, who had before entreated the cities every one severally to give their vote for the war, fearing lest Potidæa should be lost before help came, being then present spake last of all to this effect.

  oration of the ambassadors of corinth.A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4./87. 1. Oration of the Corinthians.A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4./87. 1. Oration of the Corinthians.A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4./87. 1. Oration of the Corinthians.A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4./87. 1. Oration of the Corinthians.

  120. “Confederates, we can no longer accuse the Lacedæmonians, they having both decreed the war themselves1 , and also assembled us to do the same. For it is fit for them who have the command in a common league, as they are honoured of all before the rest, so also (administering their private affairs equally with others) to consider before the rest of the common business. And though as many of us as have already had our turns with the Athenians, need not be taught to beware of them: yet it were good for those that dwell up in the land, and not as we, in places of traffic on the sea side, to know, that unless they defend those below, they shall with a great deal the more difficulty both carry to the sea the commodities of the seasons, and again more hardly receive the benefits afforded to the inland countries from the sea; and also not to mistake1 what is now spoken, as if it concerned them not; but to make account, that if they neglect those that dwell by the sea, the calamity will also reach to themselves; and that this consultation concerneth them no less than us; and therefore not to be afraid to change their peace for war. For though it be the part of discreet men to be quiet, unless they have wrong; yet it is the part of valiant men, when they receive injury, to pass from peace into war, and after success, from war to come again to composition: and neither to swell with the good success of war, nor to suffer injury through pleasure taken in the ease of peace. For he whom pleasure makes a coward, if he sit still, shall quickly lose the sweetness of the ease that made him so. And he that in war is made proud by success, observeth not that his pride is grounded upon unfaithful confidence. For though many things ill advised, come to good effect against enemies worse advised; yet more, thought well advised, have fallen but badly out against well advised enemies2 . For no man comes to execute a thing with the same confidence he premeditates it. For we deliver opinions in safety, whereas in the action itself we fail through fear. 121. As for the war, at this time we raise it, both upon injuries done us and upon other sufficient allegations; and when we have repaired our wrongs upon the Athenians, we will also in due time lay it down. And it is for many reasons probable that we shall have the victory: first, because we exceed them in number1 ; and next, because when we go to any action intimated, we shall be all of one fashion2 . And as for a navy, wherein consisteth the strength of the Athenians, we shall provide it, both out of every one’s particular wealth, and with the money at Delphi and Olympia. For taking this at interest, we shall be able to draw from them their foreign mariners by offer of greater wages. For the forces of the Athenians are rather mercenary than domestic: whereas our own power is less obnoxious to such accidents, consisting more in the persons of men than in money. And if we overcome them but in one battle by sea, in all probability they are totally vanquished. And if they hold out, we also shall with longer time apply ourselves to naval affairs. And when we shall once have made our skill equal to theirs, we shall surely overmatch them in courage. For the valour that we have by nature, they shall never come unto by teaching; but the experience which they exceed us in, that must we attain unto by industry. And the money wherewith to bring this to pass, it must be all our parts to contribute. For else it were a hard case, that the confederates of the Athenians should not stick to contribute to their own servitude; and we should refuse to lay out our money to be revenged of our enemies and for our own preservation, and that the Athenians take not our money from us and even with that do us mischief. 122. We have also many other ways of war; as the revolt of their confederates, which is the principal means of lessening their revenue1 ; the building of forts in their territory2 ; and many other things which one cannot now foresee. For the course of war is guided by nothing less than by the points of our account, but of itself contriveth most things upon the occasion. Wherein he that complies with it with most temper, standeth the firmest; and he that is most passionate, oftenest miscarries. Imagine we had differences each of us about the limits of our territory with an equal adversary; we must undergo them. But now the Athenians are a match for us all at once, and one city after another too strong for us. Insomuch that unless we oppose them jointly, and every nation and city set to it unanimously, they will overcome us asunder without labour. And know, that to be vanquished (though it trouble you to hear it) brings with it no less than manifest3 servitude: which but to mention as a doubt, as if so many cities could suffer under one, were very dishonourable to Peloponnesus. For it must then be thought that we are either punished upon merit, or else that we endure it out of fear, and so appear degenerate from our ancestors. For by them the liberty of all Greece hath been restored: whereas we for our part assure not so much as our own; but claiming the reputation of having deposed tyrants in the several cities, suffer a tyrant city to be established amongst us. Wherein we know not how we can avoid1 one of these three great faults, foolishness, cowardice, or negligence. For certainly you avoid them not by imputing it to that which hath done most men hurt, contempt of the enemy: for contempt, because it hath made too many men miscarry, hath gotten the name of foolishness.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 86. 4./87. 1. Oration of the Corinthians.

  123 “But to what end should we object matters past, more than is necessary to the business in hand? We must now by helping the present, labour for the future2 : for it is peculiar to our country to attain honour by labour. And though you be now somewhat advanced in honour and power, you must not therefore change the custom: for there is no reason that what was gotten in want, should be lost by wealth. But we should confidently go in hand with the war, as for many other causes so also for this, that both the God hath by his oracle advised us thereto and promised to be with us himself: and also for that the rest of Greece, some for fear and some for profit1 , are ready to take our parts. Nor are you they that first break the peace, which the God, inasmuch as he doth encourage us to the war, judgeth violated by them2 ; but you fight rather in defence of the same. For not he breaketh the peace that taketh revenge, but he that is the first invader.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1./86. 4. Oration of the Corinthians.

  124. “So that seeing it will be every way good to make the war, and since in common we persuade the same; and seeing also that both to the cities and to private men it will be the most profitable course, put off no longer neither the defence of the Potidæans; who are Dorians, and besieged (which was wont to be contrary) by Ionians; nor the recovery of the liberty of the rest of the Grecians. For it is a case that admitteth not delay, when they are some of them already oppressed, and others (after it shall be known we met and durst not right ourselves) shall shortly after undergo the like. But think, confederates, you are now at a necessity, and that this is the best advice: and therefore give your votes for the war, not fearing the present danger, but coveting the long peace proceeding from it. For though by war groweth the confirmation of peace; yet for love of ease to refuse the war, doth not likewise avoid the danger. But making account that a tyrant city set up in Greece, is set up alike over all, and reigneth over some already, and the rest in intention, we shall bring it again into order by the war1 ; and not only live for the time to come out of danger ourselves, but also deliver the already enthralled Grecians out of servitude.” Thus said the Corinthians.

  The war decreed by all the confederates.

  125. The Lacedæmonians, when they had heard the opinion of them all, brought the balls to all the confederates present in order, from the greatest state to the least: and the greatest part gave their votes for the war. Now after the war was decreed, though it were impossible for them to go in hand with it presently, because they were unprovided, and every state thought good without delay severally to furnish themselves of what was necessary; yet there passed not fully a year in this preparation before Attica was invaded, and the war openly on foot.

  The Lacedæmonians send embassages to the Athenians about expiation of sacrileges, only to pick better quarrels for the war.A. C. 612. Ol. 42. 1.A. C. 612. Ol. 42. 1.A. C. 612. Ol. 42. 1.

  126. In the mean time they sent ambassadors to the Athenians with certain criminations, to the end that if they would give ear to nothing, they might have all the pretext that could be for raising of the war. And first the Lacedæmonians, by their ambassadors to the Athenians, required them to banish such as were under curse of the goddess Minerva for pollution of sanctuary2 . Which polution was thus. There had been one Cylon an Athenian, a man that had been victor in the Olympian exercises, of much nobility and power amongst those of old time, and that had married the daughter of Theagenes, a Megarean, in those days tyrant of Megara. To this Cylon, asking counsel at Delphi, the God answered, that on the greatest festival day1 he should seize the citadel of Athens. He therefore having gotten forces of Theagenes, and persuaded his friends to the enterprise, seized on the citadel at the time of the Olympic holidays in Peloponnesus, with intention to take upon him the tyranny: esteeming the feast of Jupiter2 to be the greatest, and to touch withal on his particular, in that he had been victor in the Olympian exercises. But whether the feast spoken of were meant to be the greatest in Attica, or in some other place, neither did he himself consider, nor the oracle make manifest3 . For there is also amongst the Athenians the Diasia, which is called the greatest feast of Jupiter Meilichius, and is celebrated without the city; wherein in the confluence of the whole people many men offered sacrifices, not of living creatures, but such as was the fashion of the natives of the place4 . But he, supposing he had rightly understood the oracle, laid hand to the enterprise. And when the Athenians heard of it, they came with all their forces out of the fields, and lying before the citadel besieged it. But the time growing long, the Athenians, wearied with the siege, went most of them away; and left both the guard of the citadel and the whole business to the nine archontes, with absolute authority to order the same as to them it should seem good. For at that time, most of the affairs of the commonweal were administered by those nine archontes1 . Now those that were besieged with Cylon, were for want of both victual and water in very evil estate; and therefore Cylon and a brother of his fled privily out; but the rest, when they were pressed and some of them dead with famine, sat down as suppliants by the altar that is in the citadel. And the Athenians, to whose charge was committed the guard of the place, raising them upon promise to do them no harm, put them all to the sword. Also they had put to death some of those that had taken sanctuary at the altars of the severe Goddesses, as they were going away1 . And from this the Athenians, both themselves and their posterity, were called accursed and sacrilegious persons. Hereupon the Athenians banished those that were under the curse: and Cleomenes, a Lacedæmonian, together with the Athenians in a sedition2 , banished them afterwards again: and not only so, but disinterred and cast forth the bodies of such of them as were dead. Nevertheless there returned of them afterwards again; and there are of their race in the city unto this day.

  A. C. 612. Ol. 42. 1.Pericles always adverse to the Lacedæmonians.

  127. This pollution therefore the Lacedæmonians required them to purge their city of: principally forsooth, as taking part with the gods; but knowing withal, that Pericles the son of Xantippus, was by the mother’s side3 one of that race. For they thought if Pericles were banished, the Athenians would the more easily be brought to yield to their desire. Nevertheless, they hoped not so much that he should be banished, as to bring him into the envy of the city; as if the misfortune of him were in part the cause of the war. For being the most powerful of his time, and having the sway of the state, he was in all things opposite to the Lacedæmonians; not suffering the Athenians to give them the least way, but inciting them to the war.

  The Athenians require the Lacedæmonians to expiate the violation of sanctuary also on their parts.A. C. 466. Ol. 78. 3.The occasion and manner of the death of Pausanias in the temple of Pallas Chalciœca.A. C. 470. Ol. 77. 3.Pausanias practiseth with the king of Persia against the state of Greece. A. C. 478.7. Ol. 75. 3.The Letter of Pausanias to the king.

  128. Contrariwise, the Athenians required the Lacedæmonians to banish such as were guilty of breach of sanctuary at Tænarus. For the Lacedæmonians, when they had caused their Helots, suppliants in the temple of Neptune at Tænarus, to forsake sanctuary, slew them: for which cause they themselves think it was, that the great earthquake happened afterwards at Sparta. Also they required them to purge their city of the pollution of sanctuary in the temple of Pallas Chalciœca; which was thus. After that Pausanias the Lacedæmonian was1 recalled by the Spartans from his charge in Hellespont, and having been called in question by them was absolved, though he was no more sent abroad by the state, yet he went again into Hellespont in a galley of Hermione as a private man, without leave of the Lacedæmonians; to the Grecian war, as he gave out, but in truth to negociate with the king, as he had before begun, aspiring to the principality of Greece. Now the benefit that he had laid up with the king, and the beginning of the whole business, was at first from this. When after his return from Cyprus he had taken Byzantium; when he was there the first time, (which being holden by the Medes, there were taken in it some near to the king, and of his kindred), unknown to the rest of the confederates he sent unto the king those near ones of his which he had taken, and gave out they were run away. This he practised with one Gongylus, an Eretrian, to whose charge he had committed both the town of Byzantium and the prisoners. Also he sent letters unto him, which Gongylus carried, wherein, as was afterwards known, was thus written: “Pausanias, General of the Spartans, being desirous to do thee a courtesy, sendeth back unto thee these men, whom he hath by arms taken prisoners. And I have a purpose, if the same seem also good unto thee, to take thy daughter in marriage, and to bring Sparta and the rest of Greece into thy subjection. These things I account myself able to bring to pass, if I may communicate my counsels with thee. If therefore any of these things do like thee, send some trusty man to the sea–side, by whose mediation we may confer together.”

  A. C. 478.7. Ol. 75. 3.The Letter of Xerxes to Pausanias.

  129. These were the contents of the writing. Xerxes being pleased with the letter, sends away Artabazus the son of Pharnaces to the sea–side, with commandment to take the government of the province of Dascylis1 , and to dismiss Megabates, that was governor there before: and withal, gives him a letter to Pausanias, which he commanded him to send over to him with speed to Byzantium, and to show him the seal, and well and faithfully to perform whatsoever in his affairs he should by Pausanias be appointed to do. Artabazus, after he arrived, having in other things done as he was commanded, sent over the letter; wherein was written this answer: “Thus saith king Xerxes to Pausanias: For the men which thou hast saved and sent over the sea unto me from Byzantium, thy benefit is laid up in our house indelibly registered2 for ever: and I like also of what thou hast propounded. And let neither night nor day make thee remiss in the performance of what thou hast promised unto me. Neither be thou hindered by the expense of gold and silver, or multitude of soldiers requisite, whithersoever it be needful to have them come3 . But with Artabazus, a good man whom I have sent unto thee, do boldly both mine and thine own business, as shall be most fit for the dignity and honour of us both.”

  Pausanias groweth proud upon the receipt of these letters.A. C. 478.7. Ol. 75. 3.

  130. Pausanias having received these letters, whereas he was before in great authority4 for his conduct at Platæa, became now many degrees more elevated; and endured no more to live after the accustomed manner of his country, but went apparelled at Byzantium1 after the fashion of Persia; and when he went through Thrace, had a guard of Medes and Egyptians, and his table likewise after the Persian manner. Nor was he able to conceal his purpose; but in trifles made apparent beforehand the greater matters he had conceived of the future. He became moreover difficult of access; and would be in such choleric2 passions toward all men indifferently, that no man might endure to approach him; which was also none of the least causes why the confederates turned from him to the Athenians.

  A. C. 470. Ol. 77. 3.A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.Pausanias his ambition, in dedication of the Tripode at Delphi.A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.

  131 When the Lacedæmonians heard of it, they called him home the first time. And when being gone out the second time without their command in a galley of Hermione, it appeared that he continued still in the same practices; and after he was forced out of Byzantium by siege of the Athenians, returned not to Sparta, but news came that he had seated himself at Colonæ in the country of Troy, practising still with the barbarians, and making his abode there for no good purpose: then the ephori forebore no longer, but sent unto him a public officer with the scytale3 , commanding him not to depart from the officer; and in case he refused, denounced war against him. But he, desiring as much as he could to decline suspicion, and believing that with money he should be able to discharge himself of his accusations, returned unto Sparta the second time. And first he was by the ephori committed to ward; (for the ephori1 have power to do this to their king); but afterwards procuring his enlargement, he came forth, and exhibited himself to justice against such as had any thing to allege against him. 132. And though the Spartans had against him no manifest proof, neither his enemies nor the whole city, whereupon to proceed to the punishment of a man both of the race of their kings, and at that present in great authority: (for Plistarchus the son of Leonidas, being king and as yet in minority, Pausanias, who was his cousin–german, had the tuition of him yet): by his licentious behaviour, and affectation of the barbarian customs, he gave much cause of suspicion that he meant not to live in the equality of the present state2 . They considered also that he differed in manner of life from the discipline established: amongst other things by this, that upon the tripode at Delphi, which the Grecians had dedicated as the best of the spoil of the Medes, he had caused to be inscribed of himself in particular this elegiac verse1 :

  • Pausanias, Greek General,
  • Having the Medes defeated,
  • To Phœbus in record thereof
  • This gift hath consecrated.

  Pausanias accused of practice with the Helots.He sends letters to the king, which are opened by the way.Post A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.Pausanias by the art of the ephori made to betray himself.

  But the Lacedæmonians then presently defaced that inscription of the tripode, and engraved thereon by name all the cities that had joined in the overthrow of the Medes, and dedicated it so2 . This therefore was numbered amongst the offences of Pausanias, and was thought to agree with his present design, so much the rather for the condition he was now in3 . They had information farther, that he had in hand some practice with the Helots. And so he had: for he promised them, not only manumission, but also freedom of the city, if they would rise with him and co–operate in the whole business. But neither thus, upon some appeachment of the Helots, would they proceed against him, but kept the custom which they have in their own cases, not hastily to give a peremptory sentence against a Spartan without unquestionable proof. Till at length (as it is reported) purposing to send over to Artabazus his last letters to the king, he was bewrayed unto them by a man of Argilus, in time past his minion4 and most faithful to him: who being terrified with the cogitation, that not any of those which had been formerly sent had ever returned, got him a seal like to the seal of Pausanias, (to the end that if his jealousy were false, or that he should need to alter anything in the letter, it might not be discovered), and opened the letter; wherein (as he had suspected the addition of some such clause) he found himself also written down to be murdered. 133. The ephori, when these letters were by him shown unto them, though they believed the matter much more than they did before, yet desirous to hear somewhat themselves from Pausanias his own mouth; the man being upon design1 gone to Tænarus into sanctuary, and having there built him a little room with a partition in which he hid the ephori, and Pausanias coming to him and asking the cause of his taking sanctuary, they plainly heard the whole matter. For the man both expostulated with him for what he had written about him, and from point to point discovered all the practice: saying2 , that though he had never boasted unto him these and these services concerning the king, he must yet have the honour as well as many other of his servants to be slain. And Pausanias himself both confessed the same things, and also bade the man not to be troubled at what was past, and gave him assurance to leave sanctuary, intreating him to go on in his journey with all speed, and not to frustrate the business in hand.

  Post A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.He flieth into sanctuary.Post A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4.

  134. Now the ephori, when they had distinctly heard him, for that time went their way; and knowing now the certain truth, intended to apprehend him in the city. It is said, that when he was to be apprehended in the street, he perceived by the countenance of one of the ephori coming towards him, what they came for: and when another of them had by a secret beck signified the matter for good will, he ran into the close of the temple1 of Pallas Chalciœca, and got in before they overtook him; (now the temple itself was hard by); and entering into a house belonging to the temple, to avoid the injury of the open air, there staid. They that pursued him, could not then overtake him: but afterwards they took off the roof and the doors of the house, and watching a time when he was within, beset the house and mured him up, and leaving a guard there famished him. When they perceived him about to give up the ghost, they carried him, as he was1 , out of the house, yet breathing; and being out he died immediately. After he was dead, they were about to throw him into the Cæada2 , where they use to cast in malefactors: yet afterwards they thought good to bury him in some place thereabouts. But the oracle of Delphi commanded the Lacedæmonians afterward, both to remove the sepulchre from the place where he died3 ; (so that he lies now in the entry4 of the temple, as is evident by the inscription of the pillar); and also (as having been a pollution of the sanctuary) to render two bodies to the goddess of Chalciœca for that one. Whereupon they set up two brazen statues, and dedicated the same unto her for Pausanias. 135. Now the Athenians, the god himself having judged this a pollution of sanctuary, required the Lacedæmonians to banish out of their city such as were touched with the same.

  Post A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 4. Themistocles in the same treasonThemistocles, pursued by the Athenians and Peloponnesians, flieth to Corcyra.Thence is put over to the main land, and goeth to the king of the Molossians.Post A. C. 469. Ol. 77. 3.

  At the same time that Pausanias came to his end, the Lacedæmonians by their ambassadors to the Athenians accused Themistocles, for that he also had Medised together with Pausanias, having discovered it by proofs against1 Pausanias; and desired that the same punishment might be likewise inflicted upon him. Whereunto consenting, (for he was at this time in banishment by ostracism2 , and though his ordinary residence was at Argos, he travelled to and fro in other places of Peloponnesus), they sent certain men in company of the Lacedæmonians, who were willing to pursue him, with command to bring him in wheresoever they could find him. 136. But Themistocles, having had notice of it beforehand, flieth out of Peloponnesus into Corcyra; to the people of which city he had formerly been beneficial. But the Corcyræans, alleging that they durst not keep him there, for fear of displeasing both the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians, convey him into the opposite continent: and being pursued by the men thereto appointed, asking continually which way he went, he was compelled at a strait to turn in unto Admetus, king of the Molossians, his enemy. The king himself being then from home, he became a suppliant to his wife; and by her was instructed to take their son with him, and sit down at the altar of the house. When Admetus not long after returned, he made himself known to him, and desired him, that though he had opposed him in some suit in Athens, not to revenge it on him now in the time of his flight: saying, that being now the weaker, he must needs suffer under the stronger; whereas noble revenge is of equals upon equal terms: and that he had been his adversary but in matter of profit, not of life; whereas, if he delivered him up, (telling him withal, for what and by whom he was followed), he deprived him of all means of saving his life. Admetus having heard him bade him arise, together with his son whom he held as he sat: which is the most submiss supplication that is1 .

  Thence he is conveyed to Pydna.A. C. 466. Ol. 77. 3.In danger to be cast upon the Athenian fleet at Naxos, he maketh himself known to the master of the ship.A. C. 466. Ol. 78. 3. He arriveth at Ephesus.His Letter to Artaxerxes.

  137. Not long after came the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians: and though they alleged much to have him, yet he delivered him not, but sent him away by land to Pydna upon the other sea, (a city belonging to Alexander), because his purpose was to go to the king: where finding a ship bound for Ionia, he embarked, and was carried by foul weather upon the fleet2 of the Athenians that besieged Naxos. Being afraid, he discovered to the master (for he was unknown) who he was, and for what he fled; and said, that unless he would save him, he meant to say that he had hired him to carry him away for money; and that to save him, there needed no more but this, to let none go out of the ship till the weather served to be gone; to which if he consented, he would not forget to requite him according to his merit. The master did so; and having lain a day and a night at sea upon the fleet3 of the Athenians, he arrived afterwards at Ephesus. And Themistocles having liberally rewarded him with money, (for he received there both what was sent him from his friends at Athens, and also what he had put out at Argos), he took his journey upwards in company of a certain Persian of the low countries, and sent letters to the king Artaxerxes, the son of Xerxes, newly come to the kingdom, wherein was written to this purpose: “I, Themistocles, am coming unto thee, who, of all the Grecians, as long as I was forced to resist thy father that invaded me, have done your house the maniest damages; yet the benefits I did him were more, after once I with safety, he with danger was to make retreat. And both a good turn is already due unto me”, (writing here, how he had forewarned him of the Grecians’ departure1 out of Salamis, and ascribing the then not breaking of the bridge falsely unto himself), “and2 at this time to do thee many other good services, I present myself, persecuted by the Grecians for thy friendship’s sake. But I desire to have a year’s respite, that I may declare unto thee the cause of my coming myself.”

  Post A. C. 466.The praise of Themistocles.His death. Post A. C. 464.

  138. The king, as is reported, wondered what his purpose might be, and commanded him to do as he had said. In this time of respite he learned as much as he could of the language and fashions of the place. And a year after coming to the court, he was great with the king more than ever had been any Grecian before; both for his former dignity, and the hope of Greece, which he promised to bring into his subjection; but especially for the trial he gave of his wisdom. For Themistocles was a man in whom most truly was manifested the strength of natural judgment, wherein he had something worthy admiration different from other men. For by his natural prudence, without the help of instruction before or after, he was both of extemporary matters1 upon short deliberation the best discerner, and also of what for the most part would be their issue the best conjecturer. What he was perfect in, he was able also to explicate: and what he was unpractised in, he was not to seek how to judge of conveniently. Also he foresaw, no man better, what was best or worst in any case that was doubtful. And (to say all in few words) this man, by the natural goodness of his wit, and quickness of deliberation, was the ablest of all men to tell what was fit to be done upon a sudden. But falling sick he ended his life: some say, he died voluntarily by poison, because he thought himself unable to perform what he had promised to the king. His monument is in Magnesia2 in Asia, in the market–place: for he had the government of that country, the king having bestowed upon him Magnesia, which yielded him fifty talents by the year, for his bread; and Lampsacus for his wine, (for this city was in those days thought to have store of wine3 ); and the city of Myus for his meat1 . His bones are said by his kindred, to have been brought home by his own appointment, and buried in Attica unknown to the Athenians: for it was not lawful to bury one there, that had fled for treason. These were the ends of Pausanias the Lacedæmonian, and Themistocles the Athenian; the most famous men of all the Grecians of their time.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1.

  139. And this is that which the Lacedæmonians did command, and were commanded, in their first embassage, touching the banishment of such as were under the curse.

  The Lacedæmonians by ambassadors command the abrogation of the act against the Megareans.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. The last ambassadors from Lacedæmon require the Athenians to lay down their dominion.The Athenians consult what to answer.

  After this they sent ambassadors again to Athens, commanding them to levy the siege from before Potidæa and to suffer Ægina to be free; but principally and most plainly telling them, that the war should not be made in case they would abrogate the act concerning the Megareans: by which act they were forbidden both the fairs of Attica, and all ports within the Athenian dominion. But the Athenians would not obey them, neither in the rest of their commands nor in the abrogation of that act: but recriminated the Megareans for having tilled holy ground and unset out with bounds2 ; and for receiving of their slaves1 that revolted. But at length, when the last ambassadors from Lacedæmon were arrived, namely, Ramphias, Melesippus, and Agesander, and spake nothing of that which formerly they were wont, but only this, that “the Lacedæmonians desire that there should be peace, which may be had if you will suffer the Grecians to be governed by their own laws”: the Athenians called an assembly, and propounding their opinions amongst themselves, thought good, after they had debated the matter, to give them an answer once for all. And many stood forth and delivered their minds on either side, some for the war, and some that this act concerning the Megareans ought not to stand in their way to peace, but to be abrogated. And Pericles the son of Xantippus, the principal man at that time of all Athens, and most sufficient both for speech and action, gave his advice in such manner as followeth.

  Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.

  140. “Men of Athens, I am still not only of the same opinion, not to give way to the Peloponnessians; (notwithstanding I know that men have not the same passions in the war itself, which they have when they are incited to it, but change their opinions with the events); but also I see, that I must now advise the same things, or very near to what I have before delivered. And I require of you with whom my counsel shall take place, that if we miscarry in aught, you will either make the best of it, as decreed by common consent; or if we prosper, not to attribute it to your own wisdom only. For it falleth out with the events of actions, no less than with the purposes of man, to proceed with uncertainty: which is also the cause, that when any thing happeneth contrary to our expectation, we use to lay the fault on fortune. That the Lacedæmonians, both formerly and especially now, take counsel how to do us mischief, is a thing manifest. For whereas it is said [in the articles], that in our mutual controversies we shall give and receive trials of judgment, and in the meantime either side hold what they possess; they never yet sought any such trial themselves, nor will accept of the same offered by us. They will clear themselves of their accusations by war, rather than by words: and come hither no more now to expostulate, but to command. For they command us to arise from before Potidæa, and to restore the Æginetæ to the liberty of their own laws, and to abrogate the act concerning the Megareans. And they that come last1 , command us to restore all the Grecians to their liberty. Now let none of you conceive that we shall go to war for a trifle, by not abrogating the act concerning Megara; (yet this by them is pretended most, and that for the abrogation of it war shall stay); nor retain2 a scruple in your minds, as if a small matter moved you to the war. For even this small matter containeth the trial and constancy of your resolution. Wherein if you give them way, you shall hereafter be commanded a greater matter, as men that for fear will obey them likewise in that. But by a stiff denial, you shall teach them plainly to come to you hereafter on terms of more equality. 141. Resolve therefore from this1 occasion, either to yield them obedience before you receive damage; or if we must have war, (which for my part I think is best), be the pretence weighty or light, not to give way, nor keep what we possess in fear. For a great and a little claim, imposed by equals upon their neighbours before judgment by way of command, hath one and the same virtue, to make subject. As for the war, how both we and they be furnished, and why we are not like to have the worse, by hearing the particulars you shall now understand. The Peloponnesians are men that live by their labour2 , without money either in particular or in common stock. Besides, in long wars and by sea they are without experience; for that the wars which they have had one against another, have been but short through poverty. And such men can neither man their fleets, nor yet send out their armies by land very often; because they must be far from their own wealth, and yet by that be maintained3 , and be besides barred the use of the sea. It must be a stock of money, not forced contributions, that support the wars; and such as live by their labour, are more ready to serve the wars with their bodies than with their money. For they make account that their bodies will outlive the danger, but their money they think is sure to be spent1 ; especially if the war (as it is likely) should last. So that the Peloponnesians and their confederates, though for one battle they be able to stand out against all Greece besides, yet to maintain a war against such as have their preparations of another kind, they are not able; inasmuch as not having one and the same counsel, they can speedily perform nothing upon the occasion; and having equality of vote and being of several races2 , every one will press his particular interest; whereby nothing is like to be fully executed. For some will desire to take revenge on some enemy, and others to have their estates least wasted. And being long before they can assemble, they take the lesser part of their time to debate the common business, and the greater to dispatch their own private affairs. And every one supposeth, that his own neglect of the common estate can do little hurt, and that it will be the care of somebody else to look to that for his own good3 : not observing how by these thoughts of every one in several, the common business is jointly ruined. 142. But their greatest hindrance of all, will be their want of money; which being raised slowly, their actions must be full of delay; which the occasions of war will not endure. As for their fortifying here and their navy, they are matters not worthy fear. For it were a hard matter for a city equal to our own in time of peace to fortify in that manner; much less in the country of an enemy, and we no less fortified against them1 . And if they had a garrison here, though they might, by excursions and by the receiving of our fugitives, annoy some part of our territory: yet would not that be enough both to besiege us, and also to hinder us from sallying into their territories and from taking revenge with our fleet; which is the thing wherein our strength lieth. For we have more experience in land–service by use of the sea, than they have in sea–service by use of the land. Nor shall they attain the knowledge of naval affairs easily. For yourselves, though falling to it immediately upon the Persian war, yet have not attained it fully. How then should husbandmen, not seamen, whom also we will not suffer to apply themselves to it by lying continually upon them with so great fleets, perform any matter of value? Indeed, if they should be opposed but with a few ships, they might adventure, encouraging their want of knowledge with store of men: but awed by many, they will not stir that way; and not applying themselves to it, will be yet more unskilful, and thereby more cowardly. For knowledge of naval matters is an art as well as any other, and not to be attended at idle times and on the by; but requiring rather, that whilst it is a–learning, nothing else should be done on the by. 143. But say they should take the money at Olympia and Delphi, and therewith, at greater wages, go about to draw from us the strangers employed in our fleet; this indeed, if going aboard both ourselves and those that dwell amongst us1 , we could not match them, were a dangerous matter. But now we can both do this, and (which is the principal thing) we have steersmen and other necessary men for the service of a ship, both more and better of our own citizens, than are in all the rest of Greece. Besides that, not any of these strangers upon trial2 would be found content to fly his own country, and withal upon less hope of victory, for a few days’ increase of wages, take part with the other side.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.

  “In this manner, or like to this, seemeth unto me to stand the case of the Peloponnesians: whereas ours is both free from what in theirs I have reprehended, and hath many great advantages besides. If they invade our territory by land, we shall invade theirs by sea. And when we have wasted part of Peloponnesus, and they all Attica; yet shall theirs be the greater loss. For they, unless by the sword, can get no other territory instead of that we shall destroy: whereas for us, there is other land both in the islands and continent. For the dominion of the sea is a great matter. Consider but this. If we dwelt in the islands, whether of us then were more inexpugnable? We must therefore now, drawing as near as can be to that imagination, lay aside the care of fields and villages1 ; and not for the loss of them, out of passion, give battle to the Peloponnesians, far more in number than ourselves. For though we give them an overthrow, we must fight again with as many more: and if we be overthrown, we shall lose the help of our confederates, which are our strength; for when we cannot war upon them, they will revolt. Nor bewail ye the loss of fields or houses, but of men’s bodies: for men may acquire these, but these cannot acquire men. And if I thought I should prevail, I would advise you to go out and destroy them yourselves; and show the Peloponnesians, that you will never the sooner obey them for such things as these.

  A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.A. C. 432. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Pericles.

  144. “ There be many other things that give hope of victory, in case you do not2 , whilst you are in this war, strive to enlarge your dominion, and undergo other voluntary dangers; (for I am afraid of our own errors, more than of their designs); but they shall be spoken of at another time, in prosecution of the war itself. For the present, let us send away these men with this answer: ‘that the Megareans shall have the liberty of our fairs and ports, if the Lacedæmonians will also make no banishment of us nor of our confederates as of strangers’: for neither our act concerning Megara, nor their banishment of strangers, is forbidden in the articles1 : ‘also, that we will let the Grecian cities be free, if they were so when the peace was made; and if the Lacedæmonians will also give leave unto their confederates to use their freedom, not as shall serve the turn of the Lacedæmonians, but as they themselves shall every one think good: also that we will stand to judgment according to the articles, and will not begin the war, but be revenged on those that shall’. For this is both just, and for the dignity of the city to answer. Nevertheless you must know, that of necessity war there will be; and the more willingly we embrace it, the less pressing we shall have our enemies; and that out of the greatest dangers, whether to cities or private men, arise the greatest honours. For our fathers, when they undertook the Medes, did from less beginnings, nay abandoning the little they had, by wisdom rather than fortune, by courage rather than strength, both repel the barbarian and advance this state to the height it now is at. Of whom we ought not now to come short, but rather to revenge us by all means upon our enemies; and do our best to deliver the state unimpaired by us to posterity.”

  The answer of the Athenians to the ambassadors of Lacedæmon.

  145. Thus spake Pericles. The Athenians liking best of his advice, decreed as he would have them; answering the Lacedæmonians according to his direction, both in particulars as he had spoken, and generally, “that they would do nothing on command, but were ready1 to answer their accusations upon equal terms by way of arbitrement”. So the ambassadors went home; and after these there came no more.

  146. These were the quarrels and differences on either side, before the war: which quarrels began presently upon the business of Epidamnus and Corcyra. Nevertheless there was still commerce betwixt them, and they went to each other without any herald, though not without jealousy. For the things that had passed were but2 the confusion of the articles, and matter of the war to follow.

  THE SECOND BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  The entry of the Theban soldiers into Platæa by the treason of some within.—Their repulse and slaughter.—The irruption of the Peloponnesians into Attica.—The wasting of the coast of Peloponnesus by the Athenian fleet.—The public funeral of the first slain.—The second invasion of Attica.—The pestilence in the city of Athens.—The Ambraciotes war against the Amphilochi.—Platæa assaulted: besieged.—The Peloponnesian fleet beaten by Phormio before the strait of the Gulf of Crissa.—The same fleet repaired and reinforced; and beaten again by Phormio before Naupactus.—The attempt of the Peloponnesians on Salamis.—The fruitless expedition of the Thracians against the Macedonians. This in the first three years of the war.

  year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.

  1. The war between the Athenians and the Peloponnesians beginneth now from the time1 they had no longer commerce one with another without a herald, and that having once begun it they warred without intermission. And it is written in order by summers and winters, according as from time to time the several matters came to pass.

  year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. Platæa surprised by the Thebans by treason.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.The Thebans execute not the design of the traitors:but offer composition.

  2. The peace, which after the winning of Eubœa, was concluded for thirty years, lasted fourteen years. But in the fifteenth year, being the forty–eighth of the priesthood of Chrysis1 in Argos: Ænesias being then ephor at Sparta, and Pythadorus, archon of Athens, having then two months of his government to come: in the sixth month after the battle at Potidæa and in the beginning of the spring, three hundred and odd2 Thebans, led by Pythangelus the son of Phyleides, and Diemporus the son of Onetoridas, Bœotian rulers3 , about the first watch of the night entered with their arms into Platæa, a city of Bœotia and confederate of the Athenians. They were brought in, and the gates opened unto them, by Naucleides and his complices, men of Platæa, that for their own private ambition intended both the destruction of such citizens as were their enemies, and the putting of the whole city under the subjection of the Thebans. This they negotiated with one Eurymachus the son of Leontiadas, one of the most potent men of Thebes. For the Thebans foreseeing the war, desired to preoccupate Platæa, which was always at variance with them, whilst there was yet peace and the war not openly on foot. By which means they more easily entered undiscovered, there being no order taken before for a watch. And making a stand in their arms1 in the market–place, they did not, as they that gave them entrance would have had them, fall presently to the business, and enter the houses of their adversaries; but resolved rather to make favourable proclamation, and to induce the city to composition and friendship. And the herald proclaimed, “that if any man, according to the ancient custom of all the Bœotians, would enter into the same league of war with them, he should come and bring his arms to theirs”: supposing the city by this means would easily be drawn to their side.

  The Platæans accept it.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.The Platæans take heart:and unite themselves by digging through the common walls of their houses.They assault the Thebans.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The Thebans fly, but cannot get out.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The Thebans penned up in a house, which they entered into by mistaking the door for the city gate.They yield to discretion.

  3. The Platæans, when they perceived that the Thebans were already entered and had surprised the city, through fear, and opinion that more were entered than indeed were, (for they could not see them in the night), came to composition, and accepting the condition rested quiet; and the rather, for that they had yet done no man harm1 . But whilst that these things were treating, they observed that the Thebans were not many; and thought that if they should set upon them, they might easily have the victory. For the Platæan commons were not willing to have revolted from the Athenians. Wherefore it was thought fit to undertake the matter; and they united themselves by digging through the common walls between house and house, that they might not be discovered as they passed the streets. They also placed carts in the streets without the cattle that drew them, to serve them instead of a wall; and every other thing they put in readiness, as they severally seemed necessary for the present enterprise. When all things according to their means were ready, they marched from their houses towards the enemies; taking their time whilst it was yet night, and a little before break of day; because they would not have to charge them when they should be emboldened by the light and on equal terms, but when they should by night be terrified, and inferior to them in knowledge of the places of the city. So they forthwith set upon them, and came quickly up to hand strokes. 4. And the Thebans seeing this, and finding they were deceived, cast themselves into a round figure, and beat2 them back in that part where the assault was made: and twice or thrice they repulsed them. But at last, when both the Platæans themselves charged them with a great clamour, and their wives also and families shouted and screeched from the houses, and withal threw stones and tiles amongst them; the night having been also very wet; they were afraid, and turned their backs and fled here and there about the city; ignorant for the most part, in the dark and dirt, of the ways out by which they should have been saved; (for this accident fell out upon the change of the moon); and pursued by such as were well acquainted with the ways to keep them in: insomuch as the greatest1 part of them perished. The gate by which they entered, and which only was left open, a certain Platæan shut up again with the head2 of a javelin, which he thrust into the staple instead of a bolt: so that this way also their passage was stopped. As they were chased up and down the city, some climbed the walls and cast themselves out, and for the most part died. Some came to a desert gate of the city, and with a hatchet given them by a woman cut the staple3 , and got forth unseen: but these were not many; for the thing was soon discovered. Others again were slain dispersed in several parts of the city. But the greatest part, and those especially who had cast themselves before into a ring, happened into a great edifice adjoining to the wall1 ; the doors whereof, being open, they thought had been the gates of the city, and that there had been a direct way through to the other side. The Platæans seeing them now pent up, consulted whether they should burn them as they were, by firing the house, or else resolve of some other punishment. At length both these, and all the rest of the Thebans that were straggling in the city, agreed to yield themselves and their arms to the Platæans at discretion. And this success had2 they that entered into Platæa.

  The whole power of Thebes come to rescue their fellows.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The Thebans seek to intercept the Platæans in the villages.The Platæans send to the Thebans to be gone, and promise to release their prisoners.The Thebans go off, and the Platæans fetch in their men and goods, and kill their prisoners.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.

  5. But the rest of the Thebans, that should with their whole power have been there before day, for fear the surprise should not succeed with those that were in, came so late with their aid that they heard the news of what was done by the way3 . Now Platæa is from Thebes seventy furlongs, and they marched the slower for the rain which had fallen the same night. For the river Asopus was swollen so high, that it was not easily passable. So that what by the foulness of the way, and what by the difficulty of passing the river, they arrived not till their men were already some slain and some taken prisoners. When the Thebans understood how things had gone, they lay in wait for such of the Platæans as were without: (for there were abroad in the villages both men and household stuff, as was not unlikely, the evil happening unexpectedly and in time of peace): desiring, if they could take any prisoners, to keep them for exchange for those of theirs within, which (if any were so) were saved alive. This was the Thebans’ purpose. But the Platæans, whilst they were yet in council, suspecting that some such thing would be done, and fearing their case without, sent a herald unto the Thebans: whom they commanded to say, that what they had already done, attempting to surprise their city in time of peace, was done wickedly; and to forbid them to do any injury to those without, and that otherwise they would kill all those men of theirs that they had alive; which, if they would withdraw their forces out of their territory, they would again restore unto them. Thus the Thebans say; and that the Platæans did swear it. But the Platæans confess not that they promised to deliver them presently, but upon treaty if they should agree; and deny that they swore it. Upon this the Thebans went out of their territory1 ; and the Platæans, when they had speedily taken in whatsoever they had in the country, immediately slew their prisoners. They that were taken were one hundred and eighty; and Eurymachus2 , with whom the traitors had practised, was one. 6. When they had done they sent a messenger to Athens, and gave truce to the Thebans to fetch away the bodies of their dead; and ordered the city as was thought convenient for the present occasion.

  The Athenians lay hands on such Bœotians as were in Attica.They victual Platæa, and put a garrison into it, and take their unnecessary people.

  The news of what was done coming straightway to Athens, they instantly laid hands on all the Bœotians then in Attica; and sent an officer to Platæa, to forbid their farther proceeding with their Theban prisoners, till such time as they also should have advised of the matter: for they were not yet advertised of their putting to death. For the first messenger was sent away when the Thebans first entered the town; and the second, when1 they were overcome and taken prisoners: but of what followed after they knew nothing. So that the Athenians when they sent, knew not what was done; and the officer arriving found that the men were already slain. After this, the Athenians sending an army to Platæa, victualled it and left a garrison in it; and took thence both the women and children, and also such men as were unserviceable for the war.

  Preparation of both sides for the war.year 1. A. C 431. Ol. 87 1.Prophecies and oracles preceding the war.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.

  7. This action falling out at Platæa, and the peace now clearly dissolved, the Athenians prepared themselves for war; so also did the Lacedæmonians and their confederates; intending on either part to send ambassadors to the king, and to other barbarians, wheresoever they had hope of succours; and contracting leagues with such cities as were not under their own command. The Lacedæmonians2 besides those galleys which they had in Italy and Sicily, of the cities that took part with them there, were ordered to furnish, proportionably to the greatness of their several cities, so many more as the whole number might amount to five hundred sail, and to provide a sum of money assessed; and in other things not to stir farther, but to receive the Athenians coming but with one galley at once, till such time as the same should be ready. The Athenians, on the other side, surveyed their present confederates, and sent ambassadors to those places1 that lay about Peloponnesus, as Corcyra, Cephalonia, Acarnania, and Zacynthus; knowing that as long as these were their friends, they might with the more security2 make war round about upon the coast of Peloponnesus. 8. Neither side conceived small matters, but put their whole strength to the war: and not without reason3 . For all men in the beginnings of enterprises are the most eager. Besides, there were then in Peloponnesus many young men, and many in Athens, who for want of experience not unwillingly undertook the war. And not only the rest of Greece stood at gaze to behold the two principal states in combat; but many prophecies were told, and many sung by the priests of the oracles, both in the cities about to war and in others. There was also a little before this an earthquake in Delos, which in the memory of the Grecians never shook before1 ; and was interpreted for, and seemed to be a sign of what was to come afterwards to pass. And whatsoever thing then chanced of the same nature, it was all sure to be inquired after.

  The affections of the Grecians towards the combatant states.

  But men’s affections for the most part went with the Lacedæmonians; and the rather, for that they gave out they would recover the Grecians’ liberty. And every man, both private and public person2 , endeavoured as much as in them lay both in word and deed to assist them; and thought the business so much hindered, as himself was not present at it. In such passion were most men against the Athenians; some for desire to be delivered from under their government, and others for fear of falling into it. And these were the preparations and affections brought unto the war.

  year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The confederates of the Lacedæmonians.The confederates of the Athenians.

  9. But the confederates of either party, which they had when they began it, were these. The Lacedæmonians had all Peloponnesus within the isthmus, except the Argives and Achæans: (for these were in amity with both, save that the Pellenians at first, only of all Achaia, took their part; but afterwards all the rest did so likewise): and without Peloponnesus, the Megareans, Locrians, Bœotians, Phoceans, Ambraciotes, Leucadians, and Anactorians. Of which the Corinthians, Megareans, Sicyonians, Pellenians, Eleians, Ambraciotes, and Leucadians found shipping: the Bœotians, Phoceans, and Locrians, horsemen: and the rest of the cities footmen. And these were the confederates of the Lacedæmonians. The Athenian confederates were these. The Chians, Lesbians, Platæans, the Messenians in Naupactus, most of the Acarnanians, Corcyræans, Zacynthians, and other cities their tributaries amongst those nations1 ; also that part of Caria which is on the sea–coast, and the Dorians adjoining to them; Ionia, Hellespont, the cities bordering on Thrace2 ; all the islands from Peloponnesus to Crete on the east, and all the rest of the Cyclades, except Melos and Thera3 . Of these the Chians, Lesbians, and Corcyræans found galleys; the rest footmen and money. These were their confederates and the preparation for the war on both sides.

  year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The Lacedæmonian league meet in the isthmus.

  10. The Lacedæmonians, after the business of Platæa, sent messengers presently up and down Peloponnesus, and to their confederates without, to have in readiness their forces, and such things as should be necessary for a foreign expedition, as intending the invasion of Attica. And when they were all ready, they came to the rendezvous in the isthmus at a day appointed, two–thirds of the forces of every city1 . When the whole army was gotten together, Archidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians, general of the expedition, called together the commanders of the several cities, and such as were in authority and most worthy to be present; and spake unto them as followeth:

  the oration of archidamus.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. Oration of Archidamus.

  11. “Men of Peloponnesus and confederates, not only our fathers have had many wars, both within and without Peloponnesus, but we ourselves also, such as are anything in years, have been sufficiently acquainted therewith; yet did we never before set forth with so great a preparation as at this present. And now, not only we are a numerous and puissant army, that invade; but the state also is puissant2 that is invaded by us. We have reason therefore to show ourselves neither worse than our fathers, nor short of the opinion conceived of ourselves. For all Greece is up at this commotion, observing us: and through their hatred to the Athenians, do wish that we may accomplish whatsoever we intend. And therefore, though we seem to invade them with a great army, and to have much assurance that they will not come out against us to battle, yet we ought not for this to march the less carefully prepared; but of every city as well the captain as the soldier, to expect always some danger or other in that part wherein he himself is placed. For the accidents of war are uncertain; and for the most part the onset begins from the lesser number1 and upon passion. And oftentimes the lesser number, being afraid, hath beaten back the greater with the more ease; for that through contempt they have gone unprepared. And in the land of an enemy, though the soldiers ought always to have bold hearts, yet for action, they ought to make their preparations as if they were afraid. For that will give them both more courage to go upon the enemy, and more safety in fighting with him2 . But we invade not now a city that cannot defend itself, but a city every way well appointed. So that we must by all means expect to be fought withal, though not now, because we be not yet there, yet hereafter, when they shall see us in their country wasting and destroying their possessions. For all men, when in their own sight and on a sudden they receive any extraordinary hurt, fall presently into choler; and the less they consider, with the more stomach they assault. And this is likely to hold in the Athenians somewhat more than in the others; for they think themselves worthy to have the command of others, and to invade and waste the territories of their neighbours, rather than to see their neighbours waste theirs. Wherefore, as being to war against a great city, and to procure both to your ancestors and yourselves a great fame, either good or bad as shall be the event; follow your leaders in such sort, as above all things you esteem of order and watchfulness1 . For there is nothing in the world more comely nor more safe, than when many men are seen to observe one and the same order.”

  Archidamus sends before him an ambassador to the Athenians; and tries all other means to right his country, before war.The ambassador from Archidamus convoyed back without conference.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. Archidamus marcheth forward.

  12. Archidamus, having thus spoken and dismissed the council, first sent Melesippus the son of Diacritus, a man of Sparta, to Athens, to try if the Athenians, seeing them now on their journey, would yet in some degree remit of their obstinacy. But the Athenians neither received him into their city, nor presented him to the state: for the opinion of Pericles had already taken place, not to receive from the Lacedæmonians neither herald nor ambassador, as long as their army was abroad. Therefore they sent him back without audience, with commandment to be out of their borders the self–same day; and that hereafter if they would any thing with them, they should return every one to his home, and send their ambassadors from thence. They sent with him also certain persons to convoy him out of the country, to the end that no man should confer with him; who, when he came to the limits and was to be dismissed, uttered these words: “This day is the beginning of much evil unto the Grecians”; and so departed. When he returned to the camp, Archidamus perceiving that they would not relent, dislodged1 and marched on with his army into their territory. The Bœotians with their appointed part and with horsemen aided the Peloponnesians; but with the rest of their forces went and wasted the territory of Platæa.

  Pericles imagining Archidamus might spare his grounds, promiseth, if he did, to give them to the state.The speech of Pericles to the assembly at Athens, touching the means of the war, &c.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The treasure of the people of Athens.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.The length of the walls to which the watchmen were appointed.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.Their galleys.

  13. Whilst the Peloponnesians were coming together in the isthmus, and when they were on their march, before they brake into Attica, Pericles the son of Xantippus, who with nine others was general of the Athenians, when he saw they were about to break in, suspecting that Archidamus, either of private courtesy or by command of the Lacedæmonians to bring him into jealousy, (as they had before for his sake commanded the excommunication), might oftentimes2 leave his lands untouched, told the Athenians beforehand in an assembly, “that though Archidamus had been his guest, it was for no ill to the state; and howsoever, if the enemy did not waste his lands and houses as well as the rest, that then he gave them to the commonwealth”; and therefore desired “that for this he might not be suspected”. Also he advised them concerning the business in hand the same things he had done before; “that they should make preparations for the war, and receive their goods into the city; that they should not go out to battle, but come into the city and guard it; that they should also furnish out their navy, wherein consisted their power, and hold a careful hand over their confederates”: telling them, “how that in the money that came from these lay their strength, and that the victory in war consisted wholly1 in counsel and store of money”. Farther he bade them be confident, “in that there was yearly coming into the state from the confederates for tribute, besides other revenue2 , six hundred talents; and remaining yet then in the citadel six thousand talents of silver coin:” (for the greatest sum there had been, was ten thousand talents wanting three hundred: out of which was taken that which had been expended upon the gate–houses3 of the citadel, and upon other buildings, and for the charges of Potidæa): “besides the uncoined gold and silver of private and public offerings; and all the dedicated vessels belonging to the shows and games, and the spoils of the Persian, and other things of that nature, which amounted to no less than five hundred talents”. He added farther, that “much money might be had out of other temples1 without the city, which they might use; and if they were barred the use of all these2 , they might yet use the ornaments of gold about the goddess herself;” and said that “the image had about it the weight of forty talents of most pure gold, and which might all be taken off; but having made use of it for their safety”, he said, “they were to make restitution of the like quantity again”. Thus he encouraged them touching matter of money. “Men of arms”, he said, “they had thirteen thousand; besides the sixteen thousand that were employed for the guard of the city and upon the walls.” For so many at the first kept watch at the coming in of the enemy3 , young and old together, and strangers that dwelt amongst them as many as could bear arms. For the length of the Phalerian wall, to that part of the circumference of the wall of the city where it joined, was thirty–five furlongs; and that part of the circumference which was guarded, (for some of it was not kept with a watch, namely, the part between the long wall and the Phalerian), was forty–three furlongs. And the length of the long walls down to Piræus, (of which there was a watch only on the outmost4 ), was forty furlongs. And the whole compass of Piræus together with Munychia, was sixty furlongs; whereof that part that was watched, was but half. He said farther, “they had of horsemen, accounting archers on horseback, twelve hundred; and sixteen hundred archers; and of galleys fit for the sea, three hundred.” All this and no less had the Athenians, when the invasion of the Peloponnesians was first in hand, and when the war began. These and other words spake Pericles, as he used to do, for demonstration that they were likely to outlast this war.

  The Athenians fetch in their wives and children and substance into the city.

  14. When the Athenians had heard him, they approved of his words; and fetched into the city their wives and children, and the furniture of their houses, pulling down the very timber of the houses themselves. Their sheep and oxen they sent over into Eubœa, and into the islands over against them. Nevertheless this removal, in respect they had most of them been accustomed to the country life, grieved1 them very much.

  The Athenians accustomed ever to live in the country.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.Theseus first brought the inhabitants of Attica to make Athens their capital city.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.

  15. This custom was from great antiquity more familiar with the Athenians, than any other of the rest of Greece. For in the time of Cecrops and the first kings, down to Theseus, the inhabitants of Attica had their several boroughs, and therein their common halls2 and their governors; and, unless they were in fear of some danger, went not to the king1 for advice, but every city administered their own affairs and deliberated by themselves. And some of them had also their particular wars; as the Eleusinians, who joined with Eumolpus against Erectheus. But after Theseus came to the kingdom, one who besides his wisdom was also a man of very great power, he not only set good order in the country in other respects, but also dissolved the councils and magistracies of the rest of the towns; and assigning them all one hall and one council–house, brought them all to cohabit2 in the city that now is; and constrained them, enjoying their own as before, to use this one for their city, which (now when they all paid their duties to it) grew great, and was by Theseus so delivered to posterity. And from that time to this day, the Athenians keep a holiday at the public charge to the goddess, and call it Synœcia. That which is now the citadel, and the part which is to the south of the citadel, was before this time the city. An argument whereof is this; that the temples of the gods are all set either in the citadel itself; or if without, yet in that quarter: as that of Jupiter Olympius, and of Apollo Pythius1 , and of Tellus, and of Bacchus2 in Limnæ; (in honour of whom the old Bacchanals were3 celebrated on the twelfth day of the month Athesterion, according as the Ionians who are derived from Athens, do still observe them); besides other ancient temples situate in the same part. Moreover, they served themselves with water for the best uses of the fountain, which, now the Nine–pipes, built so by the tyrants4 , was formerly, when the springs were open, called Callirhoe, and was near. And from the old custom, before marriages and other holy rites they ordain the use of the same water to this day. And the citadel, from the ancient habitation of it, is also by the Athenians still called the city.

  The Athenians remove out of the borough towns into the city unwillingly.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.Athens thronged with the coming in of the country.An old prophecy against dwelling in the Pelasgicum.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.

  16. The Athenians therefore had lived a long time governed by laws of their own country towns; and after they were brought into one, were nevertheless (both for the custom which most had, as well of the ancient time as since till the Persian5 war, to live in the country with their whole families; and also especially for that since the Persian war they had already1 repaired their houses and furniture) unwilling to remove. It pressed them likewise, and was heavily taken, besides their houses to leave the things that pertained to their religion, (which, since their old form of government, were become patrial), and to change their manner of life, and to be no better than banished every man his city. 17. After they came into Athens, there was habitation for a few, and place of retire, with some friends or kindred. But the greatest part seated themselves in the empty places of the city, and in temples and in all the chapels of the heroes; saving in such as were in the citadel, and the Eleusinium, and other places strongly shut up. The Pelasgicum2 also under the citadel, though it were a thing accursed to dwell in it, and forbidden by the end of a verse in a Pythian oracle, in these words: Best is the Pelasgicum empty3 : was nevertheless for the present necessity inhabited. And in my opinion, this prophecy now fell out contrary to what was looked for. For the unlawful dwelling there caused not the calamities that befell the city, but the war caused the necessity of dwelling there: which war the oracle not naming, foretold only that it should one day be inhabited unfortunately.

  The Athenians make ready a hundred galleys to send about Peloponnesus.

  Many also furnished the turrets of the walls, and whatsoever other place they could any of them get. For when they were come in, the city had not place for them all: but afterwards they had1 the long walls divided amongst them, and inhabited there, and in most parts of Piræus. Withal they applied themselves to the business of the war, levying their confederates, and making ready a hundred galleys to send about Peloponnesus. Thus were the Athenians preparing.

  The Peloponnesian army assault Œnoe, a frontier town of Attica, in vain.

  18. The army of the Peloponnesians marching forward, came first to Œnoe, a town of Attica, the place where they intended to break in; and encamping before it, prepared with engines and by other means to assault the wall. For Œnoe lying on the confines between Attica and Bœotia, was walled about; and the Athenians kept a garrison in it, for defence of the country when at any time there should be war. For which cause they made preparation for the assault of it; and also spent much time about it otherwise.

  Archidamus taxed of backwardness and favour to the Athenians.year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1.Archidamus with his army entereth into Attica:and comes to Acharnas, and stays there long, cutting down their corn and trees.

  And Archidamus for this was not a little taxed, as thought to have been both slow in gathering together the forces for the war, and also to have favoured the Athenians in that he encouraged not the army to a forwardness in it. And afterwards likewise2 his stay in the isthmus and his slowness in the whole journey was laid to his charge, but especially his delay at Œnoe. For in this time the Athenians retired into the city: whereas it was thought, that the Peloponnesians marching speedily, might but for this delay have taken them all without. So passionate was the army of Archidamus for his stay before Œnoe. But expecting that the Athenians, whilst their territory was yet unhurt, would relent and not endure to see it wasted, for that cause (as it is reported) he held his hand. 19. But after, when they had assaulted Œnoe, and tried all means, but could not take it; and seeing the Athenians sent no herald to them; then at length arising from thence, about eighty days after that which happened to the Thebans that entered Platæa, the summer and corn being now at the highest1 , they fell into Attica, led by Archidamus the son of Zeuxidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians. And when they had pitched their camp, they fell to wasting of the country, first about Eleusis, and then in the plain of Thriasia; and put to flight a few Athenian horsemen at the brooks called Rheiti2 . After this, leaving the Ægaleon on the right hand, they passed through Cecropia3 , till they came unto Acharnas, which is the greatest town in all Attica of those that are called Demoi1 ; and pitching there, both fortified their camp, and staid a great while wasting the country thereabout.

  year 1. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 1. The design of Archidamus in staying so long at Acharnas.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  20. Archidamus was said to have staid so long at Acharnas with his army in battle array, and not to have come down all the time of his invasion into the champaign, with this intention. He hoped that the Athenians, flourishing in number of young men, and better furnished for war than ever they were before, would perhaps have come forth against him, and not endured to see their fields cut down and wasted; and therefore seeing they met him not in Thriasia2 , he thought good to try if they would come out against him lying now at Acharnas. Besides3 , the place seemed unto him commodious for the army to lie in; and it was thought also that the Acharnans being a great piece of the city, (for they were three thousand men of arms), would not have suffered the spoiling of their lands, but rather have urged the rest to go out and fight. And if they came not out against him at this invasion, they might hereafter more boldly both waste the champaign country, and come down even to the walls of the city. For the Acharnans, after they should have lost their own, would not be so forward to hazard themselves for the goods of other men: but there would be the thoughts of sedition in one towards another in the city. These were the cogitations of Archidamus, whilst he lay at Acharnas.

  The Athenians hardly contain themselves from going out to fight.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.A skirmish between the Athenian and Bœotian horse.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  21. The Athenians, as long as the army of the enemy lay about Eleusis and the fields of Thrius, and as long as they had any hope1 it would come on no farther, remembering that also Pleistoanax the son of Pausanias, king of Lacedæmon, when fourteen years before this war he entered Attica with an army of the Peloponnesians as far as Eleusis and Thriasia, retired again and came no farther; (for which he was also banished Sparta, as thought to have gone back for money); they stirred not. But when they saw the army now at Acharnas but sixty furlongs from the city, then they thought it no longer to be endured; and when their fields were wasted (as it was likely2 ) in their sight: which the younger sort had never seen before, nor the elder but in the Persian war; it was taken for a horrible matter, and thought fit by all, especially by the youth, to go out and not endure it any longer. And holding councils apart one from another, they were at much contention, some to make a sally, and some to hinder it. And the priests of the oracles giving out prophecies of all kinds, every one made the interpretation according to the sway of his own affection. But the Acharnians, conceiving themselves to be no small part of the Athenians1 , were they that, whilst their own lands were wasting, most of all urged their going out. Insomuch as the city was every way in tumult, and in choler against Pericles, remembering nothing of what he had formerly admonished them; but reviled him, for that being their general he refused to lead them into the field, and imputing unto him the cause of all their evil. 22. But Pericles, seeing them in passion for their present loss and ill advised, and being confident he was in the right touching not sallying, assembled them not nor called any council, for fear lest being together they might upon passion rather than judgment commit some error: but looked to the guarding of the city, and as much as he could to keep it in quiet. Nevertheless he continually sent out horsemen, to keep the scouts of the army from entering upon and doing hurt to the fields near the city. And there happened at Phrygii a small skirmish between one troop2 of horse of the Athenians, with whom were also the Thessalians, and the horsemen of the Bœotians. Wherein the Athenians and Thessalians had not the worse, till such time as the Bœotians were aided by the coming in of their men of arms; and then they were put to flight, and a few of the Athenians and Thessalians slain; whose bodies, notwithstanding, they fetched off the same day without leave of the enemy. And the Peloponnesians the next3 day erected a trophy. This aid of the Thessalians was upon an1 ancient league with the Athenians, and consisted of Larissæans, Pharsalians, Parasians, Cranonians, Pyrasians, Gyrtonians, Pheræans. The leaders of the Larissæans were Polymedes and Aristonus, men of contrary factions in their city: of the Pharsalians, Meno: and of the rest, out of the several cities several commanders.

  Archidamus removes from Acharnas.The Athenians send a hundred galleys to infest the sea coast of Peloponnesus.The Peloponnesians go home.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  23. The Peloponnesians seeing the Athenians would not come out to fight, dislodging from Acharnas, wasted certain other villages2 between the hills Parnethus and Brelissus. Whilst these were in Attica, the Athenians sent the hundred galleys which they had provided, and in them one thousand men of arms and four hundred archers, about Peloponnesus; the commanders whereof were Charcinus the son of Xenotimus, Proteus the son of Epicles, and Socrates the son of Antigenes; who thus furnished, weighed anchor and went their way. The Peloponnesians, when they had stayed in Attica as long as their provision lasted, went home through Bœotia, not the way they came in; but passing by Oropus, wasted the country called Peiraice3 , which is of the tillage of the Oropians, subjects to the people of Athens. And when they were come back into Peloponnesus, they disbanded and went every man to his own city.

  The Athenians set by 1000 talents and 100 galleys, for defence against an invasion by sea.

  24. When they were gone, the Athenians ordained watches both by sea and land, such as were to continue to the end of the war: and made a decree, to take out a thousand talents of the money in the citadel and set it by, so as it might not be spent, but the charges of the war be borne out of other moneys; and made it capital for any man to move or give his vote1 for the stirring of this money for any other use, but only if the enemy should come with an army by sea to invade the city, for necessity of that defence. Together with this money they likewise set apart one hundred galleys, and those to be every year the best, and captains to be appointed over them; which were to be employed for no other use than the money was, and for the same danger, if need should require.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The Athenians assault Methone.Brasidas defendeth it.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. They take Pheia, a town of Elis.

  25. The Athenians that were with the hundred galleys about Peloponnesus, and with them the Corcyræans with the aid of fifty sail more, and certain others of the confederates thereabout, amongst other places which they infested in their course landed at Methone, a town of Laconia1 ; and assaulted it, as being but weak and few2 men within. But it chanced that Brasidas the son of Tellis, a Spartan, had a garrison in those parts; and hearing of it, succoured those of the town with one hundred men of arms. Wherewith running through the Athenian army, dispersed in the fields, directly towards the town3 , he put himself into Methone; and with the loss of few of his men in the passage he saved the place, and for this adventure was the first that was praised at Sparta in this war. The Athenians putting off from thence sailed along the coast, and put in at Pheia of Elis, where they spent two days in wasting the country, and in a skirmish overthrew three hundred choice men of the Lower Elis4 , together with other Eleians thereabouts, that came forth to defend it. But the wind arising, and their galleys being tossed by the weather in a harbourless place, the most of them embarked, and sailed about the promontory called Icthys into the haven of Pheia. But1 the Messenians, and certain others that could not get aboard, went by land to the town of Pheia and rifled it2 . And when they had done, the galleys, that now were come about, took them in, and leaving Pheia put forth to sea again. By which time a great army of Eleians was come to succour it; but the Athenians were now gone away, and wasting some other territory.

  26. About the same time the Athenians sent likewise thirty galleys about Locris; which were to serve also for a watch about Eubœa. Of these, Cleopompus the son of Clinias had the conduct; and landing his soldiers in divers parts, both wasted some places of the sea coast, and won the town of Thronium, of which he took hostages: and overcame in fight at Alope the Locrians that came out to aid it.

  The inhabitants of Ægina removed by the Athenians:and received by the Peloponnesians.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  27. The same summer, the Athenians put the Æginetæ, man, woman and child, out of Ægina; laying to their charge that they were the principal cause of the present war. And it was also thought the safer course to hold Ægina, being adjacent to Peloponnesus, with a colony of their own people; and not long after they sent inhabitants into the same. When the Æginetæ were thus banished, the Lacedæmonians gave them Thyrea to dwell in3 , and the occupation of the lands belonging unto it to live on: both upon hatred to the Athenians, and for the benefits received at the hands of the Æginetæ in the time of the earthquake and insurrection of the Helotes. This territory of Thyrea is in the border between Argolica and Laconica, and reacheth to the sea–side. So some of them were placed there: and the rest dispersed into other parts of Greece1 .

  Eclipse of the sun: and stars discerned.

  28. Also the same summer, on the first day of the month according to the moon, (at which time it seems only possible), in the afternoon happened an eclipse of the sun. The which, after it had appeared in the form of a crescent, and withal some stars had been discerned, came afterwards again to the former brightness.

  The Athenians seek the favour of Sitalces, king of Thrace, and Perdiccas, king of Macedonia.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.Sadocus the son of Sitalces, king of Thrace, made free of Athens.

  29. The same summer also the Athenians made Nymphodorus the son of Pythos, of the city of Abdera, (whose sister was married to Sitalces, and that was of great power with him), their host2 , though before they took him for an enemy; and sent for him to Athens, hoping by his means to bring Sitalces the son of Teres, king of Thrace, into their league. This Teres, the father of Sitalces, was the first that advanced the kingdom of the Odrysians above the power of the rest of Thrace3 . For much of Thrace consisteth of free states. And Tereus that took to wife out of Athens Procne the daughter of Pandion, was no kin to this Teres, nor of the same part1 of Thrace. But that Tereus was of the city of Daulia in the country now called Phocis, then inhabited by the Thracians. And the fact of the women concerning Itys, was done there; and by the poets, where they mention the nightingale, that bird is also called Daulias. And it is more likely that Pandion matched his daughter to this man, for vicinity and mutual succour, than with the other, that was so many days’ journey off as Odrysæ. And Teres (which is also another name) was the first that seized on the kingdom of Odrysæ2 . Now Sitalces, this man’s son, the Athenians got into their league, that they might have the towns lying on Thrace and Perdiccas to be of their party3 . Nymphodorus, when he came to Athens, made this league between them and Sitalces, and caused Sadocus the son of Sitalces, to be made free of Athens; and also undertook to end the war in Thrace. For he would persuade Sitalces to send unto the Athenians a Thracian army of horsemen and targettiers. He likewise reconciled Perdiccas to the Athenians, and procured of4 him the restitution of Therme. And Perdiccas presently aided the Athenians and Phormio in the war against the Chalcideans. Thus were Sitalces the son of Teres, king of Thrace, and Perdiccas the son of Alexander, king of Macedonia, made confederates with the Athenians.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The Athenians take Solium and A stacus, and the island of Cephalonia.

  30. The Athenians being yet with their hundred galleys about Peloponnesus, took Solium, a town that belonged to the Corinthians, and put the Palærenses only, of all the Acarnanians, into the possession both of the town and territory. Having also by force taken Astacus from the tyrant Euarchus, they drave him thence, and joined the place to their league. From thence they sailed to Cephalonia, and subdued it without battle: (this Cephalonia is an island lying over against Acarnania and Leucas; and hath in it these four cities, the Pallenses, Cranii, Samæi, and Pronæi1 :) and not long after returned with their fleet to Athens.

  The Athenians invade Megaris.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.The Athenians’ greatest army.The Athenians duly once a year invade Megaris.

  31. About the end of the autumn of this summer, the Athenians, both themselves and the strangers that dwelt amongst them2 , with the whole power of the city, under the conduct of Pericles the son Xantippus, invaded the territory of Megara. And those Athenians likewise that had been with the hundred galleys about Peloponnesus, in their return, being now at Ægina, hearing that the whole power of the city was gone into Megaris, went and joined them. And this was the greatest army that ever the Athenians had together in one place before1 ; the city being now in her strength, and the plague not yet amongst them. For the Athenians themselves were no less than ten thousand men of arms, besides the three thousand at Potidæa: and the strangers that dwelt amongst them, and accompanied them in this invasion, were no fewer that three thousand men of arms more; besides other great numbers of light–armed soldiers. And when they had wasted the greatest part of the country, they went back to Athens. And afterwards, year after year during this war, the Athenians often2 invaded Megaris, sometimes with their horsemen and sometimes with their whole army, until such time as they had won Nisæa.

  The end of the first summer.

  32. Also in the end of this summer they fortified Atalante, an island lying upon the Locrians of Opus, desolate till then; for a garrison against thieves, which passing over from Opus and other parts of Locris might annoy Eubœa. These were the things done this summer after the retreat of the Peloponnesians out of Attica.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. Euarchus the tyrant recovereth Astacus.

  33. The winter following, Euarchus of Acarnania, desirous to return to Astacus, prevaileth with the Corinthians to go thither with forty galleys and fifteen hundred men of arms, to re–establish him; to which he hired also certain other mercenaries for the same purpose. The commanders of this army were Euphamidas the son of Aristonymus, Timoxenes the son of Timocrates, and Eumachus the son of Chrysis. When they had re–established him, they endeavoured to draw to their party some other places on the sea–coast of Acarnania; but missing their purpose, they set sail homeward. As they passed by the coast of Cephalonia, they disbarked in the territory of the Cranii; where, under colour of composition, they were deceived, and lost some part of their forces1 . For the assault made upon them by the Cranii being unexpected, they got off with much ado, and went home.

  The manner of the Athenians in burying the bones of the first slain in the wars.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  34. The same winter the Athenians, according to their ancient custom, solemnized a public funeral of the first slain in this war, in this manner. Having set up a tent, they put into it2 the bones of the dead three days before the funeral: and every one bringeth whatsoever he thinks good to his own. When the day comes of carrying them to their burial, certain cypress1 coffins are carried along in carts, for every tribe one, in which are the bones of the men of every tribe by themselves. There is likewise borne an empty hearse covered over, for such as appear not, nor were found amongst the rest when they were taken up. The funeral is accompanied by any that will2 , whether citizen or stranger; and the women of their kindred are also by at the burial, lamenting and mourning. Then they put them into a3 public monument, which standeth in the fairest suburbs of the city; in which place they have ever interred all that died in the wars, except those that were slain in the field of Marathon; who, because their virtue was thought extraordinary, were therefore buried thereright. And when the earth is thrown over them, some one thought to exceed the rest in wisdom and dignity, chosen by the city, maketh an oration, wherein he giveth them such praises as are fit: which done, the company depart. And this is the form of that burial: and for the whole time of the war, whensoever there was occasion, they observed the same4 . For these first, the man chosen to make the oration was Pericles the son of Xantippus: who when the time served, going out of the place of burial into a high pulpit, to be heard the farther off by the multitude about him, spake unto them in this manner:

  the funeral oration made by pericles.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  35. “Though most that have spoken formerly in this place, have commended the man that added this oration to the law, as honourable for those that die in the wars; yet to me it seemeth sufficient, that they who have showed their valour by action, should also by an action have their honour1 , as now you see they have, in this their sepulture performed by the state; and not to have the virtue of many hazarded on one, to be believed as that one shall make a good or bad oration. For to speak of men in a just measure, is a hard matter: and though one do so, yet he shall hardly get the truth firmly believed2 . The favourable hearer, and he that knows what was done, will perhaps think what is spoken short of what he would have it, and what it was3 : and he that is ignorant, will find somewhat on the other side which he will think too much extolled; especially if he hear aught above the pitch of his own nature. For to hear another man praised finds patience so long only, as each man shall think he could himself have done somewhat of that he hears. And if one exceed in their praises, the hearer presently through envy thinks it false. But since our ancestors have so thought good, I also, following the same ordinance, must endeavour to be answerable to the desires and opinions of every one of you, as far forth as I can.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.He glanceth at the Lacedæmonians, because they ever looked sourly on soft and loose behaviour.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  36. “I will begin at our ancestors: being a thing both just and honest1 , that to them first be given the honour of remembrance in this kind. For they, having been always the inhabitants of this region2 , by their valour have delivered the same to succession of posterity, hitherto in the state of liberty. For which they deserve commendation, but our fathers deserve yet more: for that besides what descended on them, not without great labour of their own they have purchased this our present dominion, and delivered the same over to us that now are. Which in a great part also we ourselves, that are yet in the strength of our age here present, have enlarged; and so furnished the city with every thing, both for peace and war, as it is now all–sufficient in itself. The actions of war whereby all this was attained, and the deeds of arms both of ourselves and our fathers in valiant opposition to the barbarians or Grecians in their wars against us, amongst you that are well acquainted with the sum, to avoid prolixity I will pass over. But by what3 institutions we arrived at this, by what form of government and by what means we have advanced the state to this greatness, when I shall have laid open this, I shall then descend to these men’s praises. For I think they are things both fit for the purpose in hand, and profitable to the whole company, both of citizens and strangers, to hear related. 37. We have a form of government, not fetched by imitation from the laws of our neighbouring states; (nay, we are rather a pattern to others, than they to us); which, because in the administration it hath respect not to a few, but to the multitude, is called a democracy. Wherein, though there be an equality amongst all men in point of law for their private controversies; yet1 in conferring of dignities one man is preferred before another to public charge, and that according to the reputation, not of his house, but of his virtue; and is not put back through poverty for the obscurity of his person, as long as he can do good service to the commonwealth. And we live not only free in the administration of the state, but also one with another void of jealousy touching each other’s daily course of life2 ; not offended at any man for following his own humour, nor casting on any man censorious looks, which though they be no punishment, yet they grieve. So that conversing one with another for the private without offence, we stand chiefly in fear to transgress against the public; and are obedient always to those that govern and to the laws, and principally to such laws as are written for protection against injury, and such unwritten, as bring undeniable shame to the transgressors. 38. We have also found out many ways to give our minds recreation from labour, by public institution of games and sacrifices for all the days of the year, with a decent pomp and furniture of the same by private men; by the daily delight whereof we expel sadness. We have this farther by the greatness of our city, that all things from all parts of the earth are imported hither; whereby we no less familiarly enjoy the commodities of all other nations, than our own. 39. Then in the studies of war, we excel1 our enemies in this. We leave our city open to all men; nor was it ever seen, that by banishing of strangers2 we denied them the learning or sight of any of those things, which, if not hidden, an enemy might reap advantage by; not relying on secret preparation and deceit, but upon our own courage in the action. They, in their discipline, hunt after valour presently from their youth with laborious exercise3 ; and yet we that live remissly, undertake as great dangers as they. For example; the Lacedæmonians invade not our dominion by themselves alone, but with the aid of all the rest. But when we invade our neighbours, though we fight in hostile ground, against such as in their own ground fight in defence of their own substance, yet for the most part we get the victory1 . Never enemy yet fell into the hands of our whole forces at once; both because we apply ourselves much to navigation, and by land also send many of our men into divers countries abroad2 . But when fighting with a part of it, they chance to get the better, they boast they have beaten the whole; and when they get the worse, they say they are beaten by the whole. And yet when from ease rather than studious labour, and upon natural rather than doctrinal valour, we come to undertake any danger, we have this odds by it, that we shall3 not faint beforehand with the meditation of future trouble, and in the action we shall appear no less confident than they that are ever toiling; 40. procuring admiration to our city as well in this as in divers other things. For we also give ourselves to bravery1 , and yet with thrift; and to philosophy, and yet without mollification of the mind. And we use riches rather for opportunities of action, than for verbal ostentation: and hold it not a shame to confess poverty, but not to have avoided it. Moreover there is in the same men, a care both of their own and the public affairs; and a sufficient knowledge of state matters2 , even in those that labour with their hands. For we only think one that is utterly ignorant therein, to be a man, not that meddles with nothing, but that is good for nothing. We3 likewise weigh what we undertake, and apprehend it perfectly in our minds; not accounting words for a hindrance of action, but that it is rather a hindrance to action to come to it without instruction of words before. For also in this we excel4 others; daring to undertake as much as any, and yet examining what we undertake; whereas with other men, ignorance makes them dare, and consideration dastards. And they are most rightly reputed valiant, who though they perfectly apprehend both what is dangerous and what is easy, are never the more thereby diverted from adventuring. Again, we are contrary to most men in matter of bounty. For we purchase our friends, not by receiving, but by bestowing benefits. And he that bestoweth a good turn, is ever the most constant friend; because1 he will not lose the thanks due unto him from him whom he bestowed it on. Whereas the friendship of him that oweth a benefit, is dull and flat, as knowing his benefit not to be taken for a favour, but for a debt. So that we only do good to others, not upon computation of profit, but freeness of trust2 .

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  41. “In sum it may be said, both that the city is in general a school of the Grecians, and that the men here have, every one in particular, his person disposed to most diversity of actions, and yet all with grace and decency3 . And that this is not now rather a bravery of words upon the occasion, than real truth, this power of the city, which by these institutions4 we have obtained, maketh evident. For it is the only power now, found greater in proof than fame; and the only power, that neither grieveth the invader, when he miscarries, with the quality of those he was hurt by, nor giveth cause to the subjected states to murmur, as being in subjection to men unworthy. For both with present and future ages we shall be in admiration, for a power not without testimony, but made evident by great arguments; and which needeth not either a Homer to praise it, or any other such, whose poems may indeed for the present bring delight, but the truth will afterwards confute the opinion conceived of the actions. For we have opened unto us by our courage all seas and lands, and set up eternal monuments on all sides, both of the evil we have done to our enemies, and the good we have done to our friends.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  “Such is the city for which these men, thinking it no reason to lose it, valiantly fighting have died. And it is fit that every man of you that be left, should be like minded to undergo any travail for the same. 42. And I have therefore spoken so much concerning the city in general, as well to show you that the stakes between us and them, whose city is not such, are not equal; as also to make known by effects, the worth of these men I am to speak of; the greatest part of their praises being therein already delivered. For what I have spoken of the city, hath by these, and such as these, been achieved. Neither would praises and actions appear so levelly concurrent in many other of the Grecians, as they do in these: the present revolution1 of these men’s lives seeming unto me an argument of their virtues, noted in the first act thereof, and in the last confirmed. For even such of them as were worse than the rest, do nevertheless deserve, that for their valour shown in the wars for defence of their country they should be preferred before the rest2 . For having by their good actions abolished the memory of their evil, they have profited the state thereby more than they have hurt it by their private behaviour. Yet there was none of these, that preferring the further fruition of his wealth, was thereby grown cowardly; or that for hope to overcome his poverty at length and to attain to riches, did for that cause withdraw himself from the danger. For1 their principal desire was not wealth, but revenge on their enemies; which esteeming the most honourable cause of danger, they made account through it both to accomplish their revenge and to purchase wealth withal; putting the uncertainty of success to the account of their hope; but for that which was before their eyes, relying upon themselves in the action; and therein choosing rather to fight and die, than to shrink and be saved, they fled from shame, but with their bodies they stood out the battle; and so in a moment, whilst fortune inclineth neither way, left their lives not in fear, but in opinion of victory.

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  43. “Such were these men, worthy of their country. And for you that remain, you may pray for a safer fortune, but you ought not to be less venturously minded against the enemy; not weighing the profit by an oration only, which any man amplifying, may recount, to you that know as well as he, the many commodities that arise by fighting valiantly against your enemies; but contemplating the power of the city in the actions of the same from day to day performed1 , and thereby becoming enamoured of it. And when this power of the city shall seem great to you, consider then, that the same was purchased by valiant men, and by men that knew their duty, and by men that were sensible of dishonour when they were in fight; and by such men, as though they failed of their attempt, yet would not be wanting to the city with their virtue, but made unto it a most honourable contribution. For2 having every one given his body to the commonwealth, they receive in place thereof an undecaying commendation and a most remarkable sepulchre; not wherein they are buried so much, as wherein their glory is laid up, upon all occasions both of speech and action to be remembered for ever. For to famous men all the earth is a sepulchre: and their virtues shall be testified, not only by the inscription in stone at home, but3 by an unwritten record of the mind, which more than of any monument will remain with every one for ever. In imitation therefore of these men, and placing happiness in liberty, and liberty in valour, be forward to encounter the dangers of war. For the miserable and desperate men, are not they that have the most reason to be prodigal of their lives; but rather such men, as if they live, may expect a change of fortune, and whose losses are greatest if they miscarry in aught. For to a man of any spirit, death, which is without sense, arriving whilst he is in vigour and common hope, is nothing so bitter as after a tender life to be brought into misery1 .

  year i. A. C. 431. Ol. 87. 2. The funeral oration made by Pericles.

  44. “Wherefore I will not so much bewail, as comfort you, the parents, that are present, of these men. For you know that whilst they lived, they were obnoxious to manifold calamities. Whereas whilst you are in grief, they only are happy that die honourably, as these have done2 : and to whom it hath been granted, not only to live in prosperity, but to die in it. Though it be a hard matter to dissuade you from sorrow for the loss of that, which the happiness of others, wherein you also when time was rejoiced yourselves, shall so often bring into your remembrance; (for sorrow is not for the want of a good never tasted, but for the privation of a good we have been used to); yet such of you as are of the age to have children, may bear the loss of these in the hope of more. For the later children will both draw on with some the oblivion of those that are slain, and also doubly conduce to the good of the city, by population and strength. For it is not likely that they should equally give good counsel to the state, that have not children to be equally exposed to danger in it. As for you that are past having of children3 , you are to put the former and greater part of your life1 to the account of your gain; and supposing the remainder of it will be but short, you shall have the glory of these for a consolation of the same. For the love of honour never groweth old: nor doth that unprofitable part of our life take delight (as some have said) in gathering of wealth, so much as it doth in being honoured. 45. As for you that are the children or brethren of these men, I see you shall have a difficult task of emulation. For every man useth to praise the dead; so that with odds of virtue you will hardly get an equal reputation, but still be thought a little short. For men envy their competitors in glory, while they live; but to stand out of their way, is a thing honoured with an affection free from opposition2 . And since I must say somewhat also of feminine virtue, for you that are now widows, I shall express it in this short admonition. It will be much for your honour not to recede from your sex3 : and to give as little occasion of rumour amongst the men, whether of good or evil, as you can.

  year i. A. C 431. Ol. 87. 2.

  46. “Thus4 also have I, according to the prescript of the law, delivered in word what was expedient; and those that are here interred, have in fact been already honoured; and further, their children5 shall be maintained till they be at man’s estate at the charge of the city; which hath therein propounded both to these, and them that live, a profitable garland in their matches of valour1 . For where the rewards of virtue are greatest, there live the worthiest men. So now having lamented every one his own, you may be gone.”

  47. Such was the funeral made this winter; which ending, ended the first year of this war.

  year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. The second invasion of Attica by the Lacedæmonians.The plague at Athens.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2.It began in Æthiopia.The Peloponnesians supposed to have poisoned their wells.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. The author sick of this disease.

  In the very beginning of summer, the Peloponnesians and their confederates, with two thirds of their forces as before, invaded Attica under the conduct of Archidamus the son of Zeuxidamas, king of Lacedæmon: and after they had encamped themselves, wasted the country about them. They had not been many days in Attica, when the plague first began amongst the Athenians, said also to have seized2 formerly on divers other parts, as about Lemnos and elsewhere; but so great a plague and mortality of men was never remembered to have happened in any place before. For at first neither were the physicians able to cure it, through ignorance of what it was1 , but died fastest themselves, as being the men that most approached the sick; nor any other art of man availed whatsoever. All supplications to the gods, and enquiries of oracles, and whatsoever other means they used of that kind, proved all unprofitable; insomuch as subdued with the greatness of the evil, they gave them all over. 48. It began, by report, first in that part of Æthiopia that lieth upon Egypt; and thence fell down into Egypt and Africa, and into the greatest part of the territories of the king. It invaded Athens on a sudden; and touched first upon those that dwelt in Peiræus; insomuch as they reported that the Peloponnesians had cast poison into their wells2 ; (for springs there were not any in that place). But afterwards it came up into the high city, and then they died a great deal faster. Now let every man, physician or other, concerning the ground of this sickness, whence it sprung, and what causes he thinks able to produce so great an alteration, speak according to his own knowledge. For my own part, I will deliver but the manner of it, and lay open only such things, as one may take his mark by to discover the same, if it come again; having been both sick of it myself, and seen others sick of the same.

  The description of the disease:ache of the head: redness of the eyes: sore throat: unsavoury breath:vomitings:hickyexe:year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. livid pustules: extreme heat of their bodies:insatiate thirst:want of sleep:after seven or ten days, death:disease in the belly:looseness:year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. loss of the parts where the disease brake out:oblivion of all things done before their sickness:birds and beasts perished that fed on carcases.

  49. This year, by confession of all men, was of all other, for other diseases, most free and healthful. If any man were sick before, his disease turned to this1 ; if not, yet suddenly, without any apparent cause preceding and being in perfect health, they were taken first with an extreme ache2 in their heads, redness and inflammation of the eyes; and then inwardly, their throats and tongues grew presently bloody, and their breath noisome and unsavoury. Upon this followed a sneezing and hoarseness, and not long after the pain, together with a mighty cough, came down into the breast. And when once it was settled in the stomach, it caused vomit3 , and with great torment came up all manner of bilious purgation that physicians ever named. Most of them had also the hickyexe4 , which brought with it a strong convulsion, and in some ceased quickly, but in others was long before it gave over. Their bodies outwardly to the touch were neither very hot nor pale; but reddish, livid, and beflowered with little pimples and whelks1 ; but so burned inwardly, as not to endure any the lightest clothes or linen garment to be upon them, nor anything but mere nakedness; but rather most willingly to have cast themselves into the cold water. And2 many of them that were not looked to, possessed with insatiate thirst, ran unto the wells; and to drink much or little was indifferent, being still from ease and power to sleep as far as ever. As long as the disease was at its height, their bodies wasted not, but resisted the torment beyond all expectation; insomuch as the most of them either died of their inward burning3 in nine or seven days, whilst they had yet strength; or if they escaped that, then the disease falling down into their bellies, and causing there great exulcerations and immoderate4 looseness, they died many of them afterwards through weakness. For the disease, which took first the head, began above, and came down and passed through the whole body; and he that overcame the worst of it, was yet marked with the loss of his extreme parts1 ; for breaking out both at their privy members, and at their fingers and toes, many with the loss of these escaped: there were also some that lost their eyes. And many, that presently upon their recovery were taken with such an oblivion of all things whatsoever, as they neither knew themselves nor their acquaintance. 50. For this was a kind of sickness which far surmounted all expression of words, and both exceeded human nature in the cruelty wherewith it handled each one; and appeared also otherwise to be none of those diseases that are bred amongst us, and that especially by this. For all, both birds and beasts, that use to feed on human flesh, though many men lay abroad unburied, either came not at them, or tasting perished2 . An argument whereof as touching the birds, is the manifest defect of such fowl; which were not then seen, neither about the carcases or any where else. But by the dogs, because they are familiar with men, this effect was seen much clearer.

  year ii. A C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. Want of attendance.Dejection of mind.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. No man sick of it mortally the second time.

  51. So that this disease, (to pass over many strange particulars of the accidents that some had differently from others), was in general such as I have shown3 ; and for other usual sicknesses, at that time no man was troubled with any1 . Now they died, some for want of attendance, and some again with all the care and physic that could be used. Nor was there any, to say certain medicine, that applied must have helped them2 ; for if it did good to one, it did harm to another. Nor any difference of body, for strength or weakness, that was able to resist it; but it carried all away, what physic soever was administered. But the greatest misery of all, was the dejection of mind in such as found themselves beginning to be sick: (for they grew presently desperate, and gave themselves over without making any resistance): as also their dying thus like sheep, infected by mutual visitation; for the greatest mortality proceeded that way. For if men forebore to visit them for fear, then they died forlorn; whereby many families became empty, for want of such as should take care of them. If they forbore not, then they died themselves, and principally the honestest3 men. For out of shame they would not spare themselves, but went in unto their friends; especially after it was come to this pass, that even their domestics, wearied with the lamentations of them that died, and overcome with the greatness of the calamity, were no longer moved therewith. But those that were recovered, had much4 compassion both on them that died, and on them that lay sick; as having both known the misery themselves, and now no more subject to the danger. For this disease never took any man the second time, so as to be mortal. And these men were both by others counted happy; and they also themselves, through excess of present joy, conceived a kind of light hope never to die of any other sickness hereafter.

  Men died in the streets.Disorder in their funerals.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2.Licentiousness of life justified.Neglect of religion and law.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2.

  52. Besides the present affliction, the reception of the country people and of their substance into the city, oppressed both them, and much more the people themselves that so came in. For having no houses, but dwelling at that time1 of the year in stifling booths, the mortality was now without all form; and dying2 men lay tumbling one upon another in the streets, and men half–dead about every conduit through desire of water. The temples also where they dwelt in tents, were all full of the dead that died within them. For oppressed with the violence of the calamity, and not knowing what to do, men grew careless both of holy and profane things alike. And the laws which they formerly used touching funerals, were all now broken; every one burying where he could find room3 . And many for want of things necessary, after so many deaths before, were forced to become impudent in the funerals of their friends. For when one had made a funeral pile, another getting before him would throw on his dead, and give it fire. And when one was in burning, another would come, and having cast thereon him whom he carried, go his way again. 53. And the great licentiousness, which also in other kinds was1 used in the city, began at first from this disease. For that which a man before would dissemble, and not acknowledge to be done for voluptuousness, he durst now do freely; seeing before his eyes such quick revolution, of the rich2 dying, and men worth nothing inheriting their estates. Insomuch as they justified a speedy fruition of their goods, even3 for their pleasure; as men that thought they held their lives but by the day. As for pains, no man was forward in any action of honour to take any; because they thought it uncertain whether they should die or not before they achieved it. But what any man knew to be delightful, and to be profitable to pleasure4 , that was made both profitable and honourable. Neither the fear of the gods, nor laws of men, awed any man: not the former, because they concluded it was alike to worship or not worship, from seeing that alike they all perished: nor the latter, because no man expected that lives would last till he received punishment of his crimes by judgment. But they thought, there was now over their heads some far greater judgment decreed against them; before which fell, they thought to enjoy some little part of their lives.

  Predictions called to mind.

  54. Such was the misery, into which the Athenians being fallen were much oppressed; having not only their men killed by the disease within, but the enemy also laying waste their fields and villages without. In this sickness also, (as it was not unlikely they would), they called to mind this verse, said also of the elder sort to have been uttered of old:

  • A Doric war shall fall,
  • And a great plague1withal.

  An ambiguous prophecy expounded by the event.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2.

  Now were men at variance about the word, some saying it was not λοιμός that was by the ancients mentioned in that verse, but λιμός. But upon the present occasion the word λοιμός deservedly obtained. For as men suffered, so they made the verse to say. And I think, if after this there shall ever come another Doric war, and with it a famine, they are like to recite the verse accordingly. There was also reported by such as knew, a certain2 answer given by the oracle to the Lacedæmonians, when they inquired whether they should make this war or not: that if they warred with all their power, they should have the victory; and that the God3himself would take their parts. And thereupon they thought the present misery to be a fulfilling of that prophecy. The Peloponnesians were no sooner entered Attica, but the sickness presently began; and never came into Peloponnesus, to speak of, but reigned principally in Athens, and in such other places afterwards as were most populous. And thus much of this disease.

  Pericles with 100 sail of Athenians about Peloponnesus.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2.

  55. After the Peloponnesians had wasted the champagne country, they fell upon the territory called Paralos1 , as far as to the mountain Laurius, where the Athenians had silver mines; and first wasted that part of it which looketh towards Peloponnesus, and then that also which lieth toward Andros and Eubœa. And Pericles, who was also then general, was still of the same mind he was of in the former invasion, that the Athenians ought not to go out against them to battle. 56. Whilst2 they were yet in the plain, and before they entered into the maritime country, he furnished a hundred galleys to go about Peloponnesus, and as soon as they were ready, put to sea. In these galleys he had four thousand men of arms; and in vessels then purposely first made to carry horses3 , three hundred horsemen. The Chians and Lesbians joined likewise with him with fifty galleys. This fleet of the Athenians, when it set forth, left the Peloponnesians still in Paralia; and coming before Epidaurus, a city of Peloponnesus1 , they wasted much of the country thereabout, and assaulting the city had a hope to take it, though it succeeded not. Leaving Epidaurus, they wasted the territories about of Trœzene, Halias, and Hermione, places all on the sea–coast of Peloponnesus. Putting off from hence, they came to Prasiæ, a small maritime city of Laconia; and both wasted the territory about it, and took and razed2 the town itself. And having done this, came home, and found the Peloponnesians not now in Attica, but gone back.

  The Peloponnesians depart out of Attica.

  57. All the while the Peloponnesians were in the territory of the Athenians, and the Athenians abroad with their fleet, the sickness, both in the army and city, destroyed many; insomuch as it was said that the Peloponnesians fearing the sickness, (which they knew to be in the city, both by fugitives and by seeing the Athenians burying3 their dead), went the sooner away out of the country. And yet they stayed there longer in this invasion than they had done any time before4 ; and wasted even the whole territory: for they continued in Attica almost forty days.

  year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. The Athenian fleet returned from Peloponnesus, go to Potidæa with ill success by reason of the sickness.

  58. The same summer Agnon the son of Nicias, and Cleopompus the son of Clinias, who were joint commanders with Pericles, with that army which he had employed before, went presently and made war upon the Chalcideans of Thrace, and against Potidæa, which was yet besieged. Arriving, they presently applied engines, and tried all means possible to take it; but neither the taking of the city, nor any thing else, succeeded worthy so great preparation. For the sickness coming amongst them, afflicted them mightily indeed, and even devoured the army. And the Athenian soldiers which were there before and in health, catched the sickness from those that came with Agnon. As for Phormio and his sixteen hundred, they were not now amongst the Chalcideans. And Agnon therefore came back with his fleet, having of four thousand men in less than forty days lost one thousand and fifty of the plague. But the soldiers that were there before, stayed upon the place and continued the siege of Potidæa.

  The Athenian people vexed at once both with the war and pestilence, grow impatient toward Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3.

  59. After the second invasion of the Peloponnesians, the Athenians having their fields now the second time wasted, and both the sickness and war falling upon them at once, changed their minds, and accused Pericles1 as if by his means they had been brought into these calamities, and desired earnestly to compound with the Lacedæmonians; to whom also they sent certain ambassadors, but they returned without effect. And being then at their wits’ end, they kept a stir at Pericles. And he seeing them vexed with their present calamity and doing all those things which he had before expected, called an assembly (for he was yet general1 ) with intention to put them again into heart, and assuaging their passion, to reduce their minds to a more calm and less dismayed temper. And standing forth, he spake unto them in this manner:

  Oration of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.

  60. “Your anger towards me cometh not unlooked for; for the cause of it I know. And I have called this assembly therefore, to remember you, and reprehend you for those things wherein you have either been angry with me, or given way to your adversity, without reason. For I am of this opinion, that the public prosperity of the city is better for private men, than if the private men themselves were in prosperity and the public wealth in decay. For a private man, though in good estate, if his country come to ruin, must of necessity be ruined with it; whereas he that miscarrieth in a flourishing commonwealth, shall much more easily be preserved. Since then the commonwealth is able to bear the calamities of private men, and every one2 cannot support the calamities of the commonwealth, why should not every one strive to defend it: and not, as you now, astonished with domestic misfortune, forsake the common safety, and fall a censuring both me that counselled the war, and yourselves that decreed the same as well as I? And it is I you are angry withal: one, as I think myself, inferior to none, either in knowing what is requisite, or in expressing what I know, and a lover of my country and superior to money. For he that hath good thoughts and cannot clearly express them, were as good to have thought nothing at all. He that can do both, and is ill affected to his country, will likewise1 not give it faithful counsel. And he that will do that too, yet if he be superable by money, will for that alone set all the rest to sale. Now if you followed my advice in making this war, as esteeming these virtues to be in me somewhat above the rest, there is sure no reason that I should now be accused of doing you wrong. 61. For though to such as have it in their own election, (being otherwise in good estate), it were madness to make choice of war; yet when we must of necessity either give way, and so without more ado be subject to our neighbours, or else save ourselves from it by danger; he is more to be condemned that declineth the danger, than he that standeth to it. For mine own part, I am the man I was, and of the mind I was; but you are changed, won to the war when you were entire, but repenting it upon the damage, and condemning my counsel in the weakness of your own judgment. The reason of this is, because you feel already every one in particular that which afflicts you; but the evidence of the profit to accrue to the city in general, you see not yet. And your minds dejected with the great and sudden alteration, cannot constantly2 maintain what you have before resolved. For that which is sudden and unexpected, and contrary to what one hath deliberated, enslaveth the spirit; which by this disease principally, in the neck of the other incommodities, is now come to pass in you. But you that are born in a great city, and with education suitable, how great soever the affliction be, ought not to shrink at it and eclipse your reputation; (for men do no less condemn those that through cowardice lose the glory they have, than hate those that through impudence arrogate the glory they have not); but to set aside the grief of your private losses, and lay your hands to the common safety.

  year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol 87. 2. 3. Oration of Pericles.

  62. “As for the toil of the war, that it may perhaps be long and we in the end never the nearer to victory, though that may suffice which I have demonstrated1 at other times touching your causeless suspicion that way; yet this I will tell you moreover, touching the greatness of your means for dominion, which neither you yourselves seem ever to have thought on, nor I touched in my former orations; nor would I also have spoken it now2 , but that I see your minds dejected more than there is cause for. That though you take your dominion to extend only to your confederates, I affirm that of the two parts of the world of manifest use, the land and the sea, you are of one of them entire masters; both of as much of it as you make use of, and also of as much more as you shall think fit yourselves. Neither is there any king or nation whatsoever of those that now are, that can impeach your navigation with the fleet and strength you now go1 . So that you must not put the use of houses and lands, wherein now you think yourselves deprived of a mighty matter, into the balance with such a power as this, nor take the loss of these things heavily in respect of it; but rather set little by them, as but a light ornament and embellishment of wealth; and think that our liberty as long as we hold fast that, will easily recover unto us these things again; whereas subjected once to others, even that which we possess besides will be diminished. Show not yourselves both ways inferior to your ancestors; who not only held this, (gotten by their own labours, not left them), but have also preserved and delivered the same unto us: (for2 it is more dishonour to lose what one possesseth, than to miscarry in the acquisition of it): and encounter the enemy not only with magnanimity, but also with disdain. For a coward may have a high mind upon a prosperous ignorance; but he that is confident upon judgment to be superior to his enemy, doth also disdain him; which is now our case. And3 courage, in equal fortune, is the safer for our disdain of the enemy, where a man knows what he doth: for he trusteth less to hope, which is of force only in uncertainties, and more to judgment upon certainties, wherein there is a more sure foresight. 63. You have reason besides to maintain the dignity the city hath gotten for1 her dominion, in which you all triumph: and either not decline the pains, or not also pursue the honour. And you must not think the question is now of your liberty and servitude only. Besides the loss of your rule over others, you must stand the danger you have contracted by offence given in the administration of it. Nor can you now give it over: (if any fearing at this present that that may come to pass, encourage himself with the intention of not to meddle hereafter2 ): for already your government is in the nature of a tyranny, which is both unjust for you to take up and unsafe to lay down. And such men as these, if they could persuade others to it, or lived in a free city by themselves, would quickly overthrow it. For the quiet life can never be preserved, if it be not ranged with the active life: nor is it a life conducible to a city that reigneth, but to a subject city, that it may safely serve. 64. Be not therefore seduced by this sort of men, nor angry with me, together with whom yourselves did decree this war, because the enemy invading you hath done what was likely he would, if you obeyed him not. And as for the sickness, the only thing that exceeded the imagination of all men, it was unlooked for: and I know you hate me somewhat the more for that; but unjustly, unless when anything falleth out above your expectation fortunate, you will also dedicate unto me that. Evils that come from heaven, you must bear necessarily; and such as proceed from your enemies, valiantly; for so it hath been the custom of this city to do heretofore, which custom let it not be your part to reverse. Knowing that this city hath a great name amongst all people for not yielding to adversity, and for the mighty power it yet hath after the expense of so many lives and so much labour in the war1 : the memory whereof, though we should now at length miscarry, (for all things are made with this law, to decay again), will remain with posterity for ever. How that being Grecians, most of the Grecians were our subjects; that we have abidden the greatest wars against them, both universally and singly, and have inhabited the greatest and wealthiest city. Now this, he with the quiet life will condemn; the active man will emulate; and they that have not attained to the like, will envy. But to be hated and to displease, is a thing that happeneth for the time to whosoever he be that hath the command of others; and he does well, that undergoeth hatred for matters of great consequence. For the hatred lasteth not; and is recompensed both with a present splendour and an immortal glory hereafter. Seeing then you foresee2 both what is honourable for the future, and not dishonourable for the present, procure both the one and the other by your courage now. Send no more heralds to the Lacedæmonians, nor let them know the evil present does any way afflict you; for they whose minds least feel, and whose actions most oppose a calamity, both among states and private persons are the best.”

  Pericles fined in a sum of money.Athens at the greatest in the time of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3.The death of Pericles. Sept A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The commendation of Pericles.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 2. 3.

  65. In this speech did Pericles endeavour to appease the anger of the Athenians towards himself, and withal to withdraw their thoughts from the present affliction. But they, though for the state in general they were won, and sent to the Lacedæmonians no more, but rather1 inclined to the war; yet they were every one in particular grieved for their several losses: the poor, because entering the war with little, they lost that little; and the rich, because they had lost fair possessions, together with goodly houses and costly furniture in them, in the country; but the greatest matter of all was, that they had war instead of peace. And altogether, they deposed not their anger till they had first fined him in a sum of money. Nevertheless, not long after (as is the fashion of the multitude) they made him general again, and committed the whole state to his administration2 . For the sense of their domestic losses was now dulled; and for the need of the commonwealth, they prized him more than any other whatsoever. For as long as he was in authority in the city in time of peace3 , he governed the same with moderation, and was a faithful watchman of it; and in his time it was at the greatest. And after the war was on foot, it is manifest that he therein also foresaw what it could do. He lived after the war began two years and six months. And his foresight in the war was best known after his death1 . For he told them, that if they would be quiet, and look to their navy, and during this war seek no further dominion, nor hazard the city itself, they should then have the upper hand. But they did contrary in all: and in such other things besides as seemed not to concern the war2 , managed the state, according to their private ambition and covetousness, perniciously both for themselves and their confederates. What succeeded well, the honour and profit of it came most to private men; and what miscarried, was to the city’s detriment in the war. The reason whereof was this: that being a man of great power both for his dignity and wisdom, and for bribes manifestly the most incorrupt, he freely controled the multitude; and was not so much led by them, as he led them. Because, having gotten his power by no evil arts, he would not humour them in his speeches, but out of his authority durst anger them with contradiction. Therefore, whensoever he saw them out of season insolently bold, he would with his orations put them into a fear; and again, when they were afraid without reason, he would likewise erect their spirits and embolden them. It was in name, a state democratical; but in fact, a government of the principal man. But they that came after, being more equal amongst themselves, and affecting every one to be the chief, applied themselves to the people and let go the care of the commonwealth1 . From whence amongst many other errors, as was likely in a great and dominant city, proceeded also the voyage into Sicily; which2 was not so much upon mistaking those whom they went against, as for want of knowledge in the senders of what was necessary for those that went the voyage. For through private quarrels about who should bear the greatest sway with the people, they both abated the vigour of the army, and then also first troubled the state at home with division. Being overthrown in Sicily, and having lost, besides other ammunition, the greatest part of their navy, and the city being then in sedition; yet they held out three years3 , both against their first enemies and the Sicilians with them, and against most of their revolted confederates besides, and also afterwards against Cyrus the king’s son, who took part with, and sent money to the Peloponnesians to maintain their fleet; and never shrunk till they had overthrown themselves with private dissensions. So much was in Pericles above other men at that time, that he could foresee by what means the city might easily have outlasted the Peloponnesians in this war1 .

  The Lacedæmonians war against Zacynthus.

  66. The Lacedæmonians and their confederates made war the same summer with one hundred galleys against Zacynthus, an island laying over against Elis. The inhabitants whereof were a colony of Achæans of Peloponnesus, but confederates of the people of Athens. There went in this fleet a thousand men of arms, and Cnemus a Spartan for admiral; who landing, wasted the greatest part of the territory. But they of the island not yielding, they put off again and went home.

  A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 3. The Lacedæmonian ambassadors taken by the Athenian ambassadors in Thrace, and sent to Athens.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 3.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 3. The Athenians put them to death

  67. In the end of the same summer, Aristeus of Corinth, and Aneristus, Nicolaus, Stratodemus, and Timagorus of Tegea, ambassadors of the Lacedæmonians, and Pollis of Argos, a private man2 , as they were travelling into Asia to the king, to get money of him and to draw him into their league, took Thrace in their way, and came unto Sitalces the son of Teres, with a desire to get him also, if they could, to forsake the league with Athens, and to send his forces to Potidæa, which the Athenian army now besieged, and not to aid the Athenians any longer1 : and withal to get leave to pass through his country to the other side of the Hellespont, to go, as they intended, to Pharnabazus the son of Pharnaces, who would convoy them to the king. But the ambassadors of Athens, Learchus the son of Callimachus, and Ameiniades the son of Philemon, then resident with Sitalces, persuaded Sadocus the son of Sitalces, who was now a citizen of Athens, to put them into their hands, that they might not go to the king, and do hurt to the city whereof he himself was now a member2 . Whereunto condescending, as they journeyed through Thrace to take ship to cross the Hellespont, he apprehended them3 before they got to the ship by such others as he sent along with Learchus and Ameiniades, with command to deliver them into their hands. And they, when they had them, sent them away to Athens. When they came thither, the Athenians, fearing Aristeus, lest escaping he should do them further mischief, (for he was manifestly the author4 of all the business of Potidæa and about Thrace), the same day put them all to death, unjudged and desirous to have spoken, and threw them into the pits; thinking it but just to take revenge of the Lacedæmonians that began it, and had slain and thrown into pits the merchants of the Athenians and their confederates, whom they took sailing in merchant–ships1 about the coast of Peloponnesus. For in the beginning of the war, the Lacedæmonians slew as enemies whomsoever they took at sea, whether confederates of the Athenians or neutral, all alike.

  The Ambraciotes war on Acarnania.year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 3.The end of the second summer.

  68. About the same time, in the end of summer, the Ambraciotes2 , both they themselves and divers barbarian nations by them raised, made war against Argos of Amphilochia, and against the rest of that territory. The quarrel between them and the Argives, arose first from hence. This Argos and the rest of Amphilochia was planted by Amphilochus the son of Amphiaraus, after the Trojan war; who at his return, misliking the then state of Argos, built this city in the Gulf of Ambracia, and called it Argos, after the name of his own country. And it was the greatest city, and had the most wealthy inhabitants of all Amphilochia. But many generations after, being fallen into misery, they communicated their city with the Ambraciotes, bordering upon Amphilochia: and then they first learned the Greek language now used from the Ambraciotes that lived among them. For the rest of the Amphilochians were barbarians1 . Now the Ambraciotes in process of time drave out the Argives, and held the city by themselves. Whereupon the Amphilochians submitted themselves to the Acarnanians, and both together called in the Athenians; who sent thirty galleys to their aid, and Phormio for general. Phormio being arrived, took Argos by assault, and making slaves of the Ambraciotes, put the town into the joint possessions of the Amphilochians and Acarnanians2 . And this was the beginning of the league between the Athenians and Acarnanians. The Ambraciotes therefore, deriving their hatred to the Argives from this their captivity, came in with an army, partly of their own, and partly raised amongst the Chaonians and other neighbouring barbarians, now in this war. And coming to Argos, were masters of the field; but when they could not take the city by assault, they returned, and disbanding went every nation to his own. These were the acts of the summer.

  year ii. A. C. 430. Ol. 87. 3.

  69. In the beginning of the winter, the Athenians sent twenty galleys about Peloponnesus under the command of Phormio; who coming to lie at Naupactus1 , guarded the passage, that none might go in or out from Corinth and the Crisæan gulf. And other six galleys under the conduct of Melesander, they sent into Caria and Lycia; as well to gather tribute in those parts, as also to hinder the Peloponnesian pirates, lying on those coasts2 , from molesting the navigation of such merchant–ships as they expected to come to them from Phaselis, Phœnicia, and that part of the continent. But Melesander, landing in Lycia with such forces of the Athenians and their confederates as he had aboard, was overcome in battle and slain, with the loss of a part of his army.

  A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. Potidæa rendered to the Athenians.year ii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3.

  70. The same winter, the Potidæans unable any longer to endure the siege, seeing the invasion of Attica by the Peloponnesians could not make them rise, and seeing their victual failed, and that they were forced, amongst divers other things done by them for necessity of food, to eat one another, propounded at length to Xenophon the son of Euripides, Hestiodorus the son of Aristocleidas, and Phanomachus the son of Callimachus, the Athenian commanders that lay before the city, to give the same into their hands. And they, seeing both that the army was already afflicted by laying in that cold place, and that the state had already spent two thousand talents upon the siege, accepted of it. The conditions agreed on were these: “to depart, they and their wives and children, and their auxiliar soldiers, every man with one suit of clothes1 , and every woman with two; and to take with them every one a certain sum of money for his charges by the way.” Hereupon a truce was granted them to depart; and they went, some to the Chalcideans, and others to other places, as they could get to. But the people of Athens called the commanders in question for compounding without them; conceiving that they might have gotten the city to discretion: and sent afterwards a colony to Potidæa of their own citizens. These were the things done in this winter. And so ended the second year of this war, written by Thucydides.

  year iii. The siege of Platæa.The Platæans’ Speech to Archidamus.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. The Platæans’ speech to Archidamus.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. The Answer of Archidamus to the Platæans.The Reply of the Platæans.The Answer of Archidamus to their Reply.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3.The Platæans reply again, and desire to know the pleasure of the people of Athens.The Athenians’ message to the Platæans.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. The Platæans’ last Answer to Archidamus from the wall.Archidamus’ Protestation.

  71. The next summer, the Peloponnesians and their confederates came not into Attica, but turned their arms against Platæa, led by Archidamus the son of Zeuxidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians; who having pitched his camp, was about to waste the territory thereof. But the Platæans sent ambassadors presently unto him, with words to this effect: “Archidamus, and you Lacedæmonians, you do neither justly, nor worthy yourselves and ancestors, in making war upon Platæa. For Pausanias of Lacedæmon, the son of Cleombrotus, having, together with such Grecians as were content to undergo the danger of the battle that was fought in this our territory, delivered all Greece from the slavery of the Persians, when he offered sacrifice in the market–place of Platæa to Jupiter the deliverer, called together all the confederates, and granted to the Platæans this privilege: that their city and territory should be free1 : that none should make any unjust war against them, nor go about to subject them: and if any did, the confederates then present should to their utmost ability revenge their quarrel. These privileges your fathers granted us for our valour and zeal in those dangers. But now do you the clean contrary; for you join with our greatest enemies, the Thebans, to bring us into subjection. Therefore calling to witness the gods then sworn by, and the gods both of your and our country2 , we require you, that you do no damage to the territory of Platæa, nor violate those oaths; but that you suffer us to enjoy our liberty in such sort as was allowed us by Pausanias.” 72. The Platæans having thus said, Archidamus replied and said thus: “Men of Platæa, if you would do as ye say, you say what is just. For as Pausanias hath granted to you, so also be you free; and help to set free the rest, who having been partakers of the same dangers then, and being comprised in the same oath with yourselves, are now brought into subjection by the Athenians. And this so great preparation and war, is only for the deliverance of them and others; of which if you will especially participate, keep your oaths; at least (as we have also advised you formerly) be quiet, and enjoy your own in neutrality; receiving both sides in the way of friendship, neither side in the way of faction1 .” Thus said Archidamus. And the ambassadors of Platæa, when they had heard him, returned to the city: and having communicated his answer to the people, brought word again to Archidamus: “that what he had advised, was impossible for them to perform without leave of the Athenians, in whose keeping were their wives and children; and that they feared also for the whole city, lest when the Lacedæmonians were gone, the Athenians should come and take the custody of it out of their hands2 ; or that the Thebans, comprehended in the oath of receiving both sides, should again attempt to surprise it.” But Archidamus to encourage them, made this answer: “Deliver you unto us Lacedæmonians your city and your houses, show us the bounds of your territory, give us your trees by tale, and whatsoever else can be numbered: and depart yourselves whither you shall think good, as long as the war lasteth: and when it shall be ended, we will deliver it all unto you again. In the mean time we will keep them as deposited, and will cultivate your ground, and pay you rent for it, as much as shall suffice for your maintenance.” 73. Hereupon the ambassadors went again into the city, and having consulted with the people, made answer “that they would first acquaint the Athenians with it, and if they would consent, they would then accept the conditions: till then, they desired a suspension of arms, and not to have their territory wasted.” Upon this he granted them so many days truce, as was requisite for their return: and for so long forebore to waste their territory. When the Platæan ambassadors were arrived at Athens, and had advised on the matter with the Athenians, they returned to the city with this answer: “The Athenians say thus: that neither in former times, since we were their confederates, did they ever abandon us to the injuries of any; nor will they now neglect us, but give us their utmost assistance. And they conjure us by the oath of our fathers, not to make any alienation1 touching the league.” 74. When the ambassadors had made this report, the Platæans resolved in their councils not to betray the Athenians; but rather to endure, if it must be, the wasting of their territory before their eyes, and to suffer whatsoever misery could befall them; and no more to go forth, but from the walls to make this answer: “that it was impossible for them to do as the Lacedæmonians had required.” When they had answered so, Archidamus, the king, first made a protestation to the gods and heros of the country, saying thus: “All ye Gods and Heros, protectors of Platæis1 , be witnesses, that we neither invade this territory (wherein our fathers after their vows unto you overcame the Medes, and which you made propitious for the Grecians to fight in) unjustly now in the beginning; because they have first broken the league they had sworn: nor what we shall further do, will be any injury; because, though we have offered many and reasonable conditions, they have yet been all refused: assent ye also to the punishment of the beginners of injury, and to the revenge of those that bear lawful arms.” 75. Having made this protestation to the gods, he made ready his army for the war.

  A mount raised against Platæa.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3.The Platæans raise their wall higher against the mount by a frame of timber, in which they laid their bricks.The Platæans’ device to draw the earth from the mount, thro’ the wall.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. The Peloponnesians remedy that evil.The Platæans fetch the earth away from under the mount by a mine.The Platæans make another wall within that which was to the mount.The Peloponnesians assault the wall with enginesyear iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3. The Platæans’ defence against the engines.The Peloponnesians throw faggots and fire into the town from the mount.A great fire.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 3.

  And first having felled trees, he therewith made a palisado about the town, that none might go out. That done, he raised a mount against the wall2 , hoping with so great an army all at work at once, to have quickly taken it. And having cut down wood in the hill Cithæron, they built a frame of timber, and wattled it about on either side, to serve instead of walls, to keep the earth from falling too much away3 ; and cast into it stones, and earth, and whatsoever else would serve to fill it up. Seventy days and nights continually they poured on, dividing the work between them for rest in such manner, as some might be carrying, whilst others took their sleep and food. And they were urged to labour by the Lacedæmonians that commanded the mercenaries of the several cities1 , and had the charge of the work. The Platæans seeing the mount to rise, made the frame of a wall with wood, which having placed on the wall of the city in the place where the mount touched2 , they built it within full of bricks, taken from the adjoining houses, for that purpose demolished; the timber serving to bind them together, that the building might not be weakened by the height. The same was also covered with hides and quilts3 , both to keep the timber from shot of wildfire, and those that wrought from danger. So that the height of the wall was great on one side, and the mount went up as fast on the other. The Platæans used also this device; they brake a hole in their own wall where the mount joined4 , and drew the earth from it into the city. 76. But the Peloponnesians, when they found it out, took clay, and therewith daubing hurdles of reeds, cast the same into the chink; which mouldering not, as did the earth, they could not draw it away1 . The Platæans excluded here, gave over that plot; and digging a secret mine, which they carried under the mount from within the city by conjecture, fetched away the earth again; and were a long time undiscovered; so that still casting on, the mount grew still less, the earth being drawn away below and settling over the part where it was voided. The Platæans nevertheless, fearing that they should not be able even thus to hold out, being few against many, devised this further. They gave over working at the high wall against the mount, and beginning at both ends of it where the wall was low2 , built another wall in form of a crescent, inward to the city; that if the great wall were taken, this might resist, and put the enemy to make another mount; and by coming further in, to be at double pains, and withal more encompassable with shot. The Peloponnesians, together with the rising of their mount, brought to the city their engines of battery. One of which, by the help of the mount, they applied to the high wall; wherewith they much3 shook it, and put the Platæans into great fear. And others to other parts of the wall; which the Platæans partly turned aside by casting ropes about them; and partly with great beams, which, being hung in long iron chains by either end upon two other great beams, jetting over and inclining from above the wall like two horns, they drew up to them athwart, and where the engine was about to light, slacking the chains and letting their hands go, they let fall with violence, to break the beak of it. 77. After this the Peloponnesians, seeing their engines availed not, and thinking it hard to take the city by any present violence, prepared themselves to besiege it1 . But first they thought fit to attempt it by fire, being no great city, and when the wind should rise, if they could, to burn it: for there was no way they did not think on, to have gained it without expense and long siege. Having therefore brought faggots, they cast them from the mount into the space between it and their new wall, which by so many hands was quickly filled; and then into as much of the rest of the city, as at that distance they could reach2 : and throwing amongst them fire, together with brimstone and pitch, kindled the wood, and raised such a flame, as the like was never seen before made by the hand of man. For as for the woods in the mountains, the trees have indeed taken fire, but it hath been by mutual attrition, and have flamed out of their own accord. But this fire was a great one; and the Platæans that had escaped other mischiefs, wanted little of being consumed by this. For1 near the wall they could not get by a great way: and if the wind had been with it, (as the enemy hoped it might), they could never have escaped. It is also reported, that there fell much rain then with great thunder, and that the flame was extinguished, and the danger ceased by that.

  In the beginning of September the siege laid to Platæa.

  78. The Peloponnesians, when they failed likewise of this, retaining a part of their army, and dismissing the rest2 , enclosed the city about with a wall; dividing the circumference thereof to the charge of the several cities. There was a ditch both within and without it, out of which they made their bricks; and after it was finished, which was about the rising of Arcturus, they left a guard for one half of the wall; (for the other was guarded by the Bœotians); and departed with the rest of their army, and were dissolved according to their cities. The Platæans had before this sent their wives and children, and all their unserviceable men, to Athens. The rest were besieged, being in number, of the Platæans themselves four hundred, of Athenians eighty, and a hundred and ten women to dress their meat3 . These were all, when the siege was first laid; and not one more, neither free nor bond, in the city. In this manner was the city besieged.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. The Athenians send an army against the Chalcideans.The Athenians foughten with by the Chacideans at Spartolus:year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.and overthrown, with the loss of three commanders.

  79. The same summer, at the same time that this journey was made against Platæa, the Athenians with two thousand men of arms of their own city, and two hundred horsemen, made war upon the Chalcideans of Thrace and the Bottiæans, when the corn was at the highest, under the conduct of Xenophon the son of Euripides, and two others. These coming before Spartolus in Bottiæa, destroyed the corn; and expected that the town should have been rendered by the practice of some within. But such as would not have it so having sent for aid to Olynthus before1 , there came into the city for safeguard thereof a supply both of men of arms and other soldiers from thence. And these issuing forth of Spartolus, the Athenians put themselves into order of battle2 under the town itself. The men of arms of the Chalcideans, and certain auxiliaries with them, were overcome by the Athenians, and retired within Spartolus. And the horsemen of the Chalcideans and their light–armed soldiers, overcame the horsemen and light–armed of the Athenians; but they had some few targettiers besides of the territory called Crusis3 . When the battle was now begun4 , came a supply of other targettiers from Olynthus. Which the light–armed soldiers of Spartolus perceiving, emboldened both by this addition of strength, and also as having had the better1 before, with the Chalcidean horse and this new supply charged the Athenians afresh. The Athenians hereupon retired to two companies they had left with the carriages2 . And as oft as the Athenians charged, the Chalcideans retired; and when the Athenians retired, the Chalcideans charged them with their shot. Especially the Chalcidean horsemen rode up, and charging them where they thought fit, forced the Athenians in extreme affright to turn their backs; and chased them a great way. The Athenians fled to Potidæa; and having afterwards fetched away the bodies of their dead upon truce, returned with the remainder of their army to Athens. Four hundred and thirty men they lost, and their chief commanders all three. And the Chalcideans and Bottiæans, when they had set up a trophy and taken up their dead bodies, disbanded and went every one to his city.

  The Ambraciotes invade Acarnania, together with the Lacedæmonians.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The army of the Ambraciotes and their confederates.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.They go toward Stratus: the greatest city of Acarnania.

  80. Not long after this the same summer, the Ambraciotes and Chaonians, desiring to subdue all Acarnania and to make it revolt from the Athenians, persuaded the Lacedæmonians to make ready a fleet out of the confederate cities, and to send a thousand men of arms into Acarnania; saying, that if they aided them both with a fleet and a land army at once, the Acarnanians of the sea–coast being thereby disabled to assist the rest, having easily gained Acarnania they might be masters afterward both of Zacynthus and Cephalonia, and the Athenians hereafter less able to make their voyages about Peloponnesus; and that there was a hope beside to take Naupactus. The Peloponnesians assenting, sent thither Cnemus, who was yet1 admiral, with his men of arms in a few galleys immediately; and withal sent word to the cities about, as soon as their galleys were ready, to sail with all speed to Leucas. Now the Corinthians were very zealous in the behalf of the Ambraciotes, as being their own colony. And the galleys which were to go from Corinth, Sicyonia, and that part of the coast, were now making ready; and those of the Leucadians, Anactorians, and Ambraciotes, were arrived before, and stayed at Leucas for their coming. Cnemus and his thousand men of arms, when they had crossed the sea undescried of Phormio, who commanded the twenty Athenian galleys that kept watch at Naupactus, presently prepared for the war by land. He had in his army, of Grecians, the Ambraciotes, Leucadians, Anactorians, and the thousand Peloponnesians he brought with him; and of barbarians, a thousand Chaonians, who have no king, but were led by Photius and Nicanor, which two being of the families eligible had now the annual government2 . With the Chaonians came also the Thesprotians, they also without a king. The Molossians and Atintanians were led by Sabylinthus, protector of Tharups their king, who was yet in minority. The Parauæans were led by their king Orœdus; and under Orœdus served likewise, by permission of Antiochus their king, a thousand Orestians. Also Perdiccas sent thither, unknown to the Athenians, a thousand Macedonians; but these last were not yet1 arrived. With this army began Cnemus to march, without staying for the fleet from Corinth. And passing through Argeia, they destroyed2 Limnæa, a town unwalled. From thence they marched towards Stratus, the greatest city of Acarnania; conceiving that if they could take this first, the rest would come easily in.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. Wariness of the Grecians.Rashness of the Chaonians.Stratagem of the Stratians.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The Peloponnesians and Ambraciotes retire without effect.

  81. The Acarnanians seeing a great army by land was entered their country already, and expecting the enemy also by sea, joined not to succour Stratus, but guarded every one his own, and sent for aid to Phormio. But he answered them, that since there was a fleet to be set forth from Corinth, he could not leave Naupactus without a guard. The Peloponnesians and their confederates, with their army divided into three, marched on towards the city of the Stratians, to the end that being encamped near it, if they yielded not on parley, they might presently assault the walls. So they went on, the Chaonians and other barbarians in the middle; the Leucadians and Anactorians, and such others as were with these, on the right hand; and Cnemus with the Peloponnesians and Ambraciotes on the left; each army at great distance, and sometimes out of sight of one another. The Grecians in their march kept their order; and went warily on, till they had gotten a convenient place to encamp in. But the Chaonians confident of themselves, and by the inhabitants of that continent accounted most warlike, had not the patience to take in any ground for a camp; but carried furiously on together with the rest of the barbarians, thought to have taken the town by their clamour1 , and to have the action ascribed only to themselves. But they of Stratus, aware of this whilst they were yet in their way2 , and imagining, if they could overcome these thus divided from the other two armies, that the Grecians also would be the less forward to come on, placed divers ambushes not far from the city; and when the enemies approached, fell upon them both from the city and from the ambushes at once; and putting them into affright, slew many of the Chaonians upon the place: and the rest of the barbarians seeing these to shrink, stayed no longer, but fled outright. Neither of the Grecian armies had knowledge of this skirmish, because they were gone so far before to choose (as they then thought) a commodious place to pitch in. But when the barbarians came back upon them running, they received them, and joining both camps together stirred no more for that day. And the Stratians assaulted them not, for want of the aid of the rest of the Acarnanians; but used their slings against them1 , and troubled them much that way: (for without their men of arms2 there was no stirring for them): and in this kind the Acarnanians are held excellent. 82. When night came, Cnemus withdrew his army3 to the river Anapus, from Stratus eighty furlongs, and fetched off the dead bodies upon truce the next day. And whereas the city Œniadæ was come in of itself, he made his retreat thither before the Acarnanians should assemble with their succours; and from thence went every one home. And the Stratians set up a trophy of the skirmish against the barbarians.

  Phormio with twenty galleys of Athens, overcometh forty–seven of the Peloponnesian galleys.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The order of the Peloponnesian galleys.The order of the Athenian galleys and the stratagem of Phormio.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The Peloponnesans fly.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  83. In the meantime the fleet of Corinth and the other confederates, that was to set out from the Crisæan gulf and to join with Cnemus, to hinder the lower Acarnanians from aiding the upper, came not at all; but were compelled to fight with Phormio and those twenty Athenian galleys that kept watch at Naupactus, about the same time that the skirmish was at Stratus. For as they sailed along the shore, Phormio waited on them till they were out of the strait, intending to set upon them in the open sea. And the Corinthians and their confederates went not as to fight by sea, but furnished rather for the land–service in Acarnania; and never thought that the Athenians with their twenty galleys durst fight with theirs, that were seven–and–forty. Nevertheless, when they saw that the Athenians, as themselves sailed by one shore, kept over against them on the other; and that now when they went off from Patræ in Achaia to go over to Acarnania in the opposite continent, the Athenians came towards them from Chalcis and the river Evenus, and also knew that they had come to anchor there the night before1 : they found they were then to fight of necessity directly against the mouth of the strait. The commanders of the fleet, were such as the cities that set it forth had severally appointed; but of the Corinthians, these; Machon, Isocrates, and Agatharchidas. The Peloponnesians ordered their fleet in such manner as they made thereof a circle, as great as, without leaving the spaces so wide as for the Athenians to pass through, they were possibly able, with the stems of their galleys outward, and sterns inward; and into the midst thereof received such small vessels as came with them, and also five of their swiftest galleys; the which were at narrow passages2 to come forth in whatsoever part the enemy should charge. 84. But the Athenians with their galleys ordered one after one in file, went round them and shrunk them up together, by wiping them ever as they past and putting them in expectation of present fight. But Phormio had before forbidden them to fight, till he himself had given them the signal. For he hoped3 that this order of theirs would not last long, as in an army on land; but that the galleys would fall foul of one another, and be troubled also with the smaller vessels in the middest. And if the wind should also blow out of the gulf, in expectation whereof he so went round them, and which usually blew there every morning, he made account they would then instantly be disordered. As for giving the onset, because his galleys were more agile than the galleys of the enemy, he thought it was in his own election, and would be most opportune on that occasion. When this wind was up, and the galleys of the Peloponnesians, being already contracted into a narrow compass, were both ways troubled, by the wind, and withal by their own lesser vessels that encumbered them; and when one galley fell foul of another, and the mariners laboured to set them clear with their poles, and through the noise they made, keeping off and reviling each other, heard nothing neither of their charge nor of the galleys’ direction1 ; and through want of skill unable to keep up their oars in a troubled sea, rendered the galley untractable to him that sat at the helm: then and with this opportunity he gave the signal. And the Athenians charging, drowned first one of the admiral–galleys, and2 divers others after it in the several parts they assaulted; and brought them to that pass at length, that not one applying himself to the fight they fled all towards Patræ and Dyme, cities3 of Achaia. The Athenians, after they had chased them, and taken twelve galleys, and slain1 most of the men that were in them, fell off and went to Molycreium; and when they had there set up a trophy, and consecrated one galley to Neptune, they returned with the rest to Naupactus. The Peloponnesians with the remainder of their fleet, went presently along the coast2 of Cyllene, the arsenal of the Eleians; and thither, after the battle at Stratus, came also Cnemus from Leucas, and with him those galleys that were there3 , and with which this other fleet should have been joined.

  Preparation for another fight.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.Twenty sail of Athenians, sent to aid Phormio, stay in Crete.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  85. After this the Lacedæmonians sent unto Cnemus to the fleet, Timocrates, Brasidas, and Lycophron to be of his council4 , with command to prepare for another better fight, and not to suffer a few galleys to deprive them of the use of the sea. For they thought this accident (especially being their first proof by sea) very much against reason5 ; and that it was not so much a defect of the fleet, as of their courage: never comparing the long practice of the Athenians with their own short study in these businesses. And therefore they sent these men thither in passion. Who being arrived with Cnemus6 , intimated to the cities about to provide their galleys, and caused those they had before to be repaired. Phormio likewise sent to Athens, to make known both the enemy’s preparation and his own former victory; and withal to will them to send speedily unto him as many galleys as they could make ready; because they were every day in expectation of a new fight. Hereupon they sent him twenty galleys; but commanded him that had the charge of them, to go first into Crete. For Nicias, a Cretan of Gortyna, the public host of the Athenians, had persuaded them to a voyage against Cydonia; telling them they might take it in, being now their enemy1 : which he did to gratify the Polichnitæ, that bordered upon the Cydonians. Therefore with these galleys he sailed into Crete, and together with the Polichnitæ wasted the territory of the Cydonians; where also, by reason of the winds and weather unfit to take sea in, he wasted not a little of his time.

  The Peloponnesians sail by the coast of Panormus.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  86. In the meantime, whilst these Athenians were wind–bound in Crete, the Peloponnesians that were in Cyllene, in order of battle1 sailed along the coast of Panormus of Achaia, to which also were their land–forces come to aid them. Phormio likewise sailed by the shore to Rhium Molycricum, and anchored without it with twenty galleys, the same he had used in the former battle. Now this Rhium was of the Athenians’ side, and the other Rhium in Peloponnesus lies on the opposite shore, distant from it at the most but seven furlongs of sea; and these two make the mouth of the Crisæan gulf. The Peloponnesians therefore came to an anchor at Rhium of Achaia with seventy–seven galleys, not far from Panormus where they left their land forces. After they saw the Athenians, and had lain six or seven days one against the other, meditating and providing for the battle2 , the Peloponnesians not intending to put off without Rhium into the wide sea, for fear of what they had suffered by it before; nor the other to enter the strait, because to fight within3 they thought to be the enemy’s advantage. At last Cnemus, Brasidas, and the other commanders of the Peloponnesians, desiring to fight speedily before a new supply should arrive from Athens, called the soldiers together; and seeing the most of them to be fearful through their former defeat, and not forward to fight again, encouraged them first with words to this effect:

  The Oration of Cnemus.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. Oration of Cnemus.

  87. “Men of Peloponnesus, if any of you be afraid of the battle at hand for the success of the battle past, his fear is without ground. For you know, we were inferior to them then in preparation; and set not forth as to a fight at sea, but rather to an expedition by land. Fortune likewise crossed us in many things; and somewhat we miscarried by unskilfulness1 . So as the loss can no way be ascribed to cowardice: nor is it just, so long as we were not overcome by mere force, but have somewhat to allege in our excuse, that the mind should be dejected for the calamity of the event: but we must think, that though fortune may fail men, yet the courage of a valiant man can never fail, and not that we may justify cowardice in any thing by pretending want of skill, and yet be truly valiant2 . And yet you are not so much short of their skill, as you exceed them in valour. And though this knowledge of theirs, which you so much fear, joined with courage, will not be without a memory also, to put what they know in execution; yet without courage no art in the world is of any force in the time of danger. For fear confoundeth the memory, and skill without courage availeth nothing. To their odds therefore of skill, oppose your odds of valour; and to the fear caused by your overthrow, oppose your being then unprovided. You have further now a greater fleet, and to fight on your own shore with your aids at hand of men of arms: and for the most part, the greatest number and best provided get the victory. So that we can neither see any one cause in particular, why we should miscarry; and whatsoever were our wants1 in the former battle, supplied in this, will now turn to our instruction. With courage therefore, both masters and mariners, follow every man in his order2 , not forsaking the place assigned him. And for us, we shall order the battle as well as3 the former commanders; and leave no excuse to any man of his cowardice. And if any will needs be a coward, he shall receive condign punishment; and the valiant shall be rewarded according to their merit.”

  Phormio doubteth of the courage of his soldiers:year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.and encourageth them.

  88. Thus did the commanders encourage the Peloponnesians. And Phormio, he likewise doubting that his soldiers were but faint–hearted, and observing they had consultations apart and were afraid of the multitude of the enemy’s galleys, thought good, having called them together, to encourage and admonish them upon the present occasion. For though he had always before told them, and predisposed their minds to an opinion, that there was no number of galleys so great, which setting upon them they ought not to undertake; and [also] most of the soldiers had of long time assumed a conceit of themselves, that being1 Athenians they ought not to decline any number of galleys whatsoever of the Peloponnesians: yet when he saw that the sight of the enemy present had dejected them, he thought fit to revive2 their courage, and having assembled the Athenians, said thus:

  the oration of phormio.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. Oration of Phormio.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. Oration of Phormio.

  89. “Soldiers, having observed your fear of he enemy’s number, I have called you together, not enduring to see you terrified with things that are not terrible. For first, they have prepared this great number and odds of galleys, for that they were overcome before, and because they are even in their own opinions too weak for us. And next, their present boldness proceeds only from their knowledge in land service, in confidence whereof (as if to be valiant were peculiar unto them) they are now come up: wherein having for the most part prospered, they think to do the same in service by sea3 . But in reason the odds must be ours in this, as well as it is theirs in the other kind. For in courage they exceed us not: and as touching the advantage of either side, we may better be4 bold now than they. And the Lacedæmonians, who are the leaders of the confederates, bring them to fight for the greatest part (in respect of the opinion they have of us1 ) against their wills. For else they would never have undertaken a new battle, after they were once so clearly overthrown. Fear not therefore any great boldness on their part. But the fear which they have of you, is far both greater and more certain, not only for that you have overcome them before, but also for this, that they would never believe you would go about to resist, unless you had some notable thing to put in practice upon them2 . For when the enemy is the greater number, as these are now, they invade chiefly upon confidence of their strength: but they that are much the fewer, must have some great and sure design when they dare fight unconstrained3 . Wherewith these men now amazed4 , fear us more for our unlikely preparation, than they would if it were more proportionable. Besides, many great armies have been overcome by the lesser through unskilfulness, and some also by timorousness; both which we ourselves5 are free from. As for the battle, I will not willingly fight it in the gulf, nor go in thither: seeing that to a few galleys with nimbleness and art against many without art, straitness of room is disadvantage. For neither can one charge with the beak of the galley as is fit, unless he have sight of the enemy afar off; or if he be himself over–pressed, again get clear. Nor is there any getting through them or turning to and fro at one’s pleasure1 , which are all the works of such galleys as have their advantage in agility; but the sea–fight would of necessity be the same with a battle by land, wherein the greater number must have the better. But of this, I shall myself take the best care I am able. In the meantime, keep you your order well in the galleys, and every man receive his charge readily; and the rather because the enemy is at anchor so near us2 . In the fight, have in great estimation order and silence, as things of great force in most military actions, especially in a fight by sea; and charge these your enemies according to the worth of your former acts. You are to fight for a great wager, either to destroy the hope of the Peloponnesian navies, or to bring the fear of3 the sea nearer home to the Athenians. Again, let me tell you, you have beaten them once already; and men once overcome, will not come again to the danger so well resolved as before.”

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4. The stratagem of the Peloponnesians.The Peloponnesians give the onset.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  90. Thus did Phormio also encourage his soldiers. The Peloponnesians, when they saw the Athenians would not enter the gulf and strait, desiring to draw them in against their wills, weighed anchor, and betime in the morning having arranged their galleys by four and four in a rank, sailed along1 their own coast within the gulf; leading the way in the same order as they had lain at anchor, with their right wing. In this wing they had placed twenty of their swiftest galleys, to the end that if Phormio, thinking them going to Naupactus, should for safeguard of the town sail along his own coast2 likewise within the strait, the Athenians might not be able to get beyond that wing of theirs and avoid the impression, but be inclosed by their galleys on both sides. Phormio fearing (as they expected) what might become of the town now without guard, as soon as he saw them from anchor, against his will and in extreme haste went aboard and sailed along the shore, with the land forces of the Messenians marching by to aid him. The Peloponnesians, when they saw them sail in one long file, galley after galley, and that they were now in the gulf and by the shore (which they most desired), upon one sign given turned suddenly3 every one as fast as he could, upon the Athenians, hoping to have intercepted them every galley. But of those the eleven foremost, avoiding that wing and the turn made by the Peloponnesians, got out into the open sea4 . The rest they intercepted, and driving them to the shore, sunk5 them. The men, as many as swam not out, they slew; and the galleys, some they tied to their own, and towed them away empty, and one with the men and all in her they had already1 taken. But the Messenian2 succours on land, entering the sea with their arms, got aboard of some of them; and fighting from the decks recovered them again, after they were already towing away.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The Athenians have the victory.Timocrates, a Lacedæmonian commander, slayeth himself.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The end of the third summer.

  91. And in this part the Peloponnesians had the victory, and overcame the galleys of the Athenians. Now the twenty galleys that were their right wing, gave chase to those eleven Athenian galleys, which had avoided them when they turned, and were gotten into the open sea3 . These flying toward Naupactus, arrived there before the enemies, all save one; and when they came under the temple of Apollo, turned their beak–heads and put themselves in readiness for defence, in case the enemy should follow them to the land. But the Peloponnesians, as they came after, were pæanising as if they had already had the victory; and one galley which was of Leucas, being far before the rest, gave chase to one4 Athenian galley that was behind the rest of the Athenians. Now it chanced that there lay out into the sea a certain ship at anchor, to which the Athenian galley first coming fetched a compass about her, and came back full butt against5 the Leucadian galley that gave her chase, and sunk her. Upon this unexpected and unlikely accident they began to fear; and having also followed the chase, as being victors, disorderly, some of them let down their oars into the water and hindered the way of their galleys, (a matter of very ill consequence, seeing the enemy1 was so near), and staid for more company: and some of them, through ignorance of the coast, ran upon the shelves. 92. The Athenians seeing this took heart again, and together with one clamour2 set upon them; who resisted not long, because of their present errors committed and their disarray; but turned, and fled to Panormus from whence at first they set forth. The Athenians followed, and took from them six galleys that were hindmost, and recovered their own which the Peloponnesians had sunk by the shore and tied astern of theirs. Of the men, some they slew, and some also they took alive. In the Leucadian galley that was sunk near the ship, was Timocrates, a3 Lacedæmonian, who, when the galley was lost, ran himself through with his sword; and his body drave into the haven of Naupactus. The Athenians falling off, erected a trophy in the place from whence they set forth to this victory; and took up their dead and the wreck, as much as was on their own shore, and gave truce to the enemy to do the like. The Peloponnesians also set up a trophy, as if they also had had the victory, in respect of the flight of those galleys which they sunk by the shore; and the galley which they had taken they consecrated to Neptune in Rhium4 of Achaia, hard by their trophy. After this, fearing the supply which was expected from Athens, they sailed by night into the Crisæan gulf and to Corinth, all but the Leucadians. And those Athenians with twenty galleys out of Crete, that should have been with Phormio before the battle, not long after the going away of the galleys of Peloponnesus arrived at Naupactus. And the summer ended.

  The Peloponnesians resolve to attempt the surprise of Peiræus.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The Peloponnesians dare not execute their design, but turn to Salamis.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  93. But before the fleet, gone into the Crisæan gulf and to Corinth, was dispersed, Cnemus and Brasidas and the rest of the commanders of the Peloponnesians in the beginning of winter, instructed by the Megareans, thought good to make1 an attempt upon Peiræus, the haven of the Athenians. Now it was without guard or bar; and that upon very good cause, considering how much they exceeded others in the power of their navy. And it was resolved that every mariner with his oar2 , his cushion, and one thong for his oar to turn in, should take his way by land from Corinth to the other sea that lieth to Athens; and going with all speed to Megara, launch forty galleys out of Nisæa, the arsenal of the Megareans, which then were there, and sail presently into Peiræus. For at that time there neither stood any galleys for a watch before it, nor was there any imagination that the enemies would on such a sudden come upon them: for they durst not have attempted it openly, though with leisure; nor if they had had any such intention, could it but have been discovered1 . As soon as it was resolved on, they set presently forward; and arriving by night, launched the said galleys of Nisæa, and set sail; not now towards Peiræus, as they intended, fearing the danger, (and a wind was also said to have risen that hindered them), but toward a2 promontory of Salamis, lying out towards Megara. Now there was in it a little fort, and underneath in the sea lay three galleys, that kept watch to hinder the importation and exportation of any thing to or from the Megareans. This fort they assaulted, and the galleys they towed empty away after them: and being come upon the Salaminians unawares, wasted also other parts of the island. 94. By this time the fires signifying the coming of enemies3 , were lifted up towards Athens; and affrighted them more than any thing that had happened in all this war. For they in the city, thought the enemies had been already in Peiræus: and they in Peiræus, thought the city of the Salaminians had been already taken, and that the enemy would instantly come into Peiræus; which, had they not been afraid1 , nor been hindered by the wind, they might also easily have done. But the Athenians, as soon as it was day, came with the whole strength of the city into Peiræus, and launched their galleys, and embarking in haste and tumult set sail toward Salamis, leaving for the guard of Peiræus an army of foot. The Peloponnesians upon notice of these succours, having now overrun most of Salamis, and taken many prisoners and much other booty, besides the three galleys from the fort of Budorus, went back in all haste to Nisæa. And somewhat they feared the more, for that their galleys had lain long in the water2 , and were subject to leaking. And when they came to Megara, they went thence to Corinth again by land. The Athenians likewise, when they found not the enemy at Salamis, went home; and from that time forward looked better to Peiræus, both for the shutting of the ports and for their diligence otherwise.

  The king of Thrace maketh war on the king of Macedon.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  95. About the same time in the beginning of the same winter, Sitalces an3 Odrysian, the son of Teres, king of Thrace, made war upon Perdiccas the son of Alexander, king of Macedonia, and upon the Chalcideans bordering on Thrace; upon two promises; one of which he required to be performed to him, and the other he was to perform himself. For Perdiccas had promised somewhat unto him, for reconciling him to the Athenians, who had formerly oppressed him with war; and for not restoring his brother Philip to the kingdom, that was his enemy: which he never paid him1 . And Sitalces himself had covenanted with the Athenians, when he made league with them, that he would end the war which they had against the Chalcideans of Thrace. For these causes therefore he made this expedition; and took with him both Amyntas the son of Philip, (with purpose to make him king of Macedonia), and also the Athenian ambassadors then with him for that business, and Agnon the Athenian commander. For the Athenians ought also to have joined with him against the Chalcideans, both with a fleet, and with as great land forces as they could provide.

  The description of Thrace.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  96. Beginning therefore with the Odrysians, he levied first those Thracians that inhabit on this side2 the mountains Hæmus and Rhodope, as many as were of his own dominion, down to the shore of the Euxine Sea and the Hellespont. Then beyond Hæmus he levied the Getes, and all the nations between Ister and the Euxine Sea3 . The Getes and the people of those parts, are borderers upon the Scythians, and furnished as the Scythians are; all archers on horseback. He also drew forth many of those Scythians4 that inhabit the mountains and are free states, all sword–men, and are called Dii; the greatest part of which are on the mountain Rhodope; whereof some he hired, and some went as voluntaries. He levied also the Agrianes and Lææans, and all other the nations of Pæonia in his own dominion. These are the utmost bounds of his dominion, extending to the Graæans and Lææans, nations of Pæonia, and to the river Strymon; which rising out of the mountain Scomius passeth through the territories of the Graæans and Lææans, who make the bounds of his kingdom toward Pæonia, and are subject only to their own laws1 . But on the part that lieth to the Triballians, who are also a free people, the Treres make the bound of his dominion, and the Tilatæans. These dwell on the north side of the mountain Scomius, and reach westward as far as to the river Oscius; which cometh out of the same hill Nestus and Hebrus doth; a great and desert hill, adjoining to Rhodope.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.The great power of the Scythians.

  97. The dimensions of the dominion of the Odrysians by the sea–side, is from the city of the Abderites to the mouth of Ister in the Euxine Sea; and is, the nearest way, four days’ and as many nights’ sail for a round ship1 , with a continual fore wind2 . By land likewise the nearest way, it is from the city Abdera to the mouth of Ister eleven days’ journey for an expedite footman. Thus it lay in respect of the sea. Now for the continent; from Byzantium to the Lææans and to the river Strymon, (for it reacheth this way farthest into the main land), it is for the like footman thirteen days’ journey. The tribute they received from all the barbarian nations and from the cities of Greece, in the reign of Seuthes, (who reigned after Sitalces, and made the most of it), was in gold and silver, by estimation, four hundred talents by year3 . And presents of gold and silver came to as much more: besides vestures, both wrought and plain, and other furniture, presented not only to him, but also to all the men of authority4 and Odrysian nobility about him. For they had a custom, which also was general to all Thrace, contrary to that of the kingdom of Persia, to receive rather than to give: and it was there a greater shame to be asked and deny, than to ask and go without. Nevertheless they held this custom long, by reason of their power1 : for without gifts, there was nothing to be gotten done amongst them. So that this kingdom arrived thereby to great power. For of all the nations of Europe that lie between the Ionian Gulf and the Euxine Sea, it was, for revenue of money and other wealth, the mightiest; though indeed for strength of an army and multitudes of soldiers, the same be far short of the Scythians. For there is no nation, not to say of Europe, but neither of Asia, that are comparable to this, or that as long as they agree, are able, one nation to one, to stand against the Scythians. And yet in matter of counsel and wisdom in the present occasions of life, they are not like2 to other men.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  98. Sitalces therefore, king of this great country, prepared his army, and when all was ready, set forward and marched towards Macedonia: first, through his own dominion; then over Cercine, a desert mountain dividing the Sintians from the Pæonians, over which he marched the same way himself had formerly made with timber3 , when he made war against the Pæonians. Passing this mountain out of the country of the Odrysians, they had on their right hand the Pæonians, and on the left the Sintians and Medes; and beyond it they came to the city of Doberus in Pæonia. His army, as he marched, diminished not any way, except by sickness; but increased by the accession of many free nations of Thrace, that came in uncalled in hope of booty. Insomuch as the whole number is said to have amounted to no less than a hundred and fifty thousand men: whereof the most were foot; the horse being a third part, or thereabouts. And of the horse, the greatest part were the Odrysians themselves; and the next most, the Getes. And of the foot, those sword–men, a1 free nation that came down to him out of the mountain Rhodope, were the most warlike. The rest of the promiscuous multitude were formidable only for their number.

  The beginning of the kingdom of Macedonia.The Macedonian kings descended of the Temenidæ, a family in Argos of the Peloponnesians.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  99. Being all together at Doberus, they made ready to fall in from the hill’s side into the lower Macedonia, the dominion of Perdiccas. For2 there are in Macedonia, the Lyncestians and the Elimeiotæ, and other highland nations, who though they be confederates and in subjection to the other, yet have their several kingdoms by themselves. But of that part of the now Macedonia which lieth toward the sea, Alexander, the father of this Perdiccas, and his ancestors the Temenidæ, who came out of Argos, were the first possessors and reigned in the same; having first driven out of Pieria the Pierians, which afterwards seated themselves in Phagres, and other towns beyond Strymon, at the foot of Pangæum; (from which cause that country is called the Gulf1 of Pieria to this day, which lieth at the foot of Pangæum and bendeth toward the sea); and out of that which is called Bottia, the Bottiæans, that now border upon the Chalcideans. They possessed besides a certain narrow portion of Pæonia near unto the river Axius, reaching from above down to Pella and to the sea. Beyond Axius, they possess the country called Mygdonia as far as to Strymon, from whence they have driven out the Edonians. Furthermore, they drave the Eordians out of the territory now called Eordia; (of whom the greatest part perished, but there dwell a few of them yet about Physca); and the Almopians out of Almopia. The same Macedonians subdued also other nations, and hold them yet; as Anthemus, Crestonia, and Bisaltia, and a great part of the Macedonians themselves. But the whole is called Macedonia; and was the kingdom of Perdiccas the son of Alexander, when Sitalces came to invade it.

  The Macedonians retire into their walled towns.Archelaus the son of Perdiccas, the ninth king of Macedon, of the family of the Temenidæ.year iii. A C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.

  100. The2 Macedonians unable to stand in the field against so huge an army, retired all within their strongholds and walled towns, as many as the country afforded: which were not many then; but3 were built afterwards by Archelaus the son of Perdiccas, when he came to the kingdom, who then also laid out the highways straight, and took order both for matter of war, as horses and arms and for other provision, better than all the other eight kings that were before him. The Thracian army arising from Doberus, invaded that territory first which had been the principality of Philip, and took Eidomene by force; but Gortynia, Atalanta, and some other towns he had yielded to him for the love of Amyntas the son of Philip, who was then in the army. They also assaulted1 Europus, but could not take it. Then they went on further into Macedonia, on the part that lies on the right hand of Pella2 and Cyrrhus; but within these, into Bottiæa and Pieria they entered not, but wasted Mygdonia, Crestonia, and Anthemus. Now the Macedonians had never any intention to make head against them with their foot, but sending out their horsemen, which they had procured from their allies of the higher Macedonia, they assaulted the Thracian army in such places where, few against many, they thought they might do it with most convenience. And where they charged, none was able to resist them, being both good horsemen and well armed with breastplates; but enclosed by the multitude of the enemies, they fought against manifest odds of number: so that in the end they gave it over, esteeming themselves too weak to hazard battle against so many.

  year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. Sitalces and Perdiccas come to a conference about the motives of the war.The Grecians, at the coming of this army, stand upon their guard, fearing they were called in by the Athenians to subdue them.year iii. A. C. 429. Ol. 87. 4.Seuthes corrupted by Perdiccas, persuadeth Sitalces to return.

  101. After this, Sitalces gave way to a conference with Perdiccas, touching the motives of this war. And forasmuch as the Athenians were not arrived with their fleet, (for they thought not that Sitalces would have made the journey, but had sent ambassadors to him with presents), he sent a part of his army against the Chalcideans and Bottiæans, wherewith having compelled them within their walled towns, he wasted and destroyed their territory. Whilst he stayed in these parts, the Thessalians southward, and the Magnetians, and the rest of the nations subject to the Thessalians1 , and all the Grecians as far as to Thermopylæ, were afraid he would have turned his forces upon them; and stood upon their guard. And northward, those Thracians that inhabit the champaign country beyond Strymon, namely the Panæans, Odomantians, Droans, and Dersæans, all of them free states, were afraid of the same. He gave occasion also to a rumour, that he meant to lead his army against all those Grecians that were enemies to the Athenians, as called in by them to that purpose by virtue of their league. But whilst he stayed, he wasted the Chalcidean, Bottiæan, and Macedonian territories; and when he could not effect what he came for, and his army both wanted victual, and was afflicted with the coldness of the season, Seuthes the son of Spardocus, his cousin–german, and of greatest authority next himself, persuaded him to make haste away. Now Perdiccas had dealt secretly with Seuthes, and promised him his sister in marriage, and money with her: and Sitalces at the persuasion of him, after the stay of full thirty days, whereof he spent eight in Chalcidea, retired with his army with all speed into his own kingdom. And Perdiccas shortly after gave to Seuthes his sister Stratonica in marriage, as he had promised. This was the issue of this expedition of Sitalces.

  A. C. 428. Ol. 87. 4. Phormio putteth suspected persons out of Stratus and Coronta.year iii. A. C 428. Ol. 87. 4.The course of the river Achelons.The fable of Alcmæon.year iii. A. C. 428. Ol. 87. 4.Acarnania whence so called.

  102. The same winter, after the fleet of the Peloponnesians was dissolved, the Athenians that were at Naupactus, under the conduct of Phormio, sailed along the coast to Astacus, and disbarking marched into the inner parts of Acarnania. He had in his army four hundred men of arms that he brought with him in his galleys, and four hundred more Messenians. With these he put out of Stratus, Coronta, and other places, all those whose fidelity he thought doubtful. And when he had restored Cynes the son of Theolytus to Coronta, they returned again to their galleys. For they thought they should not be able to make war against the Œniades (who only of all Acarnania are1 the Athenians’ enemies) in respect of the winter. For the river Achelöus, springing out of the mountain Pindus, and running through Dolopia, and through the territories of the Agræans and the Amphilochians, and through most part of the champaign of Acarnania, passing above by the city of Stratus, and falling into the sea by the city of the Œniades, which also it moateth about with fens, by the abundance of water maketh it hard lying there for an army in time of winter. Also most of the islands Echinades lie just over against Œnia2 , hard by the mouth of Achelöus. And the river, being a great one, continually heapeth together the gravel, insomuch that some of those islands are become continent already, and the like in short time is expected by the rest3 . For not only the stream of the river is swift, broad, and turbidous, but also the islands themselves stand thick, and because4 the gravel cannot pass, are joined one to another; lying in and out, not in a direct line, nor so much as to give the water his course directly forward into the sea. These islands are all desert, and but small ones. It is reported that Apollo by his oracle did assign this place for an habitation to Alcmæon the son of Amphiareus, at such time as he wandered up and down for the killing of his mother; telling him, “that he should never be free from the terrors that haunted him, till he had found out and seated himself in such a land, as when he slew his mother, the sun had never seen nor was then land, because all other lands were polluted by him.” Hereupon being at a nonplus, as they say, with much ado he observed this ground congested by the river Achelöus, and thought there was enough cast up to serve1 his turn, already, since the time of the slaughter of his mother, after which it was now a long time that he had been a wanderer. Therefore seating himself in the places about the Œniades, he reigned there, and named the country after the name of his son Acarnas. Thus goes the report, as we have heard it concerning Alcmæon.

  The end of the third year of the war.

  103. But Phormio and the Athenians leaving Acarnania, and returning to Naupactus, in the very beginning of the spring came back to Athens; and brought with them such galleys as they had taken, and the freemen they had taken prisoners in their fights at sea, who were again set at liberty by exchange of man for man. So ended that2 winter, and the third year of the war written by Thucydides.

  THE THIRD BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  Attica invaded by the Peloponnesians.—The Mytilenæans revolt, and are received by the Peloponnesians at Olympia into their league.—The Athenians send Paches to Mytilene, to besiege it.—Part of the besieged Platæans escape through the fortifications of the enemy.—The commons of Mytilene armed by the nobility for a sally on the enemy, deliver the town to the Athenians.—The residue of the Platæans yield to the besiegers, and are put to the sword.—The proceedings upon the Mytilenæans, and their punishment.—The sedition in Corcyra.—Laches is sent by the Athens into Sicily: and Nicias into Melos.—Demosthenes fighteth against the Ætolians unfortunately; and afterwards against the Ambraciotes fortuately.—Pythadorus is sent into Sicily, to receive the fleet from Laches.—This in other three years of this war.

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Peloponnesians invade Attica.year iv. A C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.

  1. The summer following, the Peloponnesians and their confederates, at the time when corn was at the highest, entered with their army into Attica under the conduct of Archidamus, the son of Zeuxidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians; and there set them down and wasted the territory about. And the Athenian horsemen, as they were wont, fell upon the enemy where they thought fit1 , and kept back the multitude of light–armed soldiers from going out before the men of arms1 , and infesting the places near the city. And when they had stayed as long as their victual lasted, they returned; and were dissolved according to their cities.

  The revolt of Lesbos.The intention of the Lesbians to revolt discovered to the Athenians.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.

  2. After the Peloponnesians were entered Attica, Lesbos immediately, all but Methymne, revolted from the Athenians; which though they would have done before the war, and2 the Lacedæmonians would not then receive them, yet even now they were forced to revolt sooner than they had intended to do. For they stayed to have first straitened the mouth of their haven with dams of earth, to have finished their walls and their galleys then in building, and to have gotten in all that was to come out of Pontus, as archers, and victual, and whatsoever else they had sent for. But the Tenedians, with whom they were at odds, and the Methymnæans, and of the Mytilenæans themselves certain particular men upon faction, being hosts to the Athenians, made known unto them that the Lesbians were forced to go all into Mytilene3 ; that by the help of the Lacedæmonians and their kindred4 the Bœotians, they hastened all manner of provision necessary for a revolt; and that unless it were presently prevented, all Lesbos would be lost.

  The Athenians send forty galleys to Lesbos.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Athenians imprison such of Mytilene as were at Athens, and stay their galleys

  3. The Athenians, afflicted with the disease, and with the war now on foot and at the hottest, thought it a dangerous matter that Lesbos, which had a navy and was of strength entire, should thus be added to the rest of their enemies; and at first received not the accusations, holding them therefore the rather feigned because they would not have them true. But after, when they had sent ambassadors to Mytilene, and could not persuade them to dissolve themselves and undo their preparation, they then feared the worst, and would have prevented them: and to that purpose suddenly sent out the forty1 galleys made ready for Peloponnesus, with Cleïppedes and two other commanders. For they had been advertised that there was a holiday of Apollo Maloeis to be kept without the city, and that to the celebration thereof the Mytilenæans were accustomed to come all out of the town; and they hoped, making haste, to take them there unawares. And if the attempt succeeded, it was well; if not, they might2 command the Mytilenæans to deliver up their galleys, and to demolish their walls; or they might make war against them, if they refused. So these galleys went their way. And ten galleys of Mytilene which then chanced to be at Athens, by virtue of their league, to aid them, the Athenians stayed; and cast into prison the men that were in them. In the meantime a certain man went from Athens into Eubœa by sea, and then by land to Geræstus; and finding there a ship ready to put off, having the wind favourable, arrived in Mytilene three days after he set forth from Athens, and gave them notice of the coming of the fleet. Hereupon they not only went not out to Maloeis1 , as was expected, but also stopped the gaps of their walls and ports, where they were left unfinished, and placed guards to defend them.

  The Athenians give the Mytilenæans time to purge themselves at Athens.

  4. When the Athenians not long after arrived and saw this, the commanders of the fleet delivered to the Mytilenæans what they had in charge: which not hearkened unto, they presently fell to the war. The Mytilenæans, unprovided and compelled to a war on such a sudden, put out some few galleys before the haven to fight: but being driven in again by the galleys of Athens, they called to the Athenian commanders to parley; desiring, if they could upon reasonable conditions, to get the galleys for the present sent away. And the Athenian commander allowed the conditions2 , he also fearing they should be too weak to make war against the whole island.

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Mytilenæans sent to Lacedæmon for aid.The Mytilenæan ambassadors speed not at Athens.They sally out upon the Athenians, but without success.They lie still, expecting help from Peloponnesus.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Athenians send for the aids of their confederates.

  When a cessation of arms was granted, the Mytilenæans amongst others sent to Athens one of those that had given intelligence there of their design, and had repented him after of the same, to try if they could persuade them to withdraw their fleet from them, as not intending any innovation. Withal they sent ambassadors at the same time to Lacedæmon, undiscovered of the fleet of the Athenians, which was riding at anchor in Malea1 to the north of the city; being without any confidence of their success at Athens. And these men, after an ill voyage through the wide sea, arriving at Lacedæmon, negotiated the sending of aid from thence. 5. But when their ambassadors were come back from Athens without effect, the Mytilenæans and the rest of Lesbos, save only Methymne, (for these together with the Imbrians, Lemnians, and some few other their confederates, aided the Athenians), prepared themselves for the war. And the Mytilenæans with the whole strength of the city made a sally upon the Athenian camp, and came to a battle: wherein though the Mytilenæans had not the worse, yet they lay not that night without the walls, nor durst trust to their strength; but retiring into the town, lay quiet there, expecting to try their fortune with the accession of such forces, as (if any came) they were to have from Peloponnesus. For there were now come into the city one Meleas a Laconian and Hermiondas a Theban, who having been sent out before the revolt, but unable to arrive before the coming of the Athenian fleet, secretly after the end of the battle entered the haven in a galley, and persuaded them to send another galley along with them, with other ambassadors to Sparta; which they did. 6. But the Athenians much confirmed by this the Mytilenæans’ cessation, called in their confederates: (who, because they saw no assurance on the part of the Lesbians, came much sooner in than was thought they would have done1 ): and riding at anchor to the south of the city, fortified two camps, on either side one, and brought their galleys before both the ports, and so quite excluded the Mytilenæans from the use of the sea2 . As for the land, the Athenians held so much only as lay near their camps, which was not much; and the Mytilenæans and other Lesbians, that were now come to aid them, were masters of the rest. For Malea served the Athenians for a station only for their galleys, and to keep their market in. And thus proceeded the war before Mytilene.

  The Athenians send Asopius the son of Phormio, with twenty galleys about Peloponnesus.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.Asopius slain.

  7. About the same time of the same summer, the Athenians sent likewise thirty galleys into Peloponnesus, under the conduct of Asopius the son of Phormio. For the Acarnanians had desired them to send some son or kinsman of Phormio, for general, into those parts. These, as they sailed by, wasted the maritime country of Laconia; and then sending back the greatest part of his fleet to Athens, Asopius himself with twelve galleys went on to Naupactus. And afterwards having raised the whole power of Acarnania, he made war upon the Œniades, and both entered with his galleys into1 the river of Achelöus, and with his land forces wasted the territory. But when the Œniades would not yield, he disbanded his land forces, and sailed with his galleys to Leucas, and landed his soldiers of the territory of Neritum2 ; but in going off was by those of the country that came out to defend it, and by some few of the garrison soldiers there, both himself and part of his company slain. And having upon truce received from the Leucadians their dead bodies, they went their ways3 .

  The Mytilenæan ambassadors sent to Lacedæmon, are appointed to attend the general assembly of the Grecians at Olympia.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.

  8. Now the ambassadors of the Mytilenæans, that went out in the first galley, having been referred by the Lacedæmonians to the general meeting of the Grecians at Olympia, to the end they might determine of them together with the rest of the confederates4 , went to Olympia accordingly. It was that Olympiad wherein Dorieus of Rhodes was the second time victor. And when after the solemnity they were set in council, the ambassadors spake unto them in this manner:

  oration of the ambassadors of mytilene.

  9. “Men of Lacedæmon and confederates, we know the received custom of the Grecians. For they that take into league such as revolt in the wars and relinquish a former league, though they like them as long as they have profit by them, yet accounting them but traitors to their former friends, they esteem the worse of them in their judgment. And to say the truth, this judgment is not without good reason, when they that revolt, and they from whom the revolt is made, are mutually like–minded and affected, and equal in provision and strength, and no just cause of their revolt given. But now between us and the Athenians it is not so. Nor let any man think the worse of us, for that having been honoured by them in time of peace, we have now revolted in time of danger. 10. For the first point of our speech, especially now we seek to come into league with you, shall be to make good the justice and honesty of our revolt1 . For we know there can be neither firm friendship between man and man, nor any communion between city and city to any purpose whatsoever, without a mutual opinion of each other’s honesty, and also a similitude of customs otherwise: for in the difference of minds is grounded the diversity of actions.

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. Oration of the Mytilenæans.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. Oration of the Mytilenæans.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. Oration of the Mytilenæans.

  “As for our league with the Athenians, it was first made when you gave over the Medan war, and they remained to prosecute the relics of that business. Yet we entered not such a league, as to be their helpers in bringing the Grecians into the servitude of the Athenians, but to set free the Grecians from the servitude of the Medes1 . And as long as they led us as equals, we followed them with much zeal: but when we saw they remitted their enmity against the Medes, and led us2 to the subjugation of the confederates, we could not then but be afraid. And the confederates, through the multitude of distinct counsels unable to unite themselves for resistance, fell all but ourselves and the Chians into their subjection. And we having still our own laws, and being in name a free state, followed them to the wars; but so, as by the examples of their former actions, we held them not any longer for faithful leaders. For it was not probable, when they had subdued those whom together with us they took into league, but that, when they should be able, they would do the like also by the rest. 11. It is true that if we were now in liberty all, we might be the better assured that they would forbear to innovate; but since they have under them the greatest part already, in all likelihood they will take it ill, to deal on equal terms with us alone, and the rest yielding, to let us only stand up as their equals. Especially when by how much they are become stronger by the subjection of their confederates, by so much the more are we become desolate. But the equality of mutual fear is the only band of faith in leagues. For he that hath the will to transgress, yet when he hath not the odds of strength, will abstain from coming on. Now the reason why they have left us yet free, is no other, but that1 they may have a fair colour to lay upon their domination over the rest; and because it hath seemed unto them more expedient to take us in by policy, than by force. For therein they made use of us for an argument, that having equal vote with them we would never have followed them to the wars, if those against whom they led us, had not done the injury: and thereby also they brought the stronger against the weaker, and reserving the strongest to the last, made them the weaker by removing the rest. Whereas if they had begun with us, when the confederates had had both their own strength and a side to adhere to, they had never subdued them so easily. Likewise our navy kept them in some fear; lest united and added to yours or to any other, it might have created them some danger. Partly also we escaped by our observance toward their commons, and most eminent men from time to time. But yet we still1 thought we could not do so long, considering the examples they have showed us in the rest, if this war should not have fallen out. 12. What friendship then or assurance of liberty was this, when we received each other with alienated affections: when whilst they had wars, they for fear courted us; and when they had peace, we for fear courted them: and whereas in others good will assureth loyalty, in us it was the effect of fear? So2 it was more for fear than love, that we remained their confederates; and whomsoever security should first embolden, he was first likely by one means or other to break the league. Now if any man think we did unjustly, to revolt upon the expectation of evil intended without staying to be certain whether they would do it or not, he weigheth not the matter aright. For if we were as able to contrive evil against them, and again to defer it, as they can against us, being thus equal, what needed us to be at their discretion? But seeing it is in their hands to invade at pleasure, it ought to be in ours to anticipate.

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. Oration of the Mytilenæans.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. Oration of the Mytilenæans.

  13. Upon these pretensions therefore and causes, Men of Lacedæmon and confederates, we have revolted; the which are both clear enough for the hearers to judge upon, that we had reason for it, and weighty enough to affright, and compel us to take some course for our own safety: which we would have done before, when before the war we sent ambassadors to you about our revolt, but could not, because you would not then admit us into your league. And now when the Bœotians1 invited us to it, we presently obeyed. Wherein we thought we made a double revolt2 one from the Grecians, in ceasing to do them mischief with the Athenians, and helping to set them free; and another from the Athenians, in breaking first, and not staying to be destroyed by them hereafter. But this revolt of ours hath been sooner than was fit, and before we were provided for it. For which cause also the confederates ought so much the sooner to admit us into the league, and send us the speedier aid; thereby the better3 , at once both to defend those you ought to defend, and to annoy your enemies. Whereof there was never better opportunity than at present. For the Athenians being both with the sickness and their great expenses consumed, and their navy divided, part upon your own coasts and part upon ours; it is not likely they should have many galleys spare, in case you again4 this summer invade them both by sea and land; but that they should either be unable to resist the invasion of your fleet, or be forced to come off from both our coasts. And let not any man conceive, that you shall herein at your own danger defend the territory of another. For though Lesbos seem remote, the profit of it will be near you. For the war will not be, as a man would think, in Attica; but there, from whence cometh the profit to Attica. This profit is the revenue they have from the confederates; which if they subdue us, will still be greater. For neither will any other revolt; and all that is ours will accrue unto them; and we shall be worse handled besides, than those that were under them before. But aiding us with diligence, you shall both add to your league a city that hath a great navy, the thing you most stand in need of; and also easily1 overthrow the Athenians by subduction of their confederates, because every one will then be more confident to come in, and you shall avoid the imputation2 of not assisting such as revolt unto you. And if it appear that your endeavour is to make them free, your strength in this war will be much the more confirmed. In reverence therefore of the hopes which the Grecians have reposed in you, and of the presence of Jupiter Olympius, in whose temple here we are in a manner suppliants to you, receive the Mytilenæans into league, and aid us. And do not cast us off, who (though, as to the exposing of our persons, the danger be our own) shall bring a common profit to all Greece, if we prosper, and a more common detriment to all the Grecians, if through your inflexibleness we miscarry. Be you therefore men such as the Grecians esteem you, and our fears require you to be.”

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Mytilenæans taken into the Lacedæmonian league.The Lacedæmonians prepare for the invasion of Attica, both by sea and land.

  15. In this manner spake the Mytilenæans. And the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, when they had heard and allowed their reasons, decreed not only a league with the Lesbians, but also again to make an invasion into Attica. And to that purpose, the Lacedæmonians appointed their confederates there present, to make as much speed as they could with two parts of their forces into the isthmus; and they themselves being first there, prepared engines in the isthmus for the drawing up of galleys, with intention to carry the navy from Corinth to the other sea that lieth towards Athens, and to set upon them both by sea and land. And these things diligently did they. But the rest of the confederates assembled but slowly, being busied in the gathering in of their fruits, and weary of warfare.

  The Athenians to make show of their power, and to deter the enemy from their enterprize, send 100 galleys, not so much to waste Peloponnesus, as to confute the opinion which the Lesbian ambassadors had put into the Lacedæmonians of their weakness.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.

  16. The Athenians perceiving all this preparation to be made upon an opinion of their weakness, and desirous to let them see they were deceived, as being able, without stirring the fleet at Lesbos, easily to master the fleet that should come against them out of Peloponnesus, manned out a hundred galleys, and embarked therein generally, both citizens (except those of the degree of Pentacosiomedimni and Horsemen1 ) and also strangers that dwelt amongst them: and sailing to the isthmus, made a show of their strength, and landed their soldiers in such parts of Peloponnesus as they thought fit. When the Lacedæmonians saw things so contrary to their expectation, they thought it false which was spoken by the Lesbian ambassadors; and esteeming the action difficult, seeing their confederates were not arrived, and that news was brought of the wasting of the territory near their city1 by the thirty galleys formerly sent about Peloponnesus by the Athenians, went home again; and afterwards prepared to send a fleet to Lesbos, and intimated to the cities rateably to furnish forty galleys, and appointed Alcidas, who was to go thither with them, for admiral. And the Athenians, when they saw the Peloponnesians gone, went likewise home with their hundred galleys.

  The greatness of the Athenian navy, and occasion of their great expense of money

  17. About1 the time that this fleet was out, they had surely the most galleys (besides the beauty of them) together in action in these employments; yet in the beginning of the war, they had both as good, and more in number. For a hundred attended the guard of Attica, Eubœa, and Salamis; and another hundred were about Peloponnesus; besides those that were at Potidæa and other places: so that in one summer, they had in all two hundred and fifty sail. And this, together with Potidæa, was it that most exhausted their treasure. For the men of arms that besieged the city, had each of them two drachmes a day, one for himself and another for his man: and were three thousand in number that were sent thither at first and remained to the end of the siege; besides sixteen hundred more, that went with Phormio and came away before the town was won. And the galleys had all the same pay. In this manner was their money consumed2 , and so many galleys employed, the most indeed that ever they had manned at once.

  year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1. The Mytilenæans go with a power to Methymne, hoping to have it betrayed.The Athenians send Paches with 1000 men of arms to Mytilene.year iv. A. C. 428. Ol. 88. 1.

  18. About the same time that the Lacedæmonians were in the isthmus, the Mytilenæans marched by land, both they and their auxiliaries, against Methymne, in hope to have had it betrayed unto them: and having assaulted the city, when it succeeded not the way they looked for, they went thence to Antissa, Pyrrha, and Eressus: and after they had settled1 the affairs of those places, and made strong their walls, returned speedily home. When these were gone, the Methymnæans likewise made war upon Antissa; but beaten2 by the Antisæans and some auxiliaries that were with them, they made haste again to Methymne, with the loss of many of their soldiers. But the Athenians being advertised hereof, and understanding that the Mytilenæans were masters of the land, and that their own soldiers there were not enough to keep them in, sent thither, about the beginning of autumn, Paches, the son of Epicurus, with a thousand men of arms of their own city: who, supplying the place of rowers themselves, arrived at Mytilene, and ingirt it with a single wall: save3 that in some places, stronger by nature than the rest, they only built turrets, and placed guards in them. So that the city was every way strongly besieged, both by sea and land; and the winter began.

  The end of the fourth summer.

  19. The Athenians standing in need of money for the siege, both contributed themselves, and sent thither1 two hundred talents of this their first contribution, and also dispatched Lysicles and four others with twelve galleys, to levy money amongst the confederates. But Lysicles, after he had been to and fro and gathered money in divers places, as he was going up from Myus through the plains of Mæander in Caria as far as to the hill Sandius, was set upon there by the Carians and Anæitans2 ; and himself with a great part of his soldiers slain.

  A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. The escape of 212 men out of Platæa, through the works of the enemy.year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. They make the length of their ladders by conjecture upon counting the lays of brick.The description of the fortification of the Peloponnesians about Platæa.year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. The description of the Platæans going over the enemy’s walls.year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1.year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1.

  20. The same winter the Platæans, (for they were besieged by the Peloponnesians and Bœotians), pressed now with want of victual and hopeless of relief from Athens, and no other means of safety appearing, took counsel, both they and the Athenians that were besieged with them, at first all to go out, and if they could, to pass over the wall of the enemy by force. The authors of this attempt, were Theænetus the son of Tolmidas, a soothsayer, and Eupompidas the son of Daïmachus, one of their commanders. But half of them afterwards, by one means or other, for the greatness of the danger shrunk from it again: but two hundred and twenty or thereabouts voluntarily persisted to go out in this manner. They made them ladders, fit for the height of the enemy’s wall; the wall they measured by the lays of brick, on the part toward the town where it was not plastered over; and divers men at once numbered the lays of bricks, whereof though some missed, yet the greatest part took the reckoning just; especially, numbering them so often, and at no great distance, but where they might easily see the part to which their ladders were to be applied; and so by guess1 of the thickness of one brick, took the measure of their ladders. 21. As for the wall of the Peloponnesians, it was thus built. It consisted of a double circle, one towards Platæa, and another outward, in case of an assault from Athens. These two walls were distant one from the other about sixteen foot: and that sixteen foot of space which was betwixt them, was disposed and built into cabins for the watchmen, which were so joined and continued one to another, that the whole appeared to be one thick wall with battlements on either side. At every ten battlements stood a great tower, of a just breadth to comprehend both walls, and reach from the outmost to the inmost front of the whole; so that there was no passage by the side of a tower, but through the midst of it. And such nights as there happened any storm2 of rain, they used to quit the battlements of the wall, and to watch under the towers: as being not far asunder, and covered beside overhead. Such was the form of the wall wherein1 the Peloponnesians kept their watch. 22. The Platæans, after they were ready, and had attended a tempestuous2 night, and withal moonless, went out of the city; and were conducted by the same men that were the authors of the attempt. And first they passed the ditch that was about the town, and then came up close to the wall of the enemy3 , who, because it was dark, could not see them coming; and the noise they made as they went4 could not be heard for the blustering of the wind. And they came on besides at a good distance one from the other, that they might not be betrayed by the clashing of their arms; and were but lightly armed, and not shod but on the left foot, for the more steadiness in the wet5 . They came thus to the battlements in one of the spaces between tower and tower, knowing that there was now no watch kept there. And first came they that carried the ladders, and placed them to the wall: then twelve lightly armed, only with a dagger and a breastplate, went up, led by Ammeas the son of Corœbus, who was the first that mounted; and they that followed him, went up into either tower six. To these succeeded others lightly armed, that carried the6 darts, for whom they that came after carried targets at their backs, that they might be the more expedite to get up; which targets they were to deliver to them, when they came to the enemy. At length, when most7 of them were ascended, they were heard by the watchmen that were in the towers. For one of the Platæans taking hold of the battlements, threw down a tile, which made a noise in the fall. And presently there was an alarm; and the army ran to the wall. For in the dark and stormy night, they knew not what the danger was; and the Platæans that were left in the city, came forth withal, and assaulted the wall of the Peloponnesians on the opposite side to that where their men went over1 . So that though they were all in a tumult in their several places, yet not any of them that watched durst stir to the aid of the rest, nor were able to conjecture what had happened. But those three hundred that were appointed to assist the watch upon all occasions of need, went without the wall and made towards the place of the clamour. They also held up the fires by which they used to make known the approach of enemies, towards Thebes. But then the Platæans likewise held out many other fires from the wall of the city, which for that purpose they had before prepared, to render the fires of the enemy insignificant; and that the Thebans apprehending the matter otherwise than it was, might forbear to send help till their men were over and had recovered some place of safety. 23. In the meantime those Platæans, which having scaled the wall first and slain the watch were now masters of both the towers, not only guarded the passages by standing themselves in the entries, but also applying ladders from the wall to the towers, and conveying many men to the top, kept the enemies off with shot both from above and below. In the mean space, the greatest number of them having reared to the wall many ladders at once, and beaten down the battlements, passed quite over between the towers. And ever as any of them got to the other side, they stood still upon the brink of the ditch without, and with arrows and darts kept off those that came by the outside1 of the wall to hinder their passage. And when the rest were over, then last of all2 , and with much ado, came they also down to the ditch which were in the two towers. And by this time, the three hundred that were to assist the watch, came and set upon them, and had lights with them; by which means the Platæans that were on the further brink of the ditch, discerned them the better from out of the dark, and aimed their arrows and darts at their most disarmed parts: for3 standing in the dark, the lights of the enemy made the Platæans the less discernible; insomuch as these last passed the ditch, though with difficulty and force. For the water in it was frozen over, though not so hard as to bear, but watery, and such as when the wind is at east rather than at north. And the snow which fell that night, together with so great a wind as that was, had very much increased the water; which they waded through with scarce their heads above. But yet the greatness of the storm was the principal means of their escape.

  year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1.

  24. From the ditch the Platæans in troop took the way towards Thebes, leaving on the left hand the temple of Juno1 built by Androcrates, both for that they supposed they would least suspect the way that led to their enemies, and also because they saw the Peloponnesians with their lights pursue that way, which by Mount Cithæron and the Oak–heads2 led to Athens, The Platæans, when they had gone six or seven furlongs, forsook the Theban way, and turned into that which led towards the mountain to Erythræ and Hysiæ; and having gotten the hills, escaped through to Athens, being two hundred and twelve persons of a greater number. For some of them returned into the city before the rest went over; and one of their archers was taken upon the ditch without. And so the Peloponnesians gave over the pursuit, and returned to their places. But the Platæans that were within the city, knowing nothing of the event, and those that turned back having told them that not a man escaped, as soon as it was day sent a herald to entreat a truce for the taking up of their dead bodies; but when they knew the truth, they gave it over. And thus these men of Platæa passed through the fortification of their enemies, and were saved.

  Salæthus a Lacedæmonian, entereth secretly into Mytilene, and confirmeth them with hope of speedy aid.year iv. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1.

  25. About the end of the same winter Salæthus, a Lacedæmonian, was sent in a galley to Mytilene; and coming first to Pyrrha, and thence going to Mytilene by land, entered the city by the dry channel of a certain torrent which had a passage through the wall of the Athenians, undiscovered. And he told the magistrates that Attica should again be invaded, and that the forty galleys which were to aid them were coming; and that himself was sent afore, both to let them know it, and withal to give order in the rest of their affairs. Hereupon the Mytilenæans grew confident, and hearkened less to composition with the Athenians. And the winter ended, and the fourth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Attica the fourth time invaded.Pausanias king of Lacedæmon.

  26. In the beginning of the summer, after they had sent Alcidas away with the forty–two1 galleys, whereof he was admiral, unto Mytilene, both they and their confederates invaded Attica; to the end that the Athenians, troubled on both sides, might the less send supply against the fleet now gone to Mytilene. In this expedition Cleomenes was general instead of Pausanias, the son of Pleistoanax, who being king was yet in minority2 , and Cleomenes was his uncle by the father. And they now cut down both what they had before wasted and began to grow again, and also whatsoever else they had before pretermitted: and this was the sharpest invasion of all but the second. For whilst they stayed to hear news from their fleet at Lesbos, which by this time they supposed to have been arrived, they went abroad and destroyed most part of the country. But when nothing succeeded according to their hopes, and seeing their corn failed, they retired again, and were dissolved according to their cities.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Salæthus arms the commons for a sally. They mutiny, and give up the town.Some of the Mytilenæans fearing the worst take sanctuary:whom Paches persuadeth to rise:year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. and sendeth them to be in custody at Tenedos.

  27. The Mytilenæans in the meantime, seeing the fleet came not from Peloponnesus, but delayed the time, and their victuals failed, were constrained to make their composition with the Athenians upon this occasion. Salæthus, when he also expected these galleys no longer, armed the commons of the city, who were before unarmed1 , with intention to have made a sally upon the Athenians. But they, as soon as they had gotten arms, no longer obeyed the magistrates; but holding assemblies by themselves, required the rich men2 either to bring their corn to light and divide it amongst them all, or else, they said, they would make their composition by delivering up the city to the Athenians. 28. Those that managed the state perceiving this and unable to hinder it, knowing also their own danger in case they were excluded out of the composition, they all jointly agreed to yield the city to Paches and his army with these conditions: “to be proceeded withal at the pleasure of the people of Athens, and to receive the army into the city; and that the Mytilenæans should send ambassadors to Athens about their own business: and that Paches, till their return, should neither put in bonds, nor make slave of, nor slay any Mytilenæan”. This was the effect of that composition. But such of the Mytilenæans as had principally practised with the Lacedæmonians, being3 afraid of themselves, when the army was entered the city durst not trust to the conditions agreed on, but took sanctuary at the altars. But Paches having raised them upon promise to do them no injury, sent them to Tenedos, to be in custody there till the people of Athens should have resolved what to do. After this he sent some galleys to Antissa, and took in that town; and ordered the affairs of his army as he thought convenient.

  The voyage of Alcidas with forty galleys into Ionia.Alcidas with his fleet, at Embatus is assured of the loss of Mytilene.The advice of Teutiaplus in the council of war.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.The advice of certain outlaws of Ionia and Lesbos.The cowardly resolution of Alcidas.He killeth his prisoners.The Samians sharply reprehend him.III. year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.Alcidas maketh haste from Ephesus homeward.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Paches pursueth the Peloponnesians, and is glad he overtaketh them not.

  29. In the meantime those forty galleys of Peloponnesus, which should have made all possible haste, trifled away the time about Peloponnesus; and making small speed in the rest of their navigation, arrived at Delos unknown to the Athenians at Athens. From thence sailing to Icarus and Myconus, they got first intelligence of the loss of Mytilene. But to know the truth more certainly, they went thence to Embatus1 in Erythræa. It was about the seventh day after the taking of Mytilene, that they arrived at Embatus; where understanding the certainty, they went to council about what they were to do upon the present occasion; and Teutiaplus, an Eleian, delivered his opinion to this effect: 30. “Alcidas, and the rest that have command of the Peloponnesians in this army, it were not amiss, in my opinion, to go to Mytilene as we are, before advice be given of our arrival. For in all probability we shall find the city, in respect they have but lately won it, very weakly guarded, and to the sea (where they expect no enemy, and we are chiefly strong) not guarded at all. It is also likely that their land soldiers are dispersed, some in one house and some in another, carelessly as victors. Therefore if we fall upon them suddenly and by night, I think, with the help of those within, if any be left there that will take our part, we may be able to possess ourselves of the city. And we shall never fear the danger, if we but think this: that all stratagems1 of war whatsoever are no more but such occasions as this, which if a commander avoid in himself, and take the advantage of them in the enemy, he shall for the most part have good success.” 31. Thus said he; but prevailed not with Alcidas. And some others, fugitives of Ionia and those Lesbians that were with him in the fleet, gave him counsel, that seeing he feared the danger of this, he should seize some city of Ionia, or Cume in Æolia; that having some town for the seat of the war, they might from thence force Ionia to revolt; whereof there was hope, because the Ionians would not be unwilling to see him there: and if2 they could withdraw from the Athenians this their great revenue, and withal put them to maintain a fleet against them, it would be a great exhausting of their treasure. They said besides, that they thought they should be able to get Pissuthnes to join with them in the war. But Alcidas rejected this advice likewise, inclining rather to this opinion, that since they were come too late to Mytilene, they were best to return speedily into Peloponnesus. 32. Whereupon putting off from Embatus, he sailed by the shore to Myonnesus of the Teians, and there slew most of the prisoners he had taken by the way. After this he put in at Ephesus: and thither came ambassadors to him from the Samians of Anæa3 , and told him that it was but an ill manner of setting the Grecians at liberty, to kill such as had not lift up their hands against him, nor were indeed enemies to the Peloponnesians, but confederates to the Athenians by constraint; and that unless he gave over that course, he would make few of the enemies his friends, but many now friends to become his enemies. Wherefore upon these words of the ambassadors he set the Chians and some others, all that he had left alive, at liberty1 . For when men saw their fleet, they never fled from it, but came unto them as to Athenians; little imagining that the Athenians being masters of the sea, the Peloponnesians durst have put over to Ionia. 33. From Ephesus Alcidas went away in haste, indeed fled; for he had been descried by the Salaminia and the Paralus2 , (which by chance were then in their course for Athens), whilst he lay at anchor about Claros; and fearing to be chased, kept the wide sea; meaning by his good will to touch no land till he came into Peloponnesus. But the news of them came to Paches from divers places3 , especially from Erythræa. For the cities of Ionia being unwalled, were afraid extremely lest the Peloponnesians sailing by, without intention to stay, should have pillaged them as they passed. But the Salaminia and the Paralus having seen him at Claros, brought the news themselves1 . And Paches thereupon made great haste after, and followed him as far as Latmos2 the island. But when he saw he could not reach him, he came back again; and thought he had a good turn, seeing he could not overtake those galleys upon the wide sea, that the same were not compelled, by being taken in some place near land, to fortify themselves, and so to give him occasion with guards and galleys to attend them.

  Paches restoreth Notium to the Colophonians, driven out by sedition.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Paches parleyeth with Hippias:his equivocation with Hippias, whom he put to death contrary to promise.

  34. As he came by in his return, he put in at Notium, a city of the Colophonians, into which the Colophonians came and inhabited, after the town above, through their own3 sedition, was taken by Itamanes and the barbarians. (This town was taken at the time when Attica was the second time invaded by the Peloponnesians). They then that came down and dwelt in Notium, falling again into sedition, the one part having procured some forces, Arcadians4 and barbarians, of Pissuthnes, kept them in a part of the town which they had severed from the rest with a wall; and there, with such of the Colophonians of the high town as being of the Medan faction entered with them, they governed the city at their pleasure1 : and the other part, which went out from these and were the fugitives, brought in Paches. He, when he had called out Hippias, captain of the Arcadians that were within the said wall, with promise, if they should not agree, to set him safe and sound within the wall again; and Hippias was thereupon come to him: committed him to custody, but without bonds; and withal assaulting the wall on a sudden, when they expected not, took it, and slew as many of the Arcadians and barbarians as were within: and when he had done, brought Hippias in again, according as he had promised; but after he had him there, laid hold on him and caused him to be shot to death: and restored Notium to the Colophonians, excluding only such as had medized. Afterwards the Athenians sent governors2 to Notium of their own; and having gathered together the Colophonians out of all cities whatsoever, seated them there under the law of the Athenians.

  Paches taketh Pyrrha, and Eressus: he apprehendeth Salæthus in Mytilene.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. The Athenians slay Salæthus, though he offer to withdraw the Peloponnesians from the siege of Platæa.The cruel decree of the Athenians in their passion against the Mytilenæans.The Athenians repent of their decree, and consult anew.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Cleon most popular and most violent.

  35. Paches, when he came back to Mytilene, took in Pyrrha and Eressus: and having found Salæthus the Lacedæmonian hidden in Mytilene, apprehended him, and sent him, together with those men he had put in custody at Tenedos, and whomsoever else he thought author of the revolt, to Athens. He likewise sent away the greatest part of his army; and with the rest stayed and settled the state of Mytilene and the rest of Lesbos, as he thought convenient. 36. These men, and Salæthus with them, being arrived at Athens, the Athenians slew Salæthus presently; though he made them many offers, and amongst other, to get the army of the Peloponnesians to rise from before Platæa; for it was yet besieged. But upon the rest they went to council; and in their passion decreed to put them to death, not only those men there present, but also all the men of Mytilene that were of age; and to make slaves of the women and children: laying to their charge the revolt itself, in that they revolted not being in subjection as others were: and withal the Peloponnesian fleet, which durst enter into Ionia to their aid, had not a little aggravated that commotion1 . For by that it seemed that the revolt was not made without much premeditation. They therefore sent a galley to inform Paches of their decree, with command to put the Mytilenæans presently to death. But the next day they felt a kind of repentance in themselves; and began to consider what a great and cruel decree it was, that not the authors only, but the whole city should be destroyed. Which when the ambassadors of the Mytilenæans that were there present, and such Athenians as favoured them, understood, they wrought with those that bare office2 , to bring the matter again into debate; wherein they easily prevailed, forasmuch as to them also it was well known, that the most of the city were desirous to have means to consult of the same anew. The assembly being presently met, amongst the opinions of divers others Cleon also, the son of Cleænetus, who in the former assembly had won to have them killed, being of all the citizens most violent and with the people at that time far the most powerful, stood forth and said in this manner:

  the oration of cleon.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.

  37. “I have often on other occasions thought a democracy uncapable of dominion over others; but most of all now for this your repentance concerning the Mytilenæans. For through your own mutual security and openness, you imagine the same also in your confederates; and consider not, that when at their persuasion you commit an error or relent upon compassion, you are softened thus to the danger of the commonwealth, not to the winning of the affections of your confederates: nor do you consider, that your government is a tyranny, and those that be subject to it are against their wills so, and are plotting continually against you; and obey you not for any good turn, which to your own detriment you shall do them, but only for that you exceed them in strength, and for no good will. But the worst mischief of all is this1 , that nothing we decree shall stand firm, and that we will not know, that a city with the worse laws, if immoveable, is better than one with good laws, when they be not binding; and that a plain wit accompanied with modesty, is more profitable to the state than dexterity with arrogance; and that the more ignorant2 sort of men do, for the most part, better regulate a commonwealth than they that are wiser. For these love to appear wiser than the laws, and1 in all public debatings to carry the victory, as the worthiest things wherein to show their wisdom; from whence most commonly proceedeth the ruin of the states they live in. Whereas the other sort, mistrusting their own wits, are content to be esteemed not so wise as the laws, and not able to carp at what is well spoken by another: and so making themselves equal judges rather than contenders for mastery, govern a state for the most part well. We therefore should do the like; and not be carried away with combats of eloquence and wit, to give such counsel to your multitude as in our own judgments we think not good.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.The nature of the multitude in council, lively set forth.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of of Cleon. Aggravation of the revolt of the Mytilenæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.

  38. “For my own part, I am of the opinion I was before; and I wonder at these men that have brought this matter of the Mytilenæans in question again, and thereby caused delay, which is the advantage only of them that do the injury. For the sufferer by this means comes upon the doer with his anger dulled; whereas revenge2 , the opposite of injury, is then greatest when it follows presently. I do wonder also, what he is that shall stand up now to contradict me, and shall think to prove that the injuries done us by the Mytilenæans are good for us, or that our calamities are any damage to our confederates. For certainly he must either trust in his eloquence, to make you believe that that which was decreed, was not decreed; or moved with lucre, must with some elaborate speech endeavour to seduce you. Now of such matches [of eloquence] as these, the city giveth the prizes to others; but the danger that hence proceedeth, she herself sustaineth. And of all this you yourselves are the cause, by the evil institution of these matches, in that you use to be spectators of words, and hearers of actions; beholding future actions in the words of them that speak well, as possible to come to pass; and actions already past in the orations of such as make the most of them, and that with such assurance, as if what you saw with your eyes were not more certain than what you hear related1 . You are excellent men for one to deceive with a speech of a new strain, but backward to follow any tried advice; slaves to strange things, contemners of things usual. You2 would every one chiefly give the best advice, but if you cannot, then you will contradict those that do. You would not be thought to come after with your opinion; but rather if any thing be acutely spoken, to applaud it first, and to appear ready apprehenders of what is spoken, even before it be out; but slow to preconceive the sequel of the same. You would hear, as one may say, somewhat else than what our life is conversant in; and yet you sufficiently understand not that that is before your eyes. And to speak plainly, overcome with the delight of the ear, you are rather like unto spectators sitting to hear the contentions of sophisters, than to men that deliberate of the state of a commonwealth. 39. To put you out of this humour, I say unto you, that the Mytilenæans have done us more injury than ever did any one city. For those that have revolted through the over–hard pressure of our government, or that have been compelled to it by the enemy, I pardon them. But they that were islanders and had their city walled, so as they needed not fear our enemies but only by sea; in which case also they were armed for them with sufficient provision of galleys; and they that were permitted to have their own laws and whom we principally honoured, and yet have done thus; what have they done but conspired against us, and rather warred upon us than revolted from us, (for a revolt is only of such as suffer violence), and joined with our bitterest enemies to destroy us? This is far worse than if they had warred against us for increasing of their own power1 . But these men would neither take example by their neighbour’s calamity, who are, all that revolted, already subdued by us; nor could their own present felicity make them afraid of changing it into misery: but being bold against future events, and aiming at matters above their strength, though below their desires, have taken arms against us, and preferred force before justice. For no sooner they thought they might get the victory, but immediately, though without injury done them, they rose against us. But with cities that come to great and unexpected prosperity, it is usual to turn insolent: whereas most commonly that prosperity which is attained according to the course of reason, is more firm than that which cometh unhoped for; and such cities1 , as one may say, do more easily keep off an adverse, than maintain a happy fortune. Indeed we should not formerly have done any honour more to the Mytilenæans than to the rest of our confederates; for then they had never come to this degree of insolence. For it is natural to men to contemn those that observe them, and to have in admiration such as will not give them way. Now therefore let them be punished according to their wicked dealing; and let not the fault be laid upon a few, and the people be absolved. For2 they have all alike taken arms against us: and the commons, if they had been constrained to it, might have fled hither, and have recovered their city afterwards again. But they, esteeming it the safer adventure to join with the few, are alike with them culpable of the revolt. Have also in consideration your confederates: and if you inflict the same punishment on them that revolt upon compulsion of the enemy, that you do on them that revolt of their own accord, who, think you, will not revolt, though on light pretence; seeing that speeding they win their liberty, and failing their case is not incurable? Besides, that against every city we must be at a new hazard, both of our persons and fortunes. Wherein with the best success, we recover but an exhausted city, and lose that wherein our strength lieth, the revenue of it; but miscarrying, we add these enemies to our former, and must spend that time in warring against our own confederates, which we needed to employ against the enemies we have already.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Cleon.

  40. “We must not therefore give our confederates hope of pardon, either impetrable by words or purchaseable by money, as if1 their errors were but such as are commonly incident to humanity. For these did us not an injury unwillingly, but wittingly conspired against us; whereas it ought to be involuntary whatsoever is pardonable. Therefore both then at first, and now again I maintain, that you ought not to alter your former decree, nor to offend in any of these three most disadvantageous things to empire, pity, delight in plausible speeches, and lenity. As for pity, it is just to show it on them that are like us, and will have pity again; but not upon such as not only would not have had pity upon us, but must also of necessity have been2 our enemies for ever hereafter. And for the rhetoricians that delight you with their orations, let them play their prizes in matters of less weight, and not in such wherein the city for a little pleasure must suffer a great damage, but they for their well speaking must well have3 . Lastly for lenity, it is to be used towards those that will be our friends hereafter, rather than towards such, as4 being suffered to live, will still be as they are, not a jot the less our enemies. In sum I say only this, that if you follow my advice, you shall do that which is both just in respect of the Mytilenæans, and profitable for yourselves: whereas if you decree otherwise, you do not gratify them, but condemn yourselves. For if these have justly revolted, you must unjustly have had dominion over them. Nay1 though your dominion be against reason, yet if you resolve to hold it, you must also, as a matter conducing thereunto, against reason punish them; or else you must give your dominion over, that you may be good without danger. But if you consider what was likely they would have done to you, if they had prevailed, you cannot but think them worthy the same punishment; nor be less sensible, you that have escaped, than they that have conspired; especially they having done the injury first. For such as do an injury without precedent cause, persecute most, and even to the death, him they have done it to; as jealous of the danger his remaining enemy may create him: for he that is wronged without cause, and escapeth, will commonly be more cruel than if it were against any enemy on equal quarrel. Let us not therefore betray ourselves, but in contemplation2 of what you were near suffering, and how you once prized above all things else to have them in your power, requite them now accordingly. Be not softened at the sight of their present estate, nor forget the danger that hung over our own heads so lately. Give not only unto these their deserved punishment, but also unto the rest of our confederates a clear example, that death is their sentence whensoever they shall rebel. Which when they know, you shall the less often have occasion to neglect your enemies, and fight against your own confederates.”

  41. To this purpose spake Cleon. After him Diodotus the son of Eucrates, who also in the former assembly opposed most the putting of the Mytilenæans to death, stood forth and spake as followeth.

  the oration of diodotus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1 2. Oration of Diodotus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus.

  42. “I will neither blame those who have propounded the business of the Mytilenæans to be again debated, nor commend those that find fault with often consulting in affairs of great importance. But I am of opinion that nothing is so contrary to good counsel as these two, haste and anger: whereof the one is ever accompanied with madness, and the other with want of judgment1 . And whosoever maintaineth that words are not instructors to deeds, either he is not wise, or doth it upon some private interest of his own. Not wise, if he think that future, and not apparent things, may be demonstrated otherwise than by words: interested, if desiring to carry an ill matter, and knowing that a bad cause will not bear a good speech, he go about to deter his opposers and hearers by a good calumniation. But they of all others are most intolerable, that2 when men give public advice, will accuse them also of bribery. For if they charged a man with no more but ignorance, when he had spoken in vain, he might yet depart with the opinion of1 a fool. But when they impute corruption also, if his counsel take place he is still suspected; and if it do not take place, he shall be held not only a fool, but also void of honesty. The commonwealth gets no good by such courses: for through fear hereof it will want counsellors. And the state would do their business for the most part well, if this kind of citizens were they that had least ability in speaking; for they should then persuade the city to the fewer errors. For a good statesman should not go about to terrify those that contradict him, but2 rather to make good his counsel upon liberty of speech. And a wise state ought not either to add unto, or on the other side, to derogate from the honour of him that giveth good advice; nor3 yet punish, nay nor disgrace the man whose counsel they receive not. And then, neither would he that lighteth on good advice4 , deliver anything against his own conscience, out of ambition of further honour and to please the auditory; nor he that doth not, covet thereupon, by gratifying the people some way or other, that he also may endear them5 . 43. But we do here the contrary: and besides, if any man be suspected of corruption, though he give the best counsel that can be given, yet through envy, for this uncertain opinion of his gain, we lose a certain benefit to the commonwealth. And our custom is to hold good counsel, given1 suddenly, no less suspect then bad: by which means, as he that gives the most dangerous counsel, must get the same received by fraud; so also he that gives the most sound advice, is forced by lying to get himself believed. So that the commonwealth is it alone, which by reason of these suspicious2 imaginations, no man can possibly benefit by the plain and open way without artifice. For if any man shall do a manifest good unto the commonwealth, he shall presently be suspected of some secret gain unto himself in particular. We therefore, that in the most important affairs and amidst3 these jealousies do give our advice, have need to foresee further than you, that look not far; and the rather, because we stand accountable for our counsel4 , and you are to render no account of your hearing it. For if the persuader and the persuaded had equal harm, you would be the more moderate judges. But now, according to the passion that takes you, when at any time your affairs miscarry, you punish the sentence of that one only that gave the counsel, not the many sentences of your own that were in fault as well as his.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus

  44. “For my own part, I stood not forth with any purpose of contradiction in the business of the Mytilenæans, nor to accuse any man. For we contend not now, if we be wise, about the injury done by them, but about the wisest counsel for ourselves. For how great soever be their fault, yet I would never advise to have them put to death, unless it be for our profit; [nor yet would I pardon them1 ,] though they were pardonable, unless it be good for the commonwealth. And in my opinion, our deliberation now is of the future, rather than of the present. And whereas Cleon2 contendeth, that it will be profitable for the future, to put them to death, in that it will keep the rest from rebelling: I contending likewise for the future3 , affirm the contrary. And I desire you not to reject the profit of my advice for the fair pretexts of his; which4 agreeing more with your present anger against the Mytilenæans, may quickly perhaps win your consent. We plead not judicially with the Mytilenæans so as to need arguments of equity, but we consult of them, which way we may serve ourselves of them to our most advantage hereafter. 45. I say therefore, that death hath been in states ordained for a punishment of many offences, and those not so great, but far less than this. Yet encouraged by hope, men hazard themselves: nor did any man ever yet enter into a practice, which he knew he could not go through with. And a city when it revolteth, supposeth itself to be better furnished, either of themselves or by their confederates, than it is, or else it would never take the enterprise in hand. They have it by nature, both men and cities, to commit offences; nor is there any law that can prevent it. For men have gone over all degrees of punishment, augmenting1 them still, in hope to be less annoyed by malefactors. And it is likely that gentler punishments were inflicted of old, even upon the most heinous crimes; but that in tract of time, men continuing to transgress, they were extended afterwards to the taking away of life; and yet they still transgress. And therefore either some greater terror than death must be devised, or death will not be enough for coercion. For poverty will always add boldness to necessity; and wealth, covetousness to pride and contempt. And the other [middle] fortunes, they also through human passion, according as they are severally subject to some insuperable one or other, impel men to danger. But hope and desire2 work this effect in all estates. And this as the leader, that as the companion; this contriving the enterprize, that suggesting the success, are the cause of most crimes that are committed: and being least discerned, are more mischievous than evils seen. Besides these two, fortune also puts men forward as much as anything else1 . For presenting herself sometimes unlooked for, she provoketh some to adventure, though not provided as they ought for the purpose; and specially cities, because they venture for the greatest matters, as liberty and dominion over others; and amongst a generality, every one, though without reason, somewhat the more magnifies himself in particular2 . In a word, it is a thing impossible, and of great simplicity to believe, when human nature is earnestly bent to do a thing, that by force of law or any other danger it can be diverted.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of Diodotus.

  46. “We must not therefore, relying on the security of capital punishment, decree the worst3 against them, nor make them desperate, as if there were no place to repent, and as soon as they can, to cancel their offence. For observe: if a city revolted should know it could not hold out, it would now compound, whilst it were able both to pay us our charges for the present and our tribute for the time to come. But the way that Cleon prescribeth, what city, think you, would not provide itself better than this did; and endure the siege to the very last, if to compound late and soon be all one? And how can it be but detriment to us, to be at charge of long sieges through their obstinacy, and when we have taken a city, to find it exhausted, and to lose the revenue of it for the future? And this revenue is the only strength we have against our enemies. We are not then to be1 exact judges in the punition of offenders, but to look rather how by their moderate punishment we may have our confederate cities, such as they may be able to pay us tribute; and not think to keep them in awe by the rigour of laws, but by the providence of our own actions. But we to the contrary, when we recover a city, which having been free and held under our obedience by force hath revolted justly2 , think now that we ought to inflict some cruel punishment upon them. Whereas we ought rather, not mightily to punish a free city revolted, but mightily to look to it before it revolt, and to prevent the intention of it; but3 when we have overcome them, to lay the fault upon as few as we can. 47. Consider also, if you follow the advice of Cleon, how much you shall offend likewise in this other point. For in all your4 cities the commonalty are now your friends, and either revolt not with the few, or if they be compelled to it by force, they presently turn enemies to them that caused the revolt: whereby when you go to war, you have the commons of the adverse city on your side. But if you shall destroy the commonalty of the Mytilenæans, which did neither partake of the revolt, and as soon as they were armed presently delivered the city into your hands: you shall first do unjustly, to kill such as have done you service; and you shall effect a work besides, which the great men do everywhere most desire. For when they have made a city to revolt, they shall have the people presently on their side; you having foreshewn them by the example, that both the guilty and not guilty must undergo the same punishment. Whereas indeed though they were guilty, yet we ought to dissemble it; to the end that the only party now our friend, may not become our enemy. And for the assuring of our dominion, I think it far more profitable voluntarily to put up an injury, than justly to destroy such as we should not. And that same both justice and profit of revenge, alleged by Cleon, can never possibly be found together in the1 same thing.

  48. “You therefore, upon knowledge that this is the best course, not upon compassion or lenity, (for neither would I have you won by that), but upon consideration of what hath been advised, be ruled by me, and proceed to judgment at your own leisure against those whom Paches hath sent hither as guilty, and suffer the rest to enjoy their city. For that will be both good for the future, and also of present terror to the enemy. For he that consulteth wisely, is a sorer enemy than he that assaulteth with the strength of action unadvisedly.”

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. The sentence of Diodotus taketh place.A galley sent out after the former, with a sentence of mercy.The speed of this latter galley to overtake the former that carried the decree of death.The commons of Mytilene very near destruction

  49. Thus spake Diodotus. After these two opinions were delivered, the one most opposite to the other, the Athenians were2 at contention which they should decree; and at the holding up of hands they were both sides almost equal: but yet the sentence of Diodotus prevailed. Whereupon they presently in haste sent away another galley, lest not arriving before the former1 they should find the city already destroyed. The first galley set forth before the second a day and a night. But the Mytilenæan ambassadors having furnished this latter with wine and barley cakes, and promised them great rewards if they overtook the other galley, they rowed diligently, at one and the same time both plying their oars, and taking their refection of the said barley cakes steeped in wine and oil; and by turns part of them slept2 , and the other part rowed. It happened also that there blew no wind against them; and the former galley making no great haste, as going on so sad an errand, whereas the former proceeded3 in the manner before mentioned, arrived indeed first, but only so much as Paches had read the sentence, and prepared4 to execute what they had decreed. But presently after came in the other galley, and saved the city from being destroyed. So near were the Mytilenæans to the danger.

  About a thousand principal authors of the revolt executed.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  50. But those whom Paches had sent home as most culpable of the revolt, the Athenians, as Cleon had advised, put to death; being in number somewhat above a thousand. They also razed the walls of Mytilene, and took from them all their galleys. After which they imposed on the Lesbians no more tribute, but having divided their land (all but that of the Methymnæans) into three thousand parts, three hundred of those parts [of the choicest land] they consecrated to the gods1 . And for the rest, they sent men by lot out of their own city to possess it; of whom the Lesbians at the rent of two minæ of silver yearly upon a lot, had the land again to be husbanded by themselves. The Athenians took in all such towns2 also, as the Mytilenæans were masters of in the continent; which were afterwards made subjects to the people of Athens. Thus ended the business touching Lesbos.

  Nicias taketh Minoa, an island adjacent to Megara.III. year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  51. The same summer, after the recovery of Lesbos, the Athenians, under the conduct of Nicias the son of Niceratus, made war on Minoa, an island adjacent to Megara. For the Megareans had built a tower in it, and served themselves of the island for a place of garrison. But Nicias desired that the Athenians might keep their watch upon Megara in that island, as being nearer, and no more at Budorum and Salamis; to the end that the Peloponnesians might not go out thence with their galleys undescried, nor send out pirates, as they had formerly done, and to prohibit the importation of all things to the Megareans by sea. Wherefore when he had first taken two towers that stood out from Nisæa1 , with engines applied from the sea, and so made a free entrance for his galleys between the island and the firm land, he took it in with a wall also from the continent, in that part where it might receive aid by a bridge over the marshes; for it was not far distant from the main land. And, that being in few days finished, he built a fort in the island itself, and leaving there a garrison, carried the rest of his army back.

  The Platæans yield the city.The Lacedæmonians refuse to take Platæa by force, but will have it by voluntary surrender.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.Unjust proceedings of the Lacedæmonians.

  52. It happened also about the same time of this summer, that the Platæans, having spent their victual and being unable longer to hold out, yielded their city in this manner to the Peloponnesians. The Peloponnesians assaulted the walls, but they within were unable to fight. Whereupon the Lacedæmonian commander, perceiving their weakness, would not take the place by force; (for he had command to that purpose from Lacedæmon, to the end that if they should ever make peace with the Athenians, with conditions of mutual restitution of such cities as on either side had been taken by war, Platæa, as having come in of its own accord, might not be thereby recoverable); but sent a herald to them, who demanded1 whether or no they would give up their city voluntarily into the hands of the Lacedæmonians, and take them for their judges, with power to punish the offenders, but none without form of justice. So said the herald: and they (for they were now at the weakest) delivered up the city accordingly. So the Peloponnesians gave the Platæans food for certain days, till the judges, which were five, should arrive2 from Lacedæmon. And when they were come, no accusation was exhibited; but calling them man by man, they asked of every one only this question: whether they had done to the Lacedæmonians and their confederates in this war any good service. But the Platæans having sued to make their answer more at large, and having appointed Astymachus the son of Asopolaus, and Lacon3 the son of Aeimnestus (who had been heretofore the host of the Lacedæmonians) for their speakers, said as followeth:

  the oration of the platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.

  53. “Men of Lacedæmon, relying upon you we yielded up our city, not expecting to undergo this, but some more legal manner of proceeding; and we agreed not to stand to the judgment of others, (as now we do1 ), but of yourselves only; conceiving we should so obtain the better justice. But now we fear we have been deceived in both. For we have reason to suspect, both that the trial is capital, and you the judges partial: gathering so much both from that, that there hath not been presented any accusation to which we might answer2 ; and also from this, that the interrogatory is short, and such, as if we answer to it with truth, we shall speak against ourselves, and be easily convinced, if we lie. But since we are on all hands in a strait, we are forced (and it seems our safest way) to try3 what we can obtain by pleading. For, for men in our case, the speech not spoken may give occasion to some to think, that spoken it had preserved us. But besides other inconveniences, the means also of persuasion go ill on our side. For if we had not known one another, we might have helped ourselves by producing testimony in things you knew not. Whereas now, all that we shall say, will be before men that know already what it is. And we fear, not that you mean, because you know us inferior in virtue to yourselves4 , to make that a crime; but lest you bring us to a judgment already judged, to gratify somebody else. 54. Nevertheless, we will produce our reasons of equity against the quarrel of the Thebans, and withal make mention of our services done both to you and to the rest of Greece; and make trial, if by any means we can persuade you. As to that short interrogatory, whether we have any way done good in this present war to the Lacedæmonians aud their confederates, or not: if you ask us as enemies, we say, that if we have done them no good, we have also done them no wrong: if you ask us as friends, then we say, that they rather have done us the injury, in that they made war upon us1 . But in the time of the peace, and in the war against the Medes, we behaved ourselves well: for the one we brake2 not first, and in the other, we were the only Bœotians that joined with you for the delivery of Greece. For though we dwell up in the land, yet we fought by sea at Artemisium; and in the battle fought in this our own territory, we were with you3 ; and whatsoever dangers the Grecians in those times underwent, we were partakers of all, even beyond our strength. And unto you, Lacedæmonians, in particular, when Sparta was in greatest affright after the earthquake, upon the rebellion of the Helotes and seizing of Ithome1 , we sent the third part of our power to assist you; which you have no reason to forget. 55. Such then we showed ourselves in those ancient and most important affairs. It is true, we have been your enemies since; but for that, you are to blame yourselves. For when oppressed by the Thebans we sought league of you, you rejected us; and bade us go to the Athenians that were nearer hand, yourselves being far off2 . Nevertheless, you neither have in this war, nor were to have suffered at our hands any thing that misbecame us. And if we denied to revolt from the Athenians when you bade us, we did you no injury in it. For they both aided us against the Thebans, when you shrunk from us; and it was now no more any honesty to betray them; especially having been well used by them, and we ourselves having sought their league, and being made denizens3 also of their city. Nay, we ought rather to have followed them in all their commands with alacrity. When you or the Athenians have the leading of the confederates, if evil be done, not they that follow are culpable, but you that lead to the evil.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.

  56. “The Thebans have done us many other injuries; but this last, which is the cause of what we now suffer, you yourselves know what it was. For we avenged us but justly of those that in time of peace, and upon the day of our novilunial sacrifice, had surprised our city; and by the law of all nations it is lawful to repel an assailing enemy; and therefore there is no reason you should punish us now for them. For if you shall measure justice by your and their present benefit in the war1 , it will manifestly appear, that you are not judges of the truth, but respecters only of your profit. And yet if the Thebans seem profitable to you now, we and the rest of the Grecians were more1 profitable to you then, when you were in greater danger. For though the Thebans are now on your side, when you invade others; yet at that time when the barbarian came in to impose servitude on all, they were on his. It is but justice, that with our present offence (if we have committed any) you compare our forwardness then; which you will find both greater than our fault, and augmented also by the circumstance of such a season, when it was rare to find any Grecian that durst oppose his valour to Xerxes’ power; and when they were most commended, not that with safety helped to further his invasion2 , but that adventured to do what was most honest, though with danger. But we being of that number, and honoured for it amongst the first, are afraid lest the same shall be now a cause of our destruction; as having chosen rather to follow the Athenians justly, than you profitably. But you should ever have the same opinion in the same case; and think this only to be profitable, that doing what is useful for the present occasion, you reserve withal a constant acknowledgment of the virtue of your good confederates. 57. Consider also, that you are an example of honest dealing to the most of the Grecians. Now if you shall decree otherwise than is just, (for3 this judgment of yours is conspicuous, you that be praised, against us that be not blamed), take heed that they do not dislike that good men should undergo an unjust sentence, though at the hands of better men; or that the spoil of us that have done the Grecians service, should be dedicated in their temples. For it will be thought a horrible matter, that Platæa should be destroyed by Lacedæmonians; and that you, whereas your fathers in honour of our valour inscribed the name of our city on the tripod at Delphi, should now blot it out1 of all Greece, to gratify the Thebans. For we have proceeded to such a degree of calamity, that if the Medes had prevailed, we must have2 perished then; and now the Thebans have overcome us again in you, who were before our greatest friends; and have put us to two great hazards, one before, of famishing if we yielded not, and another now, of a capital sentence. And we Platæans, who even beyond our strength have been zealous in the defence of the Grecians, are now abandoned and left unrelieved by them all. 58. But3 we beseech you for those gods’ sakes, in whose names once we made mutual league, and for our valour’s sake shown in the behalf of the Grecians, to be moved towards us; and, if at the persuasion of the Thebans you have determined aught against us, to change your minds, and reciprocally to require at the hands of the Thebans this courtesy, that whom you ought to spare, they would be contented not to kill, and so receive an honest benefit in recompense of a wicked one; and not to bestow pleasure upon others, and receive wickedness1 upon yourselves in exchange. For though to take away our lives be a matter quickly done, yet to make the infamy of it cease will be work enough. For being none of your enemies, but well–willers, and such as have entered into the war upon constraint, you cannot put us to death with justice. Therefore if you will judge uncorruptly, you ought to secure our persons; and to remember that you received us by our own voluntary submission, and with hands upheld, (and it is the law among Grecians, not to put such to death), besides that we have from time to time2 been beneficial to you. For look upon the sepulchres of your fathers, whom, slain by the Medes and buried in this territory of ours, we have yearly honoured at the public charge both with vestments3 and other rites, and of such things as our land hath produced, we have offered unto them the first fruits of it all, as friends in an amicable land, and confederates, use to do to those that have formerly been their fellows in arms. But now by a wrong sentence, you shall do the contrary of this. For consider this. Pausanias, as he thought, interred these men in amicable ground, and amongst their friends. But you, if you slay us, and of Platæis make Thebais, what do you but leave your fathers and kindred, deprived of the honours they now have, in an hostile territory and amongst the very men that slew them? And moreover, put into servitude that soil whereon the Grecians were put into liberty? And make desolate the temples wherein they prayed when they prevailed against the Medes? And destroy the patrial sacrifices which were instituted by the builders and founders of the same?

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Platæans.

  59. “These things are not for your glory, men of Lacedæmon; nor to violate the common institutions of Greece and wrong your progenitors, nor to destroy us that have done you service for the hatred of another, when you have received no injury from us yourselves: but to spare our lives, to relent, to have a moderate compassion, in contemplation not only of the greatness of the punishment, but also of who we are that must suffer, and of the uncertainty where calamity may light, and that undeservedly. Which we1 , as becometh us and our need compelleth us to do, cry aloud unto the common gods of Greece to persuade you unto; producing the oath sworn by your fathers, to put you in mind; and also we become here sanctuary men at the sepulchres of your fathers, crying out upon the dead, not to suffer themselves to be in the power of the Thebans, nor to let their greatest friends be betrayed into the hands of their greatest enemies; remembering them of that day, upon which though we have done glorious acts in their company, yet we are in danger at this day of most miserable suffering. But to make an end of speaking, (which is, as necessary, so most bitter to men in our case, because the hazard of our lives cometh so soon after), for a conclusion we say, that it was not to the Thebans that we rendered our city, (for we would rather have died of famine, the most base perdition of all other), but we came out on trust in you. And it is but justice, that if we cannot persuade you, you should set us again in the estate we were in, and let us undergo the danger at our own election. Also we require1 you, men of Lacedæmon, not only not to deliver us Platæans, who have been most zealous in the service of the Grecians, especially being sanctuary men, out of your own hands and your own trust into the hands of our most mortal enemies the Thebans, but also to be our saviours, and not to destroy us utterly, you that set at liberty all other Grecians.”

  60. Thus spake the Platæans. But the Thebans, fearing lest the Lacedæmonians might relent at their oration, stood forth and said, that since the Platæans had had the liberty of a longer speech, (which they thought they should not), than for answer to the question was necessary, they also desired to speak; and being commanded to say on, spake to this effect:

  the oration of the thebans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.

  61. “If these men had answered briefly to the question, and not both turned against us with an accusation, and also out of the purpose, and wherein they were not charged, made much apology and commendation of themselves in things unquestioned, we had never asked leave to speak. But as it is, we are to the one point to answer, and to confute the other, that neither the fault of us, nor their own reputation may do them good; but your sentence may be guided by hearing of the truth of both. The quarrel between us and them arose at first from this; that when we had built Platæa last1 of all the cities of Bœotia, together with some other places which, having driven out the promiscuous nations, we had then in our dominion, they would not (as was ordained at first) allow us to be their leaders, but being the only men of all the Bœotians that transgressed the common ordinance of the country2 , when they should have been compelled to their duty they turned unto the Athenians, and together with them did us many evils; for which they likewise suffered as many from us. 62. But when the barbarian invaded Greece, then, say they, that they of all the Bœotians only also medized not. And this is the thing wherein they both glory most themselves, and most detract from us. Now we confess they medized not; because also the Athenians did not. Nevertheless, when the Athenians afterwards invaded the rest of the Grecians, in the same kind then of all the Bœotians they only Atticized. But take now into your consideration withal, what form of government we were in both the one and the other, when we did this. For then had we our city governed, neither by an oligarchy with laws common to all, nor by a democracy; but the state was managed by a few with authority absolute, than which there is nothing more contrary to laws and moderation, nor more approaching unto tyranny. And these few, hoping yet further, if the Medes prevailed, to increase their own power, kept the people under and furthered the coming in of the barbarian. And so did the whole city, but it was not then master of itself; nor doth it deserve to be upbraided with what it did when they had no laws [but were at the will of others]. But when the Medes were gone and our city had laws1 , consider now, when the Athenians attempted to subdue all Greece, and this territory of ours with the rest, wherein through sedition they had gotten many places already, whether by giving them battle at Coroneia and defeating them, we delivered not Bœotia from servitude then, and do not also now with much zeal assist you in the asserting of the rest, and find not more horses and more provision of war than any of the confederates besides. And so much be spoken by way of apology to our medizing.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.

  63. “And we will endeavour to prove now, that the Grecians have been rather wronged by you, and that you are more worthy of all manner of punishment. You became, you say, confederates and denizens of Athens, for to be righted against us. Against1 us then only the Athenians should have come with you, and not you with them have gone to the invasion of the rest; especially when if the Athenians would have led you whither you would not, you had the league of the Lacedæmonians made with you against the Medes, which you so often object, to have resorted unto; which was sufficient not only to have protected you from us, but, which is the main matter, to have secured you to take what course you had pleased. But voluntarily, and without constraint, you rather chose to follow the Athenians. And you say, it had been a dishonest thing to have betrayed your benefactors. But it is more dishonest, and more unjust by far, to betray the Grecians universally, to2 whom you have sworn, than to betray the Athenians alone; especially when these go about to deliver Greece from subjection, and the other to subdue it. Besides, the requital you make the Athenians is not proportionable, nor free from dishonesty. For you, as you say yourselves, brought in the Athenians to right you against injuries; and you cooperate with them in injuring others. And howsoever, it is not so dishonest to leave a benefit unrequited, as to make such a requital, as though justly due cannot be justly done1 . 64. But you have made it apparent, that even then it was not for the Grecians’ sake that you alone of all the Bœotians medized not, but because the Athenians did not; yet now you that would do as the Athenians did, and contrary to what the Grecians did, claim favour of these, for what you did for the others’ sake2 . But there is no reason for that: but as you have chosen the Athenians, so let them help you in this trial. And produce not the oath3 of the former league, as if that should save you now. For you have relinquished it: and contrary to the same, have rather helped the Athenians to subdue the Æginetæ and others4 , than hindered them from it. And this you not only did voluntarily, and having laws the same you have now, and none forcing you to it, as there did us; but also rejected our last invitation, a little before the shutting up of your city, to quietness and neutrality. Who can therefore more deservedly be hated of the Grecians in general, than you, that pretend honesty1 to their ruin? And those acts wherein formerly, as you say, you have been beneficial to the Grecians, you have now made apparent to be none of yours, and made true proof of what your own nature inclines you to. For with Athenians you have walked in the way of injustice. And thus much we have laid open touching our involuntary medizing, and your voluntary atticizing.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.

  65. “And for this last injury you charge us with, namely, the unlawful invading of your city in time of peace and of your new–moon2 sacrifice, we do not think, no not in this action, that we have offended so much as you yourselves. For though we had done unjustly, if we had assaulted your city or wasted your territory as enemies, of our own accord; yet when the prime men of your own city, both for wealth and nobility, willing to discharge you of foreign league, and conform you to the common institutions3 of all Bœotia, did of their own accord call us in, wherein lieth the injury then? For they that lead transgress, rather than they that follow. But as we conceive, neither they nor we have transgressed at all. But being citizens as well as you, and having more to hazard, they opened their own gates and took us into the city as friends, not as enemies, with intention to keep the ill–affected from being worse, and to do right to the good: taking upon them to be moderators of your councils; and not to deprive the city of your persons, but to reduce you into one body with the rest of your kindred; and not to engage you in hostility with any, but to settle you in peace with all. 66. And for an argument that we did not this as enemies; we did harm to no man, but proclaimed, that if any man were willing to have the city governed after the1 common form of all Bœotia, he should come to us. And you came willingly at first, and were quiet2 . But afterwards, when you knew we were but few, though we might seem to have done somewhat more than was fit to do without the consent of your multitude, you did not by us as we did by you, first innovate nothing in fact, and then with words persuade us to go forth again; but contrary to the composition, assaulted us. And for those men you slew in the affray, we grieve not so much; for they suffered by a kind of law. But to kill those that held up their hands for mercy, whom taken alive you afterwards had promised to spare, was not this a horrible cruelty3 ? You committed in this business three crimes, one in the neck of another; first the breach of the composition, then the death that followed of our men, and thirdly the falsifying of your promise to save them, if we did no hurt to any thing of yours in the fields. And yet you say that we are the transgressors; and that you for your parts deserve not to undergo a judgment. But it is otherwise. And if these men judge aright, you shall be punished now for all your1 crimes at once.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Oration of the Thebans.

  67. “We have herein, men of Lacedæmon, been thus large both for your sakes and ours: for yours, to let you see, that if you condemn them, it will be no injustice; for ours, that the equity of our revenge may the better appear. Be2 not moved with the recital of their virtues of old, if any they had; which though they ought to help the wronged, should double the punishment of such as commit wickedness, because their offence doth not become them. Nor let them fare ever the better for their lamentation or your compassion, when they cry out upon your fathers’ sepulchres and their own want of friends. For we on the other side affirm, that the youth of our city suffered harder measure from them: and their fathers, partly slain at Coroneia in bringing Bœotia to your confederation, and partly alive and now old and deprived of their children, make far juster supplication to you for revenge. And pity belongeth to such as suffer undeservedly; but on the contrary, when men are worthily punished, as these are, it is to be rejoiced at. And for their present want of friends, they may thank themselves. For of their own accord they rejected the better confederates. And the law hath been broken by them, without precedent wrong from us, in that they condemned our men spitefully rather than judicially; in which point we shall now come short of requiting them: for they shall suffer legally, and not, as they say they do, with hands upheld from battle, but as men that have put themselves upon trial by consent. Maintain therefore, ye Lacedæmonians, the law of the Grecians against these men that have transgressed it; and give unto us, that have suffered contrary to the law, the just recompense of our alacrity in your service. And let not the words of these give us a repulse from you; but set up an example to the Grecians, by1 presenting [unto these men] a trial, not of words, but of facts; which, if they be good, a short narration of them will serve the turn; if ill, compt orations do but veil them. But if such as have the authority, as you have now, would collect the matter to a head, and according as any man should make answer thereunto, so proceed to sentence2 , men would be less in the search of fair speeches, wherewith to excuse the foulness of their actions.”

  The Lacedæmonians proceed with their question.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.The Platæans are put to death: twenty–five Athenians slain with them.Platæa pulled down.The Lacedæmonians in their sentence upon the Platæans have more respect to their own profit, than to the merit of the cause.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  68. Thus spake the Thebans. And the Lacedæmonian judges, conceiving their interrogatory to stand well, namely, whether they had received any benefit by them or not, in this present war: for they had indeed3 intreated them both at other times, according to the ancient league of Pausanias after the Medan war, to stand neutral; and also a little before the siege the Platæans had rejected their proposition, of being common friends to both sides according to the same league: taking themselves4 , in respect of these their just offers, to be now discharged of the league, and to have received evil at their hands, caused them one by one to be brought forth, and having asked them again the same question, whether they had any way benefited the Lacedæmonians and their confederates in this present war or not; as they answered Not, led them aside and slew them, not exempting any. Of the Platæans themselves they slew no less than two hundred; of the Athenians who were besieged with them, twenty–five. The women they made slaves; and the Thebans assigned the city for a year, or thereabouts, for a habitation to such Megareans as in sedition had been driven from their own, and to all those Platæans which, living, were of the Theban faction. But afterwards, pulling it all down to the very foundation, they built a hospital1 in the place, near the temple of Juno, of two hundred foot diameter, with chambers on every side in circle both above and below; using therein the roofs and doors of the Platæans’ buildings. And of the rest of the stuff that was in the city–wall, as brass and iron, they made bedsteads, and dedicated them to Juno; to whom also they built a stone chapel of a hundred foot over. The land they confiscated, and set it to farm afterwards for ten years to the Thebans. So far were the Lacedæmonians alienated from the Platæans, especially, or rather altogether for the Thebans’ sake2 , whom they thought useful to them in the war now on foot. So ended the business at Platæa, in the fourscore and thirteenth year after their league made with the Athenians.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. The 40 galleys, with Alcidas, come weather–beaten home.

  69. The forty galleys of Peloponnesus, which having been sent to aid the Lesbians fled, as hath been related, through the wide sea, chased by the Athenians and tossed by storms on the coast of Crete, came thence dispersed into Peloponnesus: and found thirteen galleys, Leucadians and Ambraciotes, in the haven of Cyllene, with Brasidas the son of Tellis, come hither to be of council with Alcidas. For the Lacedæmonians, seeing they failed of Lesbos, determined with their fleet augmented to sail to Corcyra, which was in sedition; (there being but twelve Athenian galleys about Naupactus); to the end they might be there before the supply of a greater fleet should come from Athens. So Brasidas and Alcidas employed themselves in that.

  The sedition of Corcyra occasioned by the captives that come from Corinth:who persuade the renouncing of their league with Athens.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.Peithias, one of the Athenian faction, accused and absolved, accuseth some of the other faction.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.Peithias and others slain in the senate.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  70. The sedition in Corcyra began upon the coming home of those captives, which were taken in the battles by sea at Epidamnus, and released afterwards by the Corinthians, at the ransom, as was voiced, of eighty talents1 , for which they had given security to their hosts; but in fact, for that they had persuaded the Corinthians, that they would put Corcyra into their power. These men going from man to man, solicited1 the city to revolt from the Athenians. And two galleys being now come in, one of Athens, another of Corinth, with ambassadors from both those states, the Corcyræans upon audience of them both, decreed to hold the Athenians for their confederates on2 articles agreed on; but withal to remain friends to the Peloponnesians, as they had formerly been. There was one Peithias, voluntary host3 of the Athenians, and that had been principal magistrate of the people. Him these men called into judgment, and laid to his charge a practice to bring the city into the servitude of the Athenians. He again, being acquit, called in question five of the wealthiest of the same men, saying, they had cut certain stakes4 in the ground belonging to the temples both of Jupiter and of Alcinus; upon every of which there lay a penalty of a stater1 . And the cause going against them, they took sanctuary in the temples, to the end, the sum being great, they might pay it by portions [as they should be taxed]. But Peithias (for he was also of the senate) obtained that the law should proceed. These five being by the law excluded the senate2 , and understanding that Peithias, as long as he was a senator, would cause the people to hold for friends and foes the same that were so to the Athenians, conspired with the rest3 , and armed with daggers suddenly brake into the senate–house, and slew both Peithias and others, as well private men as senators, to the number of about sixty persons; only a few of those of Peithias his faction, escaped in the Athenian galley that lay yet in the harbour. 71. When they had done this, and called the Corcyræans to an assembly, they told them, that what they had done was for the best, and that they should not be now in bondage to the Athenians: and for the future they advised them to be in quiet, and to receive neither party with more than one galley at once, and to take them for enemies if they were more. And when they had spoken, forced them to decree it accordingly. They also presently sent ambassadors to Athens, both to show that it was fit for them to do4 what they had done, and also to dissuade such Corcyræans as were fled thither of the other faction, from doing any thing to their prejudice, for fear the matter should fall into a relapse.

  The Lacedæmonian faction assail the commonsThe commons overcome the oligarchicals.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  72. When these arrived, the Athenians apprehended both the ambassadors themselves, as seditious persons, and also all those Corcyræans whom they had there prevailed with; and sent them to custody in Ægina. In the meantime, upon the coming in of a galley of Corinth with ambassadors from Lacedæmon, those that managed the state assailed the commons, and overcame them in fight. And night coming on, the commons fled into the citadel and the higher parts of the city; where they rallied themselves and encamped, and made themselves masters of the haven called the Hillaique haven. But the nobility seized on the marketplace, (where also the most of them dwelt), and on the haven on the side toward the continent1 . 73. The next day they skirmished a little with shot; and both parts sent abroad into the villages2 to solicit the slaves with promise of liberty, to take their parts. And the greatest part of the slaves took part with the commons; and the other side had an aid of eight hundred men from the continent. 74. The next day but one they fought again, and the people had the victory, having the odds both in strength of places and in number of men. And the women also manfully assisted them, throwing tiles from the houses, and enduring the tumult even beyond the condition of their sex. The few began to fly about twilight3 , and fearing lest the people should even with their shout1 take the arsenal, and so come on and put them to the sword, to stop their passage set fire on the houses in circle about the market–place and upon others near it. Much goods of merchants was hereby burnt, and the whole city, if the wind had risen and carried the flame that way, had been in danger to have been destroyed. When the people had gotten the victory, the Corinthian galley stole away; and most of the auxiliaries gat over privily into the continent.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  75. The next day Nicostratus, the son of Diitrephes, an Athenian commander, came in with twelve galleys and five hundred Messenian men of arms from Naupactus; and both negociated a reconciliation, and induced them (to the end they might agree) to condemn ten of the principal authors of the sedition, (who presently fled), and to let the rest alone, with articles both between themselves and with the Athenians, to esteem friends and enemies the same the Athenians did. When he had done this, he would have been gone; but the2 people persuaded him before he went, to leave behind him five of his galleys, the better to keep their adversaries from stirring, and to take as many of theirs, which they would man with Corcyræans and send with him. To this he agreed; and they made a list of those that should embark, consisting altogether of their enemies1 . But these, fearing to be sent to Athens, took sanctuary in the temple of Castor and Pollux. But Nicostratus endeavoured to raise them, and spake to them to put them into courage2 . But when he could not prevail, the people, arming themselves, on pretence that their diffidence to go along with Nicostratus proceeded from some evil intention, took away their arms out of their houses; and would also have killed some of them such as they chanced on, if Nicostratus had not hindered them. Others also when they saw this, took sanctuary in the temple of Juno; and they were in all above four hundred. But the people fearing some innovation, got them by persuasion to rise: and conveying them into the island that lieth over against the temple of Juno, sent them their necessaries thither.

  Alcidas and the Peloponnesians arrive and fight at sea against the Corcyræans.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  76. The sedition standing in these terms, the fourth or fifth day after the putting over of these men into the island arrived the Peloponnesian fleet from Cyllene, where since their voyage of Ionia they had lain at anchor, to the number of three and fifty sail. Alcidas had the command of these, as before; and Brasidas came with him as a counsellor. And having first put in at Sybota, a haven of the continent, they came on the next morning by break of day toward Corcyra. 77. The Corcyræans, being in great tumult and fear both of the seditious within and of the invasion without, made ready threescore galleys; and still as any of them were manned, sent them out against the enemy: whereas the Athenians had advised them to give leave to them to go forth first, and then the Corcyræans to follow after with the whole fleet together. When their galleys came forth thus thin, two of them presently turned to the enemy; and in others, they that were aboard were together by the ears amongst themselves: and nothing was done in due order. The Peloponnesians seeing their confusion, opposed themselves to the Corcyræans with twenty galleys only; the rest they set in array against the twelve galleys of Athens, whereof the Salaminia and the Paralus were two. 78. The Corcyræans having come disorderly up, and by few at once, were on their1 part in much distress; but the Athenians, fearing the enemy’s number, and doubting to be environed, would never come up to charge the enemy where they stood thick, nor would set upon the galleys that were placed in the midst, but charged one end of them, and drowned one of their galleys. And when the Peloponnesians afterwards had put their fleet into a circular figure, they then went about and about it, endeavouring to put them into disorder. Which they that were fighting against the Corcyræans perceiving, and fearing such another chance as befel them formerly at Naupactus, went to their aid; and uniting themselves, came upon the Athenians all together. But they retiring rowed astern, intending that the Corcyræans should take that time to escape in; they themselves in the meantime going as leisurely back as was possible, and keeping the enemy still a–head. Such was this battle, and it ended about sunset.

  Alcidas a coward

  79. The Corcyræans, fearing lest the enemy in pursuit of their victory should have come directly against the city, or take aboard the men which they had put over into the island, or do them some other mischief, fetched back the men into the temple of Juno again, and guarded the city. But the Peloponnesians, though they had won the battle, yet durst not invade the city; but having taken thirteen of the Corcyræan galleys, went back into the continent from whence they had set forth. The next day they came not unto the city, no more than before, although it was in great tumult and affright, and though also Brasidas (as it is reported) advised Alcidas to it, but had not equal authority; but only landed soldiers at the promontory of Leucimna, and wasted their territory.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2. Threescore sail of Athenians come to aid the Corcyræan commons.The Peloponnesians depart with their fleet.The people, upon the coming in of the Athenians, most cruelly put to death whomsoever they can of the contrary faction.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.Description of the behaviour of the people in this sedition.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.The manners of the seditious.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  80. In the meantime the people of Corcyra, fearing extremely lest those galleys should come against the city, not only conferred with those in sanctuary and with the rest, about how the city might be preserved, but also induced some of them to go aboard. For notwithstanding the sedition they manned thirty galleys, in expectation that the fleet of the enemy should have entered1 . But the Peloponnesians, having been wasting of their fields till it was about noon, went their ways again. Within2 night the Corcyræans had notice by fires of threescore Athenian galleys coming toward them from Leucas; which the Athenians, upon intelligence of the sedition and of the fleet to go to Corcyra under Alcidas, had sent to aid them, under the conduct of Eurymedon the son of Thucles. 81. The Peloponnesians therefore, as soon as night came, sailed speedily home, keeping still the shore, and causing their galleys to be carried over at the isthmus of Leucas1 , that they might not come in sight as they went about. But the people of Corcyra hearing of the Attic galleys coming in, and the going off of the Peloponnesians, brought into the city those Messenians2 which before were without, and appointing the galleys which they had furnished, to come about into the Hillaique haven, whilst accordingly they went about, slew all the contrary faction they could lay hands on; and also afterwards threw overboard, out of the same galleys, all those they had before persuaded to embark, and so went thence3 . And coming to the temple of Juno, they persuaded fifty of those that had taken sanctuary, to refer themselves to a legal trial; all which they condemned to die. But the most of the sanctuary men, that is, all those that were not induced to stand to trial by law, when they saw what was done, killed one another there–right in the temple; some hanged themselves on trees, every one as he had means made himself away1 . And for seven days together that Eurymedon stayed there with his sixty galleys, the Corcyræans did nothing but kill such of their city as they took to be their enemies; laying2 to their charge a practice to have everted the popular government. Amongst whom, some were slain upon private hatred, and some by their debtors, for the money which they had lent them. All forms of death were then seen; and (as in such cases it usually falls out) whatsoever had happened at any time, happened also then, and more3 . For the father slew his son; men were dragged out of the temples, and then slain hard by; and some immured in the temple of Bacchus, died within it. So cruel was this sedition; and seemed so the more, because it was of these the first. 82. For afterwards all Greece, as a man may say, was in commotion; and quarrels arose everywhere between the patrons of the commons, that sought to bring in the Athenians, and the few, that desired to bring in the Lacedæmonians. Now in time of peace, they could have had no pretence, nor would have been so forward to call them in; but being war, and confederates to be had for either party, both to hurt their enemies and strengthen themselves, such as desired alteration easily got them to come in1 . And many and heinous things happened in the cities through this sedition, which though they have been before, and shall be ever as long as human nature is the same, yet2 they are more calm, and of different kinds, according to the several conjunctures. For in peace and prosperity, as well cities as private men are better minded, because they be not plunged into necessity of doing any thing against their will. But war, taking away the affluence of daily necessaries, is a most violent master, and conformeth most men’s passions to the present occasion. The cities therefore being3 now in sedition, and those that fell into it later having heard what had been done in the former, they far exceeded the same in newness of conceit, both for the art of assailing and for the strangeness of their revenges. The received value of names imposed for signification of things, was changed into arbitrary4 . For inconsiderate boldness, was counted true–hearted5 manliness: provident deliberation, a handsome fear: modesty, the cloak of cowardice: to be wise in every thing, to be lazy in every thing. A furious suddenness was reputed a point of valour. To re–advise for the better security, was held for a fair pretext of tergiversation. He that was1 fierce, was always trusty; and he that contraried such a one, was suspected. He that did insidiate, if it took, was a wise man; but he that could smell out a trap laid, a more dangerous2 man than he. But he that had been so provident as not to need to do the one or the other, was said to be a dissolver of society3 , and one that stood in fear of his adversary. In brief, he that could outstrip another in the doing of an evil act, or that could persuade another thereto that never meant it, was commended. To be kin to another, was not to be so near as to be of his society: because these were ready to undertake any thing, and not to dispute it. For these societies were not made upon prescribed laws of profit, but for rapine4 , contrary to the laws established. And as for mutual trust amongst them, it was confirmed not so much by divine law, as by the communication of guilt. And what was well advised of their adversaries, they received with an eye to their actions, to see whether they were too strong for them or not, and not ingenuously5 . To be revenged was in more request than never to have received injury. And for oaths (when any were) of reconcilement, being administered in the present for necessity, were of force to such as had otherwise no power; but upon opportunity, he that first durst6 thought his revenge sweeter by the trust, than if he had taken the open way. For they did not only put to account the safeness of that course, but having circumvented their adversary by fraud, assumed to themselves withal a mastery in point of wit. And dishonest men for the most part are sooner called able, than simple men honest1 : and men are ashamed of this title, but take a pride in the other.

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  The cause of all this is2desire of rule, out of avarice and ambition; and the zeal of contention from those two proceeding. For such as were of authority in the cities, both of the one and the other faction, preferring under decent titles, one the political equality of the multitude, the other the moderate aristocracy; though in words they seemed to be servants of the public, they made it in effect but the prize of their contention: and striving by whatsoever means to overcome, both ventured on most horrible outrages, and3 prosecuted their revenges still farther, without any regard of justice or the public good, but limiting them, each faction, by their own appetite: and stood ready, whether by unjust sentence, or with their own hands, when they should get power, to satisfy their present spite. So that neither side made account to have any thing the sooner done for religion [of an oath], but he was most commended, that could pass a business against the hair with a fair oration4 . The neutrals of the city were destroyed by both factions; partly because they would not side with them, and partly for envy that they should so escape.

  In seditions and confusion, they that distrust their wits, suddenly use their hands, and defeat the stratagems of the more subtle sort.

  83. Thus was wickedness on foot in every kind throughout all Greece by the occasion of their sedition. Sincerity1 (whereof there is much in a generous nature) was laughed down: and it was far the best course, to stand diffidently against each other, with their thoughts in battle array, which no speech was so powerful, nor oath terrible enough to disband. And being all of them, the more they considered, the more desperate of assurance, they rather contrived how to avoid a mischief than were able to rely on any man’s faith. And for the most part, such as had the least wit had the best success: for2 both their own defect, and the subtlety of their adversaries, putting them into a great fear to be overcome in words, or at least in pre–insidiation, by their enemies’ great craft, they therefore went roundly to work with them with deeds. Whereas the other, not caring though they were perceived, and thinking they needed not to take by force what they might do by plot, were thereby unprovided, and so the more easily slain3 .

  year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  84. In1 Corcyra then were these evils for the most part committed first; and so were all other, which either such men as have been governed with pride rather than modesty by those on whom they take revenge, were like to commit in taking it; or which such men as stand upon their delivery from long poverty, out of covetousness, chiefly to have their neighbours’ goods, would contrary to justice give their voices to: or which men, not for covetousness, but assailing each other on equal terms, carried away with the unruliness of their anger would cruelly and inexorably execute. And the common course of life being at that time confounded in the city, the nature of man, which is wont even against law to do evil, gotten now above the law, showed itself with delight to be too weak for passion, too strong for justice, and enemy to all superiority. Else they would never have preferred revenge before innocence, nor lucre (whensoever the envy of it was without power to do them hurt) before justice. And for the laws common to all men in such cases, (which, as long as they be in force, give hope to all that suffer injury), men desire not to leave them standing against the need a man in danger may have of them, but by their revenges on others to be beforehand in subverting them.

  The Athenian fleet goes away. Five hundred of the nobility that escaped, seize on such places as belonged to the Corcyræans in the continent.They come over and fortify themselves in Istone.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 1. 2.

  85. Such were the passions of the Corcyræans, first of all other Grecians, towards one another in the city: and Eurymedon and the Athenians departed with their galleys. Afterwards, such of the Corcyræans as had fled, (for there escaped about five hundred of them), having seized on the forts in the continent, impatronized themselves of their own territory on the other side, and from thence came over and robbed the islanders and did them much hurt; and there grew a great famine in the city. They likewise sent ambassadors to Lacedæmon and Corinth, concerning their reduction1 ; and when they could get nothing done, having gotten boats and some auxiliary soldiers, they passed, awhile after, to the number of about six hundred into the island. Where when they had set fire on their boats, that they might trust to nothing but to make themselves masters of the field, they went up into the hill Istone; and having there fortified themselves with a wall, infested those within1 , and were masters of the territory.

  A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 2. The Athenians send twenty galleys into Sicily, in pretence to aid the Leontines, but with intention to hinder the coming of corn from thence into Peloponnesus, and to spy out the possibility of subduing that island.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 2.The end of the fifth summer.

  86. In the end of the same summer the Athenians sent twenty galleys into Sicily, under the command of Laches the son of Melanopus, and Charœadas the son of Euphiletus: for the Syracusians and the Leontines were now warring against each other. The2 confederates of the Syracusians were all the Doric cities, except the Camarinæans; which also in the beginning of this war were reckoned in the league of the Lacedæmonians, but had not yet aided them in the war. The confederates of the Leontines, were the Chalcidique cities together with Camarina. And in Italy, the Locrians were with the Syracusians; but the Rhegians, according to their consanguinity, took part with the Leontines. Now the confederates3 of the Leontines, in respect of their ancient alliance with the Athenians, as also for that they were Ionians, obtained of the Athenians to send them galleys; for that the Leontines were deprived by the Syracusians of the use both of the land and sea. And so the people of Athens sent aid unto them, pretending propinquity, but intending both to hinder the transportation of corn from thence into Peloponnesus, and also to test the possibility of taking the states of Sicily into their own hands. These arriving at Rhegium in Italy, joined with the confederates and began the war. And so ended this summer.

  The plague again at Athens.

  88. The next winter, the sickness fell upon the Athenians again, (having indeed never totally left the city, though there was some intermission); and continued above a year after; but the former lasted two years: insomuch as nothing afflicted the Athenians, or impaired their strength more than it. For the number that died of it, of men of arms enrolled1 were no less than four thousand four hundred; and horsemen, three hundred; of the other multitude, innumerable. There happened also at the same time many earthquakes, both in Athens and Eubœa, and also amongst the Bœotians; and in Bœotia2 , chiefly at Orchomenus.

  The Athenians invade the Liparæans, and islands called the isles of Æolus.year v. A. C. 427. Ol. 88. 2.

  88. The Athenians and Rhegians that were now in Sicily, made war the same winter on the islands called the islands of Æolus, with thirty galleys. For in summer, it was impossible to war upon them for the shallowness3 of the water. These islands are inhabited by the Liparæans, who are a colony of the Cnidians, and dwell in one of the same islands, no great one, called Lipara; and thence they go forth and husband the rest, which are Didyme, Strongyle, and Hiera. The inhabitants of those places have an opinion, that in Hiera Vulcan exerciseth the craft of a smith. For it is seen to send forth abundance of fire in the day time, and of smoke in the night1 . These islands are adjacent to the territory of the Siculi and Messanians, but were confederates of the Syracusians. When the Athenians had wasted their fields, and saw they would not come in, they put off again and went to Rhegium. And so ended this winter, and the fifth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88.2. 3.Earthquakes about Eubœa, and inundations.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.The natural cause of inundations given by the author.

  89. The next summer the Peloponnesians and their confederates came as far as the isthmus, under the conduct of Agis the son of Archidamus, intending to have invaded Attica; but by reason of the many earthquakes that then happened they turned back, and the invasion proceeded not. About the same time, (Eubœa being then troubled with earthquakes), the sea came in at Orobiæ on the part which then was land, and being impetuous withal, overflowed most part of the city, whereof part it covered, and part it washed down, and made lower in the return2 ; so that it is now sea which before was land. And the people, as many as could not prevent it by running up into the higher ground, perished. Another inundation like unto this happened in the isle of Atalanta, on the coast of Locris of the Opuntians, and carried away part of the Athenians’ fort there; and of two galleys that lay on dry land, it brake one in pieces. Also there happened at Peparethus a certain rising1 of the water, but it brake not in: and a part of the wall, the town–house, and some few houses besides, were overthrown by the earthquakes2 . The cause of such inundation, for my part, I take to be this: that the earthquake, where it was very great, did there send off the sea; and the sea returning on a sudden, caused the water to come on with greater violence. And it seemeth unto me, that without an earthquake such an accident could never happen.

  90. The same summer divers others, as they had several occasions, made war in Sicily: so also did the Sicilians amongst themselves, and the Athenians with their confederates. But I will make mention only of such most memorable things, as were done either by the confederates there with the Athenians, or against the Athenians by the enemy.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3. The Athenians win Mylæ.and Messana.

  Charœades the Athenian general being slain by the Syracusians, Laches, who was now sole commander of the fleet, together with the confederates made war on Mylæ, a town belonging to Messana. There were in Mylæ two companies3 of Messanians in garrison, the which also laid a certain ambush for those that came up from the fleet. But the Athenians and their confederates both put to flight those that were in ambush, with the slaughter of the most of them; and also assaulting their fortification, forced them on composition both to render the citadel, and to go along with them against Messana. After this, upon the approach of the Athenians and their confederates, the Messanians compounded likewise; and gave them hostages, and such other security as was requisite.

  The Athenians send Demosthenes with thirty galleys about Peloponnesus:and Nicias with sixty galleys into the island of Melos.The army of Nicias, and another army from the city of Athens, meet upon a sign given at Tanagra in Bœotia.They overcome the Tanagrians in battle.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.

  91. The same summer the Athenians sent thirty galleys about Peloponnesus, under the command of Demosthenes the son of Alkisthenes, and Proclus the son of Theodorus; and sixty galleys more with two thousand men of arms, commanded by Nicias the son of Niceratus, into Melos. For the Athenians, in respect that the Melians were islanders, and yet would neither be their subjects nor of their league, intended to subdue them. But when upon the wasting of their fields they still stood out, they departed from Melos, and sailed to Oropus in the opposite continent1 . Being there arrived within night, the men of arms left the galleys, and marched presently by land to Tanagra in Bœotia. To which place, upon a sign given, the Athenians that were in the city of Athens came also forth with their whole forces, led by Hipponnicus the son of Callias, and Eurymedon the son of Thucles, and joined with them; and pitching their camp, spent the day in wasting the territory of Tanagra, and lay there the night following. The next day, they defeated in battle such of the Tanagrians as came out against them, and also certain succours sent them from Thebes; and when they had taken up the arms of those that were slain and erected a trophy, they returned back; the one part to Athens, the other to their fleet. And Nicias with his sixty galleys, having first sailed along the coast of Locris and wasted it, came home likewise.

  The Lacedæmonians build the city Heracleia.The commodious seat of this new city for the war.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.

  92. About the same time, the Peloponnesians erected the colony of Heracleia in Trachinia, with this intention. The Melians in the whole contain these three parts: Paralians, Hierans, and Trachinians1 . Of these the Trachinians being afflicted with war from the Œtæans their borderers, thought at first to have joined themselves to the Athenians; but fearing that they would not be faithful unto them, they sent to Lacedæmon; choosing for their ambassador Tisamenus. And the Dorians, who are the mother nation to the Lacedæmonians, sent their ambassadors likewise with him with the same requests: for they also were infested with war from the same Œtæans. Upon audience of these ambassadors the Lacedæmonians concluded to send out a colony, both intending the reparation of the injuries done to the Trachinians and to the Dorians; and conceiving withal, that the town would stand very commodiously for their war with the Athenians; inasmuch as they might thereby have a navy ready, where the passage was but short, against Eubœa; and it would much further their conveyance of soldiers into Thrace. And they had their mind wholly bent to the building of the place.

  First therefore they asked counsel of the oracle in Delphi1 . And the oracle having bidden them do it, they sent inhabitants thither, both of their own people and of the neighbours about them2 ; and gave leave also to any that would, to go thither, out of the rest of Greece, save only to the Ionians, Achæans, and some few other nations. The conductors of the colony were three Lacedæmonians; Leon, Alcidas, and Damagon. Who taking it in hand, built the city which is now called Heracleia, from the very foundation3 ; being distant from Thermopylæ forty furlongs, and from the sea twenty. Also they made houses for galleys to lie under4 , beginning close to Thermopylæ against the very strait, to the end to have them the more defensible.

  The Thessalians infest the new city with continual war, for fear they should be too great.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.The severity of of the Lacedæmonian government dispeopled the city of Heracleia, and frightened men from it. The Lacedæmonians always severe, not always just.

  93. The Athenians, when5 this city was peopled, were at first afraid, and thought it to be set up especially against Eubœa; because from thence to Cenæum, a promontory of Eubœa, the passage is but short. But it fell out afterwards otherwise than they imagined; for they had no great harm by it: the reason whereof was this. That the Thessalians who had the towns of those parts in their power, and upon whose ground it was built6 , afflicted these new planters with a continual war, till they had worn them out: though they were many indeed in the beginning. For being the foundation of the Lacedæmonians, every one went thither boldly, conceiving the city to be an assured one. And1 chiefly the governors themselves sent hither from Lacedæmon, undid the business, and dispeopled the city by frighting most men away; for that they governed severely, and sometimes also unjustly: by which means their neighbours more easily prevailed against them.

  Demosthenes warreth on Leucas.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3. Demosthenes invadeth Ætolia at the persuasion of the Messenians.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3. The ambition of Demosthenes the chief cause of his unfortunate enterprise in Ætolia.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.

  94. The same summer, and about the same time that the Athenians stayed in Melos, those other Athenians that were in the thirty galleys about Peloponnesus, slew first certain garrison–soldiers in Ellomenus, a place of Leucadia, by ambushment. But afterwards with a greater fleet, and with the whole power of the Acarnanians; who followed the army, all (but the Œniades) that could bear arms; and with the Zacynthians, and Cephalonians, and fifteen galleys of the Corcyræans, made war against the city itself of Leucas. The Leucadians, though they saw their territory wasted by them, both without the isthmus and within, where the city of Leucas standeth and the temple of Apollo; yet they durst not stir, because the number of the enemy was so great. And the Acarnanians entreated Demosthenes, the Athenian general, to wall them up, conceiving that they might easily be expugned by a siege, and desiring to be rid of a city their continual enemy. But Demosthenes was persuaded at the same time by the Messenians, that seeing so great an army was together, it would be honourable for him to invade the Ætolians; principally, as being enemies to Naupactus: and that if these were subdued, the rest of the continent thereabouts would easily be added to the Athenian dominion. For they alleged, that though the nation of the Ætolians were great and warlike, yet their habitation was in villages unwalled, and those at great distances; and were but light–armed, and might therefore, with no great difficulty, be all subdued before they could unite themselves for defence. And they advised him to take in hand first the Apodotians, next the Ophionians, and after them the Eurytanians; (which are the greatest part of Ætolia, of a most strange language, and that are reported to eat raw flesh1 ); for these being subdued, the rest would easily follow. 95. But he, induced by the Messenians, whom he favoured, but especially because he thought, without the forces of the people of Athens, with the confederates1 only of the continent and with the Ætolians to invade Bœotia by land, going first through the Locri Ozolæ, and so to Cytinium of Doris, having Parnassus on the right hand till the descent thereof into the territory of the Phoceans; which people, for the friendship they ever bore to the Athenians, would, he thought, be willing to follow his army, and if not, might be forced; and upon the Phoceans bordereth Bœotia: putting off therefore with his whole army, against the minds of the Acarnanians, from Leucas, he sailed unto Solium by the shore. And there having communicated his conceit with the Acarnanians, when they would not approve of it because of his refusal to besiege Leucas, he himself with the rest of his army, Cephalonians2 , Zacynthians, and three hundred Athenians the soldiers3 of his own fleet, (for the fifteen galleys of Corcyra were now gone away) warred on the Ætolians; having Œneon, a city of Locris, for the seat of his war. Now these Locrians called Ozolæ, were confederates of the Athenians; and were to meet them with their whole power in the heart of the country. For being confiners on the Ætolians, and using the same manner of arming, it was thought it would be a matter of great utility in the war to have them in their army; for that they knew their manner of fight, and were acquainted with the country.

  Hesiod the poet said to have died in this temple of Jupiter Nemeius.The Ætolians unite against the invasion of Demosthenes.

  96. Having lain the night with his whole army in the temple of Jupiter Nemeius, (wherein the poet Hesiodus is reported by them that dwell thereabout to have died, foretold by an oracle, that he should die in Nemea), in the morning betimes he dislodged, and marched into Ætolia. The first day he took Potidania; the second day, Crocyleium; the third, Teichium. There he stayed, and sent the booty he had gotten to Eupalium in Locris. For he purposed, when he had subdued the rest, to invade the Ophionians afterwards (if they submitted not) in his return to Naupactus. But the Ætolians knew of this preparation when it was first resolved on. And afterwards, when the army was entered, they were1 united into a mighty army to make head: insomuch as that the farthest off of the Ophionians, that reach out to the Melian Gulf, the Bomians and Callians, came in with their aids.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.The Ætolians give Demosthenes a great overthrow.

  97. The Messenians gave the same advice to Demosthenes that they had done before; and alleging that the conquest of the Ætolians would be but easy, willed him to march with all speed against them, village after village, and not to stay till they were all united and in order of battle against him, but to attempt always the place which was next to hand. He, persuaded by them and confident of his fortune, because nothing had crossed him hitherto, without tarrying for the Locrians that should have come in with their aids, (for his greatest want was of darters light–armed), marched to Ægitium: which approaching1 he won by force, the men having fled secretly out, and encamped themselves on the hills above it: for it stood in a mountainous place, and about eighty furlongs from the sea. But the Ætolians (for by this time they were come with their forces to Ægitium) charged the Athenians and their confederates; and running down upon them, some one way and some another, from the hills, plied them with their darts. And when the army of the Athenians assaulted them, they retired; and when it retired, they assaulted. So that the fight, for a good while, was nothing but alternate chase and retreat; and the Athenians had the worst in both.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.Demosthenes afraid to come home.

  98. Nevertheless, as long as their archers had arrows, and were able to use them, (for the Ætolians, by reason they were not armed2 , were put back still with the shot), they held out. But when upon the death of their captain the archers were dispersed, and the3 rest were also wearied, having a long time continued the said labour of pursuing and retiring, and the Ætolians continually afflicting them with their darts, they were forced at length to fly; and lighting into hollows without issue, and into places they were not acquainted withal, were destroyed. For Chromon a Messenian, who was their guide for the ways, was slain. And the Ætolians pursuing them still with darts, slew many of them quickly whilst they fled, being swift of foot and without armour. But the most of them missing their way and entering into a wood which had no passage through, the Ætolians set it on fire and burnt it about them. All kinds of shifts to fly, and all kinds of destruction were that day in the army of the Athenians. Such as remained, with much ado got to the sea and to Œneon, a city of Locris, from whence they first set forth. There died very many of the confederates, and a hundred and twenty men of arms of the Athenians; that was their number, and all of them able men1 : these men of the very best died in this war. Procles also was there slain, one of the generals. When they had received the bodies of their dead from the Ætolians under truce, and were gotten again to Naupactus, they returned with the fleet to Athens. But they left Demosthenes about Naupactus and those parts; because he was afraid of the Athenian people for the loss that had happened.

  The Athenian fleet in Sicily sail to Locris and take Peripolium.

  99. About the same time, the Athenians that were on the coast of Sicily, sailed unto Locris, and landing overcame such as made head; and took in Peripolium2 , situate on the river Halex.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3. The Ætolians and Peloponnesians make a journey against Naupactus.

  100. The same summer, the Ætolians having3 sent their ambassadors, Tolophus an Ophionian, Boryades an Eurytanian, and Tisander an Apodotian, to Corinth and Lacedæmon, persuaded them to send an army against Naupactus: for that it harboured the Athenians against them. And the Lacedæmonians, towards the end of autumn, sent them three thousand men of arms of their confederates; of which five hundred were of Heracleia, the new–built city of Trachinia. The general of the army was Eurylochus a Spartan; with whom Macarius and Menedæus went also along, Spartans likewise. 101. When the army was assembled at Delphi, Eurylochus sent a herald to the Locrians of Ozolæ, both because their way lay through them to Naupactus, and also because he desired to make them revolt from the Athenians. Of all the Locrians, the Amphissians co–operated with him most, as standing most in fear for the enmity of the Phoceans. And they first giving hostages, induced others who likewise were afraid of the coming in of the army, to do the like: the Myoneans first, being their neighbours; for this way is Locris of most difficult access: then the Ipneans, Messapians, Tritæans, Chalæans, Tolophonians, Hessians, and the Œantheans. All these went with them to the war. The Olpæans gave them hostages, but followed not the army. But the Hyæans would give them no hostages, till they had taken a village of theirs called Polis.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.Demosthenes relieveth Naupactus.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 2. 3.The end of the sixth summer.

  102. When every thing was ready, and he had sent the hostages away to Cytinium in Doris, he marched with his army towards Naupactus, through the territory of the Locrians. And as he marched, he took Œneon, a town of theirs, and Eupalium; because they refused to yield unto him. When they were come into the territory of Naupactus, the Ætolians being there already to join with them, they wasted the fields about; and took the suburbs of the city, being unfortified. Then they went to Molycreium, a colony of the Corinthians, but subject to the people of Athens, and took that. Now Demosthenes the Athenian, (for ever since the Ætolian business he abode about Naupactus), having been pre–advertised of this army and being afraid to lose the city, went amongst the Acarnanians, and with much ado, because of his departure from before Leucas, persuaded them to relieve Naupactus; and they sent along with him in his galleys a thousand men of arms. Which entering, were the preservation of the city; for there was danger, the walls being of a great compass and the defendants few, that else they should not have been able to make them good1 . Eurylochus and those that were with him, when they perceived that those forces were entered and that it was impossible to take the city by assault, departed thence, not into Peloponnesus, but to Æolis, now called Calydon, and to Pleuron2 and other places thereabouts, and also to Proschion in Ætolia. For the Ambraciotes coming to them, persuaded them to undertake, together with themselves, the enterprise against Argos and the rest of Amphilochia, and Acarnania; saying withal, that if they could overcome these, the rest of that continent would enter into the league of the Lacedæmonians. Whereunto Eurylochus assented; and dismissing the Ætolians lay quiet in those parts with his army, till such time as the Ambraciotes being come with their forces before Argos he should have need to aid them. And so this summer ended.

  A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3. The Athenians in Sicily assault Nessa.

  103. The Athenians that were in Sicily, in the beginning of winter, together with the Grecians of their league, and as many of the Siculi, as having obeyed the Syracusans by force, or1 being their confederates before, had now revolted, warred jointly against Nessa, a town of Sicily, the citadel whereof was in the hands of the Syracusans. And they assaulted the same; but when they could not win it, they retired. In the retreat, the Syracusans that were in the citadel, sallied out upon the confederates that retired later than the Athenians; and charging, put a part of the army to flight, and killed not a few. After this, Laches and the Athenians landed2 some time at Locris; and overcame in battle by the river Caicinus about three hundred Locrians, who with Proxenus the son of Capaton came out to make resistance; and when they had stripped them of their arms, departed.

  Delos hallowed.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3. An edict, that none should be suffered to be born or die in Delos.Rheneia an island, tied to Delos with a chain, and dedicated to Apollo of Delos.The Athenians institute the quinquennial games at Delos.

  104. The same winter also the Athenians hallowed the isle of Delos, by the admonition indeed of a certain oracle. For Pisistratus also, the tyrant, hallowed the same before; not all, but only so much as was within the prospect of the temple. But now they hallowed it all over in this manner. They took away all sepulchres whatsoever of such as had died there before; and for the future, made an edict that none should be suffered to die, nor any woman to bring forth child in the island; but [when they were near the time, either of the one or the other] they should be carried over into Rheneia. This Rheneia is so little a way distant from Delos, that Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos, who was once of great power by sea and had the dominion of the other islands, when he won Rheneia dedicated the same to Apollo of Delos, tying it unto Delos with a chain1 . And now after the hallowing of it, the Athenians instituted the keeping, every fifth year, of the Delian games.

  There had also in old time been great concourse in Delos, both of Ionians and of the islanders round about2 . For they then came to see the games, with their wives and children, as the Ionians do now the games at Ephesus. There were likewise matches set of bodily exercise and of music; and the cities did severally set forth dances. Which things to have been so, is principally declared by Homer in these verses of his hymn to Apollo:

  • But thou, Apollo, takest most delight
  • In Delos. There assemble in thy sight
  • The long–coat Ions, with their children dear
  • And venerable bedfellows; and there
  • In matches set of buffets, song, and dance,
  • Both show thee pastime and thy name advance3 .

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  That there were also matches of music, and that men resorted thither to contend therein, he again maketh manifest in these verses of the same hymn. For after he hath spoken of the Delian dance of the women, he endeth their praise with these verses, wherein also he maketh mention of himself:

  • But well: let Phœbus and Diana be
  • Propitious; and farewell you, each one.
  • But yet remember me when I am gone:
  • And if of earthly men you chance to see
  • Any toil’d pilgrim, that shall ask you, Who,
  • O damsels, is the man that living here
  • Was sweet’st in song, and that most had your ear?
  • Then all, with a joint murmur, thereunto
  • Make answer thus: A man deprived of seeing;
  • In the isle of sandy Chios is his being1 .

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  So much hath Homer witnessed touching the great meeting and solemnity celebrated of old in the isle of Delos. And the islanders and the Athenians, since that time, have continued still to send dancers along with their sacrificers2 ; but the games and things of that kind were worn out, as is likely, by adversity: till now that the Athenians restored the games, and added the horse race, which was not before.

  The Ambraciotes and Peloponnesians make war against the Acarnanians and Amphilochians unfortunately. They take Olpæ.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3. The Acarnanians make Demosthenes their general.The Ambraciotes at Olpæ send to the Ambraciotes at home, to come to their aid.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.Demosthenes chosen general.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.The battle between the Ambraciotes and Acarnanians.The Ambraciotes and Peloponnesians fly.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  105. The same winter the Ambraciotes, according to their promise made to Eurylochus when they retained his army, made war upon Argos in Amphilochia with three thousand men of arms: and invading Argeia they took Olpæ, a strong fort on a hill by the sea–side, which the Acarnanians had fortified and used for the place of their common meetings for matters of justice, and is distant from the city of Argos, which stands also on the sea–side, about twenty–five furlongs. The Acarnanians, with part of their forces, came to relieve Argos; and with the rest they encamped in that part of Amphilochia which is called Crenæ, to watch the Peloponnesians that were with Eurylochus, that they might not pass through to the Ambraciotes without their knowledge; and sent to Demosthenes, who had been leader of the Athenians in the expedition against the Ætolians, to come to them and be their general. They sent also to the twenty Athenian galleys, that chanced to be then on the coast of Peloponnesus, under the conduct of Aristoteles the son of Timocrates, and Hierophon the son of Antimnestus. In like manner the Ambraciotes that were at Olpæ sent a messenger to the city of Ambracia, willing them to come to their aid with their whole power; as fearing that those with Eurylochus would not be able to pass by the Acarnanians, and so they should be either forced to fight alone, or else have an unsafe retreat. 106. But the Peloponnesians that were with Eurylochus, as soon as they understood that the Ambraciotes were come to Olpæ, dislodging from Proschion went with all speed to assist them: and passing over the river Achelöus, marched through Acarnania, which, by reason of the aids sent to Argos, was now disfurnished. On their right hand they had the city of Stratus, and that garrison; on the left, the rest of Acarnania. Having passed the territory of the Stratians, they marched through Phytia, and again by the utmost limits of Medeon; then through Limnæa; then they went into the territory of the Agræans, which are out of Acarnania, and their friends: and getting to the hill Thiamus, which is a desert hill, they marched over it, and came down into Argeia when it was now night; and passing between the city of the Argives and the Arcarnanians that kept watch at [the] Wells, came unseen and joined with the Ambraciotes at Olpæ. 107. When they were altogether, they sat down about break of day at a place called Metropolis, and there encamped. And the Athenians not long after with their twenty galleys arrived in the Ambracian gulf, to the aid of the Argives: to whom also came Demosthenes, with two hundred Messenian men of arms and threescore Athenian archers. The galleys lay at sea, before the hill upon which the fort of Olpæ standeth. But the Acarnanians, and those few Amphilochians (for the greatest part of them the Ambraciotes kept back by force) that were come already together at Argos1 , prepared themselves to give the enemy battle; and chose Demosthenes, with their own commanders, for general of the whole league. He, when he had brought them up near unto Olpæ, there encamped. There was between them a great hollow. And for five days together they stirred not; but the sixth day both sides put themselves into array for the battle. The army of the Peloponnesians reached a great way beyond the other, for indeed it was much greater2 ; but Demosthenes, fearing to be encompassed, placed an ambush in a certain hollow way and3 fit for such a purpose, of armed and unarmed soldiers, in all to the number of four hundred; which, in that part where the number of the enemies overreached, should in the heat of the battle rise out of ambush and charge them on their backs. When the battles were in order on either side, they came to blows. Demosthenes, with the Messenians and those few Athenians that were there, stood in the right wing; and the Acarnanians (as they could one after another be put in order) and those Amphilochian darters which were present, made up the other1 . The Peloponnesians and Ambraciotes were ranged promiscuously, except only the Mantineans, who stood together most of them2 in the left wing, but not in the utmost part of it; for Eurylochus and those that were with him made the extremity of the left wing, against Demosthenes and the Messenians. 108. When they were in fight, and that the Peloponnesians with that wing overreached and had encircled the right wing of their enemies, those Acarnanians that lay in ambush coming in at their backs, charged them and put them to flight: in such sort as they endured not the first brunt; and besides, caused the greatest part of the army through affright to run away3 . For when they saw that part of it defeated which was with Eurylochus, which was the best of their army, they were a great deal the more afraid. And the Messenians that were in that part of the army with Demosthenes, pursuing them, dispatched the greatest part of the execution. But the Ambraciotes4 that were in the right wing, on that part had the victory, and chased the enemy unto the city of Argos. But in their retreat, when they saw that the greatest part of the army was vanquished, the rest of the Acarnanians setting upon them, they had much ado to recover Olpæ in safety. And many of them were slain, whilst they ran into it out of array and in disorder; save only the Mantineans: for these made a more orderly retreat than any part of the army. And so this battle ended, having lasted till the evening.

  Demosthenes suffereth the principal Peloponnesians to retire from Olpæ secretly; to disguard the Ambraciotes of their aid, and procure the Peloponnesians the hatred of the nations thereabouts.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  109. The next day, Menedaius (Eurylochus and Macarius being now slain) taking the command upon him, and1 not finding how, if he stayed, he should be able to sustain a siege, wherein he should both be shut up by land and also with those Attic galleys by sea, or if he should depart, how he might do it safely, had speech with Demosthenes and the Acarnanian captains, both about a truce for his departure and for the receiving of the bodies of the slain. And they delivered unto them their dead; and having erected a trophy took up their own dead, which were about three hundred. But for their departure they would make no truce openly [nor] to all: but secretly Demosthenes with his Acarnanian fellow–commanders made a truce with the Mantineans, and with Menedaius and the rest of the Peloponnesian captains and men of most worth, to be gone as speedily as they could; with purpose to disguard the Ambraciotes and multitude of mercenary strangers, and withal to use this as a means to bring the Peloponnesians into hatred with the Grecians of those parts, as men that had treacherously advanced their particular interest. Accordingly they took up their dead, and buried them as fast as they could1 ; and such as had leave, consulted secretly touching how to be gone.

  Demosthenes sendeth part of his army to lie in ambush by the ways by which the Ambraciote supplies were to come from the city.

  110. Demosthenes and the Acarnanians had now intelligence that the Ambraciotes from the city of Ambracia, according to the message sent to them before from Olpæ [which was that they should bring their whole power through Amphilochia to their aid], were already on their march2 (ignorant of what had passed here) to join with those at Olpæ. And hereupon he sent a part of his army presently forth, to beset the ways with ambushment, and to pre–occupate all places of strength; and prepared withal to encounter3 with the rest of his army.

  The Mantineans retire from Olpæ.The Ambraciotes go after them, and are slain to the number of two hundred.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.The rest escape to Salynthius, king of the Agræans.

  111. In the meantime, the Mantineans and such as had part in the truce, going out on pretence to gather potherbs and firewood, stole away by small numbers: and as they went, did indeed gather such things as they pretended to go forth for; but when they were gotten far from Olpæ, they went faster away. But the Ambraciotes and others that came forth in the same manner, but in greater troops4 , seeing the others go quite away, were eager to be gone likewise, and ran outright, as desiring to overtake those that were gone before. The Acarnanians at first thought they had gone all without a truce alike, and pursued the Peloponnesians: and threw darts at their own captains for forbidding them and for saying that they went away under truce, as thinking themselves betrayed. But at last they let go the Mantineans and Peloponnesians, and slew the Ambraciotes only. And there was much contention and ignorance, of which was an Ambraciote and which a Peloponnesian. So they slew about two hundred of them; and the rest escaped into Agraïs, a bordering territory, where Salynthius, king of the Agræans and their friend, received them.

  Demosthenes goeth out to meet the supply of Ambraciotes that came from the city.The Ambraciotes surprised in their lodgings.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3. The Ambraciotes put to flight.

  112. The Ambraciotes out of the city of Ambracia were come as far as Idomene. Idomene are two high hills; to the greater whereof, came first undiscovered that night they whom Demosthenes had sent afore from the camp, and seized it: but the Ambraciotes got first to the lesser, and there encamped the same night. Demosthenes after supper, in the twilight, marched forward with the rest of the army, one half whereof himself took with him for the assault of the camp, and the other half he sent about through the mountains of Amphilochia1 . And the next morning before day, he invaded the Ambraciotes whilst they were yet in their lodgings and knew not what was the matter, but thought rather that they had been some of their own company. For Demosthenes had placed the Messenians on purpose in the foremost ranks, and commanded them to speak unto them as they went in the Doric dialect, and to make the sentinels secure; especially, seeing their faces could not be discerned, for it was yet night. Wherefore they put the army of the Ambraciotes to flight at the first onset, and slew many upon the place: the rest fled as fast as they could towards the mountains. But the ways being beset, and the Amphilochians being well acquainted with their own territory and armed but lightly, against men in armour unacquainted and utterly ignorant which way to take; they lit into hollow ways and to the places forelaid with ambushes, and perished. And having been put to all manner of shifts for their lives, some fled towards the sea1 ; and when they saw the galleys of Athens sailing by the shore, (this accident concurring with their defeat), swam to them, and chose rather in their present fear, to be killed2 of those in the galleys, than by the barbarians and their most mortal enemies the Amphilochians. The Ambraciotes with this loss came home, a few of many, in safety to their city. And the Acarnanians, having taken the spoil of the dead and erected their trophies, returned unto Argos.

  year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3. The conference of the herald from the Ambraciotes in Agraïs, with one of Demosthenes his army, about the number of the slain.The Acarnanians will not let the Athenians subdue the Ambraciotes utterly, because they thought the Ambraciotes better neighbours than the Athenians.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  113. The next day there came a herald from those Ambraciotes which fled from Olpæ into Agraïs, to demand leave to carry away the bodies of those dead which were slain after the first battle, when without truce they went away together with the Mantineans, and with those that had truce. But when the herald saw the armours of those Ambraciotes that came from the city, he wondered at the number: for he knew nothing of this last blow, but thought they had been armours of those with them. Then one asked him, what he wondered at, and how many he thought were slain: for he that asked him the question, thought, on the other side, that he had been a herald sent from those at Idomene. And he answered, about two hundred. Then he that asked, replied and said: “then these are not the armours of them1 ; but of above a thousand”.—“Then,” said he again, “they belong not to them that were in battle with us”. The other answered: “yes, if you fought yesterday in Idomene.”—“But we fought not yesterday at all, but the other day in our retreat.”—“But we yet fought yesterday with those Ambraciotes that came from the city to aid the rest.” When the herald heard that, and knew that the aid from the city was defeated, he burst out into Aimees: and astonished with the greatness of the present loss, forthwith went his way without his errand, and required the dead bodies no farther. For this loss was greater than, in the like number of days, happened to any one city of Greece in all this war. I have not written the number of the slain; because it was said to be such as is incredible for the quantity of the city. But this I know: that if the Acarnanians and Amphilochians, as Demosthenes and the Athenians would have had them, would have subdued Ambracia, they might have done it even with the shout of their voices. But they feared now, that if the Athenians possessed it, they would prove more troublesome neighbours unto them than the other.

  114. After this, having bestowed the third part of the spoils upon the Athenians, they distributed the other two parts according to the cities. The Athenians’ part was lost by sea. For those three hundred complete armours which are dedicated in the temples in Attica, were picked out for Demosthenes [himself]; and he brought them away with him. His return was withal the safer for this action, after his defeat in Ætolia. And the Athenians that were in the twenty galleys returned to Naupactus.

  League for a hundred years between the Ambraciotes and Acarnanians.year vi. A. C. 426. Ol. 88. 3.

  The Acarnanians and Amphilochians, when the Athenians and Demosthenes were gone, granted truce at the city of the Œniades to those Ambraciotes and Peloponnesians that were fled to Salynthius and the Agræans, to retire; the Œniades being gone over to Salynthius, and the Agræans likewise1 . And for the future, the Acarnanians and Amphilochians made a league with the Ambraciotes for a hundred years, upon these conditions: “That neither the Ambraciotes with the Acarnanians should make war against the Peloponnesians; nor the Acarnanians with the Ambraciotes against the Athenians: that they should give mutual aid to one another’s country: that the Ambraciotes should restore whatsoever towns or bordering fields2 they held of the Amphilochians: and that they should at no time aid Anactorium, which was in hostility with the Acarnanians”. And upon this composition, the war ended. After this, the Corinthians sent a garrison of about three hundred men of arms of their own city to Ambracia, under the conduct of Xenocleides the son of Euthycles; who with much difficulty passing through Epirus, at length arrived. Thus passed the business in Ambracia.

  A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. The Athenian fleet in Sicily invade Himeræa.Pythodorus sent to take the fleet from Laches.year vi. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  115. The same winter the Athenians that were in Sicily, invaded Himeræa by sea, aided by the Sicilians1 that invaded the skirts of the same by2 land. They sailed also to the islands of Æolus. Returning afterwards to Rhegium, they found there Pythodorus, the son of Isolochus, [with certain galleys], come to receive charge of the fleet commanded by Laches. For the Sicilian confederates had sent to Athens, and persuaded the people to assist them with a greater fleet. For though the Syracusans were masters by land, yet seeing they hindered them but with few galleys from the liberty of the sea, they3 made preparation, and were gathering together a fleet with intention to resist them. And the Athenians furnished out forty galleys to send into Sicily, conceiving that the war there would the sooner be at an end, and desiring withal to train their men in naval exercise. Therefore Pythodorus, one of the commanders, they sent presently away with a few of those galleys, and intended to send Sophocles the son of Sostratides, and Eurymedon the son of Thucles, with the greatest number afterwards. But Pythodorus having now the command of Laches his fleet, sailed in the end of winter unto a certain1 garrison of the Locrians which Laches had formerly taken; and overthrown in a battle there by the Locrians, retired.

  The fire breaketh out of Ætna, and burneth the fields of Catana.

  116. The same spring, there issued a great stream of fire out of the mountain Ætna, as it had also done in former times; and burned part of the territory of the Catanæans, that dwell at the foot of Ætna, which is the highest mountain of all Sicily. From the last time that the fire brake out before, to this time, it is said to be fifty years. And2 it hath now broken out thrice in all, since Sicily was inhabited by the Grecians. These were the things that came to pass this winter. And so ended the sixth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  THE FOURTH BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  The Athenians take and fortify Pylus in Messenia.—The Lacedæmonians, to recover it, put over four hundred of their best men into the island Sphacteria: whom the Athenians, having overcome the Lacedæmonian fleet, do there besiege.—The Athenians and Syracusans fight in the Strait of Messana.—Cleon engageth himself rashly to take or kill the Lacedæmonians in Sphacteria within twenty days: and by good fortune performeth it.—The sedition ceaseth in Corcyra.—Nicias invadeth Peloponnesus.—The Sicilians agreeing, take from the Athenians their pretence of sailing upon that coast with their fleet.—The Athenians take Nisæa, but fail of Megara.—The overthrow of the Athenians at Delium.—The cities on the confines of Thrace, upon the coming of Brasidas, revolt to the Lacedæmonians.—Truce for a year.—And this in three years more of the same war.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. Messana revolteth from the Athenians.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The Locrians waste the territory of Rhegium.

  1. The spring following, when corn began to be in the ear, ten galleys of Syracuse and as many of Locris went to Messana in Sicily, called in by the citizens themselves, and took it; and Messana revolted from the Athenians. This was done by the practice chiefly of the Syracusans, that saw the place to be commodious for invasion1 of Sicily, and feared lest the Athenians, some time or other hereafter making it the seat of their war, might come with greater forces into Sicily and invade them from thence; but partly also of the Locrians, as being in hostility with the Rhegians and desirous to make war upon them on both sides1 . The Locrians had now also entered the lands of the Rhegians with their whole power; both because they would hinder them from assisting the Messanians, and because they were solicited thereunto by the banished men of Rhegium that were with them. For they of Rhegium had been long in sedition, and were unable for the present to2 give them battle: for which cause they the rather also now invaded them. And after they had wasted the country, the Locrians withdrew their landforces; but their galleys lay still at the guard of Messana, and more were setting forth, to lie in the same harbour, to make the war on that side.

  The fifth invasion of Attica.The Athenians send forty galleys into Sicily:year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. who are to put in by the way at Corcyra, being still in sedition, the outlaws holding the field, and the commons the city.

  2. About the same time of the spring, and before corn was at full growth, the Peloponnesians and their confederates, under the conduct of Agis the son of Archidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians, invaded Attica; and there lay and wasted the country about. And the Athenians sent forty galleys into Sicily, the same which they had provided before for that purpose; and with them the other two generals, Eurymedon and Sophocles. For Pythodorus, who was the third in that commission, was arrived in Sicily before. To these they gave commandment also to take order, as they went by, for the state of those Corcyræans that were in the city, and were pillaged by the outlaws in the mountain; and threescore galleys of the Peloponnesians were gone out to take part with those in the mountain; who because there was a great famine in the city, thought they might easily be masters of that state. To Demosthenes also, who ever since his return out of Acarnania had lived privately, they gave authority, at his own request, to make use of the same galleys, if he thought good so to do, about Peloponnesus.

  Demosthenes urgeth to put in at Pylus.The fleet driven into Pylus by weather.The commodity of Pylus.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The Athenians build the fort of Pylus.

  3. As they sailed by the coast of Laconia, and had intelligence that the Peloponnesian fleet was at Corcyra already, Eurymedon and Sophocles hasted1 to Corcyra; but Demosthenes willed them to put in first at Pylus, and when they had done what was requisite there, then to proceed in their voyage. But whilst they denied to do it, the fleet was driven into Pylus by a tempest that then arose by chance. And presently Demosthenes required them to fortify the place, alleging that he came with them for no other purpose, and showing how there was great store of timber and stone, and that the place itself was naturally strong, and desert, both it and a great deal of the country about. For it lieth from Sparta about four hundred furlongs, in the territory that, belonging once to the Messenians, is called by the Lacedæmonians Coryphasion. But they answered him, that there were many desert promontories in Peloponnesus, if they were minded to put the city to charges in taking them in. But there appeared unto Demosthenes a great difference between this place and other places; because there was here a haven, and the Messenians, the ancient inhabitants thereof, speaking the same language the Lacedæmonians did, would both be able to annoy them much by excursions thence, and be also faithful guardians of the place. 4. When he could not prevail, neither with the generals nor with the soldiers, having also at last communicated the same to the captains1 of companies, he2 gave it over; till at last, the weather not serving to be gone, there came upon the soldiers lying idle a desire, occasioned by dissension, to wall in the place of their own accord. And falling in hand with the work, they performed it, not with iron tools to hew stone, but picked out such stones as they thought good, and afterwards placed them as they would severally fit. And for mortar, where it needed, for want of vessels they carried it on their backs, with their bodies inclining forward so as it might best lie, and their hands clasped behind to stay it from falling; making all possible haste to prevent the Lacedæmonians, and to finish the most assailable parts before they came to succour it. For the greatest part of the place was strong by nature, and needed no fortifying at all.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. The Lacedæmonians at home regard the taking of Pylus but lightly.The Lacedæmonian army and Agis take it more to heart.

  5. The Lacedæmonians were [that day] celebrating a certain holiday, and when they heard the news, did set lightly by it; conceiving, that whensoever it should please them to go thither, they should find them either already gone, or easily take the place by force. Somewhat also they were retarded, by reason that their army was in Attica. The Athenians having in six days finished the wall to the land and in the places where was most need, left Demosthenes with five galleys to defend it, and with the rest hastened on in their course for Corcyra and Sicily. 6. The Peloponnesians that were in Attica, when they were advertised of the taking of Pylus, returned speedily home: for the Lacedæmonians and Agis their king took this accident of Pylus to concern their own particular. And the invasion was withal so early, corn being yet green, that the most of them were scanted with victual. The army was also much troubled with the weather, which was colder than for the season. So as for many reasons it fell out, that they returned sooner now than at other times they had done, and this invasion was the shortest: for they continued in Attica in all but fifteen days.

  The Athenians take Eion in Thrace, and lose it again.

  7. About the same time, Simonides an Athenian commander, having drawn a few Athenians together out of the garrisons and a number of the confederates of those parts, took the city of Eion in Thrace, a colony of the Mendæans, that was their enemy, by treason: but was presently again driven out by the Chalcideans and Bottiæans, that came to succour it: and lost many of his soldiers.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. The Lacedæmonians by sea and land seek to recover Pylus.Demosthenes sends to call back the fleet to help him.The Lacedæmonians prepare themselves to assault the fort.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The situation of the isle of Sphacteria.The Lacedæmonians put over four hundred and twenty men of arms, besides their servants, into the isle of Sphacteria over against Pylus.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  8. When the Peloponnesians were returned out of Attica, they of the city of Sparta, and of other the neighbouring towns1 , went presently to the aid of Pylus; but [the rest of] the Lacedæmonians came slowlier on, as being newly come from the former expedition. Nevertheless they sent about to the cities of the Peloponnesus, to require their assistance with all speed at Pylus; and also to their threescore galleys that were at Corcyra: which, transported over the isthmus of Leucas2 , arrived at Pylus unseen of the Athenian galleys lying at Zacynthus. And by this time their army of foot was also there. Whilst the Peloponnesian galleys were coming toward Pylus, Demosthenes sent two galleys secretly to Eurymedon and the Athenian fleet at Zacynthus, in all haste3 , to tell them that they must come presently to him, for as much as the place was in danger to be lost. And according as Demosthenes his message imported, so the fleet made haste. The Lacedæmonians in the mean time prepared themselves to assault the fort both by sea and land; hoping easily to win it, being a thing built in haste and not many men within it. And because they expected the coming of the Athenian fleet from Zacynthus, they had a purpose, if they took not the fort before, to bar up the entries of the harbour1 . For the island called Sphacteria, lying just before and very near to the place, maketh the haven safe, and the entries straight; one of them, nearest to Pylus and to the Athenian fortification, admitting passage for no more but two galleys in front; and the other, which lieth against the other part of the continent, for not above eight or nine. The island, by being desert, was all wood and untrodden; in bigness, about fifteen furlongs over. Therefore they determined with their galleys thick set, and with the beak–heads outward, to stop up the entries of the haven. And because they feared the island, lest the Athenians [putting men into it] should make war upon them from thence, they carried over men of arms into the same, and placed others likewise along the shore of the continent. For by this means the Athenians at their coming should find the island their enemy, and no means of landing in the continent. For the coast of Pylus itself without these two entries, being to the sea harbourless, would afford them no place from whence to set forth to the aid of their fellows: and they in all probability might by siege, without battle by sea or other danger, win the place; seeing there was no provision of victual within it, and that the enemy took it but on short preparation. Having thus resolved, they put over into the island their men of arms, out of every band by lot. Some also had been sent over before by turns: but they which went over now last and were left1 there, were four hundred and twenty, besides the Helotes that were with them. And their captain was Epitadas the son of Molobrus.

  Demosthenes prepareth himself to keep the Lacedæmonians from landing on the shore.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  9. Demosthenes, when he saw the Lacedæmonians bent to assault him both from their galleys and with their army by land, prepared also to defend the place. And when he had drawn up his galleys, all that were left him, unto the land, he placed them athwart the fort2 ; and armed the mariners that belonged to them with bucklers, though bad ones, and for the greatest part made of osiers. For they had no means in a desert place to provide themselves of arms. Those they had3 , they took out of a piratical boat of thirty oars and a light–horseman of the Messenians, which came by chance. And the men of arms of the Messenians were about forty, which he made use of amongst the rest. The greatest part therefore, both of armed and unarmed, he placed on the parts of the wall toward the land which were of most strength4 , and commanded them to make good the place against the landforces, if they assaulted it. And he himself, with sixty men of arms chosen out of the whole number, and a few archers, came forth of the fort to the sea–side, in that part where he most expected their landing; which part was of troublesome access, and stony, and lay to the wide sea. But because their wall was there the weakest, he thought they would be drawn to adventure for that. For neither did the Athenians think they should ever have been mastered with galleys, which caused them to make the place [to the seaward] the less strong; and1 if the Peloponnesians should by force come to land, they made no other account but the place would be lost. Coming therefore in this part to the very brink of the sea, he put in order his men of arms2 ; and encouraged them with words to this effect:

  the oration of demosthenes.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. Oration of Demosthenes.

  10. “You that participate with me in the present danger, let not any of you in this extremity go about to seem wise, and reckon every peril that now besetteth us; but let him rather come up to the enemy with little circumspection and much hope, and3 look for his safety by that. For things that are come once to a pinch, as these are, admit not debate, but a speedy hazard. And [yet] if we stand it out, and betray not our advantages with fear of the number of the enemy, I see well enough that most things are with us. For I make account, the4 difficulty of their landing makes for us: which, as long as we abide ourselves, will help us: but if we retire, though the place be difficult, yet when there is none to impeach them they will land well enough5 . For whilst they are in their galleys, they are most easy to be fought withal; and in their disbarking being but on equal terms, their number is not greatly to be feared; for though they be many, yet they must fight but by few, for want of room to fight in. And for an army to have odds by land, is another matter than when they are to fight from galleys, where they stand in need of so many accidents to fall out opportunely from the sea. So that I think their great difficulties do but set them even with our small number. And for you, that be Athenians, and by experience of disbarking against others know, that if a man stand it out, and do not for fear of the sowsing of a wave or the menacing approach of a galley give back of himself, he can never be put back by violence; I expect that you should keep your ground, and by fighting it out upon the very edge of the water preserve both yourselves and the fort.”

  The Athenians take heart.The Lacedæmonians assault the fort by land, and seek to force landing from their galleys.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The valour of Brasidas.Brasidas swooneth by reason of his wounds.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  11. Upon this exhortation of Demosthenes the Athenians took better heart, and went down and arranged themselves close by the sea. And the Lacedæmonians came and assaulted the fort, both with their army by land, and with their fleet, consisting of three–and–forty galleys; in which was admiral Thrasymelidas the son of Cratesicles, a Spartan. And he made his approach where Demosthenes had before expected him. So the Athenians were assaulted on both sides, both by sea and by land. The Peloponnesians dividing their galleys into small numbers, because they could not come near with many at once, and resting between, assailed them by turns; using all possible valour and mutual encouragement, to put the Athenians back and gain the fort. Most eminent of all the rest was Brasidas. For having the command of a galley, and seeing other captains of galleys and steersmen, (the place being hard of access), when there appeared sometimes possibility of putting ashore, to be afraid and tender of breaking their galleys; he would cry out unto them, saying, “they did not well, for sparing of wood to let the enemy fortify in their country”: and [to the Lacedæmonians] he gave advice to force landing with the breaking of their galleys; and prayed the confederates, that in requital of many benefits they would not stick to bestow their galleys at this time upon the Lacedæmonians, and running them ashore to use any means whatsoever to land, and to get into their hands both the men [in the isle] and the fort. 12. Thus he urged others; and having compelled the steersman of his own galley to run her ashore, he came to the ladders, but attempting to get down was by the Athenians put1 back; and after he had received many wounds, swooned; and falling upon the ledges2 of the galley, his buckler tumbled over into the sea. Which brought to land, the Athenians took up, and used afterwards in the trophy which they set up for this assault. Also the rest endeavoured with much courage to come aland; but the place being ill to land in, and the Athenians not budging, they could not do it. So that at this time fortune came so much about, that the Athenians fought from the land, Laconique land, against the Lacedæmonians in galleys; and the Lacedæmonians from their galleys fought against the Athenians, to get landing in their own now hostile territory. For at that time there was an opinion far spread, that these were rather landmen and expert in a battle of foot; and that in maritime and naval actions the other excelled1 .

  The Lacedæmonians, after three days’ assault without effect, give over that course.The Athenian fleet return from Zacynthus to aid the Athenians in Pylus.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The Athenians overcome the Peloponnesian fleet in the haven of Pylus.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The Athenians getting the victory besiege the men cut off from the army in the island.

  13. This day then and a part of the next, they made sundry assaults; and after that gave over. And the third day they sent out some galleys to Asine, for timber wherewith to make engines: hoping with engines to take that part of the wall that looketh into the haven; which, though it were higher, yet the landing to it was easier. In the meantime arrive the forty2 Athenian galleys from Zacynthus; for there were joined with them certain galleys of the garrison of Naupactus, and four of Chios. And when they saw both the continent and the island full of men of arms, and that the galleys that were in the haven would not come forth; not knowing where to cast anchor they sailed for the present to the isle Prote, being near and desert; and there lay for that night. The next day, after they had put themselves in order, they put to sea again with purpose to offer them battle, if the other would come forth into the wide sea against them; if not, to enter the haven upon them. But the Peloponnesians neither came out against them, nor had stopped up the entries of the haven, as they had before determined; but lying still on the shore manned out their galleys, and prepared to fight, if any entered, in the haven itself, which was no small one. 14. The Athenians understanding this, came in violently upon them at both the mouths of the haven, and most of the Lacedæmonian galleys, which were already set out and opposed them, they charged and put to flight: and in following the chase, which was but short, they brake many of them, and took five, whereof one with all her men in her: and they fell in also with them that fled to the shore1 . And the galleys which were but in manning out, were torn and rent before they could put off from the land. Others they tied to their own galleys, and towed them away empty2 . Which the Lacedæmonians perceiving, and extremely grieved with the loss, because their fellows were hereby intercepted in the island, came in with their aid [from the land]; and entering armed into the sea took hold of the galleys with their hands, to have pulled them back again: every one conceiving the business to proceed the worse, wherein himself was not present. So there arose a great affray about the galleys, and such as was contrary to the manner of them both. For the Lacedæmonians, out of eagerness and out of fear, did (as one may say) nothing else but make a sea–fight from the land; and the Athenians, who had the victory and desired to extend their present fortune to the utmost, made a land–fight from their galleys. But at length, having wearied and wounded each other, they fell asunder; and the Lacedæmonians recovered all1 their galleys, save only those which were taken at the first onset. When they were on both sides retired to their camps, the Athenians erected a trophy, delivered to the enemy their dead, and possessed the wreck; and immediately went round the island with their galleys, keeping watch upon it as having intercepted the men within it. The Peloponnesians in the meantime, that were in the continent and were by this time assembled there with their succours from all parts of Peloponnesus, remained upon the place at Pylus.

  The magistrates of Sparta come to view the state of the camp, and conclude there to send to Athens about peace.Truce between the armies, till ambassadors might be sent to Athens.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  15. As soon as the news of what had passed2 was related at Sparta, they thought fit, in respect the loss was great, to send the magistrates down to the camp, to determine, upon view of the state of their present affairs there, what they thought requisite to be done3 . These, when they saw there was no possibility to relieve their men, and were not willing to put them to the danger either of suffering by famine or of being forced by multitude, concluded amongst themselves to take truce with the Athenian commanders, as far as concerned the particulars of Pylus, if they also would be content; and to send ambassadors to Athens about agreement, and to endeavour to fetch off their men as soon as they could. 16. The Athenian commanders accepting the proposition, the truce was made in this manner:

  the articles of the truce.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. The articles of the truce.

  That the Lacedæmonians should deliver up, not only those galleys wherein they fought, but also bring to Pylus and put into the Athenians’ hands whatsoever vessels of the long form of building were anywhere else in Laconia: that they should not make any assault upon the fort, neither by sea nor land.—That the Athenians should permit the Lacedæmonians that were in the continent, to send over to those in the island a portion of ground corn agreed on, to wit, to every one two Attic chœnickes of meal1 , and two cotyles of wine, and a piece of flesh; and to every of their servants, half that quantity: that they should send this the Athenians looking on; and not send over any vessel by stealth.—That the Athenians should nevertheless continue guarding of the island, provided2 that they landed not in it; and should not invade the Peloponnesian army neither by land nor sea.—That if either side transgressed in any part3 thereof, the truce was then immediately to be void; otherwise to hold good till the return of the Lacedæmonian ambassadors from Athens. — That the Athenians should convoy them in a galley unto Athens and back.—That at their return the truce should end, and the Athenians should restore them their galleys in as good estate as they had received them.

  Thus was the truce made, and the galleys were delivered to the Athenians, to the number of about three score: and the ambassadors were sent away; who arriving at Athens, said as followeth:

  the oration of the lacedæmonians.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. Oration of the Lacedæmonians.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. Oration of the Lacedæmonians.

  17. “Men of Athens, the Lacedæmonians have sent us hither concerning our men in the island, to see if we can persuade you to such a course, as being most profitable for you, may, in this misfortune, be the most honourable for us that our present condition is capable of. We will not be longer in discourse than standeth with our custom, being the fashion with us, where few words suffice, there indeed not to use many; but yet to use more, when the occasion requireth that by words we should make plain that which is to be done in actions of importance1 . But the words we shall use, we pray you to receive not with the mind of an enemy, nor as if we went about to instruct you as men ignorant; but for a remembrance to you of what you know, that you may deliberate wisely therein. It is now in your power to assure your present good fortune with reputation, holding what you have, with the addition of honour and glory besides: and to avoid that which befalleth men upon extraordinary success; who through hope aspire1 to greater fortune, because the fortune they have already came unhoped for. Whereas they that have felt many changes of both fortunes, ought indeed to be most suspicious of the good. So ought your city, and ours especially, upon experience in all reason to be. 18. Know it, by seeing this present misfortune fallen on us; who being of greatest dignity of all the Grecians, come to you to ask that, which before we thought chiefly in our own hands to give2 . And yet we are not brought to this through weakness, nor through insolence upon addition of strength; but3 because it succeeded not with the power we had as we thought it should; which may as well happen to any other as to ourselves. So that you have no reason to conceive, that for your power and purchases4 , fortune also must be therefore always yours. Such wise men as safely reckon their prosperity in the account of things doubtful, do most wisely also address themselves towards adversity; and not think that war will so far follow and no further, as one shall please more or less to take it in hand, but rather so far as fortune shall lead it. Such men also seldom miscarrying, because they be not puffed up with the confidence of success, choose then principally to give over, when they are in their better fortune. And so it will be good for you, men of Athens, to do with us; and not, if rejecting our advice you chance to miscarry, (as many ways you may), to have it thought hereafter that all your present successes were but mere fortune: whereas, on the contrary, it is in your hands without danger1 to leave a reputation to posterity both of strength and wisdom.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. Oration of the Lacedæmonians.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  19. “The Lacedæmonians call you to a peace and end of the war; giving you peace, and alliance, and much other friendship and mutual familiarity; requiring for the same [only] those their men that are in the island; though2 also we think it better for both sides, not to try the chance of war, whether it fall out that by some occasion of safety offered they escape by force, or being expugned by siege should be more in your power than they be3 . For we are of this mind, that great hatred is most safely cancelled, not when one that having beaten his enemy and gotten much the better in the war, brings him through necessity to take an oath, and to make peace on unequal terms; but when having it in his power lawfully so to do if he please, he overcome him likewise in goodness, and, contrary to what he expects, be reconciled to him on moderate conditions4 . For in this case, his enemy being obliged, not to seek revenge as one that had been forced, but to requite his goodness, will, for shame, be the more inclined to the conditions agreed on. And1 naturally, to those that relent of their own accord, men give way reciprocally with content; but against the arrogant, they will hazard all, even when in their own judgments they be too weak. 20. But for us both, if ever it were good to agree, it is surely so at this present, and before any irreparable accident be interposed. Whereby we should be compelled, besides the common, to bear you a particular2 eternal hatred; and you be deprived of the commodities we now offer you. Let us be reconciled while matters stand undecided, and whilst you have gained reputation and our friendship, and we not suffered dishonour, and but indifferent loss. And we shall3 not only ourselves prefer peace before war, but also give a cessation of their miseries to all the rest of the Grecians; who will acknowledge it rather from you, than us. For they make war, not knowing whether side begun; but if an end be made, which is now for the most part in your own hands, the thanks will be yours. And by decreeing the peace, you may make the Lacedæmonians your sure friends, inasmuch as they call you to it, and are therein not forced, but gratified. Wherein consider how many commodities are like to ensue. For if we and you go one way, you know the rest of Greece, being inferior to us, will honour us in the highest degree1 .”

  The insolent demand of the people of Athens, by the advice of Cleon.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  21. Thus spake the Lacedæmonians; thinking that in times past the Athenians had coveted peace, and been hindered of it by them; and that being now offered, they would gladly accept of it. But they, having these men intercepted in the island, thought they might compound at pleasure, and aspired to greater matters. To this they were set on for the most part by Cleon the son of Cleænetus, a popular man at that time, and of greatest sway with the multitude. He persuaded them to give this answer: “That they in the island ought first to deliver up their arms, and come themselves to Athens; and when they should be there, if the Lacedæmonians would make restitution of Nisæa, and Pegæ, and Trœzen, and Achaia”,—the which they had not won in war, but had received by former treaty, when the Athenians2 being in distress, and at that time in more need of peace than now [yielded them up into their hands]—“then they should have their men again, and peace should be made for as long as they both should think good”.

  The Lacedæmonians desire to speak before a private committee.

  22. To this answer they replied nothing; but desired that commissioners might be chosen to treat with them, who by alternate speaking and hearing, might quietly make such an agreement as they could persuade each other unto. But then Cleon came mightily upon them, saying, he knew before that they had no honest purpose; and that the same was now manifest, in that they refused to speak before the people, but sought to sit in consultation only with a few: and willed them, if they had aught to say that was real, to speak it before them all. But the Lacedæmonians finding that although they had a mind to make peace with them upon this occasion of adversity, yet it would not be fit to speak in it before the multitude, lest speaking and not obtaining they should incur calumny with their confederates; and seeing withal that the Athenians would not grant what they sued for upon reasonable conditions, they went back again without effect.

  The ambassadors return without effect, and the truce endeth.The Athenians cavil, and keep the galleys of the Lacedæmonians.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3. The war at Pylus goes on.

  23. Upon their return, presently the truce at Pylus was at an end; and the Lacedæmonians, according to agreement, demanded restitution of their galleys. But the Athenians, laying to their charge an assault made upon the fort, contrary to the articles, and other matters of no great importance, refused to render them: standing upon this, that it was said that the accord should be void upon whatsoever the least transgression of the same. But the Lacedæmonians denying it, and protesting this detention of their galleys for an injury, went their ways and betook themselves to the war. So the war at Pylus was on both sides renewed with all their power: the Athenians went every day about the island with two galleys, one going one way, another another way, and lay at anchor about it every night with their whole fleet, except on that part which lieth to the open sea; and that, only when it was windy; (from Athens also there came a supply of thirty galleys more, to guard the island; so that they were in the whole threescore and ten): and the Lacedæmonians1 made assaults upon the fort, and watched every opportunity that should present itself to save their men in the island.

  The Syracusians and Athenians fight in the strait between Messana and Rhegium.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  24. Whilst these things passed, the Syracusians and their confederates in Sicily, adding to those galleys that lay in garrison at Messana the rest of the fleet which they had prepared, made war out of Messana; instigated thereto chiefly by the Locrians, as enemies to the Rhegians, whose territory they had also invaded with their whole forces by land: and seeing the Athenians had but a few galleys present, and hearing that the greater number which were to come to them were employed in the siege of the island, desired to try with them a battle by sea. For if they could get the better with their navy, they hoped, lying before Rhegium both with their land–forces on the field side and with their fleet by sea, easily to take it into their hands, and thereby strengthen their affairs. For Rhegium a promontory of Italy, and Messana in Sicily lying near together, they might both hinder the Athenians from lying at anchor there against them, and make themselves masters of the strait1 . This strait is the sea between Rhegium and Messana, where Sicily is nearest to the continent; and is that which is called Charybdis, where Ulysses is said to have passed through. Which, for that it is very narrow, and because the sea falleth in there from two great mains, the Tyrrhene and Sicilian, and is rough, hath therefore not without good cause been esteemed dangerous.

  The Syracusians and Athenians fight at sea.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  25. In this strait then the Syracusians and their confederates, with somewhat more than thirty galleys, were constrained in the latter end of the day to come to a sea–fight, having been drawn forth about the passage of a certain boat to undertake sixteen galleys of Athens and eight of Rhegium: and being overcome by the Athenians, fell off with the loss of one galley, and went speedily each2 [side] to their own camp at Messana and Rhegium; and the night overtook them in the action. After this the Locrians departed out of the territory of the Rhegians; and the fleet of the Syracusians and their confederates came together to an anchor at Peloris1 , and had their land–forces by them. But the Athenians and Rhegians came up to them, and finding their galleys empty of men fell in amongst them; and by means of a grapnel cast into one of their galleys they2 lost that galley, but the men swam out. Upon this the Syracusians went aboard, and whilst they were towed along the shore towards Messana, the Athenians came up to them again; and the Syracusians opening3 themselves, charged first and sunk another of their galleys. So the Syracusians passed on to the port of Messana, having had the better in their passage by the shore and in the sea–fight, which were both together in such manner as is declared.

  The Messanians war on the city of Naxos, and receive a great loss.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The Athenians and Leontines attempt to take Messana.

  The Athenians, upon news that Camarina should by Archias and his complices be betrayed to the Syracusians, went thither. In the meantime the Messanians, with their whole power by land and also with their fleet, warred on Naxos, a Chalcidique city and their borderer. The first day having forced the Naxians to retire within their walls, they spoiled their fields; the next day they sent their fleet about into the river Acesine, which spoiled the country [as it went up the river]; and with their landforces assaulted4 the city. In the meantime many of the Siculi, mountaineers, came down to their assistance against the Messanians: which when they of Naxos perceived, they took heart, and encouraging themselves with an opinion that the Leontines, and all the rest of the Grecians their confederates, had come to succour them, sallied suddenly out of the city and charged upon the Messanians, and put them to flight with the slaughter of a thousand of their soldiers; and the rest hardly escaping home. For the barbarians fell upon them, and slew the most part of them in the highways. And the galleys that lay at1 Messana, not long after divided themselves, and went to their several homes. Hereupon the Leontines and their confederates, together with the Athenians, marched presently against Messana, as being now weakened; and assaulted it, the Athenians with their fleet by the haven, and the land–forces at2 the wall to the field. But the Messanians, and certain Locrians with Demoteles, who after this loss had been left there in garrison, issuing forth and falling suddenly upon them, put a great part of the Leontines’ army to flight, and slew many. But the Athenians seeing that, disbarked and relieved them; and coming upon the Messanians now in disorder, chased them again into the city. Then they erected a trophy, and put over to Rhegium. After this, the Grecians of Sicily warred one upon another without the Athenians.

  The Athenians much troubled to watch the island.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.The shift of the Lacedæmonians to relieve the besieged with victual.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 3.

  26. All this while the Athenians at Pylus besieged the Lacedæmonians in the island; and the army of the Peloponnesians in the continent remained still upon the place. This keeping of watch was exceedingly painful to the Athenians, in respect of the want they had both of corn and water: for there was no well but one, and that was in the fort itself of Pylus, and no great one. And the greatest number turned up the gravel1 , and drank such water as they were like to find there. They were also scanted of room for their camp; and their galleys not having place to ride in, they were forced by turns, some to stay ashore, and others to take their victual and lie off at anchor2 . But their greatest discouragement was, the time which they had stayed there longer than they had thought to have done; for they thought to have famished them out in a few days, being in a desert island and having nothing to drink but salt water. The cause hereof were the Lacedæmonians, who had proclaimed that any man that would, should carry in meal, wine, cheese, and all other esculents necessary for a siege, into the island, appointing for the same a great reward of silver: and if any Helot should carry in any thing, they promised him liberty. Hereupon divers with much danger imported victual; but especially the Helotes, who putting off from all parts of Peloponnessus, wheresoever they chanced to be, came in at the parts of the island that lay to the wide sea. But they had a care above all to take such a time as to be brought in with the wind. For when it blew from the sea, they could escape the watch of the galleys easily3 : for they could not then lie round about the island at anchor. And the Helotes were nothing tender in putting ashore; for they ran their galleys on ground, valued at a price in money: and the men of arms also watched at all the landing places of the island. But as many as made attempt when the weather was calm, were intercepted. There were also such as could dive, that swam over into the island through the haven, drawing after them in a string bottles1 filled with poppy tempered with honey, and pounded linseed: whereof some at the first passed unseen, but were afterwards watched. So that on either part they used all possible art: one side to send over food, the other to apprehend those that carried it.

  A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4. The Athenians are angry that their army is detained so long in the siege of the island.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.Cleon to avoid the envy of hindering the peace, engageth himself, ere he was aware, to fetch those that were besieged in the island home to Athens.Cleon undertaketh to fetch those in the island prisoners to Athens.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.Cleon taken at his word, would have declined the employment, but cannot.A glorious boast of Cleon well taken.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  27. The people of Athens being advertised of the state of their army, how it was in distress, and that victual was transported into the island, knew not what they should do to it, and feared lest winter should overtake them in their siege; fearing2 not only that to provide them of necessaries about Peloponnesus, and in a desert place withal, would be a thing impossible, but also that they should be unable to send forth so many things as were requisite, though it were summer; and again, that the parts thereabout being without harbour, there would be no place to lie at anchor in against them; but that the watch there ceasing of itself, the men would by that means escape, or in some foul weather be carried away in the same boats that brought them meat. But that which they feared most was, that the Lacedæmonians seemed to have some assurance of them already1 , because they sent no more to negotiate about them. And they repented now that they had not accepted of the peace. But Cleon knowing himself to be the man suspected for hindering the agreement, said, that they who brought the news reported not the truth. Whereupon, they that came thence advising them, if they would not believe it, to send to view the estate of the army, he and Theogenes were chosen by the Athenians to view it. But when he saw that he must of force either say as they said whom he before calumniated, or saying the contrary be proved a liar: he advised the Athenians, seeing2 them inclined of themselves to send thither greater forces than they had before thought to do, that it was not fit to send to view the place, nor to lose their opportunity by delay; but if the report seemed unto them to be true, they should make a voyage against those men: and glanced at Nicias the son of Niceratus, then general, upon malice and with language of reproach: saying it was easy, if the leaders3 were men, to go and take them there in the island; and that himself, if he had the command, would do it. 28. But Nicias, seeing the Athenians to be in a kind of tumult against Cleon, for that when he thought it so easy a matter he did not presently put it in practice; and seeing also he had upbraided him, willed him to take what strength he would that1 they could give him, and undertake it. Cleon supposing at first that he gave him this leave but in words, was ready to accept it; but when he knew he would give him the authority in good earnest, then he shrunk back; and said, that not he, but Nicias was general; being now indeed afraid, and hoping that he durst not have given over the office to him. But then Nicias again bade him do it, and gave over2 his command [to him] for so much as concerned Pylus; and called the Athenians to witness it. They, (as is the fashion of the multitude), the more Cleon declined the voyage and went back from his word, pressed Nicias so much the more to resign his power to him, and cried out upon Cleon to go. Insomuch as not knowing how to disengage himself of his word, he undertook the voyage; and stood forth, saying, that he feared not the Lacedæmonians, and that he would not carry any man with him out of the city, but only the Lemnians and Imbrians that then were present, and those targettiers that were come to them from Ænus, and four hundred archers out of other places: and with these he said, added to the soldiers that were at Pylus already, he would within twenty days either fetch away the Lacedæmonians alive, or kill them upon the place. This vain speech moved amongst the Athenians some laughter, and3 was heard with great content of the wiser sort. For of two benefits, the one must needs fall out; either to be rid of Cleon, (which was their greatest hope), or if they were deceived in that, then to get those Lacedæmonians into their hands.

  The reason why Demosthenes durst not land in the island to subdue the besieged by fight.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The wood of the island burnt by accident.Cleon arriveth at Pylus.

  29. Now when he had dispatched with the assembly, and the Athenians had by their voices decreed him the voyage, he joined unto himself Demosthenes, one of the commanders at Pylus, and presently put to sea1 . He made choice of Demosthenes for his companion, because he heard that he also of himself and a purpose to set his soldiers aland in the isle. For the army having suffered much by the straitness of the place, and being rather the besieged than the besieger, had a great desire to put the matter to the hazard of a battle: confirmed2 therein the more, for that the island had been burnt. For having been for the most part wood, and (by reason it had lain ever desert) without path, they3 were before [the more] afraid, and thought it the advantage of the enemy; for assaulting them out of sight, they might annoy a very great army that should offer to come aland. For their errors being in the wood, and their preparation could not so well have been discerned4 : whereas all the faults of their own army should have been in sight: so that the enemy might have set upon them suddenly, in what part soever they had pleased; because the onset had been in their own election. Again, if they should by force come up to fight with the Lacedæmonians at hand in the thick woods, the fewer and skilful of the ways, he thought, would be too hard for the many and unskilful. Besides, their own army being great it might receive an overthrow before they could know of it; because they could not see where it was needful to relieve one another. 30. These things came into his head especially from the loss he received in Ætolia; which in part1 also happened by occasion of the woods. But the soldiers, for want of room, having been forced to put in at the outside of the island to dress their dinners with a watch before them, and one of them having2 set fire on the wood, [it burnt on by little and little], and the wind afterwards rising, the most of it was burnt before they were aware. By this accident, Demosthenes the better discerning that the Lacedæmonians were more than he had imagined, having3 before by victual sent unto them thought them not so many, did now prepare himself for the enterprise, as a matter deserving the Athenians’ utmost care, and as having better commodity of landing in the island than before he had; and both sent for the forces of such confederates as were near, and put in readiness every other needful thing. And Cleon, who had sent a messenger before to signify his coming, came himself also with those forces which he had required unto Pylus.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Athenians invade the island:

  When they were both together, first they sent a herald to the camp in the continent, to know if they would command those in the island to deliver up themselves and their arms without battle, to be held with easy imprisonment till some agreement were made touching the main war. 31. Which when they refused, the Athenians for one day held their hands; but the next day, having put aboard upon a few galleys all their men of arms, they put off in the night, and landed a little before day on both sides of the island, both from the main and from the haven, to the number of about eight hundred men of arms; and marched upon high speed towards the foremost watch of the island. For thus the Lacedæmonians lay quartered. In this foremost watch, were about thirty men of arms: the middest and evenest part of the island, and about the water1 , was kept by Epitadas their captain with the greatest part of the whole number: and another part of them, which were not many, kept the last guard towards Pylus, which place to the seaward was on a cliff, and least assailable by land. For there was2 also a certain fort which was old, and made of chosen [not of hewn] stones; which they thought would stand them in stead in case of violent retreat. Thus they were quartered.

  and kill those that were in the first and most remote watch from Pylus.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Athenians divide themselves into many troops against the main body of the Lacedæmonian soldiers.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The fight between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians in the middle of the island.

  32. Now the Athenians presently killed those of the foremost guard, which they so ran to, in their cabins, and as they were taking arms. For3 they knew not of their landing; but thought those galleys had come thither to anchor in the night according to custom, as they had been wont to do. As soon as it was morning, the rest of the army also landed, out of somewhat more than seventy galleys, every one with such arms as he had, being all [that rowed] except only the Thalamii1 ; eight hundred archers; targetiers as many; all the Messenians that came to aid them; and as many of them besides as held any place about Pylus, except only the garrison of the fort itself. Demosthenes then disposing his army by two hundred and more in a company, and in some less, [at certain distances], seized on all the higher grounds; to the end that the enemies, compassed about on every side, might the less know what to do, or against what part to set themselves in battle, and be subject to the shot of the multitude from every part; and when they should make head against those that fronted them, be charged behind; and when they should turn to those that were opposed to their flanks, be charged at once both behind and before. And which way soever they marched, the light–armed and such as were meanliest provided of arms followed2 them at the back with arrows, darts, stones, and slings; who have courage enough afar off, and could not be charged, but would overcome flying, and also press the enemies when they should retire. With this design Demosthenes both intended his landing at first, and afterwards ordered his forces accordingly in the action. 33. Those that were about Epitadas, who were the greatest part of those in the island, when they saw that the foremost guard was slain and that the army marched towards them, put themselves in array, and went towards the men of arms of the Athenians with intent to charge them: for these were opposed to them in front, and the light–armed soldiers on their flanks and at their backs. But they could neither come to join with them, nor any way make use of their skill. For both the light–armed soldiers kept them off with shot from either side, and1 the men of arms advanced not. Where the light–armed soldiers approached nearest, they were driven back; but returning, they charged them afresh, being men armed lightly, and that easily got out of their reach by running, especially the ground being uneasy and rough by having been formerly desert; so that the Lacedæmonians in their armour could not follow them.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Lacedæmonians retire to the fort, where the last guard was placed.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4. The Athenians assault them there.Some of the Athenians climb up behind the Lacedæmonians unseen, and appear at their backs.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  34. Thus for a little while they skirmished one against another afar off. But when the Lacedæmonians were no longer able to run out after them where they charged, these light–armed soldiers seeing them less earnest in chasing them, and taking courage chiefly from their sight, as being many times their number, and having also been used to them so much as not to think them now so dangerous as they had done, for that they had not received so much hurt at their hands as their subdued minds, because they were to fight against the Lacedæmonians, had at their first landing prejudged, contemned them; and with a great cry ran all at once upon them, casting stones, arrows, and darts, as to every man came next to hand. Upon this cry and assault they were much terrified, as not accustomed to such kind of fight; and withal a great dust of the woods lately burnt mounted into the air; so that by reason of the arrows and stones, that together with the dust flew from such a multitude of men, they could hardly see before them. Then the battle grew sore on the Lacedæmonians’ side: for their jacks1 now gave way to the arrows, and the darts that were thrown stuck broken in them; so as they could not handle themselves, as neither seeing before them, nor hearing any direction given them for the greater noise of the enemy; but danger being on all sides, were hopeless to save themselves upon any side by fighting. 35. In the end, many of them being now wounded, for that they could not shift their ground, they made their retreat in close order to the2 last guard of the island, and to the watch that was there. When they once gave ground, then were the light–armed soldiers much more confident than before, and pressed upon them with a mighty noise: and as many of the Lacedæmonians as they could intercept in their retreat, they slew; but the most of them recovered the fort, and together with the watch of the same put themselves in order to defend it in all parts that were subject to assault. The Athenians following could not now encompass and hem them in, for the strong situation of the place; but assaulting them in the face, sought only how to put them from the wall. And thus they held out a long time, the better part of a day, either side tired with the fight, and with thirst, and with the sun: one endeavouring to drive the enemy from the top, the other to keep their ground. And the Lacedæmonians defended themselves easilier now than before, because they were not now encompassed upon their flanks. 36. When there was no end of the business, the captain of the Messenians said unto Cleon and Demosthenes, that they spent their labour there in vain: and that if they would deliver unto him a part of the archers and light–armed soldiers, to get up by such a way as he himself should find out, and come behind upon their backs, he thought the entrance might be forced. And having received the forces he asked, he took his way from a place out of sight to the Lacedæmonians, that he might not be discovered; making his approach under the cliffs of the island, where they were continual1 ; in which part, trusting to the natural strength thereof, they kept no watch; and with much labour and hardly unseen, came behind them: and appearing suddenly from above at their backs, both terrified the enemies with the sight of what they expected not, and much confirmed the Athenians with the sight of what they expected. And the Lacedæmonians, being now charged with their shot both before and behind, were in the same case (to compare small matters with great) that they were in at Thermopylæ. For then they were slain by the Persians, shut up on both sides in a narrow path1 : and these now being charged on both sides, could make good the place no longer; but fighting few against many, and being weak withal for want of food, were at last forced to give ground: and the Athenians by this time were also masters of all the entrances.

  The Lacedæmonians yield.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88 4.The Lacedæmonians yield up their arms, and are carried prisoners to Athens.The number of the slain, and of the prisoners.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  37. But Cleon and Demosthenes, knowing that the more they gave back, the faster they would be killed by their army2 , staid the fight and held in the soldiers: with desire to carry them alive to Athens, in case their spirits were so much broken and their courage abated by this misery, as upon proclamation made they would be content to deliver up their arms. So they proclaimed, that they3 should deliver up their arms and themselves to the Athenians, to be disposed of as to them should seem good. 38. Upon hearing hereof the most of them threw down their bucklers, and shook their hands above their heads; signifying their acceptation of what was proclaimed. Whereupon a truce was made, and they came to treat, Cleon and Demosthenes of one side, and Styphon the son of Pharax on the other side. For of them that had command there4 , Epitadas, who was the first, was slain; and Hippagretes1 , who was chosen to succeed him, lay amongst the dead, though yet alive; and this man was the third to succeed in the command by the law, in case the others should miscarry. Styphon, and those that were with him, said they would send over to the Lacedæmonians in the continent, to know what they there would advise them to. But the Athenians letting none go thence, called for heralds out of the continent: and the question having been twice or thrice asked, the last of the Lacedæmonians that came over from the continent brought them this answer: The Lacedæmonians bid you take advice touching yourselves, such as you shall think good; provided you do nothing dishonourably. Whereupon having consulted, they yielded up themselves and their arms. And the Athenians attended them that day and the night following with a watch: but the next day, after they had set up their trophy in the island, they prepared to be gone; and committed the prisoners to the custody of the captains of the galleys. And the Lacedæmonians sent over a herald, and took up the bodies of their dead. The number of them that were slain and taken alive in the island, was thus. There went over into the island in all, four hundred and twenty men of arms; of these were sent away alive, three hundred wanting eight; and the rest slain. Of those that lived, there were of the city itself of Sparta1 , one hundred and twenty. Of the Athenians there died not many; for it was no standing fight.

  39. The whole time of the siege of these men in the island, from the fight of the galleys to the fight in the island, was seventy–two days; of which for twenty days victual was allowed to be carried to them, that is to say, in the time that the ambassadors were away that went about the peace; in the rest, they were fed by such only as put in2 thither by stealth; and yet there was both corn and other food left in the island. For their captain Epitadas had distributed it more sparingly than he needed to have done. So the Athenians and the Peloponnesians departed from Pylus, and went home both of them with their armies. And the promise of Cleon, as senseless as it was, took effect: for within twenty days he brought home the men as he had undertaken.

  The yielding of the Lacedæmonians was contrary to the opinion had of their virtue.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  40. Of all the accidents of this war, this same fell out the most contrary to the opinion of the Grecians. For they expected that the Lacedæmonians should never, neither by famine nor whatsoever other necessity, have been constrained to deliver up their arms, but have died with them in their hands, fighting as long as they had been able: and would not believe that those that yielded, were like to those that were slain. And when one afterwards of the Athenian confederates asked one of the prisoners, by way of insulting, if they which were slain were valiant men3 : he answered, that a spindle (meaning an arrow) deserved to be valued at a high rate, if it could know what was a good man; signifying that the slain were such as the stones and arrows chanced to light on.

  The Lacedæmonian prisoners kept in bonds at Athens to be made use of in making the peace, or else upon the first invasion of Attica to be slain.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  41. After the arrival of the men, the Athenians ordered that they should be kept in bonds till there should be made some agreement; and if before that the Peloponnesians should invade their territory, then to bring them forth and kill them. They took order also [in the same assembly] for the settling of the garrison at Pylus. And the Messenians of Naupactus, having sent thither such men of their own as were fittest for the purpose, as to their native country; (for Pylus is in that country which belonged once to the Messenians1 ); infested Laconia with robberies, and did them much other mischief, as being of the same language. The Lacedæmonians, not having in times past been acquainted with robberies and such war as that, and because their Helotes ran over to the enemy, fearing also some greater innovation in the country, took the matter much to heart; and though they would not be known of it to the Athenians, yet they sent ambassadors, and endeavoured to get the restitution both of the fort of Pylus and of their men. But the Athenians aspired to greater matters; and the ambassadors, though they came often about it, yet were always sent away without effect. These were the proceedings at Pylus.

  Nicias warreth in the territory of Corinth with good fortune.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Corinthians hearing of their coming, assemble their forces to hinder their landing.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Athenians and Corinthians fight.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The Corinthians are put to flight.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  42. Presently after this, the same summer, the Athenians with eighty galleys, two thousand men of arms of their own city, and two hundred horse in boats built for transportation of horses, made war upon the territory of Corinth. There went also with them Milesians, Andrians, and Carystians, of their confederates. The general of the whole army was Nicias the son of Niceratus, with two others in commission with him. Betimes1 in a morning they put in at a place between Chersonesus and Rheitus, on that shore above which standeth the hill Solygeius, whereon the Dorians in old time sat down to make war on the Corinthians in the city of Corinth, that were then Æolians, and upon which there standeth now a village, called also Solygeia. From the shore where the galleys came in, this village is distant twenty1 furlongs, and the city of Corinth sixty, and the isthmus twenty. The Corinthians, having long before from Argos had intelligence that an army of the Athenians was coming against them, came all of them with their forces to the isthmus, save only such as dwelt without the isthmus and five hundred garrison soldiers absent in Ambracia and Leucadia: all the rest of military age came forth to attend the Athenians, where they should put in. But when the Athenians had put to shore in the night unseen, and that advertisement thereof was given them by signs put up into the air, they left the one half of their forces in Cenchreia, lest the Athenians should go against Crommyon: and with the other half made haste to meet them. 43. Battus, one of their commanders, (for there were two of them present at the battle), with one squadron went toward the village of Solygeia, being an open one, to defend it; and Lycophron with the rest charged the enemy. And first they gave the onset on the right wing of the Athenians, which was but newly1 landed, before Chersonesus: and afterwards they charged likewise the rest of the army. The battle was hot, and at hand–strokes. And the right wing of the Athenians and Carystians (for of these consisted their utmost files) sustained the charge of the Corinthians: and with much ado drave them back. But as they retired they came up (for the place was all rising ground) to a dry wall, and from thence, being on the upper ground, threw down stones at them; and after having sung the Pæan, came again close to them1 ; whom when the Athenians abode, the battle was again at handstrokes. But a certain band of Corinthians that came in to the aid of their own left wing, put the right wing of the Athenians to flight, and chased them to the sea–side: but then from their galleys they turned head again, both the Athenians and the Carystians. The other part of their army continued fighting on both sides, especially the right wing of the Corinthians, where Lycophron fought against the left wing of the Athenians: for they expected that the Athenians would attempt to go to Solygeia. 44. So they held each other to it a long time, neither side giving ground. But in the end (for that the Athenians had horsemen2 , which did them great service, seeing the other had none) the Corinthians were put to flight, and retired to the hill: where they laid down their arms and descended no more, but there rested. In this retreat, the greatest part of their right wing was slain3 , and amongst others Lycophron, one of the generals. But the rest of the army being in this manner neither much urged, nor retiring in much haste, when they could do no other, made their retreat up the hill and there sat down. The Athenians seeing them come no more down to battle, rifled the dead bodies of the enemy, and took up their own; and presently erected a trophy on the place. That half of the Corinthians that lay at Cenchreia, to watch the Athenians that they went not against Crommyon, saw not this battle for the hill Oneius; but when they saw the dust, and so knew what was in hand, they went presently to their aid. So did also the old men of Corinth from the city, when they understood how the matter had succeeded. The Athenians, when all these were coming upon them together, imagining them to have been the succours of the neighbouring cities of Peloponnesus, retired speedily to their galleys; carrying with them the booty, and the bodies of their dead; all save two, which not finding they left. Being aboard, they crossed over to the islands on the other side: and from thence sent a herald, and fetched away those two dead bodies which they left behind1 . There were slain in this battle, Corinthians, two hundred and twelve; and Athenians, somewhat under fifty.

  The Athenians waste other parts of the same coast.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.

  45. The Athenians putting off from the islands, sailed the same day to Crommyon in the territory of Corinth, distant from the city a hundred and twenty furlongs: where anchoring, they wasted the fields and stayed all that night. The next day they sailed along the shore, first to the territory of Epidaurus, whereinto they made some little incursion from their galleys: and then went to Methone, between Epidaurus and Trœzen; and there took in the isthmus of Chersonesus1 with a wall, and placed a garrison in it, which afterwards exercised robberies in the territories of Trœzen, Halias, and Epidaurus. And when they had fortified this place, they returned home with their fleet.

  The execution of the Corcyræan banished men, and end of that sedition.Truce granted to the banished men, with condition that the same should be void if any of them offered to make an escape.The fraud of the Corcyræans to entrap the banished men.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.The truce broken and the outlaws put into the hands of the commons.The Corcyræans take the outlaws out by scores, and make them pass the pikes.The outlaws refuse to go out to execution.year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4.They kill themselves.The miserable end of the banished men, which was also the end of the sedition.

  46. About the same time that these things were in doing, Eurymedon and Sophocles, after their departure from Pylus with the Athenian fleet towards Sicily, arriving at Corcyra, joined with those of the city, and made war upon those Corcyræans which lay encamped upon the hill Istone, and which after the sedition had come over, and both made themselves masters of the field and much annoyed the city: and having assaulted their fortification, took it. But the men all in one troop escaped to a certain high ground, and thence made their composition; which was this: that they should deliver up the strangers that aided them; and that they themselves, having rendered their arms, should stand to the judgment of the people of Athens. Hereupon the generals granted them truce, and transported them to the island of Ptychia, to be there in custody till the Athenians should send for them; with this condition, that if any one of them should be taken running away, then the truce to be broken for them all. But the patrons of the commons of Corcyra, fearing lest the Athenians would not kill them when they came thither, devise against them this plot. To some few of those in the island they secretly send their friends, and instruct them to say, as if forsooth it were for good will, that it was their best course with all speed to get away; and withal, to offer to provide them of a boat; for that the Athenian commanders intended verily to deliver them to the Corcyræan people. 47. When they were persuaded to do so, and that a boat was treacherously prepared, as they rowed away they were taken; and the truce being now broken, were all given up into the hands of the Corcyræans. It did much further this plot, that to make the pretext seem more serious and the agents in it less fearful, the Athenian generals gave out that they were nothing pleased1 that the men should be carried home by others, whilst they themselves were to go into Sicily, and the honour of it be ascribed to those that should convoy them. The Corcyræans having received them into their hands, imprisoned them in a certain edifice: from whence afterwards they took them out by twenty at a time, and made them pass through a lane of men of arms, bound together and receiving strokes and thrusts from those on either side, according as any one espied his enemy. And to hasten the pace of those that went slowliest on, others were set to follow them with whips. 48. They had taken out of the room in this manner, and slain, to the number of three–score, before they that remained knew it; who thought they were but removed, and carried to some other place. But when they knew the truth, some or other having told them, they then cried out to the Athenians, and said, that if they would themselves kill them they should do it; and refused any more to go out of the room: nor would suffer, they said, as long as they were able, any man to come in. But neither had the Corcyræans any purpose to force entrance by the door: but getting up to the top of the house uncovered the roof, and threw tiles and shot arrows at them. They in prison defended themselves as well as they could, but1 many also slew themselves with the arrows shot by the enemy, by thrusting them into their throats, and strangled themselves with the cords of certain beds that were in the room, and with ropes made of their own garments rent in pieces. And having continued most part of the night (for night overtook them in the action) partly strangling themselves by all such means as they found, and partly shot at from above, they [all] perished. When day came, the Corcyræans laid them one across another2 in carts, and carried them out of the city. And of their wives, as many as were taken in the fortification, they made bondwomen. In this manner were the Corcyræans that kept the hill, brought to destruction by the commons. And thus ended this far–spread sedition, for so much as concerned this present war: for of other3 seditions there remained nothing worth the relation. And the Athenians being4 arrived in Sicily, whither they were at first bound, prosecuted the war there together with the rest of their confederates of those parts.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4. The Athenians take Anactorium from the Corinthians, and put it into the hands of the Acarnanians. The end of the seventh summer.

  49. In the end of this summer, the Athenians that lay at Naupactus1 , went forth with an army and took the city of Anactorium, belonging to the Corinthians and lying at the mouth of the Ambracian gulf, by treason. And when they had put forth the Corinthians, the Acarnanians held it with a colony sent thither from all parts of their own nation. And so this summer ended.

  Artaphernes, an ambassador from the king of Persia to the Lacedæmonians, intercepted, and brought to Athens, and his letters read. The king of Persia’s letters to the Lacedæmonians translated into Greek, and read at Athens.

  50. The next winter, Aristides the son of Archippus, one of the commanders of a fleet which the Athenians had sent out to gather tribute from their confederates, apprehended Artaphernes, a Persian, in the town of Eion upon the river Strymon, going from the king to Lacedæmon. When he was brought to Athens, the Athenians translated his letters out of the Assyrian language2 into Greek, and read them: wherein, amongst many other things that were written to the Lacedæmonians, the principal was this: “that he knew not what they meant; for many ambassadors came, but they spake not the same thing: if therefore they had any thing to say certain, they should send somebody to him with this Persian”. But Artaphernes they send afterwards away in a galley, with ambassadors of their own, to Ephesus. And there encountering the news, that king Artaxerxes, the son of Xerxes, was lately dead, (for about that time he died), they returned home.

  year vii. A. C. 425. Ol. 88. 4. The Chians are suspected and forced to pull down their new–built walls.

  51. The same winter also, the Chians demolished their new wall by command of the Athenians, upon suspicion that they intended some innovation; notwithstanding1 they had given the Athenians their faith and the best security they could, to the intent they should let them be as they were. Thus ended this winter; and the seventh year of this war written by Thucydides.

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.

  52. The next summer, in the very beginning, at a change in the moon the sun was eclipsed in part; and in the beginning of the same month, happened an earthquake.

  The Lesbian outlaws make war upon the Athenian dominions in the continent near Lesbos.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.

  At this time the Mytilenæan and other Lesbian outlaws, most of them residing in2 the continent, with mercenary forces out of Peloponnesus and some which they levied where they were, seize on Rhœteium; and for two thousand Phocæan staters render it again, without doing them other harm. After this they came with their forces to Antander, and took that city also by treason. They had likewise a design to set free the rest of the cities called Actææ3 , which were in the occupation formerly of the Mytilenæans, but subject to the Athenians: but above all the rest Antander, which when they had once gotten, (for there they might easily build galleys, because there was store of timber; and Mount Ida was above their heads), they might issue from thence with other their preparation and infest Lesbos, which was near, and bring into their power the Æolic towns in the continent. And this were those men preparing.

  The Athenians led by Nicias, subdue Cythera, an island over against Laconia and inhabited by Lacedæmonians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.The Cythereans yield to Nicias, referring themselves to the people of Athens for any thing but death.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4. The Athenians remove them from their seats.The Lacedæmonians begin to be dejected with their great losses.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.The Athenians waste the coast of Laconia.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.The Athenians burn Thyrea, slay and make prisoners of all the inhabitants being Æginetæ.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 88. 4.Tantalus a Lacedæmonian captain carried prisoner to Athens.The decree of the Athenian people concerning the Cythereans, the Æginetæ taken in Thyrea, and Tantalus a Lacedæmonian that was amongst them.The Æginetæ put to death.

  53. The Athenians the same summer, with sixty galleys, two thousand men of arms, and a few horsemen, taking with them also the Milesians and some other of their confederates, made war upon Cythera, under the conduct of Nicias the son of Niceratus, Nicostratus the son of Diotrephes, and Autocles the son of Tolmæus. This Cythera is an island upon the coast of Laconia, over against Malea. The inhabitants be Lacedæmonians, of the1 same that dwell about them. And every year there goeth over unto them from Sparta a magistrate called Cytherodikes. They likewise sent over men of arms from time to time, to lie in the garrison there; and took much care of the place. For it was the place where their ships used to put in from Egypt and Libya, and by which Laconia was the less infested by thieves from the sea, being that way only subject to that mischief2 . For the island lieth wholly out into the Sicilian and Cretic seas. 54. The Athenians arriving with their army, with ten of their galleys and two thousand men of arms of the Milesians1 took a town lying to the sea, called Scandeia; and with the rest of their forces, having landed in the parts of the island towards Malea, marched into the city itself of the Cythereans, lying likewise to the sea2 . The Cythereans they found standing all in arms prepared for them. And after the battle began, the Cythereans for a little while made resistance; but soon after turned their backs, and fled into the higher part of the city; and afterwards compounded with Nicias and his fellow–commanders, that the Athenians should determine of them whatsoever they thought good, but death. Nicias had had some conference with certain of the Cythereans before; which was also a cause that those things which concerned the accord both now and afterwards, were both the sooner and with the more favour dispatched. For the Athenians did but1 remove the Cythereans, and that also because they were Lacedæmonians, and because the island lay in that manner upon the coast of Laconia. After this composition, having as they went by received Scandeia, a2 town lying upon the haven, and put a guard upon the Cythereans, they sailed to Asine and most of the towns upon the sea–side. And going sometimes aland, and staying where they saw cause, wasted the country for about seven days together. 55. The Lacedæmonians, though they saw the Athenians had Cythera, and expected withal that they would come to land in the same manner in their own territory, yet came not forth with their united forces to resist them; but distributed a number of men of arms into sundry parts of their territory, to guard it wheresoever there was need: and were otherwise also exceedingly watchful, fearing lest some innovation should happen in the state; as having received a very great and unexpected loss in the island, and the Athenians having gotten Pylus and Cythera, and as being on all sides encompassed with a busy and unavoidable1 war. In so much that contrary to their custom they ordained four hundred horsemen, and some archers. And if ever they were fearful in matter of war, they were so now: because it was contrary to their own way to contend in a naval war, and against Athenians, who thought they lost whatsoever they not attempted. Withal, their so many misfortunes in so short a time, falling out so contrary to their own expectation, exceedingly affrighted them. And fearing lest some such calamity should again happen as they had received in the island, they durst the less to hazard battle; and thought that whatsoever they should go about would miscarry, because their minds, not used formerly to losses, could now warrant them nothing. 56. As the Athenians therefore wasted the maritime parts of the country, and disbarked near any garrison, those of the garrison for the most part stirred not, both as knowing themselves singly to be too small a number, and as being in that manner dejected. Yet2 one garrison fought about Cortyta and Aphrodisia, and frighted in the straggling rabble of light–armed soldiers; but when the men of arms had received them, it retired again with the loss of a few; whom they also rifled of their arms: and the Athenians, after they had erected a trophy, put off again and went to Cythera. From thence they sailed about to Epidaurus, called Limera; and having wasted some part of that territory, came to Thyrea; which is of the territory called Cynuria, but is nevertheless the middle border between Argeia1 and Laconia. The Lacedæmonians, possessing this city, gave the same for an habitation to the Æginetæ, after they were driven out of Ægina; both for the benefit they had received from them about the time of the earthquake and of the insurrection of the Helotes, and also for that, being subject to the Athenians, they had nevertheless gone ever the same way with the Lacedæmonians. 57. When the Athenians were coming towards them, the Æginetæ left the wall which they happened to be then building toward the sea–side; and retired up into the city above where they dwelt, and which was not above ten furlongs from the sea. There was also with them one of those garrisons, which the Lacedæmonians had distributed into the several parts of the country: and these, though they helped them to build the fort below, yet would not now enter with them into the town2 , though the Æginetæ entreated them; apprehending danger in being cooped up within the walls; and therefore retiring into the highest ground, lay still there, as finding themselves too weak to give them battle. In the meantime the Athenians came in, and marching up presently with their whole army, won Thyrea; and burnt it, and destroyed whatsoever was in it. The Æginetæ, as many as were not slain in the affray, they carried prisoners to Athens; amongst whom Tantalus also, the son of Patroclus, captain of such Lacedæmonians as were amongst them1 , was wounded and taken alive. They carried likewise with them some few men of Cythera, whom for safety’s sake they thought good to remove into some other place. These therefore, the Athenians decreed, should be placed in the islands: and that the rest of the Cythereans at the tribute of four talents should inhabit their own territory: that the Æginetæ, as many as they had taken, (out of former inveterate hatred), should be put to death: and that Tantalus should be put in bonds, amongst those Lacedæmonians that were taken in the island.

  A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The Sicilians make a general peace by advice of Hermocrates, and so dismiss the Athenians, that waited to take advantage of their discord.

  58. In Sicily the same summer2 was concluded a cessation of arms, first between the Camarinæans and the Geloans: but afterwards the rest of the Sicilians, assembling by their ambassadors out of every city at Gela, held a conference amongst themselves for making of a peace. Wherein, after many opinions delivered by men disagreeing and requiring satisfaction, every one as he thought himself prejudiced, Hermocrates the son of Hermon, a Syracusian, who also prevailed with them the most, spake unto the assembly to this effect:

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. the oration of hermocrates for peace.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.

  59. “Men of Sicily, I am neither of the least city nor of the most afflicted with war, that am now to speak, and to deliver the opinion which I take to conduce most to the common benefit of all Sicily. Touching war, how calamitous a thing it is, to what end should a man, particularising the evils thereof, make a long speech before men that already know it? For neither doth the not knowing of them necessitate any man to enter into war; nor the fear of them divert any man from it, when he thinks it will turn to his advantage. But rather it so falls out, that the one thinks the gain greater than the danger; and the other prefers danger before present loss. But lest they should both the one and the other do it unseasonably, exhortations unto peace are profitable; and will be very much worth to us, if we will follow them at this present. For it was out of a desire that every city had to assure their own, both that we fell ourselves into the war, and also that we endeavour now, by reasoning the matter, to return to mutual amity. Which if it succeed not so well, that we may depart satisfied every man with reason, we will be at wars again1 . 60. Nevertheless you must know that this assembly, if we be wise, ought not to be only for the commodity of the cities in particular, but how to preserve Sicily in general, now sought to be subdued (at least in my opinion) by the Athenians. And you ought to think, that the Athenians are more urgent persuaders of the peace than any words of mine; who having of all the Grecians the greatest power, lie here with a few galleys to observe our errors, and by a lawful title of alliance, handsomely to accommodate their natural hostility to their best advantage. For if we enter into a war, and call in these men, who are apt enough to bring their army in uncalled, and if we weaken ourselves at our own charges, and withal cut out for them the dominion here; it is likely, when they shall see us spent, they will sometime hereafter come upon us with a greater fleet, and attempt to bring all these states into their subjection. 61. Now, if we were wise, we ought rather to call in confederates and undergo dangers for the winning of somewhat that is none of ours, than for the impairing of what we already have: and to believe that nothing so much destroys a city as sedition, and that Sicily, though we the inhabitants thereof be insidiated by the Athenians as one body, is nevertheless city against city in sedition within itself. In contemplation whereof, we ought, man with man, and city with city, to return again into amity; and with one consent, to endeavour the safety of all Sicily: and not to have this conceit, that though the Dorians be the Athenians’ enemies, yet the Chalcideans are safe, as being of the race of the Ionians. For they invade not these divided races upon hatred of a side, but upon a covetous desire of those necessaries1 which we enjoy in common. And this they have proved themselves, in their coming hither to aid the Chalcideans1 . For though they never received any aid by virtue of their league from the Chalcideans, yet have they on their part been more forward to help them than by the league2 they were bound unto. Indeed the Athenians, that covet and meditate these things, are to be pardoned. I blame not those that are willing to reign, but those that are most willing to be subject: for it is the nature of man everywhere to command such as give way, and to be shy of such as assail. We are to blame, that know this and do not provide accordingly, and make it our first care of all, to take good order against the common fear3 . Of which we should soon be delivered, if we would agree amongst ourselves: (for the Athenians come not amongst us out of their own country, but from theirs here that have called them in); and so, not war by war, but all our quarrels shall be ended by peace without trouble: and those that have been called in, as they came with fair pretence to injure us, so shall they with fair reason be dismissed by us without their errand.

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.

  62. “And thus much for the profit that will be found, by advising wisely concerning the Athenians. But when peace is confessed by all men to be the best of things, why should we not make it also in respect of ourselves? Or do you think perhaps, if any of you possess a good thing or be pressed with an evil, that peace is not better than war, to remove the latter or preserve the former, to both: or that it hath not honours and eminence more free from danger, or whatsoever else one might discourse at large concerning war? Which things considered, you ought not to make light of my advice, but rather make use of it, every one to provide for his own safety. Now if some man be strongly conceited to go through with some design of his, be it by right or by violence, let him take heed that he fail not, so much the more to his grief as it is contrary to his hope1 : knowing that many men ere now, hunting after revenge on such as had done them injury, and others trusting, by some strength they have had, to take away another’s right; have, the first sort, instead of being revenged been destroyed, and the other, instead of winning from others, left behind them what they had of their own. For revenge succeeds not according to justice, as that because an injury hath been done, it should therefore prosper; nor is strength therefore sure, because hopeful. It is the instability of fortune, that is most predominant in things to come; which though it be the most deceivable of all things, yet appears to be the most profitable. For whilst every one fear it alike, we proceed against each other with the greater providence. 63. Now therefore terrified doubly, both with the implicit fear of the uncertainty of events, and with the terror of the Athenians present, and taking2 these for hindrances sufficient to have made us come short of what we had severally conceived to effect, let us send away our enemies that hover over us; and make an eternal peace amongst ourselves, or if not that, then a truce at least for as long as may be, and put off our private quarrels to some other time. In sum, let us know this: that following my counsel, we shall every of us have our cities free; whereby being masters of ourselves, we shall be able to remunerate according to their merit such as do us good or harm: whereas rejecting it and following the counsel of others, our contention shall no more be how to be revenged, or at the best, [if it be], we must be forced to become friends to our greatest enemies, and enemies to such as we ought not.

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.

  64. “For my part, as I said in the beginning, I bring to this the greatest city, and which is rather an assailant than assailed; and yet foreseeing these things, I hold it fit to come to an agreement, and not so to hurt our enemies, as to hurt ourselves more. Nor yet through foolish spite1 will I look to be followed as absolute in my will, and master of fortune, which I cannot command; but will also give way where it is reason. And so I look the rest should do as well as I; and that of yourselves, and not forced to it by the enemy. For it is no dishonour to be overcome kinsmen of kinsmen, one Dorian of another Dorian; and one Chalcidean of another of his own race; or in sum, any one by another of us, being neighbours and cohabiters of the same region, encompassed by the sea, and all called by one name, Sicilians. Who, as I conceive, will both war when it happens, and again by common conferences make peace by our own selves. But when foreigners invade us, we shall, if wise, unite all of us to encounter them; inasmuch as being weakened singly, we are in danger universally. As for confederates, let us never hereafter call in any, nor arbitrators. For so shall Sicily attain these two benefits, to be rid of the Athenians and of domestic war, for the present; and to be inhabited by ourselves with liberty, and less insidiated by others, for the time to come.”

  The substance of the conditions of the peace in Sicily.The Athenians depart Sicily, and their commanders punished as suspected to have left Sicily for a bribe.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  65 Hermocrates having thus spoken, the Sicilians followed his advice; and agreed amongst themselves, that the war should cease, every one retaining what they then presently enjoyed; and that the Camarinæans should have Morgantina, paying for the same unto the Syracusians a certain sum of money then assessed. They that were confederates with the Athenians, calling such of the Athenians unto them as were in authority, told them that they also were willing to compound, and be comprehended in the same peace1 . And the Athenians approving it, they did so; and hereupon the Athenians departed out of Sicily. The people of Athens, when their generals came home, banished two, namely Pythodorus and Sophocles; and laid a fine upon the third, which was Eurymedon: as men that might have subdued the estates of Sicily, but had been bribed to return. So great was their fortune at that time, that they thought nothing could cross them; but that they might have achieved both easy and hard enterprises, with great and slender forces alike. The cause whereof was the unreasonable prosperity of most of their designs, subministering strength unto their hope1 .

  The Athenians attempt to take Megara by treason.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The heads of the commons, to hinder the return of the outlaws, plot the betraying of the city to the Athenians.The plot laid by the traitors for the putting of the Athenians into the town.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The plot of the traitors, to give the Athenians the long walls.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The Athenians win the long walls.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The traitors give advice to open the gates and give battle.The treason discovered.

  66. The same summer the Megareans in the city of Megara: pinched both by the war of the Athenians, who invaded their territory with their whole forces every year twice, and by their own outlaws from Pegæ2 , who in a sedition driven out by the commons grievously afflicted them with robberies: began to talk one to another, how it was fit to call them home again, and not to let their city by both these means to be ruined. The friends of those without perceiving the rumour, they also, more openly now than before, required to have it brought to council. But the patrons of the commons, fearing that they with the commons, by reason of the miseries they were in, should not be able to carry it against the other side1 , made an offer to Hippocrates, the son of Ariphron, and Demosthenes, the son of Alcisthenes, commanders of the Athenian army, to deliver them the city; as esteeming that course less dangerous for themselves than the reduction of those whom they had before driven out. And they agreed, that first the Athenians should possess themselves of the long–walls, (these were about eight furlongs in length, and reached from the city to Nisæa their haven); thereby to cut off the aid of the Peloponnesians in Nisæa, in which (the better to assure Megara to their side) there lay no other soldiers in garrison but they: and then afterwards, that these men would attempt to deliver them the city above; which would the more easily succeed2 , if that were effected first. 67. The Athenians therefore, after all was done and said on both sides, and every thing ready, sailed away by night to Minoa, an3 island of the Megareans, with six hundred men of arms led by Hippocrates; and sat down in a certain pit, out of which bricks had been made for the walls, and which was not far off. But they that were with the other commander Demosthenes, light–armed Platæans and others called peripoli1 , lay in ambush at the temple of Mars, not so far off as the former. And none of the city perceived any thing of this, but only such as had peculiar care to know the passages of this same night2 . When it was almost day, the Megarean traitors did thus. They had been accustomed long, as men that went out for booty, with leave of the magistrates, of whom they had obtained by good offices the opening of the gates, to carry out a little boat, such as wherein the watermen used an oar in either hand; and to convey it by night down the ditch to the sea–side in a cart, and3 in a cart to bring it back again and set it within the gates: to the end that the Athenians which lay in Minoa, might not know where to watch for them, no boat being to be seen in the haven. At this time was that cart at the gates, which were opened according to custom as for the boat. And the Athenians seeing it, (for so it was agreed on), arose from their ambush, and ran with all speed to get in before the gates should be shut again, and to be there whilst the cart was yet in the gates and kept them open1 . And first those Platæans and peripoli that were with Demosthenes, ran in, in that same place where the trophy is now extant; and fighting presently within the gates, (for those Peloponnesians that were nearest heard the stir), the Platæans overcame those that resisted; and made good the gates for the Athenian men of arms that were coming after. 68. After this the Athenian soldiers, as they entered, went up every one to the wall. And a few of the Peloponnesians that were of the garrison, made head at first and fought, and were some of them slain; but the most of them took their heels; fearing in the night, both the enemy that charged them, and also the traitors of the Megareans that fought against them, apprehending that all the Megareans in general had betrayed them2 . It chanced also that the Athenian herald of his own discretion made proclamation, that if any Megarean would take part with the Athenians, he should come and lay down his arms3 . When the Peloponnesians heard this, they stayed no longer: but seriously believing that they jointly warred upon them, fled into Nisæa. As soon as it was day, the walls4 being now taken and the Megareans being in a tumult within the city, they that had treated with the Athenians, and with them the rest, as many as were conscious, said it was fit to have the gates opened, and to go out and give the enemy battle. Now it was agreed on between them, that when the gates were open, the Athenians should rush in: and that themselves would be easily known from the rest, to the end they might have no harm done them; for that they would besmear themselves with some ointment1 . And the opening of the gates would be for their greater safety: for the four thousand men of arms of Athens and six hundred horsemen, which according to the appointment were to come to them, having marched all night were already arrived. When they had besmeared themselves and were now about the gates, one of those who were privy discovered the conspiracy to the rest that were not. These joining their strength came all together to the gates, denying that it was fit to go out to fight; for that neither in former times when they were stronger than now, durst they do so: or to put the city into so manifest danger: and said, that if they would not be satisfied, the battle should be thereright. Yet they discovered not that they knew of the practice, but only, as having given good advice, meant to maintain it. And they stayed at the gates2 , insomuch as the traitors could not perform what they intended.

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The Athenians failing of Megara take Nisæa, and demolish the long walls.

  69. The Athenian commanders, knowing some cross accident had happened, and that they could not take the city by assault, fell to enclosing of Nisæa with a wall: which if they could take before aid came, they thought Megara would the sooner yield. Iron was quickly brought unto them from Athens, and masons, and whatsoever else was necessary. And beginning at the wall they had won, when they had built cross over to the other side, from thence both ways they drew it on to the sea on either side Nisæa: and having distributed the work amongst the army, as well the wall as the ditch, they served themselves of the stones and bricks of the suburbs, and having felled trees and timber, they supplied what was defective with a strong palisado1 . The houses also themselves of the suburbs, when they had put on battlements, served them for a fortification. All that day they wrought: the next day about evening they had within very little finished. But then they that were in Nisæa, seeing themselves to want victual, (for they had none but what came day by day from the city above), and without hope that the Peloponnesians could quickly come to relieve them; conceiving also that the Megareans were their enemies; compounded with the Athenians on these terms: to be dismissed every one at a certain ransom in money; to deliver up their arms; and the Lacedæmonians, both the captain and whosoever of them else was within, to be at discretion of the Athenians. Having thus agreed, they went out. And the Athenians, when they had broken off1 the long walls from the city of Megara, and taken in Nisæa, prepared for what was further to be done.

  year viii A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas saveth Megara from being rendered to the Athenians.Brasidas desireth to put himself into the city.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.Brasidas goeth back to Tripodiscus.The Bœotians come with their forces, and join with Brasidas.The Bœotian and Athenian horse skirmish.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  70. Brasidas the son of Tellus, a Lacedæmonian, happened at this time to be about Sicyon and Corinth, preparing of an army to go into Thrace. And when he heard of the taking of the long walls, fearing what might become of the Peloponnesians in Nisæa, and lest Megara should be won, sent unto the Bœotians, willing them to meet him speedily with their forces at Tripodiscus, a village of Megaris so called at the foot of the hill Geraneia; and marched presently himself with two thousand seven hundred men of arms of Corinth, four hundred of Phlius, six hundred of Sicyon, and those of his own all that he had yet levied; thinking to have found Nisæa yet untaken. When he heard the contrary, (for he set forth towards Tripodiscus in the night), with three hundred men chosen out of the whole army, before news should arrive of his coming, he came unseen of the Athenians that lay by the sea–side to the city of Megara; pretending in word, and intending also in good earnest if he could have done it, to attempt upon Nisæa; but desiring2 to get into Megara to confirm it; and required to be let in, for that he was, he said, in hope to recover Nisæa. 71. But the Megarean factions being afraid, one, lest he should bring in the outlaws and cast out them, the other, lest the commons out of this very fear should assault them; whereby the city being at battle within itself, and the Athenians lying in wait so near, would be lost: received him not, but resolved on both sides to sit still and attend the success. For both the one faction and the other expected, that the Athenians and these that came to succour the city would join battle: and1 then they might with more safety, such as were the favoured side, turn unto them that had the victory. And Brasidas, not prevailing, went back to the rest of the army. 72. Betimes in the morning arrived the Bœotians, having also2 intended to come to the aid of Megara before Brasidas sent, as esteeming the danger to concern themselves, and were then with their whole forces come forward as far as Platæa. But when they had received also this message, they were a great deal the more encouraged: and sent two thousand two hundred men of arms and two hundred horse to Brasidas, but went back with the greater part of their army. The whole army being now together of no less than six thousand men of arms; and the Athenian men of arms lying indeed in good order about Nisæa and the sea–side, but the light–armed straggling in the plains: the Bœotian horsemen came unexpectedly upon the light–armed soldiers, and drove them towards the sea; for in all this time till now, there had come no aid at all to the Megareans from any place. But when the Athenian horse went likewise out to encounter them, they fought, and there was a battle between the horsemen of either side that held long; wherein both sides claimed the victory. For the Athenians slew the general of the Bœotian horse and some few others, and rifled them, having themselves been first chased by them to Nisæa1 : and having these dead bodies in their power they restored them upon truce, and erected a trophy. Nevertheless, in respect of the whole action, neither side went off with assurance2 ; but parting asunder, the Bœotians went to the army, and the Athenians to Nisæa.

  The whole army on either side face one another, but neither side willing to begin.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The Megareans receive Brasidas and his army.The Megarean outlaws recalled, and sworn to forget former quarrel.year viii. A C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The outlaws being in authority, put to death a hundred of the adverse faction.

  73. After this, Brasidas with his army came down nearer to the sea and to the city of Megara: and having seized on a place of advantage, set his army in battle array and stood still. For they thought the Athenians would be assailants, and knew the Megareans stood observing whether side should have the victory: and that it must needs fall out well for them both ways; first, because they should not be the assailant, and voluntarily begin the battle and danger; since having showed themselves ready to fight, the victory must also justly be attributed to them without their labour: and next it must fall out well in respect of the Megareans; for if they should not have come in sight, the matter had not been any longer in the power of fortune, but they had without all doubt been presently deprived of the city, as men conquered: whereas now, if haply the Athenians declined battle likewise, they should obtain what they came for without stroke stricken: which also indeed came to pass. For3 the Megareans—when the Athenians went out and ordered their army without the long walls, but yet, because the enemy charged not, stood also still: their commanders likewise considering, that if they should begin the battle against a number greater than their own, after the greatest part of their enterprise was already achieved, the danger would be unequal; for if they should overcome, they could win but Megara, and if they were vanquished, must lose the best part of their men of arms; whereas the enemy, who out of the whole power and number that was present in the field did adventure but every one a part, would in all likelihood put it to the hazard: and so for a while affronted each other, and, neither doing any thing, withdrew again, the Athenians first into Nisæa, and afterwards the Peloponnesians to the place from whence they had set forth— then, I say, the Megareans, such as were the friends of the outlaws, taking heart because they saw the Athenians were unwilling to fight, set open the gates to Brasidas as victor, and to the rest of the captains of the several cities; and when they were in, (those that had practised with the Athenians being all the while in a great fear1 ), they went to council. 74. Afterwards Brasidas, having dismissed his confederates to their several cities, went himself to Corinth in pursuit of his former purpose to levy an army for Thrace. Now the Megareans that were in the city, (when the Athenians also were gone home), all that had chief hand in the practice with the Athenians, knowing themselves discovered, presently slipt away: but the rest, after they had conferred with the friends of the outlaws, recalled them from Pegæ, upon great oaths administered unto them, no more to remember former quarrels, but to give the city their best advice. These, when they came into office, took a view of the arms; and disposing bands of soldiers in divers quarters of the city1 , picked out of their enemies, and of those that seemed most to have co–operated in the treason with the Athenians, about a hundred persons; and having constrained the people to give their sentence upon them openly, when they were condemned slew them; and established in the city the estate almost of an oligarchy. And this change of government, made by a few upon sedition, did nevertheless continue for a long time after.

  The Mytilenæan outlaws lose the city of Antandros: which they had intended to fortify and make the seat of their war.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.Lamachus loseth his ten galleys by a sudden landflood in Pontus.

  75. The same summer, when Antandros was to be furnished by the Mytilenæans as they intended, Demodicus and Aristides, captains of certain galleys set forth by the Athenians to fetch in tribute, being then about Hellespont, (for Lamachus that was the third in that commission, was gone with ten galleys into Pontus), having notice of the preparation made in that place; and thinking it would be dangerous to have it happen2 there as it had done in Anæa over against Samos, in which the Samian outlaws having settled themselves, aided the Peloponnesians in matters of the sea by sending them steersmen, and both bred trouble within the city and entertained such as fled out of it, levied an army amongst the confederates, and marched1 to it: and having overcome in fight those that came out of Antandros against them, recovered the place again. And not long after, Lamachus that was gone into Pontus, as he lay at anchor in the river Calex in the territory of Heracleia, much rain having fallen above in the country and the stream of a land flood coming suddenly down, lost all his galleys; and came himself and his army through the territory of the Bithynians (who are Thracians dwelling in Asia on the other side) to Chalcedon, a colony of the Megareans in the mouth of Pontus Euxinus, by land.

  Demosthenes goeth to Naupactus upon design against the Bœotians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The plot laid between certain Bœotians and the Athenians, how to bring Bœotia into the power of the Athenians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  76. The same summer likewise Demosthenes, general of the Athenians, with forty galleys, presently after his departure out of Megaris, sailed to Naupactus. For certain men in the cities thereabouts, desiring to change the form of the Bœotian government, and to turn it into a democracy according to the government of Athens, practised with him and Hippocrates to betray unto him the estates of Bœotia; induced thereunto principally by Ptœodorus, a Theban outlaw: and they ordered the design thus. Some had undertaken to deliver up Siphæ: (Siphæ is a city of the territory of Thespiæ, standing upon the sea–side in the Crissæan gulf): and Chæroneia, which was a town that paid duties to Orchomenus, (called heretofore Orchomenus in Minyeia, but now Orchomenus in Bœotia1 ), some others of Orchomenus were to surrender into their hands. And the Orchomenian outlaws had a principal hand in this, and were hiring soldiers to that end out of Peloponnesus. This Chæroneia is the utmost town of Bœotia towards Phanotis in the country of Phocis; and some Phoceans also dwelt in it. [On the other side], the Athenians were to seize on Delium, a place consecrated to Apollo in the territory of Tanagra, on the part toward Eubœa. All this ought to have been done together upon a day appointed, to the end that the Bœotians might not oppose them2 with their forces united, but might be troubled every one to defend his own. And if the attempt succeeded, and that they once fortified Delium, they easily hoped, though no change followed in the state of the Bœotians for the present, yet being possessed of those places, and by that means continually fetching in prey out of the country, because there was for every one a place at hand to retire unto, that it could not stand long at a stay; but that the Athenians joining with such of them as rebelled, and the Bœotians not having their forces united, they might in time order the state to their own liking. Thus was the plot laid. 77. And Hippocrates himself, with the forces of the city, was ready when time should serve to march; but sent Demosthenes before with forty galleys to Naupactus, to the end that he should levy an army of Acarnanians and other their confederates in these quarters, and sail to Siphæ to receive it by treason. And a day was set down betwixt them, on which these things should have been done together. Demosthenes, when he arrived and found the Œniades by compulsion of the rest of Acarnania entered into the Athenian confederation, and had himself raised all the confederates thereabouts, made war first upon Salynthius and the Agræans; and having taken in other places thereabouts, stood ready1 , when the time should require, to go to Siphæ.

  Brasidas passeth through Thessaly with seventeen hundred men of arms, to aid the Chalcideans that deliberated a revolt.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The soft answer of Brasidas, notwithstanding he was resolved to pass.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas goeth apace through Thessaly.The cause why Perdiccas and the Chalcideans called in the Lacedæmonians into those parts.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The cause why the Lacedæmonians so willingly sent an army to them.An impious policy of the Lacedæmonians in destroying their Helotes.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The praise of Brasidas.

  78. About the same time of this summer, Brasidas marching towards the cities upon Thrace with seventeen hundred men of arms, when he came to Heracleia in Trachinia sent a messenger before him to his friends at Pharsalus, requiring them to be guides1 unto him and to his army. And when there were come unto him Panærus and Dorus and Hippolochidas and Torylaus and Strophacus, who was the public host of the Chalcideans; all which met him at Melitia, a town of Achaia2 ; he marched on. There were other of the Thessalians also that convoyed him; and from Larissa he was convoyed by Niconidas, a friend of Perdiccas. For it had been hard to pass Thessaly without a guide howsoever, but1 especially with an army. And to pass through a neighbour territory without leave, is a thing that all Grecians alike are jealous of. Besides, that the people of Thessaly had ever borne good affection to the Athenians. Insomuch, as if by custom the government of that country had not been lordly rather than a commonwealth2 , he could never have gone on. For also now as he marched forward, there met him at the river Enipeus others of a contrary mind to the former, that forbade him; and told him that he did unjustly to go on without the common consent of all. But those that convoyed him answered, that they would not bring him through against their wills: but that coming to them on a sudden, they conducted him as friends. And Brasidas himself said, he came thither a friend both to the country and to them; and that he bore arms, not against them, but against the Athenians their enemies; and that he never knew of any enmity between the Thessalians and Lacedæmonians, whereby they might not use one another’s ground; and that even now he would not go on without their consent; for neither could he; but [only] entreated them not to stop him. When they heard this, they went their ways. And he, by the advice of his guides, before any greater number should unite to hinder him, marched on with all possible speed, staying nowhere by the way. And the same day he set forth from Melitia, he reached Pharsalus, and encamped by the river Apidanus: from thence he went to Phacium: from thence into Peræbia1 . The Peræbians, though subject to the Thessalians, set him at Dion in the dominion of Perdiccas, a little city of the Macedonians situate at the foot of Olympus on the side towards Thessaly. 79. In this manner Brasidas ran through Thessaly before any there could put in readiness to stop him; and came into the territory of the Chalcideans2 , and to Perdiccas. For Perdiccas and the Chalcideans, all that had revolted from the Athenians, when they saw the affairs of the Athenians prosper, had drawn this army out of Peloponnesus for fear: the Chalcideans, because they thought the Athenians would make war on them first, as3 having been also incited thereto by those cities amongst them that had not revolted; and Perdiccas, not that he was their open enemy, but because he feared the Athenians for ancient quarrels; but principally because he desired to subdue Arrhibæus, king of the Lyncesteans. And the ill success which the Lacedæmonians in these times had, was a cause that they obtained an army from them the more easily. 80. For the Athenians vexing Peloponnesus, and their particular territory Laconia most of all, they thought the best way to divert them was to send an army to the confederates of the Athenians, so to vex them again. And the rather because Perdiccas and the Chalcideans were content to maintain the army; having called it thither to help the Chalcideans in their revolt. And because also they desired a pretence to send away part of their Helotes; for fear they should take the opportunity of the present state of their affairs, the enemies lying now in Pylus, to innovate. For they did also this further, fearing the youth and multitude of their Helotes: for the Lacedæmonians had ever many ordinances concerning how to look to themselves against the Helotes. They caused proclamation to be made, that as many of them as claimed the estimation to have done the Lacedæmonians best service in their wars, should be made free1 ; feeling them in this manner, and conceiving that, as they should every one out of pride deem himself worthy to be first made free, so they would soonest also rebel against them. And when they had thus preferred about two thousand, which also with crowns on their heads went in procession about the temples as to receive their liberty, they not long after made them away: and no man knew how they perished. And now at this time, with all their hearts, they sent away seven hundred men of arms more of the same men along with Brasidas. The rest of the army were mercenaries, hired by Brasidas out of Peloponnesus. [But] Brasidas1 himself the Lacedæmonians sent out, chiefly because it was his own desire: 81. notwithstanding the Chalcideans also longed to have him, as one esteemed also in Sparta every way an active man. And when he was out, he did the Lacedæmonians very great service. For by showing himself at that present just and moderate towards the cities, he caused the most of them to revolt; and some of them he also took by treason. Whereby it came to pass, that if the Lacedæmonians pleased to come to composition, (as also they did), they might have towns to render and receive reciprocally1 . And also long after, after the Sicilian war, the virtue and wisdom which Brasidas showed now, to some known by experience, by others believed upon from report, was the principal cause that made the Athenian confederates affect the Lacedæmonians. For being the first that went out, and esteemed in all points for a worthy man, he left behind him an assured hope that the rest also were like him.

  Brasidas joined with Perdiccas marcheth towards Lyncus.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas refusing to make war on Arrhibæus: for the offer of Arrhibæus:and through the advice of the Chalcideans:giveth therein distaste to Perdiccas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas cometh before Acanthus:

  82. Being now come into Thrace, the Athenians upon notice thereof declared Perdiccas an enemy, as imputing to him this expedition; and2 reinforced the garrisons in the parts thereabouts. 83. Perdiccas with Brasidas and his army, together with his own forces, marched presently against Arrhibæus the son of Bromerus, king of the Lyncesteans, a people of Macedonia, confining on Perdiccas his dominion; both for a quarrel they had against him, and also as desiring to subdue him. When he came with his army, and Brasidas with him, to the place1 where they were to have fallen in, Brasidas told him that he desired, before he made war, to draw Arrhibæus by parley, if he could, to a league with the Lacedæmonians. For Arrhibæus had also made some proffer by a herald, to commit the matter to Brasidas’ arbitrement. And the Chalcidean ambassadors being present, gave him likewise advice not to thrust himself into danger in favour of Perdiccas2 , to the end they might have him more prompt in their own affairs. Besides, the ministers of Perdiccas, when they were at Lacedæmon, had spoken there, as if they had meant to bring [as] many of the places about him [as they could] into the Lacedæmonian league. So that Brasidas favoured Arrhibæus for the public good of their own state. But Perdiccas said, that he brought not Brasidas thither to be a judge of his controversies, but to destroy those enemies which he should show him: and that it will be an injury, seeing he pays the half of his army, for Brasidas to parley with Arrhibæus. Nevertheless Brasidas, whether Perdiccas would or not, and though it made a quarrel, had conference with Arrhibæus; by whom also he was induced to withdraw his army. But from that time forward Perdiccas instead of half, paid but a third part of his army; as conceiving himself to have been injured.

  Founded A. C. 656.and is received without his army

  84. The same summer, a little before the vintage, Brasidas having joined to his own the forces of the Chalcideans, marched to Acanthus, a colony of the Andrians. And there arose sedition about receiving him, between such as had joined with the Chalcideans in calling him thither, and the common people. Nevertheless for fear of their fruits, which were not yet gotten in, the multitude was won by Brasidas to let him enter alone, and then after he had said his mind, to advise what to do amongst themselves. And presenting himself before the multitude, (for he was not uneloquent, though1 a Lacedæmonian), he spake to this effect:

  the oration of brasidas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Brasidas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Brasidas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Brasidas.

  85. “Men of Acanthus, the reason why the Lacedæmonians have sent me and this army abroad, is to make good what we gave out in the beginning for the cause of our war against the Athenians: which was, that we meant to make a war for the liberties of Greece. But if we be come late, as deceived by the war there in the opinion we had, that we ourselves should soon have pulled the Athenians down without any danger of yours, no man hath reason therefore to blame us. For we are come as soon as occasion served, and with your help will do our best to bring them under. But I wonder why you shut me forth of your gates, and why I was not welcome. For we Lacedæmonians have undergone this great danger, of passing many days’ journey through the territory of strangers, and showed all possible zeal, because we imagined that we went to such confederates, as before we came had us present in their hearts and were desirous of our coming. And therefore it were hard that you should now be otherwise minded, and withstand your own and the rest of the Grecians’ liberty; not only in that yourselves resist us, but also because others whom I go to will be the less willing to come in; making difficulty, because you to whom I came first, having a flourishing city and being esteemed wise, have refused us. For which I shall have no sufficient excuse to plead, but must be thought either to pretend to set up liberty unjustly1 , or to come weak and without power to maintain you against the Athenians2 . And yet against this same army I now have, when I went to encounter the Athenians at Nisæa, though more in number they durst not hazard battle. Nor is it likely that the Athenians will send forth so great a number against you, as they had in their fleet there at Nisæa3 . 86. I come not hither to hurt, but to set free the Grecians: and I have the Lacedæmonian magistrates bound unto me by great oaths, that whatsoever confederates shall be added to their side, at least by me, shall still enjoy their own laws; and that we shall not hold you as confederates to us brought in either by force or fraud, but on the contrary, be confederates to you that are kept in servitude by the Athenians. And therefore I claim not only that you be not jealous of me, (especially having given you so good assurance), or think me unable to defend you; but also that you declare yourselves boldly with me. And if any man be unwilling so to do through fear of some particular man, apprehending that I would put the city into the hands of a few, let him cast away that fear1 : for I came not to side, nor do I think I should bring you an assured liberty, if neglecting the ancient use here I should enthral either the multitude to the few, or the few to the multitude. For to be governed so, were worse than the domination of a foreigner: and there would result from it to us Lacedæmonians, not thanks for our labours; but instead of honour and glory, an imputation of those crimes for which we make war amongst the Athenians, and which would be more odious in us, than in them, that never pretended the virtue2 . For it is more dishonourable, at least to men in dignity, to amplify their estate by specious fraud, than by open violence. For the latter assaileth with a certain right of power given us by fortune; but the other, with the treachery of a wicked conscience. 87. But3 besides the oath which they have sworn already, the greatest further assurance you can have, is this: that our actions weighed with our words, you must needs believe that it is to our profit to do as I have told you. But if after these promises of mine you shall say, you cannot; and yet, forasmuch as your affection is with us, will claim impunity for rejecting us; or shall say, that this liberty I offer you seems to be accompanied with danger, and that it were well done to offer it to such as can receive it, but not to force it upon any: then will I call to witness the gods and heroes of this place, that my counsel which you refuse was for your good; and will endeavour, by wasting of your territory, to compel you to it. Nor shall I think I do you therein any wrong; but have reason for it for two necessities: one of the Lacedæmonians, lest whilst they have your affections and not your society, they should receive hurt from your contributions of money to the Athenians1 ; another of the Grecians, lest they should be hindered of their liberty by your example. For otherwise indeed we could not justly do it; nor ought we Lacedæmonians to set any at liberty against their wills, if it were not for some common good. We covet not dominion [over you]; but seeing we haste to make others lay down the same, we should do injury to the greater part, if bringing liberty to the other states in general we should tolerate you to cross us. Deliberate well of these things: strive to be the beginners of liberty in Greece; to get yourselves eternal glory; to preserve every man his private estate from damage, and to invest the whole city with a2 most honourable title.”

  The revolt of Acanthus.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The revolt of Stageirus. The end of the eighth summer.

  88. Thus spake Brasidas. The Acanthians, after much said on either side, partly for that which Brasidas had effectually spoken, and partly for fear of their fruits abroad, the most of them decreed to revolt from the Athenians; having given their votes in secret. And when they had made him take the same oath which the Lacedæmonian magistrates took when they sent him out, namely, that what confederates soever he should join to the Lacedæmonians should enjoy their own laws, they received his army into the city. And not long after revolted Stageirus, another colony of the Andrians. And these were the acts of this summer.

  Demosthenes approacheth Siphæ by sea to take it by treason, but failed.The treason detected.Hippocrates marcheth to Delium:year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. he fortifieth Delium.The army of the Athenians, having taken Delium, begin to retire.

  89. In the very beginning of the next winter, when the Bœotian cities should have been delivered to Hippocrates and Demosthenes, generals of the Athenians; and Demosthenes should have gone to Siphæ, and Hippocrates to Delium: having mistaken the days on which they should have both set forward, Demosthenes went to Siphæ first, and having with him the Acarnans and many confederates of those parts in his fleet, [yet] lost his labour. For the treason was detected1 by one Nicomachus, a Phocean of the town of Phanotis, who told it unto the Lacedæmonians, and they again unto the Bœotians. Whereby the Bœotians concurring universally to relieve those places, (for Hippocrates was not yet gone to trouble them in their own several territories), preoccupied both Siphæ and Chæroneia. And the conspirators knowing the error, attempted in those cities no further. 90. But Hippocrates having raised the whole power of the city of Athens, both citizens and others that dwelt amongst them, and all strangers that were then there, arrived afterwards at Delium when the Bœotians were now returned from Siphæ; and there stayed and took in Delium, a temple of Apollo, with a wall in this manner. Round about the temple and the whole consecrated ground they drew a ditch; and out of the ditch, instead of a wall they cast up the earth; and having driven down piles on either side, they cast thereinto the matter of the vineyard1 about the temple, which to that purpose they cut down, together with the stones and bricks of the ruined buildings: and by all means heightened the fortification, and in such places as would give leave, erected turrets of wood upon the same. There was no edifice of the temple standing, for the cloister that had been was fallen down. They began the work the third day after they set forth from Athens; and wrought all the same day and all the fourth, and the fifth day till dinner. And then being most part of it finished, the camp came back from Delium about ten furlongs homewards. And the light–armed soldiers went most of them presently away; but the men of arms laid down their arms there, and rested. Hippocrates stayed yet behind, and took order about the garrison, and about the finishing of the remainder of the fortification.

  The Bœotians follow them.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  91. The Bœotians took the same time to assemble at Tanagra: and when all the forces were come in that from every city were expected, and when they understood that the Athenians drew homewards; though the rest of the Bœotian commanders, which were eleven, approved not giving battle, because they were not now in Bœotia, (for the Athenians, when they laid down their arms, were in the confines of Oropia); yet Pagondas1 the son of Aioladas, being the Bœotian commander for Thebes, whose turn it was to have the leading of the army, was, together with Arianthidas the son of Lysimachidas, of opinion to fight, and held it the best course to try the fortune of a battle; wherefore calling them unto him every company by itself, that they might not be all at once from their arms, he exhorted the Bœotians to march against the Athenians and to hazard battle, speaking in this manner:

  the oration of pagondas to his soldiers.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Pagondas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Pagondas.

  92. “Men of Bœotia, it ought never to have so much as entered into the thought of any of us the commanders, that because we find not the Athenians now in Bœotia, it should therefore be unfit to give them battle. For they out of a bordering country have entered Bœotia and fortified in it, with intent to waste it: and are indeed enemies in whatsoever ground we find them, or whencesoever they come doing the acts of hostility. But now if any man think it also unsafe, let him henceforth be of another opinion. For providence in them that are invaded, endureth not such deliberation concerning their own, as may be used by them, who retaining their own, out of desire to enlarge voluntarily invade the estate of another. And it is the custom of this country2 of yours, when a foreign enemy comes against you, to fight with him both on your own and on your neighbour’s ground alike; but much more you ought to do it against the Athenians, when they be1 borderers. For liberty with all men, is nothing else but to be a match for the cities that are their neighbours. With these then, that attempt the subjugation not only of their neighbours, but of estates far from them, why should we not try the utmost of our fortune? We have for example the estate that the Eubœans over against us, and also the greatest part of the rest of Greece, do live in under them. And you must know2 , that though others fight with their neighbours about the bounds of their territories, we, if we be vanquished, shall have but one bound amongst us all: so that we shall no more quarrel about limits. For if they enter, they will take all our several states into their own possession by force. So much more dangerous is the neighbourhood of the Athenians, than of other people. And such as upon confidence in their strength invade their neighbours, as the Athenians now do, use to be bold in warring on those that sit still, defending themselves only in their own territories: whereas they be less urgent to those that are ready to meet them without their own limits, or [also] to begin the war when opportunity serveth. We have experience hereof in these same men. For after we had overcome them at Coroneia3 , at what time through our own sedition they held our country in subjection, we established a great security in Bœotia: which lasted till this present. Remembering which, we ought now, the elder sort to imitate our former acts there; and the younger sort, who are the children of those valiant fathers, to endeavour not to disgrace the virtue of their houses: but rather with confidence that the god, whose temple fortified they unlawfully dwell in, will be with us, the sacrifices we offered him appearing fair1 , to march against them; and let them see, that though they may gain what they covet when they invade such as will not fight, yet men that have the generosity to hold their own in liberty by battle, and not invade the state of another unjustly, will never let them go away unfoughten.”

  year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. The order of the army of the Bœotians.The order of the army of the Athenians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  93. Pagondas with this exhortation persuaded the Bœotians to march against the Athenians, and making them rise2 led them speedily on; for it was drawing towards night. And when he was near to their army, in a place from whence by the interposition of a hill they saw not each other, making a stand he put his army into order and prepared to give battle. When it was told Hippocrates, who was then at Delium, that the Bœotians were marching after them, he sends presently to the army, commanding them to be put in array. And not long after he came himself: having left some three hundred horse about Delium, both for a guard to the place if it should be assaulted, and withal to watch an opportunity to come upon the Bœotians when they were in fight. But for these, the Bœotians appointed some forces purposely to attend them. And when all was as it should be, they showed themselves from the top of the hill, where they sat down with their arms1 in the same order they were to fight in: being about seven thousand men of arms, of light–armed soldiers above ten thousand, a thousand horsemen, and five hundred targetiers. Their right wing consisting of the Thebans, and their partakers2 ; in the middle battle were the Haliartians, Coronæans, Copæans, and the rest that dwell about the lake3 ; in the left were the Thespians, Tanagræans, and Orchomenians. The horsemen and light–armed soldiers were placed on either wing. The Thebans were ordered by twenty–five in file4 ; but the rest, every one as it fell out. This was the preparation and order of the Bœotians. 94. The Athenian men of arms, in number no fewer than the enemy, were ordered by eight in file throughout: their horse they placed on either wing. But for light–armed soldiers armed as was fit1 , there were none; nor was there any in the city. Those that went out, followed2 the camp for the most part without arms, as being a general expedition both of citizens and strangers; and after they once began to make homeward, there stayed few behind. When they were now in their order and ready to join battle, Hippocrates the general came into the army of the Athenians, and encouraged them, speaking to this effect:

  the oration of hippocrates to his soldiers.

  95. “Men of Athens, my exhortation shall be short, but with valiant men it hath as much force as a longer; and is for a remembrance rather than a command. Let no man think, because it is in the territory of another, that we therefore precipitate ourselves into a great danger that did not concern us. For in the territory of these men, you fight for your own. If we get the victory, the Peloponnesians will never invade our territories again, for want of the Bœotian horsemen. So that in one battle, you shall both gain this territory, and free your own. Therefore march on against the enemy, every one as becometh the dignity, both of his natural city, which he glorieth to be chief of all Greece; and of his ancestors, who having overcome these men at Œnophyta under the conduct of Myronides, were in times past masters of all Bœotia.”

  The Bœotians interrupt theyear viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The Athenians fly.Dispute about giving leave to the Athenians to take up their dead.the message of the bœotians to the athenians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.the message of the athenians to the bœotians by a friend of their own.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.the reply of the bœotians.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  96. Whiles Hippocrates was making this exhortation, and had gone with it over half the army, but [could proceed] no further, the Bœotians3 (for Pagondas likewise made but a short exhortation and had there sung the Pæan) came down upon them from the hill. And the Athenians likewise went forward to meet them, [so fast that] they1 met together running. The utmost parts of both the armies never came to join, hindered both, by one and the same cause: for certain currents of water kept them asunder. But the rest made sharp battle; standing close, and striving to put by each others’ bucklers2 . The left wing of the Bœotians, to the very middle of the army, were overthrown by the Athenians: who3 in this part had to deal, amongst others, principally with the Thespians. For whilst they that were placed within the same wing, gave back, and were circled in by the Athenians in a narrow compass, those Thespians that were slain were hewed down in the very fight. Some also of the Athenians themselves, troubled with inclosing them, through ignorance slew one another. So that the Bœotians were overcome in this part; and fled to the other part where they were yet in fight. But the right wing wherein the Thebans stood, had the better of the Athenians; and4 by little and little forced them to give ground, and followed upon them from the very first. It happened also that Pagondas, whilst the left wing of his army was in distress, sent two companies of horse secretly about the hill; whereby that wing of the Athenians which was victorious, apprehending upon their sudden appearing that they had been a fresh army, was put into affright: and the whole army of the Athenians, now doubly terrified by this accident and by the Thebans that continually won ground and brake their ranks, betook themselves to flight. Some fled toward Delium and the sea; and some towards Oropus; others toward the mountain Parnethus; and others other ways, as to each appeared hope of safety. The Bœotians, especially their horse and those Locrians that came in after the enemy was already defeated, followed killing them. But night surprising them, the multitude of them that fled was the easier saved. The next day those that were gotten to Oropus and Delium went thence by sea to Athens, having left a garrison in Delium: which place, notwithstanding this defeat, they yet retained. 97. The Bœotians, when they had erected their trophy, taken away their own dead, rifled those of the enemy, and left a guard upon the place, returned back to Tanagra; and there entered into consultation for an assault to be made on Delium. In the meantime, a herald sent from the Athenians to require the bodies, met with a herald by the way sent by the Bœotians: which turned him back, by telling him he could get nothing done till himself was returned from the Athenians. This herald, when he came before the Athenians, delivered unto them what the Bœotians had given him in charge: namely, “that they had done injustly to transgress the universal law of the Grecians; being a constitution received by them all, that the invader of a another’s country should abstain from all holy places in the same: that the Athenians had fortified Delium and dwelt in it, and done whatsoever else men use to do in places profane; and had drawn that water to the common use, which was unlawful for themselves to have touched, save only to wash their hands for the sacrifice1 : that therefore the Bœotians, both in the behalf of the god and of themselves, invoking Apollo and all the interessed spirits, did warn them to be gone and to remove their stuff out of the temple.” 98. After the herald had said this, the Athenians sent a herald of their own to the Bœotians: “denying that either they had done any wrong to the holy place already, or would willingly do any hurt to it hereafter: for neither did they at first enter into it to such intent; but to requite the greater injuries which had been done unto them: as for the law which the Grecians have, it is no other but that they which have the dominion of any territory, great or small, have ever the temples also; and besides the accustomed rites, may superinduce what other they can: for also the Bœotians, and most men else, all that having driven out another nation possess their territory, did at first invade the temples of others and make2 them their own: that therefore, if they could win from them more of their land, they would keep it; and for the part they were now in, they were in it with a good will and would not out of it, as being their own: that for the water, they meddled with it upon necessity; which was not to be ascribed to insolence, but to this, that fighting against the Bœotians that had invaded their territory first, they were forced to use it; for whatsoever is forced by war or danger, hath in reason a kind of pardon even with the god himself: for the altars, in cases of involuntary offences, are a refuge; and they are said to violate laws that are evil without constraint, not they that are a little bold upon occasion of distress: that the Bœotians themselves, who require restitution of the holy places for a redemption of the dead, are more irreligious by far than they, who, rather than let their temples go, are content to go without that which were fit for them to receive1 : and they bade him say plainly: that they would not depart out of the Bœotian territory, for that they were not now in it; but in a territory which they had made their own by the sword: and nevertheless, required truce according to the ordinances of the country, for the fetching away of the dead.” 99. To this the Bœotians answered: “that if the dead were in Bœotia, they should quit the ground and take with them whatsoever was theirs: but if the dead were in their own territory, the Athenians themselves knew best what to do.” For they thought that though Oropia, wherein the dead lay, (for the battle was fought in the border between Attica and Bœotia), by subjection belonged to the Athenians, yet they could not fetch them off by force; and for truce that the Athenians might come safely on Athenian ground, they would give none: but conceived it was a handsome answer, to say, “that if they would quit the1ground they should obtain whatsoever they required.” Which when the Athenian herald heard, he went his way without effect.

  The form of an engine, wherewith they set the wall on fire.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.Delium recovered by the Bœotians.

  100. The Bœotians presently sent for darters and slingers from [the towns on] the Melian gulf; and with these, and with two thousand men of arms of Corinth, and with the Peloponnesian garrison that was put out of Nisæa, and with the Megareans, all which arrived after the battle, they marched forthwith to Delium and assaulted the wall. And when they had attempted the same many other ways, at length they brought to it an engine, wherewith they also took it, made in this manner. Having slit in two a great mast, they made hollow both the sides, and curiously set them together again in the form of a pipe. At the end of it in chains they hung a cauldron: and into the cauldron from the end of the mast they conveyed a snout of iron; having with iron also armed a great part of the rest of the wood. They carried it to the wall, being far off, in carts; to that part, where it was most made up with the matter of the vineyard and with wood. And when it was to, they applied a pair of great bellows to the end next themselves, and blew. The blast passing narrowly through into the cauldron, in which were coals of fire, brimstone, and pitch, raised an exceeding great flame, and set the wall on fire: so that no man being able to stand any longer on it, but abandoning the same and betaking themselves to flight, the wall was by that means taken. Of the defendants, some were slain, and two hundred taken prisoners: the rest of the number recovered their galleys, and got home.

  The Bœotians deliver to the Athenians their dead.

  101. Delium thus taken on the seventeenth day after the battle, and the herald, which not long after was sent again about the fetching away of the dead, not knowing it1 : the Bœotians let him have them, and answered no more as they had formerly done. In the battle there died, Bœotians, few less than five hundred: the Athenians, few less than a thousand, with Hippocrates the general; but of light–armed soldiers and such as carried the provisions of the army, a great number.

  Demosthenes landing in Sicyonia, is beaten back by the inhabitants.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.Sitalces king of Thrace, dieth: and Seuthes his brother’s son succeedeth him.

  Not long after this battle, Demosthenes2 , that had been with his army at Siphæ, seeing the treason succeeded not, having aboard his galleys his army of Acarnanians and Agræans and four hundred men of arms of Athens, landed in Sicyonia. But before all his galleys came to shore, the Sicyonians, who went out to defend their territory, put to flight such as were already landed, and chased them back to their galleys; having also slain some, and taken some alive. And when they had erected a trophy, they gave truce to the Athenians for the fetching away of their dead. About the time that these things passed at Delium, died Sitalces, king of the Odrysians, overcome in battle in an expedition against the Triballians. And Seuthes the son of Spardocus, his brother’s son, succeeded him in the kingdom, both of the Odrysians, and of the rest of Thrace as much as was before subject to Sitalces.

  Brasidas goeth to Amphipolis.The original of Amphipolis. A. C. 498. Ol. 70. 3.Agnon founder of Amphipolis.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  102. The same winter, Brasidas with the confederates in Thrace made war upon Amphipolis; a colony1 of the Athenians, situated on the river Strymon. The place whereon the city now standeth, Aristagoras of Miletus had formerly attempted to inhabit2 , when he fled from king Darius: but was beaten away by the Edonians. Two–and–thirty years after this, the Athenians assayed the same; and sent thither ten thousand of their own city, and of others as many as would go: and these were destroyed all by the Thracians at Drabescus. In the twenty–ninth year after, conducted by Agnon the son of Nicias, the Athenians came again; and having driven out the Edonians, became founders of this place, formerly called the Nine–ways. His army lay then at Eion, a town of traffic by the seaside subject to the Athenians, at the mouth of the river Strymon; five–and–twenty furlongs from the city. Agnon named this city Amphipolis, because it was surrounded by the river Strymon, that runs on either side it. When he had taken it in with a long wall from river to river, he put inhabitants into the place, being conspicuous round about both to the sea and land1 .

  The Argilians conspire to betray Amphipolis.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Argilus revoltethBrasidas winneth the bridge, and is master of all between it and the city.The Amphipolitans send for aid to Thucydides, the author of this history.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.

  103. Against this city marched Brasidas with his army, dislodging from Arnæ in Chalcidea. Being about twilight come as far as Aulon and Bromiscus, where the lake Bolbe entereth into the sea, he caused his army to sup, and then marched forward by night. The weather was foul, and a little it snowed; which also made him to march the rather, as desiring that none of Amphipolis, but only the traitors, should be aware of his coming. For there were both Argilians that dwelt in the same city, (now Argilus is a colony of the Andrians), and others, that contrived this, induced thereunto some by Perdiccas, and some by the Chalcideans. But above all the Argilians, being of a city near unto it, and ever suspected by the Athenians, and secret enemies to the place, as soon as opportunity was offered and Brasidas arrived, (who2 had also long before dealt underhand with as many of them as dwelt in Amphipolis, to betray it), both received him into their own city, and revolting from the Athenians, brought the army forward the same night as far as to the bridge of the river. The town stood not close to the river, nor was there a fort at the bridge then, as there is now1 ; but they kept it only with a small guard of soldiers. Having easily forced this guard, both in respect of the treason and of the weather, and of his own unexpected approach, he passed the bridge, and was presently master of2 whatsoever the Amphipolitans had that dwelt without. 104. Having thus suddenly passed the bridge, and many of those without being slain3 , and some fled into the city, the Amphipolitans were in very great confusion at it: and the rather, because they were jealous one of another. And it is said, that if Brasidas had not sent out his army to take booty, but had marched presently to the city, he had in all likelihood taken it then. But so it was, that he pitched there, and fell upon those without; and seeing nothing succeeded by those within4 , lay still upon the place. But the contrary faction to the traitors being superior in number, whereby the gates were not opened presently, both they and Eucles the general, who was then there for the Athenians to keep the town, sent unto the other general, Thucydides the son of Olorus, the writer of this history, who had charge in Thrace, and was now about Thasos, (which is an island, and a colony of the Parians, distant from Amphipolis about half a day’s sail), requiring him to come and relieve them. When he heard the news, he went thitherwards in all haste with seven galleys, which chanced to be with him at that time. His purpose principally was, to prevent the yielding up of Amphipolis; but if he should fail of that, then to possess himself of Eion [before Brasidas his coming].

  Brasidas, fearing to be prevented by Thucydides, hasteth by easy conditions to procure the town to yield.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.Amphipolis yielded.Thucydides cometh too late to relieve Amphipolis, and putteth himself into Eion:

  105. Brasidas in the meantime, fearing the aid of the galleys to come from Thasos, and having also been informed that Thucydides possessed mines of gold in the parts of Thrace thereabouts, and was thereby of ability amongst the principal men of the continent, hasted by all means to get Amphipolis before he should arrive; lest otherwise at his coming the commons of Amphipolis, expecting that he would levy confederates both from the sea–side and in Thrace, and relieve them, should thereupon refuse to yield. And to that end offered them a moderate composition: causing to be proclaimed, “that whosoever, Amphipolitan or Athenian, would, might continue to dwell there and enjoy his own, with equal and like form1 of government; and that he that would not, should have five days’ respite to be gone and carry away his goods.” 106. When the commons heard this, their minds were turned; and the rather, because the Athenians amongst them were but few, and the most were a promiscuous multitude; and the kinsmen of those that were taken without, flocked together within. And in respect of their fear, they all thought the proclamation reasonable: the Athenians thought it so, because they were willing to go out, as apprehending their own danger to be1 greater than that of the rest; and withal, not expecting aid in haste: and the rest of the multitude, as being thereby both delivered of the danger, and withal to retain their city with the equal form of government. Insomuch that they which conspired with Brasidas now openly justified the offer to be reasonable: and seeing the minds of the commons were now turned, and that they gave ear no more to the words of the Athenian general, they compounded, and upon the conditions proclaimed received him. Thus did these men deliver up the city: Thucydides with his galleys arrived in the evening of the same day at Eion. Brasidas had already gotten Amphipolis, and wanted but a night of taking Eion also: for if these galleys had not come speedily to relieve it, by next morning it had been had.

  and defendeth it against Brasidas.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1. Greatinclination of the people of those parts to come in to Brasidas.

  107. After this Thucydides assured Eion, so as it should be safe both for the present, though Brasidas should assault it, and for the future; and took into it such as, according to the proclamation made, came down from Amphipolis. Brasidas with many boats came suddenly down the river to Eion, and attempted to seize on the point of the ground lying out from the wall into the sea, and thereby to command the mouth of the river: he assayed also the same at the same time by land, and was in both beaten off; but Amphipolis he furnished with all things necessary1 . Then revolted to him Myrcinus, a city of the Edonians; Pittacus, the king of the Edonians, being slain by the sons of Goaxis, and by Braures his own wife. And not long after Gapselus also, and Œsyme, colonies of the Thasians. Perdiccas also, after the taking of these places, came to him, and helped him in assuring of the same.

  The Athenians begin to fear.year viii. A. C. 424. Ol. 89. 1.The Athenians send garrisons to the places thereabouts.Brasidas envied at home.

  108. After Amphipolis was taken, the Athenians were brought into great fear; especially, for that it was a city that yielded them much profit, both in timber which is sent them for the building of galleys, and in revenue of money; and because also, though the Lacedæmonians had a passage open to come against their confederates, the Thessalians convoying them, as far as to Strymon, yet if they had not gotten that bridge, the river being upwards nothing but a vast fen, and towards Eion well guarded with their galleys, they could have gone no further: which now they thought they might easily do; and therefore feared lest their confederates should revolt. For Brasidas both showed himself otherwise very moderate, and also gave out in speech, that he was sent forth to recover the liberty of Greece. And the cities which were subject to the Athenians, hearing of the taking of Amphipolis, and what assurance he brought with him, and of his gentleness besides, were extremely desirous of innovation; and sent messengers privily to bid him draw near, every one striving who should first revolt. For they thought they might do it boldly, falsely estimating the power of the Athenians to be less than afterwards it appeared, and making a judgment of it according to [blind] wilfulness rather than safe forecast: it being the fashion of men, what they wish to be true to admit even upon an ungrounded hope, and what they wish not, with a magistral kind of arguing to reject. Withal, because the Athenians had lately received a blow from the Bœotians, and because Brasidas had said, (not as was the truth, but as served best to allure them), that when he was at Nisæa the Athenians durst not fight with those forces of his alone, they grew confident thereon, and believed not that any man would come against them. But the greatest cause of all was, that for the delight they took at this time to innovate, and for that they were to make trial of the Lacedæmonians, not till now angry1 , they were content by any means to put it to the hazard. Which being perceived, the Athenians sent garrison soldiers into those cities, as many as the shortness of the time and the season of winter would permit. And Brasidas sent unto Lacedæmon, to demand greater forces; and in the meantime prepared to build galleys on the river Strymon. But the Lacedæmonians, partly through envy of the principal men2 , and partly because they more affected the redemption of their men taken in the island and the ending of the war, refused to furnish him.

  A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. The Megareans demolish their long walls.

  109. The same winter the Megareans, having recovered their long walls holden by the Athenians3 , razed them to the very ground.

  year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas invadeth the territory of Acte, where Athos standeth.Torone revolteth to Brasidas.The manner how the town was betrayed.year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. The town taken.

  Brasidas, after the taking of Amphipolis, having with him the confederates, marched with his army into the territory called Acte. This1 Acte is that prominent territory, which is disjoined from the continent by a ditch made by the king: and Athos a high mountain in the same, determineth at the Ægean sea. Of the cities it hath, one is Sane, a colony of the Andrians, by the side of the said ditch on the part which looketh to the sea towards Eubœa: the rest are Thyssus, Cleone, Acrothoi, Olophyxus, and Dion; and are inhabited by promiscuous barbarians of two languages2 . Some few there are also of the Chalcidean nation; but the most are Pelasgic, of those Tyrrhene nations3 that once inhabited Athens and Lemnos; and of the Bisaltic and Chrestonic nations, and Edonians; and dwell in small cities. The most of which yielded to Brasidas: but Sane and Dion held out; for which cause he stayed with his army and wasted their territories. 110. But seeing they would not hearken unto him, he led his army presently against Torone of Chalcidea, held by the Athenians. He was called in by the few, who were ready withal to deliver him the city: and arriving there a little before break of day, he sat down with his army at the temple of Castor and Pollux4 , distant about three furlongs from the city. So that to the rest of the city and to the Athenian garrison in it, his coming was unperceived. But the traitors knowing he was to come, (some few of them being also privily gone to him1 ), attended his approach: and when they perceived he was come, they took in unto them seven men armed only with daggers; (for of twenty appointed at first to that service, seven only had the courage to go in; and were led by Lysistratus of Olynthus); which getting over2 the wall towards the main sea unseen, went up (for the town standeth on a hill’s side) to the watch that kept the upper end of the town, and having slain the watchmen brake open the postern gate towards Canastræa. 111. Brasidas this while with the rest of his army lay still, and then coming a little forward3 , sent a hundred targetiers before, who when the gates should be opened and sign agreed on be set up, should run in first. These men, expecting long and wondering at the matter, by little and little were at length come up close to the city. Those Toronæans within, which helped the men that entered to perform the enterprise, when the postern gate was broken open, and the gate leading to the market–place opened likewise by cutting asunder the bar, went first and fetched some of them about to the postern, to the end that they might suddenly affright such of the town as knew not the matter, both behind and on either side: and then they put up the sign appointed, which was fire, and received the rest of the targetiers by the gate that leadeth to the market–place. 112. Brasidas, when he saw the sign, made his army rise; and with a huge cry of all at once, to the great terror of those within, entered into the city running. Some went directly in by the gate, and some by certain squared timber–trees1 , which lay at the wall (which having been lately down was now again in building) for the drawing up of stone. Brasidas therefore, with the greatest number, betook himself to the highest places of the city, to make sure the winning of it by possessing the places of advantage. But the rest of the rabble2 ran dispersed here and there without difference.

  The Athenians escape into a castle of the same, called Lecythus.year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.brasidas his speech to the toronæans.year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.Brasidas taketh Lecythus.year viii. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  113. When the town was taken, the most of the Toronæans were much troubled, because they were not acquainted with the matter; but the conspirators, and such as were pleased with it, joined themselves presently with those that entered. The Athenians, (of which there were about fifty men of arms asleep in the market–place), when they knew what had happened, fled all, except some few that were slain upon the place, some by land, some by water in two galleys that kept watch there, and saved themselves in Lecythus; which was a fort which they themselves held, cut off3 from the rest of the city to the seaward in a narrow isthmus. And thither also fled all such Toronæans as were affected to them. 114. Being now day, and the city strongly possessed, Brasidas caused a proclamation to be made, that those Toronæans which were fled with the Athenians might come back, as many as would, to their own, and inhabit4 there in security. To the Athenians he sent a herald, bidding them depart out of Lecythus under truce with all that they had, as a place that belonged to the Chalcideans. The Athenians denied to quit the place; but the truce they desired for one day, for the taking up of their dead. And Brasidas granted it for two: in which two days he fortified the buildings near; and so also did the Athenians theirs1 . He also called an assembly of the Toronæans, and spake unto them as he had done before to the Acanthians: adding, “that there was no just cause, why either they that had practised to put the city into his hands should be the worse thought of, or accounted traitors for it; seeing that they did it with no intent to bring the city into servitude, nor were hired thereunto with money, but for the benefit and liberty of the city: or that they which were not made acquainted2 with it, should think that themselves were not to reap as much good by it as the others; for he came not to destroy either city or man: but had therefore made that proclamation touching those that fled with the Athenians, because he thought them never the worse for that friendship, and made account when they had made trial of the Lacedæmonians, they would3 show as much good will also unto them, or rather more, inasmuch as they would behave themselves with more equity; and that their present fear was only upon want of trial. Withal he wished them to prepare themselves to be true confederates for the future; and from henceforward, to look to have their faults imputed: for4 , for what was past he thought they had not done any wrong, but suffered it rather from other men that were too strong for them; and therefore were to be pardoned, if they had in aught been against him.” 115. When he had thus said and put them again into heart, the truce being expired, he made divers assaults upon Lecythus. The Athenians fought against them from the wall, though a bad one, and from the houses such as had battlements: and for the first day kept them off. But the next day, when the enemies were to bring to the wall a great engine, out of which they intended to cast fire upon their wooden fences; and that the army was now coming up to the place where they thought they might best apply the engine, and which was easiest to be assaulted: the Athenians, having upon the top of the building1 erected a turret of wood, and carried up many buckets of water, and many men being also gone up into it, the building overcharged with weight fell suddenly to the ground; and that with so huge a noise, that though those which were near and saw it were grieved more than afraid, yet such as stood further off, especially the furthest of all, supposing the place to be in that part already taken, fled as fast as they could towards the sea and went aboard their galleys. 116. Brasidas, when he perceived the battlements to be abandoned and saw what had happened, came on with his army and presently got the fort; and slew all that he found within it. But the rest of the Athenians, which before abandoned the place, with their boats and galleys put themselves into Pallene1 .

  There was in Lecythus a temple of Minerva. And when Brasidas was about to give the assault, he had made proclamation, that whosoever first scaled the wall, should have thirty minæ of silver for a reward. Brasidas now conceiving that the place was won by means not human, gave those thirty minæ to the goddess to the use of the temple. And then pulling down Lecythus, he built2 it anew, and consecrated unto her the whole place.

  The rest of this winter he spent in assuring the places he had already gotten, and in contriving the conquest of more. Which winter ending, ended the eighth year of this war.

  year ix. Truce for a year, the motives to truce on either side.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  117. The Lacedæmonians and Athenians, in the spring of the summer following, made a cessation of arms presently for a year: having reputed with themselves, the Athenians, that Brasidas should by this means cause no more of their cities to revolt, but that by this leisure they might prepare to secure them; and that if this suspension liked them, they might afterwards make some agreement for a longer time3 : the Lacedæmonians, that the Athenians fearing what they feared, would upon the taste of this intermission of their miseries and weary life, be the willinger to compound, and with the restitution of their men to conclude a peace for a longer time. For they would fain have recovered their men, whilst Brasidas his good fortune continued; and whilst, if they could not recover them, they might yet (Brasidas prospering, and setting them equal with the Athenians) try it out upon even terms, and get the victory1 . Whereupon a suspension of arms was concluded, comprehending both themselves and their confederates, in these words:

  the articles of the truce.

  118. “Concerning the temple and oracle of Apollo Pythius, it seemeth good unto us,2 that whosoever will, may without fraud and without fear ask counsel thereat, according to the laws of his country3 . The same also seemeth good to the Lacedæmonians and their confederates here present; and they promise moreover to send ambassadors to the Bœotians and Phoceans, and do their best to persuade them to the same. That concerning the treasure belonging to the god, we shall take care to find out those that have offended therein, both we and you, proceeding with right and equity, according to the laws of our several states: and that whosoever else will, may do the same, every one according to the law of his own country4 .

  “If5 the Athenians will accord that each side shall keep within their own bounds, retaining what they now possess, the Lacedæmonians and the rest of the confederates touching the same think good thus:

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. The articles of the truce.

  “That the Lacedæmonians in Coryphasium stay within the mountains of Buphras and Tomeus; and the Athenians in Cythera without joining together in any league, either we with them or they with us. That those in Nisæa and Minoa pass not the highway, which from the gate of Megara near the temple of Nisus leadeth to the temple of Neptune, and so straightforward to the bridge that lies over into Minoa: that1 the Megareans pass not the same highway, nor into the island which the Athenians have taken; neither having commerce with other. That the Megareans2 keep what they now possess in Trœzen, and what they had before by agreement with the Athenians, and3 have free navigation, both upon the coasts of their own territories and their confederates.

  “That the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall pass the seas not in a long ship, but in any other boat rowed with oars of burden not exceeding five hundred talents.

  “That the heralds and ambassadors, that shall pass between both sides for the ending of the war or for trials of judgment, may go and come without impeachment, with as many followers as they shall think good, both by sea and land.

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. The articles of the truce.

  “That during this time of truce, neither we nor you receive one another’s fugitives, free nor bond.

  “That you to us, and we to you shall afford law according to the use of our several states; to the end our controversies may be decided judicially without war.

  “This is thought good by the Lacedæmonians and their confederates. But if you shall conceive any other articles more fair or of more equity than these, then shall you go and declare the same at Lacedæmon. For neither shall the Lacedæmonians nor their confederates refuse anything, that you shall make appear to be just. But let those that go, go with full authority, even as you do now require it of us.—That this truce shall be for a year.”

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  “The people decreed it. Acamantis was president of the assembly1 . Phænippus the scribe. Niciades overseer, and Laches pronounced these words: ‘With good fortune to the people of Athens, a suspension of arms is concluded, according as the Lacedæmonians and their confederates have agreed’. And they consented before the people, ‘that the suspension should continue for a year, beginning that same day, being the fourteenth of the month Elaphebolion: in which time the ambassadors and heralds, going from one side to the other, should treat about a final end of the wars: and that the commanders of the army and the presidents of the city calling an assembly, the Athenians should hold a council, touching the manner of embassage for ending of the war, first: and the ambassadors there present should now immediately swear this truce for a year’ ”.

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  119. The same articles the Lacedæmonians propounded, and the confederates agreed unto1 , with the Athenians and their confederates in Lacedæmon, on the twelfth day of the month Gerastion. The men that agreed upon these articles, and sacrificed, were these, viz. Of the Lacedæmonians, Taurus the son of Echetimidas, Athenæus the son of Pericleidas, and Philocharidas the son of Eryxidaidas. Of the Corinthians, Æneas the son of Ocytes, and Euphamidas the son of Aristonymus. Of the Sicyonians, Damotimos the son of Naucrates, and Onasimus the son of Megacles. Of the Megareans, Nicasus the son of Cecalus, and Menecrates the son of Amphidorus. Of the Epidaurians, Amphias the son of Eupaidas. Of the Athenians, the generals [themselves], Nicostratus the son of Diotrephes, Nicias the son of Niceratus, and Autocles the son of Tolmæus. This was the truce: and during the same they were continually in treaty about a longer peace.

  The revolt of Scione.Brasidas goeth over in a boat, but with a galley before him: and his reason.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. brasidas his speech to the scionæans.The honour done to Brasidas by the Scionæans.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Brasidas receiveth news of the suspension of arms.Difference between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians about the restitution of Scione, which revolted after the truce made, but before the Lacedæmonians knew of it.The Athenians prepare to war on Scione.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Decree of the Athenians against Scione.

  120. About the same time, whilst they were going to and fro, Scione, a city in Pallene, revolted from the Athenians to Brasidas. The Scionæans say, that they be Pallenians descended of those of Peloponnesus; and that their ancestors passing the seas from Troy, were driven in by a tempest1 , which tossed the Achæans up and down, and planted themselves in the place they now dwell in. Brasidas, upon their revolt, went over into Scione by night: and though he had a galley with him that went before, yet he himself followed aloof in a light–horseman. His reason was this: that if his light–horseman should be assaulted by2 some greater vessel, the galley would defend it; but if he met with a galley equal to his own, he made account that such a one would not assault his boat, but rather the galley, whereby he might in the meantime go through in safety. When he was over and had called the Scionæans to assemble, he spake unto them as he had done before to them of Acanthus and Torone: adding, “that they of all the rest were most worthy to be commended, inasmuch as Pallene, being cut off in the isthmus by the Athenians that possess Potidæa, and being no other than islanders, did yet of their own accord come forth to meet their liberty, and stayed not through cowardliness till they must of necessity have been compelled to their own manifest good: which was an argument, that they would valiantly undergo any other great matter, to1 have their state ordered to their minds: and that he would verily hold them for most faithful friends to the Lacedæmonians, and also otherwise do them honour.” 121. The Scionæans were erected with these words of his; and now every one alike encouraged, as well they that liked not what was done as those that liked it, entertained a purpose stoutly to undergo the war: and received Brasidas both otherwise honourably, and crowned him with a crown of gold in the name of the city, as the deliverer of Greece. And private persons honoured him with garlands and came to him, as they use to do to a champion that hath won a prize. But he leaving there a small garrison for the present, came back; and not long after carried over a greater army, with design by the help of those of Scione to make an attempt upon Mende and Potidæa. For he thought the Athenians would send succours to the place, as to an island; and desired to prevent them. Withal, he had in hand a practice with some within to have those cities betrayed. So he attended, ready to undertake that enterprise2 . 122. But in the meantime came unto him in a galley, Aristonymus for the Athenians, and Athenæus for the Lacedæmonians, that carried about the news of the truce. Whereupon he sent away his army again to Torone: and these men related unto Brasidas the articles of the agreement. The confederates of the Lacedæmonians in Thrace approved of what was done: and Aristonymus had in all other things satisfaction. But for the Scionæans, whose revolt by computation of the days he had found to be after the making of the truce, he denied that they were comprehended therein. Brasidas said much in contradiction of this, and that the city revolted before the truce: and refused to render it. But when Aristonymus had sent to Athens to inform them of the matter, the Athenians were ready presently to have sent an army against Scione. The Lacedæmonians in the meantime sent ambassadors to the Athenians, to tell them that they could not send an army against it without breach of the truce; and, upon Brasidas his word, challenged the city to belong unto them, offering themselves to the decision of law. But the Athenians would by no means put the matter to judgment; but meant with all the speed they could make to send an army against it: being angry at the heart that it should come to this pass, that even islanders durst revolt, and trust to the unprofitable help of the strength of the Lacedæmonians by land. Besides, touching [the time of] the revolt, the Athenians had more truth on their side than1 themselves alleged: for the revolt of the Scionæans was after the truce two days. Whereupon, by the advice of Cleon, they made a decree, to take them by force and to put them all to the sword. And, forbearing war in all places else, they prepared themselves only for that.

  The revolt of Mende.

  123. In the meantime revolted also Mende in Pallene, a colony of the Eretrians. These also Brasidas received into protection: holding it for no wrong, because1 they came in openly in time of truce: and somewhat there was also which he charged the Athenians with, about breach of the truce. For which cause the Mendæans had also been the bolder, as sure of the intention of Brasidas: which they might guess at by Scione, inasmuch as he could not be gotten to deliver it. Withal, the few were they which had practised the revolt, who being once2 about it, would by no means give it over; but fearing lest they should be discovered, forced the multitude contrary to their own inclination to the same. The Athenians being hereof presently advertised, and much more angry now than before, made preparation to war upon both: and Brasidas expecting that they would send a fleet against them, received the women and children of the Scionæans and Mendæans into Olynthus in Chalcidea, and sent over thither five hundred Peloponnesian men of arms and three hundred Chalcidean targetiers, and for commander of them all Polydamidas. And those that were left in Scione and Mende3 joined in the administration of their affairs, as expecting to have the Athenian fleet immediately with them.

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Perdiccas and Brasidas jointly invade Arrhibæus.The Lyncesteans fly.Perdiccas expecteth mercenary aid out of Illyris.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. The Illyrians come: and turn to Arrhibæus.The Macedonians upon a sudden fear run away, and desert Brasidas.Brasidas his retreat.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  124. In the meantime Brasidas and Perdiccas, with joint forces, march into Lyncus against Arrhibæus the second time. Perdiccas led with him the power of the Macedonians his subjects, and such Grecian men of arms as dwelt among them. Brasidas, besides the Peloponnesians that were left him, led with him the Chalcideans, Acanthians, and the rest, according to the forces they could severally make. The whole number of the Grecian men of arms were about three thousand. The horsemen, both Macedonians and Chalcideans, somewhat less than a thousand; but the other rabble of barbarians was great. Being entered the territory of Arrhibæus, and finding the Lyncesteans encamped in the field, they also sat down opposite to their camp. And the foot of each side being lodged upon a hill, and a plain lying betwixt them both, the horsemen ran down into the same, and a skirmish followed, first between the horse only of them both. But afterwards, the men of arms of the Lyncesteans coming down to aid their horse from the hill, and offering battle first, Brasidas and Perdiccas drew down their army likewise, and charging, put the Lyncesteans to flight: many of which being slain, the rest retired to the hill–top and lay still. After this they erected a trophy, and stayed two or three days, expecting the Illyrians who were coming to Perdiccas upon hire: and Perdiccas meant afterwards to have gone on against the villages of Arrhibæus one after another, and to have sitten still there no longer. But Brasidas having his thoughts on Mende, lest if the Athenians came thither before his return it should receive some blow; seeing withal that the Illyrians came not; had no liking to do so, but rather to retire. 125. Whilst they thus varied, word was brought that the Illyrians had betrayed Perdiccas, and joined themselves with Arrhibæus. So that now it was thought good to retire by them both, for fear of these who were a warlike people; but yet for the time when to march, there was nothing concluded, by reason of their variance. The next night, the Macedonians and multitude of barbarians1 (as it is usual with great armies, to be terrified upon causes unknown) being suddenly affrighted, and supposing them to be many more in number than they were, and even now upon them, betook themselves to present flight and went home. And Perdiccas, who at first knew not of it, they constrained when he knew, before he had spoken with Brasidas, (their camps being far asunder), to be gone also. Brasidas betimes in the morning, when he understood that the Macedonians were gone away without him, and that the Illyrians and Arrhibæans were coming upon him, putting his men of arms into a square form, and receiving the multitude of his light–armed into the middest, intended to retire likewise. The youngest men of his soldiers he appointed to run out upon the enemy, when they charged the army anywhere [with shot]; and he himself with three hundred chosen men marching in the rear, intended, as he retired, to sustain the foremost of the enemy fighting, if1 they came close up. But before the enemy approached, he encouraged his soldiers, as the shortness of time gave him leave, with words to this effect:

  the oration of brasidas to his soldiers.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Brasidas.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. Oration of Brasidas.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.

  126. “Men of Peloponnesus, if I did not mistrust, in respect you are thus abandoned by the Macedonians, and that the barbarians which come upon you are many2 , that you were afraid, I should not [at this time] instruct you and encourage you as I do3 . But now against this desertion of your companions and the multitude of your enemies, I will endeavour with a short instruction and hortative to give you encouragement to the full. For to be good soldiers is unto you natural, not by the presence of any confederates, but by your own valour; and not to fear others for the number, seeing you are not come from a city where the many bear rule over the few, but the few over the many; and have gotten this for power by no other means than by overcoming in fight4 . And as to these barbarians, whom through ignorance you fear, you may take notice, both by the former battles fought by us against them before, in favour of the Macedonians1 , and also by what I myself conjecture and have heard by others, that they have no great danger in them. For when any enemy whatsoever maketh show of strength, being indeed weak, the truth once known doth rather serve to embolden the other side: whereas against such as have valour indeed, a man will be the boldest when he knoweth the least. These men here, to such as have not tried them, do indeed make terrible offers: for the sight of their number is fearful, the greatness of their cry intolerable, and the vain shaking of their weapons on high is not without signification of menacing. But they are not answerable to this, when with such as stand them they come to blows. For fighting without order they will quit their place without shame, if they be once pressed; and seeing it is with them honourable alike to fight or run away, their valours are never called in question: and a battle wherein every one may do as he list, affords them a more handsome excuse to save themselves1 . But they trust rather in their standing out of danger and terrifying us afar off, than in coming to hands with us: for else they would rather have taken that course than this. And you see manifestly, that all that was before terrible in them, is in effect little; and serves only to urge you to be going with their show and noise. Which if you sustain at their first coming on, and again withdraw yourselves still, as you shall have leisure, in your order and places, you shall not only come the sooner to a place of safety, but shall learn also against hereafter, that such a rabble as this, to men prepared to endure their first charge, do but make a flourish of valour with threats from afar before the battle: but to such as give them ground, they are eager enough to seem courageous where they may do it safely.”

  Brasidas draweth away his army, and the barbarians follow him.The Illyrians pursue the Macedonians, leaving part of their army to follow Brasidas.

  127. When Brasidas had made his exhortation, he led away his army. And the barbarians seeing it, pressed after them with great cries and tumult, as supposing he fled1 . But seeing that those who were appointed to run out upon them [did so, and] met them which way soever they came on; and that Brasidas himself, with his chosen band, sustained them where they charged close, and endured the first brunt beyond their expectation; and seeing also that afterwards continually when they charged, the other received them and fought, and when they ceased the other retired: then at length the greatest part of the barbarians forbore the Grecians, that with Brasidas were in the open field, and leaving a part to follow them with shot, the rest ran with all speed after the Macedonians which were fled, of whom as many as they overtook they slew; and withal prepossessed the passage, which is a narrow one between two hills, giving entrance into the country of Arrhibæus, knowing that there was no other passage by which Brasidas could get away. And when he was come to the very strait, they were going about him to have cut him off.

  Brasidas seizeth the top of the hill by which he was to pass.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1.The spite of Brasidas’ soldiers against the Macedonians for abandoning them.Perdiccas and Brasidas fall out.

  128. He, when he saw this, commanded the three hundred that were with him, to2 run every man as fast as he could to one of the tops, which of them they could easliest get up to, and try if they could drive down those barbarians that were now going up1 to the same, before any greater number was above to hem them in. These accordingly fought with and overcame those barbarians upon the hill, and thereby the rest of the army marched the more easily to the top2 . For this beating of them from the vantage of the hill, made the barbarians also afraid; so that they followed them no further, conceiving withal that they were now at the confines, and already escaped through. Brasidas, having now gotten the hills and marching with more safety, came first the same day to Arnissa, of3 the dominion of Perdiccas. And the soldiers of themselves, being angry with the Macedonians for leaving them behind, whatsoever teams of oxen, or fardles fallen from any man, (as was likely to happen in a retreat made in fear and in the night), they lighted on by the way, the oxen they cut in pieces, and took the fardles to themselves. And from this time did Perdiccas first esteem Brasidas as his enemy, and afterwards hated the Peloponnesians, not with ordinary hatred for the Athenians’ sake; but being utterly fallen out with him about his own particular interest, sought means as soon as he could to compound with these, and be disleagued from the other4 .

  year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. 2.The Mendæans encamp without the city.Nicias wounded.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. 2.Sedition in Mende.The gates opened to the Athenians upon sedition.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. 2. Mende pillaged by the Athenians.The Athenians lead their army against Scione.

  129. Brasidas, at his return out of Macedonia to Torone, found that the Athenians had already taken Mende: and therefore staying there, (for he thought it impossible to pass over into Pallene and to recover Mende), he kept good watch upon Torone. For about the time that these things passed amongst the Lyncesteans, the Athenians, after1 all was in readiness, set sail for Mende and Scione with fifty galleys, (whereof ten were of Chios), and a thousand men of arms of their own city, six hundred archers, a thousand Thracian mercenaries, and other targetiers of their own confederates thereabouts, under the conduct of Nicias the son of Niceratus, and Nicostratus the son of Diotrephes. These launching from Potidæa with their galleys, and putting in at the temple of Neptune, marched presently against the Mendæans. The Mendæans with their own forces, three hundred of Scione that came to aid them, and the aids of the Peloponnesians, in all seven hundred men of arms, and Polydamidas their commander, were encamped upon a strong hill without the city. Nicias with a hundred and twenty light–armed soldiers of Methone, and sixty chosen men of arms of Athens, and all his archers, attempting to get up by a path that was in the hill’s side, was wounded in the attempt, and could not make his way by force. And Nicostratus with all the rest of the army, going another way further about, as he climbed the hill, being hard of access, was quite disordered; and the whole army wanted little of being utterly discomfited. So for this day, seeing the Mendæans and their confederates stood to it, the Athenians retired and pitched their camp: and at night the Mendæans retired into the city. 130. The next day the Athenians sailing about unto that part of the city1 which is towards Scione, seized on the suburbs; and all that day wasted their fields, no man coming forth to oppose them: (for there was also sedition in the city): and the three hundred Scionæans the night following went home again. The next day Nicias, with the one half of the army, marched to the confines and wasted the territory of the Scionæans; and Nicostratus at the same time, with the other half, sat down against the city before the higher gates towards Potidæa. Polydamidas (for it fell out that the Mendæans and their aids had their arms lying within the wall in this part) set his men in order for the battle, and encouraged the Mendæans to make a sally. But when one of the faction of the commons in sedition2 said to the contrary, that they would not go out, and that it was not necessary to fight; and was upon this contradiction by Polydamidas pulled and molested: the commons in passion presently took up their arms, and made towards the Peloponnesians and such other with them as were of the contrary faction; and falling upon them put them to flight, partly with the suddenness of the charge, and partly through the fear they were in of the Athenians, to whom the gates were at the same time opened. For they imagined that this insurrection was by some appointment made between them. So they fled into the citadel, as many as were not presently slain; which was also in their own hands before. But the Athenians (for now was Nicias also come back, and at the town–side) rushed into the city with the whole army, and rifled it; not as opened to them by agreement, but as taken by force; and the captains had much ado to keep them that they also killed not the men. After this, they bade the Mendæans use the same form of government they had done before, and to give judgment upon those they thought the principal authors of the revolt, amongst themselves. Those that were in the citadel, they shut up with a wall reaching on both sides to the sea; and left a guard to defend it. And having thus gotten Mende, they led their army against Scione. 131. The Scionæans and the Peloponnesians, coming out against them, possessed themselves of a strong hill before the city: which if the enemy did not win, he should not be able to enclose the city with a wall. The Athenians having strongly charged them [with shot] and beaten the defendants from it, encamped upon the hill: and after they had set up their trophy, prepared to build their wall about the city. Not long after, whilst the Athenians were at work about this, those aids that were besieged in the citadel of Mende, forcing the watch by the sea–side, came by night: and escaping most of them through the camp before Scione, put themselves into that city.

  Perdiccas maketh peace with the Athenians.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 1. 2.The Lacedæmonians make young men governors of cities.

  132. As they were enclosing of Scione, Perdiccas sent a herald to the Athenian commanders and concluded a peace with the Athenians, upon hatred to Brasidas about the retreat made out of Lyncus: having then immediately begun to treat of the same. For1 it happened also at this time that Ischagoras a Lacedæmonian was leading an army of foot unto Brasidas. And Perdiccas, partly because Nicias advised him, seeing1 the peace was made, to give some clear token that he would be firm, and partly because he himself desired not that the Peloponnesians should come any more into his territories, wrought with his hosts in Thessaly2 , having in that kind ever used the prime men, and so stopped the army and munition as they would not so much as try the Thessalians [whether they would let them pass or not]. Nevertheless Ischagoras, and Ameinias, and Aristeus themselves went on to Brasidas, as sent by the Lacedæmonians to view the state of affairs there: and also took with them from Sparta, contrary to the law, such men as were but in the beginning of their youth3 , to make them governors of cities, rather than commit the cities to the care of such as were there before. And Clearidas the son of Cleonymus, they made governor of Amphipolis; and Epitelidas4 the son of Hegesander, governor of Torone.

  A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 2. The walls of Thespiæ demolished by the Thebans.The temple of Juno in Argos burnt by negligence of an old woman priest.year ix. A. C. 423. Ol. 89. 2.Phaeinis priest of Juno in the place of Chrysis.Siege laid to Scione. The end of the ninth summer.

  133. The same summer, the Thebans demolished the walls of the Thespians, laying Atticism to their charge. And though they had ever meant to do it, yet now it was easier, because the flower of their youth was slain in the battle against the Athenians. The temple of Juno in Argos was also burnt down the same summer, by the negligence of Chrysis the priest, who having set a burning torch by the garlands, fell asleep: insomuch as all was on fire and flamed out before she knew. Chrysis the same night for fear of the Argives fled presently to Phlius: and they, according to the law formerly used, chose another priest in her room, called Phaeinis. Now when Chrysis fled, was the eighth year of this war ended1 , and half of the ninth. Scione, in the very end of this summer, was quite enclosed; and the Athenians having left a guard there, went home with the rest of their army.

  Battle between the Mantineans and the Tegeatæ.

  134. The winter following nothing was done between the Athenians and Lacedæmonians, because of the truce. But the Mantineans and the Tegeatæ, with the confederates of both, fought a battle at Laodicium, in the territory of Orestis, wherein the victory was doubtful: for either side put to flight one wing of their enemies, both sides set up trophies, and both sides sent of their spoils unto Delphi. Nevertheless, after many slain on either side, and equal battle which ended by the coming of night, the Tegeatæ lodged all night in the place, and erected their trophy then presently; whereas the Mantineans turned to Bucolion, and set up their trophy afterwards.

  A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. Brasidas attempteth Potidæa.year ix. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. The end of the ninth year.

  135. The same winter ending and the spring now approaching, Brasidas made an attempt upon Potidæa. For coming by night, he applied his ladders: and was thitherto undiscerned. He took the time to apply his ladders2 when the bell passed by, and before he that carried it to the next returned. Nevertheless being discovered he scaled not the wall, but presently again withdrew his army with speed, not staying till it was day. So ended this winter: and the ninth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  

  BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JOHN BOHN.

  ÆSCHYLUS’ PROMETHEUS and AGAMEMNON, translated from the Greek by George Croker Fox, Esq. To which is prefixed The Death of Demosthenes, a dramatic Poem, and other Rhymes; foolscap 8vo. cloth, 8s.

  “The Prometheus is translated with correctness and spirit, and in a masculine and severe style, suitable to its subject, and to the genius of the original poet. We give the same praise to the Agamemnon.”

  Gentleman’s Magazine.

  APOLOGY for CATHEDRAL SERVICE; crown 8vo. bds. 8s.

  “A very elegant and instructive little volume.”

  —Quarterly Review.

  “We have to make our apology to the author of this clever volume, for having delayed expressing our admiration of it...... We cannot praise the scholar–like elegance, the various reading, the keen remark, the quiet humour, the well chosen quotations, the sound argument, which support and adorn the work, without bearing witness also to the feeling of sincere piety, and to the Churchman’s well–grounded faith, that give a strong and steady lustre to the whole.”

  —Gentleman’s Magazine.

  “This is a very delightful work, and contains much more than its title implies. The style is quaint and original, and reminds us of that of some of our old writers. It is throughout enriched with a number of curious and interesting quotations and illustrations, which display considerable information and research. It is full of the spirit of antiquity, if we may use such an expression, and is deeply imbued with a love for those admirable and venerable institutions which we owe to the wisdom of past ages. The defence of the practice of chanting, of the whole Cathedral Service, and, indeed, of Cathedral institutions altogether, is excellent, and will repay an attentive perusal.”

  —Churchman.

  “This elegantly printed volume is inscribed to the poet Wordsworth, and is not alien to the spirit of that gentle and accomplished bard.”

  —British Magazine.

  ARRIAN on COURSING. The Cynegeticus of the Younger Xenophon, translated from the Greek, with Classical and Practical Annotations, and a brief Sketch of the Life of the Author. To which is added an Appendix, containing some Account of the Canes Venatici of Classical Antiquity, by a Graduate of Medicine (the Rev. Wm. Dansey); with 24 embellishments from the Antique, on India paper, imperial 8vo. (only 250 copies printed), extra boards, 1l. 11s 6d.

  “To the translator of Arrian we are highly indebted for a most ample and almost inexhaustible fund of amusing, interesting, practical, useful, and instructive information on the subject, which cannot fail to be highly acceptable and interesting to all amateurs of the leash.”

  —Thacker on Coursing.

  “The reader who is curious about the art of coursing, will find the results of vast reading and not slender experience brought together in an agreeable manner by this translator and annotator of Arrian’s celebrated treatise.”

  —Quarterly Review.

  BATHURST’S (Archdeacon Henry) MEMOIRS of the late Dr. HENRY BATHURST, Lord BISHOP of NORWICH; 2 vols. 8vo. (published at 2l. 10s.) new cloth, 12s.

  DESCANT on the PENNY POSTAGE; crown 8vo. sewed, 1s.

  “A very clever jeu–d’esprit.”

  —Morning Post.

  DESCANT on the PENNY POSTAGE. Encore Edition, with a few new Cadences; crown 8vo. 1s. 6d.

  “A very clever, humorous brochure, full of good hits and amusing satire.”

  —Gentleman’s Magazine for 1842, p. 189.

  DESCANT upon RAILROADS, by X. A. P. crown 8vo. 1s. 6d.

  “Those who are unacquainted with my former Descant, and not aware of the flexile laws by which this species of composition is governed, may not perceive at the first glance the relation between some of my paragraphs and my main purpose. Let me, therefore, be allowed to intimate, before I proceed any further, that a prose descant partakes of the nature of a voluntary upon the organ. In either case the performer is presumed to have well considered his subject, and to have made a distinct sketch of it beforehand. But he is discharged from some strict observances to which he must in other cases submit. He is at liberty to interject at will, and in his own particular manner, any idea that may flash across his mind while engaged in executing his design, provided it appear to discerning judges to blend with his theme, and be so brought in as not to contravene those general rules which all compositions are bound to respect.”

  Author.

  NUTTALL’S (Dr. P. A.) CLASSICAL and ARCHÆOLOGICAL DICTIONARY of the Manners, Customs, Laws, Institutions, Arts, &c. of the celebrated Nations of Antiquity and of the Middle Ages. To which is prefixed A Synoptical and Chronological View of Ancient History, 8vo. (published at 16s.) cloth, 12s.

  PRIAULX’S (Osmond de Beauvoir) QUÆSTIONES MOSAICÆ: or the Book of Genesis compared with the Remains of Ancient Religions, 8vo. extra boards, 15s.

  “Exhibiting much learned research and written in the calm spirit of philosophical investigation.

  —Westminster Review.

  “A work of remarkable research and originality”

  —Globe.

  “Superficial and egotistic—sceptical and contemptuous—the book has neither stamina nor style to pervert; nay not even to captivate the fanciful”

  —Monthly Review!!!

  PRIAULX’S NATIONAL EDUCATION: its Principles and Objects Exemplified in a plan for a Normal School, 8vo. (430 pages) extra boards, 6s.

  VYVYAN’S (Sir Richard) LETTER to his CONSTITUENTS at Helstone, on the INCOME TAX, 8vo. 1s.

  CATALOGUE of THEOLOGICAL WORKS in FOREIGN LANGUAGES on Sale by John Bohn. 8vo. (530 pages) in extra boards, 8s.

  A CATALOGUE of ENGLISH BOOKS in ALL CLASSES of LITERATURE will be ready for delivery in a few days.

  Dec. 1st, 1842. 17, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden.

  [1 ][The passage here alluded to (vii. now no more than a commendation 86), has been corrected by Bekker by of Nicias for his regard for virtue.] striking out ἐς τὸ θεῖον: and contains

  [1 ][This story is generally regarded as fabulous. The recital by Herodotus of his history at the Olympic games at all, has been called in question. Goeller says: “Libenter credo prælectiones ab Herodoto habitas esse: Thucydidem vero præsentem, ingenuo laudis studio commotum, lachrymas inter auditionem fudisse, una mihi videtur illarum fictionum, quas frequentissimas posterior Græcarum literarum ætas effudit de viris domi militiæque celebribus.” Vit. Thucyd. p. 43.]

  [1 ][See viii. 109, note.]

  [2 ][Thucydides was not living at that time in retirement, but was one of the ten annually–chosen Strategi, and with another, Eucles, sent with a squadron of seven ships to Thasos, an island within half–a–day’s sail of the mouth of the Strymon. He was appointed to that station, probably for the sake of his influence in those parts derived from his gold mines at Scaptesyle.]

  [1 ]ὡς ἐπολέμησαν. [“As” they warred, and not, as translated by Valla and others, “how” they warred. The words ἀρξάμενος εὐθὺς καθισταμένου, would of themselves imply that the history was so written, even if the words ὡς ἐπολέμησαν were omitted. They are so understood by Goeller, Poppo, and others, as well as the Scholiast and Dionysius of Halicarnassus.]

  [1 ]The common appellation given by the Grecians to all nations besides themselves. [μέρ̧ει τινὶ: to a “large portion” of the barbarians. Arnold.]

  [2 ]Greece.

  [3 ]χρ̧ήματα: whatever is estimated by money. Aristotle.

  [1 ]The territory of the Athenian city, so called from Atthis, the daughter of Cranaus.

  [2 ]The Athenians had an opinion of themselves, that they were not descended from other nations, but that their ancestors were ever the inhabitants of Attica: wherefore they also styled themselves αὐτόχθονειϛ, i. e. men of the same land. [“sprung from the land itself”].

  [3 ][This passage is differently understood by different translators. Some, as Valla, Acacius, and Hudson, understand it thus: “that Attica increased not so much in other things as in men.” Others, as Poppo, Goeller, and Arnold, thus: “that Greece in its other parts did not thrive equally with Athens:” which is in substance the same interpretation as that of Hobbes.]

  [1 ][“But the tribes, the Pelasgian in especial as well as the rest, gave their names from themselves;” that is, each tribe gave its own name to the region it inhabited, the Pelasgian being the most general.]

  [2 ][“Because that neither were the Hellenes, as appears to me, as yet distinguished by one name in opposition” (to the barbarians).]

  [3 ][“They, therefore, who first of all individually, and, such as had intercourse with each other, by cities, got the name of Hellenes, and afterwards were universally so called, did never before,” &c.]

  [1 ][Hobbes seems to have read τὰ πλείω. Bekker, Goeller, Arnold, all omit the article. “And to that expedition they came together through their having now more use of the sea.”]

  [2 ]Before that time, it was called the Carian Sea. [Made himself master “of the greatest part” of the now Grecian sea.”]

  [3 ][Began “more frequently” to cross over.]

  [4 ][Καὶ κατὰ κώμας οἰκουμέναις. This is not exactly “scatteringly” inhabited, as appears from ch. x. κατὰ κώμας δὲ τῷ παλαιῷ τῆς Ελλάδος τρ̧όπῳ οἰκισθείσης· It seems rather to mean that the πόλις was still divided into distinct communities, called κῶμαι. “If several little tribes united to form one people, they would sometimes occupy a spot where several eminences were to be found, near to each other, yet distinct: and each of them would form a separate κώμη, or village, appropriated to a separate tribe, while all together composed the city of the united people. Sparta was an instance of a city thus formed out of a cluster of distinct villages; and, according to some opinions, Rome was another.” Arnold.]

  [1 ][Od. iii. 71:—

  • ξξινοι τίνες ἐστὲ;
  • Ἢ τί κατὰ πρ̧ῆξιν, ἢ μαψιδίως ἀλάλησθε
  • Ὂιά τε ληϊστῆρ̧ες ὑπεὶρ ἅλα;]

  [2 ]In distinction to the other Locrians, called Opuntii.

  [3 ][The words explain why they wore the linen dress, not why they left it off. Arnold, Goeller. The sense therefore is: “they not long after laid aside the effeminate custom of wearing linen under–garments.”]

  [1 ]The Athenians, holding themselves to be sprung from the ground they lived on, wore the grasshopper for a kind of cognizance; because that beast is thought to be generated of the earth.

  [2 ][“A common dress.” The Lacedæmonian dress consisted principally of two parts, the χιτὼν and the χλαῖνα. The first was a narrow kind of frock, without sleeves, coming down to the knees; the other a sort of large square shawl, which wrapped round the left arm, then passed across the back and under the right arm, then over the breast, and the end was finally thrown over the left shoulder. Arnold. Goeller renders it “a plain dress.”]

  [3 ]Exercises of divers kinds instituted in honour of Jupiter at Olympia in Peloponnesus; to which resorted such out of Greece as contended for prizes.

  [4 ]This was perhaps the cause, why it was a capital crime for women to be spectators of the Olympic exercises.

  [5 ][“And one might perhaps show that the ancient Greeks, in many other respects also, used,” &c.]

  [1 ][But the old cities, “by reason of the great hindrance of piracy,” were built, &c. Bekker and Arnold read ἀντισχοῦσαν. Goeller reads ἀντισχοῦσαι; which he renders: “veteres urbes ob latrocinia, postquam diu et restiterunt et perduraverunt, longius a mare conditæ erant.”]

  [2 ][“For they robbed both each other, and also such of the rest as, not being seamen, dwelt by the sea–side.”]

  [3 ]The Cyclades.

  [4 ]Vide lib. iii. cap. 104.

  [5 ]The Carians having invented the crest of the helmet, and the handle of the target, and also the drawing of images on their targets, had therefore a helmet and a buckler buried with them, and had their heads laid towards the west. [This is a mistake. It is not the Carians, but the Phœnicians who were distinguished by their position in their grave. And their heads were laid not to the west, but to the east, so as to look to the west. See the Scholium.]

  [1 ][“And” these robberies were the exercise, &c. “But” when Minos his navy, &c.]

  [2 ]The son of Atreus, the son of Pelops.

  [3 ]The opinion was, that Tyndareus, the father of Helena, took an oath of all his daughter’s suitors, that if violence were done to him that obtained her, all the rest should help to revenge it. And that Menelaus, having married her, and Paris, the son of Priam king of Troy, taken her away, Agamemnon, in the behalf of his brother Menelaus, drew them by this oath to the siege of Ilium.

  [4 ][“Those who have received the clearest accounts of the affairs of Peloponnesus;” or, “those who have received the clearest accounts of any Peloponnesians.” Arnold considers that the want of the article, and the word Πελοποννησίων, which for the first interpretation should be Πελοποννησιακῶν, are in favour of the second.]

  [1 ][The original name of the country was Apia. See the Schol. and Il. i. 270: τηλόθεν ἐξ Ἀπίης γαίης.]

  [2 ]A kindred and race of men whereof was Hercules. This family was persecuted by Euristheus, who was of the house of Perseus; and driven into Attica, thither he following them was slain by the Athenians.

  [3 ]Astidamia, the mother of Euristheus, was Atreus’ sister.

  [4 ][“And who happened to have fled from his father for the death of Chrysippus.”]

  [5 ]Atreus and Thyestes, sons of Pelops, at the impulsion of their mother, slew this Chrysippus, who was their half–brother, viz. by the father; and for this fact Atreus fled to Euristheus.

  [6 ][Thus far is the account of “those that by tradition know most,” &c.]

  [7 ]The son of Atreus, heir to the power of both houses, both of the Pelopides and of the Perseides.

  [1 ][Il. ii. 108.]

  [2 ][The islands which Thucydides here calls “periœcidæ,” are, according to Poppo, Calauria, Hydrea, Tiparenus, Cecryphalea; perhaps Ægina, though of that Od. Mueller has some doubts. Goeller.]

  [3 ][Mycenæ had been destroyed by the Argives, A.C. 468, thirty–seven years before the beginning of the Peloponnesian war. From that time it remained in ruins; but the remains, which will last apparently as long as the human race exists, are fully described in Sir W. Gell’s Argolis. Arnold.]

  [4 ][Et traditio diu durans obtinet. Goeller.]

  [5 ]1. Laconia. 2. Arcadia. 3. Argolica. 4. Messenia. 5. Elis. [Achaia was the fifth part: Elis was comprehended in Arcadia. Goeller.]

  [6 ]Laconia, Messenia.

  [1 ][“And not forming a connected or continuous city, but made up of different κῶμαι, after the ancient manner of Greece.” Mueller (Dor.) gives the names of these villages: Pitane, Messoa, Simnæ, and Cynosura, lying round about the Acropolis, some on small hills, some on the plains. In the time of the Romans they were all enclosed in one wall. Goeller.]

  [2 ][αὖ: again. Referring to “if any think his testimony sufficient.” chap. ix.]

  [3 ][“But that they were all mariners and fighting men, he has shown in his account of the ships of Philoctetes.” Bekker, Goeller, and Arnold all agree in this construction of the passage.]

  [1 ]As Achilles, Ulysses, Ajax, Diomedes, Patroclus, and the like. The whole number of men, estimating the ships at a medium to carry eighty–five men a piece, which is the mean between one hundred and twenty and fifty, come to one hundred and two thousand men carried in these one thousand two hundred ships. Yet the author makes it a light matter in respect of the present war.

  [2 ][And no greater than they “expected could maintain itself from the seat of war by their arms: and when upon their arrival they had gotten the upper hand in fight, &c., they appear not even then to have used their whole power,” &c. That is, they carried the lesser army, and that lesser army they did not make the most of.]

  [1 ][“Whereas, if they had gone furnished with store of provision, and had with all their forces, eased of boot–haling and tillage, carried through the war without interruption, they might easily have overcome them in open battle and taken the city; since they were a match for the Trojans even without their whole force, and with such part only as from time to time was present at the siege; or even by a blockade, they might have taken Troy with less time and trouble.”]

  [2 ][“Built the cities.” That is, those famous cities built by Teucer, Philoctetes, Diomede, &c. Poppo.]

  [1 ][The great family or rather clan, which claimed descent from the hero Hercules, being expelled from Peloponnesus by the Pelopidæ, found an asylum among the Dorians, an Hellenian people inhabiting a mountain district between the chain of Æta on the one side, and Parnassus on the other. Here they found willing followers in their enterprise for the recovery of their former dominion in Peloponnesus: the Heraclidæ were to possess the thrones of their ancestors; but the Dorians were to have the free property of the lands they hoped to conquer, and were not to hold them under the Heraclidæ. The invaders were also assisted by an Ætolian chief named Oxylus, and by his means they were enabled to cross over by sea from the northern to the southern side of the Corinthian gulf, instead of forcing their way by land through the isthmus. This invasion was completely successful; all Peloponnesus, except Arcadia and Achaia, fell into their power; and three chiefs of the Heraclidæ took possession of the thrones of Sparta, Argos, and Messenia, while Elis was assigned to their associate Oxylus. The land was divided in equal shares, with the exception probably of some portions attached to the different temples, and which, with the offices of priesthood, belonged to the Heraclidæ, as descendants of the national gods and heros of the country. Meanwhile the old inhabitants were either reduced to emigrate, or were treated as an inferior caste, holding such lands as they were permitted to cultivate, not as freeholders, but as tenants under Dorian lords. These were the Laconians, or περ̧ίοικοι, of whom we shall find frequent mention in the course of this history; and some of this caste striving to recover their independence, were degraded to the still lower condition of villains or predial slaves; and thus formed the first class of Helots, which was afterwards greatly swelled from other quarters. On the other hand, the Hellenian name derived its general predominance throughout Greece from the Dorian conquest of Peloponnesus; the Dorians claiming descent from the eldest son of Hellen, and while they gloried in their extraction, asserting their peculiar title to the Hellenian name above all the other tribes which had assumed it. Arnold.]

  [1 ][The name “Italy,” in the age of Thucydides, was applied merely to the southernmost point of the Peninsula, the modern provinces of Calabria citra and Calabria ultra. See Aristotelis Politica, vii. 10. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“And wealth was accumulated still more than formerly; in many of the cities there were erected tyrannies, the revenues becoming greater: (but before that, the governments were hereditary kingdoms with prerogatives and revenues defined).” Goeller.]

  [3 ][That is, from fifty–oared vessels to triremes.]

  [4 ][Triremes.]

  [5 ][“And Aminocles, the shipwright of Corinth, appears to have built four ships for the Samians also.”]

  [6 ]By this it appears, that Thucydides outlived the whole war.

  [7 ]By Periander, the tyrant of Corinth, for the slaughter of his son Lycophron. See Herodotus, iii. 53. [The Scholiast has misled Hobbes: Periander did not begin till about a. c. 630.]

  [1 ][Il. 2. 570. ἀϕνειόν τε Κόρ̧ινθον.]

  [2 ][“And after the Grecians had more commerce by sea, they (the Corinthians) procured the ships (before mentioned), and scoured the sea of pirates.”]

  [3 ][See Herod. iii. 39, 120.]

  [4 ][See post, book iii. 104.]

  [5 ]The Phocæans in the time of Tarquinius came into the mouth of Tiber, entered into amity with the Romans, and thence went and built Marseilles amongst the savage nations of the Ligurians and Gauls. Justin, lib. xliii. 3.

  [6 ][Arnold cautions against confounding this battle with the Carthaginians, with that mentioned by Herodotus, i. 166. The building of Marseilles took place fifty–five years before the expulsion of the Phocæans by the Persians, related by Herodotus. See also Hermann’s Griech. Antiquitäten. § 78. n. 28.]

  [1 ][πεντηκοντόρ̧οις. Hoc vocabulum etsi apud Homerum non obvium est, naves tamen hujus generis ab eo commemorari videntur, ut Il. ii. 719; xvi. 168. Erant autem πεντηκόντοροι ex eo navium genere, quod dicitur μονῆρες, id est, uno remorum ordine in utroque latere instructum. Quini ergo et viceni remiges in dextro, totidem in sinistro latere sedebant. Siebel, cited by Goeller.]

  [2 ]Medes and Persians used here promiscuously, the Medan monarchy being translated to the Persians.

  [3 ]Of the Corinthians, Ionians, and Phocæans. [“For these were the last navies before the invasion of Xerxes (that is, the navies next before the invasion of Xerxes) worth speaking of.”]

  [4 ][And the Athenians, “and the rest, if any,” had, &c.]

  [5 ][“And it was at a late period that Themistocles persuaded the Athenians, making war on Ægina, &c. to build,” &c. Arnold, Goeller. See Herod. vii. 144.]

  [1 ][See Herod. v. 99.]

  [2 ][And Darius afterwards, “overcoming by the aid of the Phœnician fleet,” did the like, &c.]

  [1 ][“But the tyrants, as many as there were in the Grecian cities, considering only how to promote their own private interest, both as to the safety of their persons and as to their household, governed their states with a view mainly to security; and did no action,” &c.]

  [2 ][ὁι γἁρ̧ ἐν Σικελίᾳ. Ante hæc verba, supple (cum Schol.): “non dico de tyrannis Siciliæ: nam Siciliæ tyranni,” &c. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][For a long time “in every way” hindered.]

  [4 ]Pisistratus and his sons.

  [5 ][And of the rest of Greece, “governed for the most part by tyrants even before”: that is, before Athens.]

  [6 ][By the Dorians “who now inhabit it.”]

  [7 ][See Herod. i. 65.]

  [8 ][Herod. v. 92.]

  [1 ]A fleet of twelve hundred galleys, and two thousand hulks of the round manner of building. Corn. Nepos in Vita Themistoclis.

  [2 ][ἀνασκευάζεσθαι: “to break up one’s establishment, and make off with it.” It is opposed to κατασκευάζεσθαι. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ]The Athenians being admonished by the Oracle, for their safety against the Medes to put themselves within walls of wood: Themistocles interpreting the oracle, they went into their gallies.

  [4 ]This variance began upon this: that Cimon having been sent for to aid the Lacedæmonians against the Helots, was sent back with his Athenians out of distrust the Lacedæmonians had of their forward spirit: which the Athenians took for a disgrace. [See ch. 102.]

  [1 ]Hence it is, that through all this history “subjects” and “confederates” are taken for the same thing, especially with the Athenians. [“The Lacedæmonians governed their confederates, not making them tributaries, but only drawing, &c.: but the Athenians (governed them) in the course of time taking into their hands the gallies of the cities, all except the Chians and Lesbians, and ordaining every of them,” &c. This is the sense according to the reading of Bekker, Goeller, Arnold, &c. Hobbes is mistaken in supposing that subjects and confederates are synonymous, even amongst the Athenians. The distinction is constantly made between those ξύμμαχοι that were αὐτόνομοι and those that were ὑπήκοοι. See iii. 39, vi. 69, vii. 57.]

  [2 ][“Than when their prosperity was at the greatest.” Hoc fastigium potentiæ Atheniensium referas recte ad tempora paulo ante inducias tricennales; quum Athenienses non solum insularum, sed etiam Asiæ minoris dominatum tenebant, Æginetas perdomuerant, atque Phocin, Argos, Bœotiam, et Achaiam sibi junctas habebant. Goeller. See chap. 102–115.]

  [3 ][“Being hard for believing, every argument one after another.” Arnold.]

  [1 ][“For men receive from one another the reports of things done before their own time, even those of their own country, all equally without trying them by the touchstone of enquiry”: (ἀβασανίστως.)]

  [2 ][At the instant of the deed.]

  [3 ]Panathenaica, were the solemnities instituted by Theseus, in memory of that he had drawn together all the Athenians, that lived dispersed in Attica, into the city of Athens. Paus. in Arcad. [See another derivation given by Hermann; namely, the feast of the tribe Athenais, as Pandia, the feast of the tribe Dias: the Athenians being supposed to have been anciently divided into four tribes, Athenais, Dias, Posidonias, and Hephæstias. Gr. Antiq. § 93.]

  [4 ][ἑκάτερον: “had each of them not single,” &c. Sententia, quam scriptor reprehendit, est Herodoti, vi. 57. Goeller.]

  [5 ][“And that the Pitanetan was a cohort amongst them.” Etiam his verbis tacite Herodotus perstringi creditur, qui cohortis Pitanatæ mentionem facit, ix. 53, et qui δῆμον Πιτανάτην memorat, iii. 55. Etenim ratione, quam et Græci et Romani antiquitus sequebantur, partes exercitus eædem erant ac partes populi in pace. Goeller.]

  [1 ][ἐκ δὲ τῶν εἰρημένων τεκμηρ̧ίων ὅμως κ. τ. λ. This is the sentence corresponding to τὰ μὲν οὖν παλαιὰ, beginning the last chapter. “But at the same time he would not be far out, who, from the proofs I have mentioned, should judge them to be for the most part such as I have described them; and should not rather believe them to be either as poets have sung, adorning them so as to make them greater than the reality, or as prose writers have composed, more delightfully to the ear than conformably to the truth; admitting of no proof, and the greater part of them having by the aid of time taken their place amongst fables, so as to deserve no credit: and should think them here searched out by the most evident signs that can be; and sufficiently too, considering their antiquity.”]

  [2 ][To have been greater “than any of those before it.”]

  [1 ][λόγῳ εἷπον: quæ orationibus habitis dixerunt. Goeller. “In regular set speeches.” Arnold.]

  [2 ][“It were difficult to remember accurately the very words spoken, both for me what I heard myself, and for those who at other times reported to me.”]

  [3 ]To the analogy and fitness of what was to be said: so that though he used not their words, yet he used the arguments that best might serve to the purpose which at any time was in hand. [Verum prout quisque mihi videbatur de præsenti qualibet causa quæ maxime in rem erant dicturus fuisse, consectanti quam proxime summam sententiæ orationum vere habitarum, sic mihi commemorata sunt. Goeller.]

  [4 ][Valla and Hudson agree with Hobbes as to the sense of this passage. Goeller and Arnold give a different meaning to the words ἀρ̧κούντως ἕξει: “it will satisfy me if so many, &c. shall judge this work to be profitable.”]

  [1 ]κτῆμα ἐς ἀεὶ. Both poets and historiographers of old recited their histories to captate glory. This emulation of glory in their writings, he calleth ἀγώνισμα.

  [2 ]When Xerxes invaded them. Two battles by sea, viz. one at Salamis, and the other at Mycale in Ionia. And two by land, one at Thermopylæ, and the other at Platæa. [The battle by sea was at Artemisium in Eubœa, not at Mycale in Ionia.]

  [3 ][Mycalessus in Bœotia. Goell.]

  [4 ][Platæa. Thyrea.]

  [5 ][Potidæa, Ægina, Scione, Melos. Goeller.]

  [6 ][Corcyræa, Argos, Samos. Haack, Poppo.]

  [7 ][μέρ̧ος τι: a considerable part.]

  [8 ][ταῦτα γὰρ̧ πάντα: “For all these evils entered together with this war.” In continuation of the sentence above: “But as for this war, the harm it did to Greece, &c.]

  [1 ][πρ̧όϕασις: “cause or occasion.” Goeller; Arnold, citing Herod. iv. 79: the Scholiast, too, explains the word by αἰτίαν. The passage may perhaps be rendered thus: “And the alleged cause for their breaking the treaty, I have therefore set down first, because, &c. For the truest reason, though least in speech, I conceive to be, &c. But the causes publicly alleged on both sides, for which breaking the treaty they went to war, were these.”]

  [2 ]Dyrrachium, Durazzo. The Ionian gulf, now the Gulf of Venice, called so from Iüs an Illyrian.

  [3 ]Illyrii, now Slavonia and Dalmatia.

  [4 ]Inhabitants of Corcyra, now Corfu.

  [5 ][κατὰ δὴ τὸν παλαιὸν νόμον: according to the ancient custom. Si qui in coloniam mittebantur, armis et commeatu a civibis suis instruebantur de publico. Præterea publica iis diplomata debebantur, quæ ἀποίκια vocabant. Sed quod præcipuum est, sacra patria coloni secum asportabant, ignemque sacrum e penetrali urbis depromtum et accensum; qui quidem si casu extinctus esset, ex Prytanæo conditorum accendi eum oportebat. Moris quoque erat, ut coloniæ quotannis legatos in majorem patriam (μητρόπολιν) mitterent Diis patriis sacra facturos. Solenne etiam erat, ut coloniæ ab originibus suis pontifices acciperent. Quinetiam si aliquando coloni aliam coloniam aliquo deducere vellent, moris erat, ut ducem a majore patria postularent; ideoque Phalium ex metropoli (Corintho) arcessebant Corcyræi, ut coloniæ Epidamnum deducendæ dux esset. Duker.]

  [1 ][In part of Corinthians, “and of the other Doric race.” So Bekker and the rest. Valla, as well as Hobbes, has followed the common reading.]

  [2 ][“But having for many years had factions amongst them, growing, as is said, out of a war with the neighbouring barbarians, their strength was broken.” So Valla, as well as Goeller and Arnold.]

  [3 ]Either the Epidamnians had offended the Corcyræans, or the manner was in those times to take sanctuary, not only for crimes, but for obtaining aid in extremities; tacitly disclaiming all other help save that of the gods, and those to whom they made supplication.

  [1 ][“The colony.”]

  [2 ][“Showing how the first founder was a Corinthian, and declaring what answer,” &c.

  [3 ][The construction of Goeller (adopted by Arnold) is to make Κορ̧ινθιῳ ἀνδρ̧ὶ the dative governed by διδόντες; and the sense as follows: “nor allowed due honours to the mother country in their solemn rites, common to both mother country and colony; nor to a Corinthian in the rite of auspicating their sacrifices.” Γέρα τὰ νομιζόμενα, intelligo omnia ea, quæ honoris causa metropoli essent præstanda in solemnibus metropoli et coloniæ communibus. Hæc enim ex sacrorum ac religionum inter metropolim et colonias communione fluxisse videntur, sive jura sive officia, ut ad certa quædam solemnia, diis fere πατρ̧ώοις a metropoli instituta, quotannis coloniæ mitterent qui iis interessent (θεωρούς), et sacrificia et donaria ferrent. Illi θεωρ̧οί sacris epulis adhibebantur, et in ludis publicis sedem in theatro assignatam habebant. Vicissim, sacris coloniarum solennibus legati a metropoli missi intererant, quibus id honoris ex more habitum, ut victimæ molam aspergerent et libationem sacram facerent, et in ludis princeps locus eis daretur, (προεδρία): qui locus etiam viris ex metropoli, si qui forte aderant, principibus est tributus. Προκαταρ̧χόμενοι: verbum ἄρ̧χομαι et composita, in sacris usitata, vim habent auspicandi sacrificia et ceremonias, ac sacra faciendi. Munia autem, quæ Corcyræi viro Corinthio tribuere de more tenebantur in suis sacris, intelligo fuisse ea ipsa, quibus Græci heroicæ ætatis et posteræ, ut videtur, sacra auspicabantur. Faciebant igitur, sacra auspicantes, ea quæ ipsam immolationem antecedebant; id est, χέρνιβα, οὐλοχύτην, τριχοτομίαν, σπονδίν. Erat enim is honor præcipuus viris principibus, qui aderant, habitus, ut sacra hæc ministeria per eos facerent. Hæc igitur totius loci sententia est; “neque enim in solennitatibus communibus solita munia (id est, πρ̧οεδρ̧ίαν, ἱερξια, et sacrorum præfecturam) Corinthiis tribuebant, nec viro Corinthio in suis sacris χέρ̧νιβα, οὐλοχύτην, τρ̧ιχοτομίαν, et σπονδήν.” Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And more strongly,” &c.]

  [2 ]By Homer this isle is called Phæacia.

  [1 ][To Apollonia, “being a colony of the Corinthians.”]

  [2 ][κατ’ ἐπήρειαν: “out of malice;” that is, out of malice to the Epidamnians, not from a desire to gratify the exiles. Goeller.]

  [3 ]ϕυγάδες. Divers occasions force men from their country: sentence of law, which is commonly called banishment: proscription, when the sentence is death, for which cause they fly into banishment. But those that are here meant, are such as in seditions being the weaker faction, fly for fear of being murdered; which I call here banished men; or might call them perhaps better outlaws or fugitives, but neither of them properly. The Florentines, and other places of Italy that were or are democratical, wherein such banishment can only happen, call them properly fuorusciti.

  [1 ][Should have equal and like privileges “with the mother country”: that is, the colony was to be a sovereign state, independent of the mother country. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][“To escort them with some galleys.”]

  [3 ]ὁπλῖται: Men in armour.

  [1 ][“Or if they make any claim to it themselves.”]

  [2 ]Meaning the Athenians.

  [3 ][σπονδὰς δὲ ποιήσασθαι. This appears to have been the reading of Hobbes; which is defended also by Arnold. Bekker, Goeller, and Poppo, all omit δὲ: “and that they were also ready, on condition that (ὥϛε) both sides remain as at present, to make a truce until,” &c.]

  [1 ][“The Corinthians assented to none of these propositions, but as soon as their galleys were manned,” &c.]

  [2 ]Either here or before, it is likely the number hath been miswritten: for a little before he says they had made ready three thousand.

  [3 ][Hobbes reads ἐν ᾈκτίῳ. Bekker, Goeller, and Arnold ἐν ἀκατίῳ: in a light vessel.]

  [4 ][ζεύξαντες. ζευγνὐναι ναῦν est navem reficere. Goell. One mode is described by Goeller, of passing ropes round the hull of the vessel, so as to hold together the loose planks.]

  [5 ][ἐπισκευάσαντες. Hoc verbum significat navem ad cursum aptare, quod de navibus, quæ per vela aguntur, dicas. Alias, ἐπισκευάζειν ναῦν, significat fere, εκ παλαιὀτητος εἰς νέαν κατάστασιν εἰδοποιεῖν, ut verbis Scholiastæ utar. Goeller.]

  [6 ][The sense literally is this: “The Corcyræans sent a herald, &c., and at the time were manning their ships, having made the old ones sea–worthy by binding them together, and having as it were new–made the rest.”]

  [1 ][Literally: “But when the herald returned, &c., and their ships were completely manned to the number of eighty, (for there were forty at the siege of Epidamnus), they put to sea,” &c.]

  [2 ]It is said before, that the Corcyræans had in all one hundred and twenty galleys: which number agreeth with this eighty that fought, and the forty that maintained the siege.

  [3 ][παραστήσασθαι: to force to surrender. “To make another stand by one’s side”: as the vanquished is compelled to fight on the side and under the standard of the conqueror. Arnold.]

  [4 ][ἀποδόσθαι: Should be sold. Goeller.]

  [5 ]τρ̧οπὴ: Turning, particularly turning the back. Trophies, monuments, in remembrance of having made the enemy turn their backs. These were usual in those times, now out of date.

  [6 ][After this, when the Corinthians “and their vanquished allies were gone home with their ships,” &c.]

  [7 ]Santa Maura, now an island, then a peninsula. [See iv. 8. note. But Thucydides is speaking of the city, not of the island itself.]

  [1 ][περιϊόντι τῷ θέρ̧ει. This is the reading of Reiske, Goeller, and Arnold, instead of περιόντι, the common reading still retained by Bekker and Poppo. Goeller says, that περ̧ιϊέναι ἐνιαυτός is said of the year when it is on the turn, or verging towards its close; that the summer here meant, is that in which the battle was fought between the Corinthians and Corcyræans; and that this is manifest, from putting in juxta–position the word τοῦ τε χρ̧όνου τὸν πλεῖστον μετὰ τὴν ναυμαχίαν, κ. τ. λ., with the words at the end of the chapter, ἀλλὰ τὸ θέρ̧ος τοῦτο αντικαθεζόμενοι, χειμῶνος ἤδη (scil. ὄντος) ἀνεχώρ̧ησαν ἐπ’ οἴκου ἑκάτερ̧οι, and with the words at the beginning of the next chapter, τόν δ’ἐνιαυτὸν πάντα τὸν μετὰ τὴν ναυμαχίαν, καὶ τὸν ὕστ[Editor: illegible character]ρ̧ον, ὁι Κορ̧ίνθιοι ἐναυπηγοῦντο. “Primo, pugnæ navalis exitum narravit, deinde quid æstate post pugnam factum sit; hinc Corcyræos et hostes eorum, ingruente hyeme, stationes utrosque suas reliquisse, quas post pugnam habuerant; denique addit, quid anno proximo et altero post pugnam egerint.” He observes moreover, that the words περ̧ιὀντι τῷ θέρ̧ει cannot signify reliqua æstate; that that would be either τῳ περ̧ιόντι τοῦ θέρους, or τῷ θέρ̧ει τῷ περ̧ιόντι; and that they are the same as τῷ θέρει ὃ περ̧ιῆν, that is in the summer (that one of two or more summers) which was remaining. Arnold considers the meaning of περ̧ιϊόντι τῷ θέρει not certain, but Goeller’s the most probable. The sense is literally: “And the greatest part of the time after the sea–fight they were masters of those seas, and infested the Corinthian allies, until at the close of the summer the Corinthians sending a fleet and land–force, their allies being hard pressed, encamped at Actium and about Chimerium, for the more safe keeping,” &c.]

  [2 ]Thesprotis, part of Albania.

  [1 ][τὸ θέρος τοῦτο: “during this summer,” that is, the summer now describing. χειμῶνος ἤδη: “at the setting in of the winter.”]

  [2 ][“And during the whole year, both that after the sea–fight and the following year.”]

  [3 ][ὀρ̧γῇ ϕέρ̧οντες τὸν πρ̧ὸς Κερ̧κυρ̧αίους πόλεμον. Cupidi vindictæ, bellum fortiter toleraverunt, id est, sumptus omnes bellicos in se receperunt, ita ut per biennium non desinerent naves ædificare. Goeller.]

  [4 ][Preparing of a fleet, “in the best manner they could.”]

  [5 ][To procure mariners “by the offer of pay,” &c.]

  [6 ][Because they “were” not in league, &c.]

  [7 ][To go to Athens “and become allies”, and to see, &c.]

  [1 ][“It is reasonable that such as, like us, come to implore the aid of their neighbours without previous title to any good offices or any alliance, should make it quite clear (ἀναδιδάξαι), first of all, that what they seek is advantageous, or at any rate not prejudicial (to those that are to grant it); and in the next place, that they will also not forget the favour: and if they shall not clearly establish any of these things, then,” &c. πρ̧ῶτον answers to ἔπειτα δὲ, and has not the meaning of “before they go any farther”.]

  [1 ][περ̧ιγενέσθαι: to get the better.]

  [2 ][“The accident of our need will in many ways bring honour to you.”]

  [3 ][καταθεῖσθε. This is Bekker’s conjecture, adopted by Goeller and Arnold, instead of the common reading κατάθησθε. It is, as Goeller observes, a metaphor taken from money placed out at interest. “You shall so place out your favour, as to place it out with the most everlasting testimony.”]

  [1 ][“Have not, in all the time we know of (that is, within memory), happened,” &c.]

  [2 ][“Are making a beginning with us now, in their way to their attack hereafter upon you; in order that we may not, by our common hatred of them, stand by each other.”]

  [3 ][“And that they may not miss of both things, to be beforehand either in doing us a mischief, or in gaining strength to themselves.” Goeller.]

  [4 ][Valla, as well as Hobbes, has “your part”. Bekker, Goeller, Poppo, and Arnold, “our part”.]

  [1 ][“Not to be led away by their false pretences, nor lend yourselves to their purpose making their demands directly or openly.” Goell.]

  [2 ][“For there it is said”: that is to say, in the thirty years’ treaty; which is also meant by τῆς προκειμένης ξυμμαχίας, a little farther on, which Hobbes has translated “the league now propounded”.]

  [3 ][“And moreover out of the rest of Greece also.”]

  [4 ]As Cephalonia.

  [5 ][Hobbes seems to have read εἰ δὲ, for which there is no authority, instead of εἷτα. “And it would be hard if they are to man their ships, &c., and exclude us from the common treaty and all other help, &c.: and then complain of being wronged by your listening to our demand. But we shall complain of you much more loudly, if we prevail not.”]

  [1 ][“But also suffer to raise forces in your dominions, which it is not just (to suffer): but (you ought) either to forbid their recruiting, or give us help too, according to what you may be prevailed on to give; but especially to help us by taking us openly into your league”.]

  [2 ][“And as we suggested at first, we show you many advantages: and principally, that these same men were enemies to us both, which is a most decisive argument; and those not weak ones, but able to hurt such as secede from them. And when you have the offer of a naval, and not a continental alliance, it is not the same thing to reject it: but it behoves you above all, if you can, to let no one else have any ships; and if you cannot do that, then whosoever is the strongest, him to have your friend”. This is the sense according to the reading of Bekker and the rest, ἡμῖν ἦσαν instead of the common reading ὑμῖν εἰσίν. Goeller supposes that the imperfect, “the same men were enemies to us both,” is used with reference to the already existing enmity between the Athenians and the Corinthians on the score of the Megareans, mentioned in ch. 103. Arnold supposes that it is a mere inaccuracy of expression.]

  [1 ][Will be less “dreadful to his powerful enemies.”]

  [2 ][“Will be made friend or enemy.” Goeller, Arnold. The sense is quite altered by the misplacing of the relative: it should be “he forecasteth for them (Athens and Corcyra) none of the best, who considering the present state of affairs, makes a question,” &c.]

  [3 ][ἐνθένδε πρ̧ὸς τἀκξι: “hence to those parts;” from Athens to Italy.]

  [1 ][ὑμετέραις. Bekker is followed by Arnold in retaining this reading. “You will contend with your ships more in number than theirs, instead of less.” Haack, Poppo, Goeller, read ἡμετέρ̧αις: “with so many more on your side, as our fleet amounts to:” making ἡμετέραις the dative after πλείοσι, as in the phrase πολλῷ πλείονες.

  [2 ][ἀσϕαλέστερ̧ον προειδῆτε: “that you may be more certainly acquainted beforehand with the grounds of our request.” Haack and Bredow: using ἀσϕαλέστερον adverbially.]

  [3 ][χρ̧είαν: a demand urged by necessity, as opposed to ἀξίωσις, one supported by equity. Bredow.]

  [4 ][But from mere wickedness; “and as being unwilling to have any ally, either to witness their evil deeds, or to put them to the blush by calling for their aid.”]

  [1 ][And to this end have they put forward this plausible pretext of theirs, of keeping out of alliances.]

  [2 ][ἀληπτότεροι. Valla agrees with Hobbes in the translation of this word, which the Scholiast also explains by ἀκατηγορητότεροι. Duker, Goeller, and Arnold, all translate it: “less in the power of others”. Arnold gives two other instances in chaps. 82 and 143 of this book, in which the sense is manifestly that of security from attack.]

  [3 ][“By giving and receiving law”: by submitting their disputes to the decision of the law.]

  [4 ][“Our other colonies, at least, honour us; and from the colonists especially we receive the love of a child to its parent.”]

  [1 ][“Nor are we wont to make war in a manner unbecoming the mother country, unless compelled by some signal injury.” Goeller. “Nor do we attack them (that is, the Corcyræans in this particular instance) without having received,” &c. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“And they say forsooth, that before they took it, they offered to put the cause to trial of judgment: which truly not he that challenges when he has the advantage and is in security, ought to meet with any attention, but he that fashions his deeds as well as his words according to equity before he begins the contest.”]

  [3 ][“To overlook, put up with it.”]

  [1 ][τότε οὺ μεταλαβόντες: “that partook not of their power then”; that is, when they were most in safety. This refers to the Samian and Æginetan war. Goeller.]

  [2 ][νῦν: Will now have to impart aid.]

  [3 ][“And they (the Corcyræans) should of old have shared their power with you, if they meant you to take your share in the events.” The rest of the sentence, “and they that share not,” &c., is omitted by Bekker, and placed within brackets by Poppo, Goeller, and Arnold.]

  [4 ][ἐν ταῖς σπονδαῖς: the thirty years’ truce. All the states were either ἔνσπονδοι, that is, included in this truce: or ἄσπονδοι, ἔκσπονδοι, or ἄγρ̧αϕοι, included neither in the thirty years’ truce, nor any treaty with the Lacedæmonians or the Athenians.]

  [1 ][That not withdrawing themselves from any other.]

  [2 ][εἰ σωϕρ̧ονοῦσι. No satisfactory explanation is given of these words; Goeller’s is far from being so. As rendered by Hobbes, they are nonsense. Valla has made sense by taking the liberty of interpolating “non recepturis;” thus “iis a quibus recipitur (non recepturis, si saperent),” &c.]

  [3 ][“Which may befall you at this time, if you listen not to us. For you may chance to be not only auxiliaries to these,” &c.]

  [4 ][“We too must defend (our colony) against them, and you along with them. Wherefore you shall do justly at any rate by standing,” &c.]

  [5 ][“Were divided in opinion, as to whether they should assist them.”]

  [1 ][ἐπικρ̧άτησιν: Getting the mastery over.]

  [2 ][παρ̧ὰ τὸ νικᾶν: Are blind to every thing “for the sake of conquering.” Arnold.]

  [3 ][“For they (those about to attack their enemies) consider as a friend, him that then serves their purpose, even though heretofore he may have been his enemy; and as an enemy, him that withstands him, even though he chance to be his friend: for they sacrifice even their own affairs to their eagerness of present contention.”]

  [4 ][ἀμύνεσθαι: “To requite us with the like.” Duker, Goeller, Arnold. See also lib. iv. 63: τὸν εὖ καὶ κακῶς δρ̧ῶντα ἐξ ἴσου ἀμυνούμεθα.

  [1 ][See chap. 103.]

  [2 ][“Excited by the immediately apparent.”]

  [3 ][Hobbes seems to have read δέχεσθαι, which is found in one MS. (See Arnold). Bekker and the rest read δέχεσθε: “and receive not,” &c.

  [1 ][“But they gave them orders not to fight,” &c.]

  [1 ][“And they gave these orders, because,” &c.]

  [2 ][πρ̧οσέμιξαν: when they had touched land. “And when sailing from Leucas they touched land over against Corcyra, they station themselves at Chimerium in the country of Thesprotis.” It is only necessary to look at the map, to see that ἀπὸ Λευκάδος πλέοντες, belongs to προσέμιξαν, and not to ὁρμίζονται; that is to say, that they sailed from Leucas before, and not after reaching land opposite Corcyra.]

  [3 ][“It (Chimerium) is a haven, and by it lies,” &c. Thucydides distinguishes the port of Chimerium from the promontory.]

  [4 ]Cestrine, the territory of Cestria, part of Chaonia.

  [1 ][“In this part of the continent then the Corinthians station their fleet and pitch their camp.”]

  [2 ][ἀεἰ ποτε εἰσίν: Are “never not” their friends. Goeller.]

  [3 ][They descried the galleys of the Corcyræans “at sea, and sailing down upon them”.]

  [4 ]κέρας. The galleys stood all one by one in a row; and the right wing were those that were on the right hand from the middest; and the left wing, those on the left hand.

  [5 ][“But the rest” (the centre and the left wing), “they occupied themselves; making three divisions of their ships, each of which was commanded by one of the three generals.”]

  [1 ]σημεῖα: A picture or image held up, as the eagle amongst the Romans.

  [2 ][ἐπὶ τῶν καταςτρωμάτων: upon the decks. “Both sides having upon the decks many heavy–armed soldiers and many archers and slingers, being still somewhat unskilfully appointed after the old fashion. And the battle was,” &c. The want of skill was displayed in crowding their decks with fighting men, instead of relying upon their ships. The word but, inserted by Hobbes, quite alters the sense.]

  [3 ][“For whenever they happened to run aboard each other, they did not easily disengage themselves, both by reason of the number and crowding of the ships, and from trusting rather to the men at arms on the decks, who made a standing fight,” &c.]

  [4 ][διέκπλοι. περ̧ίπλοι. ἀνακρούσεις. ἀναϛροϕαὶ. These various manœuvres may be described thus: διέκπλους, breaking through the enemy’s line, so as by a quick turn to strike their opponent on either the side or the stern, and so sink it: περίπλους, taking a circuit round the enemy’s ships, and bearing down upon them whenever the opportunity seemed favourable: ἀνάκρουσις, rowing back or astern, so as to gain space for making another charge. ἀναστροϕὴ is understood by Arnold to mean the return to the charge, after gaining space enough by either περίπλους or ἀνάκρουσις.]

  [1 ][More without pretext or disguise. “They aided them now more undisguisedly; at first indeed forbearing from making assault upon any: but when they fled,” &c.]

  [1 ]ἂς καταδύσειαν: “Which they might happen to have sunk”: not meaning, sunk “to the bottom”, but damaged and made waterlogged. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][“But after the Corinthians had chased the Corcyræans on shore, they betook themselves to collecting the wrecks,” &c.

  [3 ][καὶ ὅσαι ἦσαν λοιπαὶ. Goeller and Poppo agree in the opinion, which is also seemingly adopted by Arnold, that by λοιπαὶ are here meant the ten vessels, out of the one hundred and twenty in all belonging to the Corcyræans (see chap. 25), which were not present at the battle; they having but a hundred and ten in the action (see chap. 47). It should therefore be “with such galleys as they had fit for sea, and those which were not in the action, together with,” &c.]

  [1 ]Pæan, a hymn to Mars, in the beginning of fight: to Apollo, after the victory.

  [2 ][“For they descried twenty Athenian galleys making towards them: which, after the first ten, the Athenians sent as a reinforcement; for fear,” &c.]

  [3 ][ὀλίλαι ἀμύνειν: “Few” to defend: that is, “too few.”

  [4 ]viz., More behind their backs.

  [5 ][εἶπον ὅτι νῆες ἐκεῖναι ἐπιπλέουσι: “Said, there are ships yonder sailing down upon us.” Goeller, Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Ended at night”: anglice, did not end till night. Goeller, Arnold. See lib. iii. 108. ἡ μάχη ἐτελεύτα ἕως ὀψέ.]

  [2 ][These Corcyræans were those encamped at Leucimna, the footsoldiers and the thousand Zacynthians mentioned in chap. 47. Valla, as well as Goeller, interprets ὡρμίσαντο: “the Corcyræans received them (the Athenians) into their station”: and not, the Athenians “stationed themselves there”.]

  [3 ][And that being in a desert place, “there was no repairing of their ships”.]

  [1 ][The common reading was προπέμψαι: but Bekker, Poppo, Goeller, and Arnold, all agree in reading προσπέμψαι. Without herald: that is, as if in time of peace.]

  [2 ][If therefore you be resolved, &c. “and you break the treaty, lay hands first upon us that are here,” &c.]

  [3 ][“So far as in us lies, we will not overlook it.”]

  [1 ][They had the better all day, “so as to carry off the greatest number of the wreck,” &c.]

  [2 ][“About thirty galleys.”]

  [3 ][And for that when “the Athenians” went to Sybota. This is according to the reading of Bekker, and also of Arnold, who refers to chap. 52 in confirmation of the opinion, that the Athenians are the subject of the verb ἦλθον. Hobbes has followed the common reading, omitting ὁι Ἀθηναῖοι, which is adopted by Stephen and Valla, and approved of by Poppo and Goeller, both of whom include those words in brackets; considering the Corcyræans as the nominative to ἦλθον.]

  [4 ][“And establishing in it Corinthian colonists, departed,” &c.]

  [5 ][δοῦλοι: Slaves. “But two hundred and fifty they kept in bonds,” &c. These prisoners are met with again in iii. 70.]

  [1 ][περιγγίνεται. Arnold, “survived the war”; Poppo and Goeller, “bello Corinthios superat.” It is at all events hardly correct to say “was delivered from the war”; this in fact being only the commencement of it.]

  [2 ][πρασσόντων: practising. See iii. 70. note.]

  [3 ][Anciently Phlegra.]

  [4 ][That is, the wall towards the sea, which was therefore a defence against the Athenians, masters of the sea. The Lacedæmonians, on the contrary, were accustomed to destroy the walls towards the continent.]

  [5 ][ἐπιδημιουργοι: magistrates of the Dorians, a name expressing their doing the work of the people. The preposition ἐπὶ is considered by Goeller, to indicate that they were magistrates sent by the mother country, in addition or as assessors to the magistrates (δημιουργοὶ) appointed by the colony.]

  [1 ]King of Macedonia.

  [2 ][τοὺς ἐπὶ Θρᾴκης: “The people Thrace–ward,” or living in the direction of Thrace; a general term applied to the Greek states situate on the northern coast of the Ægean Sea from Thessaly to the Hellespont. The Chalcidian colonies hereabouts, amongst which were Olynthus, Torone, Sermyle, and Arne, were planted from Chalcis in Eubœa. Arnold.]

  [3 ][“Had been rendered hostile to them.”]

  [1 ][τὸ τεῖχος: “The wall.” See the last chapter.]

  [2 ][ἔπρ̧ασσον. This word is included in brackets by Bekker and the rest. If omitted, the sentence would run thus: “The Potidæans having sent to Athens, &c., and also going to Lacedæmon, in order to secure aid, if wanted, &c.: when they found, after much negotiation, that they got no good at Athens, but that the ships sent against Macedonia attacked them also; and when the government of the Lacedæmonians promised, &c.: then at last they revolted”, &c.]

  [3 ][“And Perdiccas persuades,” &c.]

  [4 ][“He gave them part of his own territory, Mygdonia, to live in.”]

  [1 ][This does not accurately express the idea in the Greek, which is literally: “And so they destroying their cities, went higher up the country and prepared themselves for war.” The destroying, and going higher up the country, was part of the preparing for war.]

  [2 ][“Both of themselves such as volunteered, and of the rest of the Peloponnesians such as they could induce by pay.”]

  [3 ]Archers, darters, and the like, that wore not armour on their bodies, and were called ψίλοι, naked.

  [4 ][Valla, as well as Hobbes, omits ουχ ἥκιστα: “for whose sake chiefly most of those from Corinth went as volunteers”.]

  [1 ][“With four others.” See chap. 62.]

  [2 ]Therme, after called Thessalonica, now Salonichi. [“These on first coming into Macedonia, find the former thousand had just taken Therme, &c. And they too stationed themselves there and besieged Pydna.”]

  [3 ]Or scarce honourable. [It means no more than, a league forced by circumstances.]

  [4 ][Berœa. Bekker and the rest.]

  [5 ][“And their galleys, seventy in number, sailed by them. And marching forward by slow marches, in three days they reached Gigonus, and encamped.”]

  [1 ][πρὸς Ὀλύνθῳ. This is the reading of Haack and Bekker, as well as Hobbes. The common reading, which is that also of Valla, is πρὸ Ὀλύνθου, before Olynthus. Poppo, Goeller, and Arnold read πρ̧ὸς Ὀλύνθου, on the side of Potidæa towards Olythus.]

  [2 ][This was, that the men might have no excuse for leaving their posts to go into the town for provisions. Arnold.]

  [3 ]The isthmus of Pallene, where they were. [In the isthmus on the other side of Potidæa: not in Pallene.]

  [4 ][“And when the Athenians should march upon themselves”: upon Aristeus and his army.]

  [1 ][“And saw the rest of the army worsted”.]

  [2 ][“In the end he resolved to draw those with him into as small a space as possible, and run and force his way into Potidæa.” Goell.]

  [3 ][παρὰ τὴν χηλὴν. So called from its likeness either to the claw of a crab, or the cloven hoof of an ox. It seems to have comprised not only the mole or pier of the harbour, but also the breakwater that protected the sea–wall. The walls of Potidæa extending to the sea on both sides of the isthmus, and the gate towards the continent being shut, Aristeus was obliged to get in at the gate towards Pallene; which he could reach only by the breakwater under the sea–wall.]

  [4 ][“And the standards were raised.”]

  [5 ][The stadium, always translated by Hobbes furlong, used to be reckoned six hundred feet; but has been fixed by recent surveys at five hundred and seventy–five. A furlong being six hundred and sixty feet, the stadium is much nearer to the ninth than the eighth part of a mile. The word for, in “for it is” &c., is not in the Greek.]

  [1 ][“Being torn down.”]

  [2 ][“And neither side, &c. ἱππῆς δὲ. It no where appears as yet that the Potidæans had no cavalry in the battle.]

  [3 ][“From the isthmus”: that is, towards Olynthus.]

  [4 ][Who “marching from Aphytis, led his army by slow marches to Potidæa”, wasting, &c.]

  [1 ][“Desiring to do what was the next best thing to be done”, and make the best, &c.]

  [2 ][Bekker and the rest have ξυνεπολέμει: “amongst other acts of assistance in the war.”]

  [3 ][πρ̧οσγεγένηντο. Goeller, Bekker. προεγεγενηντο, Arnold. “These were the quarrels which had before this time arisen between the Peloponnesians and the Athenians.”]

  [1 ][“They summoned the allies to Lacedæmon.”]

  [2 ][κατὰ τὰς σπονδάς. Arnold considers that the treaty here meant, that is, that the treaty which the Æginetæ would naturally appeal to, must be the latest treaty, or the thirty years’ treaty. Mueller observes that in strictness the Æginetæ could appeal to neither treaty, neither the five years’ nor the thirty years’ treaty, being under the dominion of the Athenians before the date of either; and that by neither was any alteration made in their condition. He inclines to refer the words τὰς σπονδάς to τὸ ξυμμαχικôν, made by the influence of the Spartans, amongst the Greeks in general, and the stipulation for mutual liberty made in that treaty.]

  [3 ]Of the Ephori and those that had the sovereignty, that is, before the aristocracy. [See chap. 87, note.]

  [1 ][This decree of Pericles is said by the Scholiast, to have been proposed by him at the suggestion of Alcibiades; who, when a boy, saw him much disturbed by thinking how he should account for the public money; and being informed of the cause, told him that he should be thinking not how he should account, but how he should not account. Whereupon Pericles proposed this decree, and succeeded in diverting public attention from the subject of his accounts.]

  [2 ][According to Bekker and Arnold: “makes you less ready to give credit to others, if we complain of aught”. According to Goeller: “makes you less ready to give credit to us, if we have aught to say against the rest”. Valla makes something quite different of the passage: “fides vestra facit, ut nobis alii, si quid in vos dixerimus, fidem non habeant.”]

  [3 ][And hereby “you do indeed exhibit your moderation”, but you have less, &c.]

  [1 ][The Æginetans. Schol.]

  [2 ][The Potidæans and Megareans. Schol.]

  [3 ][πρὸς τὰ ἐπὶ Θράκης ἀποχρῆσθαι: “most commodious, to give you the full benefit of your dominion in the neighbourhood of Thrace.” Arnold. To use away, or out; simili, si non eodem sensu, Latini dicunt abuti. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“The question should no longer be”.]

  [2 ][“For they (the Athenians) being the active party, come with their plans already arranged, and not having still to do that, upon their adversary who has yet decided upon nothing.” Goeller.]

  [3 ][“And we know in what manner, and that it is by degrees that the Athenians encroach upon their neighbours.”]

  [4 ][μελλήσει: “With threatening demonstration.” Arnold. “Expectation of attack meditated.” Goell.]

  [5 ][“You were indeed said to be cautious and secure: and your report therefore exceeded the reality”. For we, &c]

  [6 ][“As far as” Peloponnesus.]

  [1 ][“Though you well know”, &c.]

  [2 ][“You neither seem, to us at least, to have any feeling, nor ever to have considered with yourselves.”]

  [3 ][“And in action to attain not even to what is necessary.”]

  [1 ][“You distrust even counsels to be surely calculated upon.” Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ][καὶ τὰ ἑτοῖμα: “Even what is under your hand.”]

  [3 ][μὴ ἐξέλθωσιν: “Unless they go through with”, that is, “attain.”]

  [4 ][“And if therefore they fail, &c., by entering into other hopes they have already repaired the mishap.”]

  [1 ][“Quietem iis maxime contingere.” Poppo and Goeller. “That they enjoy the longest peace.” Arnold.]

  [2 ][“Though your neighbouring state were of the same way of thinking”, in regard to justice.]

  [3 ][“Why in the Athenian customs, through much experience, there has been more innovation than in yours.”]

  [4 ][νῦν δὲ: And at this moment.]

  [5 ][ξυγγενεῖς: The Potidæans, a colony of the Corinthians.]

  [6 ][“And we the rest be driven” through despair, &c.]

  [1 ][ἀνθρώπων τῶν αἰσθανομένων: “homines aliquo sensu præditos”: Stephen, Goeller. An allusion to the insensibility charged against the Lacedæmonians in chap. 70.]

  [2 ][“About other matters.”]

  [3 ][περὶ τοῦ παντὸς, scilicet λόγου: “concerning the whole matter in debate”. See the next chap. βουλόμενοι περὶ τοῦ παντὸς λόγου δηλῶσαι.]

  [1 ][Bekker and the rest, ὑμετέροις: “against your confederates.”]

  [2 ][“Though it be somewhat irk–some to us to be ever bringing forward this subject.”]

  [3 ][“These things when we did, we endangered ourselves for the common safety; in achieving which, it cannot be denied that up to a certain point you took your share; but still we ought not to be deprived, if it is of any value, of all right of speaking of them.” Goeller.]

  [1 ][“But of testimony.”]

  [2 ][“As if his power were no longer what it had been, went away, &c.” Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][ἐς αὐτὸ: “to it”: that is, the event just related, τοιούτου ξυμβάντος τούτου. “This coming to pass in this manner, we contributed to it,” &c.]

  [4 ]Of Salamis.

  [1 ][“But whilst we were yet safe,” (that is, whilst the time was for aiding us), “you were not at hand”: whereas, &c.]

  [2 ]The Athenians at the coming in of the Persian, when they put themselves into their galleys, left their city to the army of the Persians by land, and sent their wives and children into Ægina, Salamis, and Trœzene.

  [3 ][ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐν βρ̧αχείᾳ ἐλπίδι οὔσης. τῆς οὔσης are by Didot referred, not to Athens, but to the fleet, the only city the Athenians then had remaining; which at that time was εν βραχείᾳ ἐλπίδι, of slender hopes.]

  [4 ][τὸ μέρος: “we bore our share in delivering you and ourselves”. Arnold. “quantum in nobis erat”: Goeller.]

  [1 ][Had quietly succeeded.]

  [2 ][Ἆρ’ ἄξιοί ἐσμεν, κ. τ. λ.; “Do we deserve then not to be so greatly envied, &c.?” ἆρ̧α est ecquid; qui interrogandi modus graviter affirmat. Baver. Hobbes has followed the common reading, ἀρχῆς τε. Bekker and the rest read ἀρχῆς γε.]

  [3 ][“To run the risk of laying down our power.”]

  [4 ][It is no fault, &c. to order to the best. You “therefore at any rate” order, &c.: “and had you at that time staid it out, and made yourselves hated for your command like us, we well know that you would have been not less heavy, &c. So neither have we done any thing wonderful, if overcome by three the greatest things, &c.”]

  [1 ]That is, when Pausanias, king of Lacedæmon, pursuing the relics of the Persian war, through his pride and insolent command procured the hatred of the confederates so far as, the Lacedæmonian state calling him home, they put themselves under the leading of the Athenians.

  [2 ][Goeller agrees with Hobbes in rendering ὥστε ἄρχειν, desiring to rule: “prægnanti sensu accipiendum, vt sit imperare velle”. Vulgo, γένωνται. Bekker and the rest, γεγένηνται: have been juster than, &c.]

  [3 ][ἀδοξὶα: an ill name.]

  [1 ][“For conceding somewhat of our strict right in making conventions with our allies for trying their causes, and giving them the right of decision by the same laws with ourselves, we have then”, &c. Δίκαι ξυμβολαίαι, “conventional causes” are thus explained by Goeller: “Inter quas civitates frequens commercium esset, eæ pacta quædam inire solebant de ratione actionum inter privatos cives suos instituendarum, de foro, utrum litigantes sequerenter, et rebus similibus. Hæc, ut alia pacta civitatum cum civitatibus, σύμβολα appellabantur. Causas privatorum, quæ ex talibus pactis componebantur, Thucydides dixit ξυμβολαίας δίκας. Latine cum Livio, xli. 24, hoc institutum dicas “commercium jus præbendi et repetendi.”]

  [2 ]διότι: wherefore. “None of them considering how it comes about that others, &c., are never upbraided with this (a love of contention).” The reason is, they use force. “For they that may compel, have no need farther, to go to law”.]

  [3 ][ὁι δὲ: “But these men, &c., if they are worsted in any thing, be it ever so trifling, contrary to their opinion that it ought not to be, either by sentence, &c., are not in the majority of cases thankful for what they do not lose; but take their disappointment in worse part than if”, &c. Goeller.]

  [4 ][“But in that case”, that is, if we took by force, &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“If your system be such as that of which you showed symptoms before.” Ὑπεδείξατε for ἀπεδείξατε has been rightly restored by Bekker, Poppo, Goeller. The Lacedæmonians had not “fully manifested” (ἀπέδειξαν), their tyrannical spirit during the command of Pausanias; but had “shown symptoms of it”, which is exactly ὐπέδειξαν. Arnold.]

  [2 ][ἄμικτα: unmixed, not modified to suit those of other states. Spartanos, antiquis rebus constanter adhærentes, consentaneum est postremo in tanta cæterorum Græcorum mobilitate ab his ita recessisse, ut peculiaris neque aut cum Græcis aut cum barbaris consociabilis populus viderentur. Muell. By saying that those who go abroad, use neither the customs of Sparta nor of the rest of Greece, must be meant that they use their own arbitrary will only.]

  [1 ][“Out of the assembly”. The speech of the Athenians was addressed ἐς τὸ πλῆθος, see chap. 72.]

  [2 ][That is, of the same age.]

  [1 ][παρόμοιος: “of the same description”: military rather than naval. Arnold.]

  [2 ][If we will exercise ourselves.]

  [3 ][Still much more deficient.]

  [1 ][“For as for the hope,” &c.]

  [2 ][And in the meantime to make our provision, “both by getting allies, &c., and by contributing our own fortunes at the same time”. Göll.]

  [3 ][We then attack them, if we will, “better prepared”.]

  [4 ][“Already making”.]

  [1 ][“See that we do not make the affair more dishonourable”, &c.]

  [2 ][As well of cities as, &c.]

  [3 ][πολλοὶς: “that we being many.” Valla has “multas urbes”.]

  [5 ][“Above all things.”]

  [4 ][ἂν παύσαισθε: you may be the longer, &c.]

  [1 ][“Is the main ingredient in.”]

  [2 ][“Good counsellors in this: that we are brought up more simply than, &c.; and not like men exceedingly wise in things needless, to find fault eloquently, &c.; but to think that the thoughts of our neighbours are like the accidents of fortune, not to be discovered by speeches”, &c. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“That has been taught what is most needful”.]

  [1 ][μελέτας. Lacedæmoniorum instituta in educandis liberis. Goeller. “These institutions, which our ancestors have handed down to us.”]

  [2 ][We are alike, “both then and now”. The deliverers of Greece.]

  [1 ][Nor to be “judged with judgments and words”.]

  [2 ]ψήϕος: properly lapillus, calculus; a little stone or ball, which he that gave his voice put into a box, either on the affirmative or negative part, as he pleased. The Athenians used beans, white and black. The Venetians now use balls; and the distinction is made by the box, inscribed with yea and no. [κρίνουσι γὰρ βοῆ: “for they vote by shouting.” This was the mode of voting in the Spartan ἐκκλησία: a body consisting of such of the Spartans of the class called ὅμοιοι or peers, that is, those whose means enabled them to devote their time to the Spartan education and to support the expenses of the ϕιδίτια or public table, as were of the age of thirty years. No Spartan that had not gone through the discipline considered essential for forming a useful citizen, was admitted by Lycurgus to the exercise of any political right: and hence the Spartans of inferior means formed a class which, in distinction to the ὅμοιοι, came to be designated the ὑπομείονες or inferiors. The γερούσια or senate, said to be an institution of Lycurgus, consisted, including the two kings who presided in it, of thirty members: their qualification was, the being of the ὅμοιοι and sixty years of age: they were chosen for life, and nominally by the pares: see Plut. Lycurg. The assembly, here called τὸ πλῆθος, had the right of simply affirming or rejecting the measures proposed to them by the kings and senate: they could neither modify nor even discuss those measures, nor originate any of their own. The five Ephori, said to be instituted about a hundred and thirty years after the time of Lycurgus by Theopompus, were chosen out of the whole Spartan race without distinction; and were therefore naturally the organ of the democracy: whilst the ὅμοιοι were in possession of the senate and the assembly.]

  [1 ][“But wishing to excite them more to the war, openly declaring their opinion”: that is to say, the war being popular, by obliging them to vote openly.]

  [2 ][This joint vote is taken afterwards. Chap. 119, 125.]

  [1 ]A promontory in Asia the less, where the remnant of Xerxes’ fleet was defeated, the same day that this land forces were also defeated by Pausanius at Platea with the slaughter of Mardonius their general, and almost their whole army of three hundred thousand men. [When the Medes were departed from Europe, &c.]

  [2 ][See Herodot. ix. 114, et seq.]

  [3 ]το κοῖνον: the state. That is, they made Athens again the seat of their government, whereas before it was in the fleet and camp, still removing.

  [1 ][ἀνοικοδομξιν: “went about to rebuild the city and the walls: for of the circuit of the walls little remained standing, and of the houses the most had fallen down; though a few were standing, in which lodged the principal of the Persians.”]

  [2 ][ὡσπερ νῦν: as he had just now made of Thebes.]

  [1 ][Till the walls were raised to the lowest possible height they could defend themselves from.]

  [2 ][πρὸς τὰς ἀρχὰς: to the Ephori. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“The Lacedæmonians or their allies.”]

  [2 ][They said. Themistocles is speaking in the name of the Athenians. “They said, they were bold to decide upon it without them: and that in whatever on the other hand they thought fit to advise of with them, they showed themselves in counsel behind no one.”]

  [1 ][παρασκευῆς: apparatus, or means of strength: “for that they could not, if they were not to be on equal terms in point of apparatus, advise”, &c. No single word will express the exact sense in English.]

  [2 ][“For they had not, forsooth, sent their ambassadors to forbid, but to offer advice for the common good. Moreover they were just at that time specially well affected to them”, &c.]

  [3 ][“Even at this day.”]

  [4 ]The walls of Athens made of chapels and tombs. Corn. Nepos, in Vita Themistoclis.

  [5 ]This was before a village, and now made the Athenian arsenal.

  [1 ][“Considering that the spot was both convenient, having three natural havens, and would also aid them, when they were become seamen, to obtain power”. Popp. Göll. These havens were called Cantharon, Aphrodision, and Zea.]

  [2 ][“For the stones (for building the wall) were carried by two carts, that used to pass each other on the wall”. Arnold.]

  [3 ][The meaning here of ἐγγώνιοι, in itself simply “angular”, is decided by the fact that the wall is found at the present day to be built of square stones.]

  [4 ][“That if, therefore, they were ever forced by land”.]

  [1 ]Constantinople.

  [2 ][“And all” who had newly, &c.]

  [3 ]The Ionians were all colonies of the people of Athens.

  [1 ][“Convicted” of some, &c.]

  [2 ][“But not the least matter laid to his charge was Medising”, the which, &c.]

  [3 ][ϕόρος. Quia ϕόρος Græcis nomen grave et odiosum erat, pro eo deinde cœpit dici σύνταξις. Duk.]

  [4 ]86,250l. sterling. [If Boeckh has correctly estimated the Attic drachma at 5 gros 6 pfenninge, formulæ imperialis, the drachme would be equal to 8¼d. and the talent to 206l. 5s. sterling; and four hundred and sixty talents would therefore be equal to 94,875l. That is, calculating the thaler at thirty–six pence English.]

  [1 ]Not at Athens, because they would not seem to challenge a propriety in that money.

  [2 ][“Now using their authority at first, &c.; by war and administration &c. they came to such great power. And I have written those things and made this digression in the history, because all writers before me have pretermitted &c., (for they have either &c.); and Hellanicus who has touched them, has mentioned them but briefly &c. Moreover they carry, &c.” The history of Hellanicus is called ἡ ᾈτθίς.]

  [3 ][There was one Eion in Chalcis in Thrace, a colony of the Mendæans, and another on the Strymon, a colony of the Athenians.]

  [1 ][“Sold them as slaves”.]

  [2 ][“In violation of the established law”: the law, that is, that all Greeks were free. Schol. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And making default (when it so happened) in sending their contingent of military.” This is Goeller’s interpretation of λειποστράτιον: ἀστρατεία, desertion of military duty. The latter is said of individuals; the former, of states.]

  [4 ][“For through this dread of military service, the most &c. taxed themselves in money instead of sending their quota of ships: whereby the Athenian navy was increased with the funds contributed by the allies, and they, whenever they revolted, were without either means or experience to make war.” Bekker &c., ἄπειροι: Valla, Portus, Hobbes, ἄποροι.]

  [1 ][“Under the conduct of Cimon the son of Miltiades: and took and destroyed triremes of the Phœnicians, in all to the number of two hundred”.]

  [2 ][“About the places of trade in the opposite part of Thrace, and the mines which they possessed”. The Thasians had some gold mines at Scapte Hyle in Thrace; but there were also mines in Thasos itself, particularly those found by the Phœnicians, between Ænyra and Cœnyra. See Herod. vi. 46, 47.]

  [3 ][They were “all destroyed at Drabescus by the Thracians”. This is according to Poppo’s conjecture of ξύμπαντες for ξυμπάντων. There is the authority of Diodorus, and of Thucydides himself (iv. 102.), for the fact that these ten thousand settlers were all destroyed. Valla has: “omnes sunt perempti.”]

  [1 ]The Lacedæmonians employed the captives taken in war, and their posterity, in husbandry and other servile works; which was all done by this kind of men. And they were called by them Helots, because the first of them so employed were captives of the town of Helos in Laconia. [See iv. 80.]

  [2 ][τῶν περιοίκων. The περίοικοι were the old Achaian inhabitants of Laconia, who after the Dorian conquest submitted to the invaders on certain conditions, by which they retained their private rights of citizenship, and also the right of voting in the public assembly. These rights however were forfeited after an unsuccessful attempt to shake off the Dorian yoke; and from henceforward they were treated as subjects rather than citizens; being eligible indeed to military commands, but with no voice in the public assembly, and of course being disqualified for the offices of Ephor or senator. They remained in this dependent condition down to the time of Augustus Cæsar, who on their making an appeal to his interference gave them the full enjoyment of civil rights, and deprived the Spartans of their exclusive ascendancy. Arnold.]

  [3 ][“At that so well known time”.]

  [4 ][“Against these then had the Lacedæmonians, &c.: and the Thasians”, &c. This, commonly called the third Messenian war, by occupying the Lacedæmonians, caused the surrender of the Thasians.]

  [1 ][They were sent for principally for their reputation in mural assaults. “But on the siege being protracted, there appeared in them a deficiency of this skill: for else they had taken the place by assault.” Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ]The Lacedæmonians were Dorians, the Athenians Ionians.

  [3 ][Upon the “fairer reason”.]

  [1 ][“Immediately upon their return”.]

  [2 ][They “already” bore, &c.]

  [1 ][“A Libyan, king of the Libyans.” Hobbes throughout renders Λίβυς by “Africa”, as often as the word occurs.]

  [1 ][“After this the Peloponnesians sent over into Ægina three hundred men of arms, &c.: and the Corinthians seized on the heights of Geraneia, and descended into the Megarid.” So Bekker and the rest. The seizing of these heights would naturally be the act of the party that was descending into the Megarid: lying immediately in their passage, and essential for the security of their retreat. Portus and Valla are both with Hobbes. “With other forces”, is not in the Greek.]

  [2 ][The common reading was ἐκβοήσαντες, βοὴ being often used in the sense of pugna, auxilium. Bekker and the rest have ἐκβοηθήσαντες; that is, “sallying out of Megara to oppose them”. See iii. 18, where ἐκβοηθεία is used in the sense of “sallying out”.]

  [1 ][“Shut them in with their heavy–armed men in front.”]

  [2 ][But “the bulk” of the army.]

  [3 ]The Dorians, the mother nation of the Lacedæmonians, inhabited a little country on the north side of Phocis, called Doris, and Tetrapolis, from the four cities it contained; of which those here mentioned were three, and the fourth was Pindus. [Goeller observes: “vulgo de tetrapoli Dorica loquuntur, sed quartam urbem Pindum ignorant cum Thucydide Diodorus, Conon aliique.” Hermann names Acyphas as the fourth town; and says that others make out six instead of four. Gr. Antiq. § 16. 7.]

  [1 ][“The Athenian fleet had already sailed round, and were ready to hinder them”.]

  [2 ][“And at that very time they saw they were intending to stop them this way too”.]

  [3 ][“And another thing, certain Athenians were privily inviting them”; hoping, &c.]

  [4 ][“And they marched upon them (the Lacedæmonians) thinking them to be at a loss by which way they should pass; and also in some measure from suspicion of an intended dissolution of the democracy”.]

  [5 ][“According to the terms of their alliance”.]

  [1 ][“Under the conduct of Tolmides the son of Tolmæus”.]

  [2 ]A city of Corinthians, near the river Evenus in Ætolia.

  [3 ][“In the meanwhile the Athenians in Egypt with their allies were still persevering: and saw, &c. For at first”, &c.]

  [1 ][Megabazus returned with the money, &c.: “but sends Megabyzus the son of Zopyrus”, &c. So Bekker and the rest.]

  [2 ][Prosopitis, an island in the Delta. See Herod. ii. 41.]

  [3 ][ὁι ἕλειοι; “qui in palustribus (βουκολίοις) habitabant, inter Taniticum et Pelusiacum ostia Nili. Vocatur quoque inferior Ægypti pars ἕλος, inclusa Bolbitino et Sebennytico ostiis. Quæ regio insularis hoc loco intelligenda videtur.” Gottleber.]

  [1 ][Taking them as their confederates. Goeller.]

  [2 ]Famous for the battle between Jul. Cæsar and Cn. Pompeius.

  [3 ][“So far as was consistent with not straying far from where the arms were piled”: that is, from the camp.]

  [4 ][“To Sicyon”.]

  [5 ][“Marched to Œniadæ”.]

  [6 ][The words “after this”, which would fix the date of this treaty, about which there are many different opinions, are wanting in the Greek.]

  [1 ][“In the army”, not in the Greek.]

  [2 ][And when “off Salamis”, &c. Bekker and the rest omit the “Cyprians”.]

  [3 ][Because the noble families of the Delphians were of Dorian origin. Arnold. Hermann observes, that, as belonging to their race, this oracle had at all times exercised a peculiar influence over the internal concerns of the Dorians; hence the sanction given by it to the constitution of Lycurgus. Gr. Antiq. §23.]

  [4 ][“And having taken Chæroneia, they departed, leaving a garrison in it”. So Bekker and the rest, leaving out the remainder.]

  [1 ][Κορωνεία. The field of battle at Chæroneia is so connected with the plain of Coroneia, that the scene of more than one battle is assigned, sometimes to the one, sometimes to the other. Mueller. Amongst others that fell at this battle, was Clinias, the father of Alcibiades.]

  [2 ][By ὁι ἄλλοι παντές: “and all the rest,” are meant the Locrian exiles, and some also from Phocis; Phocis and Locris, as well as Bœotia, being lost to the Athenians by the battle of Coronea; which revolution, the commons of Phocis being well–affected to Athens (iii. 95), could be effected only by the return of the exiles and consequent ascendency of the aristocratical party. Arnold.]

  [3 ][“They invaded and wasted Attica as far as Eleusis and the Thriasian plain”. Θριάσιον πεδίον campus erat, ut nonnullis videtur, inter Eleusinem, Eleutheras, Castiam, Rhetos, et Daphnen monasterium. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Under the conduct of Pericles.”]

  [2 ][Opinions differ as to the meaning of Ἀχαΐα. Arnold understands by it the country of that name. The connexion, he says, between Athens and the Achaians was natural: the latter being alienated from Lacedæmon by difference of race as well as of government. Their ancestors had been expelled from Laconia and Argolis by the Dorians: and the twelve states of Achaia were all democratical in their government. And he supports his opinion by that of Thirlwall. Goeller is persuaded that it is the name of some unknown town: referring to iv. 21, where Cleon requires Lacedæmon to restore “Nisæa, Pegæ, Trœzene, and Achaia”; an insane demand, if he meant the province of Achaia. Od. Mueller understands by it some small town in Megaris.]

  [1 ][The garrison was left in Samos, not over the hostages.]

  [2 ][παρὰ σϕίσιν: in Samos.]

  [3 ][“At the island of Tragia”.]

  [4 ][That is, by a wall on three sides, and the ships on the fourth.]

  [1 ][ϛρ̧ατοπέδῳ. The naval camp pitched on the sea–shore, the constant accompaniment of all naval expeditions of the Greeks. Their ships being totally unprovided with accommodation for eating or sleeping on board, they had always a camp with a regular market established on shore, where the men took their meals and slept. The ships were drawn up on the beach in front of this camp, and protected against surprise by a certain number of ships which lay afloat off the camp, ready manned, as a guard. Sometimes a stockade was made in the sea in front of the ships so drawn up, or a palisade or a similar fortification was raised on the shore. These precautions the Athenians appear on this occasion to have neglected. Arnold.]

  [2 ][And overcame “those that were launched to meet them”.]

  [3 ]Not the writer of the history.

  [1 ][μεταξὺ, “intervenient”, omitted by Bekker and the rest.]

  [2 ][διέγνωστο: “it had already been decreed, &c.: but still they sent to Delphi to inquire”, &c.]

  [1 ][This is not correct: for the Lacedæmonians had not yet decreed the war, but had summoned the allies to consider ἐι χρὴ πολεμεῖν: a question in which they had equal voices with themselves. “Do not let us blame the Lacedæmonians for not having themselves voted the war, when they have now brought us together for this purpose. For it is the duty of our leaders, having due regard to their private interests, to consider first of all the common weal, as they also are in other things honoured above all the rest”.]

  [1 ][Not to be careless judges of what we now say. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][“Have disgracefully fallen out contrariwise”. Against well–advised enemies, is not in the Greek.]

  [1 ][“And in warlike skill”.]

  [2 ]All land–soldiers, all of one manner of arming and discipline.

  [1 ][Their revenues: “wherein their strength lies”.]

  [2 ]Though this be here said in the person of a Corinthian, yet it was never thought on by any of that side till Alcibiades put it into their heads when he revolted from his country.

  [3 ][ἄντικρυς δουλείαν: “direct, downright”, and so, “clear, undisputed”. A metaphor taken from a dart or arrow going straight forward, and penetrating to its object. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“How we can be cleared of &c.: for certainly you avoid them not when you betake yourselves to that, which, &c. For contempt, because &c, hath gotten the opposite name of foolishness”. The opposition between καταϕρόνησις and ἀϕροσύνη, contempt or arrogance and folly, is not very satisfactorily explained.]

  [2 ][“They that would defend what they have at present, must labour for what is next to be. For we have it from our forefathers, to gain”, &c.]

  [1 ][ὠϕελειᾳ: “some from fear of the Athenians, some to aid us”. See ii. 8. 11. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Which for certain even the God, by enjoining war, deemeth broken”. Neither us, nor by them, is in the Greek.]

  [1 ][“Let us attack and subdue it”.]

  [2 ]Excommunication: extending also to posterity. [“To drive out those under the curse of the goddess. Now the sacrilege was as follows”. ἄγος, which Hobbes seems throughout to consider equivalent to “pollution of sanctuary”, is in its original meaning, any thing venerated: thence by antiphrasis, any thing wicked and accursed. Arnold observes, that it corresponds to the Latin word “sacer”, and implies devoted to some god for good or for evil.]

  [1 ][“Of Jupiter”.]

  [2 ][“Esteeming this to be the greatest feast of Jupiter”. Besides those in Peloponnesus, revived by Iphitus of Elis, there were Olympic games also in Macedonia, instituted by Archelaus.]

  [3 ]The oracles were always obscure, that evasion might be found to salve their credit; and whether they were the imposture of the devil, or of men, which is the more likely, they had no presention nor secure wise conjecture of the future.

  [4 ]Images of living creatures, made of paste. [“In which they sacrifice in the assembly of the whole people, many however not living creatures, but such as”, &c. It appears from Herodotus (ii. 47), that in Egypt, in the feast of the Moon, when swine were sacrificed, the poorer classes used to bake figures of swine made of paste, and offer them as their sacrifice.]

  [1 ][Upon the death of Codrus and consequent strife between his sons, the Eupatridæ, as the first step towards establishing the aristocracy, changed the name of King into that of Archon: leaving however the functions of the dignity, which was still for life, untouched. A farther inroad was made (A. C. 752) by limiting the office to ten years: and again (A. C. 714) by declaring the class of Eupatridæ eligible to it. Finally (A.C.683), when the Medontidæ became extinct, the power and name of the office were shared amongst nine archons elected yearly from the Eupatridæ: the three first assumed to represent the king in his several characters of archon, high priest and judge, and commander in war, by styling themselves respectively ἄρχων, βασιλεὑς, and πολέμαρχος. The nine archons exercised unlimited power, both executive and judicial. Draco first set bounds to the latter by establishing a court of appeal, called the ἔϕεται. Solon on introducing his four classes (see iii. 16), gave the office of archon to the first class. But it was the name only: for the surrender to the citizens at large of the judicial functions, and to the council of four hundred, chosen out of the four Ionic tribes, of the administrative functions, stripped it of all real power. Cleisthenes (A. C. 510) introduced the farther change in all offices, of election by lot. And finally Aristides, in making the democracy supreme, declared eligible to the office of archon all citizens without distinction of birth or fortune, with the except tion, perhaps of the Thetes, and that the candidate must trace his citizenship up to his grandfather. The ἄρχων gave his name to the year, and had jurisdiction in disputes relating to inheritance, and other family matters: the βασιλέ υ regulated all matters concerning public worship and religion: and the πολέμαρχος had the control of the metœci, aliens, &c. So late however as the battle of Marathon, the polemarch had a vote with the ten strategi: see Herod. vi. 109.]

  [1 ]The Lacedæmonians that in the reign of Codrus invaded Athens and were defeated, some of them being entered the city, could not get away, but sat at those altars, and were dismissed safe; but some of them slain as they went home. [The Athenians, “when they saw them dying in the temple”, raised them, &c.: “and some sitting suppliants even to the venerable Goddesses amongst the altars in the approach to their temple, they slew. And from this they (the murderers) were called”, &c. The sentence refers, not to the Lacedæmonians, but to the companions of Cylon. See Plutarch, Solon.]

  [2 ][The factions of Isagoras and Cleisthenes. See Herod. v. 66–72]

  [3 ][The mother of Pericles was Agariste, the grand–daughter of Megacles (Herod. vi. 127–131): one principally concerned in the murder of Cylon: Plutarch, Solon. The insurrection of Cylon is attributed by some to the severity of the laws of Draco; whereby the Eupatridæ attempted to stifle the rising desires of the people for a more popular government. See Hermann. Gr. Antiq. § 103.]

  [1 ][Was “the first time” recalled. See his second recall, chap. 131.]

  [1 ][Dascylium: the name of the satrapy of Bithynia and Phrygia.]

  [2 ][ἀνάγραπτος. Qui de rege et regno Persarum (οἴκῳ) bene meriti erant, ὀροσάγγαι ab iis dicebantur, (εὐεργέται Græci converterunt), eorumque nomina codicibus regiis inferebantur. Hudson.]

  [3 ][“For thee to go”.]

  [4 ][“Amongst the Grecians”.]

  [1 ][“But habited in the Medan stole issued from Byzantium, and went through Thrace with a guard, &c.” Per σκευὰς Μηδικάς significat fortasse στολὴν την Μηδικὴν, quæ passim a Xenophonte memoratur, and proprie κάνδυς dicebatur. Fortasse vero etiam ἀναξυρίδας, et alia quæ recensentur a Xenophonte Cyrop. viii. 3. 14, induit. Poppo.]

  [2 ][“And carried himself so haughtily towards all alike”, &c.]

  [3 ]Scytale, properly a staff; here, a form of letter, used by the Lacedæmonians in this manner. They had two round staves of one bigness, whereof the state kept one, and the man whom they employed abroad, kept the other; and when they would write, they wrapt about it a small thong of parchment; and having thereon written, took it off again, and sent only that thong; which wrapped likewise about the other staff, the letters joined again, and might be read. This served instead of cypher. It seems Pausanias retained his staff, from the time he had charge at Byzantium. [“An officer with a letter.” σκυτάλα, in Doric, is a staff: thence the writing wrapped round it. Thus Pindar calls the messenger Æneas, σκυτάλα μουσῶν. Ol. vi. 91.]

  [1 ][See viii. 12, note.]

  [2 ][“To be something greater than the present state of things permitted”. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“They also diligently considered every act, wherein in his manner of life he had transgressed the established customs, and amongst the rest, that upon the tripod, &c., he caused to be inscribed by his own authority this verse”.]

  [2 ][All the cities that having joined, &c., “made the offering”.]

  [3 ][“And after he became involved in the present matter, had much more the appearance of an act near akin to his present design”.]

  [4 ]παιδικά, taken both in good and bad sense, for a man with whom another man is in love. [It appears from Xenoph. de Rep. Lac. ii. 13, that this word was used in the latter sense. The words in use to express the recognized connexion between two Spartans of the male sex, were εἰσπνήλας, inspirer, and ἀΐτας, hearer. See Müll. Dor. iv.4.6.]

  [1 ][“Upon a concerted plan”.]

  [2 ][“Saying, that though he had never brought him into any danger in the transactions with the king, yet he is to be selected for death like any other of all the multitude of his servants”. Goeller.]

  [1 ]ἱερὸν: both the temple, and ground consecrated wherein standeth the temple, altars, and edifices for the use of their religion: τέμενος, the temple or church of the goddess. [“He ran towards the temple of Pallas Chalciœca, and getting before them, (the precincts were near at hand), entered into a house”, &c. τέμενος, from τέμνω, to divide, and thence to set apart, is not, as Hobbes renders it, the temple, but the whole consecrated ground. “These words are sometimes used as synonymous, both denoting no more than “ground consecrated for the worship of some god”. Thus in Herod. vi. 79, the grove dedicated to the hero Argos is called by both these names. They are however more frequently distinguished: and then τέμενος signifies the whole consecrated ground, including sometimes even arable land belonging to the temple: Herod. iv. 161. Ἱερὸν expresses the sacred buildings, including the στοὰ or cloister, and the habitations of the ministers of the god: Herod. ii. 112. Ναὸς is that part of the buildings, in which his statue was placed and himself supposed to dwell. Other smaller ναοὶ, like chapels in the aisles of Roman Catholic cathedrals, were often ranged round the great ναὸς or choir, and dedicated to other gods. Thus Minerva, under the title of προναία, had a small ναὸς close to the entrance of the great ναὸς at Delphi.” Arnold.]

  [1 ][“And when he was near dying as he was, in the house, they seeing it carried him out of the temple”, &c.]

  [2 ]Cæada, a pit near Lacedæmon.

  [3 ][“To remove it to the place where he died”. He was buried first of all πλησίον που, somewhere near the Cæadas: that is, as Corn. Nepos says, “procul ab eo loco, quo erat mortuus.”]

  [4 ][ἐν τῷ προτεμενίσματι. The later meaning of this word seems to be that of a portico or vestibule, in which was kept the holy water for every one to sprinkle himself with as he entered. Here however it apparently means a sort of gate or lodge, like the Propylæa at Athens, to the whole sacred ground: similar to our closes at Salisbury, Peterborough, &c. For a dead body would not have been buried within the sacred ground, much less in the actual vestibule of the temple. Arn. The temple of Pallas Chalciœca was one of the most ancient at Sparta: so called from the brazen statue of the goddess, and interior of the temple.]

  [1 ][By certain proofs found upon Pausanias. See Plut. Themist.]

  [2 ]A kind of banishment, wherein the Athenians wrote upon the shell of an oyster the name of him they would banish; used principally against great men, whose power or faction they feared might breed alteration in the state: and was but for certain years. [See viii. 73, note.]

  [1 ][That is, amongst the Molossi. See Plut. Themist. Duker.]

  [2 ][“The camp”.]

  [3 ][ὑπὲρ: “over against the camp”.]

  [1 ][τὴν ἐκ Σαλαμῖνος προάγγελσιν τῆς ἀναχωρήσεως: “the warning to retreat, sent to Xerxes from Salamis after the battle”: Arnold. “The message sent before the battle, intimating the intended retreat of the Greeks from Salamis”: Goeller.]

  [2 ][“And having it now in my power to do thee”, &c.]

  [1 ][“Of things immediately present” the best judge, &c., and “of things future” the best conjecturer, &c.]

  [2 ]There is another city of that name in Greece.

  [3 ][“To far exceed others in the fruitfulness of the vine”.]

  [1 ][ὄψον. Bread and wine being considered the main supports of human life, all additional articles of food, such as meat, fish, or vegetables, were called by the common name of ὄψον. Arnold.]

  [2 ][τῆς γῆς ἱερᾶς καὶ τῆς ἀορίστου. Talis ager ἀόριστος, situs erat inter Megarida et Eleusinem, qui perpetuo incultus jacere debebat, ut sacrum solum a profano discerneretur. Thucydides enim hic duplex terræ genus discernit; sacrum, et limites non habens. Nam dicit τῆς ἱερᾶς καὶ τῆς ἀορίστου, non τῆς ἱερᾶς καὶ ἀορίστου: neque ulla scripturæ discrepantia est. Intelligenda igitur est terra, partim deabus Eleusiniis, Cereri et Proserpinæ, sacra, ager templi Eleusinii, qui non minus diligenter arabatur quam terra non sacra; partim terra in confiniis jacens, nullis limitibus descripta nec tamen Diis sacra. Goeller.]

  [1 ][The slaves of Aspasia. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And these men here, that are now just come”.]

  [2 ][Nor give place in your minds to any reproach, as if, &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“From these considerations”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][αὐτουργοί: “men that cultivate their lands by their own hands”. See chap. 142, where they are called γεωργοὶ. The number of slaves in Laconia was a striking exception to the state of the rest of Peloponnesus; where, as in almost all the merely agricultural republics of Greece and Italy, there were in early times extremely few of them. And we find afterwards that the other states of Peloponnesus were extremely unwilling to undertake any military operation during harvest–time, because their citizens were themselves ordinarily employed at that season in getting in their crops; while to the Lacedæmonians, whose agricultural labours were performed by Helots, one season of the year was the same as another. See iii. 15. Arnold.]

  [3 ][Peloponnesus had as yet no paid troops: nor Athens till the time of Pericles, though half its mariners were now foreigners. See iii. 17, n.]

  [1 ][“They are not sure that it may not be spent: especially, &c. For the Peloponnesians”, &c.]

  [2 ]Of the Peloponnesians and their confederates, some were Dorians, some Æolians, some Bœotians.

  [3 ][“And that it concerns any one but himself to take forethought about any thing”.]

  [1 ][Goeller understands ἀντεπιτετειχισμένων in a figurative sense: that the Athenian fleet, by infesting the Peloponnesian coasts, would counterbalance the Lacedæmonian fortification in Attica. By ἐπιτείχισις, he understands the actual building of some city as a check on the state, in or near which it is built; as Megara by the Dorians, as a check on Athens, and Heracleia in Trachinia (iii. 92.), as a check on the Thessalians: by ϕρούρια, some already existing town converted into a stronghold in a hostile territory; as Deceleia, Pylos, Methone, Budorum, &c. His sense of the passage is this: “And indeed neither is their fortifying nor their navy much to be dreaded. For the first, it were hard for a city equal to such an undertaking to effect, even in time of peace; to say nothing of a time of war, and of ourselves being already no less formidably fortified with our navy against them. And if they garrison here, they may indeed annoy &c.: but that will not suffice, at any rate, to hinder us from fortifying after our fashion, by sailing to their territory, and taking revenge with our fleet, wherein we are the stronger”. This sense is supported by chap. 143.]

  [1 ][μέτοικοι. For an account of the metœci, usually rendered by Hobbes, strangers that dwelt amongst them, see ii. 31.]

  [2 ][“Would choose, by reason of the peril, to fly”, &c.]

  [1 ][We must “abandon our land and houses, and have a care of the sea and the city”.]

  [2 ]Thucydides hath his mind here upon the defeat in Sicily, which fell out many years after the death of Pericles. Whereby it seems, he frameth his speech more to what Pericles might have said, than to what he did say. Which also he professeth in general of his course in setting down speeches. Besides, he maketh Pericles here to answer point by point to the oration of the Corinthians at Lacedæmon, as if he had been by when it was delivered; and useth the same manner in all opposite orations.

  [1 ][“For neither the one, (the use of our markets by the Megareans), nor the other, (the ceasing to banish foreigners from Sparta), does hurt in time of peace”. Goeller. The government of Sparta was accustomed at its pleasure, summarily to order all foreigners to quit the territory: both from a dread of the introduction of foreign manners, and to prevent the formation of any wealthy mercantile class, likely to give strength and consistence to the excluded commons. Arn. See ii. 39, n.]

  [1 ][“According to the treaty”.]

  [2 ][This interpolated but reverses the sense. Γὰρ refers, not to ἀκηρύκτως μὲν, but to ἀνυπόπτως δὲ οὔ: “without herald indeed, but without suspicion not; for what had passed was the dissolution of the treaty, and the pretext of the war to follow”. Intercourse without herald, was the test of peace.]

  [1 ][“From this time begins the war of the Athenians and the Peloponnesians and the allies of both sides; during which they had no longer commerce, &c.; and having once begun it they warred, &c.”]

  [1 ]Priestess of Juno: by whose priesthood they reckoned their years. The Athenians began their years about the summer solstice. [This is the first year of the introduction of Meton’s cycle. The religious ceremonies of the Greeks, as of other nations, being regulated by the course of the moon, whose revolutions are not commensurable with that of the earth round the sun, it was essential to ascertain a number of solar years exactly equal to a number of lunar revolutions. Throughout the number of years so ascertained, called a cycle, might be noted the future phases of the moon, which done for one cycle is done for all; all future cycles (whence the name) being only the same series repeated. Assuming 8 solar years to be equal to 99 lunar revolutions, the Greeks from about the year 560, regulated the Olympic year by that cycle. The 12 months were made to consist of 30 and 29 days alternately, called respectively πληρὴς and κοιλὸς: and for equalizing the lunar year, so consisting of 354 days, with the solar year, a full month, called ἐμβολιμᾶιος, was intercalated in the 3rd, 5th, and 8th years. To remedy the defects of this system, Meton adopted a cycle of 19 years: retaining the old number and form of the months, he intercalated a month in 7 out of the 19 years. His cycle, imperfect as it is, has, owing perhaps to some superstitious reverence for the number 19, retained its place in the regulation of the lunar calendar to the present day. From this time the Olympic year, commencing hitherto in the moon sometimes next before, sometimes next after the summer solstice, commenced regularly on the 11th day of the latter moon. The prizes were distributed at the full moon.]

  [2 ][Herodotus, briefly alluding to this attempt upon Platæa by the Thebans, (vii. 233), says four hundred. He mentions the death of Eurymachus (chap. 5 infra): whom he calls the son of Leontiades a Theban, and the leader on this occasion of four hundred Thebans.]

  [3 ][βοιωταρχοῦντες: see v. 38. note.]

  [1 ][θέμενοι τὰ ὅπλα: “piling their arms”: as our own soldiers pile their muskets together, when not in the ranks and yet not off duty. Hobbes’ phrase for it, generally is, sitting down or standing in their arms. The summons of the herald was meant to disarm the Platæans.]

  [1 ][“For that they threatened to make no change with any man”.]

  [2 ][“And strove to beat them back wheresoever the assault was made”.]

  [1 ][The common reading was οἱ πολλοί, “the greater part”. But as out of about 300 that entered the city, no less than 180 were taken prisoners (see chap. 5), it could not be correct to say that the greatest part perished in the first instance. The article οἱ has therefore been discarded by Bekker and the rest.]

  [2 ][στυράκιον is not the head, but the spike at the other end of the javelin, by which it was fixed in the ground. And μοχλός is not the staple, but the bar which went across the gates, and into a hole in which and in the gate, went the βάλανος or bolt. The bolt was thrust in, so that no part of it remained out of the hole; and could then of course be drawn out only by something that could lay hold of its head, and therefore exactly fit it.]

  [3 ][Cut through the bar.]

  [1 ][Built against, or forming part of the wall.]

  [2 ][“Thus had feared the Thebans in Platæa”: that is, before the arrival of the other Thebans next described.]

  [3 ][“But the other Thebans, who &c., receiving by the way news about what had passed, went to try to aid”. What they heard, could only be of the attack, and not of the capture of their men: because on their arrival they first learn that they were all taken or slain. It should be, “the rain which fell in the night”. “So that what by marching in the rain, and what by the difficulty of passing the river”, &c.]

  [1 ][“Having done no injury”.]

  [2 ][See chap. 2. note.]

  [1 ][“Just after they were overcome, &c.: and of what followed after, they knew nothing”.]

  [2 ]The Lacedæmonian league, or Lacedæmonian party, not particularly that state. [“The confederate cities were ordered by the Lacedæmonians to make ready, each according to its size, other ships besides those already on the spot in Italy and Sicily, which had been got ready by those who in those parts sided with the Lacedæmonians, to the number of five hundred”. Göll. Arn. The Dorian states in Italy and Sicily would naturally be the allies of the Lacedæmonians.]

  [1 ][“Especially.”]

  [2 ]“Knowing that if these were securely their friends, they would be able to infest Peloponnesus round about”. Arnold. Goeller. The latter observes that the Corcyræans, Acarnanians, and Zacynthians were already the friends of the Athenians; and all that remained, was to confirm that friendship.]

  [3 ][“As might be expected”.]

  [1 ][“And besides there were many young men, &c.; and the rest of Greece stood at gaze, &c. Many prophecies also were told, &c.: and moreover a little before this Delos was shaken, &c.” Herodotus, speaking of the impending invasion of Darius, says: “And Delos, as say the Delians, was shaken; for the first and last time even until my time: a portent from the god to men of the coming evils. For what with the Persians, and with the chief states striving for the mastery, there befell Greece in the time of Darius, Xerxes, and Artaxerxes, three generations, more evils than during twenty generations before Darius”. vi. 98. These passages of Herodotus and Thucydides are remarkable. If with Pliny, Mueller, and others, we adopt the opinion of two earthquakes, it follows that neither historian had heard of the earthquake related by the other. But for such authority, the remarkable fact, that the earthquake related by each was considered portentous of this war, would incline us either to accept the explanation of Arnold: that Thucydides here uses ὀλίγον πρὸ τούτων to express an interval of sixty years, as in chap. 16, infra, he applies ἄρτι to one of fifty: or else to hold both earthquakes for fabulous.]

  [2 ][“And every private man and every city”. Bekker and the rest, πόλις: some MSS. πολίτης.

  [1 ][Amongst so many nations.]

  [2 ][“Thraceward”. See i. 57.]

  [3 ][Melos and Thera were Spartan colonies.]

  [1 ][“And all of them being ready at the time appointed, they assembled at the isthmus, the two–thirds from every state”. That is, two–thirds, not of those within the military age, but only of the contingent of each state. Mueller, Goeller. The following is Mueller’s account of the contingent. “When an expedition was contemplated, the Spartans sent round (περιήγγελλον) to the confederate states, to desire them to have ready men and stores. The highest contribution of each state having been already fixed once for all, on each particular occasion it was only to be determined what part thereof should be required. In like manner the supplies of money were determined: so that the army with all its equipments, could be collected by a simple summons.” Dor. i. 9. 2. Arnold observes that the time for which the allies were required to serve on a foreign expedition, and to maintain themselves at their own expense, appears to have been at this time forty days.]

  [2 ][Most puissant]

  [1 ][Begins suddenly. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Against being attacked”.]

  [1 ][“And receive commands with readiness”.]

  [1 ][“Then at length (οὕτω δὴ) he dislodged”, &c.]

  [2 ][“Suspecting, as Archidamus happened to be his guest, that he might, as often happens, either of private courtesy”, &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][Consisted much.]

  [2 ][That is, besides the rent of the public lands, mines, customs, judicial fines, and taxes paid by the metœci. Goeller. For the value of the talent, see i. 96, note.]

  [3 ][τὰ προπύλαια. In the Acropolis were the Parthenon, the Propylæa, the temple of Minerva Polias adjoining the fane of Erectheus, and Phidias’ statue of Minerva. The ascent of the hill, which was formerly fortified, was adorned by Pericles with a splendid flight of steps and with the Propylæa: a work begun A. C. 437: and finished in five years, at a cost of 2012 talents. On one side of the Propylæa was the temple of Victory, called ἄπτερος, wingless; on the other, the picture gallery. The Parthenon fronted the east. From the eastern portico there was a way into the Opisthodomus, where was the public treasury and wherein were preserved the most precious and sacred things. The Parthenon was built by Callicrates, Ictinus, and Carpion, in the ten years from A.C. 448 to 438. In this last year Phidias erected in it his gigantic statue of Minerva; from which was to be seen the statue of Pallas Promachos, also of vast size, which he is said to have cast from the Persian spoils, and which stood between the Propylæa and the temple of Minerva Polias. Od. Mueller.]

  [1 ][ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων ἱερῶν. From the other temples: besides that particular temple of Minerva in the Acropolis, the Parthenon, which was the treasury. Arnold. The Persian spoils: that is, amongst others, the silver–footed chair, in which Xerxes beheld the battle of Salamis, and the golden sabre of Mardonius. Boeckh. Without the city, is Hobbes’ addition.]

  [2 ][Of all “tribute and revenue”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“For at the first so many kept watch against the invasion of the enemy, young and old, and of the metœci as many as were heavy–armed soldiers.” For the metœci, see ch. 31.]

  [4 ][The reasons stated by Arnold in his note on this passage, establish pretty clearly the existence of three walls from the city to Piræus; the outer or northern wall, the Phalerian, and τὸ διὰ μέσου τξιχος, the wall between the ther two. The same conclusion is adopted by Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Was attended with great difficulty”: Goeller: that is, owing to the great number that had to remove.]

  [2 ]πρυτανεῖα. Guild halls, places where those that administered the state did meet: where also some, for honour’s cause and service, were allowed diet, and wherein Vesta was worshipped, and a light continually burned; so that some thence derive the name, making πρυτανεῖον quasi πυρος ταμεῖον. [The Prytaneium (the mark of an independent society) has been termed by Pollux (ix. 40) ἑστία τῆς πόλεως, the hearth of the community; by Livy (xli. 20) “penetrale urbis”. “Herein,” says Pollux, “were entertained those who came on any public embassy, those who were honoured for service done to the state, and those who by virtue of their office were ἀείσιτοι.” Of these last the principal were the hierophantes or teachers of the sacred rites, the κήρυξ or cryer of the sacrifices, the cryer of the council, certain of the secretaries, &c. This at Athens took place at what was called the θόλος: which is not to be confounded with the ancient Prytaneium at the foot of the Acropolis. According to Strabo, the inhabitants of Attica were assembled by Cecrops into twelve cities, the names of which he gives.]

  [1 ][“They did not meet to consult under the king.”]

  [2 ][“He made them all to belong to the city that now is: and obliged them, administering the affairs each of their own city as before, to use this as their metropolis: which, now that they all reckoned as members of it, grew great”. Goll. Arn. This may perhaps be called the birth of the Athenian democracy.]

  [1 ][Between these two temples, the Pythaistæ took their station to watch nine nights, during three months in the spring, for the favourable flashing of the lightning over mount Parnes, announcing that the sacred embassy might venture to proceed in its destined route to Pytho. Müll.]

  [2 ][Quod ἐν Λίμναις dicitur, suburbium erat ubi solium paulatim inclinatur Ilissum versus. Ibi duo templa Bacchi erant. Göll. There were four Dionysia or feasts of Bacchus: the Anthesterian, the Lenæan, the rural, and the great or city Dionysia. Hermann, Gr. Antiq. § 161.]

  [3 ][Are celebrated.]

  [4 ][The Pisistridæ. Except this, there was no good spring–water in the city: that of all the other springs being too salt to drink.]

  [5 ][Till the present war.]

  [1 ][ἄρτι: they had only just arranged, &c.]

  [2 ]Pelasgicum, a place by the citadel, where the Pelasgians once fortified themselves against the Athenians, and for that cause there was laid a curse upon the habitation of it. Paus. in Atticis. [Sixty years after the fall of Troy, and about the time of the Dorian conquest of Peloponnesus, the Bœotians, a race from Arne in Thessaly, drove the Pelasgians out of Bœotia into Attica. See Hermann, Gr. Antiq. § 15. 21, § 102. 5, 6. There they built the wall about the Acropolis of Athens mentioned by Herodotus, vi. 137. This wall, and the ground under the Acropolis to the north–west, went by the name of the Pelasgicum. The empty places of the city lay to the north.]

  [3 ][ἀργὸν: waste. ἐξῳκἡθη: was “filled out” with inhabitants. Göll.]

  [1 ][“They divided the long walls amongst themselves”.]

  [2 ][And “after that the army was assembled”, his stay &c.]

  [1 ][Indicatur mensis Julii: Göll. But Arnold seems to show clearly, that this period cannot be much later than the beginning of June.]

  [2 ][Two springs of salt water, forming two lakes near the southeastern coast, at the extremity of the Thriasian plain. Muell. They were anciently supposed to derive their water from the Euripus, by an underground communication: but salt springs occur elsewhere in Attica; and there was one in the Acropolis, said to have been produced by Neptune when contending with Minerva for the honour of naming the city. Arnold.]

  [3 ][Vulgo, κεκροπίας. Bekker and the rest, κρωπειᾶς. As little seems to be known of one as of the other. If Cecropia, the former name of Athens, became, as Mueller supposes, the name of the plain between Hymettus and Corydalus; still Archidamus did not march through that district.]

  [1 ]Burroughs. [δῆμος has different meanings. Homer uses it in the sense of pagus, land or district. Thus Il. iii. 201, ἐν δήμῳ Ἰθάκης: Od. iii. 215, σέ γε λαοὶ ἐχθαίρουσ’ ἀνὰ δῆμον. Cicero renders it by oppidum: “quod si δήμους oppida esse volumus, tam est oppidum Sunium quam Piræeus”: ad Att. vii. 3. Thucydides uses it sometimes in the sense of plebs, as opposed to the δυνατοὶ or ὀλίγοι: as in chap. 65 and 74. Here it seems to be used in the sense of pagus: “Acharnæ, the most extensive district (ager) of Attica, of those called pagi”.]

  [2 ][“At Eleusis and the Thriasian plain”.]

  [3 ][He thought good to try, if &c. “For whilst the place seemed &c., he thought also &c”.]

  [1 ][So long as the enemy lay &c. the Athenians “also had some hope” &c. Arnold, Goeller. They stirred not, is an addition.]

  [2 ][And when their fields were wasted in their sight: which &c.: it was, as it was likely, taken for a horrible matter.]

  [1 ][Conceiving “the greater part of the Athenians to be with them”, were they &c.]

  [2 ][τέλος: a body of cavalry, the number of which is unknown.]

  [3 ][The next, not the same day.]

  [1 ][“Upon the old league”: see i. 102, 107. Of the Parasians nothing is known; and the name is supposed by Goeller and Arnold to be merely a various reading of the following name, Πυράσιοι.]

  [2 ][δήμων: districts. Between the hills Parnes and Brelissus lay Deceleia, which, according to Herodotus (ix. 73), in return for certain good offices to the Tyndaridæ at the time of the rape of Helen, ever after enjoyed at Sparta the privileges of precedence and immunity from taxes; and during this entire war, whilst wasting the rest of Attica, the Lacedæmonians always spared Deceleia. The worship of Hercules at Marathon in the Tetrapolis, and other places to the north of Athens, indicates in the opinion of Mueller, a settlement of the Dorians in the northern parts of Attica. Dor. i. 3.]

  [3 ][Πειραϊκὴν: Bekker, Arnold. Γραϊκήν: Poppo, Goeller. Arnold conceives that Πειραϊκὴ is probably of the same origin as the Πειραιεύς of Athens, which is connected with ἡ πέραν γἦ, the over–land, an epithet actually given to the district of Oropus in iii. 91: that in this case the expression has relation to the coast of Eubœa, as to that of Salamis or Peloponnesus in the other: and that the later form of the expression was πέρᾶια, the name of Asia Minor with respect to Rhodes, and of the opposite side of Jordan with respect to Judæa. Poppo objects that πέρα does not admit of the dipthong, and that moreover the adjective derived from πέρα would be, not περαϊκος, but περαῖος. Od. Mueller thinks there was a city called Γραῖα, lying between Oropus and Tanagra. Oropus itself originally belonged to Bœotia.]

  [1 ][“To move or put the question.” This decree was repealed upon the revolt of Chios, after the disaster in Sicily. See viii. 15.]

  [1 ][In distinction to Methone in Macedonia.]

  [2 ][“There being no men in it”; that is, no military: nullo præsidio ibi collocato ex illis militibus, qui domo remanebant ad tuendam patriam, bis tertiis militantibus foras in Attica. Goeller.]

  [3 ][Dispersed in the fields and intent upon the wall.]

  [4 ][ἐκ τῆς κοίλης Ἤλιδος: “from the hollow Elis and periœcis of the Eleians, that came &c.” The lowest slope of Peloponnesus is on the western side: and here we find the most extensive plain in the peninsula, which, from being surrounded by the chains from mounts Scollis and Pholoë, was called the hollow Elis. The periœcis was the name of all the territory which the Eleians had conquered in addition to their original land, the κοίλη Ἤλις. Muell. Dor. The Ætolians, who in the end became masters of Elis, appear to have been relations of the Eleians, and received by them at the time of the Dorian invasion as such. They contrived to divide the land without a war. Ibid.]

  [1 ][“But meanwhile.”]

  [2 ][ἁιροῦσι: “march by land and take Pheia. And after that, the galleys &c.” This march and taking of Pheia, shew that the Athenians did not put in first at the town of Pheia. For it takes place whilst the Athenians are sailing round the headland to the harbour: after doubling which, they take the others aboard at the town. Goeller takes Pheia to be the name both of the headland, of which Ichthys was the ἄκρα or highest point, and also of the town.]

  [3 ][See their fate, iv. 57.]

  [1 ][These exiles were collected and restored by Lysander after the battle of Ægospotamos. Arnold.]

  [2 ]That is, the man at whose house and by whom any public person was to be entertained, that came from Athens to Abdera. [See iii. 70, note.]

  [3 ][“First made the Odrysæ a great state, extending it over a larger part of the rest of Thrace. For much of Thrace is still independent.” Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Nor of the same Thrace”. The Thracians from Pieria, the worshippers of Bacchus and the Muses, who settled in Phocis: a different race from those of the north.]

  [2 ][“Was the first king of the Odrysæ of any power”.]

  [3 ][Poppo, Goeller, Arnold, ξυνεξελεῖν: “that they might make themselves masters of the country Thrace–ward and of Perdiccas at the same time.” Vulgo et Bekker, ξυνελεῖν.]

  [4 ][For him. See i. 61.]

  [1 ][These plural names illustrate the proposition, that the earlier πόλεις, were in their origin societies of men living in the same district, from the several parts of which they afterwards came together, and lived within the same walls. Arnold.]

  [2 ][μέτοικοι. The metœcus appears to have been a citizen of one state dwelling, and having acquired a domicile, in another state. They lay under many of the disabilities of foreigners: they could acquire no property in land: they were represented in all public and private affairs by their patron, that is, by a citizen of their own choice who stood as a surety between them and the state. By the yearly payment of 12 drachmæ for his whole family, the metœcus might exercise all trades and professions, like a citizen. For non–payment of this tax, or the undue assumption of rights of citizenship, they forfeited the protection of the law, and were liable to be sold as slaves; but instead of that, were usually made to serve certain degrading offices, such as water–carriers and the like, by way of reminding them of their subordinate rank to real citizens. They were liable to all extraordinary taxes and duties, and to the regular military service of citizens. Their number in Athens appears to have exceeded that in any other state: in 309 A.C., the number of their full–grown men reached 10,000. In consideration of services to the state, they were sometimes released from all the restraints affecting the person of the ordinary metœcus, and in all private relations placed on a footing with the citizen; but without acquiring any political rights. These were called ἰσοτελεῖς. Hermann. Griec. Antiq. § 115, 116. These latter, and the richest amongst the ordinary metœci, served as heavy–armed soldiers: the rest for the most part as mariners. Boeckh.]

  [1 ][The word before, which is not in the Greek, makes the statement true. Later in the war, as at Delium (iv. 93–4), and before Syracuse the Athenians had larger armies.]

  [2 ][“And afterwards during the war there were every year other invasions also.” The invasions seem to have been regularly two in each year. See iv. 66. By a public decree, the generals took an oath, twice every year to invade Megaris.]

  [1 ][“And lost some of their men by an unexpected assault of the Cranii: and they were forcibly driven out to sea, and went home.”]

  [2 ][προτίθενται: “they expose to view the ashes of the dead three days (πρότριτα) before the burial.” Göll. According to the Greek mode of computation, if the burial took place on the third day of the month, πρότριτα would be on the first. Ordinarily, the burial took place, by law, before sunrise of the day after the death. Arnold. The ashes were put into an earthen vessel, κεράμιον: whence κεράμεικος, the name of the place where they were deposited.]

  [1 ][A tree sacred to death.]

  [2 ][In private funerals this was not allowed; nor that any even of the relations should be present, beyond first cousins. Goeller.]

  [3 ][Into the public burial–ground. Ceramicus extra urbem. The προαϛεῖον, here translated suburbs, was as Arnold says, rather an open space like the parks in London. It was used for reviews and public games. The Campus Martius at Rome was exactly what the Greeks called προαϛεῖον.]

  [4 ][This ceremony appears to have been performed over those slain at the taking of Sphacteria, at Delium, at Amphipolis with Cleon, in Sicily, at Arginusæ, and in the civil war in the year 403. It is believed that about the year 400 it became annual. Did Thucydides forget Platæa, in calling Marathon the only exception? See Herod. ix. 85.]

  [1 ][Their honour manifested.]

  [2 ][“It is difficult to preserve the just medium in speaking, in a case in which the auditors can scarcely be impressed with any opinion, which shall not in some degree depart from the truth.” Goeller.]

  [3 ][And what “he knows it to be”.]

  [1 ][Just and “becoming too.”]

  [2 ][This no orator, addressing the Athenian people, ever forgot.]

  [3 ][“But by what pursuits we arrived at that dominion, and by what policy and what means &c.”]

  [1 ][“Yet every man, according as he is esteemed and as he excels in aught, is preferred to public charge, not so much from his belonging to a class, as from his virtue.”]

  [2 ][Aristotle speaks of this toleration as being general at Athens: ἀναρχία δούλων καὶ γυναικῶν καὶ παίδων· καὶ τὸ ζῇν ὅπως τις βούλεται παρορᾷν. Pol. vi. 4.

  [1 ][We “differ from.”]

  [2 ][See i. 144, note. Mueller observes, that the xenelasia was practised only against tribes of different usages and manner of life from themselves: chiefly, for instance, against the Athenians. At their Gymnopædeia, and other festivals, Sparta was full of foreigners. Poets and philosophers were freely admitted: other classes excluded. The prohibition to their own citizens to live abroad, originated in the same feeling common to the Doric race: the desire to maintain pure and unchanged the Doric customs. Dor. iii. 1.]

  [3 ][The peculiar severity of the Spartan education began at the age of twelve years. Thenceforward the boy supported the intense degrees of heat and cold peculiar to the valley of Sparta in the same clothing, one thick woollen garment, throughout the year. At times he was sent abroad to support himself by what he could steal, and severely beaten when detected. At eighteen, he went through the κρυπτεία, the hardships of which are said by Plato to be scarcely credible: traversing the country barefoot, day and night in summer and winter: the purpose, until it was perverted to other objects (iv. 80, n.), being to inspect the fortresses, roads, &c. At twenty, he served in the ranks, and performed duties similar to those of the Athenian περίπολος (iv. 67, n.) The scourging of boys at the altar of Diana Orthia, presided over by the priestess, seems to have been a substitution for the human sacrifices, expiatory of blood once accidentally shed at her altar. This education (ἀγωγὴ), as it was an essential, so was it also the exclusive privilege of the Spartans, and the Mothaces (slaves brought up in the family) selected to share in it. The Spartan that did not go through it, ceased to be ὅμοιος. Writing was never generally taught: and it is not certain that they even learnt to read. Contracts were evidenced by cutting in pieces a staff, and preserving the pieces. It may be questioned whether this system can justly claim the merit of their martial courage. We have Aristotle’s testimony (Pol. viii. 4), that it made them θηριώδεις, brutal: and that their military superiority over other states, was merely that of disciplined over raw soldiers: and that their superiority in the field, did not survive the loss of that in the gymnasium.]

  [1 ][When we by ourselves alone invade &c.; yet we easily get the victory.]

  [2 ][“Because at the same time that our hands are full of naval matters, we are sending our own citizens abroad upon divers land–services”.]

  [3 ][We have this odds by it: “not to faint &c., and to appear &c., and to procure” &c.]

  [1 ][ϕιλοκαλοῦμεν: “we study elegance”: of which bravery is rather the opposite.]

  [2 ]In Athens no man so poor but was a statesman. So St. Luke, Acts xvii. 21: “all the Athenians spend their time in nothing but hearing and telling of news”: the true character of politicians without employment.

  [3 ][“And if we do not contrive, we at any rate judge for ourselves correctly of measures”. αὐτοὶ, ourselves, as distinguished from the magistrates. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [4 ][“We differ from” others.]

  [1 ][“So as, by kindness to the person on whom he conferred it, to preserve the favour owed”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“And we alone do good to others without fear (of its turning out to our damage), not upon computation of profit, so much as through the confidence inspired by liberty”. Poppo, Arnold.]

  [3 ][“And with the utmost grace and dexterity”. Goeller.]

  [4 ][τρόπων: these “manners”.]

  [1 ][καταστροϕή: “And the end of these men here, manifests in my opinion a man’s virtue, both when it is the first to indicate, and when the last to confirm (his worth)”: that is, both when he is as yet unknown whether good or bad, and when it confirms the good opinion previously held of him. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“For it is just towards those in other respects not good, to think more of their valour, &c., (than of their want of goodness on other occasions)”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“But considering revenge upon their enemies more to be coveted than those objects (hope or longer enjoyment of wealth); and esteeming this (the battle) the most honourable of dangers; they sought through it to take vengeance on the one and attain the other: committing to hope the uncertainty of the event, but for action concerning what was already before their eyes, deeming fit to rely on themselves.”]

  [1 ][“But rather daily contemplating in its reality the power of the city.”]

  [2 ][“For having in common given their bodies to their country, they receive individually in return praise that dieth not, and a most distinguished tomb: not that in which they now lie, but that rather in which” &c. The word ἰδίᾳ, individually, refers to the inscribing upon the monument the name and tribe of each individual buried on these occasions. Arn. “Their (i. e. famous men’s) virtues are testified” &c.]

  [3 ][But “also in foreign lands”.]

  [1 ][“As the misery that accompanies cowardice”. Göll. Arn.]

  [2 ][“But happy are they that obtain, as these men have, the most honourable death; and as you, the most becoming subject of grief.” Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][That are advanced in years.]

  [1 ][To put “the greater part of your life, which has been prosperous”, to the account &c.]

  [2 ][“But that which is no longer in their way (the dead), men honour with a good will void of jealousy”.]

  [3 ][“Not to be inferior to the ordinary nature of woman”. That is, they do enough if they act up to the standard of their sex, without striving to surpass it. Arnold.]

  [4 ]The children of such as were the first slain in any war, were kept at the charge of the city till they came to man’s estate. [That is, till the age of sixteen, μέχρι ἥβης. At this age, that of puberty, the Athenian youth entered the Gymnasium, where they passed two years in learning the use of their arms: continuing at the same time their other studies of grammar, music, &c. This was called ἐπὶ διετὲς ἡβῆσαι. On completing their eighteenth year, on proof of their title, called δοκιμασθῆναι, they were received amongst the Ephebi; and in the grove Agraulus took the citizen’s oath, “not to pollute the sacred instruments, not to desert their ranks, to fight for their country in all things, both sacred and profane, and to deliver it unimpaired to their posterity”. Thereupon they received their arms, and were inscribed in the book, πίναξ ληξιαρχικὸς, of their δῆμος. They thereby became sui juris, might marry, sue and be sued, &c. The two following years they served as περίπολοι, (see iv. 67): at the end of which time they were admitted to the public assemblies, and to the full exercise of all political rights: and became liable to foreign military service. Hermann, Gr. Antiq. § 123.]

  [5 ][“Thus in word have I &c.: and in deed have these men been honoured, partly in this ceremony, and partly in that their children” &c.]

  [1 ][To these and their posterity, a garland in matches such as these.]

  [2 ][ἐγκατασκῆψαι, proprie de fulmine usurpatur; transfertur autem ad mala quævis graviora cum impetu irrumpentia. Gottleber.]

  [1 ][“For the physicians brought no aid, when at first through ignorance they attempted to cure it.” Goeller. At no time were they found to be of any use: see ch. 51. Krauss, in his disquisition on this disease, has pronounced it to bear an affinity to the contagious putrid typhus: shown mainly by the dejection and loss of the mental powers, the catarrhous–plegmonous symptoms, the bilious vomit, the termination of the disease on the days of crisis, the external and internal gangrene. He mentions three other diseases like this, also originating in Æthiopia or Egypt; the first of which (A.D. 165–168) described by Galen, and the second (252–267) by Eusebius and Cyprian, were much the same in species as this disease.]

  [2 ][ϕρέατα. Reservoirs or tanks for catching the rain–water. Arnold.]

  [1 ][ἐς τοῦτο πάντα ἀπεκρίθη: “his disease, whatever it might be, at its crisis turned to this.” Goeller.]

  [2 ][Heat in the head.]

  [3 ][ἀποκαθάρσεις: properly, evacuations downwards. Here meaning evacuations generally, but principally by vomit. Poppo, Krauss.]

  [4 ][κενὴ: “empty hiccough”: that is, not the full. It was an opinion of the ancient physicians, (Hippocrates amongst the rest), that spasms and hiccough, (λύγξ), were the effect of either repletion or emptiness. The words, therefore, here signify the attempt of the stomach to throw more off it, when all has been already thrown off. Krauss.]

  [1 ][ἕλκεσιν: ulcers.]

  [2 ][But rather most willingly to have cast themselves into the cold water: “and many of them that were not looked to, did so into the tanks, possessed with an insatiate thirst. And to drink much or little was the same thing. And restlessness and sleeplessness pervaded the entire disease.” The outward coldness and inward heat and thirst here described, are symptoms set down by Hippocrates as θανάσιμον, mortal. Goeller.]

  [3 ][That is, of mortification consequent thereon. Krauss.]

  [4 ][ἀκράτου is supposed by Goeller and Arnold, to be used in its technical sense; in which, as explained by Hippocrates and Galen, it seems to signify the final purgings, consisting of either yellow or black bile, unmixed with any watery mixture. “Or if they escaped that, then the inflammation taking hold of the mucous membrane of the intestines, and violent ulceration arising there, and at the same time a pure bilious diarrhœa accompanying it, they afterwards died many of them of it (the diarrhœa) through weakness.” Krauss.]

  [1 ][“Yet the disease (that is, the consequent gangrene) seizing the extremities, left there its mark. For it struck” &c. ἐπισήμαινε, a word applied to the mark or signature of the auditors of the public accounts at Athens, signifying that the account was duly passed. Arnold.]

  [2 ][In the plague at Rome, A. C. 174, Livy says: “Cadavera, intacta a canibus ac vulturibus, tabes absumebat: satisque constabat, nec illo nec priore anno in tanta strage boum hominumque vulturium usquam visum. xli. 21.]

  [3 ][“This disease then, to pass over many varieties of morbid affection, (each case having in it something different from another), was in its outward form such as I have shown.” Thucydides proposed to say nothing of the internal nature of the disease. Krauss.]

  [1 ][“But whatever it might be, it ended in this.”]

  [2 ][“Nor was there any one remedy, which it was of use to apply.”]

  [3 ][“Those assuming something of virtue.”]

  [4 ][Still more compassion: more, that is, than those venturing their lives as just mentioned.]

  [1 ][ὥρᾳ ἔτους: at the time, that is, the best time of the year: the summer. ἐν καλύβαις, in cellars. The ordinary population of Athens and the Piræus did not exceed 180,000: and the number of houses was somewhat above 10,000. And here was at this time crowded the entire population of Attica, computed by Boeckh at 500,000.]

  [2 ][“And they died one upon another, and so lay: and they lay halfdead rolling in the streets and about every conduit, &c. And the sacred grounds, where &c.”]

  [3 ][“And every one buried as he best might. And many, for want &c. after so many deaths amongst their own friends, betook themselves to shameless burials.” That is, they buried or burned them in the sepulchres or funeral piles of other gentes than their own. Poppo, Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Has become prevalent”.]

  [2 ][Suddenly dying.]

  [3 ][“And doing all for their pleasure.”]

  [4 ][“And whatsoever was pleasant for the present moment, and every way conducive to that, that was” &c. Vulgo ᾔδει. Bekker, ἤδη.]

  [1 ]λοιμός, plague. λιμός, famine.

  [2 ][The answer.]

  [3 ]Apollo, to whom the heathen attributed the immission of all epidemic or ordinary diseases. [Apollo was the god of the Doric race, and of the Athenians he was Ἀπόλλων πατρῷος (see chap. 71). By them he was looked upon as the averter of evil, ἀλεξίκακος, and the avenger of guilt: sickness, pestilence, and sudden death, unexpected and the cause unknown, were his ordinary instruments of punishment, as in Il. i. and Soph. Œd. Tyr , or for averting evil as in Od. iii. 280. His aim was unerring, and the blow unforeseen: hence his name, “the fardarting”. But he was not otherwise considered to be the author of disease: and to many heathen nations he was wholly unknown.]

  [1 ]By the sea–coast. [This was the hilly country extending from the city to the west, about the promontory of Sunium: barren, and suited only to the purposes of commerce. Muell.]

  [2 ][ἔτι δε. “But whilst” &c. He would not let the Athenians go out to fight by land; but nevertheless made incursions by sea.]

  [3 ][The Persians had before this transported horses by sea, though the Greeks had not. See Herod. vi. 48.]

  [1 ][There was also Epidaurus in Dalmatia.]

  [2 ][“Took and sacked” &c. The town appears to have existed yet in viii. 18.]

  [3 ][θάπτοντας: “burning” their dead. Hoc verbum et sepulturam omnino, et combustionem significat. Vide Herodotum, v. 8. Hæc igitur verba recte intelligere videntur, qui dicunt Atheniensium sepulturas ex igne et fumo rogorum a Peloponnesiis cognitas esse. Goeller.]

  [4 ][“And this invasion was the longest stay they ever made”. “About forty days.”]

  [1 ][“As having instigated them to the war”, and by his means &c.]

  [1 ][Besides the ordinary assemblies, which were four during each prytaneia, extraordinary assemblies might be called by the Prytaneis, or by the Strategi. The mode of summons was by the cryer, κῆρυξ: the place of assembly, which at first was the Pnyx, on the side of a hill opposite to the Areiopagus, was in latter times the Theatre. Every citizen that attended the assembly, whether ordinary or extraordinary, received an obolus: which was afterwards, as some say by Cleon, increased to three.]

  [2 ][But each singly cannot &c.]

  [1 ][Will not in like manner (as if he were well affected) give &c.]

  [2 ][ταπεινὴ: are too abject to maintain. See i. 50, note.]

  [1 ][“Often enough assuredly.”]

  [2 ][Now, “as having somewhat too much the appearance of boasting”, but that &c.]

  [1 ][“And there is none, neither the king nor any nation besides &c. can impeach your navigation with your present navy.”]

  [2 ][Show not yourselves inferior &c., “but that you hold it” more dishonour &c.]

  [3 ][“And courage, though fortune be only equal, if seconded by contempt of the enemy, is fortified by prudence: which trusts not to hope, of use only where other help is wanting, but to counsel founded upon the means actually at hand, the foresight of which is more to be relied on.” Goeller.]

  [1 ][From her dominion.]

  [2 ][If any in present fear “would virtuously forsooth persuade us to this too, without trouble to give up our dominion”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And know that this city has gotten a very great name amongst all men by not yielding to adversity; and that by having expended very many lives and vast labours in war, it has possessed the greatest power hitherto”: the memory whereof &c.]

  [2 ][“Having regard then in your decision” both to what is honourable &c.]

  [1 ][But “applied themselves more” to the war.]

  [2 ][That is, they made him supreme over the other nine στρατηγοὶ. Arnold. Cleon is said to have been the author of the fine.]

  [3 ][“During the peace”: viz., the thirty years’ treaty. Göll. Arn.]

  [1 ]He died of the plague. Plut. [The justice of the character here given of him cannot be disputed. Whether in feeding the rapacity of the people with taxes extorted from the allies, he was not preparing the certain downfall of the state, by corrupting the one and alienating the other, is another question.]

  [2 ][Thucydides alludes to such measures, as sending the squadron to Crete to make an attempt on Cydonia (ii. 85.), which should have sailed without loss of time to reinforce Phormion: wasting their force in petty expeditions in Sicily before the great invasion, whereby no object was gained, and the Dorian states were wholly alienated from Athens: the outrage upon Melos (v. 84), which excited the indignation of all Greece. Arnold. To these might be added the affair of the Mercuries (vi. 27, 53); to their folly wherein, by making Alcibiades their enemy, may perhaps in a measure be attributed the failure of the Sicilian expedition.]

  [1 ][“Betook themselves to giving up to the people according to their humours even the public affairs.”]

  [2 ][Which was not so much &c., “as that they who sent out the expedition, by not afterwards in due time voting reinforcements for those who went, but caballing amongst themselves for power with the people,” abated the vigour of the army; and then &c.]

  [3 ][These “three years” occasion some disputing. Those that assume, that by τρία ἔτη is meant the time next after the defeat in Sicily, observe that from that time to the surrender of Athens to Lysander, was ten years. As however from Cyrus assuming the government of Asia minor (A.C. 407), to the surrender of Athens (404), was just three years; Arnold’s conclusion seems the more natural, that the period here meant is that during which Athens had to contend with the whole power of Greece, supported more effectually than before by the money of Persia.]

  [1 ][“Such superabundant means had Pericles at that time, whereby he could, as he foresaw, with the utmost ease have gotten the better of the Peloponnesians alone in this war.” Goeller, Arnold. τὴν πόλιν, is omitted by the recent editors.]

  [2 ][“In his private capacity”.]

  [1 ][“Where was the Athenian army, besieging it”. The remaining words have been omitted by Bekker and the rest.]

  [2 ][The city, “in a measure his own”. Goeller.]

  [3 ]A vile act of Sadocus, to gratify the Athenians because they had made him free of their city.

  [4 ][“Even before this present matter.” This event of the death of Nicolaus and Aneristus, is related by Herodotus, vii. 137. The fact mentioned by him, of Aneristus running down at sea the fishermen of Tiryns, may perhaps be one of the acts of the Lacedæmonians alluded to below.]

  [1 ]ὅλκαδες, ships of the round form of building: for the use of merchants, not for the use of war, as were galleys and other vessels of the long form of building. [ὅλκας, from ἕλκω to draw, and thence to weigh, means a ship of burthen. It has nothing to do with the form. See ch. 97, note.]

  [2 ][Ambracia is one of the many colonies founded by Corinth along the coast of the Ionian sea: comprising, besides this town, Molycreium, Chalcis in Ætolia, Solium in Acarnania, Anactorium, Leucas, Apollonia, and Corcyra. Her earliest colony of all, was Syracuse in Sicily. Mueller observes, that of the two harbours of Corinth, Lechæum in the Crisæan, and Cenchreæ in the Saronic gulf, all its colonies went out from its western port: and it was not till after the loss of her maritime dominion in these seas, which had taken place before the Persian war, and originated perhaps in the early separation of Corcyra, that she founded Potidæa on the opposite side of Greece. The constitution of Ambracia was at this time democratical: the people having seized on the sovereign power in an insurrection against Periander, occasioned by an insulting question addressed by him to his minion. See Aristot. Pol. v. 10. They were the most warlike people of that country: see iii. 68.]

  [1 ][“But the rest are still” &c.]

  [2 ][“And both together calling in the Athenians, who sent them Phormio as their general, and thirty galleys, on his arrival they take Argos by assault and make slaves of the Ambraciotes: and the Amphilochians and Acarnanians settled Argos in common.” All this was their doing, not Phormio’s.]

  [1 ][Who “departing from Naupactus” guarded, &c. At this town, the name of which implies shipbuilding, the Heracleidæ are said to have built the rafts, on which they sailed to Antirrhium, and thence passed over the straits to Rhium. Muell. Dor. i. 3.]

  [2 ][To binder the Peloponnesian pirates, “departing thence” (from Caria and Lycia), from molesting &c.]

  [1 ][“With one himation”: a garment sometimes called χλαῖνα, and proper to the men: but also worn by the Doric women. See i. 6, note.]

  [1 ][“Independent”: that is, of Thebes in particular, which always claimed supremacy over Platæa. See iii. 61.]

  [2 ][The Platæans here attest, the gods called to witness the oath when made: their own local gods, the inhabitants and protectors of Platæis: and the θεοὶ πατρῷοι of the Lacedæmonians. In general, θεοὶ πατρῷοι are gods progenitors of some race or family. Thus the Athenians called themselves γενῆται Απολλῶνος πατρῴου, “the gens of their ancestor Apollo”: because Ion, the fabulous ancestor of the Ionians, was the son of Apollo. Venus, addressed by Lucretius and Ovid as “Æneadum genitrix”, was a Dea patria of the Romans, and “Romanæ dominationis auctor”. And Lucian (Scytha, 4.) makes Anacharsis the Scythian, swear “by Acinaces and Zamolxis, our ancestral gods”: which is as much as to say, that the Scythians were the progeny of their scimitar, and a slave made by them into a god. But Apollo, though the national and peculiar god of the Dorians, was no θεὸς πατρῷος to them: because Ægimius, the founder of their race, was not descended from Apollo. But Hercules, and therefore Jupiter, would be ancestral gods of the Heracleidæ.]

  [1 ][“Neither side in the way of war. And this will satisfy us”.]

  [2 ][Lest the Athenians coming “should not permit them (to remain neutral): or that the Thebans, as comprehended” &c. Göll.]

  [1 ][No “alteration”. The Platæans, pressed by the Thebans, offered themselves (A.C.520) to Cleomenes, king of Sparta: who told them, the Lacedæmonians were too far off to aid them in case of invasion, and bade them go to the Athenians; intending to embroil the latter with the Thebans. The Platæans thereupon sat down as suppliants at the altar of the twelve gods, whereat the Athenians were sacrificing, and gave themselves to the Athenians. Herod. vi. 108. This is the league here appealed to.]

  [1 ][“Whosoever possess the land Platæis.” Plura loca scriptorum veterum, in quibus urbes vel regiones ἔχειν dicuntur Dii, in quorum tutela eæ sunt, lege apud Spanheim. hymn. ad Pallad. Duk.]

  [2 ][“Against the city.”]

  [3 ][“They built up the mound on both sides, by placing against them a wooden frame–work to serve for walls, and keep the earth from falling much away”. ϕορμηδὸν, a frame like mat–work, the timbers crossing each other at right angles. See iv. 48. The palisade was made with δένδρ̧εσιν, fruit–trees; which grow in in the plain. The frame was made with timber trees, ξύλα; which there grow only on the tops of the hills. Arnold.]

  [1 ][This is the Scholiast’s sense of ξεναγοὶ. But all seem agreed that it means here, “Lacedæmonian commanders of the contingents of the several allied states.” See Muell. Dor. iii. 12, Hermann, Antiq. § 34. In fact, what mercenaries had the Lacedæmonians, or any of their allies, at this time? ξυνεϕεστῶτες means “joined in that command with the officers of each state”: Goeller.]

  [2 ][“The mound was raised”.]

  [3 ][Hides, both raw and dressed.]

  [4 ][That the mound was not built close to the wall, appears from ch. 77; where the interval between the two is said to be filled with faggots. But its sides must have been somewhat inclined, in order to resist the pressure outwards. So that the foot of the mound extended to the wall.]

  [1 ][When they found it out, “ramming clay into cases of wattled reeds, they cast them into the hole, that it might not moulder and be carried away like the earth.”]

  [2 ][“From the low (or, city) wall.]

  [3 ][“And shook down a considerable part of it.” Goeller]

  [1 ][“Seeing their engines availed not, and that a wall was raised against their mound, and thinking it impossible to take the city under present difficulties, began preparing to enclose it with a wall.” Valla.]

  [2 ][“They cast them from the mound first into the space between it and the wall; which by so many hands being quickly filled, they heaped them up in the rest of the city also, as far as ever they could reach from the height of the mound.”]

  [1 ][“For within, they could not get near a grat part of the city”: or, “there was a large part of the city, within which they could not approach. And had the wind &c. But, as it is reported, there fell at this time much rain” &c.]

  [2 ][These words, τὸ δὲ λοιπὸν ἀϕέντες, “and dismissing the rest,” are considered doubtful, and included in brackets, by Bekker and the rest. They would hardly expose a part of their forces with the unfinished wall to an attack of the Athenians. Poppo.]

  [3 ][σιτοποιοὶ: “to make their bread.” This office appears to have been assigned to the women amongst the ancient Romans as well as the Greeks. Duker. See Od. xx. 110.]

  [1 ][One reading is προπεμψάντων. Bekker and the rest, προσπεμψάντων.]

  [2 ][“Come to an engagement”.]

  [3 ][Crusis, part of Mygdonia, according to Stephanus Byzantinus: and described by Herodotus, vii. 123, under the name of Crossæa, as part of the coast between the peninsular of Pallene and the head of the gulf of Therma. Arnold.]

  [4 ][The men of arms of the Chalcideans were overcome by the Athenians: but the horsemen of the Chalcideans overcame the horsemen of the Athenians. “Now the Chalcideans had some few targettiers from Crusis; and just as the battle was over came to their help others from Olynthus”.]

  [1 ][“And that the Chalcideans had not the worst before”.]

  [2 ][σκευοϕόροις: the baggage: usually rendered by Hobbes, “the carriages”.]

  [1 ][The regular term of this command at Sparta, at least a few years later, was one year. See viii. 20, 25. It was an office of great power and dignity, and is spoken of by Aristotle as a sort of second royalty. Pol. ii. 7. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“But were led by Photyus and Nicanor, of the race which exclusively had the government, with the command for a year”. The ἀρχικὸν γένος is exemplified in the Heracleidæ at Sparta, the Alcmæonidæ at Athens in the time of the aristocracy, the Bacchidæ at Corinth, &c. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Arrived too late”.]

  [2 ][“They rifled Limnæa &c”.]

  [1 ][αὐτοβοεὶ: at the first onset always rendered by Hobbes, “by their clamour”.]

  [2 ][Aware “of their approach”.]

  [1 ][“From a distance”.]

  [2 ][“Without their armour”.]

  [3 ][“In haste”.]

  [1 ][“And their secretly bringing to (at Patræ) in the night, did not escape the notice of the Athenians”. This was a stratagem of the Corinthians, that they might slip across the gulf when the Athenians had shot too far a–head.]

  [2 ][διὰ βραχέος: “might quickly be out and at hand &c.” Swift vessels would be of no use for getting through a narrow passage.]

  [3 ][“Expected”.]

  [1 ][“Listened neither to orders nor to the keleustes”. It was the duty of the κελευστὴς to sing to the rowers that they might keep time, and to cheer and encourage them in their work (see vii. 70). The Scholiast on Aristoph. Acharn. says, they had also to see that the men baked their bread, and contributed fairly to the mess, and that none of the rations were improperly disposed of. Arnold. ἀναϕέρειν, “to bear up their oars”, probably means “to avoid catching crabs”, as the nautical phrase is.]

  [2 ][“And afterwards disabled all, wheresoever they went”]

  [3 ][“And Dyme in Achaia”. In Achaia is added, to distinguish Dyme from the town in Thrace.]

  [1 ][“And taken up most &c.”]

  [2 ][“From Dyme and Patræ to Cyllene”.]

  [3 ][See ch. 80.]

  [4 ][“Sent to Cnemus, to be of his council in the direction of the fleet, Timocrates &c”. See v. 63.]

  [5 ][“For this affair appeared to the Lacedæmonians (the more so, that this was their first essay in fighting at sea) to be much against reason”. Their first trial, that is, with the Athenians: for they had a fleet before this.]

  [6 ][Who being arrived, “joined with Cnemus in intimating” &c.]

  [1 ][Now is an addition: the enmity was of long standing between Athens and the Cydonians, not only as Dorians, but as Æginetans. Long before the great Doric migration, Dorians had found their way from their early settlements at the foot of Olympus to Crete. Ulysses (Od. xix. 174.) describes the ninety cities of Crete as inhabited by natives, Achæans, Cydones, three–tribed Dorians, and Pelasgians. Cydonia itself was built, according to Herodotus, by Samians, that is, by Ionians: who in six years (A.C. 519) were expelled by Æginetans. He relates the origin of the enmity between Ægina and Athens: better explained, perhaps, by the jealousy of two adjacent naval and commercial powers. The difficulty of doubling the promontory of Malea, made Ægina the channel of the trade with Peloponnesus: which on her subjugation betook itself to Cythera (iv. 53). The extent of her trade may be judged of by the fact, that money was first stamped in Ægina (A.C. 749, Müll. Dor. ii. App. ix.): and that until A.C. 369, when superseded by the Athenian, her coin was the standard in Greece, Crete, and Italy. Not long before the invasion of Darius, the Athenians were no match at sea for the Æginetans, and for the purpose of an attack Corinth gave them twenty ships: and they still were beaten. It was not till they could command the navies of their allies (i. 96), that they were able to remove the λήμην τοῦ Πειραιῶς, the eye–sore of the Peiræus. The Æginetans were accused by them before the Spartans, of following the example of all the islanders, in offering earth and water, there being no allied fleet to defend them, to Darius: but were adjudged afterwards, nevertheless, to have surpassed all the Grecians in valour at the battle of Salamis. On the morning of that battle, the allies sent to Ægina, the birth–place of the Æacidæ, to invoke the aid of the heros of that family. Herod. iii. 59; v. 82; vi. 49, 89; viii. 64. The dread therefore of a formidable rival in renown as well as in power, was the real cause of the implacable hatred displayed by the Athenians here and in chap. 27.]

  [1 ][“Having prepared themselves for action, sailed to Panormus”.]

  [2 ]“The Peloponnesians therefore, when they saw the Athenians also (go to Rhium), they too stationed themselves with seventy–seven ships at Rhium in Achaia, which is at no great distance from Panormus, where were their land forces. And for six or seven days they lay opposite each other, exercising and preparing for action, &c”.]

  [3 ][To fight “in a narrow space”.]

  [1 ][By unskilfulness, “it being our first trial at a sea–fight”.]

  [2 ][“Nor is it just, that that part of our mind (our fortitude) which was not overcome by force, but has within itself some ground of justification, should be dejected &c.: but we ought to think that it is common for men to fail through fortune, but that in mind men of courage are by rights ever the same, and that whilst offering inexperience as an excuse, if their courage remain, they are not likely to have been cowards in aught”. Goeller. Commentators differ much about this passage.]

  [1 ][“And whatever were our errors on the former occasion, these very same in addition, will now &c.]

  [2 ][“Each do your duty in your several stations”. Arnold.]

  [3 ][“Not worse”: meaning, better.]

  [1 ][This conceit (or confidence) of themselves, “as Athenians to decline no number” &c.]

  [2 ][“To make them call to mind their audacity”.]

  [3 ][“And next, as to that they especially trust to in attacking us, that courage is natural to them, they are bold only through their skill in land–fighting: for being there mostly successful, they think too that it (their courage) will do the like for them in naval fighting too.” Goell.]

  [4 ][This sense would be good, if ἔσμεν, “we are &c.” would admit of it. “And from being each of us in one particular more skilled than the other, we are (on this occasion) the more confident of the two.”]

  [1 ][“For the sake of their own (the Lacedæmonians’) glory”.]

  [2 ][τι ἄξιον τοῦ παρὰ πολὺ: “something worthy of the former signal victory”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“For most men when fairly matched, go into battle, as these do, relying more upon their strength than upon their courage. But they that out of (with) much inferior numbers go to battle, and at the same time not upon compulsion, do not adventure without having in their designs some great security to rely on”. Goell. Arn.]

  [4 ][“Which they considering.”]

  [5 ][“We are free”: insinuating the contrary of the Lacedæmonians.”]

  [1 ][διέκπλοι οὐδὲ ἀναϛροϕαὶ. See i. 49. Arnold considers the ἀναϛροϕή to embrace both the ἀνάκρουσις, the rowing astern to get clear of the enemy, for want of space; and also the περίπλους, gaining the requisite distance for a second onset by a circuit, where space admitted it.]

  [2 ][“Especially as we are watching one another’s movements within so short a distance”: Göll. Arn.]

  [3 ][“For the sea”: that is, “for their dominion over the sea”. Portus.]

  [1 ][“Towards” their own land.]

  [2 ][Should sail “towards it”.]

  [3 ][“And with closed front sailed down” &c. μετωπηδὸν means, they sailed down in line, and not as they were before sailing, in column.]

  [4 ][“Into the wide part of the gulf”. They were sailing from the sea.]

  [5 ][διέϕθειραν, which Hobbes mostly renders sunk, and a little below overcame, means rendered useless or disabled.]

  [1 ][ἤδη, the common reading, is omitted by Bekker and Arnold: “and one they took with the men” &c.]

  [2 ][The Messenians settled in Naupactus by the Athenians in i. 103: frequently mentioned hereafter. See iv. 41.]

  [3 ][See ch. 90, note 4.]

  [4 ][τὴν: “the one”. See above.]

  [5 ][“Strikes in midships” &c.]

  [1 ][“The charge of the enemy”.]

  [2 ][“At one signal with a shout”]

  [3 ][“The Lacedæmonian”. One of the commanders: see chap. 85.]

  [4 ][Ibi erat Neptuni templum, ut docet Strabo. lib. 8. Hudson.]

  [1 ][“To hazard an attempt”. The words “the haven” are added, to distinguish it from the city of the same name. Goeller.]

  [2 ]It may be hence gathered, that in the galleys of old there was but one man to one oar. [τροπωτήρ: a thong, not for the oar to turn in: but a thong of some sort, wound round the upper end of the oar, for the purpose, first, of increasing its weight, that it might balance that of the other longer end; and next, of acting as a nut, to prevent the oar from slipping through the hole in the vessel’s side, in which it acted. See appendix to Arnold’s Thucydides, vol. i.]

  [1 ][Nor was there any imagination that the enemy &c.; “since (they thought not) that they could dare to do it openly and deliberately, nor, if they did conceive such a thing, that they would not have had notice of it beforehand”.]

  [2 ][“The promontory”: viz. Budorum. There was a fort of the same name: see ch. 94. There had been of old a long and severe struggle between Megara and Athens for the possession of Salamis: which, after being awarded by five Spartan arbitrators, in obedience to ancient traditions, to Athens, was, with Nisæaaga, lost in the troubles following the banishment of Megalces: but was soon regained, and ever after remained with Athens. Müll. Dor. i. 8.]

  [3 ]Fires lifted up, if they were still, signified friends coming; if waved, enemies. [“By this time”, is an addition. Fires were most likely raised on the fort being taken.]

  [1 ][Which, “had they been minded not to waste their time”, nor &c.]

  [2 ][διὰ χρόνου: were “now first after a long time put into the sea”: that is, it was a long time since they had been in the water. Göll.]

  [3 ][The Odrysian. See chap. 29.]

  [1 ][“He had not performed”.]

  [2 ][ἐντὸς: “within the mountains Hæmus and Rhodope”. These hills form a circle.]

  [3 ][“Within the Danube, and rather towards the Euxine.” The numerous colonies founded by the Ionians along the shore of this sea, occasioned the change of its ancient name, ἄξενος, the inhospitable, to its present name, the hospitable. Herm. § 78. Perhaps, like ἐυμενἰδες, the Furies, a mere euphemism.]

  [4 ][Many of the Thracians &c.]

  [1 ][Towards “the Pæonians, who from this point are independent”. Arnold has amended this passage, by inserting γὰρ̧ after μέχρι, and striking out οὗ before ὡρίζετο; and renders the passage thus: “and these (the Agrianes and Lææans) were the last to whom his dominion extended; for at the Graæans and Lææans &c., the empire of Sitalkes terminated towards Pæonia, the Pæonians from this point being independent”. The following are his observations upon the origin of the name Graii and Græci amongst the Romans”: “The Pæonians, according to Herodotus, were of the same race as the Teucrians of Troy; both belonging to that stock which overspread western Asia, Greece, and Italy in the earliest times, commonly called the Pelasgians. Now it is curious to find amongst the Pæonians the name of the Graæans, evidently the same word as the Latin Graii, the name by which the Romans designated the Hellenians. They applied it to the Hellenians, because they had been used to apply it to the Pelasgian inhabitants of Greece before the Hellenians rose to eminence, and because, according to Aristotle, the Hellenians, when living in Epirus, were called Græci. Niebühr supposes that the same name may also have been borne by the Pelasgi of Italy.”]

  [1 ]στρογγύλη, a ship that useth only sails, of the round form of building, and serving for burthen, in distinction to galleys, and all other vessels of the long form of building, serving for the wars. [Non credo scriptores Latinos eas naves, quas Græci στρογγύλας vocant, rotundas dicere. Est autem in ea re sequendus usus veterum, qui has onerarias appellare maluerunt. Duker.]

  [2 ][With a continual wind aft.]

  [3 ][“The tribute in gold and silver from all the barbarous nations and the Grecian cities, which they paid under Seuthes, (who reigned after Sitalkes, and made the most of it), was of the value of about four hundred talents of silver.”]

  [4 ][παραδυναϛεύουσι: small lords, or quasi reguli, next to the king: as Seuthes to Sitalkes, ch. 101. Göll.]

  [1 ][“Nevertheless according to their power, so they used it the more”.]

  [2 ][That is, they are inferior in all that concerns the enjoyment of life. Goeller.]

  [3 ][He had made “by cutting down the woods” when &c.]

  [1 ][“The free nation”. See ch. 96.]

  [2 ][“For to the Macedonians belong the Lyncestæ &c.: who though confederates of and subject to these Macedonians, have still” &c. The original Macedonians, a nation referred by Mueller to the Illyrian race, are supposed to have been confined, in their earliest settlements, to Maketa, a district of Orestis. That which is generally called Macedonia proper, is divided into upper and lower Macedonia. The former comprises the mountainous districts of Elimcia, Lyncestis, and Orestis: which last took its name from the mountains (ὄρη) wherein they dwelt, and not, as supposed, from the son of Agamemnon. Lower Macedonia, which appears to have been a later acquisition of the Maketai, and to have been originally called Emathia, comprised the districts of Edessa and Berœa. This part, inhabited originally by Pelasgians, fell into the power of the Temenidæ, an Argive family; whose conquests are here related by Thucydides: and it is of this part he speaks, when he says the upper Macedonians were “subject to these Macedonians”, though still independent in their government. See Müll., Maked. Herm. Antiq. § 15.]

  [1 ][“The hollow of Pieria”.]

  [2 ][“These Macedonians”.]

  [3 ][“But those now in the country” were built &c.]

  [1 ][Besieged Europus.]

  [2 ][Pella, supposed to have superseded Edessa as the seat of the Macedonian government, was at this time the residence and treasury of the Macedonian kings. It lay about 120 stadia from the sea, close to the lake of the river Lydias, on a small eminence in the midst of the swamps, at all times quite impassable, formed by the waters of that river and of the Axius. On an artificial mole, connected with the city only by a bridge, stood the treasury: serving the purpose also either of a prison, or of a retrcat: see Livy, xliv. 46.]

  [1 ][In Thessaly, as in Macedonia, is seen at work the cause which in time effected an entire change in the condition of Greece: namely, the constant pressure of the nations of the north towards the south: the Dorian invasion of Peloponnesus being only the last of these migrations. Emathia, Thessaly, and a great part of Epirus, inhabited once by the Pelasgi, a Grecian race spread over those countries, and Greece itself wherever early civilization existed, were again reduced to barbarism by the irruption of the Illyrian population. Shortly after the Trojan war the Thessalians, a race from Thesprotia, of Illyrian origin, seized on the plains between the Perrhæbians and the Phthiotan Achæans, comprehending the valley of the Peneus (the ancient Ἄργος Πελασγικὸν) and the district called Αἰολίς (Herod. vii. 176). The ancient Pelasgo–Æolian inhabitants became, under the name Penestæ (from πένης, poor), a race of bondsmen similar to the Laconian Helots, and to their masters equally troublesome. The invaders also made tributaries of the Perrhæbians, Magnesians, and Achæans: but these nations retained a certain degree of independence, and even remained members of the Amphictyonic council. The Thessalians can scarcely be said to have had any general government: the cities, constantly at war amongst themselves, were each under the control of some great family, as Larissa of the Aleuadæ, Cranon of the Scopadæ, &c. Thucydides (iv. 78) tells us, the people were ever friendly to the Athenians: but had so little influence on the government, that they could not prevent Brasidas from marching through Thessaly. They were brave, and had greater advantages than perhaps any other state in Greece: and yet their history is a blank in that of Greece. See Müll. Dor. iii. 14. Herm. Gr. Antiq. § 15. 178.]

  [1 ][“Are ever at all times” &c.]

  [2 ][Æniadæ.]

  [3 ][Many of them are in fact united to the mainland. Arnold.]

  [4 ][The islands stand thick, “and are one with another the means of holding together the alluvial soil, so that it spreads not”; lying, &c.]

  [1 ][“To support life”.]

  [2 ][This winter.]

  [1 ][Fell upon the enemy “wherever an opportunity offered”. Arnold.]

  [1 ][τῶν ὅπλων; properly the space where the arms were piled; here, the camp of the heavy–armed soldiers. Arnold.]

  [2 ][αλλὰ. But &c.]

  [3 ][“That they were forcing the Lesbians to submit to the government of Mytilene”: that is, as the people of Attica submitted to that of Athens: ii. 15. Arn. It is hardly possible to suppose with Goeller, that they were attempting to bring all the Lesbians actually to Mytilene. This revolt is one of the instances cited by Aristotle, of seditions attended with fatal consequences, arising out of insignificant causes. Timophanes, a rich man, left two daughters: and Doxandros, the proxenos or host of the Athenians, being rejected by the sons as the suitor of their sisters, brought about the sedition. Pol. v. 4.]

  [4 ][The Bœotians, an Æolian branch from Arne in Thessaly, migrated from Arne in Thessaly sixty years after the Trojan war (i. 12) to Cadmeis, since called Bœotia. After the expulsion of the family of Orestes from Peloponnesus, Penthilus and other of his descendants fled to Bœotia, and thence colonized Mysia in Asia Minor, Tenedos, Lesbos, and other islands: which colonies therefore, as well as Bœotia, were all Æolian. Homer (Il. ii. 494.) makes Bœotians sail to Troy from all the cities in Bœotia, except Thebes and a few others: notwithstanding which, and Thucydides’ expression (i. 12), no Bœotians, according to Mueller and Hermann, were settled there till after the war.]

  [1 ][“Forty galleys which chanced to have been made ready” &c.]

  [2 ][“They were to command &c.: and to make war upon them, if” &c.]

  [1 ][Maloeis, the temple of Apollo in the suburbs of Mytilene.]

  [2 ][Allowed “the parley”. Nothing was granted but an armistice.]

  [1 ][Malea, the site of the temple of Apollo Maloeis, in the northern part of the city, and at the northern port, hence also called “portus Maloeis”. Malea nomen erat appellativum linguæ Græcæ antiquissimæ, significans prominentiam aliquam montis vel litoris, neque reperitur nomen esse nisi locorum Doricorum Æoliorumque, velut Lesbi, Cretæ, Laconiæ. Goeller. The Athenians besieging Mytilene, have their market at Malea: see ch. 6.]

  [1 ][Who came in “much the sooner, for seeing no security in the Lesbians”.]

  [2 ][“And bringing their ships round to the station to the south of the city, they fortified two camps &c., and established their blockades at both the harbours, and so quite excluded &c.” Arn. “They fortified two camps to the south &c.” Göll.]

  [1 ][“Sailed along the Achelous”.]

  [2 ][“At Nericus”.]

  [3 ][“And having put off a little from the land (ἀποπλεύσαντες), they afterwards received their dead” &c. Goeller.]

  [4 ][The successful ending of the second Messenian war, and the reduction of Tegea, the stronghold of Arcadia commanding the entrance of Laconia, placed Sparta at the head of Peloponnesus: and from about A.C.580 her ἡγεμονὶα was recognized, not only by Peloponnesus, but by Greece in general; a rank confirmed to her by the expulsion of the tyrants (which, along with the setting up of oligarchical government, was ever the steady aim of the Spartan policy) and the overthrow of Argos. Thus it was at Sparta, that Athens accused Ægina of giving earth and water to Darius: and Sparta summoned Themistocles to answer to the charge of medizing. We see here however, as before in i. 87, that this supremacy extended to no control over the confederacy. It was formed of Peloponnesian states: and governed by fixed laws, with a certain order of precedence. By this constitution, no common action, such as declaring war or concluding peace or treaties, could be undertaken without a congress, wherein all the states had equal voices (i. 125): and instances are not wanting of Sparta being outvoted (i. 40, 41; Herod. v. 93). Sparta was the place of assembly for the deliberations of the allies: she took upon herself the control and execution of all measures there resolved on. But on the internal affairs of the allied states, neither had Sparta nor the confederacy any influence. By a fundamental law, each state was independent and enjoyed its ancient customs: and even disputes between individual states, were beyond the jurisdiction of the confederacy (v. 31). In Herod. v. 94, we see the allies protest against Sparta’s “meddling with a Grecian state”.]

  [1 ][“Of our intent”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Yet we became allies, not with the Athenians for enslaving the Grecians; but with the Grecians for deliverance from the Medes”. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ][ἐπαγομένους: “and proposing to themselves the subjugation” &c.; Poppo: “and bringing about” &c.; Goeller. ἐπειγομένους, “eagerly pursuing”, is suggested by Bekker. “But when we saw &c. we were no longer without alarm: (but unable, disunited as we were through difference of councils, to defend ourselves, the allies, all but ourselves and the Chians, were subdued; and we, nominally indeed of our own free will, helped to subdue them): and no longer held we them, by the foregone example, for faithful leaders. For &c.: and if we were all still independent, we should be more secure of their leaving us alone. But having got most of them under, and we being still on an equality, it was not likely (with our single equality too by the side of the already general giving in of the rest) that they would bear it very patiently: especially” &c.]

  [1 ][No other “than that domination appeared attainable by fair words and craft rather than by force. For they both made use &c., that having equal voice we should not against our will have warred with them (upon our confederates), had these not done the injury: and by the same act, they not only brought first &c., but also reserving” &c.]

  [1 ][“Were not likely” to do &c.]

  [2 ][“And it was more” &c. The sentence should run on to “break the league?”: and the next sentence should begin with “So that”, (ὥστε), and not with “Now”; being the manifest consequence of the preceding sentence.]

  [1 ][By Hermæondas: see ch. 5.]

  [2 ][Arnold and Goeller take ἀποϛασιν here in its original sense of “standing aloof from”; so that it suits both the cases, one of simply standing aloof from the Grecians and doing them no mischief, the other of revolt from the Athenians.]

  [3 ][“That you may be seen ready”, at once &c.]

  [4 ][“In case you the second time this summer” &c.]

  [1 ][“More easily”.]

  [2 ][“Which you bear”, of not &c.]

  [1 ][This relates to the constitution of Solon. The people of Attica are said to have been divided, in early times, into the four tribes Kekropis, Autocthon, Cranais, Atthis; corresponding to the territorial division, Actæa, Paralia, Mesogæa, Diacris: the same tribes being afterwards called, after their gods, Dias, Atthenais, Posidonias, Hephæstias. The Ionians (a separate class of the aboriginal inhabitants, if not a distinct race) introduced the caste–division called the Ionic tribes, viz. warriors, artificers, herdsmen, and husbandmen (or as some read, priests): these, for some purposes, remained in being till the time of Cleisthenes (iv. 118, note), though early modified by Theseus (as it is said), the father of the democracy, by the less strongly marked distinction of Eupatridæ, Geomori, and Demiurgi, or in other words, of nobles and plebeians. The usurpations of the Eupatridæ have been already noticed (i. 126, note). The insurrection of Cylon (one of those popular risings upon the aristocracy, which in other states raised to the throne so many of the so–called tyrants; who were therefore so eagerly hunted down by Sparta) was the forerunner of Solon’s changes. He replaced (A.C. 594) the aristocracy of birth by a timocracy, or one of property: of the citizens with incomes exceeding, respectively, 500, 300, and 150 medimni of corn, and as many measures of wine and oil, he formed the three classes, pentacosiomedimni, hippeis, and zeugitæ, to whom he committed all the executive power of the state. All with incomes below that of the zeugitæ, formed the class of thetes, contributing nothing to the state, and therefore excluded from all offices: but admitted to the public assembly; and having, with the other classes, cognizance of all judicial appeals, a power attended in after times with important consequences. In the eyes however of the people, of this as of other states, these changes were matter of minor importance, and valued only as the means for attaining other objects. What lay next their hearts, was the famous σεισάχθεια: the liberation of the land from its mortgage, of the debtor from his debt. This effected, they relapsed into their usual apathy: whence they were roused by the efforts of the aristocracy to regain their lost power, which ended (A.C. 560) in the tyranny of Peisistratus.]

  [1 ][“Wasting the Periœcis”. The Spartans living only in the capital, the whole of Laconia was properly the περιοικὶς, “the land inhabited by the periœci”: though here is meant only the part by the sea. Laconia was divided into six districts; Sparta, Amyclæ, Las, Pharæ, Ægys, and Epidaurus Limera or Gytheium: and Messenia into four; Pylos, Rhium, Mesola, and Hyamia. The whole was called Λακεδαίμων ἑκατόμπολις: but it must have been after the reduction by Sparta of the whole of Messenia, as well as of Cynuria (to which Anthana, one of the towns belonged), that is, after A. C. 548, that the number of towns inhabited by the periœci were fixed at a hundred. Müll. Dor. iii. 2. See iv. 126.]

  [1 ][“At the time when the ships sailed, the Athenians had one of the largest fleets they ever had at one time, of ships in a state of effectiveness from their good condition. And they had as many and still more at the beginning of the war”. Arnold.]

  [2 ][Consumed “at first”. At this time the pay of the hoplites varied from two oboli to a drachme: officers received twice, the cavalry thrice, and field officers four times as much, with the like for their provisions. The regular pay of the seamen (formed, besides foreigners, of Thetes and slaves, as at Sparta of the Helots) was three oboli, that of the Paralitæ four. The value of the medimnus of corn (about an English bushel and a half), estimated by Boeckh at two drachmes, will give some idea of the value of this pay: apparently, not high.]

  [1 ][Settled “more securely”.]

  [2 ][But beaten “in a sally”.]

  [3 ][With a single wall, “building in it turrets here and there on the strong points: so that” &c. A single wall was enough, no attack being feared from without. About Platæa, the Lacedæmonians (ch. 21) build a double wall; one for the blockade, the other for their own protection.]

  [1 ][“The Athenians &c. themselves, then for the first time, contributed a tribute of two hundred talents; and dispatched also Lysicles” &c. This being an extraordinary imposition, the ἀργυρόλογοι are sent to collect it. The ordinary tributes were brought in by the allies themselves at the great Dionysia; or collected, if necessary, by ships called ἐκλογεῖς.]

  [2 ][See iv. 75.]

  [1 ][“Guessing the length from the thickness of a brick, took” &c.]

  [2 ]“To be more storm than usual”: of wind, that is, as well as rain.]

  [1 ][“Whereby the Platæans were blockaded”.]

  [2 ][“A stormy and rainy night”.]

  [3 ][“Unperceived by the guards”, who &c.]

  [4 ][The noise “of their approach” could not &c.]

  [5 ][“In the mud”.]

  [6 ][“That carried darts”.]

  [7 ][“More of them”.]

  [1 ][“To the end that they might be least intent upon them”.]

  [1 ][“Along (on the top of) the wall”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Then came down (the last of them with much ado) they in the towers, and were going to the ditch”.]

  [3 ][“But standing themselves in the dark” &c.]

  [1 ][“The fane of the hero Androcrates”. See Herod. ix. 25.]

  [2 ][Δρυὸς κέϕαλαι: the Athenian name of a town in the valley of Cithæron: called by the Bœotians τρεῖς κέϕαλαι, the Three Heads (Herod. ix. 39); probably from three oaks growing there.]

  [1 ][In chapters 16, 25, 29, 69, they are said to be forty.]

  [2 ][“Was still too young to command”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][ψιλὸν: “before light–armed”: having no ὅπλα, armour.]

  [2 ][The men in power—the corn.]

  [3 ][Being in “exceeding fear”.]

  [1 ][Embatum.]

  [1 ][Surprises of war. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][This is a corrupt passage.]

  [3 ][See iv. 75.]

  [1 ][He set at liberty “all the Chians he had left, and certain he had of other nations. For” &c.]

  [2 ][His temporibus Atheniensibus duæ, quas sacras dicebant, triremes erant; Paralus, quam qui agebant Paralitæ sive Parali dicebantur; et Salaminia sive Delia, etiam Theoria appellata, qua Salaminii vehebantur. Atque hac quidem, ad theoros Delum mittendos; utraque, quippe volociter navigantibus, ad alias theorias emittendas, ferendos nuntios, tributa colligenda, homines pecuniasque trajiciendas, item in prœliis vehendis belli ducibus utebantur. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“From all sides”. The cities of Ionia remained unwalled, after they were burnt by Darius on their defection (A.C.497). Herod. vi. 32. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Brought news of having themselves seen him” &c. Poppo and Bekker, on conjecture, here and above read Icarus for Clarus.]

  [2 ][Vulgo, Λάτμου: Bekker and the rest, Πάτμου.]

  [3 ][Bekk.: ἰδίαν. Göll. et Arn.: ἰδίᾳ. Itamanes and the barbarians, “introduced through some party quarrel”. Colophon was one of the twelve Ionian states: see ch. 104. Aristotle (v. iii.) attributes the discord between the Colophonians and the Notians to a dissimilarity of habits, pursuits, &c.: which made them, like the inhabitants of Peiræus and Athens (the former more democratic than the latter), unsuitable members of the same state.]

  [4 ][See vii. 57: where the Mantineans, Arcadians, Cretans, and Ætolians are described as mercenaries, ready to march anywhere for pay.]

  [1 ][“And the Colophonians of the high town of the Medan faction, came and joined their state”.]

  [2 ][οἰκιστὰς: leaders of the colony:—seated them there “under the Athenian colonial laws”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And the Peloponnesian ships having dared to venture across to Ionia to help them, contributed not a little to the vehemence of the Athenians”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Those in office”, are the Prytanes, in whose power it was to call extraordinary assemblies: which was done, by exposing publicly in a tablet the time and subject of debate, γνώμας προθεῖναι: see Lucian, Necyomantia, 19. The Proedri presided in the assembly: and the cryer summoned the speakers by the form, τίς ἀγορεύειν βούλεται; See Dem. pro Cor.]

  [1 ][“But it will be worst, if” &c.]

  [2 ][The more simple sort &c.]

  [1 ][“And to find fault with whatever is spoken &c., as unable to show their wit in graver matters”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Whereas the vengeance that follows close upon the injury, equals the malice of the wrong doer, and so takes the best satisfaction”. Göll.]

  [1 ][And actions already past, “in such sort, that you take not the evidence of your own eyes as more trustworthy, than what you hear from those who find fault in a fine speech”.]

  [2 ][“And each desirous, above all to be able himself to speak, but if not, then to contradict those that can, rather than seem to follow their advice, and to approve beforehand any thing smartly said; eager to be the first to see the truth of what is spoken, but slow to preconceive &c.: seeking, as one may say, somewhat else” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Than if they had power to war upon us by themselves”.]

  [1 ][“And men, as one may say”.]

  [2 ][“For against us they have all alike taken arms; since, if overawed by their oligarchy, they might have called us in, and so have been now in their city again”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“We must hold out no hope that they will, either by persuasion or corruption, gain any thing from our being conscious that they err through human infirmity”. Göll.]

  [2 ][“Must be” &c.: that is, from having made themselves suspected.]

  [3 ]Meaning that the orators are bribed.

  [4 ][Rather than towards such “as remain, after all, just what they were, and not a jot less” &c. Arn. Göll.]

  [1 ][“And then, if even though not your right you still resolve to hold it,” &c.]

  [2 ][“Representing to yourselves in as lively a manner as may be what” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][The one “with folly”: the other “with a rude and narrow mind”. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“That will accuse them of making a sort of display for the sake of a bribe”. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Of a want of wisdom, rather than of honesty”.]

  [2 ][“But without appealing to party feeling, to make it appear that his is the best counsel”.]

  [3 ][“And so far from punishing, not even to disgrace the man” &c.]

  [4 ][“He that succeedeth”.]

  [5 ][“Nor would he that doth not, strive in the same way, by himself too gratifying the people, to draw them to him”.]

  [1 ][“Spoken straightforward”.]

  [2 ][“By this needless degree of thought”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“And liable to such a mode of construing it, give” &c. Goeller.]

  [4 ][At Athens, it was open to any citizen to impeach any law or decree, on the ground of its being either contrary to some existing law, or unjust, or inexpedient. Upon the oath to that effect of the complainant, the validity of the law, or, if not already passed into a law, all further proceedings upon it were suspended till the question of its legality or illegality was decided. This was done by a proceeding called a γραϕὴ παρανόμων; which took place before the ordinary courts, the judges whereof were the six thousand chosen by lot from the citizens at large. The success of the proceeding subjected the proposer of the law to an arbitrary fine: and a third conviction rendered him incapable of proposing any law thereafter. On the other hand, the complainant, if he failed in obtaining a fifth part of the voices of the judges, was himself subjected to a fine. The time for originating this proceeding, was limited to a year from the passing of the law impeached.]

  [1 ][These words, though evidently required by the sense, are wanting in the Greek.]

  [2 ][“Especially” contendeth.]

  [3 ][“The well–being of” the future.]

  [4 ][“For his council, grounded more upon what is just, may perhaps, according to your present anger against the Mytilenæans, soon win your consent: but we are not pleading judicially against them, so as to need arguments” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Men, in imposing punishment, have gone through all” &c. Goeller. Capital punishments were not, it seems, in use amongst the Greeks in early times.]

  [2 ][“Hope and desire in every way; this as the leader, &c.; are the cause of most mischief: and being undiscerned, have greater power than dangers seen”.]

  [1 ][“Contributes no less to urge men on”.]

  [2 ][“Every man, without reason, conceives greater ideas of those things (liberty and dominion) than the reality”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][“Too severely: nor make desperate those that revolt” &c.]

  [1 ][“To prejudice ourselves by becoming exact judges” &c.]

  [2 ][“Hath, as was likely, revolted to recover its independence”.]

  [3 ][And when.]

  [4 ][“For in all cities”, &c.]

  [1 ][“In it”: that is, in revenge.]

  [2 ][“Were nevertheless”: that is, notwithstanding the change of opinion in ch. 36.]

  [1 ][“Lest the former vessel arriving first”. Bekker, Arnold.]

  [2 ][It was unusual to continue the voyage by night in any but sailing vessels.]

  [3 ][“Drove on”.]

  [4 ][“And was about executing the decree, when the second vessel reached land and arrested the destruction of the city. So near” &c.]

  [1 ][The lands thus assigned to the gods in Greece and Rome, became the property of the state, and were usually let to individuals subject to certain duties to the temple, priests, &c. Land was also sometimes consecrated by individuals to some god, for the sake of the security of the religious sanction: the τέμενος, or land set apart, remaining in the possession of themselves and their posterity, subject to the charges of keeping up the temple, maintaining the priests, &c. See the case of Xenophon, Anab. v. 3: and of Mæandrius, Herod. iii. 142. As to the Athenian κληροῦχοι, here said to be sent out to Lesbos, they might be sent out to view the lots and arrange with the tenants, but it is manifest they did not remain there: as in the subsequent revolts in Lesbos (viii. 22, 23), there was evidently no Athenian population in the island then. Arn. Since A.C. 506 the Athenians had been in the habit of sending cleruchi instead of colonies to the countries conquered by them. Herm. Gr. Antiq. § 117.]

  [2 ][In iv. 52, called τὰς Ἀκταίας.]

  [1 ][“And having first on the side of Nisæa taken two projecting towers with engines &c., he also took in with a wall the part over against the continent, where there was access to the island, which lay not far from the continent, by a bridge over a ford”. Goeller and Arnold understand the towers to have stood, one on a mole from Minoa, and the other on a mole from Nisæa. “Minoa has long ceased to be an island; but the mole on which, according to custom, stood one of the towers defending the entrance of the port, is still traceable.” Arnold.]

  [1 ][“With a demand”.]

  [2 ][And they “fed the Platæans, till the judges arrived” &c.]

  [3 ][Mueller (Dor. i. 9, n.) observes that Platæa had after the time of Pausanias been on friendly terms with Sparta: to which circumstance, and to this προξένια, Lacon owed his name. Aeimnestus is a name famous, as being that of the slayer of Mardonius at the battle of Platæa: himself with a body of three hundred men being afterwards all slain to a man, in the plain of Stenyclerus in the third Messenian war. Mueller, referring to Herod. ix. 64, calls him a Spartan: but Herodotus calls him, not a Spartan, but “a man famous in Sparta”: and as the Platæans assisted the Spartans in that war, there appears in the account of Herodotus nothing inconsistent with its being the person here mentioned.]

  [1 ][“In confidence, to you we yielded up &c.: and upon condition not to be at the discretion (as therefore we are not) of any but yourselves; conceiving” &c. Göll.]

  [2 ][“For the liberty of this speech has been granted at our request”: and also &c.]

  [3 ][“To say somewhat before running the hazard of judgment” Steph. Arn.]

  [4 ][And we fear not, “lest condemning us beforehand on the ground of our merits towards you being less than yours towards us”, you make that a crime. Göll. Arn.]

  [1 ][“But if you consider us as friends, then that you yourselves rather do the wrong in making war upon us”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“We have been now not the first to break”.]

  [3 ][“With you and Pausanias”. This is an answer to the doubts started, (Herodotus expressly mentioning the Lacedæmonians, Tegeatans, and Athenians only), whether the Platæans were present at the first of this battle. He makes, however, the number of the Lacedæmonians engaged, 50,000 (ix. 61): whereas previously (ch. 28) he reckons them, Lacedæmonians 10,000 (of whom, Spartans 5,000), and Helots (seven to each Spartan) 35,000; in all, 45,000: leaving 5,000 to be accounted for, which might include the Platæans.]

  [1 ][Ithome, a stronghold on a hill commanding the plains of Stenyclerus and the Pamisus, must have been a place of considerable strength. The first Messenian war seems to have been confined chiefly to its vicinity, and its reduction entailed the subjugation of the whole country. In the third war, the siege of Ithome lasted ten years, though the Spartans were assisted not only by the Platæans and 4,000 Athenian hoplitæ, but by the Æginetans and Mantineans also. The earthquake is said to have left not more than five houses standing in Sparta, and to have destroyed 20,000 persons; and amongst them, the flower of the Spartan youth, by the fall of the building wherein they were exercising. But for the presence of mind of Archidamus, in gathering round him the Spartans in arms by giving a false alarm of an enemy’s approach, the Helots, already assembled, would have fallen upon them and completed the work of destruction.]

  [2 ][See ii. 73, note.]

  [3 ][The Platæans were already in the enjoyment of certain rights of citizens of Athens, called “the rights of Platæans”: extending, it is supposed, to no political rights, but limited to those of marriage, commerce, capacity to hold lands, &c. Under that title they were sometimes conferred on others than Platæans. Thus, Arnold says, the slaves that fought at Salamis, were made Platæans: and a similar class of rights existed at Rome, called the “jus Cæritum”; whence also “in Cærites referri”. The Platæans, however, that survived the destruction of their city and settled at Athens, were distributed amongst the ten tribes, and admitted to all the rights, sacred and profane, of natural–born citizens, excepting (for the following reason) eligibility to the office of archon and priest. The Athenians had three divisions of society: the πάτρα or γένος, the descendants of a common ancestor; the ϕρατρία, patræ, connected by intermarriage; and the ϕυλὴ, a union of phratriæ. Thus, they were divided into tribes (the four Ionic): and again, into the twelve phratriæ: each phratria into thirty patræ, of which each again contained thirty heads of families. Every phratria had absolute and exclusive control over the admission of members: and to that purpose was yearly devoted the last of the three days of the feast of the Apaturia (a name derived by Mueller from πατὴρ̧), when the people were assembled according to phratriæ. On that day, the newly married female citizen was admited into the phratria of her husband: the child into that of its father: and the child of the naturalized citizen into that of its maternal grandfather. But the phratriæ recognized no title to admission but birth: and the naturalized citizen, thus excluded from the phratriæ, was also excluded from the worship of Apollo πατρῷος: and so (by the oath required of the candidate, that he worshipped Ἀπόλλων πατρῷος and Ζεὺς ἑρκεῖος) from the office of priest and archon.]

  [1 ][“By your present benefit, and their feelings of hostility”.]

  [1 ][Far more profitable.]

  [2 ][“Not that practised for their own safety against the invasion”.]

  [3 ][“Take heed (for this judgment of yours is not given in obscurity, but by you, highly esteemed, against us, not ill thought of) that they do not” &c.]

  [1 ][Blot it out, “with the entire race of Platæans” &c.]

  [2 ][“That when the Medes had possession of our land, we were ruined then”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“And of our then allies none aid us; and you, Lacedæmonians, our only hope, we fear that you too are not firm to us. But we beseech &c”. The “mutual league” here appealed to, is mentioned ii. 71 and i. 67. No more is known of it, than that the allies, by the persuasion of Pausanias, mutually guaranteed the independence of all states, and of the Platæans in particular.]

  [1 ][“The fame of wickedness”.]

  [2 ][We have “through all” been beneficial &c.]

  [3 ][This yearly ceremony is described at large by Plutarch. Aristid. ch. 21. See Tacit. Annal. iii. 2: vestem, odores, aliaque funerum solennia cremabant.]

  [1 ][“And we entreat you, calling aloud upon the gods &c., to yield this, and not to forget the oaths we produce, sworn by your fathers; and we become suppliants at their tombs and invoke the dead, that we be not in the power of the Thebans, nor your dearest friends betrayed to their bitterest enemies”. ὁμοβωμίους καὶ κοινοὺς: Gods common to Greece, and worshipped at altars also common to Greece, as at Olympia, Delphi: Göll. Gods worshipped at the same altar, as Jupiter, Minerva, Apollo, and the other greater gods, all of the same race. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“We adjure you.”]

  [1 ][The subjugation of Cadmeis by the Bœotians seems to have been effected slowly and not without a hard struggle. It was the fall of Thebes and of Orchomenus (in early times one of the richest and most powerful cities in Greece, reigning over a great part of Bœotia, and making a tributary of Thebes itself) that decided the fate of the whole country: and thereupon followed the Æolian migration (ch. 2, note). Amongst the nations driven out, were the Minyans (apparently, another name for Æolians) from Orchomenus; the Cadmeians from Thebes; the Gephyræans from Tanagra, who fled to Athens; the Thracians (see ii. 29, note), who retired to the neighbourhood of Parnassus, and there disappear from history; the Pelasgians, who retired to Athens (ii. 16, note) and afterwards occupied Lemnos. The opinion that Platæa was founded by the Thebans after expelling from it “the promiscuous nations,” was perhaps current at Thebes as favoring their claim of supremacy: but it is probable that Platæa did not change its inhabitants. The Platæans considered themselves an aboriginal people, as appears from the names of their kings, Asopus and Cithæron: Platæa too, their heroine, was the daughter of the Asopus: and their indomitable hostility to Thebes may have arisen from a difference of origin.]

  [2 ][“The laws of our ancestors”.]

  [1 ][τοὺς νόμους: “the (its former) laws”. That this excuse of the Thebans is a mere subterfuge, is manifest from the fact of their standing a twenty days’ siege by the allies after the battle of Platæa, before they would give up their leaders, as well as from the address of Timegenides to them on that occasion, σὺν γὰρ τῷ κοινῷ ἐμηδίσαμεν (Herod. ix. 87: and see viii. 34, Βοιωτῶν δὲ πᾶν τὸ πλῆθος ἐμήδιζε.)].

  [1 ][“Against us then only should you have called in the Athenians, and not &c.: it being at least in your power (not to invade others), since if the Athenians” &c.]

  [2 ][With whom.]

  [1 ][“It is the not repaying a benefit, when it may be done with justice, which is base: and not the omitting the repayment of such, as are justly due, but cannot be repaid without injustice”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][Because the Athenians did not; “and because you desired to do as they did, and the contrary to what the Grecians did: and now you claim the benefit of that, wherein for others’ sake you behaved well”.]

  [3 ][τὴν τότε: “the mutual oath made at that time”: see ch. 57, n.]

  [4 ][“And others included in the oath”. The Samians, Byzantians, Thasians and others. Ducas. See i. 101, 117: and Herod. ix. 106.]

  [1 ][“That exhibited your good deeds” to their ruin. Göll. Arn.]

  [2 ][ἱερομηνίαις means, as in ch. 56, any monthly festival, the plural indicating only the sacred character of the day. The surprise of Platæa seems to have taken place at the change of the moon (ii. 4.): and the first of every month was sacred to Apollo. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“To the customs of our ancestors, common to all Bœotia”.]

  [1 ][“The paternal customs”.]

  [2 ][And you readily coming and making agreement, at first indeed were quiet.]

  [3 ][“But contrary to law to kill &c., what excuse is there for that?”]

  [1 ][“All those crimes”: the three just mentioned.]

  [2 ][To let you see &c.: “and that you may not be moved” &c.]

  [1 ][“That the trials you will present, will be not of words, but” &c.]

  [2 ][But if those in authority “would, as you will now do, give judgment by making one case an example for all cases to all the allies together”, men would be less &c. Goeller.]

  [3 ][For they had, “as they said”.]

  [4 ][“Taking the Platæans by their own choice to have justly lost the benefit of the treaty”. Goeller. Arnold and Goeller consider this to be an unsound passage.]

  [1 ][A house for the reception of such as might come to worship at the temple of Juno: the city no longer affording lodging. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“It was, throughout even the whole of this affair of the Platæans, almost wholly for the Thebans’ sake that the Lacedæmonians were thus alienated from them”. Arn.—Xerxesrewarded the Thebans’ tardy desertion to him at Thermopylæ, by branding them and their leader Leontiades (see ii. 2, note) with the royal mark (Herod. vii. 233): but they were still the most ardent in his service of all the medizing Greeks. They were the chief advisers of Mardonius at Platæa: where they fought with great courage, losing no fewer than 300 of their chief men. Against them probably was aimed the oath of the Greek congress: “whatsoever Greeks, uncoerced and in estate whole, shall join the barbarian, them to decimate and send as slaves to the god at Delphi”: to fulfil which, the Greeks after the battle marched to Thebes; but were satisfied with the death of the chief criminals, Timegenides and Attaginus. By these events the supremacy of Thebes in Bœotia was for the time annihilated: but Sparta’s interest soon called for its revival. In consigning the Platæans to Athens (ii. 73, note), Sparta had not miscalculated: Thebes and Athens were thenceforth enemies. Her hands full of the third Messenian war and the settlement of Arcadia, she had quietly regarded the aggressions of Athens upon the maritime towns of Argolis, and the subjugation of Ægina. But returning from the liberation of Doris (i. 107), an expedition not unconnected with intrigues with Cimon and the aristocratical or Laconian party at Athens, the Spartans, barred in their passage by the Athenians, bartered Platæa, the independence of Bœotia, and their solemn oaths (ii. 71), for the aid of Thebes at Tanagra and the promise of future active hostility against Athens. The Athenian democracy, brought to the brink of destruction by the defeat at Tanagra, quickly recovered itself by the victory of Œnophyta; subdued all Bœotia, except Thebes, and established the democracy in Thebes itself. Eight years, however, of democratic rule sufficed to revive the Theban oligarchy (Aristot. v. 3); the battle of Coroneia rid Bœotia of the Athenians, and was followed by the revolt of Eubœa and Megara: and Athens, now open to invasion from Peloponnesus, was glad, by the thirty years’ treaty, to secure Eubœa at the expense of all her possessions in Peloponnesus. The true bond of union, however, between Sparta and Thebes, lay in the constitution of the latter, at this time a timocracy, confined to such as had not for ten years appeared on the market–place (ibid. iii. 3): a union which remained unshaken till the surrender of Athens, when Sparta’s resistance to the demands of Corinth and Thebes for its destruction, unmasked her design of retaining it as an instrument for her ambitious projects.—Platæa, first of all burnt to the ground by Xerxes, was after this second destruction a second time rebuilt at the peace of Antalcidas, A.C.388: and a third time destroyed, 373, by the Thebans before the battle of Leuctra; and again restored by Philip, 337.]

  [1 ][“At the ransom, as was voiced, of 800 talents guaranteed by their proxeni: but in truth, having engaged to bring over Corcyra to the Corinthians”. Some doubt the correctness of the word ὀκτακοσίων; considering it an incredible ransom for two hundred and fifty men, when that of a heavy–armed soldier was only two minæ (Herod. vi. 79). But at a time when the ransom of a hoplite did not exceed from three to five minæ, Æschines (de fals. leg.) speaks of a talent as that of a not wealthy individual; and an ambassador of Philip is said to have paid nine talents for his ransom: and these wealthy merchants of Corcyra, the richest in Greece, might well pay one of three talents each. Arn. The ransom, which was merely nominal, would naturally be high, the better to mislead as to the real object of their return.]

  [1 ][ἔπρασσον: “they practised to make the city revolt”. Hac voce πράσσειν infinitis locis utitur Thucydides de his, qui quocunque dolo, arte, ac fraude aliquid moliuntur ac machinantur. Duker.]

  [2 ][On the articles. See i. 44.]

  [3 ][ἐθελοπρόξενος. Proxeni homines dicebantur privati, quibus in patria urbe degentibus honorificum jus cum alia civitate publicitus intercedebat: his id muneris erat præcipue injunctum, ut sedulo prospicerent ne quid publica istius civitatis res a civibus suis caperet detrimenti, legatos illius venientes hospitio exciperent, ad populum deducerent, utque iis bene esset procurarent. Valck. The ἐθελοπρόξενος, voluntary proxenus, was one that discharged the functions of proxenus to some state without the public authority of that state, or of the state in which he resided: it is disputed which. It appears that cities sometimes appropriated certain lands to the office of proxenus: and that the office sometimes descended as an inheritance from father to son.]

  [4 ][χάρακας: “vine–poles”: that is, that they had cut in the sacred woods poles for making vine–poles. Göll. Arn. These five men were probably, like the Roman aristocracy with respect to the public lands, the tenants of the sacred grounds whence the poles were cut; and from long possession derived from their ancestors, had come to consider the lands as their own property. The Agrarian law at Rome, concerned the right of property in the public lands only. Arnold.]

  [1 ]Of our money about 15s. 7½d. [Hobbes has probably taken the golden stater, which was twenty drachmæ: but Goeller and Arnold conceive the silver stater or tetradrachm to be here meant, which is not quite 2s. 2d.]

  [2 ][“Being shut out by the law (from their hope of paying by instalments)”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“Conspired together”.]

  [4 ][“That it was for the advantage of Athens, what they had done”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And the haven adjacent to it and opposite to the continent”.]

  [2 ][“Into the country”. A district lying to the west of the city, between it and mount Istone: called also τὸ πεδίον, the plain; and by Xenophon, ἡ χώρα.] Goeller.]

  [3 ][“Late in the afternoon”.]

  [1 ][αὐτοβοεὶ: see ii. 81, n. “And fearing lest the people should attack and instantly make themselves masters of the arsenal, and put them to the sword, to stop their passage set fire to their own houses (οἰκίας) and the houses of the lower orders (ξυνοικἰας), round about the agora, sparing neither the one nor the other. So that not only was much merchandise entirely consumed, but the whole city was in danger of being destroyed, if a wind arose and carried the flames that way. And they gave over fighting; and each side kept quiet, but upon the watch, during the night. And when” &c.—οἰκία is a house belonging to or hired by a single, and therefore a rich person: ξυνοικία one hired or inhabited by several persons or families, and therefore belonging to the lower orders. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“The leaders of the people”.]

  [1 ][“And they picked out their enemies for these ships”.]

  [2 ][“And endeavoured to encourage them (to go)”.

  [1 ][The Corcyræans &c. “were through their own means in much distress: and the Athenians, fearing &c., did not charge those opposed to them either in a body or in the centre, but charged” &c.]

  [1 ][“In expectation &c.”, is considered by Bekker and the rest to be an interpolation.]

  [2 ][“At nightfall they (the Peloponnesians) had notice by fires from Leucas &c.” If the Athenian ships had as yet reached Leucas, the Peloponnesian fleet could not (as they afterwards did) have crossed the isthmus. Goeller.]

  [1 ][See iv. 8, note.]

  [2 ][See ch. 75.]

  [3 ][“And bringing out of the thirty ships (ἐκβιβάζοντες) all they had persuaded to go aboard, (ἀπεχρῶντο or ἀνεχρήσαντο) they slew them”. Goeller, Arnold. Bekker and all the MSS. have ἀπεχώρησαν, “they went their way”. But then, what became of the men disembarked? Those slain as the ships “went about”, were part of those who had embarked to escape to the continent: of whom five hundred escaped thither (see ch. 85). Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And of the sanctuary men, that were not persuaded to stand their theirtrial, the greater part, when they saw what was done, slew each other thereright in the temple: and some hanged themselves on the trees, and others made away with themselves each man as he could”.]

  [2 ][“Affecting to accuse the enemies of the people: but under that pretext died some also from private enmity; and others that had money owing to them, by the procurement of their debtors”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“And there is nothing that usually falls out in such a case, which did not come to pass, and even more”.]

  [1 ][“But when they were at war, to those of both sides desirous of innovating, the occasion of bringing in allies soon presented itself, both for weakening the alliance of their adversaries, and at the same time acquiring alliances for themselves”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Yet are they aggravated or more mild, and varying in form, according” &c. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“Fell into sedition”.]

  [4 ][“Arbitrarily”.]

  [5 ][Manliness devoted to one’s party—disguised fear—wisdom, the cloak &c.—furious passion.]

  [1 ][“For violent measures”]

  [2 ][“A still cleverer man”.]

  [3 ][τῆς ἑταιρίας: of his party.]

  [4 ][“For such associations are for no lawful purpose, but for the purposes of private ambition, contrary to the laws” &c. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [5 ][“The fair proposals of their adversary, they received, if they were the stronger, with measures of precaution, and not ingenuously”. Goeller.]

  [6 ][Of force, “so long as they had no power from other sources”: and he that first took courage, “if he saw his enemy unarmed”, thought &c.]

  [1 ][“Men in general, when dishonest, more easily gain credit for cleverness, than when simple, for honesty”. Arnold.]

  [2 ][The cause, was &c.]

  [3 ][“And revenged them, inflicting punishment still greater than the injury”, without &c.]

  [4 ][“So that neither side made any use of piety; but they were in highest esteem, that could perpetrate and hateful thing by fair words”.]

  [1 ][“Simplicity, whereof, &c. was laughed down and disappeared; and it became better to stand &c.: for there was neither vehement promise nor terrible oath that could cure the distrust of enmity”. The next sentence is corrupt or untranslateable. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“For through fear both of their own inferiority and their adversaries’ subtlety, lest they should be worsted by words and circumvented and outstripped by their crafty designs, they went &c.: whereas the others, in their arrogance trusting to being aware in time and thinking they needed not &c., were” &c.]

  [3 ][Corcyra departed early from the moderate constitution of Corinth: and the separation from the motherstate, relaxing the connexion with the Peloponnesian league and bringing her in closer contact with Athens, accelerated her democratic tendency, and the popular assembly soon absorbed the supreme power. The licentiousness that sprang from this sedition, is coarsely expressed by the proverb: ἐλεύθερα κέρκυρα· χέζ’ ὅπου θέλεις. The scenes here described, hitherto rare, yet being the result of causes that continued to operate throughout Greece with increasing malignity, soon became common and familiar. The old aristocracies had sunk, and made way either for tyrannies or more or less exclusive oligarchies, often ending in democracies. In every state existed, either a commonalty containing a germ of democracy, needing only favourable circumstances to unfold it: or a democracy tyrannising over the old aristocracy and the wealthy class, who on their side, united in clubs (ἐταίριαι, ξυνωμόσιαι), ostensibly for the object of mutual support in elections and law–suits, but in reality for the overthrow of the democracy, and secretly connected with similar societies in other states, awaited the time to strike the blow. So long as either party was decidedly predominant, the seeds of discord lay dominant but the rupture between Sparta and Athens, insuring foreign aid to both parties, rendered their inequality a matter of little moment, and conflicts became more frequent and men’s passions more inflamed. The butcheries described here, and in iv. 46, were surpassed in Argos, when the battle of Leuctra having broken the power of Sparta and prostrated the party of the aristocracy in Peloponnesus, the popular leaders, after dispatching above twelve hundred of the chief citizens, themselves fell a sacrifice to their dread of farther bloodshed. A state of things arose, called σκυταλισμὸς, bludgeon–law: and Athens, as if all Greece were polluted, purified her market–place. The height to which party animosity was carried, appears in the oath of the clubs (Aristot. v. 9): “I will be ever the enemy of the people, and contrive for them all the mischief I can.”]

  [1 ][This chapter, by Bekker included in brackets, is pronounced by the scholiasts, Goeller, and Arnold, to be spurious.]

  [1 ][That is, bringing back, or restoration.]

  [1 ][“Those in the city”.]

  [2 ][“The Doric cities were all except &c., confederates” &c.]

  [3 ][That is, the Rhegians, between whom and the Athenians existed an ancient alliance which was renewed (A. C. 433) by a decree preserved in the Elgin marbles. Goeller.—“For that they were deprived” &c. Rhegium is said to have been founded, under the immediate direction of the Delphic oracle, by a band of Chalcidians, (that is, of Ionians), who had been consecrated, like an Italian ver sacrum, to Apollo to avert a famine, and were joined by Messenian exiles flying their country on the fall of Ithome (A.C.724) in the first Messenian war. Thirl. The ver sacrum, was the immolation of all animals born in that spring. Instances are not wanting of other colonies (Magnesia in Crete) founded in like manner. For an account of the Doric and Chalcidic states in Sicily, see vi. 3–5.]

  [1 ][ἐκ τῶν τάξεων: see vi. 43, note. The equestrian order contained a thousand horsemen.]

  [2 ][“At Orchomenus in Bœotia”. There was another in Arcadia.]

  [3 ][“For want of water”. These islands have but few springs; and the nature of the soil appears to be such, as rapidly to absorb the moisture: so that the inhabitants have none but rain water, preserved in large tanks. Cnidus was a Lacedæmonian colony, founded by Hippotes, whose descendants (A.C.580) led a colony of Cnidians to Lipara, with whom and five hundred of the original Liparæans they founded a state: whence it is probable that Æolus, the god of the winds, who was supposed to live in these islands, came to be called the son of Hippotes. This, if true, shows the name ἱπποτάδης in Od. κ, 2,37, to be later than the Homeric age. Muell. i.2.]

  [1 ][“Of fire in the night, and smoke in the day”.]

  [2 ][“About the same time, earthquakes being then prevalent, the sea first retiring from what was then land (that is, from the coast) at Orobiæ in Eubœa, and then rising to a head, invaded a part of the city; and partly permanently inundated the land, but partly subsided: and what was formerly land is now sea.” Goeller, Arnold.]

  [1 ][“A certain retiring”.]

  [2 ][“By an earthquake”.]

  [3 ][δύο ϕυλαὶ: “two Messanian tribes”. See vi. 98, note.]

  [1 ][Goeller considers ἡ πέραν γῆ to have become the proper name of Oropus: as Terra Firma, that of the isthmus of Darien.]

  [1 ][The Malians dwelt in the valley of the Spercheus, enclosed on all sides by mountains, except on the side by the sea, where lived, as their name implies, the Paralians: the Hieres, or sacerdotal class, dwelt probably near the Amphictyonic temple at Thermopylæ: the Trachinians, on the declivities of Mount Œta. These people were in such close alliance with the Dorians, that Diodorus speaks of Trachis as the mother–town of Lacedæmon. They were a warlike race, no person being admitted to a share in the government that had not served as a hoplites. Mueller i. 2. See viii. 3, note.]

  [1 ][See vi. 3, note.]

  [2 ][Both of their own people and “of the periœci”.]

  [3 ][“They built anew”. The old city, called Trachis, is mentioned by Herodotus vii. 199. Haack.]

  [4 ][“Naval arsenals”.]

  [5 ][Whilst it was founding.]

  [6 ][That the Thessalians, “who were masters of the country thereabouts, and upon whose territory it encroached, fearing lest they should come and settle amongst themselves in considerable numbers”, afflicted &c.]

  [1 ][“Not least however”.]

  [1 ][The Hellenic or Æolian settlements in Ætolia, originally the land of the Curetes, seem never to have extended beyond the maritime parts; the interior apparently continuing to be occupied by tribes of a different origin, which by continual accessions from the north gained rather than lost ground. The character of the country, mountainous and woody and severed from the rest of Greece, whilst it kept it a stranger to Hellenic manners and civilization, was at the same time the cause of its retaining its independence, and finding itself in later times at the head of the Ætolian league. The Locrians, who are connected by their traditions both with Ætolia and Elis (there being in the latter an Opuntian colony), claimed a higher antiquity than any other branch of the Greek nation; those of Opus boasting that Cynus, their port–town, was the dwelling of Deucalion on descending with his new people from Parnassus, and showing there the tomb of Pyrrha. The Locrian mythology seems to lead to the conclusion that the earliest population of eastern Locris were Leleges: and to them perhaps the name of Locrians originally belonged, though chiefs of a Hellenic, and most probably Æolian race, settled among them. Thirl. Muell.]

  [1 ][That is, the Acarnanians, the Amphilochians, the Locri Ozolæ, &c. “With the Ætolians”: that is, “with the allies only, if the Ætolians would join them”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Messenians”, omitted.]

  [3 ][ἐπιβάταις: Anglice, marines. The trireme seems to have ordinarily carried ten epibatæ or marines. “The number of forty epibatæ to a ship, mentioned by Herodotus vi. 15, belongs to the earliest stage of Greek naval tactics, when victory depended more on the soldiers than on the manœuvres of the seamen. It was in this very point that the Athenians improved the system, by decreasing the number of epibatæ, and relying on the skilful management of their vessels”. Arn. See i. 49. But Arnold seems to err in supposing that they were chosen from the Thetes: the character given in ch. 98 of these epibatæ, “the very best of the Athenians that fell in this war”, hardly belonging to men from the Thetes. Neither however were they chosen from the army, though sometimes reinforced thence. Goeller, Boeckh.]

  [1 ]“They were all united”. It is not to be understood that any Ætolian tribe extended to the Malian gulf; but probably, that the Bomienses and Callienses occupied the heads of the valleys on the Ætolian side of Œta, and extended over the ridge and some way down the valleys of the streams running into the Ægean. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Which attacking”.]

  [2 ][ψιλοὶ: without armour.]

  [3 ][“But when &c., and the hoplitæ were also wearied &c., and the Ætolians still afflicted them &c., they were at last forced” &c.]

  [1 ][ἡλικία: “and the very flower of the Athenians”. The word is used in the same sense in ch. 67.]

  [2 ][“And took in a station or fort of the περίπολοι”: in ch. 115, called ϕρούριον.]

  [3 ][“Having heretofore sent”: that is, before the Ætolian expedition.]

  [1 ][“To hold out”.]

  [2 ]“To Æolis, now called Calydon and Pleuron, and to the places there”. Goeller, Arnold. The country about Calydon, and perhaps all the south of Ætolia, once bore the name of Æolis. The earlier inhabitants were Æolians. Thirlwall.]

  [1 ][“And being their (the Athenians’) allies (having revolted to them from the Syracusians), had joined their standard, went and attacked Inessa, the town of the Sikeli &c.: and when they could not” &c. ἐπ’ Ἴνησσαν. Bekker.]

  [2 ][“Made several descents from their ships upon Locris at the river Cæcinus”.]

  [1 ][The distance was four stadia, about 760 yards. Goeller.]

  [2 ][That is, the inhabitants of the Cyclades.]

  [3 ]Homer, Hym. ad Apoll. vers. 146.

  [1 ]Hym. ad Apoll. vers. 165.

  [2 ][“Witnessed, that there was of old too a great meeting and solemnity in Delos. And the islanders and the Athenians used afterwards to send the chorus with sacrifices: but the games and most of the solemnities fell into disuse” &c.—The irruptions of the Æolians into Bœotia, and the Dorians into Peloponnesus, caused great stir amongst the population of those countries: resulting in three great movements, called the Æolian, Dorian, and Ionian migrations. Of the Achæans, expelled from Argolis and Laconia, some migrated: others in turn expelled the Ionians from Ionia, the district since called Achaia. The migrating Achæans, passing through Bœotia to embark in search of new seats in the east, were joined, as is believed, by part of the antient Cadmean population and of their Æolian conquerors: and this, the Æolian migration, may perhaps be regarded, in its origin, as a continuation of the former Achæan enterprise against the territory of Priam. Headed by descendants of Agamemnon, and embarking from the same port, Aulis, whence he had led the Greeks to Troy, they took the same direction: and some settling in Lesbos, and there founding six cities, others occupied the coast of Asia from the foot of Ida to the mouth of the Hermus. Here they found their old enemies, the allies of Troy, the Pelasgians, still in possession of the coast, but reduced to great weakness by the Trojan war. Taking their chief town, Larissa, the invaders founded Cume Phriconis; the chief of the eleven cities of Æolis. About the same time, another body of Achæans and Dorians were led by Dorian chiefs to the south–west corner of the Asiatic peninsula. In Rhodes were founded Lindus, Ialysas, and Camirus: forming with Halicarnassus, Cnidus, and Cos, an exclusive association, which, after Halicarnassus was excluded for the reason given by Herodotus (i. 144), was called the Doric Pentapolis, and jointly worshipped the Dorian god, Apollo, at Triopium. The Ionian fugitives from Achaia sought refuge with their kindred in Attica: whence, with swarms of Phocean and other adventurers, they followed the sons of Codrus to the part of Asia lying between the Hermus and the Mæander: blessed with a climate extolled by Herodotus as the most delicious in the known world. In their passage across the Ægean, many formed settlements in the Cyclades, and in time Delos became a common sanctuary of the Ionians. Samos, Chios, and the Asiatic coast were at this time inhabited by various tribes, as Carians and Leleges, and by others recently driven from Greece by the same causes as these Ionian settlers. With all these they readily united, except the Carians and Leleges, whom they expelled or exterminated. Gradually arose twelve independent states: Samos, Chios, Miletus, Myus, Priene, Ephesus, Colophon, Lebedos, Teos, Erythræ, Clazomenæ, and Phocæa. Though formed of such widely differing elements, they all assumed the Ionian name, and were regarded as parts of one nation: and all, except Ephesus and Colophon, kept the feast of the Apaturia (see chap. 55, note). Their meetings were held at a spot at the foot of mount Mycale, called Panionium, and consecrated to the Ionian god, Poseidon. The periodical meetings, however, for the sole object of honouring the tutelary god, but affording also an opportunity for political deliberation when called for, formed the nearest approach of these colonies to a political union of the cities even of the same race. As to the Æolians, it is not certain they possessed even such a centre of union: though they may, by analogy, be supposed to have held similar assemblies near the temple of Apollo at Gryneia. The difference of race, which kept asunder the Greeks in Europe, was not forgotten by passing across the Ægean: and there existed, at the time of migrating, no power in Asia formidable enough to terrify the three races into a union, which might have changed the history of the European Greeks as well as their own. The increase of wealth and refinement was far more rapid in the colonies than in the mother–country: and in the seventh and sixth centuries A.C. the progress of mercantile industry and maritime discovery was coupled by the Asiatic Greeks, especially the Ionians, with intellectual pursuits and the cultivation of the nobler arts, in a degree unequalled in history before the opening of the latest period of European civilization. Miletus, regarded as the common protectress of the Greek settlers, by her eighty colonies in the Propontis and the Euxine caused the latter sea to change its name (ii. 96, note): whilst Phocæa was exploring, in the west, the shores of Spain, Italy, and the Adriatic. But luxurious and disunited, they successively became the prey of the Lydians and Persians. With the aid of Athens (the proximate cause of the war that ensued between Asia and Greece) they revolted from Darius, and were subdued: and in retaliation for the burning of Sardis and the temple of Cybebe, every revolted city (Samos only excepted) was with its temples committed to the flames. The fate of Miletus was so taken to heart by the Athenians, that Phrynichus by his tragedy, the Fall of Miletus, moved the whole audience to tears, and was fined a thousand drachmæ for reminding them of national calamities. These events may perhaps be “the adversity” which caused the disuse of the games. It is remarkable that in this general conflagration of cities and temples, Delos, as “the birth–place of the twin–gods”, or the temple at any rate, was held inviolate by the generals of Darius (Herod. vi. 97): perhaps from some conceived analogy between Apollo and Artemis, and the Persian deities, the sun and moon.]

  [1 ][“And the Acarnanians and a few Amphilochians (for the greater part the Ambraciotes forcibly kept back) were already assembled at Argos, and prepared” &c.]

  [2 ][“And the Peloponnesian army being superior in numbers and outflanking him, Demosthenes therefore fearing” &c.]

  [3 ][“Overgrown with brushwood”.]

  [1 ][“And the rest of the ground was occupied by the Acarnanians, posted each in their own place, and by the Amphilochian darters that were there.”]

  [2 ][Stood “towards the left”.]

  [3 ][“But panic–struck themselves, caused the flight of the greater part of the army besides”.]

  [4 ][“The Ambraciotes and those in the right wing, chased &c.: for they are the most warlike of any in those parts. But on their return, seeing the greatest part” &c.]

  [1 ][And “after the great defeat sustained” not finding &c.]

  [1 ][“And buried them in haste, as they best might”.]

  [2 ][“With their whole power”.]

  [3 ][“To support them”.]

  [4 ][“But the Ambraciotes and the others, (the mercenaries, ch. 109), that happened thus (on pretext of gathering herbs) to be come out together in great numbers, seeing the others go off, were eager” &c.]

  [1 ][“Demosthenes as soon as he had supped, and the rest of the army as soon as it was evening, set out on the march; he with one–half of the army towards the pass, and the other half through the hills of Amphilochia”. ἐσβολὴ seems to mean a pass through hills; but what pass is here meant, is not clear. Goeller understands that of Idomene.]

  [1 ][“Which was not far off”.]

  [2 ][“If needs must”.]

  [1 ][“The arms here then agree not (with those of 200), but” &c. Göll.]

  [1 ][“The Acarnanians &c., granted to those Ambraciotes &c., a truce to retire from Œniadæ, whither they had indeed removed from Salynthius”. This is Hermann’s reading, adopted by Goeller, Arnold, &c.]

  [2 ][Vulgo, ὁμόρους. Bekker and the rest, ὁμήρους: hostages.]

  [1 ][“By the Sikeli”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][“From the high country”.]

  [3 ][They, the Syracusans.]

  [1 ][“The fort”. See ch. 99, note.]

  [2 ][“And (it is said) that” &c.]

  [1 ][The place “afforded an approach to Sicily”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [1 ][That is, from their own territory, Locris, and with naval forces from Messana. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“To oppose the Locrians”.]

  [1 ][“Were hasting”.]

  [1 ][ταξιάρχοις. The ten tribes were the groundwork both in levying and arranging the Athenian army: and accordingly, ten strategi and ten taxiarchs, as well as ten phylarchs, were yearly chosen. But the taxiarchs here meant, are the commanders, not of the tribes, but of the τάξις: a body consisting of about 100 men, and the principal, if not the only elementary division of the army. The only known officers, are the strategi and the taxiarchs.]

  [2 ][“He remained quietly at Pylus owing to the bad weather: till at last there came upon the soldiers lying idle, a desire of their own accord, setting to work on all sides, to wall in the place”. Arn. changing their opinion: Goell. Bekker, &c. περιστᾶσιν. Vulgo περ̧ὶ στάσιν.]

  [1 ][“The Spartans themselves, and the nearest of the periœci &c.: but the Lacedæmonians came” &c. The distinction is here made between Spartans and Lacedæmonians. The former name belonged only to the Dorians of Sparta: the latter was the proper name of the periœci, or old Achæan inhabitants of Laconia, as distinguished from the Spartans. With relation however to foreign states, the name Lacedæmonians was used to signify the Spartan state: and then embraced both Spartans and periœci.]

  [2 ][Leucadia, originally a peninsula, seems to have been twice reduced by manual labour to the form of an island. “Leucadiæ, quum antiquitus peninsula esset, a Corinthiis per Cypselum et Gargasum illic missis isthmus perfossus est”. Poppo. We see that in the time of Thucydides it was again become a peninsula; whilst Livy says of it: “Leucadia nunc insula, et vadoso freto, quod perfossum manu est, ab Acarnania divisa, tum (A. C. 197) peninsula erat, occidentis regione arctis faucibus cohœrens Acarnaniæ. Quingentos ferme passus longæ fauces erant: latæ haud amplius centum et viginti”. xxxiii. 17. It took its name from the white cliff, the celebrated lover’s leap.]

  [3 ][Demosthenes sent secretly &c., “before the Lacedæmonians could get there”.]

  [1 ][“To bar up &c., so that the Athenians might not put into it”.]

  [1 ][“Were taken there”. Bekk. &c.]

  [2 ][“And when he had drawn up under the fort the galleys he had of those left behind, he placed a stockade close to them”. Goeller. Two out of the five ships left behind with him had been sent to Zacynthus: see ch. 8.]

  [3 ][“And even those osier bucklers they took” &c. κέλης (a light horseman) is a small sharp sailing boat. Scholiast.]

  [4 ][“He placed upon the strongest parts of the fortifications, and upon the strong positions towards the continent”.]

  [1 ][“And they (the Peloponnesians) expected, that if they could force a landing, the place might be taken”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [2 ][“To hinder their landing, if he could”.]

  [3 ][“Since even from this straight he may escape”. Goeller.]

  [4 ][“Both the difficulty”—“and their numbers”. See next note.]

  [5 ][They will land well enough: “and we shall have a more dangerous enemy to deal with, by reason of his retreat being cut off if we even chance to force him: for in their ships, they are most easy to keep off; but when disembarked, they are then on equal terms with us. And their numbers are not much to be feared: for though they be many, they will few of them fight, for want of room to land at: and their army is not on land, superior to us in numbers and on equal terms in other respects: but they have to fight from their ships, where many favourable circumstances belonging to the sea will be required (for their success). So that I think” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][He got upon the landingsteps, but was beaten back &c.]

  [2 ][παρεξειρεσίαν: the extremity of the galley, both at the head and stern, where the benches for the rowers cease.]

  [1 ][“For it was at that time the great glory of the former, (the Lacedæmonians), that they were chiefly landsmen and strongest in the army; of the latter (the Athenians) that they excelled most in ships and naval matters”.]

  [2 ][“Fifty”: Goeller, Arnold. See ch. 23, where a reinforcement of 20 ships is said to raise the whole to 70.]

  [1 ][“And chasing them, disabled a great many for the short distance of the pursuit; and took five &c.: and the rest that had taken refuge ashore, they struck amidships”.]

  [2 ][“They tied &c. and towed away, the men having taken to flight”.]

  [1 ][“The empty galleys”.]

  [2 ][“Had passed at Pylus”.]

  [3 ][“To send the Ephori to the camp, to see and determine forthwith what should be done”. Bekk. Arn. Goeller agrees with Hobbes.]

  [1 ][“For every man, two Attic chœnixes of barley bread”. A chœnix was the forty–eighth part of a medimnus, and a cotyle the fourth part of a chœnix: a medimnus of corn was about a bushel and a half, English measure; and is valued by Boeckh at two drachme. The monthly contribution of every Spartan to the public table, was a medimnus of barley–meal (the common food in Greece), and eight chœnixes of wine: so that the daily allowance for each man, was about a chœnix and a half of meal; the chœnix being equal to about two English pints.]

  [2 ][That they might guard it “in any way short of landing in it”.]

  [3 ][καὶ ὁτιοῦν: “in any part, be it what it may”. See the handle made of this by the Athenians, ch. 23.]

  [1 ][“We are about to lengthen our speech, not indeed against our wont, but that it is our natural practice, where few words suffice, there indeed not to use many: but to use more, when occasion may be for explaining by words something important in order to effect our object”. Goell. See the story related by Herodotus, iii. 46. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Always aspire”.]

  [2 ][“Come to you, hitherto thinking ourselves too high to grant what we now come to request”.]

  [3 ][“But deceived in our opinion, (taken) from our ordinary resources”. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [4 ][“From the present strength of your state, and its late accessions, that fortune” &c.]

  [1 ][“To leave a reputation beyond the reach of danger”.]

  [2 ][“And thinking it better”.]

  [3 ][That is, should be not only blockaded, but actually taken.]

  [4 ][“But when, having it in his power, and by his virtue prevailed on, to compound on equal terms, he should contrary to what an enemy expects be reconciled”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And men more readily do this towards their great enemies, than towards those with whom they have only some ordinary difference. And naturally” &c.]

  [2 ][“Besides the hatred of the state, that also of individuals”: that is, for the loss each family would suffer. The Spartan aristocracy would feel it a personal wound to lose so many of the members of their principal families. Arn. Göll.]

  [3 ][“And let us not only ourselves prefer” &c.]

  [1 ]τὰ μέγιϛα τιμήσει: “will give us highest honour”. Conveying to the understanding of the wiser sort of the hearers, the consideration of tyrannizing the rest of Greece. For by the highest honour, he means tyranny; but avoiding the envy of the word. Because if he had said it plainly, the confederates would see, that they which termed themselves the Deliverers of Greece, would now, out of private interest, be content to join with the Athenians to tyrannize it. [Goeller and Arnold have adopted the idea contained in this note. See v. 50, note.]

  [2 ][“When the Athenians came to terms being” &c. See i. 115. Athens is said by Thirlwall (iii. 43), to have had some hold on Achaia enabling her to levy troops there. In any other sense it would be difficult to say how Achaia ever belonged to Athens to restore to Sparta (see i. 115). Trœzen is supposed before its restoration by Athens to have been captured by Tolmides in his expedition against Peloponnesus (i. 108). In it, as in Epidaurus, appear distinct traces of the ancient Ionian population: its fabulous genealogies and religious rites attesting a close connexion between its earlier inhabitants and the Athenians: so much so, that it shared with the Ionic cities in the worship of the Apaturian Minerva (see iii. 55, note).]

  [1 ][“Lay encamped on the continent, and made assaults” &c.]

  [1 ][“The Athenians would be unable, both to cruize against them, and to be masters of the strait”.—Rhegium is supposed to be derived from ρήγνυμι, to break: as if it were the point at which Sicily had been severed from Italy.—“Charybdis appears to be an agitated water of from seventy to ninety fathoms in depth, circling in quick eddies. It is owing probably to the meeting of the harbour and lateral currents with the main one, the latter being forced over in this direction by the opposite point of Pezzo. This agrees in some measure with the relation of Thucydides, who is the only writer of remote antiquity I remember to have read, who has assigned to this danger its true situation, and not exaggerated its effects”. Smyth’s Mem. on Sicily.]

  [2 ][“Each”: that is, the Syracusans and Locrians.]

  [1 ][“At Peloris in Messene”.]

  [2 ][αὐτοὶ: Goell. Arn.: “they on their part lost a galley”. Vulgo et Bekk., αὐτοῖς: “the Athenians destroyed for them (the Syracusans) a galley”. But there being no men to swim out of any Syracusan galley, it could not belong to them.]

  [3 ][“Getting themselves out to sea by a lateral movement”. Goell. Arn.]

  [4 ][ἐσέβαλλον is supposed to be corrupt: and never means, in Thucydides, adoriri urbem, but irruptionem facere in terram; and is never joined with πρός. Poppo.]

  [1 ][“Putting into Messana”.]

  [2 ][“Against the city”.]

  [1 ][That is, on the beach.]

  [2 ][“Some to take their victual on shore, and others to lie at anchor. And it was very great discouragement, the time” &c.]

  [3 ][“More easily: for it was then impossible to lie round &c., whilst the Helots were not tender” &c.]

  [1 ][“Skins”. The seed of the white poppy, roasted and mixed with honey, was a dish in the second course amongst the ancients.]

  [2 ][“Seeing that the transport of the necessary supplies round Peloponnesus would be impossible; (and this in a desert place, where even in summer they were unable to send them sufficient supplies); and that there could be no watch kept by their galleys, the place being harbourless: so that either, themselves giving over the blockade, the men would escape so, or taking advantage of some foul weather, they would get out aboard the ships that brought them food”.]

  [1 ][“That the Lacedæmonians felt they had some strong ground to rely on”.]

  [2 ][“He advised the Athenians, seeing them somewhat more inclined in their minds to the expedition, that it was not fit” &c.]

  [3 ][“The generals”: that is, the ten annually chosen.—“That himself at any rate, if he had” &c.]

  [1 ][“For what concerned them (the generals)”. Arnold.]

  [2 ][Gave up his command.]

  [3 ][“But nevertheless the affair gave great content to the wiser sort, considering that of two” &c.]

  [1 ][“And was proceeding to sail shortly”. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“And he was confirmed” &c.]

  [3 ][“He was afraid”.]

  [4 ][“For to themselves the deficiencies and the preparation of their enemy, being hidden by the wood, would not be equally visible”.]

  [1 ][“In a great degree”. See i. 23.]

  [2 ][“Having unwittingly set fire to a small part of the wood, and the wind” &c.]

  [3 ][Discerning that the Lacedæmonians were more &c., “and that the Athenians would take the affair rather to heart as a matter of importance, and that the island was easier to land in than he thought for, did now prepare for the enterprise, and both sent” &c.]

  [1 ][“The middle of the island, being the most level and where lay the water, was kept” &c.]

  [2 ][“For there was there” &c.]

  [3 ][“They (the guards) being yet in their cabins and in the act of taking arms, and they (the Athenians) having landed unobserved; the Lacedæmonians thinking that those galleys had come” &c.]

  [1 ][The trireme had three ranks of rowers, the Thranitæ, Zygitæ, and Thalamii. Of these the Thalamii were the lowest order or least efficient men, and were therefore unprovided with arms and unfit for action. The relative position in the galley of these three ranks, is matter of doubt: some placing them one above the other, others the Thranitæ in the stern, the Zygitæ in midships, and the Thalamii in the head. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Were to follow them”. ἀπορώτατοι (meanliest provided &c.) is rendered by Goeller “most difficult to get at”.—“Who are formidable at a distance”.]

  [1 ][“Whilst the heavy–armed advanced not, but lay still”.]

  [1 ][πῖλος seems to have signified a helmet, as well as a jerkin or lining of the breast–plate: here probably the latter. From its original signification of hair, it may be supposed to be something made of hair. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“To the stronghold at the extremity of the island, which was not far off, and their own guards”.]

  [1 ][“Wherever they gave a passage, and where trusting” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“For there they were slain by the Persians, who turned them by the path (over the mountains)”.]

  [2 ][“Knowing that if they gave ground any more, be it ever so little, they would be utterly destroyed by their army, stayed the fight” &c.]

  [3 ][“Whether would they” &c.]

  [4 ][“That had command (πρότερον) before Styphon”.]

  [1 ][The Spartans had three officers chosen by the ephors, called Hippagretæ: each of whom chose 100 young men, the very flower of the Spartan youth, justifying his choice by his reasons. These 300 accompanied the king on expeditions not far from home: and were called, “the 300 horsemen”. (Muell. iii. 12.) But it is probable that Hippagretes is here a proper name and not that of the office.]

  [1 ][“Spartans”: see ch. 8, note.]

  [2 ][“By what was brought in”.]

  [3 ][καλοὶ κ’αγαθοὶ, γενναῖοι, &c. were the titles assumed by the aristocratical class in Greece: whilst the plebeians were designated as δειλοὶ, κακοὶ, πονηροὶ, and the like. See Aristot. iv. 8.]

  [1 ][Pylos was destined to belong once more to the Messenians. The ancient inhabitants of Messenia (Caucones and Leleges) appear to have been mixed, before the Dorian invasion, with a people from the north of Thessaly. There stood an Ithome, a Tricca, and an Œchalia, all within the district afterwards called Doris: and it is probable that the irruption of the Dorians into Doris caused the migration that carried these names to Messenia. The Messenians are said to have submitted quietly to their Dorian sovereigns. Their Heracleid kings appear in fact to have adopted a wise and liberal system of government, very different from the oppressive rule of the Dorians in Laconia and Argolis. But the Dorians shrank from all intercourse with the native population: and jealous of the favour showed to them by Cresphontes, (the son of Aristomachus to whose lot fell Messenia), they assassinated him. His successors nevertheless are found dedicating temples and instituting rites in honour of the old Messenian gods and heroes, apparently for the purpose of effacing national distinctions by a common worship. Pylos, before the Dorian invasion the most important town of Messenia, seems to have remained long unsubdued, and to have been held by the Nestoridæ for several centuries after they had wrested it from the house of Atreus. Even in their second struggle with Sparta, in the seventh century A. C., the Messenians still found allies in the Nestoridæ: and after their defeat were long sheltered at Pylos and Methone. The revival of Messenia in 369, gave Sparta her death–blow. After the battle of Leuctra, the Messenians were recalled by Epaminondas to their native land: and the city of Messene was founded on the site of their ancient stronghold, Ithome. The chief of the new settlers appear to have been the Messenian exiles (see i. 103), who at the close of the Peloponnesian war were expelled from Naupactus, and betook themselves, part to their kinsmen at Rhegium, part to Hesperis, the Cyrenaic city in Africa. From their singular tenacity of the Doric dialect and customs, they seem to have included many Dorian families: and appear accordingly to have been very impatient under the democratic equality prevailing afterwards at Messene.]

  [1 ][“And setting sail, betimes next morning they put in” &c.]

  [1 ][“Twelve stadia”. The isthmus, generally understood as the neck of land between Schœnus on the one sea, and Diholcus on the other: that is, as the names imply, the ancient place of transport over the isthmus: must here be taken as extending as far as Cenchreiæ.—Ephyra, the Dorian “Corinth of Jupiter”, became a seat of the Æolic race: but the more ancient population are believed to have been nearly allied to that of Attica: the legends of Sicyon and Corinth speak of an ancient connexion between this region and Attica: and the distinct traces of the Ionians found in Trœzen and Epidaurus, and the well attested antiquity of the Cynurians, “Ionians doricised under the Argives” (Herod. viii. 73), show that the Ionian name had in very early times prevailed on the eastern, as well as the western, side of Peloponnesus. The Iasian, supposed to mean Ionian, appears to be a more ancient epithet of Argos, than the Achæan.—This account of the reduction of Corinth, illustrates the Dorian mode of warfare in subduing the country: and also shows that the great revolution which imposed a foreign yoke on the Achæans, was not (according to the common legend) effected by a momentary struggle. The plan was to occupy a strong post, as the top of some hill, near the enemy’s city, and wear him out by incessant excursions. And when the number is considered (not exceeding 20,000) of the Dorian warriors migrating to Peloponnesus, it is difficult to conceive how a people, notoriously inexpert at storming fortifications, could subdue a country abounding in inaccessible strongholds in any other manner. The reduction of Argos, against which, after marching through Arcadia and seating themselves in the plains of Sparta, they first turned their arms, is another example. Upon a hill about three miles south of Argos, stands Temenium: a fortified place, so called from containing a monument of Temenus, one of the three sons of the Heracleid chief Aristomachus. From this spot, after a hard struggle and manifestly after the death of Temenus, the Dorians made themselves masters of Argos: and it is a fable therefore, which represents the descendants of Aristomachus as having nothing to do on entering Peloponnesus, but to cast lots and take possession of their several districts, Argolis, Messenia, and Laconia. Cresphontes, another son, founded a new capital in the plain of Stenyclerus: doubtless, as the first step towards the conquest of the whole land, neither Pylos nor Andania, the seat of the ancient Messenian kings, being yet in his possession. As to Laconia, it is clear that it cost the Dorians much time and toil to subdue it. Amyclæ, lying not three miles from Sparta, and apparently the ancient capital of the Achæan kings, was not reduced till the close of the ninth century, 300 years after the invasion: and Helos itself, not till later. Nor was it till about the first Olympiad, 776, that Laconia was so far subdued and tranquillized, as to enable the Spartans to turn their arms against their neighbours.]

  [1 ][“As soon as it landed”.]

  [1 ][“And retiring to a wall, they threw from above (for the place was all rising ground) the stones of the wall; and singing the Pæan, again charged: whom when” &c.]

  [2 ][“For that the horsemen supported the Athenians, and did them great” &c. See chap. 42.]

  [3 ][“The greatest slaughter was in the right wing”.]

  [1 ]To fetch off the dead by a herald, was a confession of being the weaker: but yet Nicias chooseth rather to renounce the reputation of victory, than omit an act of piety. Besides, the people took marvellously ill the neglect of the dead bodies: as may appear by their sentence on the captains after the battle of Arginusæ.

  [1 ][“Wherein lies Methone.”]

  [1 ][“Did not conceal their reluctance”.]

  [1 ][“Whilst the greater part slew themselves, some with the arrows &c., and others with cords &c., in every conceivable way making away with themselves most part of the night (for &c.): they perished also by the shot from above”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][ϕορμηδὸν: see ii. 75, note.]

  [3 ][“For of one of the parties”.]

  [4 ][“And the Athenians sailed for Sicily, whither &c.: and prosecuted” &c.]

  [1 ][“And the Acarnanians”.]

  [2 ][“Out of the Assyrian character”. Fortassis hoc significat Thucydides: Persas non habuisse suas ac proprias literarum formas, sed ad scribendem adhibuisse literas Assyrias, quas pro antiquissimis habet Plinius; et ab Assyriis ad Phœnices aliosque Orientis populos venisse, viri docti existimant. Duker. It was in Assyrian and Greek characters that Darius inscribed, on the two pillars erected on the Bosphorus, the names of all the tribes that accompanied him in the Scythian expedition. Herod. iv. 87.]

  [1 ][“Taking however from the Athenians such security as they could, that no innovation should be made in their state”. Goell. Arn.]

  [2 ][“Coming from”.]

  [3 ][“The cities called Actææ, formerly occupied by the Mytilenæans but then in the possession of the Athenians, and especially Antandros; which having fortified (seeing there was there abundant means for building galleys, &c.) they might easily issue thence with” &c. These cities, namely, Antandros, and perhaps Coryphantis and Heracleia, were taken by the Athenians, iii. 50.—Has ἀκταίας vocatas Thucydides dicit haud dubie quod in propinqua Lesbo ora Asiæ sitæ erant. Duker.]

  [1 ][“Of the Periœci”: that is, not Spartans: see ch. 8. Cythera was colonized by Lacedæmonians (see vii. 57).—“And every year there went over” &c.]

  [2 ][“Being that way only vulnerable. For it (Laconia) lieth wholly out” &c. Laconia is most properly described by the poet, as a country difficult of access to an enemy: a character of great historical importance. To the north and east, the plain of Sparta can be invaded by two natural passes only: one opening from the upper vale of the Eurotas; the other from that of the Œnus, in which a road leading from Arcadia by the western side of Parnon, and another crossing the same hill from Argos through Cynuria, meet at Sellasia. On the west, Taygetus forms an almost insurmountable barrier. It is indeed traversed by a track, which beginning near the head of the Messenian gulf, enters the plain near Sparta through a narrow defile at the foot of lofty and precipitous rocks. But this pass the simplest precautions would secure. At the mouth of the Laconian gulf, Cythera, with its excellent harbours, was a valuable appendage or a formidable neighbour. Thirl. Demaretus advised Xerxes to invade Laconia from this point: describing it, as an island which it were better for Sparta to be sunk in the sea. Herod. vii. 235.]

  [1 ][There must be some error here. The heavy–armed soldiers already said to have embarked, are two thousand men in all. There could scarcely be so many of the Milesians. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Marched upon the city of Cythera on the sea”. Cythera seems to have consisted of an upper and lower town: one on the heights, the other close to the sea.]

  [1 ][For otherwise the Athenians would have removed” &c. This is an amendment of Heilman, adopted by all the recent editors. That they were not in fact removed, appears in ch. 57.]

  [2 ][“Having received (from the Milesians) Scandeia, the fort upon the haven &c., they sailed to Asine and Helos and most” &c. The Asinæans (those at least of the Asine mentioned in ch. 13) were Dryopes: a race expelled by the Dorians, in the first stage of their wanderings from the north of Thessaly, from the land between Parnassus and Œta afterwards called Doris. Such of them as submitted to the invaders, were either transplanted to the south side of Parnassus, and under the title of Craugallidæ made bondmen of the temple of Delphi: or else migrated to Eubœa and Peloponnesus, and established themselves in Asine, Hermione, and Eion on the coast of Argolis. Shortly before the first Messenian war, they were expelled from Asine by the Argives, for aiding the Spartans in an inroad on the Argive territory: and took refuge in Laconia. In that war they assisted the Spartans against the Messenians: for which service they were rewarded, on the fall of Ithome, with a part of the Messenian coast, where they founded another Asine, and there long preserved their national name and recollections. The Dorian migration appears to have scattered the Dryopes in various directions over the sea: as besides Eubœa, they were found also in Cyprus, Ionia, and the shores of the Hellespont. They were of Arcadian, that is, Pelasgian origin.]

  [1 ][A war “they were unprovided for”: never having expected to see the enemy in Laconia. The cavalry were in after times raised from 400 to 600: but never were a match for the better mounted and practised cavalry (the ἅμιπποι, v. 57, note) of Bœotia. Mueller iii. 12.]

  [2 ][“And one body, stationed for the defence of Cortyta and Aphrodisia, charged and frighted in &c.: and when the men of arms” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, Argolis.—For Cynuria, see v. 41, note.]

  [2 ][“Into the citadel”—“cooped up within it”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“Together with Tantalus &c., captain of the Lacedæmonians, who was amongst them and was wounded” &c.]

  [2 ][In this year died Artaxerxes: shortly before whose death Zopyrus, son of the Megabyzus mentioned in i. 109, revolted and fled to Athens. His flight is mentioned by Herodotus, iii. 160: and is, as Goeller says, the latest incident alluded to in his history.]

  [1 ][“If it succeed not, so that we part each having what he conceives to be his right, we will go to war again hereafter. (First however let us agree amongst ourselves till we are rid of the Athenians.) And indeed you must see that this assembly &c.” Schol. Goell. Arn.]

  [1 ][“Of the commodities in Sicily which” &c.]

  [1 ][This they proved “upon the invitation of the Chalcidian race”.]

  [2 ][The league: that is, the ancient alliance in iii. 86.]

  [3 ][“And the Athenians that covet &c., may well be pardoned: and I blame not &c. — But we are to blame, as many as know this and do not provide aright, and whoever comes here not judging it a most admirable maxim, that all join in averting the common danger”.]

  [1 ][“And if some man be &c., let him not be disappointed if he fail, contrary to his expectation: knowing” &c.]

  [2 ][“And so far as we have each of us fallen short in the designs which we thought to execute, considering that we have been abundantly thwarted by these stumbling–blocks (the Athenians), let us banish hence the impending enemy”. Göll.]

  [1 ][“Love of contention”.]

  [1 ][“Told them, that they were intending to come to terms (with the rest of the Sicilians); and that the treaty should be open to them (the Athenians) also”. κἀκείνοις, cannot relate to the allies.]

  [1 ][“Prosperity beyond expectation”.—“A strength of hope”: i. e. supplied by hope.]

  [2 ][The fall of Corinth (ch. 42, n.) brought the Dorians for the first time in contact with Attica: but the expedition failed through the devotion of Codrus. Hearing that the Delphic oracle had promised them success, if they spared the Athenian king, he is said to have procured his own death by stratagem at the hands of a Dorian: and on the Athenians demanding his body, they withdrew in despair from Attica. The expedition however had the important result of finally separating Megaris from Attica. It was now occupied by a Dorian colony, and remained long subject to Corinth, as Ægina was to Epidaurus, Chæroneia to Orchomenus &c.: so much so that the same observances were exacted from the Megarean peasantry on the death of a Bacchiad, as from the Laconian periœci on the death of the Spartan king (see Herod. vi. 55). Aided by Argos, the Megareans recovered their independence, and remained subject to their own Dorian oligarchy till about 620: when a popular insurrection raised to the throne the demagogue Theagenes, who had gained his popularity by destroying the cattle of the rich in their pastures (Arist. v. 5). To confirm his own power, he aided his son–in–law Cylon in his attempt on Athens (i. 126). Like the other tyrants, he prompted industry and the arts, and employed the people in adorning the city with splendid and useful buildings. Upon his overthrow, whether by Sparta or not is uncertain, the democracy soon lost sight of all moderation: and Solon’s disburthening ordinance was improved upon, by not simply cancelling the debt, but also compelling the creditor to refund the interest received. So freely were the rich banished for the sake of their confiscated property, that in the end (as happened also at Cume) the banished became the stronger party, and ejected the democracy (Arist. v. 5). It was perhaps at this period that ostracism was adopted at Megara. On the rupture between Sparta and Athens in the third Messenian war (i. 102), the people were again uppermost, and fought on the side of the Athenians at Tanagra: but the defeat at Coroneia was followed by a revolution at Megara. How the oligarchy came to be at this time in banishment, does not appear.]

  [1 ][“Knowing that the people, in their present distress, could no longer hold with themselves, in their fear made an offer” &c. Arn. Goell.]

  [2 ][“Which would more readily surrender, if that” &c.]

  [3 ][“The island”.]

  [1 ][The Athenian youth at the age of eighteen took the military oath, οὐ καταισχυνῶ ὅπλα τὰ ἱερά. κ. τ. λ.: “I will not disgrace my arms, nor desert my post &c”: and served two years as περίπολος: that is to say, kept watch and ward in the towns and fortresses on the coast and frontier, and performed all duties necessary for the defence of Attica; not generally going over the borders. But Boeckh observes, that the περίπολοι here mentioned are not ephebi: being classed with the light–armed, and distinguished from the hoplitæ; whereas the ephebi were completely armed: that these are the ordinary patroles to be found in every army.]

  [2 ][“And during this night none of the city perceived any thing of this, save such as had peculiar care to know what was passing”.]

  [3 ][“And then sail out, and before it was day in a cart to bring it back” &c.—“Within the gates”: that is, of the long walls.]

  [1 ][“And at the same time the Megareans that were in the plot, slay the guards at the gates. And first” &c.]

  [2 ][“Took to their heels in a fright, the enemy falling upon them in the night, and thinking, on finding themselves assaulted by the Megarean traitors, that all the Megareans had betrayed them”.]

  [3 ][“That any Megarean that would, should go and pile his arms with the Athenians”.]

  [4 ][That is, the long walls: now follows the attempt on the city.]

  [1 ][“Anoint themselves with oil. And they had the greater security in opening the gates, for that 4,000 &c., which were to come from Eleusis &c., were &c.” The anointing with oil was too common to excite suspicion.]

  [2 ][“And they remained on guard about the gates”.]

  [1 ][“And beginning from the long walls, which they were masters of, they built a wall across them on the side of Megara, and thence on either side of Nisæa down to the sea, distributing &c.: and felling the fruit trees and timber trees, they formed a palisade where required”.]

  [1 ]Not pulled them down quite, but only so far as not to be a defence to any part of the city. [That part of the long walls, between the city and their own cross wall.]

  [2 ][“Desiring above all”.]

  [1 ][“And then they might more safely turn to the side they were disposed to, when that side had the victory. But Brasidas, not prevailing, returned” &c. That is, he did not, as the Megareans expected, fight.]

  [2 ][“Having intended, even before Brasidas sent, to come” &c.]

  [1 ][“For the Athenians charged the hipparchus and some few others of the Bœotians close to Nisæa, and slew and rifled them”. Poppo, to account for the Athenian cavalry being so close to Nisæa, supposes that they retreated there purposely to draw the enemy after them.]

  [2 ][“Any decided advantage”.]

  [3 ]The period is somewhat long: and seems to be one of them, that gave occasion to Dionysius Halicarnasius to censure the author’s elocution.

  [1 ][“Being now dismayed”.]

  [1 ][“But these, as soon as they were in possession of the government, held a review: and having separated the lochi from each other in divers quarters of the city, picked out” &c.]

  [2 ][“Thinking there was danger it might happen there, as” &c. Anæa, on the opposite continent, had of old been a place of refuge for exiles from Samos. The original inhabitants of Samos, the Leleges, appear to have received a colony of Ionians from Epidaurus: who being expelled by Androclus, son of Codrus, one of the leaders of the Ionian migration and the founder of Ephesus, fled some to Samothrace, then inhabited by Pelasgians, some to Anæa, there waiting the opportunity to return. This in a few years presented itself, and they again ejected the Ephesians: and became a part of the Ionian body. The present exiles must have been driven out on the surrender of Samos to Pericles in 440: see i. 117].

  [1 ][“And sailed to it”.]

  [1 ][“Orchomenus the Minyeian, but now the Bœotian”. See iii. 61, note. There was an Orchomenus in Arcadia, and also in Thessaly. The race of Minyans took their name from their king Minyas, said to be the first man that ever built a treasury. The vast wealth of the city is attested by the expression of Achilles, “that he would not forgive Agamemnon, though he should give him all that is brought to Orchomenus, or Egyptian Thebes”: Il. ix. 381. It retained its name, the Minyeian, for some time after the occupation of Bœotia by the Bœotians: Il. ii. 511. In 368 A. C., being the chief seat of the aristocratical party in Bœotia, the members of the equestrian order were charged with a plot to overthrow the Theban democracy: the male population was put to the sword, and the city razed to the ground. Orchomenus, Thespiæ, and Platæa disappeared at this time from the list of Bœotian cities. — ξυντελεῖ means, that Chæroneia retained its own laws and the dominion over its territory: but besides paying tribute was bound to furnish troops for Orchomenus, and sent no ambassadors to the Bœotian league. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Might not come to aid Delium with &c., but might be busied each about their own troubled affairs”. Vulgo κινούμενοι: Bekker &c. κινούμενα.—Templum est Apollinis Delium imminens mari: quinque millia passuum a Tanagra abest: minus quatuor millium inde in proxima Eubœæ est mari trajectus. Liv. xxxv. 51.]

  [1 ][“And having reduced them (Salynthius and the Agræi), had all other things ready, when the time should require” &c.]

  [1 ][“To give a safe passage”.]

  [2 ][“Melitia in Achaia”, the seat of Hellen, the father of Dorus, Æolus, and Xuthus; the latter the father of Achæus and Ion: the fabulous genealogy used by the ancients to express an affinity they could no better define, between the four tribes of which the Hellenic nation is generally considered to consist, the Dorians, Æolians, Achæans, and Ionians. Achaia was itself another name for Hellas and Phthia, the seat of the real Hellenes, those mentioned by Homer (Il. ii. 684) in conjunction with the Achæans: thither they are supposed to have migrated from the more ancient Hellas near Dodona in Epirus, probably from the same cause that brought thence the people who gave their name to Thessaly, the pressure of new tribes from the north. In this latter Hellas they are found along with the Græci, both probably akin to each other and to the Pelasgi, the race which under the names of Caucones, Leleges, Curetes, Chaones, &c., were in the earliest times spread widely over the whole of Greece, Epirus, and Thessaly: their settlements being generally indicated by the Pelasgian names, Argos (a plain), Larissa (a walled town). Of the above four tribes, the Æolians were the most widely diffused, spreading themselves over the Pagasæan bay in Thessaly, Bœotia, Ephyra (Corinth), Ætolia, Locris, as well as the western side of Peloponnesus. The Achæans, from whom the whole of Peloponnesus is sometimes called the Achæan Argos, in distinction to the Pelasgian Argos in Thessaly, were the predominant race in the south of Thessaly and the eastern side of Peloponnesus: the former seeming to be their earlier seat, and being themselves perhaps originally no other than the Pelasgian inhabitants of Phthia. The Dorians are supposed to have entered Thessaly from the north: after successive migrations, the epochs of which are unknown, they issued at last from the foot of Mount Œta to effect the conquest of Peloponnesus. Of the Ionian name, there is no trace in the north: and it appears in Peloponnesus (perhaps a more ancient seat of the Ionians than even Attica) before the Hellenes are heard of in Thessaly. It is used by Herodotus as equivalent to Pelasgian or ante–Hellenic: and the genuine Ionians appear to be the aboriginal Pelasgi. Of the four tribes, three seem to have no particular connexion with the Hellenes, except their northern extraction: the fourth has not even that. How the name of this obscure tribe came to fix itself on what we call Greece, wants explanation; unless Thucydides (i. 3.) may be considered to have given one. It is remarkable that the two names, Hellenes and Græci, should be first found close beside each other: the one, without any assignable cause, spreading eastward, over the whole continent; the other westward, being applied by the Italians to the inhabitants of the western coast, and afterwards by the Romans much more extensively, from whom, as Mr. Thirlwall observes, it has unfortunately descended to us. See Thirl. chap. iv.]

  [1 ][“Howsoever: and at any rate, with an army to pass &c., is a thing that all Grecians” &c.]

  [2 ][“Arbitrary rather than constitutional”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And here the Thessalian guides left him”.]

  [2 ][“Into Chalcidicé”. Chalcis in Eubœa was, in the middle of the eighth century and long afterwards, under the government of great landowners (ὁι ἱπποβόται, Herod. v. 77), who had perhaps political motives for encouraging the poorer citizens to emigrate. About that time it planted, amongst numerous other colonies, several in the peninsula in the Ægean sea, which hence acquired the name of Chalcidicé. It was also called (including the coast as far as Amphipolis) τὰ ἐπὶ Θρᾴκης: which is by Hobbes generally rendered Thrace, though forming no part of it.]

  [3 ][“And at the same time the cities adjacent to them (the Chalcideans), which had not revolted, secretly drew them on”. This should be in a parenthesis.]

  [1 ][“Should separate themselves from the rest, in order to be made free”.—The helots are commonly supposed to have been the Achæan inhabitants of the town of Helos, reduced to bondage after an unsuccessful insurrection against the Dorians: though according to one derivation of the name, from ἕλω (like δμῶες from δαμάω) they were captives taken in war, and are supposed by Mueller (iii. 3.) to have been found in that state by the Dorians on first entering Peloponnesus. The name was applied to the Messenians as well as the Laconians. They were bound to the soil, and in a certain sense the slaves of the state. Upon the fixed rent (82 medimni of barley, and oil and wine in proportion) paid for every κλῆρος or lot of land cultivated by them, the Spartan, occupied only with war and the gymnasium, was entirely dependent for that leisure which was the essential condition of his status. Their usual treatment appears to have been intended to make the distinction between freeman and slave as broad and deeply felt as possible. Every thing Spartan was polluted by the touch of a helot: he dared not be heard singing a Spartan song, nor be seen in any but the rustic garb, the livery of his servitude. For thinning their numbers, which must have been ten times greater than those of the Spartans, one expedient was the κρυπτεία: an institution different perhaps in its origin, but one which became a secret commission for removing the more dangerous of the slaves. The Spartan youth were sent abroad armed with daggers, not merely for defence or to inure them to the hardships of a military life. A usage somewhat similar, but without affectation of secrecy, is said to have been established in Attica. Emancipation was not unfrequent: and there were many degrees of freedom between the helot and the Spartan (see v. 34). A little below is seen the first experiment of fully arming helots in the service of the state: the success of which encouraged the repetition of it in cases, like the present, of distant foreign expeditions. Thus 300 neodamodes will be found serving under Gylippus in Sicily: and in 399, Thimbron had 1000 with him in Asia. The 700 here spoken of, go hereafter by the name of Brasideians. The helots must somehow have been made to forget the fate of their 2,000 fellows: since Sparta when hard pressed after the battle of Leuctra, with the Thebans all but in the city, armed and promised liberty to 6000 helots, and was faithfully served by them.]

  [1 ][“Brasidas was sent off by the Lacedæmonians, both himself most desirous of going, and much desired by the Chalcideans: a man that had then a reputation at Sparta of being active in every thing, and after he went on this expedition one that was most serviceable to the Lacedæmonians”.]

  [1 ][“And also a diversion of the war from Peloponnesus. And in the war after the Sicilian affair, the virtue” &c.]

  [2 ][“And had a watchful eye upon their allies there”.]

  [1 ][“To the pass of Lyncus”: the name of the district, not of any one city, there being here in early times only unfortified villages. It was surrounded on all sides by mountains, this narrow pass between two heights being the chief road to the coast (see ch. 127). It was traversed by the Egnatian Roman road: which starting from Dyrrhacium and crossing the Illyrian mountains at Pylon, the gateway, led through the country of the Lyncestæ and Eordians to Edessa and Pella. Mueller.]

  [2 ][“Not to remove all dangers out of the way of Perdiccas”. Vulgo ὑπεξελθεῖν. Bekker &c. ὑπεξελεῖν.]

  [1 ][“Not uneloquent for a Lacedæmonian”.]

  [1 ][“A false liberty”.]

  [2 ][“If they invade you”.]

  [3 ][A corrupt sentence.]

  [1 ][“Into the hands of certain men, let him above all have confidence”.]

  [2 ][“Not thanks for our labour, but accusation rather than honour and glory: and the charges on pretence of which we are now warring against the Athenians, we should appear to be ourselves liable to in a more odious degree, than one that never pretended virtue”.]

  [3 ][“So great is our circumspection in matters which concern us in the highest degree. And besides the oaths we have sworn already, the greatest” &c.]

  [1 ][“Lest, if you be not forced to join them, they be injured by this your good will towards them, whilst contributing your money to the Athenians”.]

  [2 ][“The most honourable title”.]

  [1 ][“Was denounced”.]

  [1 ][ἄμπελον: “the vines”: making fascines, to hold the earth together. Goeller.—“And the stones and bricks of the buildings near, pulling them down for that purpose”.—“And in such places &c., and where the building of the temple no longer stood, (for the stoa had fallen down), erected wooden towers”.]

  [1 ][“Pagondas, being with Arianthidas bœotarch of Thebes, and the command being his, was of opinion” &c. Whether the relative οἵ, “who are eleven”, refers to the “bœotarchs”, or to “the rest” of them, that is, whether their whole number was eleven or thirteen, is a disputed point. See v. 38, note.]

  [2 ][“Your hereditary custom”.]

  [1 ][“When besides they be” &c.]

  [2 ][“And (how should we not) know, that though others fight &c., we, if worsted, shall have one indisputable boundary fixed for our whole territory? For they will enter and hold all we have by force”.]

  [3 ][See i. 108, 113: iii. 68, note.]

  [1 ][See vi. 69, note.]

  [2 ][“Breaking up his camp”.]

  [1 ][“Where they piled their arms”: see ii. 2, note.]

  [2 ][The ξύμμοροι stood in the same relation to Thebes, that Chæroneia did to Orchomenus: see ch. 76, n.]

  [3 ][Copais: the lake whereon stood the Athens said to have been founded by Cecrops, and to have been swallowed up by a flood.]

  [4 ][In the battle of Leuctra, the Thebans formed their column fifty deep: the Syracusans, in their first battle with the Athenians, sixteen deep; the ordinary depth of the Macedonian phalanx. When the Romans used the same tactics, their phalanx, consisting of four different descriptions of soldiers drawn from the four highest classes, seems to have been drawn up twenty deep, and perhaps more. On the contrary, the Lacedæmonians and Athenians generally formed their line only eight deep, in the Peloponnesian war; though at Leuctra the Lacedæmonians adopted a deeper order of battle. The causes of this difference are probably to be found in the circumstance, that the phalanx at Athens and Sparta was formed entirely of citizens of the same class and similarly armed: whereas in Bœotia and Macedonia, as at Rome, it contained a large admixture of poorer citizens, who being unable to furnish themselves as heavy–armed soldiers, were less fitted for the front line; and were therefore stationed in the rear of their better armed comrades, to add weight to their charge by the mere force of numbers. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Regular light–armed”. Göll.]

  [2 ][“Being far more numerous than those of the enemy”, followed &c.]

  [3 ][“The Bœotians, when Pagondas had there given them too a short exhortation, sang the pæan and charged down the hill”. Bekker &c., παιωνίσαντες: vulgo παιωνίσαντος.]

  [1 ][“And they met” &c.]

  [2 ][“Bearing each other down with their shields”.]

  [3 ][“And in this part they fell especially upon the Thespians. For deserted by those on their flanks, and surrounded and crowded together, those Thespians that” &c.]

  [4 ][“And forcing them back, pursued them at first for a short space. And Pagondas seeing the distress of his left wing, and sending two &c., it came to pass that that wing of the Athenians which was victorious, thinking &c., was put into affright: and on both wings now, one under this mistake and the other overpowered and broken by the Thebans, the flight became general of the Athenian army”.]

  [1 ][“Save only for holy water at the sacrifices”. The modern custom of sprinkling with holy water seems to be borrowed from the ancients. The priest used to dip a brand in it, and therewith sprinkle and sanctify the congregation.]

  [2 ][“Now use them as their own.”]

  [1 ][“Than they that will not barter dead bodies for things sacred to the gods: and they bade the Bœotians to tell them plainly to gather up their dead, not on terms of leaving the Bœotian territory; (for in it they were not, but in that they had made their own by the sword); but under truce according to the custom of their ancestors”.]

  [1 ][“Their (the Bœotians’) ground”. Oropus is placed by some amongst the fourteen confederate states of Bœotia, in respect of which every sixty years, at the festival of Dædala, fourteen wooden images were carried up to the top of Cithæron. It was the subject of many contests between Thebes and Athens, but in the end became part of the territory of Attica. To Athens it was of vast importance, not only for the fertility of its territory, but as commanding the passage to Eubœa, which was in some measure indispensable to her subsistence.]

  [1 ][“And the herald, knowing nothing of it, coming again” &c. The moral effects of this battle are described by Xenophon (Mem. iii. 5.) as most disastrous for the Athenians. So much were they depressed and their enemy elated, that whereas heretofore the Thebans did not consider themselves, even on their own ground, a match for the Athenians without the aid of the Peloponnesians, the Athenians now did not feel even Attica secure from invasion by the Thebans. Other fruits of it will be seen in the expedition of Brasidas to Chalcidice.]

  [2 ][“Demosthenes too”.—“Sitalkes too died”: the ally of the Athenians. An enumeration of their various mishaps at this time.]

  [1 ][“The colony”.]

  [2 ][“To colonize”.—“Sent thither, both of themselves and such as volunteered, ten thousand settlers”. Amphipolis was important to Athens on account of its wealth and magnitude, but more so as commanding the only passage by which a hostile army from the south could reach the towns and gold mines on the Thracian coast, a main source of her revenue. Thirlwall.]

  [1 ][“And they carried on the war from Eion, which they used as a place of traffic at the mouth of the river by the sea–side, five–and–twenty stadia from the city, which Hagnon named Amphipolis: because, being washed by the Strymon on two sides, to surround it entirely he enclosed it with a long wall from one bend of the river to the other, and made it conspicuous on all sides, both to the sea and the continent”.]

  [2 ][“But above all the Argilians, being &c., as soon as opportunity offered and Brasidas arrived, they having been practising long before with those of their own party there to betray the city, now receiving him into it and revolting” &c. Bekker &c. ἔπραξάν: vulgo ἔπραξέν.]

  [1 ][“The town is at some distance from the bridge: and there were not then walls, as there are now”. That is, from the town to the bridge.]

  [2 ][“Of the outlying property of the Amphipolitans, whose dwellings were all about the place”.]

  [3 ][“Being taken”.]

  [4 ][“Nothing passed from those within, as he expected” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, Amphipolitan and Athenian, all alike.]

  [1 ][“To be not what it was (before the offer of Brasidas) &c.: and the rest &c., as being unexpectedly delivered &c., and not deprived (as they were before Brasidas’ offer) of the rights of citizenship”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“But began settling the affairs of Amphipolis”.]

  [1 ][“To make their first trial of the Lacedæmonians, who were very earnest in the matter”.]

  [2 ][That is, the envy felt by the πρῶτοι ἄνδρες. See v. 15, note.]

  [3 ][See chapter 69, note.]

  [1 ][“A prominence projecting from the king’s ditch into the Ægæan sea, where it is bounded by Athos, a high mountain upon it”. This canal of Xerxes is stated in Walpole’s Memoirs (1818), to be yet clearly traceable, though filled with mud and weeds: and to be in length about a mile and a quarter, and in breadth about twenty–five yards.]

  [2 ]The Greek and their own.

  [3 ][See vi. 88, note.]

  [4 ][See viii. 93, note.]

  [1 ][“Having privily visited him”.]

  [2 ][“Through the wall”.]

  [3 ][“Advanced a little and then lay still; but sent” &c.]

  [1 ][Planks, forming inclined planes to the wall. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“The rest of his men”.]

  [3 ][“Having seized on the extremity of Torone, reaching to the sea and separated from the city by a narrow isthmus”. Arn. Goell.]

  [4 ][ἀδεῶς πολιτεύειν: “and exercise the rights of citizens there in security”.]

  [1 ][“The fort”.]

  [2 ][“That had no hand in it”.]

  [3 ][“They would not think worse of them, but be so much the better disposed to them as they will deal justly by them”.]

  [4 ][“But for the past, not themselves (the Lacedæmonians) were injured, but they (the Toronæans) rather by other men” &c.]

  [1 ][“Upon the top of a building”:—“and carried up many jars and casks of water and great stones: and many men being” &c.]

  [1 ][“Thus did the Athenians abandon the place, and in their boats and galleys got safe to Pallene”.]

  [2 ][“And stripping the houses of their furniture, he consecrated the whole ground.”]

  [3 ][“Make a general peace”.]

  [1 ][No good sense has yet been made of this passage.]

  [2 ][From the beginning to “This truce shall be for a year”, the words of the treaty are those of the Lacedæmonians, who are throughout to be understood by ἡμῖν. Then follows the ratification by the Athenian people, ἔδοξε τῷ δήμῳ.]

  [3 ][“Of our ancestors”. The Athenians and their allies had probably been excluded from the oracle during the war.]

  [4 ][“Both we and you, and of the rest such as please, abiding and doing right and justice all of us by the laws of our ancestors”. Hobbes generally renders πατρίοις νόμοις, “laws of the country”.—The sacred treasures had been openly treated by the Peloponnesians (see i. 121.) as property to be converted to their own purposes: and the Athenians probably had discovered or suspected some unfair dealings with it. Thirlwall.]

  [5 ][“And the following seem good to the Lacedæmonians and the rest of the allies, if the Athenians agree to a truce: namely, that each side remain within their own territory, retaining what they now hold; the Lacedæmonians in Coryphasium staying within” &c.]

  [1 ][“And that neither the Megareans nor their allies pass beyond this road”. These words should be in a parenthesis: the article then continuing: “and retaining possession of the island, which the Athenians have taken, neither having commerce with the other side”.]

  [2 ][“That the Lacedæmonians keep &c.” The “agreement” here spoken of, is the thirty years’ peace; whereby the possession of Trœzen was conceded to the Lacedæmonians. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][“And that the Lacedæmonians and their allies shall have free navigation &c: but shall not pass the seas in a long ship” &c. Goell. Arn.]

  [1 ][“The people decreed: the tribe Acamantis gave the Prytanes: Phænippus was scribe: Niciades epistates: Laches put the question, ‘that with good fortune there be concluded’ &c. And the assembly agreed, ‘that there be a suspension, &c., to begin from this day, being’ &c.”—On the expulsion of the Pisistradæ and the success of the party of Cleisthenes over that of Isagoras, that is, of the democracy over the aristocracy, Cleisthenes, amongst other changes reorganizing the whole frame of the state, abolished the four Ionic tribes, and formed ten new ones: and from each drawing fifty senators, increased the senate from 400 to 500. The fifty senators of each tribe succeeded by lot to the office of President for 35 or 36 days, being called during that time the prytanes: the time of office, prytaneia: and this decree, made in the pryteneia of the tribe Acamantis, is therefore inscribed ἀκάμαντις ἐπρυτάνευε. The prytanes were distributed by lot into five decuriæ, each decuria presiding over the rest for seven days; thence called πρόεδροι, presidents: and during each of the seven days, the powers of all the proedri centered in one, called epistates, who kept the keys of the citadel and the treasury. Originally, these proedri proposed matters for deliberation, and presided in the senate and assembly. But in time the presidency in both was committed to nine men, also called proedri, chosen by the epistates, one out of each of the other nine tribes: these also had their epistates (here, Niciades). There were scribes both of the senate and assembly: of whom one was γραμματεὺς κατὰ πρυτανείαν (in the present case, Phænippus), his office being to take charge of all votes and public writings made during his prytaneia.]

  [1 ][“These articles the Lacedæmonians agreed to, and the allies also swore to”.]

  [1 ][“By the storm which befell the Achæans”.]

  [2 ][“Should light upon some greater vessel”.]

  [1 ][“Undergo the greatest hardships, if their state shall be” &c.]

  [2 ][“And he was about to lay hands on those cities. But” &c.]

  [1 ][Vulgo, ἤ. Bekker &c., [Editor: illegible character]: “the truth was rather as” &c.]

  [1 ][“That they came in manifestly &c.: for somewhat” &c.]

  [2 ][τότε: “at the time before mentioned”: see the end of ch. 121.]

  [3 ][“And they (the Scionæans and Mendæans, and Brasidas’ men) made their arrangements in common, as expecting” &c.

  [1 ][The Macedonians are here classed with the barbarians, as in ch. 124 they are distinguished from the Greeks. Arnold. Herodotus (v. 22.) tells us, that the father of Perdiccas, Alexander the Philhellene, was desirous of contending at the Olympic games, but as a Macedonian was driven from the course as a barbarian, until he proved his Hellenic descent by tracing it from Temenus of Argos.]

  [1 ][“That should fall on him”.]

  [2 ][“And that they which are coming upon you, are barbarians and many”.]

  [3 ][“I should not instruct, as well as encourage you”.]

  [4 ][If the whole system of Spartan government and customs is to be attributed to Lycurgus, no better general view can be given of his legislation, than to say that he transformed Sparta into a camp. But it seems nearer the truth, to say that it was a camp from the time of the conquest: for no description can better suit an unwalled city, occupied by a handful of foreigners, in the midst of a hostile and half–subdued people: and the Spartan was not improperly said to be throughout the military age, ἔμϕρουρος, on guard. Laconia and Messenia appear to have contained three classes: the Dorians of Sparta, the helots, and the free provincials of Laconia. The last class consisted for the most part of the conquered Achæans, including possibly some few Dorians also: the towns of Bœæ and Geronthræ appearing to have been founded, the one by a Heracleid, the other by Spartans; but as the whole body of invaders was barely strong enough to effect the conquest, few could have been spared for the provinces. The provincials were absolute subjects: their land acknowledged by tribute the sovereignty of the state: political privileges they had none, their municipal government being under the controul of Spartan officers. The helots (whose condition has been described ch. 80, note) seem to have been at least thrice as numerous as the free Laconians: and the Spartans not being a third part of the latter, could have been barely a fifteenth part of the entire population. To secure the dominion of this small body, threatened with immediate dissolution from internal dissensions, was the main scope of the legislation of Lycurgus. The principal cause of discord was for the time removed by a new distribution of landed property. According to Plutarch, he divided the whole of Laconia (though in his time it could hardly have been all subdued: and whether Messenia, certainly not acquired till afterwards, was included in the 9,000 parcels, the ancients are not agreed) into 39,000 parcels: of which 9,000 were assigned to so many Spartan families, and 30,000 to the free Laconians. It seems to have been intended that each of the 9,000 parcels should always be represented by the head of a family: and it is said, that every child at its birth was brought to the elders of its tribe, and if pronounced worthy to live, had one of the parcels assigned to it. It is not easy to conceive how such a regulation, aided even as it might be by the controul of the kings over adoptions and marriages of orphan heiresses, could be made effective. At all events it wholly failed, especially when the inalienability of landed estates was relaxed by the admission of donations and devises, to prevent the extremes of wealth and indigence (Arist. ii. 7). And this is one of the causes of the decline, at this time in progress, of the Spartan power. For in spite of the penalties imposed by Lycurgus on celibacy, and the rewards assigned in later times to the father of many children, the growing temptation to concentrate the franchise as it encreased in value was too strong for Spartan patriotism: and the Dorian population, said to have contained at one time 10,000 families (Arist. ibid.), and in the Persian war 8,000 men able to bear arms (Herod. vii. 234), shewed a sensible decline from the time of the great earthquake, a blow it never recovered from. Sparta could not bring into the field at Leuctra more than 700 men: and perished at last by what may perhaps be considered as the fate of any state similarly circumstanced, διὰ τὴν ὀλιγανθρωπίαν (Arist. ibid.). See Thirl. ch. 8.]

  [1 ][“Against such of them as are Macedonians”. Brasidas had just defeated the Lyncestæ, who were Macedonians.]

  [1 ][“For they have no order, whereby to be made ashamed to quit their ranks when pressed”:—“and a manner of fighting wherein every one &c., is especially fitted to afford them a more” &c.]

  [1 ][“And that they should seize and destroy them. But seeing” &c.]

  [2 ][“To leave their ranks and run &c., and seize that height which he (Brasidas) thought was easiest to take, and try if they could” &c.]

  [1 ][Bekker and all the MSS., ἐπιόντας, “going up”: Goell. Arn. Popp. ἐπόντας, “that were already upon the same”.]

  [2 ][“To it”.]

  [3 ][“The first point of Perdiccas his dominions”.]

  [4 ][“And thenceforth entertained for the Peloponnesians a hatred not consistent with his former feelings towards them, hitherto influenced by his hatred of the Athenians; and betraying his own natural interest, sought any means” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“The Athenians, as they were preparing to do, set sail” &c.]

  [1 ][“Of the peninsula”.]

  [2 ][“In a seditious spirit”.]

  [1 ][“And Perdiccas (for it happened &c.) partly” &c.]

  [1 ][“When the peace” &c.]

  [2 ][His friends in Thessaly: that is, the same powerful men, who, against the general wishes of the nation, had conducted Brasidas through the country. Thirlwall.]

  [3 ][ἡβῶντες, those within thirty years of age. They were neither admitted to the public assembly, nor to fill any public office out of the country. Muell. iii. 4.]

  [4 ][Pasitelidas (see v. 3.).

  [1 ][The 56th of her priesthood (see ii. 2.).

  [2 ][“To the vacant place”: that is, when the sentinel was absent. For securing the watchfulness of the sentinel, there were two contrivances: one used in times of alarm, which the Potidæans appear to have neglected, was this. An officer went his rounds with a bell, which every sentinel was to answer as soon as he heard it. The other was the delivery by one sentinel to another of a bell or staff: which thus came round at last to the point whence it set out. If any sentinel found the next man off his post, he was to carry the bell back and deliver it to the sentinel from whom he received it: so that the bell returning the wrong way, the delinquent was discovered. Goeller.]

• Back to Top

  7: 7. Thucydides, The History Part 2

  The second part of Thucydides’ history of the Peloponnesian Wars.

  Thucydides, The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury; Now First Collected and Edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart., (London: Bohn, 1839-45). 11 vols. Vol. 9.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/772 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  THE FIFTH BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  The former year’s truce ended, Cleon warreth on the Chalcidic cities, and recovereth Torone.—Phæax is sent by the Athenians to move a war amongst the Sicilians.—Cleon and Brasidas, who were on both sides the principal maintainers of the war, are both slain at Amphipolis.—Presently after their death a peace is concluded: and after that again, a league between the Lacedæmonians and Athenians.—Divers of the Lacedæmonian confederates hereat discontented, seek the confederacy of the Argives. These make league, first with the Corinthians, Eleians, and Mantineans: then with the Lacedæmonians: and then again, by the artifice of Alcibiades, with the Athenians.—After this the Argives make war upon the Epidaurians: and the Lacedæmonians upon the Argives.—The Athenian captains and the Melians treat by way of dialogue touching the yielding of Melos: which the Athenians afterwards besiege and win.—These are the acts of almost six years more of the same war.

  year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. 3. The truce for a year expired.year x. A. C. 422. Ol 89. 2. 3. The Delians removed out of Delos upon superstition.The Delians seat themselves in Adramyttium.

  1. The summer following, the truce for a year, which was to last till the Pythian holidays1 , expired. During this truce, the Athenians removed the Delians out of Delos, because [though they were consecrated, yet] for a certain crime committed of old they esteemed them polluted persons1 : because also they thought there wanted this part to make perfect the purgation of the island; in the purging whereof, as I declared before2 , they thought they did well to take up the sepulchres of the dead. These Delians seated themselves afterwards, every one as he came, in Adramyttium in Asia, a town given unto them by Pharnaces.

  Cleon goeth out with an army into the parts upon Thrace:he assaulteth Torone.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. 3. Pasitelidas with the garrison of the town endeavoureth to defend it.Cleon taketh Torone.Pasitelidas, a Lacedæmonian captain, taken alive.Seven hundred men sent prisoners to Athens.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. 3. Panactum taken by the Bœotians.

  2. After the truce was expired, Cleon prevailed with the Athenians to be sent out with a fleet against the cities lying upon Thrace. He had with him of Athenians twelve hundred men of arms and three hundred horsemen; of confederates more; and thirty galleys. And first arriving at Scione, which was yet besieged, he took aboard some men of arms of those that kept the siege; and sailed into the haven of the Colophonians, not far distant from the city of Torone. And there having heard by fugitives that Brasidas was not in Torone, nor those within sufficient to give him battle, he marched with his army to the city, and sent ten of his galleys about into the haven. And first he came to the new wall, which Brasidas had raised about the city to take in the suburbs: making a breach in the old wall, that the whole might be one city. 3. And Pasitelidas, a1 Lacedæmonian, captain of the town, with the garrison there present came to the defence, and fought with the Athenians that assaulted it. But being oppressed, and the galleys which were before sent about being by this time come into the haven, Pasitelidas was afraid lest those galleys should take the town, unfurnished of defendants, before he could get back, and that the Athenians on the other side should win the wall2 , and he be intercepted between them both: and thereupon abandoned the wall, and ran back into the city. But the Athenians that were in the galleys having taken the town before he came, and the land–army following in after him without resistance and entering the city by the breach of the old wall, slew some of the Peloponnesians and Toronæans on the place, and some others, amongst whom was the captain Pasitelidas, they took alive. Brasidas was now coming with aid towards Torone: but advertised by the way that it was already lost, went back again; being about forty furlongs short of preventing it. Cleon and the Athenians erected two trophies, one at the haven, another at the wall. The women and children of the Toronæans, they made slaves; but the men of Torone and the Peloponnesians, and such Chalcideans as were amongst them, in all about seven hundred, they sent away prisoners to Athens. The Peloponnesians were afterwards at the making of the peace dismissed; the rest were redeemed by the Olynthians, by exchange of man for man.

  About the same time the Bœotians took Panactum, a fort of the Athenians standing in their confines, by treason.

  Cleon goeth to Amphipolis.

  Cleon, after he had settled the garrison in Torone, went thence by sea about the mountain Athos [to make war] against Amphipolis.

  Phæax sent ambassador to the Sicilians.The Leontine commons driven out of the city by the Syracusians.The Leontine nobility become Syracusians, and go to Syracuse to dwell.The Leontines make war on the Syracusians.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. 3. Phæax moveth the Sicilians to war upon the Syracusians.The Gelans stop the motion made by Phæax.Phæax maketh peace with the Locrians.

  4. About the same time Phæax the son of Erasistratus, who with two others was sent ambassador into Italy and Sicily, departed from Athens with two galleys. For the Leontines, after the Athenians upon the making of the peace were gone out of Sicily, received many strangers into the freedom of their city: and the commons had a purpose also to have made division of the land1 . But the great men perceiving it, called in the Syracusians, and drave the commons out: and they wandered up and down, every one as he chanced; and the great men, upon conditions agreed on with the Syracusians, abandoning and deserting2 that city, went to dwell with the privilege of free citizens in Syracuse. After this again, some of them upon dislike relinquished Syracuse, and seized on Phoceæ, a certain place part of the city of the Leontines, and upon Bricinniæ, a castle in the Leontine territory. Thither also came unto them most of the commons that had before been driven out: and settling themselves, made war from those places of strength. Upon intelligence hereof the Athenians sent Phæax thither, to persuade their confederates there, and, if they could, all the Sicilians jointly, to make war upon the Syracusians, that were now beginning to grow great; to try if they might thereby preserve the common people of the Leontines. Phæax arriving, prevailed with the Camarinæans and Agrigentines: but the business finding a stop at Gela, he went unto no more, as conceiving he should not be able to persuade them. So he returned through the cities of the Siculi unto Catana, having been at Bricinniæ by the way and there encouraged them to hold out: and from Catana he set sail and departed. 5. In his voyage to Sicily, both going and coming, he dealt as he went by with sundry cities also of Italy, to enter into friendship with the Athenians. He also lighted on those Locrians, which1 having dwelt once in Messana, were afterwards driven out again; being the same men, which after the peace in Sicily, upon a sedition in Messana, wherein one of the factions called in the Locrians, had been then sent to inhabit there, [and now were sent away again]: for the Locrians held Messana for a while. Phæax therefore chancing to meet with these as they were going to their own city, did them no hurt: because the Locrians had been in speech with him about an agreement with the Athenians. For when the Sicilians made a general peace, these only of all the confederates refused to make any peace at all with the Athenians. Nor indeed would they have done it now, but that they were constrained thereunto by the war they had with the Itoneans and Melæans, their own colonies and borderers. And Phæax after this returned to Athens.

  year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 2. 3. Cleon maketh war on Amphi polis.Galepsus taken by Cleon.Brasidas sitteth down over against Cleon at CerdyliumThe forces of Brasidas.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Cleon goeth up to Amphipolis against his own mind.

  6. Cleon, who1 was now gone from Torone and come about to Amphipolis, making Eion the seat of the war, assaulted the city of Stageirus, a colony of the Andrians; but could not take it: but Galepsus, a colony of the Thasians, he took by assault. And having sent ambassadors to Perdiccas, to will him to come to him with his forces according to the league, and other ambassadors into Thrace unto Polles, king of the Odomantians, to take up as many mercenary Thracians as he could; he lay still in Eion to expect their coming. Brasidas upon notice hereof, sat down over against him at Cerdylium. This is a place belonging to the Argilians, standing high and beyond the river, not far from Amphipolis; and from whence he might discern all that was about him. So that Cleon could not but be seen, if he should rise with his army to go against Amphipolis; which he expected he would do, and that in contempt of his small number he would go up with the forces he had then present. Withal he furnished himself with fifteen hundred mercenary Thracians, and took unto him all his Edonians, both horsemen and targetiers. He had also of Myrcinians and Chalcideans a thousand targetiers, besides them in Amphipolis. But for men of arms, his whole number was at the most2 two thousand, and of Grecian horsemen three hundred. With fifteen hundred of these came Brasidas and sat down at Cerdylium: the rest stood ready ordered with Clearidas their captain, within Amphipolis.

  Cleon, not expecting a sally, vieweth the situation of the town.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Brasidas putteth himself into Amphipolis.A stratagem of Brasidas.

  7. Cleon for a while1 lay still; but was afterwards forced to do as was expected by Brasidas. For the soldiers being angry with their stay there, and recounting with themselves what a command his would be, and with what ignorance and cowardice against what skill and boldness of the other, and how they came forth with him against their wills: he perceived their muttering, and being unwilling to offend them with so long a stay in one place, dislodged and led them forward. And he took the same course there, which having succeeded well before at Pylus gave him cause to think himself to have some judgment. For he thought not that any body would come forth to give him battle, and gave out he went up principally to see the place: and stayed for greater forces, not to secure him in case he should be compelled to fight, but that he might therewith environ the city on all sides at once, and in that manner take it by force. So he went up and set his army down on a strong hill before Amphipolis, standing himself to view the fens of the river Strymon and the situation of the city towards Thrace: and thought he could have retired again at his pleasure, without battle. For neither did any man appear upon the walls, nor come out of the gates: which were all fast shut. Insomuch as he thought he had committed an error in coming2 without engines: because he thought he might by such means have won the city, as being without defendants. 8. Brasidas, as soon as he saw the Athenians remove, came down also from Cerdylium and put himself into Amphipolis. He would not suffer them to make any sally, nor to face the Athenians in order of battle, mistrusting his own forces, which he thought inferior, not in number (for they were in a manner equal) but in worth: (for such Athenians as were there were pure1 , and the Lemnians and Imbrians which were amongst them were of the very ablest): but prepared to set upon them by a wile. For if he should have showed to the enemy both his number and their armour, such as for the present they were forced to use, he thought that thereby he should not so soon get the victory, as by keeping them out of sight and out of their contempt till the very point2 . Wherefore choosing to himself a hundred and fifty men of arms, and committing the charge of the rest to Clearidas, he resolved to set suddenly upon them before they should retire: as not expecting to take them so alone another time, if their succours chanced to arrive. And when he had called his soldiers together to encourage them and to make known unto them his design, he said as followeth:

  the oration of brasidas to his soldiers.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Oration of Brasidas.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Oration of Brasidas.

  9. “Men of Peloponnesus, as for your country, how by valour it hath ever retained her liberty, and that being Dorians you are now to fight against Ionians, of whom you were ever wont to get the victory, let it suffice that I have touched it thus briefly. But in what manner I intend to charge1 , that I am now to inform you of: lest the venturing by few at once, and not altogether, should seem to proceed from weakness, and so dishearten you. I do conjecture that it was in contempt of us, and as not expecting to be fought withal, that the enemy both came up to this place, and that they have now betaken themselves carelessly and out of order to view the country. But he that best observing such errors in his enemies, shall also to his strength give the onset, not always openly and in ranged battle, but as is best for his present advantage, shall for the most part attain his purpose. And these wiles carry with them the greatest glory of all, by which, deceiving most the enemy, a man doth most benefit his friends. Therefore whilst they are secure without preparation, and intend, for aught I see, to steal away rather than to stay: I say, in this their looseness of resolution, and before they put their minds in order, I for my part with those I have chosen will, if I can, before they get away fall in upon the midst of their army running. And you, Clearidas, afterwards, as soon as you shall see me to have charged and, as it is probable, to have put them into affright, take those that are with you, both Amphipolitans and all the rest of the confederates, and setting open the gates run out upon them, and with all possible speed come up to stroke of hand. For there is great hope this way to terrify them; seeing they which come after, are ever of more terror to the enemy than those that are already present and in fight. And be valiant, as is likely you should that are a Spartan: and you, confederates, follow manfully, and believe that the parts of a good soldier are willingness, sense of shame, and obedience to his leaders; and that this day you shall either gain yourselves liberty by your valour, and to be called confederates of the Lacedæmonians, or else not only to serve the Athenians yourselves, and at the best, if you be not led captives, nor put to death, to be in greater servitude than before1 , but also to be the hinderers of the liberty of the rest of the Grecians. But be not you cowards, seeing how great a matter is at stake: and I, for my part, will make it appear that I am not more ready to persuade another, than to put myself into action.”

  Brasidas prepareth to assault the army of the Athenians.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Cleon is admonished of a sally towards:and leadeth his army back.Brasidas taketh this opportunity for his sally.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3.Brasidas is wounded and falleth.Cleon flieth, and is slain.Brasidas his army getteth the victory.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Brasidas liveth only so long as to know he had the victory.

  10. When Brasidas had thus said, he both prepared to go out himself, and also placed the rest that were with Clearidas before the gates called the Thracian gates, to issue forth afterwards as was appointed. Now Brasidas having been in sight when he came down from Cerdylium, and2 again when he sacrificed in the city, by the temple of Pallas, which place might be seen from without; it was told Cleon [whilst Brasidas was ordering of his men] (for he was at this time gone off a little to look about him), that the whole army of the enemies was plainly to be discerned within the town, and that the feet of many men and horses, ready to come forth, might be discerned from under the gate. Hearing this, he came to the place: and when he saw it was true, being not minded to fight until his aids arrived, and yet making no other account but that his retreat would be discovered1 , he commanded at once to give the signal of retreat, and2 that as they went the left wing should march foremost, which was the only means they had to withdraw towards Eion. But when he thought they were long about it, causing the right wing to wheel about and lay open their disarmed parts to the enemy, he led away the army himself. Brasidas at the same time, having spied his opportunity and that the army of the Athenians removed, said to those about him and the rest: “these men stay not for us; it is apparent by the wagging of their spears and of their heads: for where such motion is, they use not to stay for the charge of the enemy: therefore open me some body the gates appointed, and let us boldly and speedily sally forth upon them”. Then he went out himself at the gate towards the trench3 , and which was the first gate of the long wall, which then was standing; and at high speed took the straight way, in which, as one passeth by the strongest part of the town4 , there standeth now a trophy: and charging upon the midst of the Athenian army, which was terrified both with their own disarray and the valour of the man, forced them to fly. And Clearidas, as was appointed, having issued out by the Thracian gates, was withal coming upon them. And it fell out that the Athenians, by this unexpected and sudden attempt, were on both sides in confusion: and the left wing which was next to Eion, and which indeed was marching away before, was immediately broken off from the rest of the army and fled. When that was gone, Brasidas coming up to the right wing, was there wounded1 . The Athenians saw not when he fell: and they that were near took him up and carried him off. The right wing stood longer to it: and though Cleon himself presently fled, (as at first he intended not to stay), and was intercepted by a Myrcinian targetier and slain2 , yet his men of arms casting themselves into a circle on the [top of a little] hill, twice or thrice resisted the charge of Clearidas: and shrunk not at all, till begirt with the Myrcinian and Chalcidean horse and with the targetiers, they were put to flight by their darts. Thus the whole army of the Athenians, getting away with much ado over the hills and by several ways, all that were not slain upon the place or by the Chalcidean horse and targetiers, recovered Eion. The other side taking up Brasidas out of the battle, and1 having so long kept him alive, brought him yet breathing into the city: and he knew that his side had gotten the victory, but expired shortly after. When Clearidas with the rest of the army were returned from pursuit of the enemy, they rifled those that were slain, and erected a trophy.

  The honour done to Brasidas after his death.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3.

  11. After this the confederates, following the corpse of Brasidas all of them in their arms, buried him in the city2 at the public charge; in the entrance of that which is now the market–place. And the Amphipolitans afterwards, having taken in his monument with a wall, killed3 unto him as to a hero, honoured him with games and anniversary sacrifice, and attributed their colony unto him as to the founder; pulling down the edifices of Agnon, and defacing whatsoever monument might maintain the memory of his foundation. This they did both for that they esteemed Brasidas for their preserver; and also because at this time, through fear of the Athenians, they courted the Lacedæmonians for a league. As for Agnon, because of their hostility with the Athenians, they thought it neither expedient for them to give him honours, nor that they would be acceptable unto him if they did. The dead bodies they rendered to the Athenians: of whom there were slain about six hundred, and but seven of the other side, by reason that it was no set battle, but fought upon such an occasion and precedent affright. After the dead were taken up, the Athenians went home by sea; and Clearidas and those with him stayed to settle the estate of Amphipolis.

  Supplies going to Brasidas stay by the way at Heracleia.The end of the tenth summer.

  12. About the same time of the summer now ending, Ramphias, Autocharidas, and Epicydidas, Lacedæmonians, were leading a supply towards the parts upon Thrace of nine hundred men of arms: and when they were come to Heracleia in Trachinia, they stayed there to amend such things as they thought amiss. Whilst they stayed, this battle was fought: and the summer ended.

  The supplies going to Brasidas, hearing of his death, return to Lacedæmon.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. The Athenians and Lacedæmonians incline to peace.The causes why the Athenians desired peace.The causes why the Lacedæmonians desired peace.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3.

  13. The next winter, they that were with Ramphias went presently forward, as far as [the hill] Pierium in Thessaly. But the Thessalians forbidding them to go on, and Brasidas, to whom they were carrying this army, being dead, they returned homewards: conceiving that the opportunity now served not, both because the Athenians were upon this overthrow gone away, and for that they themselves were unable to perform any of those designs which the other had intended. But the principal cause of their return was this: that they knew at their coming forth, that the Lacedæmonians had their minds more set upon a peace than war. 14. Presently after the battle of Amphipolis and return of Rhamphias out of Thessaly, it fell out that neither side did any act of war, but were inclined rather to a peace: the Athenians for the blow they had received at Delium, and this other a little after at Amphipolis; and because they had no longer that confident hope in their strength, on which they relied when formerly they refused the peace, as having conceived upon their present success that they should have had the upper hand; also they stood in fear of their own confederates, lest emboldened by these losses of theirs they should more and more revolt; and repented that they made not the peace after their happy success at Pylus, when occasion was offered to have done it honourably: and the Lacedæmonians on the other side did desire peace, because the war had not proceeded as they expected; for they had thought they should in a few years have warred down the power of Athens, by wasting their territory; and because they were fallen into that calamity in the island, the like whereof had never happened unto Sparta before1 ; because also their country was continually ravaged by those of Pylus and Cythera, and their Helotes continually fled to the enemy; and because they feared lest those which remained, trusting in them that were run away, should in this estate of theirs raise some innovation, as at other times before they had done. Withal it happened, that the thirty years’ peace1 with the Argives was now upon the point of expiring; and the Argives would not renew it without restitution made them of Cynuria: so that to war against the Argives and the Athenians, both at once, seemed impossible. They suspected also that some of the cities of Peloponnesus would revolt to the Argives: as indeed it came afterwards to pass.

  15. These things considered, it was by both parts thought good to conclude a peace; but especially by the Lacedæmonians, for the desire they had to recover their men taken in the island. For the Spartans that were amongst them, were both of the prime men2 of the city, and their kinsmen. And therefore they began to treat presently after they were taken: but the Athenians, by reason of their prosperity, would not lay down the war at that time on equal terms. But after their defeat at Delium, the Lacedæmonians, knowing they would be apter now to accept it, made that truce for a year, during which they were to meet and consult about a longer time.

  year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3. Cleon and Brasidas opposers of the peace for several ends.Pleistoanax and Nicias persuaders to peace.Nicias his ends in seeking peace.The reason why Pleistoanax desired the peace.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3.year x. A. C. 422. Ol. 89. 3.Pleistoanax banished for withdrawing his army out of Attica.

  16. But when also this other overthrow happened to the Athenians at Amphipolis, and that both Cleon and Brasidas were slain: the which on either side were most opposite to the peace; the one, for that he had good success and honour in the war; the other, because in quiet times his evil actions would more appear and his calumniations be the less believed1 : those two that in the two states aspired most to be chief, Pleistoanax the son of Pausanias, and Nicias the son of Niceratus, who in military charges had been the most fortunate of his time, did most of all other desire to have the peace go forward. Nicias, because he was desirous, having2 hitherto never been overthrown, to carry his good fortune through, and to give both himself and the city rest from their troubles for the present; and for the future to leave a name, that in all his time he had never made the commonwealth miscarry; which he thought might be done by standing out of danger, and by putting himself as little as he might into the hands of fortune; and to stand out of danger is the benefit of peace. Pleistoanax had the same desire, because of the imputation laid upon him about his return from exile by his enemies, that suggested unto the Lacedæmonians upon every loss they received, that the same befel them for having, contrary to the law, repealed his banishment. For they charged him further, that he and his brother Aristocles had suborned the prophetess of Delphi, to answer the deputies1 of the Lacedæmonians, when they came thither, most commonly with this: “that they should bring back the seed of the semigod, the son of Jupiter, out of a strange country into his own: and that if they did not, they should plough their land with a silver plough”: and so at length to have made the Lacedæmonians nineteen years after, with such dances and sacrifices as they who were the first founders of Lacedæmon had ordained to be used at the enthroning of their kings, to fetch him home again; who lived in the meantime in exile in the mountain Lycæum, in a house whereof the one half was part of the temple of Jupiter, for fear of the Lacedæmonians, as being suspected to have taken a bribe to withdraw his army out of Attica. 17. Being troubled with these imputations, and considering with himself, there being no occasion of calamity in time of peace, and the Lacedæmonians thereby recovering their men, that he also should cease to be obnoxious to the calumniations of his enemies; whereas in war, such as had charge could not but be quarrelled upon their losses: he was therefore forward to have the peace concluded.

  The Lacedæmonians desiring the peace, make show of war.Peace concludedyear x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The Bœotians, Corinthians, Eleians, and Megareans, refuse to be comprehended.

  And this winter they fell to treaty, and withal the Lacedæmonians braved them with a preparation already making against the spring,1 sending to the cities about for that purpose, as if they meant to fortify in Attica: to the end that the Athenians might give them the better ear. When after many meetings and many demands on either side, it was at last agreed that peace should be concluded, each part rendering what they had taken in the war, save that the Athenians should hold Nisæa: (for when they [likewise] demanded Platæa, and the Thebans answered that it was neither taken by force nor by treason, but rendered voluntarily, the Athenians said that they also had Nisæa in the same manner): the Lacedæmonians calling together their confederates; and all but the Bœotians, Corinthians, Eleians, and Megareans, (for these disliked it), giving their votes for the ending of the war; they concluded the peace, and confirmed it to the Athenians with sacrifice, and swore it, and the Athenians again unto them, upon these articles:

  the articles of the peace between the athenians and the lacedæmonians.

  18. “The Athenians, and Lacedæmonians, and their confederates, have made peace, and sworn it city by city, as followeth:

  “Touching the public temples, it shall be lawful to whomsoever will, to sacrifice in them, and to have access unto them, and to ask counsel of the oracles in the same, and to send their deputies unto them, according to the custom of his country, securely both by sea and land.

  “The whole place consecrate and temple of Apollo in Delphi, and Delphi itself, shall be governed by their own law, taxed by their own state, and judged by their own judges, both city and territory, according to the institution of the place1 .

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Articles of the peace between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians.

  “ The peace shall endure between the Athenians with their confederates, and the Lacedæmonians with their confederates, for fifty years, both by sea and land, without fraud and without harmdoing.

  “It shall not be lawful to bear arms with intention of hurt, neither for the Lacedæmonians and their confederates against the Athenians, nor for the Athenians and their confederates against the Lacedæmonians, by any art or machination whatsoever: if any controversy shall arise between them, the same shall be decided by law and by oath, in such manner as they shall agree on.

  “The Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall render Amphipolis to the Athenians: the inhabitants of whatsoever city the Lacedæmonians shall render unto the Athenians, shall be at liberty to go forth whither they will with bag and baggage.

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Articles of the peace between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians.

  “ Those cities which paid the tribute taxed in the time of Aristides,1 continuing to pay it, shall be governed by their own laws. And now that the peace is concluded, it shall be unlawful for the Athenians or their confederates to bear arms against them, or to do them any hurt, as long as they shall pay the said tribute: the cities are these: Argilus, Stageirus, Acanthus, Scolus, Olynthus, Spartolus; and they shall be confederates of neither side, neither of the Lacedæmonians nor of the Athenians; but if the Athenians can persuade these cities unto it, then it shall be lawful for the Athenians to have them for confederates, having gotten their consent.

  “The Mecybernæans, Sanæans, and Singæans, shall inhabit their own cities on the same conditions with the Olynthians and Acanthians.

  “The Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall render Panactum unto the Athenians.

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Articles of the peace between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians.

  “ And the Athenians shall render to the Lacedæmonians Coryphasium, Cythera, Methone, Pteleum, and Atalante: they shall likewise deliver whatsoever Lacedæmonians are in the prison of Athens, or in any prison of what place soever in the Athenian dominion: and dismiss all the Peloponnesians besieged in Scione, and all1 that Brasidas did there put in, and whatsoever confederates of the Lacedæmonians are in prison, either at Athens or in the Athenian state.

  “And the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall deliver whomsoever they have in their hands of the Athenians or their confederates, in the same manner.

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Articles of the peace between the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians.

  “Touching the Scionæans, Toronæans, and Sermylians, and whatsoever other city belonging to the Athenians, the Athenians shall do with them what they think fit.

  “The Athenians shall take an oath to the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, city by city; and that oath shall be the greatest1 that in each city is in use. The thing that they shall swear shall be this: I stand to these articles and to this peace, truly and sincerely. And the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall take the same oath to the Athenians. This oath they shall on both sides every year renew, and shall erect pillars [inscribed with this peace] at Olympia, Pythia2 , and in the Isthmus; at Athens, within the citadel; and at Lacedæmon, in the Amyclæum.

  “And if anything be on either side forgotten, or shall be thought fit upon good deliberation to be changed; it shall be lawful for them to do it, in such manner as the Lacedæmonians and Athenians shall think fit, jointly.

  19. “This peace shall take beginning from the 24th of the month Artemisium, Pleistolas being ephore at Sparta, and the 15th of Elaphebolium, after the account of Athens, Alcæus being archon.1

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3.

  “They that took the oath and sacrificed, were these. Of the Lacedæmonians: Pleistolas, Damagetus, Chionis, Metagenes, Acanthus, Daidus, Ischagoras, Philocaridas, Zeuxidas, Anthippus, Tellis, Alcinidas, Empedias, Menas, Laphilus. Of the Athenians these: Lampon, Isthmionicus, Nicias, Laches, Euthydemus, Procles, Pythodorus, Hagnon, Myrtilus, Thrasycles, Theagenes, Aristocrates, Iolcius, Timocrates, Leon, Lamachus, Demosthenes.”

  The true way of accounting the years of this war.

  20. This peace was made in the very end of winter, and the spring then beginning, presently after the City Bacchanals, and [full] ten years and some few days over2 , after the first invasion of Attica and the beginning of this war. But now for the certainty hereof, let a man consider the times themselves: and not trust to the account of the names of such as in the several places bare chief offices, or for some honour to themselves had their names ascribed for marks to the actions foregoing. For it is not exactly known who was in the beginning of his office, or who in the midst, or how he was, when anything fell out. But if one reckon the same by summers and winters, according as they are written3 , he shall find by the two half years which make the whole, that this first war was of ten summers and as many winters continuance.

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The Lacedæmonians begin to perform the articles, and presently deliver their prisoners.The Amphipolitans refuse to render themselves under the Athenians.Clearidas endeavoureth to dissolve the peace.year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The Lacedæmonians make league with the Athenians.

  21. The Lacedæmonians (for it fell unto them by lot to begin the restitution) both dismissed presently those prisoners they had then in their hands, and also sent ambassadors, Ischagoras, Menas, and Philocharidas, into the parts upon Thrace, with command to Clearidas to deliver up Amphipolis to the Athenians, and requiring the rest of their confederates there to accept of the peace in such manner as was for every of them accorded. But they would not do it, because they thought it was not for their advantage: and Clearidas also, to gratify the Chalcideans, surrendered not the city, alleging that he could not do it whether they would or not. And coming away soon after with those ambassadors to Lacedæmon, both to purge himself, if he should be accused by those with Ischagoras for disobeying the state’s command, and also to try if the peace might by any means be shaken1 : when he found it firm, he himself being sent back by the Lacedæmonians with command principally to surrender the place, and if he could not do that, then to draw thence all the Peloponnesians that were in it, immediately took his journey. 22. But the confederates chanced to be present themselves in Lacedæmon: and the Lacedæmonians required such of them as formerly refused, that they would accept the peace. But they, upon the same pretence on which they had rejected it before, said, that unless it were more reasonable they would not accept it. And the Lacedæmonians, seeing they refused, dismissed them, and by themselves entered with the Athenians into a league1 : because they imagined that the Argives would not renew their peace, (because they had refused it before when Ampelidas and Lichas went to Argos, and held them for no dangerous enemies without the Athenians): and also conceived, that by this means the rest of Peloponnesus would not stir; for if they could, they would turn to the Athenians. Wherefore the ambassadors of Athens being then present, and conference had, they agreed; and the oath and league was concluded on in the terms following:

  the articles of the league between the lacedæmonians and the athenians.

  23. “The Lacedæmonians shall be confederates with the Athenians for fifty years.

  “If any enemy invade the territory of the Lacedæmonians and do the Lacedæmonians any harm, the Athenians shall aid the Lacedæmonians against them in the strongest manner they can possibly: but if the enemy, after he hath spoiled the country, shall be gone away, then that city shall be held as enemy both to the Lacedæmonians and to the Athenians, and shall be warred upon by them both; and both cities shall again lay down the war jointly: and this is to be done justly, readily, and sincerely.

  “And if any enemy shall invade the territories of the Athenians, and do the Athenians any harm, then the Lacedæmonians shall aid the Athenians against them in the strongest manner they can possibly: but if the enemy, after he hath spoiled the country, shall be gone away, then shall that city be held for enemy both to the Lacedæmonians and to the Athenians, and shall be warred upon by both; and both the cities shall again lay down the war together: and this to be done justly, readily, and sincerely.

  year x. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Articles of the league between the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians.

  “If their slaves shall rebel, the Athenians shall assist the Lacedæmonians with all their strength possible.

  “These things shall be sworn unto by the same men on either side that swore the peace, and shall be every year renewed by the Lacedæmonians [at their] coming to the Bacchanals at Athens; and by the Athenians [at their] going to the Hyacinthian feast at Lacedæmon; and either side shall erect a pillar, [inscribed with this league], one at Lacedæmon, near unto Apollo in the Amyclæum, another at Athens, near Minerva in the citadel.

  “If it shall seem good to the Lacedæmonians and Athenians to add or take away anything touching the league, it shall be lawful for them to do it jointly.”

  “24. Of the Lacedæmonians took the oath, these: Pleistoanax, Agis, Pleistolas, Damagetus, Chionis, Metagenes, Acanthus, Daidus, Ischagoras, Philocharidas, Zeuxidas, Anthippus, Alcinadas, Tellis, Empedias, Menas, Laphilus. Of the Athenians: Lampon, Isthmionicus, Laches, Nicias, Euthydemus, Procles, Pythodorus, Hagnon, Myrtilus, Thrasycles, Theagenes, Aristocrates, Iolcius, Timocrates, Leon, Lamachus, and Demosthenes.”

  The Athenians deliver the prisoners taken at Pylus.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3.

  This league was made not long after the peace: and the Athenians delivered to the Lacedæmonians the men they had taken in the island; and by this time began the summer of the eleventh year. And1 hitherto hath been written these ten years, which this first war continued without intermission.

  The Lacedæmonians slack in performance of the articles of the peace.

  25. After the peace and league made between the Lacedæmonians and Athenians, after the ten years’ war, Pleistolas being ephore at Lacedæmon and Alcæus archon of Athens; though there were peace to those that had accepted it; yet the Corinthians and some cities of Peloponnesus endeavoured to overthrow what was done, and presently arose another stir by the confederates against Lacedæmon. And the Lacedæmonians also after a while became suspect unto the Athenians, for not performing somewhat agreed on in the articles. And for six years and ten months1 they abstained from entering into each other’s territories with their arms: but the peace being weak, they did each other abroad what harm they could; and in the end were forced to dissolve the peace made after those ten years, and fell again into open war.

  From the beginning to this end of the war, twenty–seven years.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The time of this peace not to be esteemed peace.The number of years which the whole war lasted.Thucydides, for his ill success at Amphipolis, banished Athens for twenty years.

  26. This also hath the same Thucydides of Athens written from point to point, by summers and winters, as everything came to pass, until such time as the Lacedæmonians and their confederates had made an end of the Athenian dominion, and had taken their long walls and Pieræus. To which time from the beginning of the war, it is in all twenty–seven years. As for the composition between, if any man shall think it not to be accounted with the war, he shall think amiss. For let him look into the actions that passed as they are distinctly set down1 ; and he shall find that that deserveth not to be taken for a peace, in which they neither rendered all, nor accepted all, according to the articles. Besides, in the Mantinean and Epidaurian wars, and in other actions, it was on both sides infringed: moreover, the confederates on the borders of Thrace continued in hostility as before: and the Bœotians had but a truce from one ten days to another. So that with the first ten years’ war, and with this doubtful cessation, and the war that followed after it, a man shall find, counting by the times, that it came to just so many years and some few days: and that those who built upon the prediction of the oracles, have2 this number only to agree. And I remember yet, that from the very beginning of this war and so on till the end, it was uttered by many that it should be of thrice nine years’ continuance. And3 for the time thereof I lived in my strength, and applied my mind to gain an accurate knowledge of the same. It happened also that I was banished my country for twenty years, after my charge at Amphipolis: whereby being present at4 the affairs of both, and especially of the Lacedæmonians by reason of my exile, I could at leisure the better learn the truth of all that passed. The quarrels therefore, and perturbations of the peace, after those ten years, and that which followed, according as from time to time the war was carried, I will now pursue.1

  year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The Corinthians contrive with the Argives to make a league in Peloponnesus without the Lacedæmonians.

  27. After the concluding of the fifty years’ peace and the league which followed, and when those ambassadors which were sent for out of the rest of Peloponnesus to accept the said peace were departed from Lacedæmon, the Corinthians (the rest going all to their own cities) turning first to Argos2 , entered into treaty with some of the Argive magistrates to this purpose:—that the Lacedæmonians having made a peace and league with the Athenians, their hitherto mortal enemies, tending not to the benefit, but to the enslaving of Peloponnesus, it behoved them3 to consider of a course for the safety of the same: and to make a decree, that any city of the Grecians that would, and were a free city, and admitted the like and equal trials of judgment with theirs, might make a league with the Argives for the one mutually to aid the other: and to assign them a few men with absolute authority from the state, to treat with: and that it should not be motioned to the people, to the end, that if the multitude would not agree to it, it might be unknown that ever they had made such a motion:—affirming, that many would come into this confederacy upon hatred to the Lacedæmonians. And the Corinthians, when they had made this overture, went home.

  year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. Twelve men chosen at Argos to treat about a league.

  28. These men of Argos having heard them, and reported their proposition both to the magistrates and to the people, the Argives ordered the same accordingly: and elected twelve men, with whom it should be lawful for any Grecian to make the league that would, except the Lacedæmonians and Athenians, with neither of which they were to enter into any league without the consent of the Argive people. And this the Argives did the more willingly admit, as well for that they saw the Lacedæmonians would make war upon them; (for the truce between them was now upon expiring); as also because they hoped to have the principality1 of Peloponnesus. For about this time Lacedæmon had but a bad report, and was in contempt for the losses it had received. And the Argives in all points were in good estate, as not having concurred in the Attic war, but rather been at peace with both, and thereby gotten in their revenue2 . Thus the Argives received into league all such Grecians as came unto them.

  year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The rest of Peloponnesus incline to the same league.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3.The article of adding and altering misliked.

  29. First of all therefore, came in the Mantineans and their confederates: which they did for fear of the Lacedæmonians. For a part of Arcadia, during the war of Athens, was come under the obedience of the Mantineans; over which they thought the Lacedæmonians, now they were at rest, would not permit them any longer to command: and therefore they willingly joined with the Argives, as being, they thought, a great city, ever enemy to the Lacedæmonians, and governed as their own by democracy1 . When the Mantineans had revolted, the rest of Peloponnesus began also to mutter amongst themselves, that it was fit for them to do the like: conceiving that there was somewhat in it more than they knew, that made the Mantineans to turn; and were also angry with the Lacedæmonians, amongst many other causes, for that it was written in the articles of the Attic peace, that it should be lawful to add unto or take away from the same, whatsoever should seem good to the two cities of the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians. For this was the article that the most troubled the Peloponnesians, and put them into a jealousy that the Lacedæmonians might have a purpose, joining with the Athenians, to bring them into subjection: for in justice, the power of changing the articles ought to have been ascribed to all the confederates in general. Whereupon, many fearing such an intention, applied themselves to the Argives, every one severally striving to come into their league.

  The Lacedæmonians expostulate with the Corinthians about this league with Argos.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3.The apology of the Corinthians, for their refusing the peace.Their answer touching their league with Argos.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. The Eleians make a league first with Corinth, then with Argos.Quarrel of the Eleians against the Lacedæmonians.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3.The Corinthians and the towns upon Thrace enter into the league with Argos.

  30. The Lacedæmonians perceiving this stir to begin in Peloponnesus, and that the Corinthians were both the contrivers of it, and entered themselves also into the league with Argos, sent ambassadors unto Corinth, with intention to prevent the sequel of it: and accused them, both for the whole design, and for their own revolt in particular, which they intended to make from them to the league of the Argives; saying that they should therein infringe their oath, and that they had already done unjustly, to refuse the peace made with the Athenians; forasmuch as it is an article of their league1 , that what the major part of the confederates should conclude, unless it were hindered by some god or hero, the same was to stand good. But the Corinthians, those confederates which had refused the peace as well as they being now at Corinth, (for they had sent for them before), in their answer to the Lacedæmonians did not openly allege the wrongs they had received; as that the Athenians had not restored Solium nor Anactorium2 , nor anything else they had in this war lost: but pretended not to betray those of Thrace3 ; for that they had in particular taken an oath to them, both when together with Potidæa they first revolted, and also another afterwards. And therefore, they said, they did not break the oath of their league by rejecting the peace with Athens. For having sworn unto them by the gods, they should in betraying them offend the gods. And whereas it is said, unless some god or hero hinder it, this appeareth to be a divine hindrance. Thus they answered for their old oath. Then, for their league with the Argives, they gave this answer: that when they had advised with their friends, they would do afterwards what should be just. And so the ambassadors of Lacedæmon went home. At the same time were present also in Corinth the ambassadors of Argos, to invite the Corinthians to their league, and that without delay. But the Corinthians appointed them to come again at their next sitting. 31. Presently after this came unto them an ambassage also from the Eleians: and first they made a league with the Corinthians; and going thence to Argos, made a league with the Argives, according to the declaration before mentioned1 . The Eleians had a quarrel with the Lacedæmonians concerning Lepreum. For the Lepreates having heretofore warred on certain of the Arcadians, and for their aid called the Eleians into their confederacy with condition to give the moiety of the land2 [to be won from them], when the war was ended, the Eleians gave unto the Lepreates the whole land to be enjoyed by themselves, with an imposition thereon of a talent to be paid to Jupiter Olympian: which they continued to pay till the beginning of the Athenian war. But afterwards upon pretence of that war giving over the payment, the Eleians would have forced them to it again. The Lepreates for help having recourse to the Lacedæmonians: and the cause being referred to their decision, the Eleians afterwards, upon suspicion that the Lacedæmonians would not do them right, renounced the reference, and wasted the territory of the Lepreates. The Lacedæmonians nevertheless gave sentence, that the Lepreates should be at liberty to pay it or not3 , and that the Eleians did the injury: and because the Eleians had not stood to the reference, the Lacedæmonians put into Lepreum a garrison of men at arms. The Eleians taking this as if the Lacedæmonians had received their revolted city, and producing the article of their league, “that what every one possessed when they entered into the Attic war, the same they should possess when they gave it over”1 ; revolted to the Argives as wronged, and entered league with them as is before related. After these came presently into the Argive league the Corinthians, and the Chalcideans upon Thrace. The Bœotians also and Megareans threatened as much2 : but because they thought the Argive democracy would not be so commodious for them, who were governed according to the government of the Lacedæmonians, by oligarchy, they stirred no further in it.

  The Athenians recover Scione.The Delians replanted in Delos.Phocis and Locris in war.

  32. About the same time of this summer the Athenians expugned Scione, slew all that were within it at man’s estate3 , made slaves of the women and children, and gave their territory to the Platæans. They also replanted the Delians in Delos, both in consideration of the defeats they had received after their expulsion, and also because the oracle at Delphi had commanded it. The Phoceans and Locrians also began a war at that time against each other.

  The Corinthians seek to turn the cities of Pelopon–year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. nesus and other confederates from the Lacedæmonians to the Argives.The Corinthians seek the ten days’ truce with Athens, as the Bœotians had it.The Bœotians take time to answer concerning a league with Argos.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. 4. The Athenians deny the ten days’ truce to the Corinthians.

  And the Corinthians and Argives, being now leagued, went to Tegea to cause it to revolt from the Lacedæmonians, conceiving it to be an important piece1 [of Peloponnesus], and making account, if they gained it to their side, they should easily obtain the whole. But when the Tegeates refused to become enemies to the Lacedæmonians, the Corinthians, who till then had been very forward, grew less violent: and were afraid that no more of the rest would come in. Nevertheless they went to the Bœotians, and solicited them to enter into league with them and the Argives, and to do as they did. And the Corinthians further desired the Bœotians to go along with them to Athens, and to procure for them the like ten days’ truce, to that which was made between the Athenians and Bœotians presently after the making of the fifty years’ peace, on the same terms as the Bœotians had it: and if the Athenians refused, then to renounce theirs, and make no more truces hereafter without the Corinthians. The Corinthians having made this request, the Bœotians willed them, touching the league with the Argives, to stay a while longer, and went with them to Athens, but obtained not the ten days’ truce: the Athenians answering, that if the Corinthians were confederates with the Lacedæmonians, they had a peace already. Nevertheless the Bœotians would not relinquish their ten days’ truce, though the Corinthians both required the same, and affirmed that it was so before agreed on. Yet the Athenians granted the Corinthians a cessation of arms, but without solemn ratification1 .

  The Lacedæmonians demolish the fort of Cypsela.

  33. The same summer the Lacedæmonians with their whole power, under the conduct of Pleistoanax the son of Pausanias, king of the Lacedæmonians, made war upon the Parrhasians of Arcadia, subjects of the Mantineans; partly as called in by occasion of sedition, and partly because they intended, if they could, to demolish a fortification which the Mantineans had built and kept with a garrison in Cypsela, in the territory of the Parrhasians towards2 Sciritis of Laconia. The Lacedæmonians therefore wasted the territory of the Parrhasians. And the Mantineans, leaving their own city to the custody of the Argives, came forth to aid3 the Parrhasians their confederates: but being unable to defend both the fort of Cypsela and the cities of the Parrhasians too, they went home again. And the Lacedæmonians, when they had set the Parrhasians at liberty, and demolished the fortification, went home likewise.

  The Lacedæmonians put a garrison into Lepreum of men newly enfranchised.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 3. 4.The Lacedæmonians disable those that were taken in Sphacteria to bear office or to make bargain.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4.

  34. The same summer, when those soldiers which went out with Brasidas, and of which Clearidas after the making of the peace had the charge, were returned from the parts upon Thrace: the Lacedæmonians made a decree, that those Helotes which had fought under Brasidas should receive their liberty, and inhabit where they thought good1 . But not long after they placed them, together with such others as had been newly enfranchised2 , in Lepreum; a city standing in the confines between Laconia and the Eleians, with whom they were now at variance. Fearing also lest those citizens of their own, which had been taken in the island and had delivered up their arms to the Athenians, should upon apprehension of disgrace for that calamity, if they remained capable of honours, make some innovation in the state, they disabled them3 [though] some of them were1 in office already. And their disablement was this: “that they should neither bear office, nor be capable to buy and sell”. Yet in time they were again restored to their former honours.

  The Dictideans take Thyssus from the Athenians.Jealousy between the Athenians and Lacedæmonians.Amphipolis not yet rendered, nor the peace accepted in the parts about Thrace, nor by the Bœotians and Corinthians.The Athenians refuse to render Pylus.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4. The apology of the Lacedæmonians for not performing the articles.The Athenians draw the Messenians and Helotes out of Pylus.The end of the eleventh summer

  35. The same summer also the Dictideans2 took Thyssus, a town in Mount Athos, and confederate of the Athenians. This whole summer there was continual commerce between the Athenians and the Peloponnesians: nevertheless they began, both the Athenians and the Lacedæmonians, to have each other in suspicion immediately after the peace, in respect of the places not yet mutually surrendered. For the Lacedæmonians, to whose lot it fell to make restitution first, had not rendered Amphipolis and the other cities, nor had caused the peace to be accepted by the confederates upon Thrace, nor by the Bœotians nor Corinthians: though they had ever professed, that in case they refused they would join with the Athenians to bring them to it by force; and had prefixed a time, (though not by writing), within the which such as entered not into this peace were to be held as enemies unto both. The Athenians therefore, when they saw none of this really performed, suspected that they had no sincere intention, and thereupon refused to render Pylus when they required it: nay, they repented that they had delivered up the prisoners they took in the island; and detained the rest of the towns3 they then held, till the Lacedæmonians should have performed the conditions on their part also. The Lacedæmonians to this alleged, “that they had done what they were able to do; for they had delivered the Athenian prisoners that were in their hands, and had withdrawn their soldiers from the parts upon Thrace, and whatsoever else was in their own power to perform: but Amphipolis, they said, was not in their power to surrender: that they would endeavour to bring the Bœotians and Corinthians to accept the peace, and to get Panactum restored, and all the Athenian prisoners in Bœotia to be sent home: and therefore desired them to make restitution of Pylus, or, if not so, at least to draw out of it the Messenians and Helotes, as they for their part had drawn their garrisons out of the towns upon Thrace; and if they thought good, to keep it with a garrison of Athenians”. After divers and long conferences had this summer, they so far prevailed with the Athenians at the last, as they drew thence all the Messenians and Helotes, and all other Laconian fugitives: and placed them in Cranii, a city of Cephallenia. So for this summer there was peace, and free passage from one to another.

  The Lacedæmonian ephores endeavour to dissolve the peace.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4. A proposition of a league between the Lacedæmonians, Argives, Bœotians, and Corinthians.

  36. In the beginning of winter, (for now there were other ephores in office; not those in whose time the peace was made, but some of them that opposed it), ambassadors being come from the confederates, and the Athenian, Bœotian, and Corinthian ambassadors being [already] there, and having had much conference together but concluded nothing, Cleobulus and Xenares, ephores that most desired the dissolution of the peace, when the rest of the ambassadors were gone home, entered into private conference with the Bœotians and Corinthians, exhorting them to run both the same course: and advised the Bœotians to endeavour first to make a league themselves with the Argives, and then to get the Argives together with themselves into a league with the Lacedæmonians: for that they might by this means avoid the necessity of accepting the peace with Athens: for the Lacedæmonians would more regard the friendship and league of the Argives, than1 the enmity and dissolution of the peace with the Athenians: for they knew the Lacedæmonians had ever desired to have Argos their friend upon any reasonable conditions; because they knew that their war without Peloponnesus would thereby be a great deal the easier. Wherefore they entreated the Bœotians to put Panactum into the hands of the Lacedæmonians: to the end, that if they could get Pylus for it in exchange, they might make war against the Athenians the more commodiously.

  The Argives propound a league to the Bœotians and Corinthians:year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4.and promise to send ambassadors into Bœotia to that purpose.The Bœotians propound an oath between themselves, the Corinthians, Chalcideans, and Megareans, of mutual assistance.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4.The Argive league with the Bœotians falleth off.year xi. A. C. 421. Ol. 89. 4.

  37. The Bœotians and Corinthians being dismissed2 by Xenares and Cleobulus, and all the other Lacedæmonians of that faction, with these points to be delivered to their commonwealths, went to their several cities. And two men of Argos, of principal authority in that city, having waited for and met with them by the way, entered into a treaty with them about a league between the Argives and the Bœotians, as there was between them and the Corinthians and the Eleians and Mantineans already: “for they thought, if it succeeded, they might [the more] easily have either war or peace, (forasmuch as the cause would now be common), either with the Lacedæmonians or whomsoever else it should be needful”. When the Bœotian ambassadors heard this, they were well pleased. For as it chanced, the Argives requested the same things of them, that they by their friends in Lacedæmon had been sent to procure of the Argives. These men therefore of Argos, when they saw that the Bœotians accepted of the motion, promised to send ambassadors to the Bœotians about it; and so departed. When the Bœotians were come home, they related there1 what they had heard both at Lacedæmon and by the way from the Argives. The governors of Bœotia were glad thereof; and much more forward in it now than formerly they had been; seeing that not only their friends in Lacedæmon desired, but the Argives themselves hastened to have done the self–same thing. Not long after this the ambassadors came to them from Argos, to solicit the dispatch of the business before propounded: but the governors of Bœotia commended [only] the proposition, and dismissed them with promise to send ambassadors about the league to Argos. 38. In the meantime the governors of Bœotia thought fit, that an oath should first be taken by themselves, and by the ambassadors from Corinth, Megara, and the confederates upon Thrace2 , to give mutual assistance upon any occasion to them that should require it, and neither to make war nor peace without the common consent: and next that the Bœotians and Megareans (for these two ran the same course) should make a league with the Argives. But before this oath was [to be] taken, the governors of Bœotia communicated the business to the four Bœotian councils, in the which the whole authority of the state consisteth1 : and withal presented their advice, that any city that would, might join with them in the like oath for mutual assistance. But they that were of these councils approved not the proposition; because they feared to offend the Lacedæmonians, in being sworn to the Corinthians that had revolted from their confederacy. For the governors of Bœotia had not reported unto them what had passed at Lacedæmon, how Cleobulus and Xenares, the ephores, and their friends there, had advised them to enter first into league with the Argives and Corinthians, and then afterwards to make the same league with the Lacedæmonians: for they thought that the councils, though this had never been told them, would have decreed it no otherwise than they upon premeditation should advise. So the business was checked: and the ambassadors from Corinth and from the cities upon Thrace departed without effect. And the governors of Bœotia, that were before minded, if they had gotten this done, to have leagued1 themselves also with the Argives, made no mention of the Argives in the councils at all, nor sent the ambassadors to Argos, as they had before promised: but a kind of carelessness and delay possessed the whole business.

  A. C. 421. 0. Ol. 89. 4. Mecyberne taken from the Athenians by assault.

  39. The same winter the Olynthians took Mecyberne2 , held with a garrison of the Athenians, by assault.

  year xi. A. C. 421. 0. Ol. 89. 4. The Lacedæmonians enter into a league with the Bœotians, knowing it to be against justice.A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.

  After this the Lacedæmonians, (for the conferences between the Athenians and Lacedæmonians about restitution reciprocal continued still), hoping that if the Athenians should obtain from the Bœotians Panactum, that then they also should recover Pylus, sent ambassadors to the Bœotians, with request that Panactum and the Athenian prisoners might be put into the hands of the Lacedæmonians, that they might get Pylus restored in exchange. But the Bœotians answered, that unless the Lacedæmonians would make a particular league with them as they had done with the Athenians, they would not do it. The Lacedæmonians, though they knew they should therein wrong the Athenians; for that it was said in the articles, that neither party should make either league or war without the other’s consent; yet such was their desire to get Panactum to exchange it for Pylus, and withal they that longed to break the peace with Athens were so eager in it1 , that at last they concluded a league with the Bœotians, winter then ending and the spring approaching: and Panactum was presently pulled down to the ground2 . So ended the eleventh year of this war.

  year xii. The Argives seek peace with the Lacedæmonians.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.The territory of Cynuria, ground of the quarrels between Lacedæmon and Greece.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.An odd condition of a truce.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.

  40. In the spring following, the Argives, when they saw that the ambassadors which the Bœotians promised to send unto them came not, and that Panactum was razed, and that also there was a private league made between the Bœotians and the Lacedæmonians, were afraid lest they should on all hands be abandoned, and that the confederates would all go to the Lacedæmonians. For they apprehended that the Bœotians had been induced both to raze Panactum, and also to enter into the Athenians peace, by the Lacedæmonians; and that the Athenians were privy to the same: so that now they had no means to make league with the Athenians neither; whereas before they made account, that if their truce with the Lacedæmonians continued not, they might upon these differences have joined themselves to the Athenians. The Argives being therefore at a stand, and fearing to have war all at once with the Lacedæmonians, Tegeats, Bœotians, and Athenians, [as] having formerly refused the truce with the Lacedæmonians, and imagined to themselves the principality of all Peloponnesus, they sent ambassadors with as much speed as might be, Eustrophus and Æson, persons as they thought most acceptable unto them, with this cogitation, that by compounding with the Lacedæmonians as well as for their present estate they might, howsoever the world went1 , they should at least live at quiet. 41. When these ambassadors were there, they fell to treat of the articles upon which the agreement should be made. And at first the Argives desired to have the matter referred, either to some private man or to some city, concerning the territory of Cynuria2 : about which they have always differed, as lying on the borders of them both; (it containeth the cities of Thyrea and Anthena, and is possessed by the Lacedæmonians). But afterwards, the Lacedæmonians not suffering mention to be made of that, but that if they would have the truce go on as it did before, they might, the Argive ambassadors got them to yield to this: “that for the present an accord should be made for fifty years; but withal, that it should be lawful nevertheless, if one challenged the other thereunto, both for Lacedæmon and Argos to try their titles to this territory by battle, so that there were in neither city a plague nor a war to excuse them”: as once before they had done, when, as both sides thought, they had the victory: “and that it should not be lawful for one part to follow the chace of the other, further than to the bounds either of Lacedæmon or Argos.” And though this seemed to the Lacedæmonians at first to be but a foolish proposition, yet afterwards, because they desired by all means to have friendship with the Argives, they agreed unto it, and put into writing what they required. Howsoever, before the Lacedæmonians would make any full conclusion of the same, they willed them to return first to Argos, and to make the people acquainted with it; and then, if it were accepted, to return at the Hyacinthian feast and swear it. So these departed.

  The Lacedæmonian ambassadors require Pylus in exchange for Panactum.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. The Athenians take in evil part, both the razing of Panactum, and the league made with the Bœotians.

  42. Whilst the Argives were treating about this, the Lacedæmonian ambassadors, Andromedes and Phædimus and Antimenidas, commissioners for receiving of Panactum and the prisoners from the Bœotians to render them to the Athenians, found that Panactum was demolished1 , and that their pretext was this: that there had been anciently an oath, by occasion of difference between the Athenians and them, that neither part should inhabit the place solely, but jointly both. But for the Athenian prisoners, as many as the Bœotians had, they that were with Andromedes received, convoyed, and delivered them unto the Athenians: and withal told them of the razing of Panactum, alleging it as rendered, in that no enemy of Athens should dwell in it hereafter. But when this was told them, the Athenians made it a heinous matter: for that they conceived that the Lacedæmonians had done them wrong, both in the matter of Panactum, which was pulled down and should have been rendered standing; and because also they had heard of the private league made with the Bœotians, whereas they had promised to join with the Athenians in compelling such to accept of the peace as had refused it. Withal they weighed whatsoever other points the Lacedæmonians had been short in, touching the performance of the articles; and thought themselves abused: so that they answered the Lacedæmonian ambassadors roughly, and dismissed them.

  The Argives make league with Athens by means of Alcibiades.The cause why Alcibiades desireth to break with the Lacedæmonians.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.Alcibiades sendeth for the Argives to Athens to make a league.

  43. This difference arising between the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians, it was presently wrought upon by such also of Athens as desired to have the peace dissolved. Amongst the rest was Alcibiades, the son of Clinias, a man, though young in years, yet in the dignity of his ancestors honoured as much as any man of what city soever1 . Who was of opinion, that it was better to join with the Argives; not only for the matter itself, but also out of stomach labouring to cross the Lacedæmonians: because they had made the peace by the means of Nicias and Laches, without him; whom for his youth they had neglected, and not honoured as for the ancient hospitality between his house and them had been requisite: which his father1 had indeed renounced, but he himself, by good offices done to those prisoners which were brought from the island, had a purpose to have renewed. But supposing himself on all hands disparaged, he both opposed the peace at first; alleging that the Lacedæmonians would not be constant, and that they had made the peace only to get the Argives by that means away from them, and afterwards to invade the Athenians again when they should be destitute of their friends2 : and also as soon as this difference was on foot, he sent presently to Argos of himself, willing them with all speed to come to Athens, as being thereunto invited, and to bring with them the Eleians and Mantineans to enter with the Athenians into a league, the opportunity now serving3 , and promising that he would help them all he could.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.The Lacedæmonian ambassadors come in haste to Athens, to prevent their league with the Argives.

  44. The Argives having heard the message, and knowing4 that the Athenians had made no league with the Bœotians, and that they were at great quarrel with the Lacedæmonians, neglected the ambassadors they had then in Lacedæmon, whom they had sent about the truce, and applied themselves to the Athenians, with this thought: that if they should have war, they should by this means be backed with a city that had been their ancient friend, governed like their own by democracy, and of greatest power by sea. Whereupon they presently sent ambassadors to Athens to make a league: and together with theirs went also the ambassadors of the Eleians and Mantineans. Thither also with all speed came the Lacedæmonian ambassadors, Philocharidas, Leon, and Endius, persons accounted most gracious with the Athenians; for fear, lest in their passion they should make a league with the Argives, and withal to require the restitution of Pylus for Panactum; and to excuse themselves concerning their league with the Bœotians, as not made for any harm intended to the Athenians.

  Alcibiades persuadeth the Lacedæmonian ambassadors to deny before the people that they had power to conclude.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. Alcibiades inveigheth against the Lacedæmonians.

  45. Now speaking of these things before the council, and how that they were come thither with full power to make agreement concerning all controversies betwixt them, they put Alcibiades into fear: lest, if they should say the same before the people, the multitude would be drawn unto their side, and so the Argive league fall off. But Alcibiades deviseth against them this plot. He persuaded the Lacedæmonians not to confess their plenary power before the people: and giveth them his faith, that then Pylus should be rendered, (for he said he would persuade the Athenians to it as much as he now opposed it), and that the rest of their differences should be compounded. This he did to alienate them from Nicias: and that by accusing them before the people as men that had no true meaning nor ever spake one and the same thing, he might bring on the league with the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans. And it came to pass accordingly. For when they came before the people, and to the question, whether they had full power of concluding, had, contrary to what they had said in council, answered No, the Athenians would no longer endure them; but gave ear to Alcibiades, that exclaimed against the Lacedæmonians far more now than ever: and were ready then presently to have the Argives and those others with them brought in, and to make the league: but an earthquake happening before anything was concluded, the assembly was adjourned.

  Nicias endeavoureth to have the peace go on with the Lacedæmonians.Nicias is sent ambassador to Lacedæmon to get satisfaction about performance of the articles.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.

  46. In the next day’s meeting, Nicias, though the Lacedæmonians had been abused, and he himself also deceived, touching their coming with full power to conclude; yet he persisted to affirm, that it was their best course to be friends with the Lacedæmonians, and to defer the Argives’ business till they had sent to the Lacedæmonians again to be assured of their intention: saying, that it was honour unto themselves, and dishonour to the Lacedæmonians to have the war put off. For, for themselves, being in estate of prosperity, it was best to preserve their good fortune as long as they might: whereas to the other side, who were in evil estate, it should be in place of gain to put things as soon as they could to the hazard. So he persuaded them to send ambassadors, whereof himself was one: to require the Lacedæmonians, if they meant sincerely, to render Panactum standing, and also Amphipolis; and if the Bœotians would not accept of the peace, then to undo their league with them; according to the article, that the one should not make league with any without the consent of the other. They willed him to say further; “that they themselves also, if they had had the will to do wrong, had ere this made a league with the Argives, who were present then at Athens for the same purpose.” And whatsoever they had to accuse the Lacedæmonians of besides, they instructed Nicias in it: and sent him and the other his fellow–ambassadors away. When they were arrived, and had delivered what they had in charge, and this last of all; “that the Athenians would make league with the Argives, unless the Lacedæmonians would renounce their league with the Bœotians, if the Bœotians accepted not the peace”: the Lacedæmonians denied to renounce their league with the Bœotians; for Xenares the ephore, and the rest of that faction, carried it: but at the request of Nicias they renewed their former oath1 . For Nicias was afraid he should return with nothing done, and be carped at (as after also it fell out) as author of the Lacedæmonian peace.

  At his return, when the Athenians understood that nothing was effected at Lacedæmon, they grew presently into choler: and apprehending injury, (the Argives and their confederates being there present, brought in by Alcibiades), they made a peace and a league with them in these words:

  the articles of the league between the athenians and the argives.

  47. “The Athenians and Argives and Mantineans and Eleians, for themselves and for the confederates commanded by every of them, have made an accord2 for one hundred years, without fraud or damage, both by sea and land. It shall not be lawful for the Argives nor Eleians nor Mantineans, nor their confederates, to bear arms against the Athenians, or the confederates under the command of the Athenians, or1 their confederates, by any fraud or machination whatsoever.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. The articles of the league between the Athenians and the Argives.

  “ And the Athenians, Argives, and2 Mantineans, have made league with each other for one hundred years on these terms:

  “If any enemy shall invade the territory of the Athenians, then the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans shall go unto Athens to assist them, according as the Athenians shall send them word to do, in the best manner they possibly can. But if the enemy after he have spoiled the territory, shall be gone back, then their city shall be held as an enemy to the Argives, Eleians, Mantineans, and Athenians, and war shall be made against it by all those cities: and it shall not be lawful for any of those cities to give over the war, without the consent of all the rest.

  “And if an enemy shall invade the territory, either of the Argives, or of the Eleians, or of the Mantineans, then the Athenians shall come unto Argos, Elis, and Mantineia, to assist them, in such sort as those cities shall send them word to do, in the best manner they possibly can. But if the enemy after he hath wasted their territory, shall be gone back; then their city shall be held as an enemy both to the Athenians, and also to the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans, and war shall be made against it by all those cities; and it shall not be lawful for any of them to give over the war against that city, without the consent of all the rest.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. The articles of the league between the Athenians and the Argives.

  “There shall no armed men be suffered to pass through the dominions either of themselves, or of any the confederates under their several commands, to1 make war in any place whatsoever, unless by the suffrage of all the cities, Athens, Argos, Elis, and Mantineia, their passage be allowed.

  “To such as come to assist any of the other cities, that city which sendeth them, shall give maintenance for thirty days after they shall arrive in the city that sent for them; and the like at their going away: but if they will use the army for a longer time, then the city that sent for them shall find them maintenance, at the rate of three oboles of Ægina a day for a man of arms2 , and of a drachma of Ægina for a horseman.

  “The city which sendeth for the aids, shall have the leading and command of them, whilst the war is in their own territory: but if it shall seem good unto these cities to make a war in common, then all the cities shall equally participate of the command.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. The articles of the league between the Athenians and the Argives.

  “ The Athenians shall swear unto the articles, both for themselves and for their confederates: and the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans, and the confederates of these, shall every one swear unto them city by city. And their oath shall be the greatest that by custom of the several cities is used, and with most perfect hosts1 , and in these words: I will stand to this league according to the articles thereof, justly, innocently, and sincerely, and not transgress the same by any art or machination whatsoever.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4. The articles of the league between the Athenians and the Argives.

  “This oath shall be taken at Athens by the senate and the officers of the commons2 ; and administered by the Prytanes. At Argos it shall be taken by the senate and the council of eighty, and by the Artynæ; and administered by the council of eighty. At Mantineia it shall be taken by the procurators of the people3 , and by the senate, and by the rest of the magistrates; and administered by the theori and by the tribunes of the soldiers. At Elis it shall be taken by the procurators of the people, and by the officers of the treasury4 , and by the council of six hundred; and administered by the procurators of the people, and by the keepers of the law.

  “This oath shall be renewed by the Athenians, who shall go to Elis, and to Mantineia, and to Argos, thirty days before the Olympian games; and by the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans, who shall come to Athens, ten days before the Panathenæan holydays1 .

  “The articles of this league and peace and the oath shall be inscribed in a pillar of stone by the Athenians in the citadel: by the Argives in their market–place within the precincts of the temple of Apollo: and by the Mantineans in their market–place within the precinct of the temple of Jupiter. And at the Olympian games now at hand, there shall be jointly erected by them all, a brazen pillar in Olympia [with the same inscription].

  “If it shall seem good to any of these cities to add anything to these articles; whatsoever shall be determined by them all in common council, the same shall stand good.”

  The Corinthians still refuse the peace with Athens, and incline again to the Lacedæmonians.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 89. 4.

  48. Thus was the league and the peace concluded: and that which was made before between the Lacedæmonians and the Athenians, was notwithstanding by neither side renounced. But the Corinthians, although they were the confederates of the Argives, yet would they not enter into this league: nay, though there were made a league before this between [them and] the Argives, Eleians, and Mantineans, that where one, there all, should have war or peace, yet they refused to swear to it; but said that their league defensive was enough, whereby they were bound to defend each other, but not to take part one with another in invading. So the Corinthians fell off from their confederates, and inclined again to the Lacedæmonians.

  The Olympian gamesOl. 90. 1.The Lacedæmonians forbidden the exercises: and why.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 90. 1. Contention between the Lacedæmonians and Eleians before the Grecians at Olympia, about a mulct set upon the Lacedæmonians by the Eleians, for breaking the Olympic truce.

  49. This summer were celebrated the Olympian games; in which Androsthenes, an Arcadian, was the first victor in the exercise called Pancratium1 . And the Lacedæmonians were by the Eleians prohibited the temple there; so as they might neither sacrifice, nor contend for the prizes amongst the rest: for that they had not paid the fine set upon them, according to an Olympic law, by the Eleians; that laid to their charge, that they had put soldiers into the fort of Phyrcon, and into Lepreum, in the time of the Olympic truce2 . The fine amounted unto two thousand minæ, which was two minæ for every man of arms, according to the law. But the Lacedæmonians, by their ambassadors which they sent thither, made answer, that they had been unjustly condemned; alleging that the truce was not published in Lacedæmon when their soldiers were sent out. To this the Eleians said again, that the truce was already begun amongst themselves; who used to publish it first in their own dominion: and thereupon, whilst they lay still and expected no such matter, as in time of truce, the Lacedæmonians did them the injury unawares. The Lacedæmonians hereunto replied, that it was not necessary to proceed to the publishing of the truce in Lacedæmon at all, if they thought themselves wronged already: but rather, if they thought themselves not wronged yet, then to do it by way of prevention, that they should not arm against them afterwards1 . The Eleians stood stiffly in their first argument, that they would never be persuaded but injury had been done them: but were nevertheless contented, if they would render Lepreum, both to remit their own part of the money, and also to pay that part for them which was due unto the god.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 90. 1.Lichas a Lacedæmonian whipped upon the Olympic race.year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 90. 1.

  50. When this would not be agreed unto, they then required this: not that they should render Lepreum, unless they would; but that then they should come to the altar of Jupiter Olympian, seeing they desired to have free use of the temple, and there before the Grecians to take an oath to pay the fine at least hereafter. But when the Lacedæmonians refused that also, they were excluded the temple, the sacrifices, and the games; and sacrificed at home: but the rest of the Grecians, except the Lepreates, were all admitted to be spectators. Nevertheless, the Eleians fearing lest they would come and sacrifice there by force, kept a guard there of their youngest men in arms: to whom were added Argives and Mantineans, of either city one thousand, and certain Athenian horsemen, who were then at Argos waiting the celebration of the feast. For a great fear possessed all the assembly, lest the Lacedæmonians should come upon them with an army: and the rather, because Lichas the son of Arcesilaus, a Lacedæmonian, had been whipped by the serjeants upon the race: for that when his chariot had gotten the prize, after proclamation made that the chariot of the Bœotian state had won it, (because he himself was not admitted to run1 ), he came forth into the race and crowned his charioteer, to make it known that the chariot was his own. This added much unto their fear, and they verily expected some accident to follow. Nevertheless the Lacedæmonians stirred not: and the feast passed over.

  year xii. A. C. 420. Ol. 90. 1. The twelfth summer.

  After the Olympian games, the Argives and their confederates went to Corinth, to get the Corinthians into their league. And the Lacedæmonian ambassadors chanced to be there also: and after much conference, and nothing concluded, upon occasion of an earthquake they brake off the conference, and returned every one to his own city. And so this summer ended.

  51. The next winter, the men of Heracleia in Trachinia fought a battle against the Ænianians, Dolopians, Melians, and certain Thessalians. For the neighbour cities were enemies to this city, as built to the prejudice only of them; and both opposed the same from the time it was first founded, annoying it what they could; and also in this battle overcame them, and slew Xenares a Lacedæmonian, their commander, with some others, Heracleots. Thus ended this winter, and the twelfth year of this war.

  year xiii. A. C. 419. Ol. 90. 1.year xiii. A. C. 419. Ol. 90. 1.

  52. In the very beginning of the next summer, the Bœotians took Heracleia, miserably afflicted1 , into their own hands, and put Hegesippidas, a Lacedæmonian, out of it for his evil government. They took it, because they feared, lest whilst the Lacedæmonians were troubled about Peloponnesus, it should have been taken in by the Athenians. Nevertheless the Lacedæmonians were offended with them for doing it. The same summer Alcibiades the son of Clinias, being general of the Athenians, by the practice2 of the Argives and their confederates, went into Peloponnesus, and having with him a few men at arms and archers of Athens, and some of the confederates which he took up there, as he passed through the country with his army, both ordered such affairs by the way concerning the league as was fit; and coming to the Patreans, persuaded them to build their walls down to the sea–side, and purposed to raise another wall himself towards Rhium in Achaia. But the Corinthians, Sicyonians, and such others as this wall would have prejudiced, came forth and hindered him.

  War between the Epidaurians and Argives.

  53. The same summer fell out a war between the Epidaurians and the Argives; the pretext thereof was about a beast for sacrifice, which the Epidaurians ought to have sent in consideration of their pastures to Apollo Pythius, and had not done it: the Argives being the principal owners of the temple1 . But Alcibiades aad the Argives had indeed determined to take in the city, though without pretence at all; both that the Corinthians might not stir, and also that they might bring the Athenian succours from Ægina into those parts, a nearer way than by compassing the promontory of Scyllæum. And therefore the Argives prepared, as of themselves, to exact the sacrifice by invasion.

  year xiii. A. C. 419. Ol. 90. 1.year xiii. A. C. 419. Ol. 90. 1.

  54. About the same time also the Lacedæmonians, with their whole forces, came forth as far as Leuctra, in the confines of their own territory towards Lycæum, under the conduct of Agis, the son of Archidamus, their king. No man knew against what place they intended the war; no not the cities themselves, out of which they were levied1 . But when in the sacrifices which they made for their passage the tokens observed were unlucky, they went home again; and sent word about to their confederates, (being now the month Carneius), to prepare themselves after the next feast of the new moon, (kept by the Dorians), to be again upon their march. The Argives, who set forth the twenty–sixth day of the month before Carneius, though they celebrated the same day, yet all the time they continued invading and wasting Epidauria2 . And the Epidaurians called in their confederates to help them: whereof some excused themselves upon the quality of the month; and others came but to the confines of Epidauria, and there stayed.

  A. C. 419. Ol. 90. 2. Ambassadors meet about peace, but cannot agree.

  55. Whilst the Argives were in Epidauria, the ambassadors of divers cities, solicited by the Athenians, met together at Mantineia, where in a conference amongst them Euphamidas of Corinth said: “that their actions agreed not with their words; forasmuch as whilst they were sitting there to treat of a peace, the Epidaurians with their confederates and the Argives stood armed, in the meantime, against each other in order of battle: that it was therefore fit, that somebody should go first unto the armies from either side1 , and dissolve them; and then come again and dispute of peace”. This advice being approved, they departed, and withdrew the Argives from Epidauria. And meeting afterwards again in the same place, they could not for all that agree: and the Argives again invaded and wasted Epidauria.

  The end of the thirteenth summer.

  The Lacedæmonians also drew forth their army against Caryæ: but then again their sacrifice for passage being not to their mind, they returned. And the Argives, when they had spoiled about the third part of Epidauria, went home likewise. They had the assistance of one thousand men of arms of Athens, and Alcibiades their commander: but these hearing that the Lacedæmonians were in the field2 , and seeing now there was no longer need of them, departed. And so ended this summer.

  year xiii. A. C. 419. 8. Ol. 90. 2. The Argives acknowledge the sea on their own coast to be of the dominion of Athens.

  56. The next winter the Lacedæmonians, unknown to the Athenians, put three hundred garrison soldiers under the command of Agesippidas into Epidaurus by sea. For which cause the Argives came and expostulated with the Athenians, that whereas it was written in the articles of the league, that no enemy should be suffered to pass through either of their dominions, yet had they suffered the Lacedæmonians to pass by sea: and said they had wrong, unless the Athenians would again put the Messenians and Helotes into Pylus against the Lacedæmonians. Hereupon the Athenians, at the persuasion of Alcibiades, wrote upon the Laconian pillar1 , [under the inscription of the peace], that the Lacedæmonians had violated their oath: and they drew the Helotes out of Cranii, and put them again into Pylus, to infest the territory with driving off booties; but did no more.

  A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2.year xiii. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2.

  All this winter, though there was war between the Argives and Epidaurians, yet was there no set battle: but only ambushes and skirmishes, wherein were slain on both sides such as it chanced. But in the end of winter, and the spring now at hand, the Argives came to Epidaurus with ladders, as destitute of men by reason of the war2 , thinking to have won it by assault: but returned again with their labour lost. And so ended this winter; and the thirteenth year of this war.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2. 3. Preparation of the Lacedæmonians against Argos.

  57. In the middle of the next summer, the Lacedæmonians seeing that the Epidaurians their confederates were tired, and that of the rest of the cities of Peloponnesus, some had already revolted, and others were but in evil terms; and apprehending that if they1 prevented it not, the mischief would spread still further: put themselves into the field with all their own forces, both of themselves and their Helotes, to make war against Argos, under the conduct of Agis, the son of Archidamus, their king. The Tegeats went also with them, and of the rest of Arcadia all that were in the Lacedæmonian league. But the rest of their confederates, both within Peloponnesus and without, were to meet2 together at Phlius: that is to say, of the Bœotians five thousand men of arms and as many light–armed, five hundred horse, and to every horseman another man on foot3 , [which holding the horse’s mane ran by with equal speed]: of Corinthians two thousand men of arms, and of the rest more or less as they were: but the Phliasians, because the army was assembled in their own territory, put forth their whole power.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2. 3.The Lacedæmonians and their confederates meet at Phlius.The Argives go to meet them at the forest of Nemea.The Lacedæmonians come into the plains before Argos.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2. 3.The Argives enclosed between the Lacedæmonians and the Bœotians: and the Lacedæmonians enclosed between the army of the Argives and their city.

  58. The Argives, having had notice both formerly4 of the preparation of the Lacedæmonians, and afterward of their marching on to join with the rest at Phlius, brought their army likewise into the field. They had with them the aids of the Mantineans and their confederates, and three thousand men of arms of the Eleians: and marching forward, met the Lacedæmonians at Methydrium, a town of Arcadia, each side seizing on a hill. And the Argives prepared to give battle to the Lacedæmonians, whilst they were single. But Agis, dislodging his army by night, marched on to Phlius to the rest of the confederates, unseen. Upon knowledge hereof, the Argives betimes in the morning retired first to Argos, and afterwards to the forest of Nemea1 , by which they thought the Lacedæmonians and their confederates would fall in. But Agis came not the way which they expected: but with the Lacedæmonians, Arcadians, and Epidaurians, whom he acquainted with his purpose, took another more difficult way to pass, and came down into the Argive plains. The Corinthians also, and Pellenians and Phliasians, marched another troublesome way2 . [Only] the Bœotians, Megareans, and Sicyonians were appointed to come down by the way of the forest of Nemea3 , in which the Argives were encamped; to the end that if the Argives should turn head against the Lacedæmonians, these might set upon them at the back with their horse. Thus ordered, Agis entered into the plains, and spoiled Saminthus and some other towns thereabouts. 59. Which when the Argives understood, they came out of the forest4 somewhat after break of day to oppose them; and lighting among the Phliasians and Corinthians, slew some few of the Phliasians, but had more slain of their own by the Corinthians, though not many. The Bœotians, Megareans, and Sicyonians, marched forward1 towards Nemea, and found that the Argives were departed: for when they came down and saw their country wasted, they put themselves into order of battle. And the Lacedæmonians on the other side did the same; and the Argives stood intercepted in the middest of their enemies. For in the plain between them and the city, stood the Lacedæmonians and those with them; above them, were the Corinthians, Phliasians, and Pellenians; and towards Nemea, were the Bœotians, Sicyonians, and Megareans. And horsemen they had none: for the Athenians alone of all their confederates were not yet come.

  Propositions of peace made by two private men of Argos:

  Now the generality of the army of the Argives and their confederates did not think the danger present so great as indeed it was; but rather that the advantage in the battle would be their own: and that the Lacedæmonians were intercepted, not only in the Argives’ territory, but also hard by the city. But two men of Argos, Thrasyllus, one of the five commanders of the army, and Alciphron, entertainer2 of the Lacedæmonians, when the armies were even ready to join, went unto Agis, and dealt with him to have the battle put off: forasmuch as the Argives were content and ready both to propound and accept of equal arbitrators, in whatsoever the Lacedæmonians should charge them withal; and in the meantime to have peace with them solemnly confirmed.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2. 3. and accepted by Agis, without the knowledge of the rest of the commanders.Agis withdraweth his army, and is censured for it by the confederates.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 2. 3.

  60. This these Argives said of themselves, without the command of the generality. And Agis, of himself likewise, accepting their proposition without deliberation had with the major part, and having communicated it only to some one or more of those that had charge in the army1 , made truce with them for four months; in which space they were to perform the things agreed upon betwixt them: and then presently he withdrew his army without giving account to any of the rest of the league why he did so. The Lacedæmonians and the confederates followed Agis, according to the law2 , as being their general; but among themselves taxed him exceedingly: for that having a very fair occasion of battle, the Argives being inclosed on all sides both by their horse and foot, he yet went his way doing nothing worthy the great preparation they had made. For this was, in very truth, the fairest army that ever the Grecians had in the field unto this day. But it was most to be seen, when they were all together in the forest of Nemea3 : where the Lacedæmonians were with their whole forces, besides the Arcadians, Bœotians, Corinthians, Sicyonians, Pellenians, Phliasians, and Megareans; and these all chosen men of their several cities, and such as were thought a match, not only for the league of the Argives, but for such another added to it. The army thus1 offended with Agis, departed; and were dissolved every man to his home.

  Thrasyllus punished for propounding the peace.

  The Argives were much more offended with those of their city, which without the consent of the multitude had made the truce: they also supposing, that the Lacedæmonians had escaped their hands in such an advantage as they never had the like before; in that the battle was to have been fought under the city walls, and with the assistance of many and good confederates. And in their return they began to stone Thrasyllus at the Charadrum; the place where the soldiers, before they enter into the city from warfare, use to have their military causes heard2 . But he flying to the altar saved himself: nevertheless they confiscated his goods.

  The Athenians instigate the Argives to break the truce.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The Argives break the truce, and besiege Orchomenus.Orchomenus yielded.The Argives go next againstyear xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. Tegea: which displeaseth the Eleians, and they go home.

  61. After this, the Athenians coming in with the aid of one thousand men of arms and three hundred horse under the conduct of Laches and Nicostratus, the Argives (for they were afraid for all this to break the truce with the Lacedæmonians) willed them to be gone again: and when they desired to treat, would not present them to the people till such time as the Mantineans and Eleians, who were not yet gone, forced them unto it by their importunity. Then the Athenians, in the presence of Alcibiades that was ambassador there, spake unto the Argives and their confederates; saying “that the truce was unduly made without the assent of the rest of their confederates, and that now (for they were come time enough) they ought to fall again to the war”: and did by their words so prevail with the confederates, that they all, save the Argives, presently marched against Orchomenus of Arcadia. And these, though satisfied, stayed behind at first1 , but afterwards they also went; and sitting down before Orchomenus, jointly2 besieged and assaulted the same; desiring to take it in as well for other causes, as chiefly for that the hostages which the Arcadians had given to the Lacedæmonians were there in custody. The Orchomenians, fearing the weakness of their walls, and the greatness of the army, and lest they should perish before any relief could arrive, yielded up the town on conditions: “to be received into the league, give hostages for themselves, and to surrender the hostages held there by the Lacedæmonians into the hands of the Mantineans”. 62. The confederates after this, having gotten Orchomenus, sat in council about what town they should proceed against next. The Eleians gave advice to go against Lepreum: but the Mantineans against Tegea3 . And the Argives and Athenians concurred in opinion with the Mantineans. But the Eleians, taking it in evil part that they did not decree to go against Lepreum, went home. But the rest prepared themselves at Mantineia to go against Tegea, which also some within had a purpose to put into their hands.

  The Lacedæmonians question their king for suffering the Argives to go off unfoughten.

  63. The Lacedæmonians, after their return from Argos with their four months’ truce, severely questioned Agis, for that upon so fair an opportunity as they never had before, he subdued not Argos to the state: for so many and so good confederates would hardly be gotten together again at one time. But when also the news came of the taking of Orchomenus, then was their indignation much greater: and they presently resolved, contrary to their own custom, in their passion, to raze his house, and fine him in the sum of ten thousand drachmes1 . But he besought them that they would do neither of these things yet: and promised that, leading out the army again, he would by some valiant action cancel those accusations; or, if not, they might proceed afterwards to do with him whatsoever they thought good. So they forbore both the fine and the razing of his house: but made a decree for that present, such as had never been before: that ten Spartans should be elected and joined with him as councillors, without whom it should not be lawful for him to lead the army into the field2 .

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The Lacedæmonians put their army into the field to rescue Tegea.The Lacedæmonians waste the territory of Mantineia.

  64. In the meantime came news from their side in Tegea; that, unless they came presently with aid, the Tegeans would revolt to the Argives and their confederates; and that they wanted little of being revolted already. Upon this, the Lacedæmonians with speed levied all their forces, both of themselves and their Helotes, in such number as they had never done before, and marched unto Oresteium in Mænalia: and appointed the Arcadians, such as were of their league, to assemble and follow them at the heels to Tegea. The Lacedæmonians being come entire to Oresteium, from thence sent back the sixth part of their army, in which they put both the youngest and the eldest sort, for the custody of the city; and with the rest marched on to Tegea: and not long after arrived also their confederates of Arcadia. They also sent to Corinth, and to the Bœotians, Phoceans, and Locrians, to come with their aids with all speed to Mantineia. But these had too short a warning; nor was it easy for them, unless they came all together and stayed for one another, to come through the enemy’s country, which lay between and barred them of passage. Nevertheless, they made what haste they could. And the Lacedæmonians, taking with them their Arcadian confederates present, entered into the territory of Mantineia; and pitching their camp by the temple of Hercules, wasted the territory about.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The Argives come down from their advantage to seek the enemy.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The Lacedæmonians put themselves in order hastily.

  65. The Argives and their confederates, as soon as they came in sight, seized on a certain place fortified by nature and of hard access, and put themselves into battle array. And the Lacedæmonians marched presently towards them; and came up within a stone or a dart’s cast. But then one of the ancient men of the army cried out unto Agis, (seeing him to go on1 against a place of that strength), that he went about to amend one fault with another: signifying, that he intended to make amends for his former retreat from Argos, which he was questioned for, with his now unseasonable forwardness. But he, whether it were upon that increpation, or some other sudden apprehension of his own2 , presently withdrew his army before the fight began; and marching unto the territory of Tegea, turned the course of the water into the territory of Mantineia3 : touching which water, because into what part soever it had his course it did much harm to the country, the Mantineans and Tegeans were at wars. Now his drift was, by the turning of that water to provoke those Argives and their confederates which kept the hill, when they should hear of it, to come down and oppose them; that so they might fight with them in the plain. And by that time he had stayed about the water a day, he had diverted the stream. The Argives and their confederates were at first amazed at this their sudden retreat from so near them: and knew not what to make of it. But when after the retreat they returned no more in sight, and that they themselves, lying still on the place, did not pursue them: then began they anew to accuse their commanders, both for suffering the Lacedæmonians to depart formerly, when they had them inclosed at so fair an advantage before Argos; and now again, for not pursuing them when they ran away, but giving them leave to save themselves, and betraying the army. The commanders for the present were much troubled hereat: but afterwards they drew down the army from the hill, and coming forth into the plain, encamped as to go against the enemy. 66. The next day, the Argives and their confederates put themselves into such order as, if occasion served1 , they meant to fight in: and the Lacedæmonians returning from the water to the temple of Hercules, the same place where they had formerly encamped, perceived the enemies to be all of them in order of battle hard by them, come down already from the hill. Certainly the Lacedæmonians were more affrighted at this time, than ever they had been to their remembrance before. For the time they had to prepare themselves, was exceedingly short: and such was their diligence that every man fell immediately into his own rank1 , Agis the king commanding all according to the law. For whilst the king hath the army in the field, all things are commanded by him: and he signifieth what is to be done to the polemarchi, they to the lochagi, these to the pentecontateres, and these again to the enomotarchi; who lastly make it known, every one to his own enomotia. In this manner, when they would have anything to be done, their commands pass through the army, and are quickly executed. For almost all the Lacedæmonian army, save a very few, are captains of captains2 : and the care of what is to be put in execution lieth upon many.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The order of the battle of the Argives.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.

  67. Now their left wing consisted of the Sciritæ3 , which amongst the Lacedæmonians have ever alone that place. Next to these were placed the Brasideian soldiers lately come out of Thrace, and with them those that had been newly made free4 . After them in order the rest of the Lacedæmonians, band after band; and by them Arcadians, first the Heræans, after these the Mænalians. In the right wing were the Tegeats, and a few Lacedæmonians in the point of the same wing. And upon the outside of either wing, the horsemen. So stood the Lacedæmonians. Opposite to them, in the right wing stood the Mantineans; because it was upon their own territory; and with them such Arcadians as were of their league. Then the thousand chosen Argives1 , which the city had for a long time caused to be trained for the wars at the public charge: and next to them the rest of the Argives. After these, the Cleonæans and Orneates, their confederates. And lastly, the Athenians, with the horsemen (which were also theirs) had the left wing. 68. This was the order and preparation of both the armies. The army of the Lacedæmonians appeared to be the greater. But what the number was, either of the particulars of either side or in general, I could not exactly write. For the number of the Lacedæmonians, agreeable to the secrecy of that state, was unknown; and of the other side, for the ostentation usual with all men touching the number of themselves, was unbelieved. Nevertheless, the number of the Lacedæmonians may be attained by computing thus. Besides the Sciritæ, which were six hundred, there fought in all seven regiments, in every regiment were four companies, in each company were four enomotiæ1 , and of every enomotia there stood in front four: but they were not ranged all alike in file, but as the captains of bands thought it necessary; but the army in general was so ordered, as to be eight men in depth. And the first rank of the whole, besides the Sciritæ, consisted of four hundred and forty–eight soldiers.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The hortative to the Argives and their confederates.The Lacedæmonians encourage one another.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The fight.

  69. Now when they were ready to join, the commanders made their hortatives, every one to those that were under his own command. To the Mantineans it was said, “that they were to fight for their territory, and concerning their liberty and servitude; that the former1 might not be taken from them, and that they might not again taste of the latter.” The Argives were admonished, “that whereas anciently they had the leading of Peloponnesus2 , and in it an equal share, they should not now suffer themselves to be deprived of it for ever; and that withal, they should now revenge the many injuries of a city, their neighbour and enemy.” To the Athenians, it was remembered, “how honourable a thing it would be for them, in company of so many and good confederates, to be inferior to none of them; and that if they had once vanquished the Lacedæmonians in Peloponnesus, their own dominion would become both the more assured, and the larger by it; and that no other would invade their territory hereafter.” Thus much was said to the Argives and their confederates. But the Lacedæmonians encouraged one another, both of themselves, and also by the manner of their discipline in the wars3 ; taking encouragement, being valiant men, by the commemoration of what they already knew; as being well acquainted, that a long actual experience conferred more to their safety than any short verbal exhortation, though never so well delivered. 70. After this followed the battle. The Argives and their confederates marched to the charge with great violence and fury. But the Lacedæmonians slowly and with many flutes, according to their military discipline; not as a point of religion, but that, marching evenly and by measure, their ranks might not be distracted; as the greatest1 armies, when they march in the face of the enemy, use to be.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The Lacedæmonians have the disadvantage for order, but advantage of valouryear xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The Lacedæmonians have the victory.

  71. Whilst they were yet marching up, Agis the king thought of this course. All armies do thus. In the conflict they extend their right wing, so as it cometh in upon the flank of the left wing of the enemy: and this happeneth, for that every one, through fear, seeketh all he can to cover his unarmed side with the shield of him that standeth next to him on his right hand; conceiving, that to be so locked together is their best defence. The beginning hereof, is in the leader of the first file on the right hand: who ever striving to shift his unarmed side from the enemy, the rest upon like fear follow after. And at this time, the Mantineans in the right wing had far encompassed the Sciritæ: and the Lacedæmonians on the other side, and the Tegeats, were come in yet further upon the flank of the Athenians, by as much as they had the greater army. Wherefore Agis, fearing lest his left wing should be encompassed, and supposing the Mantineans to be come in far, signified unto the Sciritæ and Brasideians to draw out part of their bands, and therewith to equalise their left wing to the right wing of the Mantineans1 ; and into the void space, he commanded to come up Hipponoidas and Aristocles, two colonels2 , with their bands out of the right wing, and to fall in there and make up the breach: conceiving that more than enough would still be remaining in their right wing, and that the left wing opposed to the Mantineans would be the stronger. 72. But it happened, (for he commanded it in the very onset and on the sudden), both that Aristocles and Hipponoidas refused to go to the place commanded; (for which they were afterwards banished Sparta, as thought to have disobeyed out of cowardice); and that the enemy had in the meantime also charged: and when those which he commanded to go to the place of the Sciritæ went not, they could no more reunite themselves nor close again the empty space3 . But the Lacedæmonians, though they had the worst at this time in every point for skill, yet in valour they manifestly showed themselves superior. For after the fight was once begun, notwithstanding that the right wing of the Mantineans did put to flight the Sciritæ and Brasideians, and that the Mantineans together with their confederates and those thousand chosen men of Argos, falling upon them in flank by the breach not yet closed up, killed many of the Lacedæmonians, and put to flight and chased them to their carriages, slaying also certain of the elder sort left there for a guard; so as in this part the Lacedæmonians were overcome: yet with the rest of the army, and especially the middle battle where Agis was himself, and those which are called the three hundred horsemen1 about him, they charged upon the eldest of the Argives, and upon those which are named the five cohorts2 , and upon the Cleonæans and Orneates, and certain Athenians arranged amongst them; and put them all to flight: in such sort as many of them never struck stroke, but as soon as the Lacedæmonians charged gave ground presently; and some for fear to be overtaken3 were trodden under foot.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.The Lacedæmonians pursue not the enemy far.

  73. As soon as the army of the Argives and their confederates had in this part given ground, they began also to break on either side. The right wing of the Lacedæmonians and Tegeats had now with their surplusage of number hemmed the Athenians in, so as they had the danger on all hands; being within the circle, pent up, and without it, already vanquished4 . And they had been the most distressed part of all the army, had not their horsemen come in to help them. Withal it fell out that Agis, when he perceived the left wing of his own army to labour, namely, that which was opposed to the Mantineans and to those thousand Argives, commanded the whole army to go and relieve the part overcome. By which means the Athenians and such of the Argives as, together with them, were overlaid, whilst the army passed by and declined them, saved themselves at leisure. And the Mantineans with their confederates, and those chosen Argives, had no more mind now of pressing upon their enemies: but seeing their side was overcome and the Lacedæmonians approaching them, presently turned their backs. Of the Mantineans the greatest part1 were slain; but of those chosen Argives, the most were saved; by reason the flight and going off was neither hasty nor long. For the Lacedæmonians fight long and constantly, till they have made the enemy to turn his back: but that done, they follow him not far.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. Number of the dead.

  74. Thus, or near thus, went the battle; the greatest that had been of a long time between Grecians and Grecians; and of two the most famous cities. The Lacedæmonians laying together the arms of their slain enemies, presently erected a trophy, and rifled their dead bodies2 . Their own dead they took up, and carried them to Tegea, where they were also buried: and delivered to the enemy theirs under truce. Of the Argives, and Orneates, and Cleonæans were slain seven hundred: of the Mantineans, two hundred: and of the Athenians with the Æginetæ, likewise two hundred, and both the captains. The confederates of the Lacedæmonians were never pressed, and therefore their loss was not worth mentioning: and of the Lacedæmonians themselves, it is hard to know the certainty; but it is said, there were slain three hundred.

  The Lacedæmonians recover their reputation.

  75. When it was certain they would fight1 , Pleistoanax the other king of the Lacedæmonians, and with him both old and young, came out of the city to have aided the army: and came forth as far as Tegea, but being advertised of the victory they returned. And the Lacedæmonians sent out to turn back also those confederates of theirs, which were coming to them from Corinth and from without the isthmus. And then they also went home themselves; and having dismissed their confederates, (for now were the Carneian holidays), celebrated that feast. Thus in this one battle they wiped off their disgrace with the Grecians: for they had been taxed both with cowardice for the blow they received in the island, and with imprudence and slackness on other occasions. But after this, their miscarriage was imputed to fortune, and for their minds they were esteemed to have been2 ever the same they had been.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The Epidaurians enter the territory of Argos.The Athenians build a fort before EpidaurusThe end of the twelfth summer.

  The day before this battle it chanced also that the Epidaurians with their whole power invaded the territory of Argos, as being emptied much of men: and whilst the Argives were abroad, killed many of those that were left behind to defend it1 . Also three thousand men of Elis and a thousand Athenians, besides those which had been sent before, being come after the battle to aid the Mantineans, marched presently all to Epidaurus; and lay before it all the while the Lacedæmonians were celebrating the Carneian holidays: and assigning to every one his part, began to take in the city with a wall. But the rest gave over: only the Athenians quickly finished a fortification, (which was their task), wherein stood the temple of Juno2 . In it amongst them all they left a garrison; and went home every one to his own city. And so this summer ended.

  Peace concluded between the Argives and Lacedæmonians.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.

  76. In the beginning of the winter following, the Lacedæmonians, presently after the end of the Carneian holidays, drew out their army into the field: and being come to Tegea, sent certain propositions of agreement before to Argos. There were, before this time, many citizens in Argos well affected to the Lacedæmonians, and that desired the deposing of the Argive people: and now after the battle they were better able by much to persuade the people to composition than they formerly were. And their design was, first, to get a peace made with the Lacedæmonians, and after that a league; and then at last to set upon the commons.

  There went thither Lichas the son of Archesilaus, entertainer1 of the Argives in Lacedæmon, and brought to Argos two propositions: one of war, if the war were to proceed; another of peace, if they were to have peace2 . And after much contradiction, (for Alcibiades was also there), the Lacedæmonian faction, that boldly now discovered themselves, prevailed with the Argives to accept the proposition of peace; which was this.

  the articles.

  77. “It seemeth good to the council3 of the Lacedæmonians to accord with the Argives on these articles:

  “The Argives shall redeliver unto the Orchomenians their children, and unto the Mænalians their men, and unto the Lacedæmonians those men that are at Mantineia4 : they shall withdraw their soldiers5 from Epidaurus, and raze the fortification there.

  “And if the Athenians depart not from Epidaurus [likewise], they shall be held as enemies both to the Argives and to the Lacedæmonians, and also to the confederates of them both.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The Articles.

  “ If the Lacedæmonians have any men1 of theirs in custody, they shall deliver them every one to his own city.

  “And for so much as concerneth the god, the Argives shall accept composition with the Epidaurians, upon an oath which they shall swear, touching that controversy; and the Argives shall give the form of that oath2 .

  “All the cities of Peloponnesus, both small and great, shall be free according to their patrial laws.

  “If any without Peloponnesus shall enter into it to do it harm, the Argives shall come forth to defend the same, in such sort as in a common council shall by the Peloponnesians be thought reasonable3 .

  “The confederates of the Lacedæmonians without Peloponnesus, shall have the same conditions which the confederates of the Argives and of the Lacedæmonians have; every one holding his own.

  “This composition is to hold from the time, that they shall both parts have showed the same to their confederates, and obtained their consent4 .

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.

  “ And if it shall seem good to either part to add or alter anything, their confederates shall be sent unto, and made acquainted therewith1 .”

  78. These propositions the Argives accepted at first; and the army of the Lacedæmonians returned from Tegea to their own city. But shortly after, when they had commerce together, the same men went further; and so wrought, that the Argives renouncing their league with the Mantineans, Eleians, and Athenians, made league and alliance with the Lacedæmonians in this form.

  the league between the argives and lacedæmonians.

  79. “It seemeth good to the Lacedæmonians and Argives to make league and alliance for fifty years on these articles:

  “That either side shall allow unto the other equal and like trials of judgment, after the form used in their cities.

  “That the rest of the cities of Peloponnesus (this league and alliance comprehending also them) shall be free both from the laws and payments of any other city than their own; holding what they have, and affording equal and like trials of judgment according to the form used in their several cities2 .

  “That every of the cities confederate with the Lacedæmonians, without Peloponnesus, shall be in the same condition with the Lacedæmonians: and the confederates of the Argives, in the same with the Argives: every one holding his own.

  year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3. The league between the Argives and Lacedæmonians.

  “That if at any time there shall need an expedition to be taken in common, the Lacedæmonians and the Argives shall consult thereof, and decree as shall stand most with equity towards the confederates. And that if any controversy arise between any of the cities, either within or without Peloponnesus, about limits or other matter, they also shall decide it.

  “That if any confederate city be at contention with another, it shall have recourse to that city which they both shall think most indifferent: but the particular men of any one city shall be judged according to the law of the same.”

  The Argives and Lacedæmonians make an order that the Athenians shall quit the fort.They solicit the towns upon Thrace to revolt from the Athenians.year xiv. A. C. 418. Ol. 90. 3.Demosthenes being sent to fetch their soldiers from the fort, delivereth the same by a wile to the Epidaurians.

  80. Thus was the peace and league concluded: and whatsoever one had taken from the other in the war, or whatsoever one had against another otherwise, was all acquitted. Now1 , when they were together settling their business, they ordered that the Argives should neither admit herald nor ambassage from the Athenians till they were gone out of Peloponnesus, and had quit the fortification: nor should make peace or war with any without consent of the rest. And amongst other things which they did in this heat, they sent ambassadors from both their cities to the towns lying upon Thrace and unto Perdiccas: whom they also persuaded to swear himself of the same league. Yet he revolted not from the Athenians presently, but intended it: because he saw the Argives had done so; and was himself also anciently descended out of Argos1 . They likewise renewed their old oath with the Chalcideans; and took another besides it. The Argives sent ambassadors also to Athens, requiring them to abandon the fortification2 they had made against Epidaurus. And the Athenians considering that the soldiers they had in it were few in respect to the many others that were with them in the same, sent Demosthenes to fetch them away. He, when he was come, and had exhibited for a pretence a certain exercise of naked men without the fort, when the rest of the garrison were gone forth to see it, made fast the gates: and afterwards having renewed the league with the Epidaurians, the Athenians by themselves put the fort into their hands.

  A. C. 417. Ol. 90. 3. The Mantineans forsake the league of Athens.year xiv. A. C. 417. Ol. 90. 3. Sicyon and Argos reduced to oligarchies.

  81. After the revolt of the Argives from the league, the Mantineans also, though they withstood it at first, yet being too weak without the Argives, made their peace with the Lacedæmonians; and laid down their command over the other cities3 . And the Lacedæmonians and Argives with a thousand men of either city having joined their arms, the Lacedæmonians first, with their single power, reduced the government of Sicyon to a smaller number; and then they both together dissolved the democracy at Argos. And the oligarchy was established conformable to the state of Lacedæmon.

  These things passed in the end of winter, and near the spring. And so ended the fourteenth year of this war.

  year xv. The Dictideans revolt from Athens: Achaia oligarchized: Argos relapseth into a democracy

  82. The next summer the Dictideans1 seated in Mount Athos, revolted from the Athenians to the Chalcideans.

  year xv. A. C. 417. Ol. 90. 4.The Argives come again to the league of Athens, and with long walls take in a way from their city to the sea.The end of the fifteenth summer.

  And the Lacedæmonians ordered the state of Achaia after their own form, which before was otherwise. But the Argives, after they had by little and little assembled themselves and recovered heart, taking the time when the Lacedæmonians were celebrating their exercises of the naked youth2 , assaulted the few; and in a battle fought within the city, the commons had the victory; and some they slew, others they drave into exile. The Lacedæmonians, though those of their faction in Argos sent for them, went not a long time after: yet at last they adjourned the exercises, and came forth with intention of giving them aid. But hearing by the way at Tegea, that the few were overcome, they could not be entreated by such as had escaped thence, to go on: but returning, went on with the celebration of their exercises. But afterwards, when there came ambassadors unto them, both from the Argives1 in the city, and from them that were driven out, there being present also their confederates, and much alleged on either side: they concluded at last, that those in the city had done the wrong, and decreed to go against Argos with their army; but many delays passed, and much time was spent between. In the meantime the common people of Argos, fearing the Lacedæmonians, and regaining the league with Athens, as conceiving the same would turn to their very great advantage, raise long walls from their city down to the sea–shore: to the end, that if they were shut up by land, they might yet with the help of the Athenians bring things necessary into the city by sea. And with this their building, some other cities of Peloponnesus were also acquainted2 . And the Argives universally, themselves and wives and servants, wrought at the wall: and had workmen and hewers of stone from Athens3 . So this summer ended.

  The Lacedæmonian army comes to Argos, and razeth the walls which they were building.year xv. A. C. 417. Ol. 90. 4.They take Hysiæ, a town in Argeia.The Argives spoil the territory of Phliasia.

  83. The next winter the Lacedæmonians, understanding that they were fortifying, came to Argos with their army, they and their confederates all but the Corinthians: and some practice they had beside within the city itself of Argos. The army was commanded by Agis, the son of Archidamus, king of the Lacedæmonians. But those things which were practising in Argos and supposed to have been already mature, did not then succeed. Nevertheless they took the walls that were then in building, and razed them to the ground: and then, after they had taken Hysiæ, a town in the Argive territory, and slain all the freemen in it, they went home, and were dissolved every one to his own city. After this, the Argives went with an army into Phliasia: which when they had wasted, they went back. They did it, because the men of Phlius had received their outlaws: for there the greatest part of them dwelt.

  The Athenians quarrel Perdiccas, and bar him the use of the sea.

  The same winter the Athenians shut up Perdiccas in Macedonia [from the use of the sea]1 : objecting, that he had sworn the league of the Argives and Lacedæmonians; and that when they had prepared an army, under the command of Nicias the son of Niceratus, to go against the Chalcideans upon Thrace and against Amphipolis, he had broken the league made betwixt them and him, and by his departure2 was the principal cause of the dissolution of that army; and was therefore an enemy. And so this winter ended, and the fifteenth year of this war.

  year xvi. Alcibiades fetcheth away three hundred citizens of Argos for Lacedæmonism.

  84. The next summer went Alcibiades to Argos with twenty galleys; and took thence the suspected Argives, and such as seemed to savour of the Lacedæmonian faction, to the number of three hundred; and put them into the nearest of the islands subject to the Athenian state.

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. The Athenians war against the island of Melos.

  The Athenians made war also against the isle of Melos, with thirty galleys of their own, six of Chios, and two of Lesbos. Wherein were of their own, twelve hundredmen of arms, three hundred archers, and twenty archers on horseback: and of their confederates and islanders, about fifteen hundred men of arms. The Melians are a colony of the Lacedæmonians1 , and therefore refused to be subject, as the rest of the islands were, unto the Athenians; but rested at the first neutral; and afterwards, when the Athenians put them to it by wasting of their land, they entered into open war.

  Now the Athenian commanders, Cleomedes the son of Lycomedes, and Tisias the son of Tisimachus, being encamped upon their land with these forces, before they would hurt the same sent ambassadors to deal with them first by way of conference. These ambassadors the Melians refused to bring before the multitude; but commanded them to deliver their message before the magistrates and the few: and they accordingly said as followeth:

  dialogue between the athenians and melians.year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  85. Athenians. “Since we may not speak to the multitude, for fear lest when they hear our persuasive and unanswerable arguments all at once in a continued oration, they should chance to be seduced; (for we know that this is the scope of your bringing us to audience before the few); make surer yet that point, you that sit here: answer1 you also to every particular, not in a set speech, but presently interrupting us, whensoever anything shall be said by us which shall seem unto you to be otherwise. And first answer us, whether you like this motion or not?”

  86. Whereunto the council of the Melians answered: “The equity of a leisurely debate is not to be found fault withal; but this preparation of war, not future but already here present, seemeth not to agree with the same. For we see that you are come to be judges of the conference: and that the issue of it, if we be superior in argument2 and therefore yield not, is likely to bring us war; and if we yield, servitude.”

  87. Ath. “Nay, if you be come together to reckon up suspicions of what may be, or to any other purpose than to take advice upon what is present and before your eyes, how to save your city from destruction, let us give over. But if this be the point, let us speak to it.”

  88. Mel. “It is reason, and pardonable for men in our cases, to turn both their words and thoughts upon divers things. Howsoever, this consultation being held only upon the point of our safety, we are content, if you think good, to go on with the course you have propounded.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  89. Ath. “As we therefore will not, for our parts, with fair pretences; as, that having defeated the Medes, our reign is therefore lawful, or, that we come against you for injury done; make a long discourse without being believed: so would we have you also not expect to prevail by saying, either that you therefore took not our parts because you were a colony of the Lacedæmonians, or that you have done us no injury. But out of those things which we both of us do really think, let us go through with that which is feasible; both you and we knowing, that in human disputation justice is then only agreed on when the necessity is equal1 ; whereas they that have odds of power exact as much as they can, and the weak yield to such conditions as they can get.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  90. Mel. “Well then, (seeing you put the point of profit in the place of justice), we hold it profitable for ourselves, not to overthrow a general profit to all men, which is this: that men in danger, if they plead reason and equity, nay, though somewhat without the strict compass of justice, yet it ought ever to do them good2 . And the same most of all concerneth you: forasmuch as you shall else give an example unto others of the greatest revenge that can be taken, if you chance to miscarry.”

  91. Ath. “As for us, though our dominion should cease, yet we fear not the sequel. For not they that command, as do the Lacedæmonians, are cruel to those that are vanquished by them; (yet we have nothing to do now with the Lacedæmonians); but such as having been in subjection, have assaulted those that commanded them and gotten the victory1 . But let the danger of that be to ourselves. In the meantime we tell you this: that we are here now both to enlarge2 our own dominion, and also to confer about the saving of your city. For we would have dominion over you without oppressing you, and preserve you to the profit of us both.”

  92. Mel. “But how can it be profitable for us to serve; though it be so for you to command?”

  93. Ath. “Because you by obeying, shall save yourselves from extremity; and we not destroying you, shall reap profit by you.”

  94. Mel. “But will you not accept, that we remain quiet and be your friends, (whereas before we were your enemies), and take part with neither?”

  95. Ath. “No. For your enmity doth not so much hurt us, as your friendship will be an argument of our weakness, and your hatred of our power, amongst those we have rule over.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  96. Mel. “Why? Do your subjects measure equity so, as to put those that never had to do with you, and themselves, who for the most part have been your own colonies, and some of them after revolt conquered, into one and the same consideration?”

  97. Ath. “Why not? For they think they have reason on their side, both the one sort and the other; and that such as are subdued, are subdued by force, and such as are forborne, are so through our fear1 . So that by subduing you, besides the extending of our dominion over so many more subjects, we shall assure it the more over those we had before; especially being masters of the sea, and you islanders, and weaker (except you can get the victory) than others whom we have subdued already2 .”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  98. Mel. “Do you think then, that there is no assurance in that which we propounded3 ? For here again, (since driving us from the plea of equity you persuade us to submit to your profit), when we have shewed you what is good for us, we must endeavour to draw you to the same, as far forth as it shall be good for you also. As many therefore as now are neutral, what do you but make them your enemies, when, beholding these your proceedings, they look that hereafter you will also turn your arms upon them? And what is this, but to make greater the enemies you have already, and to make others your enemies, each against their wills, that would not else have been so?”

  99. Ath. “We do not think that they shall be ever the more our enemies, who inhabiting anywhere in the continent, will be long ere they so much as keep guard upon their liberty against us. But islanders unsubdued, as you be, or islanders offended with the necessity of subjection which they are already in: these may indeed, by unadvised courses, put both themselves and us into apparent danger.”

  100. Mel. “If you then to retain your command, and your vassals to get loose from you, will undergo the utmost of danger: would it not in us1 , that be already free, be great baseness and cowardice, if we should not encounter anything whatsoever rather than suffer ourselves to be brought into bondage?”

  101. Ath. “No; if you advise rightly. For you have not in hand a match of valour upon equal terms, wherein to forfeit your honour; but rather a consultation upon your safety, that you resist not such as be so far your overmatches.”

  102. Mel. “But we know that, in matter of war, the event is sometimes otherwise2 than according to the difference of number in sides: and that if we yield presently, all our hope is lost; whereas if we hold out, we have yet a hope to keep ourselves up.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  103. Ath. “Hope, the comfort of danger, when such use it as have to spare, though it hurt them, yet it destroys them not. But to such as set their rest1 upon it, (for it is a thing by nature prodigal), it at once by failing maketh itself known; and known, leaveth no place for future caution2 . Which let not be your own case, you that are but weak, and have no more but this one stake. Nor be you like unto many men: who though they may presently save themselves by human means, will yet, when upon pressure of the enemy their most apparent hopes fail them, betake themselves to blind ones; as divination, oracles, and other such things which with hopes destroy men.”

  104. Mel. “We think it, you well know, a hard matter for us to combat your power and fortune, unless we might do it on equal terms. Nevertheless we believe that, for fortune, we shall be nothing inferior; as having the gods on our side, because we stand innocent against men unjust: and for power, what is wanting in us will be supplied by our league with the Lacedæmonians, who are of necessity obliged, if for no other cause, yet for consanguinity’s sake and for their own honour, to defend us. So that we are confident, not altogether so much without reason as you think.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  105. Ath. “As for the favour of the gods, we expect to have it as well as you: for we neither do, nor require anything contrary to what mankind hath decreed, either concerning the worship of the gods, or concerning themselves. For of the gods we think according to the common opinion; and of men, that for certain by necessity of nature they will every where reign over such as they be too strong for1 . Neither did we make this law, nor are we the first that use it made: but as we found it, and shall leave it to posterity for ever, so also we use it: knowing that you likewise, and others that should have the same power which we have, would do the same. So that forasmuch as toucheth the favour of the gods, we have in reason no fear of being inferior. And as for the opinion you have of the Lacedæmonians, in that you believe they will help you for their own honour: we bless your innocent minds, but affect not your folly. For the Lacedæmonians, though in respect of themselves and the constitutions of their own country they are wont for the most part to be generous; yet in respect of others, though much might be alleged, yet the shortest way one might say it all thus: that most apparently of all men, they hold for honourable that which pleaseth, and for just that which profiteth. And such an opinion maketh nothing for your now absurd means of safety.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  106. Mel. “Nay, for this same opinion of theirs, we now the rather believe1 that they will not betray their own colony, the Melians; and thereby become perfidious to such of the Grecians as be their friends, and beneficial to such as be their enemies.”

  107. Ath. “You think not then, that what is profitable must be also safe, and that which is just and honourable must be performed with danger; which commonly the Lacedæmonians are least willing of all men to undergo [for others].”

  108. Mel. “But we suppose that they will undertake danger for us, rather than for any other; and that they think that we will be more assured unto them, than unto any other: because for action, we lie near to Peloponnesus2 , and for affection, are more faithful than others for our nearness of kin.”

  109. Ath. “The security of such as are at wars, consisteth not in the good will of those that are called3 to their aid, but in the power of those means they excel in. And this the Lacedæmonians themselves use to consider more than any; and therefore, out of diffidence in their own forces, they take many of their confederates with them, though to an expedition but against their neighbours. Wherefore it is not likely, we being masters of the sea, that they will ever pass over into an island.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  110. Mel. “Yea, but they may have others to send: and the Cretic sea is wide, wherein to take another is harder for him that is master of it, than it is for him that will steal by, to save himself. And if this course fail, they may turn their arms against your own territory, or those of your confederates not invaded by Brasidas. And then you shall have to trouble yourselves, no more about a territory that you have nothing to do withal, but about your own and your confederates1 .”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  111. Ath. “Let2 them take which course of these they will, that you also may find by experience, and not be ignorant, that the Athenians never yet gave over siege for fear of any diversion upon others. But we observe that, whereas you said you would consult of your safety, you have not yet in all this discourse said anything, which a man relying on could hope to be preserved by: the strongest arguments you use are but future hopes; and your present power is too short to defend you against the forces already arranged against you. You shall therefore take very absurd counsel, unless excluding us you make amongst yourselves some more discreet conclusion: for [when you are by yourselves], you will no more set your thoughts upon shame; which, when dishonour and danger stand before men’s eyes, for the most part undoeth them3 . For many, when they have foreseen into what dangers they were entering, have nevertheless been so overcome by that forcible word, dishonour, that that which is but called dishonour, hath caused them to fall willingly into immedicable calamities; and so to draw upon themselves really, by their own madness, a greater dishonour than could have befallen them by fortune. Which you, if you deliberate wisely, will take heed of; and not think shame to submit to a most potent city, and that upon so reasonable conditions, as of league and of enjoying your own under tribute: and seeing choice is given you of war or safety, do1 not out of peevishness take the worse. For such do take the best course, who though they give no way to their equals, yet do fairly accommodate to their superiors; and towards their inferiors use moderation. Consider of it therefore, whilst we stand off; and have often in your mind, that you deliberate of your country; which is to be happy2 or miserable in and by this one consultation.”

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 90. 4. Dialogue between the Athenians and Melians.

  112. So the Athenians went aside from the conference; and the Melians, after they had decreed3 the very same things which before they had spoken, made answer unto them in this manner: “Men of Athens, our resolution is no other than what you have heard before; nor will we, in a small portion of time, overthrow that liberty, in which our city hath remained for the space of seven hundred years since it was first founded. But trusting to the fortune by which the gods have preserved it hitherto, and unto the help of men, that is4 , of the Lacedæmonians, we will do our best to maintain the same. But this we offer: to be your friends; enemies to neither side; and you to depart out of our land, after agreement1 such as we shall both think fit.”

  The Athenians and Melians agree not.The city of Melos besieged.

  113. Thus the Melians answered. To which the Athenians, the conference being already broken off, replied thus: “You are the only men, as it seemeth to us, by this consultation, that think future things more certain than things seen; and behold things doubtful, through desire to have them true, as if they were already come to pass. As you attribute and trust the most unto the Lacedæmonians, and to fortune and hopes, so will you be the most deceived”. 114. This said, the Athenian ambassadors departed to their camp. And the commanders, seeing that the Melians stood out, fell presently to the war: and dividing the work among the several cities, encompassed the city of the Melians with a wall. The Athenians afterwards left some forces of their own and of their confederates, for a guard both by sea and land: and with the greatest part of their army went home. The rest that were left, besieged the place.

  The Argives lose eighty men by an ambushment of the Phliasians.The Athenians in Pylus infest Laconia.year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 91. 1. The Corinthians war on the Athenians.

  115. About the same time the Argives, making a road2 into Phliasia, lost about eighty of their men, by ambush laid for them by the men of Phlius and the outlaws of their own city. And the Athenians that lay in Pylus, fetched in thither a great booty from the Lacedæmonians. Notwithstanding which, the Lacedæmonians did not war3 upon them, [as] renouncing the peace: but gave leave by edict1 only, to any of their people that would to take booties reciprocally in the territory of the Athenians. The Corinthians also made war upon the Athenians: but it was for certain controversies of their own: and the rest of Peloponnesus stirred not.

  The Melians relieve their town.The end of the fifteenth summer

  The Melians also took that part of the wall of the Athenians by an assault in the night, which looked towards the market–place2 : and having slain the men that guarded it, brought into the town both corn and other provision, whatsoever they could buy for money3 : and so returned and lay still. And the Athenians from thenceforth kept a better watch. And so this summer ended.

  116. The winter following, the Lacedæmonians being about to enter with their army into the territory of the Argives, when they perceived that the sacrifices which they made on the border for their passage were not acceptable, returned. And the Argives, having some of their own city in suspicion in regard of this design of the Lacedæmonians, apprehended some of them; and some escaped.

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 91. 1.

  About the same time the Melians took another part of the wall of the Athenians; they that kept the siege being then not many. But this done, there came afterwards some fresh forces from Athens, under the conduct of Philocrates the son of Demeas. And the town being now strongly besieged, there being also within some that practised to have it given up, they yielded themselves to the discretion of the Athenians: who slew all the men of military age, made slaves of the women and children1 ; and inhabited the place with a colony sent thither afterwards of five hundred men of their own.

  THE SIXTH BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  Sicily described.—The causes and pretences of the Sicilian war: with the consultation and preparation for the same.—Alcibiades, one of the generals of the army, accused of defacing the images of Mercury, is suffered for that present to depart with the army.—The Athenian army cometh to Rhegium: thence to Catana.—From thence Alcibiades is sent for home to make answer to his accusations: and by the way escaping, goeth to Lacedæmon.—Nicias encampeth near Syracuse: and having overcome the army of the Syracusians in battle, returneth to Catana.—The Syracusians procure aids amongst the rest of the Sicilians.—Alcibiades instigateth and instructeth the Lacedæmonians against his country.—Nicias returneth from Catana to Syracuse: and encamping in Epipolæ, besiegeth the city: and beginneth to enclose them with a double wall, which was almost brought to perfection in the beginning of the eighteenth year of this war.

  year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 91. 1. The Athenians resolve to invade Sicily.year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 91. 1. The greatness of Sicily and the inhabitants.

  1. The same winter the Athenians, with greater forces than they had before sent out with Laches and Eurymedon, resolved to go again into Sicily; and if they could, wholly to subdue it: being for the most part ignorant both of the greatness of the island, and of the multitude of people, as well Greeks as barbarians, that inhabited the same; and that they undertook a war not much less than the war against the Peloponnesians. For the compass of Sicily is little less than eight days’ sail for a ship; and though so great, is yet divided with no more than twenty furlongs, sea measure1 , from the continent.

  Cyclopes and Læstrigones.Sicanians.Sicania, Trinacria.Trojans.Siculi.

  2. It was inhabited in old time, thus; and these were the nations that held it. The most ancient inhabitants in a part thereof, are said to have been the Cyclopes and Læstrigones: of whose stock, and whence they came or to what place they removed, I have nothing to say. Let that suffice which the poets have spoken, and which every particular man hath learned of them. After them, the first that appear to have dwelt therein, are the Sicanians, as they say themselves; nay, before the other, as being the natural breed of the island. But the truth is, they were Iberians; and driven away by the Ligyans from the banks of Sicanus2 , a river on which they were seated in Iberia. And the island from them came to be called Sicania, which was before Trinacria. And these [two] inhabit yet in the western parts of Sicily. After the taking of Ilium certain Trojans, escaping the hands of the Grecians, landed with small boats in Sicily: and having planted themselves on the borders of the Sicanians, both the nations in one were called Elymi; and their cities were Eryx and Egesta1 . Hard by these came and dwelled also certain Phoceans, who coming from Troy, were by tempest carried first into Afric, and thence into Sicily. But the Siculi passed out of Italy, (for there they inhabited), flying from the Opici, having, as is most likely and as it is reported, observed the strait, and with a fore wind2 gotten over in boats which they made suddenly on the occasion, or perhaps by some other means.

  There is at this day a people in Italy called Siculi. And Italy itself got that name after the same manner, from a king of Arcadia3 called Italus. Of these a great army crossing into Sicily, overthrew the Sicanians in battle, and drave them into the south and west parts of the same; and instead of Sicania, caused the island to be called Sicilia: and held and inhabited the best of the land for near three hundred years after their going over, and before any of the Grecians came thither. And till now they possess the midland and north parts of the island.

  Phœnicians.

  Also the Phœnicians inhabited the coast of Sicily on all sides, having taken possession of certain promontories1 and little islands adjacent, for trade’s sake with the Sicilians. But after that many Grecians were come in by sea, the Phœnicians abandoned most of their former habitations: and uniting themselves dwelt in Motya and Soloeis and Panormus2 , upon the borders of the Elymi; as relying upon their league with the Elymi, and because also from thence lay the shortest cut over unto Carthage. These were the barbarians, and thus they inhabited Sicily.

  Chalcideans. About A. C. 759. Ol. 5. 2.Corinthians.

  3. Now for Grecians, first a colony of Chalcideans, under Thucles their conductor, going from Eubœa, built Naxos, and the altar of Apollo Archegetes1 , now standing without the city: upon which the ambassadors employed to the oracles, as often as they launch from Sicily, are accustomed to offer their first sacrifice. The next year Archias, a man of the Herculean family, carried a colony from Corinth, and became founder of Syracuse: where first he drave the Siculi out of that island2 in which the inner part of the city now standeth; not now environed wholly with the sea, as it was then. And in process of time, when the city also that is without was taken in with a wall, it became a populous city. In the fifth year after the building of Syracuse, Thucles and the Chalcideans, going from Naxos, built Leontium, expelling thence the Siculi; and after that Catana: but they that went to Catana, chose Euarchus for their founder.

  Megareans.A. C. 728. Ol. 13. 1.A. C. 628. Ol. 38. 1.A. C. 713. Ol. 16. 4. Rhodians and Cretans.Zanc first built by pirates of Cume.Eubœans.Samians and other Ionians.

  4. About the same time in Sicily arrived also Lamis, with a colony from Megara; and first built a certain town called Trotilus, upon the river Pantacius; where for a while after he governed the estate of his colony in common with the Chalcideans of Leontium. But afterwards, when he was by them thrust out, and had builded Thapsus, he died; and the rest going from Thapsus, under the conduct of Hyblon, a king of the Siculi, built Megara, called Megara–Hyblæa1 . And after they had there inhabited two hundred and forty–five years, they were by Gelon, a tyrant of Syracuse, put out both of the city and territory. But before they were driven thence, namely one hundred years after they had built it, they sent out Pammilus and built the city of Selinus. This Pammilus came to them from Megara, their own metropolitan city: and so together with them founded Selinus. Gela was built in the forty–fifth year after Syracuse, by Antiphemus, that brought a colony out of Rhodes, and by Entymus, that did the like out of Crete, jointly. This city was named after the name of the river Gela; and the place where now the city standeth, and which at first they walled in, was called Lindii2 . And the laws which they established were the Doric. About one hundred and eight years after their own foundation, they of Gela built the city of Acragante, calling the city after the name of the river: and for their conductors chose Aristonous and Pystilus, and gave unto them the laws of Gela. Zancle was first built by pirates that came from Cume, a Chalcidean city in Opicia1 : but afterwards there came a multitude, and helped to people it, out of Chalcis and the rest of Eubœa; and their conductors were Perieres and Cratæmenes; one of Cume, the other of Chalcis. And the name of the city was at first Zancle, so named by the Sicilians because it hath the form of a sickle; and the Sicilians call a sickle zanclon. But these inhabitants were afterwards chased thence by the Samians and other people of Ionia2 ; that in their flight from the Medes, fell upon Sicily. After this, Anaxilas, tyrant of Rhegium, drave out the Samians; and peopling the city with a mixed people of them and his own, instead of Zancle called the place by the name of his own country from whence he was anciently descended, Messana3 .

  Acræ, Casmenæ.Camarina.A. C. 483. Ol. 74. 2.A. C. 461. Ol. 79. 4.

  5. After Zancle was built Himera, by Eucleides, Simus, and Sacon; the most of which colony were Chalcideans; but there were also amongst them certain outlaws of Syracuse, the vanquished part of a sedition, called the Myletidæ. Their language grew to a mean between the Chalcidean and Doric: but the laws of the Chalcidean prevailed. Acræ and Casmenæ were built by the Syracusians: Acræ, twenty years after Syracuse; and Casmenæ, almost twenty after Acræ. Camarina was at first built by the Syracusians, very near the hundred and thirty–fifth year of their own city; Dascon and Menecolus being the conductors. But the Camarinæans having been by the Syracusians driven from their seat by war for revolt, Hippocrates, tyrant of Gela, in process of time, taking of the Syracusians that territory for ransom of certain Syracusian prisoners, became their founder, and placed them in Camarina again. After this again, having been driven thence by Gelon, they were planted the third time in the same city1 .

  The cause and pretence of the Athenians to invade it.year xvi. A. C. 416. Ol. 91. 1.

  6. These were the nations, Greeks and barbarians, that inhabited Sicily. And though it were thus great, yet the Athenians longed very much to send an army against it, out of a desire to bring it all under their subjection; which was the true motive; but as having withal this fair pretext, of aiding their kindred and new confederates2 . But principally they were instigated to it by the ambassadors of Egesta, who were at Athens and earnestly pressed them thereto. For bordering on the territory of the Selinuntians, they had begun a war about certain things concerning marriage, and about a piece of ground that lay doubtfully between them. And the Selinuntians having leagued themselves with the Syracusians, infested1 them with war both by sea and by land. Insomuch as the Egestæans, putting the Athenians in mind of their former league with the Leontines made by Laches, prayed them to send a fleet thither in their aid; alleging, amongst many other things, this as principal: that if the Syracusians, who had driven the Leontines from their seat, should pass without revenge taken on them, and so proceed, by consuming the rest of the allies of the Athenians there, to get the whole power of Sicily into their hands, it would be dangerous lest hereafter some time or other, being Dorians, they should with great forces aid the Dorians for affinity, and being a colony of the Peloponnesians join with the Peloponnesians that sent them out, to pull down the Athenian empire: that it were wisdom, therefore, with those confederates they yet retain, to make head against the Syracusians; and the rather, because for the defraying of the war the Egestæans would furnish money sufficient of themselves. Which things when the Athenians had often heard in their assemblies from the mouths of the Egestæan ambassadors and of their advocates and patrons, they decreed to send ambassadors to Egesta; to see first, whether there were in their treasury and temples so much wealth as they said there was, and to bring word in what terms the war stood between that city and the Selinuntians. And ambassadors were sent into Sicily accordingly.

  A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. The Lacedæmonians waste part of Argolica, and put the outlaws of Argos into Orneæ.The Athenians war upon Macedonia.year xvi. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  7. The same winter the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, all but the Corinthians, having drawn out their forces into the territory of the Argives, wasted a small part of their fields, and carried away certain cart–loads of their corn. Thence they went to Orneæ, and having placed there the Argive outlaws, left with them a few others of the rest of the army: and then making a composition for a certain time, that they of Orneæ and those Argives should not wrong each other, they carried their army home. But the Athenians arriving not long after with thirty galleys and six hundred men of arms, the people of Argos came also forth with their whole power, and joining with them, sat down betimes in the morning1 before Orneæ. But when at night the army went somewhat far off to lodge, they within fled out; and the Argives the next day perceiving it, pulled Orneæ to the ground, and went home. And so also did the Athenians not long after with their galleys. Also the Athenians transported certain horsemen by sea, part of their own, and part Macedonian fugitives that lived with them, into Methone1 , and ravaged the territory of Perdiccas. And the Lacedæmonians sent unto the Chalcideans upon Thrace, who held peace with the Athenians from ten days to ten days, appointing them to aid Perdiccas. But they refused. And so ended the winter, and the sixteenth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  year xvii. The Athenians decree the voyage of Sicily: and Alcibiades, Nicias, and Lamachus for generals.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  8. The next summer, early in the spring, the Athenian ambassadors returned from Sicily, and the ambassadors of Egesta with them: and brought in silver uncoined sixty talents, for a month’s pay of sixty galleys2 , which they would entreat the Athenians to send thither. And the Athenians having called an assembly, and heard both from the Egestæan and their own ambassadors, amongst other persuasive but untrue allegations, touching their money, how they had great store ready both in their treasury and temples, decreed the sending of sixty galleys into Sicily, and Alcibiades the son of Cleinias, Nicias the son of Niceratus, and Lamachus the son of Xenophanes, for commanders with authority absolute: the which were to aid the people of Egesta against the Selinuntians, and withal, if they had time to spare, to plant the Leontines anew in their city; and to order all other the affairs of Sicily as they should think most for the profit of the Athenians. Five days after this the people assembled again, to consult of the means how most speedily to put this armada in readiness; and to decree such things as the generals should further require for the expedition. But Nicias having heard1 that himself was chosen for one of the generals, and conceiving that the state had not well resolved, but affected the conquest of all Sicily, a great matter, upon small and superficial pretences, stood forth, desiring to have altered this the Athenians’ purpose, and spake as followeth:

  the oration of nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.

  9. “Though this assembly was called to deliberate of our preparation, and of the manner how to set forth our fleet for Sicily: yet to me it seemeth, that we ought rather once again to consult, whether it be not better not to send it at all; than upon a short deliberation in so weighty an affair, and upon the credit of strangers, to draw upon ourselves an impertinent war. For my own part, I have honour by it: and for the danger of my person, I esteem it the least of all men: (not but that I think him a good2 member of the commonwealth, that hath regard also to his own person and estate; for such a man especially will desire the public to prosper for his own sake): but as I have never spoken heretofore, so nor now will I speak anything that is against my conscience, for gaining to myself a pre–eminence of honour: but that only which I apprehend for the best. And although I am sure, that if I go about to persuade you to preserve what you already hold, and not to hazard things certain for uncertain and future, my words will be too weak to prevail against your humour: yet this I must needs let you know, that neither your haste is seasonable, nor your desires easy to be achieved. 10. For I say, that going thither you leave many enemies here behind you, and more you endeavour to draw hither. You perhaps think that the league will be firm, that you have made with the Lacedæmonians; which, though as long as you stir not, may continue a league in name, (for so some have made it of their own side1 ), yet if any considerable forces of ours chance to miscarry, our enemies will soon renew the war, as having made the peace constrained by calamities, and upon terms of more dishonour and necessity than ourselves: besides, in the league itself we have many things controverted. And some there be that refuse utterly to accept it, and they none of the weakest: whereof some are now in open war against us2 , and others, because the Lacedæmonians stir not, maintain only a truce with us from ten to ten days3 , and so are contented yet to hold their hands. But peradventure, when they shall hear that our power is distracted, which is the thing we now hasten to do, they will be glad to join in the war with the Sicilians against us; the confederacy of whom they would heretofore have valued above many other. It behoveth us1 therefore to consider of these things, and not to run into new dangers, when the state of our own city hangeth unsettled, nor seek a new dominion before we assure that which we already have. For the Chalcideans of Thrace, after so many years’ revolt, are yet unreduced: and from others in divers parts of the continent, we have but doubtful obedience. But the Egestæans, being forsooth our confederates and wronged, they in all haste must be aided: though to right us on those by whom we have a long time ourselves been wronged, that we defer. 11. And yet if we should reduce the Chalcideans into subjection, we could easily also keep them so: but the Sicilians, though we vanquish them, yet being many and far off, we should have much ado to hold them in obedience. Now it were madness to invade such, whom conquering you cannot keep; and failing, should lose the means for ever after to attempt the same again2 . As for the Sicilians, it seemeth unto me, at least as things now stand, that they shall be of less danger to us if they fall under the dominion of the Syracusians, than they are now: and yet this is it that the Egestæans would most affright us with. For now the states of Sicily, in several, may perhaps be induced, in favour of the Lacedæmonians, to take part against us: whereas then, being reduced into one, it is not likely they would hazard with us state against state1 . For by the same means that they, joining with the Peloponnesians, may pull down our dominion, by the same it would be likely that the Peloponnesians would subvert theirs. The Grecians there will fear us most, if we go not at all; next, if we but show our forces and come quickly away. But if any misfortune befall us, they will presently despise us, and join with the Grecians here to invade us. For we all know, that those things are most admired which are farthest off, and which least come to give proof of the opinion conceived of them. And this, Athenians, is your own case with the Lacedæmonians and their confederates: whom because beyond your hope you have overcome in those things for which at first you feared them2 , you now in contempt of them turn your arms upon Sicily. But we ought not to be puffed up upon the misfortunes of our enemies: but to be confident then only, when we have mastered their designs3 . Nor ought we to think that the Lacedæmonians set their minds on anything else, but how they may yet for the late disgrace repair their reputation, if they can, by our overthrow: and the rather, because they have so much and so long laboured to win an opinion in the world of their valour. The question with us therefore, if we be well advised, will not be of the Egestæans in Sicily, but how we may speedily defend our city against the insidiation of them that favour the oligarchy1 . 12. We must remember also that we have had now some short recreation from a late great plague and great war, and thereby are improved both in men and money; which it is most meet that we should spend here upon ourselves, and not upon those outlaws which seek for aid: seeing it maketh for them, to tell us a specious lie; who contributing only words whilst their friends bear all the danger, if they speed well, shall be disobliged of thanks, if ill, undo their friends for company. Now if there be any man here2 , that for ends of his own, as being glad to be general, especially being yet too young to have charge in chief, shall advise the expedition, to the end he may have admiration for his expense upon horses, and help from his place to defray that expense: suffer him not to purchase his private honour and splendour with the danger of the public fortune. Believe rather that such men, though they rob the public, do nevertheless consume also their private wealth. Besides3 , the matter itself is full of great difficulties, such as it is not fit for a young man to consult of, much less hastily to take in hand. 13. And I seeing those now sit by and abet1 the same man, am fearful of them: and do on the other side exhort the elder sort, (if any of them sit near those other), not to be ashamed to deliver their minds freely, as fearing that if they gave their voice against the war they should be esteemed cowards; nor to doat (as they do) upon things absent2 ; knowing that by passion the fewest actions, and by reason the most do prosper: but rather for the benefit of their country, which is now cast into greater danger than ever before, to hold up their hands on the other side, and decree: “that the Sicilians, within the limits they now enjoy3 , not misliked by you, and with liberty to sail by the shore in the Ionian gulf, and in the main of the Sicilian sea, shall possess their own, and compound their differences between themselves”. And for the Egestæans, to answer them in particular, thus: “that as without the Athenians they had begun the war against the Selinuntians, so they should without them likewise end it: and that we shall no more hereafter, as we have used to do, make such men our confederates, as when they do injury, we must maintain it, and when we require their assistance, cannot have it”. 14. And you the president, if you think it your office to take care of the commonwealth, and desire to be a good member of the same, put these things once more to the question, and let the Athenians speak to it again. Think (if you be afraid to infringe the orders of the assembly) that before so many witnesses, it will not be made a crime1 : but that you shall be rather thought a physician of your country, that hath swallowed down evil counsel. And he truly dischargeth the duty of a president, who laboureth to do his country the most good, or at least will not willingly do it hurt.”

  Motives of Alcibiades to further his voyage.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  15. Thus spake Nicias. But the most of the Athenians that spake after him, were of opinion that the voyage ought to proceed, the decree already made not to be reversed: yet some there were that said to the contrary. But the expedition was most of all pressed by Alcibiades the son of Cleinias, both out of desire he had to cross Nicias, with whom he was likewise at odds in other points of state, and also for that he had glanced at him invidiously in his oration: but principally for that he affected to have charge, hoping that himself should be the man to subdue both Sicily and Carthage to the state of Athens: and withal, if it succeeded, to increase his own private wealth and glory. For being in great estimation with the citizens, his desires were more vast than for the proportion of his estate, both in maintaining of horses and other his expenses, was meet: which proved afterwards none of the least causes of the subversion of the Athenian commonwealth. For most men fearing him, both for his excess in things that concerned his person and form of life, and for the greatness of his spirit in every particular action he undertook, as one that aspired to the tyranny, they became his enemy1 . And although for the public he excellently managed the war, yet every man, privately displeased with his course of life, gave the charge of the wars to others, and thereby not long after overthrew the state. Alcibiades at this time stood forth, and spake to this effect.

  the oration of alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.

  16. “Men of Athens, it both belongeth unto me more than to any other to have this charge: and withal I think myself (for I must needs begin with this, as having been touched by Nicias) to be worthy of the same. For those things for which I am so much spoken of, do indeed purchase glory to my progenitors and myself: but to the commonwealth they confer both glory and profit. For the Grecians have thought our city a mighty one, even above the truth, by reason of my brave appearance at the Olympic games: whereas before they thought easily to have warred it down. For I brought thither seven chariots, and not only won the first, second, and fourth prize2 , but carried also in all other things a magnificence worthy the honour of the victory. And in such things as these, as there is honour to be supposed according to the law; so is there also a power conceived upon sight of the thing done. As for my expenses in the city upon setting forth of shows1 , or whatsoever else is remarkable in me, though naturally it procure envy in other citizens, yet to strangers this also is an argument of our greatness. Now, it is no unprofitable course of life2 , when a man shall at his private cost not only benefit himself, but also the commonwealth. Nor doth he that beareth himself high upon his own worth, and refuseth to make himself fellow with the rest, wrong the rest: for if he were in distress, he should not find any man that would share with him in his calamity. Therefore, as we are not so much as saluted when we be in misery; so let them likewise be content to be contemned of us when we flourish; or if they require equality, let them also give it. I know that such men, or any man else that excelleth in the glory of anything whatsoever, shall as long as he liveth be envied, principally of his equals, and then also of others amongst whom he converseth: but with posterity they shall have kindred claimed of them, though there be none; and his country will boast of him, not as of a stranger or one that had been a man of lewd life, but as their own citizen and one that had achieved worthy and laudable acts. This being the thing I aim at, and for which I am renowned1 , consider now whether I administer the public the worse for it or not. For having reconciled unto you the most potent states of Peloponnesus without much either danger or cost, I compelled the Lacedæmonians to stake all that ever they had upon the fortune of one day of Mantineia2 .

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.

  17. And this hath my youth and madness, supposed to have been very madness3 , with familiar and fit words wrought upon the power of the Peloponnesians: and shewing reason for my passion, made my madness now no longer to be feared4 . But as long as I flourish with it, and Nicias is esteemed fortunate, make you use of both our services. And abrogate not your decree touching the voyage into Sicily, as though the power were great you are to encounter withal. For the number wherewith their cities are populous, is but of promiscuous nations, easily shifting and easily admitting new comers; and consequently not sufficiently armed, any of them, for the defence of their bodies, nor furnished, as the custom of the place appointeth, to fight for their country1 . But what any of them thinks he may get by fair speech, or snatch from the public by sedition, that only he looks after; with purpose, if he fail, to run the country. And it is not likely, that such a rabble should either with one consent give ear to what is told them, or unite themselves for the administration of their affairs in common: but if they hear of fair offers, they will one after one be easily induced to come in; especially if there be seditions amongst them, as we hear there are. And the truth is, there are neither so many men of arms as they boast of; nor doth it appear that there are so many Grecians there in all, as the several cities have every one reckoned for their own number. Nay, even Greece hath much belied itself, and was scarce sufficiently armed in all this war past2 . So that the business there, for all that I can by fame understand, is even as I have told you, and will yet be easier. For we shall have many of the barbarians, upon hatred of the Syracusians, to take our parts against them there: and if we consider the case aright, there will be nothing to hinder us at home. For our ancestors having the same enemies, which they say we leave behind us now in our voyage to Sicily, and the Persian besides, did nevertheless erect the empire we now have by our only odds of strength at sea. And the hope of the Peloponnesians against us was never less than now it is, though their power were also as great as ever: for they would be able to invade our land, though we went not into Sicily; and by sea they can do us no harm though we go, for we shall leave a navy sufficient to oppose theirs behind us1 .

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.

  18. “What therefore can we allege with any probability for our backwardness: or what can we pretend unto our confederates, for denying them assistance? Whom we ought to defend, were it but because we have sworn it to them, without objecting that they have not reciprocally aided us. For we took them not into league, that they should come hither with their aids: but that by troubling our enemies there, they might hinder them from coming hither against us. And the way whereby we, and whosoever else hath dominion, hath gotten it, hath ever been the cheerful succouring of their associates that required it, whether they were Greeks or barbarians. For if we should all sit still, or stand to make choice2 which were fit to be assisted and which not, we should have little under our government of the estates of other men, but rather hazard our own. For when one is grown mightier than the rest, men use not only to defend themselves against him when he shall invade, but to anticipate him, that he invade not at all. Nor is it in our power to be our own carvers, how much we will have subject to us; but considering the case we are in, it is as necessary for us to seek to subdue those that are not under our dominion, as to keep so those that are: lest if others be not subject to us, we fall in danger of being subjected unto them. Nor are we to weigh quietness in the same balance that others do, unless also the institution of this state were like unto that of other states. Let us rather make reckoning, by enterprising abroad1 to increase our power at home, and proceed on our voyage; that we may cast down the haughty conceit of the Peloponnesians, and show them the contempt and slight account we make of our present ease, by undertaking this our expedition into Sicily. Whereby, either conquering those states we shall become masters of all Greece, or weaken the Syracusians, to the benefit of ourselves and our confederates. And for our security to stay, if any city shall come to our side, or to come away if otherwise, our galleys will afford it. For in that we shall be at our own liberty, though all the Sicilians together were against it2 .

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Alcibiades.

  “Let not the speech of Nicias, tending only to laziness, and to the stirring of debate between the young men and the old, avert you from it: but with the same decency3 wherewith your ancestors, consulting young and old together, have brought our dominion to the present height, endeavour you likewise to enlarge the same. And think not that youth or age, one without the other, is of any effect, but that the simplest, the middle sort, and the exactest judgments tempered together, is it that doth the greatest good; and that a state as well as any other thing will, if it rest, wear out of itself; and all men’s knowledge decay; whereas by the exercise of war experience will continually increase, and the city will get a habit of resisting the enemy, not with words, but action. In sum, this is my opinion: that a state accustomed to be active, if it once grow idle, will quickly be subjected by the change: and that they of all men are most surely planted, that with most unity1 observe the present laws and customs, though not always of the best.”

  19. Thus spake Alcibiades. The Athenians, when they had heard him together with the Egestæans and Leontine outlaws, who being then present2 entreated, and objecting to them their oath begged their help in form of suppliants, were far more earnestly bent upon the journey than they were before. But Nicias, when he saw he could not alter their resolution with his oration, but thought he might perhaps put them from it by the greatness of the provision, if he should require it with the most, stood forth again and said in this manner3 .

  the oration of nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Nicias.

  20. “Men of Athens, forasmuch as I see you violently bent on this expedition, such effect may it take as is desired. Nevertheless I shall now deliver my opinion upon the matter as it yet standeth1 . As far as we understand by report, we set out against great cities, not subject one to another, nor needing innovation, whereby they should be glad, out of hard servitude, to admit of easier masters; nor such as are likely to prefer our government before their own liberty; but many, (as for one island), and those Greek cities2 . For besides Naxos and Catana, (which too I hope will join with us for their affinity with the Leontines), there are other seven, furnished in all respects after the manner of our own army; and especially those two against which we bend our forces most, Selinus and Syracuse. For there are in them many men of arms, many archers, many darters, besides many galleys and a multitude of men to man them. They have also store of money, both amongst private men and in their temples. This have the Selinuntians. The Syracusians have a tribute beside, coming in from some of the barbarians. But that wherein they exceed us most, is this: that they abound in horses, and have corn of their own, not fetched in from other places. 21. Against such a power we shall therefore need not a fleet only, and with it a small army; but there must great forces go along of land soldiers, if we mean to do anything worthy of our design, and not to be kept by their many horsemen from landing3 ; especially if the cities there, terrified by us, should now hold all together, and none but the Egestæans prove our friends and furnish us with a cavalry to resist them. And it would be a shame either to come back with a repulse, or to send for a new supply afterwards, as if we had not wisely considered our enterprise at first. Therefore we must go sufficiently provided from hence, as knowing that we go far from home, and are to make war in a place of disadvantage, and not as when we went as confederates to aid some of our subjects here at home1 , where we had easy bringing in of necessaries to the camp from the territories of friends. But we go far off, and into a country of none but strangers, and from whence in winter there can hardly come a messenger unto us in so little as four months. 22. Wherefore I am of opinion that we ought to take with us many men of arms, of our own, of our confederates, and of our subjects: and also out of Peloponnesus as many as we can get, either for love or money: and also many archers and slingers, whereby to resist their cavalry; and much spare shipping2 , for the more easy bringing in of provision. Also our corn, I mean, wheat and barley parched, we must carry with us from hence in ships3 ; and bakers from the mills, hired, and made to work by turns, that the army, if it chance to be weather–bound, may not be in want of victual. For being so great, it will not be for every city to receive it. And so for all things else, we must as much as we can provide them ourselves, and not rely on others. Above all, we must take hence as much money as we can: for as for that which is said to be ready at Egesta, think it ready in words, but not in deeds. 23. For although we go thither with an army not only equal unto theirs, but also (excepting their men of arms for battle) in everything exceeding it: yet so shall we scarce be able both to overcome them, and withal to preserve our own. We must also make account, that we go to inhabit some city in that foreign and hostile country, and either the first day we come thither to be presently masters of the field1 , or failing, be assured to find all in hostility against us. Which fearing, and knowing that the business requires much good advice and more good fortune, (which is a hard matter, being we are but men), I would so set forth as to commit myself to fortune as little as I may, and take with me an army that in likelihood should be secure. And this I conceive to be both the surest course for the city in general, and the safest for us that go the voyage. If any man be of a contrary opinion, I resign him my place.”

  The Athenians upon this speech, made to desire them from the.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. enterprise, are the more encouraged to it.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  24. Thus spake Nicias, imagining that either the Athenians would, upon the multitude of the things required, abandon the enterprise; or if he were forced to go, he might go with the more security. But the Athenians gave not over the desire they had of the voyage for the difficulty of the preparation, but were the more inflamed thereby to have it proceed; and the contrary fell out of that which he before expected1 . For they approved his counsel, and thought now there would be no danger at all. And every one alike fell in love with the enterprise: the old men, upon hope to subdue the place they went to, or that at least so great a power could not miscarry; and the young men, upon desire to see a foreign country, and to gaze2 , making little doubt but to return with safety. As for the common sort and the soldiers, they made account to gain by it not only their wages for the time, but also so to amplify the state in power, as that their stipend should endure for ever. So that through the vehement desire thereunto of the most, they also that liked it not, for fear if they held up their hands against it to be thought evil affected to the state, were content to let it pass. 25. And in the end a certain Athenian stood up, and calling upon Nicias, said he ought not to shift off nor delay the business any longer; but to declare there before them all, what forces he would have the Athenians to decree him. To which unwillingly he answered and said, he would consider of it first3 with his fellow–commanders. Nevertheless, for so much as he could judge upon the sudden, he said there would need no less than one hundred galleys; whereof for transporting of men of arms, so many of the Athenians’ own as they themselves should think meet, and the rest to be sent for to their confederates: and that of men of arms in all, of their own and of their confederates, there would be requisite no less than five thousand; but rather more, if they could be gotten, and other provision proportionable. As for archers, both from hence and from Crete, and slingers, and whatsoever else should seem necessary, they would provide it themselves and take it with them1 .

  26. When the Athenians had heard him, they presently decreed that the generals should have absolute authority, both touching the greatness of the preparation and the whole voyage, to do therein as should seem best unto them for the commonwealth. And after this, they went in hand with the preparation accordingly; and both sent unto the confederates, and enrolled soldiers at home. The city had by this time recovered herself from the sickness and from their continual wars, both in number of men fit for the wars, grown up after the ceasing of the plague, and in store of money gathered together by means of the peace: whereby they made their provisions with much ease2 . And thus were they employed in preparation for the voyage.

  The faces of all the images of Mercury.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. throughout Athens pared plain.

  27. In the meantime the Mercuries of stone throughout the whole city of Athens, (now there were many of these of square stone set up by the law of the place, and many in the porches of private houses and in the temples1 ), had in one night most of them their faces pared. And no man knew who had done it: and yet great rewards out of the treasury had been propounded to the discoverers; and a decree made, that if any man knew of any other profanation, he might boldly declare2 the same, were he citizen, stranger, or bondman. And they took the fact exceedingly to heart, as ominous to the expedition, and done withal upon conspiracy for alteration of the state and dissolution of the democracy.

  Alcibiades accused for having in mockery acted the celebration of the mysteries of their religion.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.He desires to come to his trial before his going forth: but is not suffered.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  28. Hereupon, certain strangers dwelling in the city, and certain serving–men, revealed something, not about the Mercuries, but of the paring of the statues of some other of the gods, committed formerly through wantonness and too much wine by young men; and withal, how they had in private houses acted the mysteries of their religion in mockery: amongst whom they also accused Alcibiades. This they that most envied Alcibiades, because he stood in the way that they could not constantly bear chief sway with the people, making account to have the primacy if they could thrust him out, took hold of and exceedingly aggravated; exclaiming, that both the mockery of the mysteries and the paring of the Mercuries tended to the deposing of the people, and that nothing therein was done without him; alleging for argument his other excess in the ordinary course of his life, not convenient in a popular estate. 29. He1 at that present made his apology, and was there ready, if he had done any such thing, to answer it before he went the voyage, (for by this time all their preparation was in readiness), and to suffer justice if he were guilty, and if absolved to resume his charge: protesting against all accusations to be brought against him in his absence, and pressing to be put to death then presently if he had offended; and saying, that it would not be discreetly done, to send away a man accused of so great crimes with the charge of such an army before his trial. But his enemies, fearing lest if he came then to his trial he should have had the favour of his army, and lest the people, which loved him because the Argives and some of the Mantineans served them in this war only for his sake, should have been mollified, put the matter off and hastened his going out2 , by setting on other orators to advise, that for the present he should go, and that the setting forward of the fleet should not be retarded, and that at his return he should have a day assigned him for his trial: their purpose being, upon further accusation, which they might easily1 contrive in his absence, to have him sent for back to make his answer. And thus it was concluded that Alcibiades should go.

  The Athenian fleet putteth to sea.The description of the setting forth of the fleet.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  30. After this, the summer being now half spent, they put to sea for Sicily. The greatest part of the confederates, and the ships that carried their corn, and all the lesser vessels, and the rest of the provision that went along, they before appointed to meet [upon a day set] at Corcyra, thence all together to cross over the Ionian gulf to the promontory of Iapygia. But the Athenians themselves, and as many of their confederates as were at Athens, upon the day appointed2 , betimes in the morning came down into Peiræus and went aboard to take sea. With them came down in a manner the whole multitude of the city, as well inhabitants as strangers: the inhabitants to follow after such as belonged unto them, some their friends, some their kinsmen, and some their children, filled both with hope and lamentations; hope of conquering what they went for, and lamentation, as being in doubt whether ever they should see each other any more, considering what a way they were to go from their own territory: (and now when they were to leave one another to danger, they apprehended the greatness of the same more than they had done before when they decreed the expedition: nevertheless their present strength, by the abundance of everything before their eyes prepared for the journey, gave them heart again in beholding it): but the strangers and other multitude came only to see the shew, as of a worthy and incredible design1 .

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  31. For this preparation, being the first Grecian power that ever went out of Greece from one only city, was the most sumptuous and the most glorious of all that ever had been sent forth before it to that day. Nevertheless for number of galleys and men of arms, that which went forth with Pericles to Epidaurus, and that which Agnon carried with him to Potidæa, was not inferior to it. For there went four thousand men of arms, three hundred horse, and one hundred galleys, out of Athens itself; and out of Lesbos and Chios fifty galleys, besides many confederates that accompanied him in the voyage. But they went not far, and were but meanly furnished. Whereas this fleet, as being to stay long abroad, was furnished for both kinds of service, in which of them soever it should have occasion to be employed, both with shipping and land–soldiers. For the shipping, it was elaborate with a great deal of cost, both of the captains of galleys and of the city. For the state allowed a drachma a day to every mariner: the empty galleys2 which they sent forth, being of nimble ones sixty, and of such as carried their men of arms forty more: and the captains of galleys both put into them the most able servants; and besides the wages of the state, unto the [uppermost bank of oars, called the] Thranitæ, and to the servants, gave somewhat of their own; and bestowed great cost otherwise every one upon his own galley, both in the badges1 and other rigging, each one striving to the utmost to have his galley, both in some ornament and also in swiftness, to exceed the rest. And for the land forces, they were levied with exceeding great choice2 , and every man endeavoured to excel his fellow in the bravery of his arms and utensils that belonged to his person. Insomuch as amongst themselves, it begat quarrel about precedency3 : but amongst other Grecians, a conceit that it was an ostentation rather of their power and riches, than a preparation against an enemy. For if a man enter into account of the expense, as well of the public, as of private men that went the voyage; namely, of the public, what was spent already in the business, and what was to be given to the commanders to carry with them; and of private men, what every one had bestowed upon his person, and every captain on his galley, besides what every one was likely, over and above his allowance from the state, to bestow on provision for so long a warfare, and what the merchant4 carried with him for traffic, he will find the whole sum carried out of the city to amount to a great many talents. And the fleet was no less noised amongst those against whom it was to go, for the strange boldness of the attempt and gloriousness of the show, than it was for the excessive report of their number, for the length of the voyage, and for that it was undertaken with so vast future hopes in respect of their present power1 .

  32. After they were all aboard, and all things laid in that they meant to carry with them, silence was commanded by the trumpet; and after the wine had been carried about2 to the whole army, and all, as well the generals as the soldiers, had drunk a health to the voyage3 , they made their prayers, such as by the law were appointed for before their taking sea, not in every galley apart, but all together, the herald pronouncing them. And the company from the shore, both of the city and whosoever else wished them well, prayed with them. And when they had sung the Pæan and ended the health, they put forth to sea: and having at first gone out in a long file, galley after galley, they after went a vie by Ægina4 . Thus hasted these to be at Corcyra: to which place also the other army of the confederates were assembling.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. The Syracusians, upon the fame of their coming, do some believe it, and some not.

  At Syracuse they had advertisement of the voyage from divers places: nevertheless it was long ere anything would be believed. Nay, an assembly being there called, orations were made such as follow on both parts: as well by them that believed the report touching the Athenian army to be true, as by others that affirmed the contrary. And Hermocrates the son of Hermon, as one that thought he knew the certainty, stood forth and spake to this effect:

  the oration of hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.

  33. “Concerning the truth of this invasion, though perhaps I shall be thought, as well as other men, to deliver a thing incredible; and though I know, that such as be either the authors or relaters of matter incredible, shall not only not persuade, but be also accounted fools: nevertheless, I will not for fear thereof hold my tongue, as long as the commonwealth is in danger; being confident that I know the truth hereof somewhat more certainly than others do. The Athenians are bent to come even against us, (which you verily wonder at), and that with great forces both for the sea and land: with pretence indeed to aid their confederates the Egestæans and replant the Leontines; but in truth they aspire to the dominion of all Sicily, and especially of this city of ours; which obtained, they make account to get the rest with ease. Seeing then they will presently be upon us, advise with your present means, how you may with most honour1 make head against them; that you may not be taken unprovided through contempt, nor be careless through incredulity; and that such as believe it, may not be dismayed with their audaciousness and power. For they are not more able to do hurt unto us, than we be unto them. Neither indeed is the greatness of their fleet without some advantage unto us: nay, it will be much the better for us, in respect of the rest of the Sicilians. For being terrified by them, they will the rather league with us. And if we either vanquish, or repulse them without obtaining what they came for, (for I fear not at all the effecting of their purpose); verily it will be a great honour to us, and in my opinion not unlikely to come to pass. For in truth there have been few great fleets, whether of Grecians or barbarians, sent far from home, that have not prospered ill. Neither are these that come against us, more in number than ourselves and the neighbouring cities: for surely we shall all hold together upon fear. And if for want of necessaries in a strange territory they chance to miscarry, the honour of it will be left to us against whom they bend their councils, though the greatest cause of their overthrow should consist in their own errors. Which was also the case of these very Athenians, who raised themselves by the misfortune of the Medes; (though it happened for the most part contrary to reason); because in name1 they went only against the Athenians. And that the same shall now happen unto us, is not without probability.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Hermocrates.

  34. “Let us therefore with courage put in readiness our own forces; let us send to the Siculi, to confirm those we have, and to make peace and league with others; and let us send ambassadors to the rest of Sicily, to show them that it is a common danger; and into Italy, to get them into our league, or at least that they receive not the Athenians. And in my judgment it were our best course to send also to Carthage: for even they are not without expectation of the same danger. Nay, they are in a continual fear that the Athenians will bring war upon them also, even to their city1 . So that upon apprehension that if they neglect us the trouble will come home to their own door, they will perhaps, either secretly or openly, or some way2 assist us. And of all that now are, they are the best able to do it, if they please. For they have the most gold and silver: by which the wars and all things else are the best expedited. Let us also send to Lacedæmon and to Corinth, praying them not only to send their succours hither with speed, but also to set on foot the war there. But that which I think the best course of all, though through an habit of sitting still you will hardly be brought to it, I will nevertheless now tell you what it is. If the Sicilians all together, or if not all yet if we and most of the rest3 , should draw together our whole navy, and with two months’ provision go and meet the Athenians at Tarentum and the promontory of Iapygia; and let them see, that they must fight for their passage over the Ionian gulf before they fight for Sicily: it would both terrify them the most, and also put them into a consideration, that we, as the watchmen of our country, come upon them out of an amicable territory, (for we shall be received at Tarentum), whereas they themselves have a great deal of sea to pass with all their preparations, and cannot keep themselves in their order for the length of the voyage: and that for us, it will be an easy matter to assail them, coming up slowly as they do and thin1 . Again, if lightening their galleys, they shall come up to us more nimbly and more close together, we shall charge upon them already wearied2 , or we may, if we please, retire again into Tarentum. Whereas they, if they come over but with a part of their provisions, as to fight at sea, shall be driven into want of victuals in those desert parts; and either staying be there besieged, or, attempting to go by, leave behind them the rest of their provision, and be dejected, as not assured of the cities whether they will receive them or not. I am therefore of opinion, that dismayed with this reckoning they will either not put over at all from Corcyra, or whilst they spend time in deliberating, and in sending out to explore how many and in what place we are, the season will be lost and winter come3 ; or deterred with our unlooked–for opposition, they will give over the voyage. And the rather, for that as I hear the man of most experience amongst their commanders hath the charge against his will; and would take a light occasion to return, if he saw any considerable stop made by us in the way. And I am very sure, we should be voiced amongst them to the utmost. And as the reports are, so are men’s minds; and they fear more such as they hear will begin with them, than such as give out that they will no more but defend themselves: because then they think the danger equal. Which would be now the case of the Athenians. For they come against us with an opinion that we will not fight: deservedly contemning us, because we joined not with the Lacedæmonians to pull them down. But if they should see us once bolder than they looked for, they would be terrified more with the unexpectedness than with the truth of our power itself. Be persuaded therefore, principally to dare to do this; or if not this, yet speedily to make yourselves otherwise ready for the war; and every man to remember, that though to show contempt of the enemy be best in the heat of fight, yet those preparations are the surest, that are made with fear and opinion of danger1 . As for the Athenians, they come; and I am sure are already in the way, and want only that they are not now here.”

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  35. Thus spake Hermocrates. But the people of Syracuse were at much strife amongst themselves: some contending, that the Athenians would by no means come, and that the reports were not true; and others, that if they came they would do no more harm than they were likely again to receive. Some contemned and laughed at the matter: but some few there were that believed Hermocrates, and feared the event. But Athenagoras, who was chief magistrate of the people, and at that time most powerful with the commons, spake as followeth:

  the oration of athenagoras.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Athenagoras.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Athenagoras.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Athenagoras.

  36. “He is either a coward or not well affected to the state, whosoever he be, that wishes the Athenians not to be so mad as coming hither to fall into our power. As for them that report such things as these and put you into fear, though I wonder not at their boldness, yet I wonder at their folly, if they think their ends not seen. For they that are afraid1 of anything themselves, will put the city into affright, that they may shadow their own with the common fear. And this may the reports do at this time, not raised by chance, but framed on purpose by such as always trouble the state. But if you mean to deliberate wisely, make not your reckoning by the reports of these men, but by that which wise men and men of great experience, such as I hold the Athenians to be, are likely to do. For it is not probable, that leaving the Peloponnesians and the war there not yet surely ended, they should willingly come hither to a new war no less than the former: seeing, in my opinion, they may be glad that we invade not them, so many and so great cities as we are. 37. And if indeed they come, as these men say they will: I think Sicily more sufficient to dispatch the war than Peloponnesus, as being in all respects better furnished; and that this our own city is much stronger than the army which they say is now coming, though it were twice as great as it is. For I know they neither bring horses with them nor can they get any here, save only a few from the Egestæans, nor have men of arms so many as we, in that they are to bring them by sea1 . For it is a hard matter to come so far as this by sea, though they carried no men of arms in their galleys at all, if they carry with them all other their necessaries; which cannot be small against so great a city. So that I am so far from the opinion of these others, that I think the Athenians, though they had here another city as great as Syracuse, and confining on it, and should from thence make their war, yet should not be able to escape from being destroyed, every man of them; much less now, when all Sicily is their enemy2 . For in their camp, fenced with their galleys, they shall be cooped up, and from their tents, and forced munition, never be able to stir far abroad without being cut off by our horsemen. In short, I think they shall never be able to get landing: so much above theirs do I value our own forces.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Athenagoras.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. Oration of Athenagoras.

  38. “But these things, as I said before, the Athenians considering, I am very sure will look unto their own; and our men talk here of things that neither are, or ever will be1 : who I know have desired, not only now but ever, by such reports as these or by worse, or by their actions, to put the multitude in fear, that they themselves might rule the state. And I am afraid, lest attempting it often, they may one day effect it: and for us, we are2 too poor–spirited either to foresee it ere it be done, or foreseeing to prevent it. By this means our city is seldom quiet, but subject to sedition and contention, not so much against the enemy as within itself; and sometimes also to tyranny and usurpation. Which I will endeavour (if you will second me) so to prevent hereafter, as nothing more of this kind shall befall you: which must be done, first by gaining you the multitude, and then by punishing the authors of these plots, not only when I find them in the action, (for it will be hard to take them so), but also for those things which they would and cannot do. For one must not only take revenge upon an enemy for what he hath already done, but strike him first for his evil purpose; for if a man strike not first, he shall first be stricken. And as for the few, I shall in somewhat reprove them, in somewhat have an eye to them, and in somewhat advise them1 . For this, I think, will be the best course to avert them from their bad intentions. Tell me forsooth, (I have asked2 this question often), you that are the younger sort, What would you have? Would you now3 bear office? The law allows it not: and the law was made because ye are not [now] sufficient for government, not to disgrace you when you shall be sufficient4 . But forsooth, you would not be ranked with the multitude! But what justice is it, that the same men should not have the same privileges? 39. Some will say, that the democracy is neither a well–governed nor a just state: and that the most wealthy are aptest to make the best government. But I answer first, democracy is a name of the whole; oligarchy, but of a part. Next, though the rich are indeed fittest to keep the treasure: yet the wise are the best counsellors, and the multitude upon hearing the best judge. Now in a democracy all these, both jointly and severally, participate equal privileges. But in the oligarchy, they allow indeed to the multitude a participation of all dangers: but in matters of profit, they not only encroach upon the multitude, but take from them and keep the whole. Which is the thing that you the rich5 and the younger sort affect: but in a great city cannot possibly embrace. But yet, O ye the most unwise of all men, unless you know that what you affect is evil, and if you know not that, you are the most ignorant of all the Grecians I know; or, ye most wicked of all men, if knowing it you dare do this1 : 40. yet I say, inform yourselves better, or change your purpose and help to amplify the common good of the city, making account that the good amongst you shall not only have an equal, but a greater share therein than the rest of the multitude; whereas if you will needs have all2 , you shall run the hazard of losing all. Away therefore with these rumours, as discovered and not allowed. For this city, though the Athenians come, will be able to defend itself with honour. And we have generals to look to that matter. And if they come not3 , (which I rather believe), it will not, upon the terror of your reports, make choice of you for commanders, and cast itself into voluntary servitude: but taking direction of itself, it both judgeth your words virtually as facts4 , and will not upon words let go her present liberty, but endeavour to preserve it by not committing the same actually to your discretion.”

  41. Thus said Athenagoras. Then one of their generals rising up, forbade any other to stand forth, and spake himself to the matter in hand to this effect:

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. the speech of one of the syracusian generals.

  “It is no wisdom, neither for the speakers to utter such calumnies one against another, nor for the hearers to receive them. We should rather consider, in respect of these reports, how we may in the best manner, both every one in particular and the city in general, be prepared to resist them when they come. And if there be no need, yet to furnish the city with horses and arms and other habiliments of war, can do us no hurt. As for the care hereof and the musters, we will look to it: and will send men abroad both to the cities and for spials: and do whatsoever else is requisite. Somewhat we have done already: and what more we shall hereafter find meet1 , we will from time to time report unto you.”

  Which when the general had said, the Syracusians dissolved the assembly.

  The Athenians put out from Corcyra.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.The quantity of the army.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  42. The Athenians were now all in Corcyra, both they and their confederates. And first the generals took a view2 of the whole army, and put them into the order wherein they were to anchor and make their naval camp: and having divided them into three squadrons, to each squadron they assigned a captain by lot3 , to the end that being at sea they might not come into want of water, or harbours, or any other necessaries, where they chanced to stay; and that they might otherwise be the4 more easy to be governed, when every squadron had his proper commander. After this they sent before them three galleys into Italy and Sicily, to bring them word what cities in those parts would receive them: whom they appointed to come back and meet them, that they might know whether they might be received or not before they put in. 43. This done, the Athenians with all their provisions1 put out from Corcyra towards Sicily; having with them in all one hundred and thirty–four galleys, and two Rhodian long–boats of fifty oars a–piece. Of these, a hundred were of Athens itself: whereof sixty were expedite, the other forty for transportation of soldiers: the rest of the navy belonged to the Chians and other the confederates. Of men of arms, they had in all five thousand one hundred. Of these, there were of the Athenians themselves fifteen hundred enrolled, and seven hundred more [of the poorer sort, called] Thetes, hired for defence of the galleys2 . The rest were of their confederates, some of them being their subjects: of Argives there were five hundred: of Mantineans and mercenaries, two hundred and fifty. Their archers in all, four hundred and eighty: of which eighty were Cretans. Rhodian slingers they had seven hundred. Of light–armed Megarean fugitives, one hundred and twenty: and in one vessel made for transportation of horses, thirty horsemen.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  44. These were the forces that went over to the war at first. With these went also thirty ships carrying necessaries, wherein went also the bakers, and masons, and carpenters, and all tools of use in fortification: and with these thirty ships went one hundred boats by constraint1 ; and many other ships and boats that voluntarily followed the army for trade: which2 then passed all together from Corcyra over the Ionian gulf. And the whole fleet being come to the promontory of Iapygia and to Tarentum, and such other places as every one could recover, they went on by the coast of Italy, neither received of the states there into any city nor allowed any market3 , having only the liberty of anchorage and water, (and that also at Tarentum and Locri4 denied them), till they were at Rhegium, where they all came together again, and settled their camp in the temple of Diana (for neither there were they suffered to come in) without the city, where the Rhegians allowed them a market. And when they had drawn their galleys to land, they lay still. Being here, they dealt with the Rhegians, who were Chalcideans, to aid the Leontines, Chalcideans likewise. To which was answered, that they would take part with neither; but what the rest of the Italians1 should conclude, that also they would do. So the Athenians lay still, meditating on their Sicilian business, how they might carry it the best; and withal expected the return from Egesta of the three galleys which they had sent before them, desiring to know if so much money were there or not, as was reported by their messengers at Athens.

  The Syracusians certainly knowing of their coming, prepare for their defence.

  45. The Syracusians in the meantime from divers parts, and also from their spies, had certain intelligence that the fleet was now at Rhegium: and therefore made their preparations with all diligence, and were no longer incredulous; but sent unto the Siculi, to some cities men to keep them from revolting; to others, ambassadors; and into such places as lay upon the sea2 , garrisons: and examined the forces of their own city by a view taken of the arms and horse, whether they were complete or not; and ordered all things as for a war at hand, and only not already present.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. The hope of the Athenians of money from Egesta frustrated.The fraud of the Egestæans.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.The several opinions of the generals, touching how to proceed.

  46. The three galleys sent before to Egesta returned to the Athenians at Rhegium; and brought word, that for the rest of the money promised there was none, only there appeared thirty talents. At this the generals were presently discouraged; both because this first hope was crossed; and because also the Rhegians, whom they had already begun to persuade to their league, and whom it was most likely they should have won, as being of kin to the Leontines and always heretofore favourable to the Athenian state, now refused. And though to Nicias this news from the Egestæans was no more than he expected, yet to the other two it was extreme strange. But the Egestæans, when the first ambassadors from Athens went to see their treasure, had thus deceived them. They brought them into the temple of Venus in Eryx1 , and showed them the holy treasure, goblets, flagons, censers, and other furniture, in no small quantity; which being but silver, appeared to the eye a great deal above their true value in money. Then they feasted such as came with them2 , in their private houses; and at those feastings exhibited all the gold and silver vessels they could get together, either in the city of Egesta itself, or could borrow in other as well Phœnician as Grecian cities, for their own. So all of them in a manner3 making use of the same plate, and much appearing in every of those houses, it put those which came with the ambassadors1 into a very great admiration: insomuch as at their return to Athens, they strove who should first proclaim what wealth they had seen. These men, having both been abused themselves and having abused others, when it was told that there was no such wealth in Egesta, were much taxed by the soldiers. But the generals went to counsel upon the business in hand.

  The opinion of Nicias.

  47. Nicias was of this opinion: that it was best to go presently with the whole fleet to Selinus, against which they were chiefly set forth; and if the Egestæans would furnish them with money for the whole army, then to deliberate further upon the occasion; if not, then to require maintenance for the sixty galleys set forth at their own request, and staying with them by force or composition to bring the Selinuntians and them to a peace: and thence passing along by other of those cities, to make a show of the power of the Athenian state, and of their readiness to help their friends and confederates; and so to go home, unless they could light on some quick and unthought–of means to do some good for the Leontines, or gain some of the other cities to their own league: and not to put the commonwealth in danger at her own charges.

  The opinion of Alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  48. Alcibiades said, it would not do well to have come out from Athens with so great a power, and then dishonourably without effect to go home again: but rather to send heralds to every city but Selinus and Syracuse, and assay to make the Siculi revolt from the Syracusians, and others to enter league with the Athenians, that they might aid them with men and victual: and first to deal with the Messanians, as being seated in the passage, and most opportune place of all Sicily for coming in, and having a port and harbour1 sufficient for their fleet: and when they had gained those cities, and knew what help they were to have in the war, then to take in hand Syracuse and Selinus, unless these would agree with the Egestæans and the other suffer the Leontines to be replanted.

  The opinion of Lamachus.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  49. But Lamachus was of opinion, that it was best to go directly to Syracuse, and to fight with them as soon as they could at their city, whilst they were yet unfurnished and their fear at the greatest. For that an army is always most terrible at first: but if it stay long ere it come in sight, men recollect their spirits, and contemn it the more2 when they see it. Whereas if it come upon them suddenly while they expect it with fear, it would the more easily get the victory, and everything would affright them; as the sight of it (for then they would appear most for number) and the expectation of their sufferings, but especially the danger of a present battle. And that it was likely that many men might be cut off in the villages without, as not believing they would come; and though they should be already gotten in, yet the army, being master of the field and sitting down before the city, could want no money: and the other Sicilians would then neglect leaguing with the Syracusians, and join with the Athenians, no longer standing off and spying who should have the better. And for a place to retire unto and anchor in1 , he thought Megara most fit: being desert, and not far from Syracuse neither by sea nor land.

  Alcibiades seeketh league with the Messanians, but is denied.The Athenians go with part of their fleet to Naxos:and to Catana.They send ten galleys to view Syracuse and the havens.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  50. Lamachus said this: but came afterwards to the opinion of Alcibiades. After this, Alcibiades with his own galley having passed over to Messana, and propounded to them a league and not prevailed, they answering that they would not let the army in but allow them only a market without the walls, returned back to Rhegium. And presently the generals having out of the whole fleet manned threescore galleys, and taken provision aboard, went along the shore to Naxos, having left the rest of the army with one of the generals at Rhegium. The Naxians having received them into the city, they went on by the coast to Catana. But the Catanæans receiving them not, (for there were some within that favoured the Syracusians), they entered the river of Terias; and having stayed there all that night, went the next day towards Syracuse leisurely2 with the rest of their galleys; but ten they sent before into the great haven, [not to stay3 , but] to discover if they had launched any fleet there, and to proclaim from their galleys, that the Athenians were come to replant the Leontines on their own, according to league and affinity, and that therefore such of the Leontines as were in Syracuse, should without fear go forth to the Athenians as to their friends and benefactors. And when they had thus proclaimed, and well considered the city, and the havens, and the region where they were to seat themselves for the war, they returned to Catana.

  Catana surprised.

  51. An assembly being called at Catana, though they refused to receive the army they admitted the generals, and willed them to speak their minds. And whilst Alcibiades was in his oration and the citizens at the assembly, the soldiers having secretly pulled down a little gate which was but weakly built1 , entered the city, and were walking up and down in the market. And the Catanæans, such as favoured the Syracusians, seeing the army within, for fear stole presently out of the town, being not many. The rest concluded the league with the Athenians, and willed them to fetch in the rest of the army from Rhegium. After this, the Athenians went back to Rhegium: and rising from thence, came to Catana with their whole army together2 .

  The Athenians go to Camarina, but are not received.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  52. Now they had news from Camarina, that if they would come thither, the Camarinæans would join with them; and that the Syracusians were manning their navy. Whereupon with the whole army they went along the coast, first to Syracuse; where not finding any navy manned, they went on to Camarina1 . And being come close up to the shore, they sent a herald unto them. But the Camarinæans would not receive the army; alleging that they had taken an oath, not to receive the Athenians with more than one galley, unless they should have sent for more of their own accord. Having lost their labour, they departed; and landed in a part of the territory of Syracuse, and had gotten some booty. But the Syracusian horsemen coming out, and killing some stragglers of the light–armed, they returned again to Catana.

  Alcibiades called home to answer about the Mercuries.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.A. C. 510. Ol. 67. 2.

  53. Here they find the galley called Salaminia, come thither from Athens, both for Alcibiades, who was commanded to come home to purge himself of such things as were laid to his charge by the state, and also for other soldiers that were with him, whereof some were accused for profanation of the mysteries, and some also for the Mercuries2 . For the Athenians, after the fleet was put to sea, proceeded nevertheless in the search of those that were culpable, both concerning the mysteries and the Mercuries. And making no inquiry into the persons of the informers, but through jealousy admitting of all sorts, upon the reports of evil men apprehended very good citizens and cast them into prison: choosing rather to examine the fact and find the truth by torments3 , than that any man, how good soever in estimation, being once accused should escape unquestioned. For the people, having by fame understood that the tyranny of Peisistratus and his sons was heavy in the latter end; and withal, that neither themselves nor Harmodius, but the Lacedæmonians overthrew it1 : were ever fearful, and apprehended every thing suspiciously.

  Digression touching the deposing of the tyranny of Peisistratus and his sons.A. C. 514. Ol. 66. 3.A. C. 514. Ol. 66. 3.

  54. For the fact of Aristogeiton and Harmodius was undertaken upon an accident of love: which unfolding at large, I shall make appear that neither any other, nor the Athenians themselves, report any certainty either of their own tyrants or of the fact. For the old Peisistratus dying in the tyranny, not Hipparchus, as the most think, but Hippias, who was his eldest son, succeeded in the government. Now Harmodius, a man in the flower of his youth, of great beauty, was in the power of one Aristogeiton, a citizen of a middle condition that was his lover. This Harmodius having been solicited by Hipparchus the son of Peisistratus, and not yielding, discovered the same unto Aristogeiton. He apprehending it (as lovers use) with a great deal of anguish, and fearing the power of Hipparchus, lest he should take him away by force, fell presently, as much as his condition would permit, to a contriving how to pull down the tyranny. In the meantime Hipparchus, having again attempted Harmodius and not prevailed, intended, though not to offer him violence, yet in secret, as if forsooth he did it not for that cause, to do him some disgrace1 . For neither was the government otherwise heavy till then, but carried without their evil will. And to say the truth, these tyrants2 held virtue and wisdom in great account for a long time, and taking of the Athenians but a twentieth part of their revenues, adorned the city, managed their wars, and administered their religion worthily. In other points they were governed by the laws formerly established, save that these took a care ever to prefer to the magistracy men of their own adherence. And amongst many that had the annual office of archon, Peisistratus also had it, the son of Hippias, of the same name with his grandfather; who also, when he was archon, dedicated the altar of the twelve gods1 in the market–place, and that other in the temple of Apollo Pythius. And though the people of Athens, amplifying afterwards that altar which was in the market–place, thereby defaced the inscription: yet that upon the altar that is in the temple of Apollo Pythius, is to be seen still, though in letters somewhat obscure, in these words:

  • Peisistratus the son of Hippias
  • Erected this to stand
  • I’th’ Temple of Apollo Pythius,
  • Witness of his command.

  A. C. 514. Ol. 66. 3.

  55. And that Hippias, being the elder brother, had the government, I can affirm, as knowing it by a more exact relation than other men: and it may be known also by this. It appears that of all the legitimate brethren, this only had children: as is both signified by the altar, and also by that pillar, which for a testimony of the injustice of the tyrants was erected in the Athenian citadel. In which there is no mention of any son of Thessalus or of Hipparchus, but of five sons of Hippias, which he had by Myrrhine, the daughter of Callias the son of Hyperechidas: for it is probable that the eldest was first married. And in the forepart of the pillar, his name after his father’s was the first: not without reason, as being both next him in age, and having also enjoyed the tyranny. Nor indeed could Hippias have easily taken on him the government on a sudden, if his brother had died seised of the tyranny, and he been the same day to settle it on himself. Whereas he retained the same with abundant security, both for the customary fear in the people and diligence in the guard1 ; and was not to seek like a younger brother, to whom the government had not continually been familiar. But Hipparchus came to be named for his misfortune, and thereby grew an opinion afterwards that he was also tyrant.

  A. C. 514. Ol. 66. 3.

  56. This Harmodius therefore that denied his suit, he disgraced as he before intended. For when some had warned a sister of his, a virgin, to be present to carry a little basket in a procession, they rejected her again when she came: and said that they had never warned her at all, as holding her unworthy the honour2 . This was taken heavily by Harmodius; but Aristogeiton, for his sake, was far more exasperated than he. Whereupon, with the rest of the conspirators, he3 made all things ready for the execution of the design. Only they were to stay the time of the holiday called the Great Panathenæa, upon which day only such citizens as lead the procession might, without suspicion, be armed in good number. And they were to begin the fact themselves; but the rest were to help them against the halberdiers1 . Now the conspirators, for their better security, were not many; for they hoped that such also as were not privy to it, if they saw it once undertaken2 , being upon this occasion armed, would assist in the recovery of their own liberty.

  A. C. 514. Ol. 66. 3.

  57. When this holiday was come, Hippias was gone out of the city into the place called Cerameicum with his guard of halberdiers, and was ordering the procession how it was to go. And Harmodius and Aristogeiton, with each of them a dagger, proceeded to the fact. But when they saw one of the conspirators familiarly talking with Hippias, (for Hippias was very affable to all men), they were afraid, and believed that they were discovered and must presently have been apprehended. They resolved therefore (if it were possible) to be revenged first upon him that had done them the wrong, and for whose sake they had undergone all this danger; and, furnished as they were, ran [furiously] into the city, and finding Hipparchus at a place called Leocorium3 , without all regard of themselves fell upon him, and with all the anger in the world, one upon jealousy, the other upon disgrace, struck and slew him. Aristogeiton, for the present, by means of the great confluence of people, escaped through the guard; but taken afterwards, was ungently handled1 ; but Harmodius was slain upon the place. 58. The news being brought to Hippias in the Cerameicum, he went not towards the place where the fact was committed, but presently unto those that were armed for the solemnity of the shows and were far off, that he might be with them before they heard of it: and composing his countenance [as well as he could] to dissemble the calamity, pointed to a certain place, and commanded them to repair thither without their arms. Which they did accordingly, expecting that he would have told them somewhat. But having commanded his guard to take those arms away, he then fell presently to picking out of such as he meant to question, and whosoever else was found amongst them with a dagger. For with shields and spears to be in [the head of] the procession, was of custom.

  A. C. 514–10.

  59. Thus was the enterprise first undertaken upon quarrel of love, and then upon a sudden fear followed this unadvised adventure2 of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. And after this time the tyranny grew sorer to the Athenians than it had been before. And Hippias standing more in fear, not only put many of the citizens to death, but also cast his eye on the states abroad, to see if he might get any security from them in this alteration at home. He therefore afterwards (though an Athenian and to a Lampsacen1 ) gave his daughter Archedice unto Æantidas the son of Hippocles, tyrant of Lampsacus; knowing that the Lampsacens were in great favour with King Darius. And her sepulchre is yet to be seen with this inscription:

  • Archedice, the daughter of King Hippias,
  • Who in his time
  • Of all the potentates of Greece was prime,
  • This dust doth hide.
  • Daughter, wife, sister, mother unto kings she was,
  • Yet free from pride.

  A. C. 510.A. C. 490. Ol. 72. 2.

  And Hippias, after he had reigned three years more in Athens, and was in the fourth deposed by the Lacedæmonians and the exiled Alcmæonides, went under truce to Sigeium, and to Æantidas at Lampsacus, and thence to King Darius: from whence, twenty years after in his old age, he came to Marathon with the Medan army.

  A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. The jealousy and passionate fury of the people in inquiry after the authors of the offences touching the mysteries and Mercuries.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. One of the prisoners is persuaded by a fellow–prisoner to appeach some man, whether true or not true: and doth so.Divers men accused of the paring of the Mercuries.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1.

  60. The people of Athens bearing this in mind, and remembering all they had heard concerning them, were extremely bitter and full of jealousy towards those that had been accused of the mysteries: and thought all to have been done upon some oligarchical or tyrannical conspiracy. And whilst they were passionate upon this surmise, many worthy men had already been cast in prison: and yet they were not likely so to give over, but grew daily more savage, and sought to apprehend more still. Whilst they were at this pass, a prisoner1 that seemed most to be guilty, was persuaded by one of his fellow prisoners to accuse somebody, whether it were true or not true: (for it is but conjectural on both sides; nor was there ever, then or after, any man that could say certainly who it was that did the deed): who brought him to it by telling him, that though he had not done it, yet he might be sure to save his own life,2 and should deliver the city from the present suspicion: and that he should be more certain of his own safety by a free confession than by coming to his trial if he denied it. Hereupon, he accused both himself and others for the Mercuries. The people of Athens, gladly receiving the certainty (as they thought) of the fact, and having been much vexed before to think that the conspirators should never [perhaps] be discovered to their multitude3 , presently set at liberty the accuser, and the rest with him whom he had not appeached: but for those that were accused, they appointed judges4 , and all they apprehended they executed: and having condemned to die such as fled, they ordained a sum of money to be given to those that should slay them. And though it were all this while uncertain whether they suffered justly or unjustly, yet the rest of the city had a manifest ease for the present.

  Presumptions against Alcibiades.Alcibiades sent for home.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. 2.Alcibiades flieth.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. 2.

  61. But touching Alcibiades, the Athenians took it extreme ill through the instigation of his enemies, the same that had opposed1 him before he went. And seeing it was certain, as they thought, for the Mercuries; the other crime also concerning the mysteries, whereof he had been accused, seemed a great deal the more to have been committed by him upon the same reason and conspiracy against the people. For it fell out withal, whilst the city was in a tumult about this, that an army of the Lacedæmonians was come as far as the isthmus upon some design against the Bœotians2 . These therefore they thought were come thither, not against the Bœotians3 , but by appointment of him; and that if they had not first apprehended the persons appeached, the city had been betrayed. And one night they watched all night long in their arms in the temple of Theseus within the city. And the friends of Alcibiades in Argos were at the same time suspected of a purpose to set upon the people there: whereupon the Athenians also delivered unto the Argive people those hostages4 which they held of theirs in the islands, to be slain. And there were presumptions5 against Alcibiades on all sides. Insomuch, as purposing by law to put him to death, they sent, as I have said, the galley called Salaminia into Sicily, both for him, and the rest with him that had been accused: but gave command to those that went, not to apprehend him, but to bid him follow them to make his purgation; because they had a care not to give occasion of stir either amongst their own or their enemy’s soldiers; but especially, because they desired that the Mantineans and the Argives, who they thought followed the war by his persuasion, might not depart from the army. So he and the rest accused with him in his own galley, in company of the Salaminia, left Sicily and set sail for Athens. But being at Thurii they followed no further, but left the galley and were no more to be found: fearing indeed to appear to the accusation1 . They of the Salaminia made search for Alcibiades and those that were with him, for a while: but not finding him, followed on their course for Athens. Alcibiades, now an outlaw, passed shortly after in a small boat from Thurii into Peloponnesus; and the Athenians proceeding to judgment upon his not appearing, condemned both him and them to death.

  The Athenian generals in Sicily go to Selinus and Egesta.They take Hyccara.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 1. 2.The end of the seventeenth summer.

  62. After this, the Athenian generals that remained in Sicily, having divided the army into two, and taken each his part by lot, went with the whole towards Selinus and Egesta: with intention, both to see if the Egestæans would pay them the money, and withal to get knowledge of the designs of the Selinuntians and learn the state of their controversy with the Egestæans. And sailing by the coast of Sicily, having it on their left hand, on that side which lieth to the Tyrrhene gulf, they came to Himera, the only Grecian city in that part of Sicily: which not receiving them, they went on, and by the way took Hyccara, a little town of the Sicanians enemy to the Egestæans, and a sea–town; and having made the inhabitants slaves, delivered the town to the Egestæans, whose horseforces were there with them. Thence the Athenians with their landsmen returned through the territory of the Siculi to Catana; and the galleys went about with the captives. Nicias going with the fleet presently from Hyccara to Egesta, when he had dispatched with them his other business, and received thirty talents of money, returned to the army. The captives they ransomed; of which they made one hundred and twenty talents more. Then they sailed about to their confederates of the Siculi, appointing them to send their forces: and with the half of their own they came before Hybla in the territory of Gela, an enemy city, but took it not. And so ended this summer.

  A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2. The Syracusians contemn the Athenians.

  63. The next winter the Athenians fell presently to make preparation for their journey against Syracuse: and the Syracusians, on the other side, prepared to invade the Athenians. For seeing the Athenians had not presently, upon the first fear and expectation of their coming, fallen upon them, they got every day more and more heart. And because they went far from them into those other parts of Sicily, and assaulting Hybla could not take it, they contemned them more than ever: and prayed their commanders, (as is the manner of the multitude, when they be in courage), seeing that the Athenians came not unto them, to conduct them to Catana. And the Syracusian horsemen, which were ever abroad for scouts, spurring up to the camp of the Athenians, amongst other scorns asked them, whether they came not rather to dwell in the land of another than to restore the Leontines to their own.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2. Nicias his stratagem to get easy landing and encamping by Syracuse.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  64. The Athenian generals having observed this, and being desirous to draw forth the Syracusians’ whole power as far as might be from the city, to be able in the meantime without impeachment, going thither in the night by sea, to seize on some convenient place to encamp in; for1 they knew they should not be able to do it so well in the face of an enemy prepared, nor if they were known to march by land, for that the Syracusian horsemen being many would greatly annoy the light–armed and other multitude, they themselves having no horsemen there: whereas thus they might possess themselves of a place, where the horse could not do them any hurt at all to speak of, (now the2 Syracusian outlaws that were with them, had told them of a place near the temple Olympieium3 , which also they seized): I say, the Athenian generals, to bring this their purpose to effect, contrived the matter thus. They send a man, of whose fidelity they were well assured, and in the opinion of the Syracusian commanders no less a friend of theirs. This man was a Catanæan, and said he came from Catana, from such and such, whose names they knew, and knew to be the remnant of their well–willers in that city. He told them that the Athenians lay every night within the town, and far from their arms; and that if with the whole power of their city, at a day appointed betimes in a morning they would come to their camp, those friends of the Syracusians would shut the Athenians in and set on fire their galleys; by which means, the Syracusians assaulting the pallisado, might easily win the camp1 : and that the Catanæans that were to help them herein were many, and those he came from already prepared for it.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.The Athenians land, pitch their camp, and entrench themselves, ere the Syracusians return.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.The Syracusian army cometh back.

  65. The Syracusian commanders, having been also otherwise encouraged, and having intended a preparation2 to go against Catana though this messenger had not come, did so much the more unadvisedly believe the man; and straightways being agreed of the day on which they were to be there, sent him away. These commanders (for by this time the Selinuntians and some other their confederates were come in) appointed the Syracusians universally to set forwards by a day3 . And when all their necessaries were in readiness, and the day at hand on which they were to be there, they set forwards towards Catana, and encamped the night following upon the banks of the river Simæthus in the territory of the Leontines. The Athenians upon advertisement that they were set forth, rising with their whole army, both themselves and such of the Siculi and others as went with them1 , and going aboard their galleys and boats in the beginning of the night set sail for Syracuse. In the morning betimes the Athenians disbarked over against Olympieium2 , to make their camp. And the Syracusian horsemen, who were at Catana before the rest, finding the camp risen, came back to the foot and told them: whereupon they went all together back to the aid of the city3 . 66. In the meantime, the way the Syracusians had to go being long, the Athenians had pitched their camp at leisure in a place of advantage: wherein it was in their own power to begin battle when they list, and where both in and before the battle the Syracusian horsemen could least annoy them. For on one side there were walls, and houses, and trees, and a lake that kept them off; on the other side steep rocks: and having felled trees hard by and brought them to the sea–side, they made a pallisado both before their galleys and towards Dascon1 . And on that part that was most accessible to the enemy, they made a fort with stone, (the best they could find, but unwrought), and with wood; and withal pulled down the bridge of the river Anapus. Whilst this was doing, there came none to empeach them from the city. The first2 that came against them were the Syracusian horsemen; and by and by after, all the foot together. And though at first they came up near unto the camp of the Athenians, yet after, seeing the Athenians came not out against them, they retired again; and crossing to the other side of the Helorine highway, stayed there that night.

  The Athenians and Syracusians prepare to fight.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  67. The next day the Athenians and their confederates prepared to fight, and were ordered thus. The Argives and the Mantineans had the right wing, the Athenians were in the middle, and the rest of their confederates in the other wing. That half of the army which stood foremost, was ordered by eight in file: the other half towards their tents, ordered likewise by eights, was cast into the form of a long square3 , and commanded to observe diligently where the rest of the army was in distress, and to make specially thither. And in the middest of these so arranged, were received such as carried the weapons and tools of the army1 .

  The Syracusians arranged their men of arms, who were Syracusians of all conditions and as many of their confederates as were present, by sixteens in file: (they that came to aid them, were chiefly the Selinuntians, and then the horsemen of the Geloans, about two hundred; and of the Camarinæans, about twenty horsemen and fifty archers): the cavalry they placed in the right point of the battle, being in all no less than a thousand two hundred, and with them the darters. But the Athenians intending to begin the battle, Nicias went up and down the army, from one nation to another: to whom and to all in general he spake to this effect:

  the oration of nicias to his army.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Nicias.

  68. “What need I, sirs, to make a long exhortation, when this battle is the thing for which we all came hither2 ? For in my opinion, the present preparation is more able to give you encouragement, than any oration how well soever made, if with a weak army. For where we are together, Argives, Mantineans, Athenians, and the best of the islanders, how can we choose among so many and good confederates, but conceive great hope of the victory: especially against tag and rag, and not chosen men, as we are ourselves, and against Sicilians, who though they contemn us, cannot stand against us; their skill not being answerable to their courage? It must be remembered also that we be far from our own, and not near to any amicable territory but such as we shall acquire by the sword. My exhortation to you, I am certain, is contrary to that of the enemy. For they say to theirs, ‘You are to fight for your country’. I say to you, You are to fight out of your country, where you must either get the victory, or not easily get away; for many horsemen will be upon us. Remember therefore every man his own worth, and charge valiantly: and think the present necessity and strait we are in, to be more formidable than the enemy.”

  The battle between the Athenians and Syracusians.

  69. Nicias having thus exhorted the army, led it presently to the charge. The Syracusians expected not to have fought at that instant: and the city being near, some of them were gone away; and some for haste came in running; and though late, yet every one, as he came, put himself in where was the greatest number. For they wanted neither willingness nor courage, either in this or any other battle; being no less valiant, so far forth as they had experience, than the Athenians: but the want of this made them, even against their wills, to abate also somewhat of their courage. Nevertheless though they thought not the Athenians would have begun the battle, and were thereby constrained to fight upon a sudden, yet they resumed their arms, and came presently forward to the encounter.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  And first, the casters of stones1 and slingers and archers of either side, skirmished in the middest between the armies, mutually chasing each other, as amongst the light–armed was not unlikely. After this, the soothsayers brought forth their sacrifices according to the law of the place1 ; and the trumpets instigated the men of arms to the battle. And they came on to fight, the Syracusians for their country and their lives for the present, and for their liberty in the future: on the other side, the Athenians to win the country of another and make it their own, and not to weaken their own by being vanquished: the Argives and other free confederates, to help the Athenians to conquer the country they came against, and to return to their own with victory: and their subject confederates came also on with great courage, principally for their better safety, as desperate if they overcame not; and withal upon the by, that by helping the Athenians to subdue the country of another, their own subjection might be the easier.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.The Athenians have the victory.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  70. After they were come to hand–strokes, they fought long on both sides. But in the meantime there happened some claps of thunder and flashes of lightning, together with a great shower of rain: insomuch as it added to the fear of the Syracusians, that were now fighting their first battle and not familiar with the wars; whereas to the other side that had more experience, the season of the year1 seemed to expound that accident; and their greatest fear proceeded from the so long resistance of their enemies, in that they were not all this while overcome. When the Argives first had made the left wing of the Syracusians to give ground, and after them the Athenians had also done the like to those that were arranged against them: then the rest of the Syracusian army was presently broken and put to flight. But the Athenians pursued them not far; because the Syracusian horsemen, being many and unvanquished2 , whensoever any men of arms advanced far from the body of the army, charged upon them, and still drave them in again: but having followed as far as safely they might in great troops, they retired again and erected a trophy. The Syracusians having rallied themselves in the Helorine way, and recovered their order as well as they could for that time, sent3 a guard into Olympieium, lest the Athenians should take the treasure there: and returned with the rest of the army into the city. 71. The Athenians went not to assault the temple; but gathering together their dead, laid them upon the funeral fire, and stayed that night upon the place. The next day they gave truce to the Syracusians to take up their dead, of whom and of their confederates were slain about two hundred and sixty: and gathered up the bones of their own4 . Of the Athenians and their confederates there died about fifty. And thus, having rifled the bodies of their dead enemies, they returned to Catana1 . For it was now winter; and to make war there, they thought it yet unpossible before they had sent for horsemen to Athens, and levied other amongst their confederates there in Sicily, to the end they might not be altogether over–mastered in horse; and before they had also both levied money there and received more from Athens, and made league with certain cities, which they hoped after this battle would the more easily hearken thereunto; and before they had likewise provided themselves of victuals and other things necessary, as intending the next spring to undertake Syracuse again. 72. With this mind they went to winter at Naxos and Catana.

  Hermocrates encourageth the Syracusians:year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  The Syracusians after they had buried their dead, called an assembly: and Hermocrates the son of Hermon, a man not otherwise second to any in wisdom, and in war both able for his experience and eminent for his valour, standing forth gave them encouragement, and would not suffer them to be dismayed with that which had happened. “Their courage,” he said, “was not overcome, though their want of order had done them hurt. And yet in that they were not so far inferior, as it was likely they would have been: especially being (as one may say) home–bred artificers, against the most experienced in the war of all the Grecians2 . That they had also been hurt by the number of their generals and commanders,”—for there were fifteen that commanded in chief—“and by the many supernumerary soldiers under no command at all1 . Whereas if they would make but a few and skilful leaders, and prepare armour this winter for such as want it, to increase as much as might be the number of their men of arms, and compel them in other things to the exercise of discipline, in all reason they were to have the better of the enemy. For valour they had already, and to keep their order would be learnt by practice2 : and both of these would still grow greater; skill, by practising with danger; and their courage would grow bolder of itself, upon the confidence of skill. And for their generals, they ought to choose them few and absolute, and to take an3 oath unto them, to let them lead the army wheresoever they thought best. For by this means, both the things that require secrecy would the better be concealed, and all things would be put in readiness with order and less tergiversation.”

  and is chosen general with two more.The Syracusians send for aid into Peloponnesus.year xvii. A. C. 415. Ol. 91. 2.

  73. The Syracusians, when they had heard him, decreed all that he advised: and elected three generals, him, Heracleides the son of Lysimachus, and Sicanus the son of Exekestus. They sent also ambassadors to Corinth and Lacedæmon, as well to obtain a league with them4 , as also to persuade the Lacedæmonians to make a hotter war against the Athenians, and to declare themselves in the quarrel of the Syracusians: thereby either to withdraw them from Sicily, or to make them the less able to send supply to their army which was there already.

  The Athenians attempt Messana, but fail.

  74. The Athenian army at Catana sailed presently to Messana, to receive it by treason of some within: but the plot came not to effect. For Alcibiades, when he was sent for from his charge, being resolved to fly, and knowing what was to be done1 , discovered the same to the friends of the Syracusians in Messana: who with those of their faction slew2 such as were accused, and being armed upon occasion of the sedition, obtained to have the Athenians kept out. And the Athenians, after thirteen days’ stay, troubled with tempestuous weather, provision also failing and nothing succeeding, returned again to Naxos: and having fortified their camp with a pallisado, they wintered there; and dispatched a galley to Athens for money and horsemen, to be with them early in the spring.

  A. C. 415. 4. Ol. 91. 2. The Syracusians enlarge the compass of their wallsyear xvii. A. C. 415 4. Ol. 91. 2. and burn the tents of the Athenians by Catana.Ambassadors both from the Athenians and Syracuse unto Camarina, for the friendship of that city.

  75. The Syracusians this winter raised a wall before their city, all the length of the side towards Epipolæ3 including Temenites: to the end, if they chanced to be beaten, they might not be so easily enclosed as when they were in a narrower compass. And they put a guard into Megara, and another into Olympieium; and made pallisadoes on the seaside at all the places of landing. And knowing that the Athenians wintered at Naxos, they marched with all the power of the city unto Catana: and after they had wasted the territory, and burnt the cabins and camp where the Athenians had lodged before, returned home. And having heard that the Athenians had sent ambassadors to Camarina, according to a league made before in the time of Laches1 , to try if they could win them to their side, they also sent ambassadors to oppose it. For they suspected that the Camarinæans had sent those succours in the former battle, with no great good will: and that now they would take part with them no longer, seeing the Athenians had the better of the day, but would rather join with the Athenians upon the former league. Hermocrates therefore and others being come to Camarina from the Syracusians, and Euphemus and others from the Athenians, when the assembly was met, Hermocrates desiring to increase their envy to the Athenians2 , spake unto them to this effect:

  the oration of hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Hermocrates.

  76. “Men of Camarina, we come not hither upon fear that the forces of the Athenians here present may affright you: but lest their speeches which they are about to make, may seduce you, before you have also heard what may be said by us. They are come into Sicily with that pretence indeed, which you hear given out, but with that intention which we all suspect: and to me they seem not to intend the replantation of the Leontines, but rather our supplantation. For surely it holdeth not in reason, that they who subvert the cities yonder, should come to plant any city here: nor that they should have such a care of the Leontines, because Chalcideans, for kindred’s sake, when they keep in servitude the Chalcideans themselves of Eubœa, of whom these here are but the colonies. But they both hold the cities there, and attempt those here, in one and the same kind. For when the Ionians, and the rest of the confederates their own colonies1 , had willingly made them their leaders in the war to avenge them of the Medes, the Athenians laying afterwards to their charge, to some the not sending of their forces2 , to some their war amongst themselves, and so to the rest the most colourable criminations they could get, subdued them all to their obedience. And it was not for the liberty of the Grecians that these men, nor for the liberty of themselves that the Grecians made head against the Medes: but the Athenians did it to make them serve, not the Medes, but them, and the Grecians to change their master, as they did, not for one less wise, but for one worse wise.

  year xvii A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Hermocrates.

  77. “But in truth we come not to accuse the Athenian state, though it be obnoxious enough, before you that know sufficiently the injuries they have done, but far rather to accuse ourselves: who though we have the examples before our eyes of the Grecians there brought into servitude for want of defending themselves, and though we see them now, with the same sophistry of replanting the Leontines and their kindred, and aiding of their confederates the Egestæans, prepare to do the like unto us, do not yet unite ourselves, and with better courage make them to know that we be not Ionians, nor Hellespontines, nor islanders, that changing serve always the Mede or some other master, but that we are Dorians and freemen, come to dwell here in Sicily out of Peloponnesus, a free country. Shall we stand still till we be taken city after city, when we know that that only way we are conquerable: and when we find them wholly bent to this, that by drawing some from our alliance with their words, and causing some to wear each other out with war upon hope of their confederacy, and winning others by other fit language, they may have the power to do us hurt1 ? But we think, though one of the same island perish, yet if he dwell far off, the danger will not come to us; and before it arrive, we count unhappy only him that suffereth before us2 . 78. If any therefore be of this opinion, that it is not he, but the Syracusian that is the Athenian’s enemy; and thinketh it a hard matter that he should endanger himself for the territory that is mine: I would have him to consider, that he is to fight not chiefly for mine, but equally for his own in mine, and with the more safety for that I am not destroyed before and he thereby destitute of my help, but stand with him in the battle. Let him also consider that the Athenians come not hither to punish the Syracusians for being enemies to you, but by pretence of me to make himself the stronger by your friendship1 . If any man here envieth, or also2 feareth us, (for the strongest are still liable unto both), and would therefore wish that the Syracusians might be weakened to make them more modest, but not vanquished for their own safety’s sake: that man hath conceived a hope beyond the power of man. For it is not reasonable3 that the same man should be the disposer both of his desires and of his fortune. And if his aim should fail him, he might, deploring his own misery, peradventure wish to enjoy4 my prosperity again. But this will not be possible to him that shall abandon me, and not undertake the same dangers, though not in title, yet in effect the same that I do. For though it be our power in title, yet in effect it is your own safety you defend. And you men of Camarina, that are borderers and likely to have the second place of danger, you should most of all have foreseen this, and not have aided us so dully. You should rather have come to us: and that which, if the Athenians had come first against Camarina, you should in your need have implored at our hands, the same you should now also have been seen equally to hearten us withal, to keep us from yielding. But as yet, neither you nor any of the rest have been so forward. 79. Perhaps upon fear, you mean to deal evenly between us both, and allege your league with the Athenians. You made no league against your friends, but against your enemies, in case any should invade you: and by it you are also tied to aid the Athenians, when others wrong them; but not when, as now, they wrong their neighbour. For even the Rhegians, who are also Chalcideans, refuse to help them in replanting the Leontines; though these also be Chalcideans. And then it were a hard case, if they suspecting a bad action under a fair justification, are wise without a reason1 ; and you, upon pretence of reason, should aid your natural enemies, and help them that most hate you to destroy your more natural kindred.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Hermocrates.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2.

  “But this is no justice; to fight with them is justice, and not to stand in fear of their preparation. Which, if we hold together, is not terrible: but is, if contrarily (which they endeavour) we be disunited. For neither when they came against us, being none but ourselves, and had the upperhand in battle, could they yet effect their purpose; but quickly went their ways. 80. There is no reason therefore we should be afraid, when we are all together, but that we should have the better will to unite ourselves in a league: and the rather, because1 we are to have aid from Peloponnesus, who every way excel these men in military sufficiency. Nor should you think that your purpose2 to aid neither, as being in league with both, is either just in respect of us, or safe for yourselves: for it is not so just in substance, as it is in the pretence. For if through want of your aid, the assailed perish and the assailant become victor: what do you by your neutrality, but leave the safety of the one undefended, and suffer the other to do evil? Whereas it were more noble in you, by joining with the wronged and with your kindred, both to defend the common good of Sicily, and keep the Athenians, as your friends, from an act of injustice. To be short, we Syracusians say, that to demonstrate plainly, to you or to any other, the thing you already know, is no hard matter3 : but we pray you, and withal if you reject our words we protest, that whereas the Ionians, who have ever been our enemies, do take counsel against us, you, that are Dorians as well as we, betray us. And if they subdue us, though it be by your counsels that they do it, yet they only shall have the honour of it: and for the prize of their victory, they will have none other but even the authors of their victory: but if the victory fall unto us, even you also, the cause of this our danger, shall undergo the penalty. Consider therefore now and take your choice, whether you will have the servitude without the present danger: or saving yourselves with us, both avoid the dishonour of having a master, and escape our enmity, which is likely otherwise to be lasting.”

  81. Thus spake Hermocrates. After him Euphemus, ambassador from the Athenians, spake thus:

  the oration of euphemus.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.

  82. “Though our coming were to renew our former league, yet seeing we are touched by the Syracusian, it will be necessary we speak something here of the right of our dominion. And the greatest testimony of this right he hath himself given; in that he said, the Ionians were ever enemies to the Dorians. And it is true1 . For being Ionians, we have ever endeavoured to find out some means or other, how best to free ourselves from subjection to the Peloponnesians that are Dorians, more in number than we and dwelling near us. After the Medan war, having gotten us a navy, we were delivered thereby from the command and leading of the Lacedæmonians: there being no cause why they should rather be leaders of us than we of them, save only that they were then the stronger. And when we were made commanders of those Grecians which before lived under the king, we took upon us the government of them: because we thought, that having power in our hands to defend ourselves, we should thereby be the less subject to the Peloponnesians. And to say truth, we subjected the Ionians and islanders (whom the Syracusians say we brought into bondage being our kindred) not without just cause1 : for they came with the Medes against ours, their mother city: and for fear of losing their wealth durst not revolt, as we did, that abandoned our very city. But as they were content to serve, so they would have imposed the same condition upon us. 83. For these causes, we took upon us our dominion over them; both as worthy of the same, in that we brought the greatest fleet and promptest courage to the service of the Grecians, whereas they, with the like promptness in favour of the Medes, did us hurt; and also as being desirous to procure ourselves a strength against the Peloponnesians. And follow any other we will not2 , seeing we alone have pulled down the barbarian, and therefore have right to command; or at least have put ourselves into danger more for the liberty of the Peloponnesians, than of all the rest of Greece, and our own besides. Now to seek means for one’s own preservation, is a thing unblameable. And as it is for our own safety’s cause that we are now here, so also we find that the same will be profitable for you. Which we will make plain from those very things which they accuse, and you, as most formidable, suspect us of: being assured, that such as suspect with vehement fear, though they may be won for the present with the sweetness of an oration, yet when the matter comes to performance, will then do as shall be most for their turn.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.

  “We have told you that we hold our dominion yonder upon fear; and that upon the same cause we come hither now, by the help of our friends to assure the cities here; and not to bring you into subjection, but rather to keep you from it. 84. And let no man object, that we be solicitous for those that are nothing to us: for as long as you be preserved, and able to make head against the Syracusians, we shall be the less annoyed by their sending of forces to the Peloponnesians1 . And in this point you are very much unto us. For the same reason, it is meet2 also that we replant the Leontines; not to subject them, as their kindred in Eubœa, but to make them as puissant as we can: that being near, they may from their own territory weaken the Syracusians in our behalf. For as for our wars at home, we are a match for our enemies without their help; and the Chalcidean (whom having made a slave yonder, the Syracusian said, we absurdly attempt to vindicate into liberty here) is most beneficial to us there without arms, paying money only; but the Leontines, and other our friends here, are the most profitable to us when they are most in liberty.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.

  85. “Now to a tyrant or city that reigneth, nothing can be thought absurd if profitable; nor any man a friend, that may not be trusted to. Friend or enemy he must be, according to the several occasions. But here it is for our benefit not to weaken our friends, but by our friends’ strength to weaken our enemies. This you must needs believe, inasmuch as yonder also we so command over our confederates, as every of them may be most useful to us: the Chians and Methymnæans redeem their liberty with providing us some galleys; the most of the rest, with a tribute of money somewhat more pressing. Some again of our confederates are absolutely free, notwithstanding that they be islanders, and easy to be subdued: the reason whereof is this; they are situate in places commodious about Peloponnesus. It is probable therefore, that here also we will so order our affairs as shall be most for our own turn, and most according to our fear, as we told you, of the Syracusians. For they affect a dominion over you; and having by advantage of your suspicion of us drawn you to their side, will themselves by force, or (if we go home without effect) by your want of friends, have the sole command of Sicily: which, if you join with them, must of necessity come to pass. For neither will it be easy for us to bring so great forces again together1 : nor will the Syracusians want strength to subdue you, if we be absent. Him that thinketh otherwise, the thing itself convinceth. 86. For when you called us in to aid you at the first, the fear you pretended was only this: that if we neglected you, the Syracusians would subdue you, and we thereby should participate of the danger2 . And it were unjust, that the argument you would needs have to prevail then with us, should now have no effect with yourselves; or that you should be jealous of the much strength we bring against the power of the Syracusians, when much rather you should give the less ear unto them. We cannot so much as stay here without you: and if becoming perfidious we should subdue these states, yet we are unable to hold them: both in respect of the length of the voyage, and for want of means of guarding them; because they be great, and provided after the manner of the continent3 . Whereas they, not lodged near you in a camp, but inhabiting near you in a city of greater power than this of ours4 , will be always watching their advantages against you: and when an opportunity shall be offered against any of your cities, will be sure not to let it slip. This they have already made to appear, both in their proceedings against the Leontines, and also otherwise. And yet have these the face to move you1 against us that hinder this, and that have hitherto kept Sicily from falling into their hands. But we, on the other side, invite you to a far more real safety; and pray you, not to betray that safety which we both of us hold from one another at this present, but to consider, that they by their own number have way to you always, though without confederates; whereas you shall seldom have so great an aid again to resist them. Which if through your jealousy you suffer to go away without effect, or if it miscarry, you will hereafter wish for the least part of the same, when their coming can no more do you good.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Euphemus.

  87. “But, Camarinæans, be neither you nor others moved with their calumnies. We have told you the very truth, why we are suspected: and summarily we will tell it you again, claiming to prevail with you thereby. We say, we command yonder, lest else we should obey; and we assert into liberty the cities here, lest else we should be harmed by them: many things we have to be doing, because many things we are forced to beware of: and both now and before, we came not uncalled; but called as confederates to such of you as suffer wrong. Make not yourselves judges of what we do, nor go about as censors (which were now hard to do) to divert us; but as far as this busy humour and fashion of ours may be for your own service, so far take and use it: and think not the same hurtful alike to all, but that the greatest part of the Grecians have good by it. For in all places1 , though we be not of any side, yet both he that looketh to be wronged, and he that contriveth to do the wrong, by the obviousness of the hope that the one hath of our aid, and of the fear that the other hath of their own danger, if we should come, are brought by necessity, the one to moderation against his will, the other into safety without his trouble. Refuse not therefore the security now present, common both to us that require it, and to yourselves2 . But do as others use to do; come with us: and instead of defending yourselves always against the Syracusians, take your turn once, and put them to their guard as they have done you.”

  The resolution of the Camarinæans for neutralityyear xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2.

  88. Thus spake Euphemus. The Camarinæans stood thus affected. They bare good will to the Athenians, save that they thought they meant to subjugate Sicily: and were ever at strife with the Syracusians about their borders. Yet because they were afraid that the Syracusians, that were near them, might as well get the victory as the other, they had both formerly sent them some few horse, and also now resolved for the future to help the Syracusians, but underhand and as sparingly as possible: and withal that they might no less seem to favour the Athenians than the Syracusians, especially after they had won a battle, to give for the present an equal answer unto both1 . So after deliberation had, they answered thus: “That forasmuch as they that warred, were both of them their confederates, they thought it most agreeable to their oath for the present to give aid to neither”. And so the ambassadors of both sides went their ways.

  And the Syracusians made preparations for the war by themselves2 .

  The Athenians seek to win the Siculi:they bring their fleet to Catana:year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2.they send for aid to Carthage, and into Hetruria:year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. and prepare to besiege Syracuse.

  The Athenians being encamped at Naxos, treated with the Siculi, to procure as many of them as they might to their side. Of whom, such as inhabited the plain and were subject to the Syracusians, for the most part held off: but they that dwelt in the most inland parts of the island, being a free people, and ever before dwelling in villages, presently agreed with the Athenians3 ; and brought corn into the army, and some of them also money. To those that held off, the Athenians went with their army: and some they forced to come in, and others they hindered from receiving the aids and garrisons of the Syracusians4 . And having brought their fleet from Naxos, where it had been all the winter till now, they lay the rest of the winter at Catana, and re–erected their camp formerly burnt by the Syracusians. They sent a galley also to Carthage, to procure amity and what help they could from thence: and into Hetruria1 , because some cities there had of their own accord promised to take their parts. They sent likewise to the Siculi about them and to Egesta, appointing them to send in all the horse they could: and made ready bricks, and iron, and whatsoever else was necessary for a siege, and every other thing they needed, as intending to fall in hand with the war early the next spring.

  The Syracusians pray aid of the Corinthians and Lacedæmonians.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2.Alcibiades at Lacedæmon instigateth the Lacedæmonians against his country.

  The ambassadors of Syracuse which were sent to Corinth and Lacedæmon, as they sailed by endeavoured also to move the Italians to a regard of this action of the Athenians1 . Being come to Corinth, they spake unto them, and demanded aid upon the title of consanguinity. The Corinthians having forthwith, for their own part, decreed cheerfully to aid them, sent also ambassadors from themselves along with these to Lacedæmon: to help them to persuade the Lacedæmonians, both to make a more open war against the Athenians at home, and to send some forces also into Sicily. At the same time that these ambassadors were at Lacedæmon from Corinth, Alcibiades was also there with his fellow–fugitives: who presently upon their escape passed over from Thurii first to Cyllene, the haven of the Eleians, in a ship, and afterwards went thence to Lacedæmon, sent for by the Lacedæmonians themselves, under public security. For he feared them for his doings about Mantineia. And it fell out, that in the assembly of the Lacedæmonians, the Corinthians, Syracusians, and Alcibiades made all of them the same request. Now the ephores and magistrates, though intending to send ambassadors to Syracuse to hinder them from compounding with the Athenians, being yet not forward to send them aid, Alcibiades stood forth and sharpened the Lacedæmonians: inciting them with words to this effect:

  the oration of alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.

  89. “It will be necessary that I say something first concerning mine own accusation, lest through jealousy of me, you bring a prejudicate ear to the common business. My ancestors having on a certain quarrel renounced the office of receiving you1 , I was the man that restored the same again; and showed you all possible respect, both otherwise, and in the matter of your loss at Pylus. Whilst I persisted in my good will to you, being to make a peace at Athens, by treating the same with my adversaries you invested them with authority, and me with disgrace. For which cause, if in applying myself afterwards to the Mantineans and Argives, or in anything else I did you hurt, I did it justly: and if any man here were causelessly angry with me, then when he suffered, let him be now content again, when he knows the true cause of the same. Or if any man think the worse of me for inclining to the people, let him acknowledge that therein also he is offended without a cause. For we have been always enemies to tyrants; and what is contrary to a tyrant, is called the people: and from thence hath continued our adherence to the multitude. Besides, in a city governed by democracy, it was necessary in most things to follow the present course; nevertheless we have endeavoured to be more moderate than suiteth with the now headstrong humour of the people. But others there have been, both formerly and now, that have incited the common people to worse things than I2 : and they are those that have also driven out me. But as for us, when we had the charge of the whole, we thought it reason3 , by what form it was grown most great and most free, and in which we received it, in the same to preserve it. For though such of us as have judgment, do know well enough what the democracy is, and I no less than another, (insomuch as I could inveigh against it; but of confessed madness nothing can be said that is new), yet we thought it not safe to change it, when you our enemies were so near us.

  year xvii. A. C. 415. 4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.

  90. “Thus stands the matter touching my own accusation. And concerning what we are to consult of, both you and I, if I know anything which you yourselves do not, hear it now1 . We made this voyage into Sicily, first (if we could) to subdue the Sicilians; after them the Italians2 ; after them, to assay the dominion of Carthage, and Carthage itself. If these or most of these enterprises succeeded, then next we should have undertaken Peloponnesus, with the accession both of the Greek forces there3 , and with many mercenary barbarians, Iberians and others of those parts, confessed to be the most warlike of the barbarians that are now. We should also have built many galleys besides these which we have already, (there being plenty of timber in Italy); with the which besieging Peloponnesus round, and also taking the cities thereof with our land forces, upon such occasions as should arise from the land, some by assault and some by siege4 , we hoped easily to have debelled it and afterwards to have gotten the dominion of all Greece. As for money and corn to facilitate some points of this, the places we should have conquered there, besides what here we should have found, would sufficiently have furnished us.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.

  91. “Thus, from one that most exactly knoweth it, you have heard what is the design of the fleet now gone; and which the generals there, as far as they can, will also put in execution. Understand next, that unless you aid them, they yonder cannot possibly hold out. For the Sicilians, though inexpert, if many of them unite may well subsist: but that the Syracusians alone, with their whole power already beaten, and withal kept from the use of the sea1 , should withstand the forces of the Athenians already there, is a thing impossible. And if their city should be taken, all Sicily is had, and soon after Italy also: and the danger from thence which I foretold you, would not be long ere it fell upon you. Let no man therefore think that he now consulteth of Sicily only, but also of Peloponnesus, unless this be done with speed. Let2 the army you send be of such, as being aboard may row, and landing presently be armed: and (which I think more profitable than the army itself) send a Spartan for commander, both to train the soldiers already there, and to compel unto it such as refuse. For thus will your present friends be the more encouraged, and such as be doubtful come to you with the more assurance. It were also good to make war more openly upon them here: that the Syracusians seeing your care may the rather hold out, and the Athenians be less able to send supply to their army. You ought likewise to fortify Deceleia in the territory of Athens, a thing which the Athenians themselves most fear, and reckon for the only evil they have not yet tasted in this war. And the way to hurt an enemy most, is to know certainly what he most feareth, and to bring the same upon him. For in reason a man therefore feareth a thing most, as having the precisest knowledge of what will most hurt him. As for the commodities which yourselves shall reap, and deprive the enemy of by so fortifying; letting much pass, I will sum you up the principal. Whatsoever the territory is furnished withal1 , will come most of it unto you, partly taken, and partly of its own accord. The revenue of the silver mines in Laurium, and whatsoever other profit they have from their land or from their courts of justice2 , will presently be lost: and, which is worse, their confederates will be remiss in bringing in their revenue: and will care little for the Athenians, if they believe once that you follow the war to the utmost. That any of these things be put in act speedily and earnestly, men of Lacedæmon, it resteth only in yourselves: for I am confident, and I think I err not, that all these things are possible to be done.

  year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.year xvii. A. C. 415–4. Ol. 91. 2. Oration of Alcibiades.

  92. “Now I must crave this: that I be neither the worse esteemed, for that having once been thought a lover of my country, I go now amongst the greatest enemies of the same against it; nor yet mistrusted, as one that speaketh with the zeal of a fugitive. For though I fly from the malice of them that drave me out, I shall not, if you take my counsel, fly your profit. Nor are you enemies so much, who have hurt but your enemies, as they are, that have made enemies of friends. I love not my country, as wronged by it, but as having lived in safety in it1 . Nor do I think that I do herein go against any country of mine; but that I far rather seek to recover the country I have not. And he is truly a lover of his country, not that refuseth to invade the country he hath wrongfully lost: but that desires so much to be in it, as by any means he can he will attempt to recover it. I desire you therefore, Lacedæmonians, to make use of my service in whatsoever danger or labour confidently: seeing you know, according to the common saying, if I did hurt you much when I was your enemy, I can help you much when I am your friend. And so much the more, in that I know the state of Athens, and but conjectured at yours. And considering you are now in deliberation upon a matter of so extreme importance, I pray you think not much to send an army both into Sicily and Attica: as well to preserve the great matters that are there with the presence of a small part of your force, as also to pull down the power of the Athenians both present and to come: and afterwards to dwell in safety yourselves, and to have the leading of all Greece; not forced, but voluntary and with their good affection.”

  The Lacedæmonians resolve to send Gylippus into Sicily.

  93. Thus spake Alcibiades. And the Lacedæmonians, though before this they had a purpose of their own accord to send an army against Athens, but had delayed and neglected it1 : yet when these particulars were delivered by him, they were a great deal the more confirmed in the same, conceiving that what they had heard was from one that evidently knew it. Insomuch as they had set their minds already upon the fortifying of Deceleia, and upon the sending of some succours into Sicily, for the present2 . And having assigned Gylippus the son of Cleandridas, unto the Syracusian ambassadors for chief commander3 , they willed him to consider, both with them and the Corinthians, how best for their present means, and with greatest speed, some help might be conveyed unto them in Sicily. He thereupon appointed the Corinthians to send him two galleys presently to Asine, and to furnish the rest they meant to send, and to have them ready to sail when occasion should serve. This agreed upon, they departed from Lacedæmon.

  The Athenians resolve to send provision and horsemen.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.

  In the meantime the galley arrived at Athens, which the generals sent home for money and horsemen. And the Athenians upon hearing, decreed to send both provision and horsemen1 to the army. So the winter ended: and the seventeenth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  The Athenians burn the fields of certain towns of the Siculi and take Centoripa.They receive money and horsemen from Athens.

  94. In the very beginning of the next spring the Athenians in Sicily departed from Catana, and sailed by the coast to Megara of Sicily. The inhabitants whereof, in the time of the tyrant Gelon, the Syracusians (as I mentioned before) had driven out, and now possess the territory themselves. Landing here, they wasted the fields: and having assaulted a certain small fortress of the Syracusians, not taking it, they went presently back, part by land and part by sea, unto the river Tereas. And landing again in the plain fields, wasted the same and burnt up their corn: and lighting on some Syracusians, not many, they slew some of them; and having set up a trophy, went all again on board their galleys. Thence they returned to Catana, and took in victual: then with their whole army they went to Centoripa, a small city of the Siculi; which yielding on composition, they departed, and in their way burnt up the corn of the Inessæans and the Hyblæans. Being come again to Catana, they find there two hundred and fifty horsemen2 arrived from Athens, without horses, though not without the furniture, supposing to have horses there: and thirty archers on horseback, and three hundred talents of silver.

  The Lacedæmonians invade Argeia.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2. The Argives take a great booty in Thyreatis. The commons of Thespiæ set upon the few, but with ill success.

  95. The same spring the Lacedæmonians led forth their army against Argos, and went as far as to Cleonæ: but an earthquake happening, they went home again. But1 the Argives invaded the territory of Thyrea, confining on their own; and took a great booty from the Lacedæmonians, which they sold for no less than twenty–five talents.

  Not long after2 , the commons of Thespiæ set upon them that had the government; but not prevailing, were part apprehended, and part escaped to Athens, the Athenians3 having also aided them.

  Epipolæ a high ground before the city of Syracuse.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2. Diomilus slain.The Athenians fortify Labdalum.

  96. The Syracusians the same summer, when they heard that the Athenians had horsemen sent to them from Athens, and that they were ready now to come against them, conceiving that if the Athenians gat not Epipolæ, a rocky ground and lying just against the city4 , they would not be able, though masters of the field, to take in the city with a wall: intended therefore, lest the enemy should come secretly up, to keep the passages by which there was access unto it with a guard5 . For the rest of the place is to the outside high and steep, falling to the city by degrees, and on the inside wholly subject to the eye. And it is called by the Syracusians, Epipolæ6 , because it lieth above the level of the rest. The Syracusians, coming out of the city with their whole power into a meadow by the side of the river Anapus betimes in the morning, (for Hermocrates and his fellow–commanders had already received their charge), were there taking a view of their arms: but1 first they had set apart seven hundred men of arms, under the leading of Diomilus, an outlaw of Andros, both to guard Epipolæ, and to be ready together quickly upon any other occasion wherein there might be use of their service. 97. The Athenians the day following, having been already mustered, came from Catana with their whole forces, and landed their soldiers at a place called Leon, six or seven furlongs from Epipolæ, unperceived, and laid their navy at anchor under Thapsus. Thapsus is almost an island, lying out into the sea and joined to the land with a narrow isthmus; not far from Syracuse, neither by sea nor land. And the naval forces of the Athenians, having made a pallisado across the said isthmus, lay there quiet2 . But the land soldiers marched at high speed towards Epipolæ, and gat up by Euryelus before the Syracusians3 could come to them from out of the meadow, where they were mustering. Nevertheless they came on, every one with what speed he could, not only Diomilus with his seven hundred, but the rest also. They had no less to go from the meadow than twenty–five furlongs, before they could reach the enemy. The Syracusians therefore coming up in this manner4 , and thereby defeated in battle at Epipolæ, withdrew themselves into the city. But Diomilus was slain, and three hundred of the rest. The Athenians after this erected a trophy, and delivered to the Syracusians the bodies of their dead under truce; and came down the next day to the city. But when none came out to give them battle, they retired again; and built a fort upon Labdalum1 , in the very brink of the precipices of Epipolæ, on the side that looketh towards Megara, for a place to keep their utensils and money in when they went out either to fight or to work.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.

  98. Not long after, there came unto them from Egesta three hundred horsemen: and from the Siculi, namely2 the Naxians and some others, about one hundred: and the Athenians had of their own two hundred and fifty; for which they had horses, part from the Egestæans and Catanæans, and part they bought. So that they had together in the whole, six hundred and fifty horsemen. Having put a guard into Labdalum, the Athenians went down to Syca3 , and raised there a wall in circle very quickly; so that they struck a terror into the Syracusians with the celerity of the work. Who therefore coming forth, intended to have given them battle, and no longer to have neglected the matter. But when the armies were one set against the other, the Syracusian generals perceiving their own to be in disarray, and not easily to be embattled, led them again into the city, save only a certain part of their horsemen; which staying, kept the Athenians from carrying of stone and straggling far abroad from their camp. But the Athenians with one squadron1 of men of arms, together with their whole number of horse, charged the horsemen of the Syracusians and put them to flight: of whom they slew a part, and erected a trophy for this battle of horse.

  The Athenians begin to build on the north side of the fortification wherein they lay the wall wherewith to begirt the city.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2. The Syracusians make a cross wall in their way.

  99. The next day the Athenians fell to work upon their wall, to the north side of their circular wall2 : some building, and some fetching stone and timber, which they still laid down toward the place called Trogilus, in the way by which the wall should come with the shortest compass from the great haven to the other sea. The Syracusians, by the persuasion of their generals, and principally of Hermocrates, intended not to hazard battle with their whole power against the Athenians any more: but thought fit rather, in the way where the Athenians were to bring their wall, to raise a counter–wall; which, if they could but do before the wall of the Athenians came on, it would exclude their further building: and if the Athenians should set upon them as they were doing it, they might send part of the army to defend it, and pre–occupate the accesses to it with a pallisado: and if they would come with their whole army to hinder them, then must they also be forced to let their own work stand still. Therefore they came out; and beginning at their own city, drew a cross–wall beneath the circular fortifications of the Athenians; and set wooden turrets upon it, made of the olive trees which they felled in the ground belonging to the temple. The Athenian navy was not yet come about into the great haven from Thapsus, but the Syracusians were1 masters of the places near the sea; and the Athenians brought their provision to the army from Thapsus by land.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.

  100. The Syrcusians, when they thought both their pallisado and wall sufficient; and considering that the Athenians came not to impeach them in the work, as they that feared to divide their army and to be thereby the more easy to be fought withal, and that also hasted to make an end of their own wall wherewith to encompass the city, left one squadron2 for a guard of their works, and retired with the rest into the city. And the Athenians cut off the pipes of their conduits, by which their water to drink was conveyed under ground into the town. And having observed also, that about noon the Syracusians kept within their tents, and that some of them were also gone into the city, and that such as were remaining at the pallisado kept but negligent watch; they commanded three hundred chosen men of arms, and certain other picked out and armed from amongst the unarmed, to run suddenly to that counter–wall of the Syrasians. The rest of the army divided in two, went one part with one of the generals to stop the succour which might be sent from the city; and the other with the other general to the palisado next to the gate1 [of the counter–wall]. The three hundred assaulted and took the pallisado; the guard whereof forsaking it, fled within the wall into the temple ground: and with them entered also their pursuers; but after they were in were beaten out again by the Syracusians, and some slain, both of the Argives and Athenians, but not many. Then the whole army went back together, and pulled down the wall and plucked up the pallisado: the pales whereof they carried with them to their camp, and erected a trophy.

  The Athenians build from their own fortification to the crags towards the great haven.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.The Athenians take their palisado again.Lamachus slain.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.Nicias, assaulted in his camp, defendeth it.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.

  101. The next day, the Athenians beginning at their circular wall2 , built onwards to that crag over the marshes, which on that part of Epipolæ looketh to the great haven, and by which the way to the haven, for their wall to come through the plain and marsh, was the shortest. As this was doing, the Syracusians came out again and made another pallisado, beginning at the city, through the middle of the marsh; and a ditch at the side of it, to exclude the Athenians from bringing their wall to the sea. But the Athenians, when they had finished their work as far as to the crag, assaulted the pallisado and trench of the Syracusians again. And having commanded their galleys to be brought about from Thapsus into the great haven of Syracuse, about break of day went straight down into the plain; and passing through the marsh, where the ground was clay and firmest, [and partly] upon boards and planks, won both the trench and pallisado, all but a small part, betimes in the morning; and the rest not long after. And here also they fought; and the victory fell to the Athenians: the Syracusians, those of the right wing, fled to the city; and they of the left, to1 the river. The three hundred chosen Athenians, desiring to cut off their passage, marched at high speed towards the bridge. But the Syracusians fearing to be prevented, (for most of the horsemen were in this number)2 , set upon these three hundred: and putting them to flight, drave them upon the right wing of the Athenians, and following affrighted also the foremost guard3 of the wing. Lamachus seeing this, came to aid them with a few archers from the left wing of their own, and with [all] the Argives: and passing over a certain ditch, having but few with him, was deserted and slain1 with some six or seven more. These the Syracusians hastily snatched up, and carried into a place of safety beyond the river2 : and when they saw the rest of the Athenian army coming towards them, they departed. 102. In the meantime, they that fled at first to the city, seeing how things went, took heart again; and re–embattled themselves against the same Athenians that stood ranged against them before; and withal sent a certain portion of their army against the circular fortification of the Athenians upon Epipolæ; supposing to find it without defendants, and so to take it. And they took and demolished the outworks ten plethers3 in length: but the circle itself was defended by Nicias, who chanced to be left within it for infirmity. For he commanded his servants to set fire on all the engines, and whatsoever wooden matter lay before the wall: knowing there was no other possible means to save themselves for want of men. And it fell out accordingly: for by reason of this fire they came no nearer, but retired. For the Athenians having by this time beaten back the enemy below, were coming up to relieve the circle: and their galleys withal (as is before mentioned) were going about from Thapsus into the great haven. Which they above perceiving, speedily made away, they and the whole army of the Syracusians, into the city: with opinion that they could no longer hinder them, with the strength they now had, from bringing their wall through unto the sea.

  The Syracusians change their generals.

  103. After this the Athenians erected a trophy, and delivered to the Syracusians their dead under truce: and they on the other side delivered to the Athenians the body of Lamachus and of the rest slain with him. And their whole army, both land and sea forces, being now together, they began to enclose the Syracusians with a double wall from Epipolæ and the rocks unto the sea–side. The necessaries of the army were supplied from all parts of Italy. And many of the Siculi, who before stood aloof to observe the way of fortune, took part now with the Athenians; to whom came also three penteconteri [long boats of fifty oars a–piece] from Hetruria; and divers other ways their hopes were nourished. For the Syracusians also, when there came no help from Peloponnesus, made no longer account to subsist by war; but conferred, both amongst themselves and with Nicias, of composition: for Lamachus being dead, the sole command of the army was in him. And though nothing were concluded, yet many things (as was likely with men perplexed, and now more straitly besieged than before) were propounded unto Nicias, and more amongst themselves. And1 the present ill success had also spread some jealousy amongst them, one of another. And they discharged the generals under whose conduct this happened, as if their harm had come either from their unluckiness or from their perfidiousness: and chose Heracleides, Eucles, and Tellias in their places.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2. Gylippus despaireth of Sicily, and seeks to save Italy.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.Nicias despiseth the coming of Gylippus.

  104. Whilst this passed, Gylippus of Lacedæmon and the Corinthian galleys were already at Leucas, purposing with all speed to go over into Sicily. But when terrible reports came unto them from all hands, agreeing in an untruth, that Syracuse was already quite enclosed, Gylippus had hope of Sicily no longer; but desiring to assure Italy, he and Pythen a Corinthian, with two Laconic and two Corinthian galleys, with all speed crossed the Ionic sea to Tarentum: and the Corinthians were to man ten galleys of their own, two of Leucas, and three of Ambracia, and come after. Gylippus went first from Tarentum to Thurii, as ambassador, by his father’s right, who was free of the city of Tarentum1 : but not winning them to his side, he put out again, and sailed along the coast of Italy. Passing by the Terinæan gulf, he was put from the shore by a wind which in that quarter bloweth strongly against the north1 , and driven into the main sea; and after another extreme tempest brought in again into Tarentum: where he drew up such of his galleys as had been hurt by the weather, and repaired them. Nicias, hearing that he came, contemned the small number of his galleys, as also the Thurians had before, supposing them furnished as for piracy: and appointed no watch for them yet.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 2.

  105. About the same time of this summer, the Lacedæmonians invaded the territory of Argos, they and their confederates: and wasted a great part of their land. And the Athenians aided the Argives with thirty galleys: which most apparently broke the peace between them and the Lacedæmonians. For before, they went out from Pylus with the Argives and Mantineans, but in the nature of freebooters; and that also not into Laconia, but other parts of Peloponnesus2 . Nay, when the Argives have often entreated them but only to land with their arms in Laconia, and having wasted never so little of their territory to return, they would not. But now, under the conduct of Pythodorus, Læspodius, and Demaratus, they landed in the territory of Epidaurus Limera, and in Prasiæ, and there and in other places wasted the country: and gave unto the Lacedæmonians a most justifiable cause to fight against the Athenians. After this, the Athenians being departed from Argos with their galleys, and the Lacedæmonians gone likewise home, the Argives invaded Phliasia: and when they had wasted part of their territory, and killed some of their men, returned.

  THE SEVENTH BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  Gylippus arriveth at Syracuse: checketh the fortune of the Athenians: and cutteth off their works with a counter–wall.—The Lacedæmonians invade Attica and fortify Deceleia.—The confederates of each side are solicited for supplies to be sent to Syracuse.—Two battles fought in the great haven: in the first of which the Syracusians are beaten, in the second superior.—Demosthenes arriveth with a new army: and attempting the works of the enemy in Epipolæ by night, is repulsed with great slaughter of his men.—They fight the third time: and the Syracusians having the victory, block up the haven with boats.—A catalogue of the confederates on each side.—They fight again at the bars of the haven: where the Athenians losing their galleys, prepare to march away by land.—In their march they are afflicted, beaten, and finally subdued by the Syracusians.—The death of Nicias and Demosthenes, and misery of the captives in the quarry.—Which happened in the ninteenth year of this war.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol 91. 3. Gylippus and Pythen resolve to go to Syracuse.They took the aid of the men of Himera.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  1. Gylippus and Pythen, having repaired their galleys, from Tarentum went along the coast to Locri Epizephyrii1 . And upon certain intelligence now, that Syracuse was not wholly enclosed, but coming with an army there was entrance still by Epipolæ; they consulted whether it were better to take Sicily on their right hand, and adventure into the town by sea; or on the left, and so first to go to Himera, and then taking along both them and as many other as they could get to their side, to go into it by land. And it was resolved to go to Himera: the rather, because the four Attic galleys, which Nicias, though he contemned them before, had now when he heard they were at Locri sent to wait for them, were not arrived yet at Rhegium. Having prevented this guard, they crossed the strait: and touching at Rhegium and Messana by the way, came to Himera. Being there, they prevailed so far with the Himeræans, that they not only followed them to the war themselves, but also furnished with armour such of Gylippus and Pythen’s mariners as wanted: for at Himera they had drawn their galleys to land. They likewise sent to the Selinuntians, to meet them at a place assigned with their whole army. The Geloans also, and other1 of the Siculi, promised to send them forces, though not many: being much the willinger to come to the side, both for that Archonidas was lately dead, (who reigning over some of the Siculi in those parts, and being a man of no mean power, was friend to the Athenians), and also for that Gylippus seemed to come from Lacedæmon with a good will to the business. Gylippus, taking with him of his own mariners and sea–soldiers, for whom he had gotten arms, at the most seven hundred, and Himeræans with armour and without in the whole one thousand, and one hundred horse, and some light–armed Selinuntians, with some few horse of the Geloans, and of the Siculi in all about one thousand, marched with these towards Syracuse.

  The Corinthian galleys left by Gylippus, make haste after him: and Gongylus arriving first, keepeth the Syracusians from compounding.Gylippus arriveth at Syracuseyear xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  2. In the meantime, the Corinthians with the rest of their galleys putting to sea from Leucas, made after [as they were] every one with what speed he could: and Gongylus, one of the Corinthian commanders, though the last that set forth, arrived first at Syracuse with one galley, and but a little before the coming of Gylippus. And finding them ready to call an assembly about an end of the war, he hindered them from it, and put them into heart: relating, how both the rest of the galleys were coming, and also Gylippus the son of Cleandridas for general, sent unto them by the Lacedæmonians. With this the Syracusians were re–confirmed, and went presently out with their whole army to meet him: for they understood now that he was near1 . He, having taken Iegas, a fort, in his way, as he passed through the territory of the Siculi, and embattled his men, cometh to Epipolæ: and getting up by Euryelus, where also the Athenians had gotten up before, marched together with the Syracusians towards the wall of the Athenians. At the time when he arrived, the Athenians had finished a double wall of seven or eight furlongs towards the great haven1 ; save only a little next the sea, which they were yet at work on. And on the other side of their circle, towards Trogilus and the other sea, the stones were for the most part laid ready upon the place: and the work was left in some places half, and in some wholly finished. So great was the danger that Syracuse was now brought into.

  Gylippus offereth the Athenians five days’ truce to be gone in.The Syracusians win Labdalum.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  3. The Athenians, at the sudden coming on of Gylippus, though somewhat troubled at first, yet put themselves in order to receive him. And he, making a stand when he came near, sent a herald to them; saying, that if they would abandon Sicily within five days with bag and baggage, he was content to give them truce. Which the Athenians contemning, sent him away without any answer. After this, they were putting themselves into order of battle one against another: but Gylippus finding the Syracusians troubled, and not easily falling into their ranks, led back his army in a more open ground. Nicias led not the Athenians out against him, but lay still at his own fortification. And Gylippus seeing he came not up, withdrew his army into the top called Temenites2 ; where he lodged all night. The next day, he drew out the greater part of his army, and embattled them before the fortification of the Athenians, that they might not send succour to any other place; but a part also they sent to the fort of Labdalum, and took it, and slew all those they found within it: for the place was out of sight to the Athenians. The same day the Syracusians also took an Athenian galley, as it entered into the great haven.

  The Syracusians build a wall upwards through Epipolæ, to stop the proceeding of the wall of the Athenians.The Athenians fortify Plemmyrium.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.Nicias sendeth twenty galleys to lie in wait for the aid coming from Peloponnesus.

  4. After this, the Syracusians and their confederates began a wall through Epipolæ, from the city towards the single cross wall1 upwards: that the Athenians, unless they could hinder it, might be excluded from bringing their own wall any further on. And the Athenians by this time, having made an end of their wall to the sea, were come up again: and Gylippus (for some part of the wall was but weak) rising with his army by night, went to assault it. But the Athenians also knowing it, (for they lodged all night without the wall), went presently to relieve it: which Gylippus perceiving, again retired2 . And the Athenians, when they had built it higher, kept the watch in this part themselves: and divided the rest of the wall to the charge of their confederates. Also it seemed good to Nicias to fortify the place called Plemmyrium. It is a promontory over against the city, which shooting into the entrance of the great haven straiteneth the mouth of the same: which fortified, he thought would facilitate the bringing in of necessaries to the army. For by this means, their galleys might ride nearer to the haven3 of the Syracusians: and not upon every motion of the navy of the enemies, to be to come out against them, as they were before, from the bottom of the [great] haven. And he had his mind set chiefly now upon the war by sea: seeing his hopes by land diminished since the arrival of Gylippus. Having therefore drawn his army and galleys to that place, he built about it three fortifications, wherein he placed his baggage; and where now also lay at road both his great vessels of carriage, and the nimblest of his galleys1 . Hereupon principally ensued the first occasion of the great loss of his sea soldiers. For having but little water, and that far to fetch, and his mariners going out also to fetch in wood, they were continually intercepted by the Syracusian horsemen, that were masters of the field. For the third part of the Syracusian cavalry were quartered in a little town called Olympieium2 , to keep those in Plemmyrium from going abroad to spoil the country. Nicias was advertised moreover of the coming of the rest of the Corinthian galleys: and sent out a guard of twenty galleys, with order to wait for them about Locri and Rhegium, and the passage there into Sicily.

  Gylippus goeth on with his wall, and fighteth with the Athenians twice: and in the latter battle having the victory, he finished his wall, and utterly excluded theyear xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3. proceeding of the wall of the Athenians.

  5. Gylippus in the meantime went on with the wall through Epipolæ, using the stones laid ready there by the Athenians3 ; and withal drew out the Syracusians and their confederates beyond the point of the same, and ever as he brought them forth put them into their order; and the Athenians, on the other side, embattled themselves against them. Gylippus, when he saw his time, began the battle: and being come to hands, they fought between the fortifications of them both, where the Syracusians and their confederates had no use at all of their horsemen. The Syracusians and their confederates being overcome, and the Athenians having given them truce to take up their dead and erected a trophy, Gylippus assembled the army, and told them, that this was not theirs, but his own fault; who by pitching the battle so far within the fortifications, had deprived them of the use both of their cavalry and darters; and that therefore he meant to bring them on again: and wished them to consider, that for forces they were nothing inferior to the enemy; and for courage, it were a thing not to be endured, that being Peloponnesians and Dorians, they should not master and drive out of the country Ionians, islanders, and a rabble of mixed nations.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  6. After this, when he saw his opportunity, he brought out the army again. Nicias and the Athenians, who thought it necessary, if not to begin the battle, yet by no means to set light by the wall in hand1 : (for by this time it wanted but little of passing the point of theirs, and proceeding, would give the enemy advantage, both to win if he fought, and not to fight unless he listed)2 : did therefore also set forth to meet the Syracusians. Gylippus, when he had drawn his men of arms farther without the walls than he had done before, gave the onset. His horsemen and darters he placed upon the flank of the Athenians, in ground enough, to which neither of their walls extended. And these horsemen, after the fight was begun, charging upon the left wing of the Athenians next them, put them to flight: by which means the rest of the army was by the Syracusians overcome likewise, and driven headlong within their fortifications. The night following, the Syracusians brought up their wall beyond the wall of the Athenians, so as they could no longer hinder them, but should be utterly unable, though masters of the field, to enclose the city.

  The rest of the galleys come in from Peloponnesus, unseen of the Athenians that were set to watch them.

  7. After this, the other twelve galleys of the Corinthians, Ambraciotes, and Leucadians, undescried of the Athenian galleys that lay in wait for them, entered the haven, under the command of Erasinides, a Corinthian: and helped the Syracusians to finish what remained to the cross wall1 .

  Gylippus goeth about Sicily, and sendeth into Peloponnesus for more aid.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  Now Gylippus went up and down Sicily, raising forces both for sea and land, and soliciting to his side all such cities as formerly either had not been forward, or had wholly abstained from the war. Other ambassadors also, both of the Syracusians and Corinthians, were sent to Lacedæmon and Corinth, to procure new forces to be transported either in ships or boats, or how they could; because the Athenians had also sent to Athens for the like. In the meantime, the Syracusians both manned their navy, and made trial of themselves, as intending to take in hand that part also: and were otherwise exceedingly encouraged.

  Nicias writeth to Athens for supply, and to be eased of his charge.

  8. Nicias perceiving this, and seeing the strength of the enemy and his own necessities daily increasing, he also sent messengers to Athens, both at other times and often, upon the occasion of every action that passed: and now especially, as finding himself in danger, and that unless they quickly sent for those away that were there already, or sent a great supply unto them, there was no hope of safety. And fearing lest such as he sent, through want of utterance or judgment1 , or through desire to please the multitude, should deliver things otherwise than they were, he wrote unto them a letter: conceiving that thus the Athenians should best know his mind, whereof no part could now be suppressed by the messenger, and might therefore enter into deliberation upon true grounds. With these letters, and other their instructions, the messengers took their journey. And Nicias in the meantime having a care to the well guarding of his camp, was wary of entering into any voluntary dangers.

  The Athenians besiege Amphipolis.The end of the eighteenth summer.

  9. In the end of this summer, Euetion, general for the Athenians, with Perdiccas, together with many Thracians warring against Amphipolis, took not the city; but bringing his galleys about into Strymon, besieged it from the river, lying at Imeræum. And so this summer ended.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  10. The next winter, the messengers from Nicias arrived at Athens; and having spoken what they had in charge, and answered to such questions as they were asked, they presented the letter: which the clerk of the city1 , standing forth, read unto the Athenians, containing as followeth:

  the letter of nicias to the people of athens.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3. Letter of Nicias.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3. Letter of Nicias.year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3. Letter of Nicias.

  11. “Athenians, you know by many2 other my letters what hath passed formerly: nor is it less needful for you to be informed of the state we are in, and to take counsel upon it, at this present. When we had in many battles beaten the Syracusians, against whom we were sent, and had built the walls within which we now lie, came Gylippus a Lacedæmonian, with an army out of Peloponnesus, and also out of some of the cities of Sicily; and in the first battle was overcome by us: but in the second, forced by his many horsemen and darters, we retired within our works. Whereupon giving over our walling up of the city for the multitude of our enemies, we now sit still. Nor3 can we indeed have the use of our whole army, because some part of the men of arms are employed to defend our walls. And they have built a single wall up to us, so that now we have no more means to enclose it, except one should come with a great army and win that cross wall of theirs by assault. And so it is, that we who seemed to besiege others, are besieged ourselves for so much as concerneth the land: for we cannot go far abroad by reason of their cavalry. 12. They have also sent ambassadors for another army into Peloponnesus: and Gylippus is gone amongst the cities of Sicily, both to solicit such to join with him in the war as have not yet stirred, and of others to get, if he can, both more land–soldiers and more munition for their navy. For they intend, as I have been informed, both to assault our wall by land with their army, and to make trial what they are able to do with their navy by sea. For1 though our fleet (which they also have heard) were vigorous at first, both for soundness of the galleys and entireness of the men: yet our galleys are now soaked2 with lying so long in the water, and our men consumed. For we want the means to haul a–land our galleys, and trim3 them: because the galleys of the enemy, as good as ours and more in number, do keep us in a continual expectation of assault, which they manifestly endeavour4 . And seeing it is in their own choice to attempt or not, they have therefore liberty to dry their galleys at their pleasure: for they lie not, as we, in attendance upon others. 13. Nay, we could hardly do it, though we had many galleys spare, and were not constrained, as now, to keep watch upon them with our whole number. For should we abate though but a little of our observance, we should want provision: which as we are, being to pass so near their city, is brought in with difficulty. And hence it is, that our mariners both formerly have been, and are now wasted. For our mariners, fetching wood and water and foraging far off, are intercepted by the horsemen: and our slaves1 , now we are on equal terms, run over to the enemy. As for strangers, some of them having come aboard by constraint, return presently to their cities; and others having been levied at first with great wages, thinking they came to enrich themselves rather than to fight, now they see the enemy make so strong resistance, both otherwise beyond their expectation and especially with their navy, partly take pretext to be gone that they may serve the enemy, and partly, Sicily being large, shift themselves away every one as he can. Some there are also, who having bought here Hyccarian slaves2 , have gotten the captains of galleys to accept of them in the room of themselves, and thereby destroyed the purity of our naval strength. 14. To you I write, who know how small a time any fleet continueth in the height of vigour: and how few of the mariners are skilful both how to hasten the course of a galley and how to contain the oar. But of all, my greatest trouble is this: that being general, I can neither make them do better, (for your natures are hard to be governed), nor get mariners in any other place, (which the enemy can do from many places), and must of necessity have them from whence we brought both those we have and those we have lost1 . For our now confederate cities, Naxos and Catana, are not able to supply us. Had the enemy but that one thing more, that the towns of Italy that now send us provision, seeing what estate we are now in and you not help us, would turn to them, the war were at an end and we expugned without another stroke.

  year xviii. A. C. 414. Ol. 91. 3.

  “I could have written to you other things more pleasing than these, but not more profitable: seeing it is necessary for you to know certainly the affairs here, when you go to council upon them. Withal, because I know your natures to be such, as though you love to hear the best, yet afterwards when things fall not out accordingly you will call in question them that write it, I thought best to write the truth for my own safety’s sake. 15. And now think thus: that though we have carried ourselves, both captains and soldiers, in that for which we came at first hither, unblameably; yet since all Sicily is united against us, and another army expected out of Peloponnesus, you must resolve (for those we have here are not enough for the enemy’s present forces) either to send for these away, or to send hither another army, both of land and sea–soldiers, no less than the former, and money not a little; and also a general to succeed me, who am able no longer to stay here, being troubled with the stone [in the kidneys]. I must crave your pardon2 . I have done you many good services in the conducts of your armies, when I had my health. What you will do, do in the very beginning of spring, and delay it not. For the enemy will soon have furnished himself of his Sicilian aids: and though those from Peloponnesus will be later, yet if you look not to it, they will get hither partly unseen, as before, and partly by preventing you with speed.”

  The Athenians conclude to send a new army to Syracuse.

  16. These were the contents of the letter of Nicias. The Athenians, when they had heard it read, though they released not Nicias of his charge, yet for the present, till such time as others chosen to be in commission might arrive, they joined with him two of those that were already in the army, Menander and Euthydemon: to the end that he might not sustain the whole burthen alone in his sickness. They concluded likewise to send another army, as well for the sea as the land, both of Athenians enrolled and of their confederates. And for fellow–generals with Nicias, they elected Demosthenes the son of Alcisthenes, and Eurymedon the son of Thucles. Eurymedon they sent away presently for Sicily about the time of the winter solstice, with ten galleys and twenty1 talents of silver, to tell them there that aid was coming, and that there was care taken of them. 17. But Demosthenes staying, made preparation for the voyage to set out early the next spring: and sent unto the confederates, appointing what forces they should provide, and to furnish himself amongst them with money and galleys and men of arms.

  They send twenty galleys toyear xviii. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. Naupactus, to keep the Corinthians from transporting their forces into Sicily.

  The Athenians sent also twenty galleys about Peloponnesus, to watch that none should go over into Sicily from Corinth or Peloponnesus. For the Corinthians, after the ambassadors were come to them and had brought news of the amendment of the affairs in Sicily, thought it was well that they had sent thither those other galleys before: but now they were encouraged a great deal more, and prepared men of arms to be transported into Sicily in ships1 ; and the Lacedæmonians did the like for the rest of Peloponnesus. The Corinthians manned five–and–twenty galleys, to present battle to the fleet that kept watch at Naupactus: that the ships with the men of arms, whilst the Athenians attended these galleys so embattled against them, might pass by unhindered.

  The Lacedæmonians prepare to invade Attica and fortify Deceleia, supposing the Athenians to have broken the peace.year xviii. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  18. The Lacedæmonians, as they intended before, and being also instigated to it by the Syracusians and Corinthians, upon advertisement now of the Athenians’ new supply for Sicily prepared likewise to invade Attica; thereby to divert them. And Alcibiades also importunately urged the fortifying of Deceleia, and by no means to war remissly. But the Lacedæmonians were heartened thereunto principally, because they thought the Athenians having in hand a double war, one against them and another against the Sicilians, would be the easier pulled down: and because they conceived the breach of the last peace was in themselves2 . For in the former war, the injury proceeded from3 their own side: in that the Thebans had entered Platæa in time of peace; and because also, whereas it was inserted in the former articles, that arms should not be carried against such as would stand to trial of judgment, they had refused such trial when the Athenians offered it. And they thought all their misfortunes had deservedly befallen them for that cause: remembering amongst others, the calamity at Pylus. But when the Athenians with a fleet of thirty sail1 had spoiled part of the territory of Epidaurus, and of Prasiæ and other places, and their soldiers that lay in garrison in Pylus had taken booty in the country about; and seeing that as often as there arose any controversy touching any doubtful point of the articles, the Lacedæmonians offering trial by judgment, they refused it: then indeed, the Lacedæmonians conceiving the Athenians to be in the same fault that themselves had been in before, betook themselves earnestly to the war. And this winter, they sent about unto their confederates to make ready iron, and all instruments of fortification. And for the aid they were to transport in ships to the Sicilians, they both made provision amongst themselves, and compelled the rest of Peloponnesus to do the like. So ended this winter, and the eighteenth year of the war written by Thucydides.

  year xix. The Peloponnesians invade Attica, and fortify Deceleia.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.The Peloponnesians send away their men of arms for Sicily.

  19. The next spring, in the very beginning, earlier than ever before2 , the Lacedæmonians and their confederates entered with their army into Attica, under the command of Agis the son of Archidamus, their king. And first they wasted the champagne country; and then went in hand with the wall at Deceleia, dividing the work amongst the army, according to their cities. This Deceleia is from the city of Athens, at the most1 , but one hundred and twenty furlongs: and about as much or a little more from Bœotia. This fort they made in the plain, and in the most opportune place that could be to annoy the Athenians, and in sight of the city. Now the Peloponnesians and their confederates in Attica, went on with their fortification. They in Peloponnesus, sent away their ships with the men of arms about the same time into Sicily: of which the Lacedæmonians, out of the best of their Helotes and men made newly free2 , sent in the whole six hundred, and Eccritus a Spartan for commander: and the Bœotians three hundred, under the conduct of Xenon and Nicon, Thebans, and Hegesander, a Thespian. And these set forth first, and put to sea at Tænarus in Laconia. After them a little, the Corinthians sent away five hundred more, part from the city itself of Corinth, and part mercenary Arcadians; and Alexarchus, a Corinthian, for captain. The Sicyonians also sent two hundred with them that went from Corinth, and Sargeus a Sicyonian for captain. Now the twenty–five Corinthian galleys that were manned in winter, lay opposite to the twenty galleys of Athens which were at Naupactus, till such time as the men of arms in the ships from Peloponnesus might get away: for which purpose they were also set out at first, that the Athenians might not have their minds upon these ships so much as upon the galleys.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.The Athenians send out Demosthenes towards Sicily.

  20. In the meantime also the Athenians, whilst Deceleia was fortifying, in the beginning of the spring, sent twenty1 galleys about Peloponnesus under the command of Charicles the son of Apollodorus; with order when he came to Argos, to take aboard the men of arms which the Argives were to send them, according to league2 : and sent away Demosthenes (as they intended before) into Sicily, with threescore galleys of Athens and five of Chios, and one thousand two hundred men of arms of the roll of Athens, and as many of the islanders as they could get, provided by their subject confederates of all other necessaries for the war3 . But he had order to join first with Charicles, and help him to make war first upon Laconia. So Demosthenes went to Ægina, and stayed there both for the remnant of his own army, if any were left behind, and for Charicles till he had taken aboard the Argives.

  Gylippus persuadeth the Syracusians to fight by sea.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  21. In Sicily, about the same time of the spring, Gylippus also returned to Syracuse, bringing with him from the cities he had dealt withal as great forces as severally he could get from them. And having assembled the Syracusians, he told them that they ought to man as many galleys as they could, and make trial of a battle by sea: and that he hoped thereby to perform somewhat to the benefit of the war, which should be worthy the danger. Hermocrates also was none of the least means of getting them to undertake the Athenians with their navy: who told them, “that neither the Athenians had this skill by sea hereditary, or from everlasting; but were more inland men than the Syracusians, and forced to become seamen by the Medes: and that to daring men, such as the Athenians are, they are most formidable that are as daring against them; for wherewith they terrify their neighbours, which is not always the advantage of power, but boldness of enterprizing, with the same shall they in like manner be terrified by their enemies1 ”. “He knew it,” he said, “certainly, that the Syracusians by their unexpected daring to encounter the Athenian navy, would get more advantage in respect of the fear it would cause, than the Athenians should endamage them by their odds of skill.” He bade them therefore to make trial of their navy, and to be afraid no longer. The Syracusians, on these persuasions of Gylippus and Hermocrates, and others if any were, became now extremely desirous to fight by sea: and presently manned their galleys.

  The Syracusians win Plemmyrium, but are beaten by sea.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.The Syracusians win the works of the Athenians in Plemmyrium.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. The Athenians get the victory by water.

  22. Gylippus, when the navy was ready, drew out his whole power of land soldiers in the beginning of night, meaning to go himself and assault the fortifications in Plemmyrium2 : withal the galleys of the Syracusians, by appointment, thirty–five of them came up towards it out of the great haven; and forty–five more came about out of the little haven, where also was their arsenal, with purpose to join with those within, and to go together to Plemmyrium, that the Athenians might be troubled on both sides. But the Athenians having quickly manned sixty galleys to oppose them; with twenty–five of them they fought with the thirty–five of the Syracusians in the great haven, and with the rest went to meet those that came about from the little haven1 . And these fought presently before the mouth of the great haven, and held each other to it for a long time; one side endeavouring to force, the other to defend the entrance. 23. In the meantime, Gylippus (the Athenians in Plemmyrium being now come down to the water side, and having their minds busied upon the fight of the galleys) betimes in the morning, and on a sudden assaulted the fortifications before they could come back again to defend them; and possessed first the greatest, and afterwards the two lesser: for they that watched in these, when they saw the greatest so easily taken, durst stay no longer. They that fled upon the losing of the first wall, and put themselves into boats and into a certain ship, got hardly into the camp: for whilst the Syracusians in the great haven had yet the better in the fight upon the water, they gave them chase with one nimble galley2 . But by that time that the other two walls were taken, the Syracusians upon the water were overcome: and the Athenians which fled from those two walls got to their camp with more ease. For those Syracusian galleys that fought before the haven’s mouth, having beaten back the Athenians, entered in disorder; and falling foul one on another, gave away the victory unto the Athenians: who put to flight not only them, but also those other by whom they had before been overcome within the haven, and sunk eleven galleys of the Syracusians and slew most of the men aboard them, save only the men of three galleys, whom they took alive. Of their own galleys they lost only three. When they had drawn to land the wreck of the Syracusian galleys, and erected a trophy in the little island over against Plemmyrium, they returned to their camp.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  24. The Syracusians, though such were their success in the battle by sea, yet they won the fortification in Plemmyrium; and set up three trophies, for every wall one. One of the two walls last taken, they demolished: but two they repaired, and kept with a garrison. At the taking of these walls, many men were slain, and many taken alive: and their goods, which altogether was a great matter, were all taken. For the Athenians using these works for their storehouse, there was in them much wealth and victual belonging unto merchants, and much unto captains of galleys. For there were sails within it for forty galleys, besides other furniture; and three galleys drawn to land. And this loss of Plemmyrium, was it that most and principally impaired the Athenians’ army. For the entrance of their provision was now no longer safe; for the Syracusians lying against them there with their galleys, kept them out, and nothing could be brought in unto them but by fight: and the army besides was thereby otherwise terrified and dejected.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  25. After this the Syracusians sent out twelve galleys under the command of Agatharchus, a Syracusian. Of which one carried ambassadors into Peloponnesus, to declare what hope they had now of their business, and to instigate them to a sharper war in Attica. The other eleven went into Italy, upon intelligence of certain vessels laden with commodities coming to the Athenian army: which also they met with, and destroyed most of them; and the timber, which for building of galleys the Athenians had ready framed, they burned in the territory of Caulonia. After this they went to Locri: and riding here, there came unto them one of the ships that carried the men of arms of the Thespians, whom the Syracusians took aboard, and went homeward by the coast. The Athenians that watched for them with twenty galleys at Megara, took one of them, and the men that were in her; but could not take the rest: so that they escaped through to Syracuse. There was also a light skirmish in the haven of Syracuse, about the piles which the Syracusians had driven down before their old harbour1 , to the end that the galleys might ride within, and the Athenians not annoy them by assault. The Athenians having brought to the place a ship of huge greatness1 , fortified with wooden turrets and covered against fire, caused certain men with [little] boats to go and fasten cords unto the piles, and so broke2 them up with craning. Some also the divers did cut up with saws. In the meantime the Syracusians from the harbour3 , and they from the great ship, shot at each other: till in the end the greatest part of the piles were by the Athenians gotten up. But the greatest difficulty was to get up those piles which lay hidden. For some of them they had so driven in, as that they came not above the water: so that he that should come near, was in danger to be thrown upon them as upon a rock4 . But these also for reward, the divers went down and sawed asunder. But the Syracusians continually drave down other in their stead. Other devices they had against each other, as was not unlikely between armies so near opposed: and many light skirmishes passed, and attempts of all kinds were put in execution. The Syracusians moreover sent ambassadors, some Corinthians, some Ambraciotes, and some Lacedæmonians, unto the cities about them5 : to let them know that they had won Plemmyrium; and that in the battle by sea, they were not overcome by the strength of the enemy, but by their own disorder; and also to show what hope they were in in other respects, and to entreat their aid both of sea and land forces: forsomuch as the Athenians expecting another army, if they would send aid before it came whereby to overthrow that which they had now there, the war would be at an end. Thus stood the affairs of Sicily.

  Demosthenes in his way to Sicily fortifieth a neck of land in Laconia.

  26. Demosthenes, as soon as his forces which he was to carry to the succour of those in Sicily were gotten together, put to sea from Ægina, and sailing into Peloponnesus joined with Charicles and the thirty galleys that were with him. And having taken aboard some men of arms of the Argives, came to Laconia; and first wasted part of the territory of Epidaurus Limera. From thence going to that part of Laconia which is over against the island Cythera, where there is a temple of Apollo1 , they wasted a part of the country: and fortified an isthmus there, both that the Helotes might have a refuge in it running away from the Lacedæmonians, and that freebooters from thence, as from Pylus, might fetch in prizes from the territory adjoining. As soon as the place was taken in, Demosthenes himself went on to Corcyra, to take up the confederates there, with intent to go thence speedily into Sicily. And Charicles having stayed to finish and put a garrison into the fortification, went afterwards with his thirty galleys to Athens: and the Argives also went home.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. The aids of the Thracians come too late to go into Sicily.The incommodities which befell the Athenians by the fortification in Deceleia.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  27. The same winter also came to Athens a thousand and three hundred targetiers, of those called Machærophori1 of the race of them that are called Dii: and were to have gone with Demosthenes into Sicily. But coming too late, the Athenians resolved to send them back again into Thrace, as being too chargeable a matter to entertain them only for the war in Deceleia: for their pay was to have been a drachma a man by the day. For Deceleia being this summer fortified first by the whole army, and then by the several cities maintained with a garrison2 by turns, much endamaged the Athenians; and weakened their estate, both by destroying their commodities and consuming of their men, so as nothing more. For the former invasions, having been short, hindered them not from reaping the benefit of the earth for the rest of the time. But now, the enemy continually lying upon them, and sometimes with greater forces, sometimes of necessity with the ordinary garrison making incursions and fetching in booty, Agis the king of Lacedæmon being always there in person and diligently prosecuting the war: the Athenians were thereby very grievously afflicted. For they were not only deprived of the fruit of the land, but also above twenty thousand of their slaves fled over to the enemy, whereof the greatest part were artificers: besides they lost all their sheep and oxen. And by the continual going out of the Athenian horsemen, making excursions to Deceleia and defending the country, their horses became partly lamed through incessant labour in rugged grounds, and partly wounded by the enemy. 28. And their provision, which formerly they used to bring in from Eubœa by Oropus the shortest way, through Deceleia by land, they were now forced to fetch in by sea at great cost about the promontory of Sunium. And whatsoever the city was wont to be served withal from without, it now wanted: and instead of a city was become as it were a fort. And the Athenians watching on the battlements of the wall, in the day time by turns, but in the night, both winter and summer, all at once (except the horsemen), part at the walls and part at the arms, were quite tired1 . But that which pressed them most, was that they had two wars at once. And yet their obstinacy was so great, as no man would have believed till now they saw it. For being besieged at home from the fortification of the Peloponnesians, no man would have imagined that they should not only not have recalled their army out of Sicily, but have also besieged Syracuse there, a city of itself no less than Athens: and therein so much have exceeded the expectation of the rest of the Grecians both in power and courage, (who in the beginning of this war conceived, that if the Peloponnesians invaded their territory, some of them, that they might hold out two years, others three, no man more), as that in the seventeenth year after they were first invaded they should have undertaken an expedition into Sicily, and being every way weakened already by the former war, have undergone another, not inferior to that which they had before with the Peloponnesians. Now their treasure being by these wars, and by the detriment sustained from Deceleia, and other great expenses that came upon them, at a very low ebb, about this time they imposed on such as were under their dominion, a twentieth part of all goods passing by sea for a tribute1 ; by this means to improve their comings in. For their expenses were not now as before; but so much greater, by how much the war was greater: and their revenue besides cut off.

  The Thracians sent back, in their way sack the city of Mycalessus.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. The barbarous cruelty of the Thracians.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  29. The Thracians, therefore, that came too late to go with Demosthenes, they presently sent back, as being unwilling to lay out money in such a scarcity: and gave the charge of carrying them back to Diitrephes, with command as he went along those coasts, (for his way was through the Euripus), if occasion served, to do somewhat against the enemy. He accordingly landed them by Tanagra, and hastily fetched in some small booty. Then2 going over the Euripus from Chalcis in Eubœa, he disbarked again in Bœotia and led his soldiers towards Mycalessus; and lay all night at the temple of Mercury undiscovered, which is distant from Mycalessus about sixteen furlongs. The next day he cometh to the city, being a very great one3 , and taketh it: for they kept no watch, nor expected that any man would have come in and assaulted them so far from the sea. Their walls also were but weak, in some places fallen down, and in others low–built: and their gates open through security. The Thracians entering into Mycalessus, spoiled both houses and temples, slew the people, without mercy on old or young, but killed all they could light on, both women and children; yea, and the labouring cattle, and whatsoever other living thing they saw. For the nation of the Thracians, where they dare, are extreme bloody, equal to any of the barbarians. Insomuch as there was put in practice at this time, besides other disorder1 , all forms of slaughter that could be imagined: they likewise fell upon the school–house, which was in the city a great one, and the children newly entered into it; and killed them every one. And the calamity of the whole city, as it was as great as ever befell any, so also was it more unexpected and more bitter. 30. The Thebans hearing of it, came out to help them: and overtaking the Thracians before they had gone far, both recovered the booty, and chased them to the Euripus and to the sea, where the galleys lay that brought them. Some of them they killed: of those most in their going aboard; for swim they could not; and such as were in the [small] boats, when they saw how things went a–land, had thrust off their boats, and lay without the Euripus2 . In the rest of the retreat, the Thracians behaved themselves not unhandsomely against the Theban horsemen, by whom they were charged first: but running out, and again rallying themselves in a circle, according to the manner of their country, defended themselves well, and lost but few men in that action. But some also they lost in the city itself, whilst they stayed behind for pillage. But in the whole of thirteen hundred there were slain [only] two hundred and fifty. Of the Thebans and others that came out to help the city, there were slain, horsemen and men of arms, one with another about twenty; and amongst them Scirphondas of Thebes, one of the governors of Bœotia: and of the Mycallesians there perished a part1 . Thus went the matter at Mycalessus: the loss which it received being, for the quantity of the city, no less to be lamented than any that happened in the whole war.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. Eurymedon cometh to Demosthenes out of Sicily, and telleth him of the taking of Plemmyrium.Demosthenes and Eurymedon levy forces for Sicily.

  31. Demosthenes going from2 Corcyra after his fortifying in Laconia, found a ship lying in Pheia of Elis, and in her certain men of arms of Corinth, ready to go into Sicily. The ship he sunk: but the men escaped, and afterwards getting another ship went on in their voyage. After this, Demosthenes being about3 Zacynthus and Cephallenia, took aboard their men of arms, and sent to Naupactus for the Messenians. From thence he crossed over to the continent of Acarnania, to Alyzea and Anactorium, which belonged to the Athenians. Whilst he was in these parts, he met with Eurymedon out of Sicily, that had been sent in winter unto the army with commodities1 : who told him amongst other things, how he had heard by the way after he was at sea, that the Syracusians had won Plemmyrium. Conon also, the captain of Naupactus, came to them, and related that the twenty–five galleys of Corinth that lay before Naupactus would not give over war and yet delayed to fight2 : and therefore desired to have some galleys sent him, as being unable with his eighteen to give battle to twenty–five of the enemy. Whereupon Demosthenes and Eurymedon sent ten galleys more to those at Naupactus, the nimblest of the whole fleet, by Conon himself3 : and went themselves about furnishing of what belonged to the army. Of whom Eurymedon went to Corcyra, and having appointed them there to man fifteen galleys, levied men of arms: for now giving over his course to Athens, he joined with Demosthenes, as having been elected with him in the charge of general: and Demosthenes took up slingers and darters in the parts about Acarnania.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3. Nicias overthroweth the new supply going to Syracuse from the neighbouring cities, and killeth eight hundred of them.

  32. The ambassadors of the Syracusians, which after the taking of Plemmyrium had been sent unto the cities about1 , having now obtained and levied an army amongst them, were conducting the same to Syracuse. But Nicias, upon intelligence thereof, sent unto such cities of the Siculi as had the passages and were their confederates, the Centoripines, Halicyæans, and others, not to suffer the enemy to go by, but to unite themselves and stop them: for that they would not so much as offer to pass any other way, seeing the Agrigentines had already denied them. When the Sicilians were marching, the Siculi, as the Athenians had desired them, put themselves in ambush in three several places: and setting upon them unawares and on a sudden, slew about eight hundred of them, and all the ambassadors save only one, a Corinthian: which conducted the rest that escaped, being about fifteen hundred, to Syracuse. 33. About the same time came unto them also the aid of the Camarinæans, five hundred men of arms, three hundred darters, and three hundred archers. Also the Geloans sent them men for five galleys2 , besides four hundred darters and two hundred horsemen. For now all Sicily3 , except the Agrigentines, who were neutral; but all the rest, who before stood looking on, came in to the Syracusian side against the Athenians. [Nevertheless], the Syracusians, after this blow received amongst the Siculi, held their hands; and assaulted not the Athenians for a while.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.

  Demosthenes and Eurymedon having their army now ready, crossed over from Corcyra and the continent with the whole army to the promontory of Iapygia1 . From thence they went to the Chœrades, islands of Iapygia: and here took in certain Iapygian darters to the number of two hundred and fifty, of the Messapian nation. And having renewed a certain ancient alliance with Artas, who reigned there and granted them those darters, they went thence to Metapontum2 , a city of Italy. There by virtue of a league, they got two galleys and three hundred darters: which taken aboard, they kept along the shore till they came to the territory of Thurii. Here they found the adverse faction to the Athenians to have been lately driven out in a sedition. And because they desired to muster their army here, that they might see if any were left behind; and persuade the Thurians to join with them freely in the war, and, as things stood, to have for friends and enemies the same that were so to the Athenians: they stayed about that in the territory of the Thurians.

  The battle by sea before Naupactus between the Corinthians and Athenians.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 3.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  34. The Peloponnesians and the rest, who were at the same time in the twenty–five galleys that for safeguard of the ships lay opposite to the galleys before Naupactus, having prepared themselves for battle, and with more galleys1 , so as they were little inferior in number to those of the Athenians, went to an anchor under Irineus of Achaia in Rhypica. The place where they rode was in form like a half moon; and their land forces they had ready on either side to assist them, both Corinthians and other their confederates of those parts2 , embattled upon the points of the promontory; and their galleys made up the space between, under the command of Polyanthes, a Corinthian. Against these the Athenians came up with thirty–three galleys from Naupactus, commanded by Diphilus. The Corinthians at first lay still; but afterwards when they saw their time, and the signal given, they charged the Athenians, and the fight began. They held each other to it long. The Athenians sunk three galleys of the Corinthians: and though none of their own were sunk, yet seven were made unserviceable, which having encountered the Corinthian galleys a–head, were torn on both sides between the beaks and the oars by the beaks1 of the Corinthian galleys, made stronger for the same purpose. After they had fought with equal fortune, and so as both sides challenged the victory; though yet the Athenians were masters of the wrecks, as driven by the wind into the main, and because the Corinthians came not out to renew the fight; they at length parted. There was no chasing of men that fled, nor a prisoner taken on either side; because the Peloponnesians and Corinthians fighting near the land easily escaped, nor was there any galley of the Athenians sunk. But when the Athenians were gone back to Naupactus, the Corinthians presently set up a trophy as victors; in regard that more of the Athenian galleys were made unserviceable, than of theirs; and thought themselves not to have had the worse, for the same reason that the others thought themselves not to have had the better. For the Corinthians think they have the better, when they have not much the worse2 : and the Athenians think they have the worse, when they have not much the better. And when the Peloponnesians were gone and their army by land dissolved, the Athenians also set up a trophy in Achaia, as if the victory had been theirs; distant from Erineus, where the Peloponnesians rode, about twenty furlongs. This was the success of that battle by sea.

  Demosthenes and Eurymedon come along the shore of Italy, and take up forces.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  35. Demosthenes and Eurymedon, after the Thurians had put in readiness to go with them seven hundred men of arms and three hundred darters, commanded their galleys to go along the coast to Croton1 ; and conducted their land soldiers, having first taken a muster of them all upon the side of the river Sybaris, through the territory of the Thurians. But coming to the river Hylias, upon word sent them from the men of Croton, that if the army went through their territory it should be against their will, they marched down to the seaside and to the mouth of the river Hylias; where they stayed all that night, and were met by their galleys. The next day embarking, they kept along the shore and touched at every town saving Locri, till they arrived at Petra in the territory of Rhegium.

  The Syracusians make ready their galleys to fight with the Athenians there before the supply came.Their manner of strengthening their galleys.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  36. The Syracusians in the meantime, upon intelligence of their coming on, resolved to try again what they could do with their navy; and with their new supply of landmen, which they had gotten together on purpose to fight with the Athenians before Demosthenes and Eurymedon should arrive. And they furnished their navy, both otherwise and according to the advantages they had learnt in the last battle, and also made shorter the heads of their galleys, and thereby stronger; and made beaks to them of a great thickness, which they also strengthened with rafters fastened to the sides of the galleys, both within and without, of six cubits long1 : in such manner as the Corinthians had armed their galleys a–head, to fight with those before Naupactus. For the Syracusians made account, that against the Athenian galleys not so built, but weak before, as not using so much to meet the enemy a–head as upon the side by fetching a compass, they could not but have the better; and that to fight in the great haven many galleys in not much room, was an advantage to them: for that using the direct encounter, they should break with their firm and thick beaks the hollow and infirm foreparts of the galleys of their enemies; and that the Athenians, in that narrow room, would want means both to go about and to go through them1 , which was the point of art they most relied on. For as for their passing through, they would hinder it themselves as much as they could: and for fetching compass, the straitness of the place would not suffer it. And that fighting a–head, which seemed before to be want of skill in the masters [to do otherwise], was it they would now principally make use of: for in this would be their principal advantage. For the Athenians, if overcome, would have no retiring but to the land, which was but a little way off and little in compass, near their own camp2 : and of the rest of the haven themselves should be masters. And the enemy being pressed, could not choose, thronging together into a little room and all into one and the same place, but disorder one another: which was indeed the thing, that in all their battles by sea did the Athenians the greatest hurt; having not, as the Syracusians had, the liberty of the whole haven to retire unto3 . And to go about into a place of more room, they having it in their power to set upon them from the main sea, and to retire again at pleasure, they should never be able; especially having Plemmyrium for enemy, and the haven’s mouth not being large.

  The Athenians and Syracusians fight.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  37. The Syracusians having devised thus much over and above their former skill and strength1 , and far more confident now since the former battle by sea, assaulted them both with their army and with their navy at once. The landmen from the city Gylippus drew sooner out a little, and brought them to the wall of the Athenians’ camp upon the side toward the city2 : and from Olympieium, the men of arms all that were there, and the horsemen and light armed of the Syracusians came up to the wall on the other side. And by and by after3 , came sailing forth also the galleys of the Syracusians and their confederates. The Athenians, that thought at first they would have made the attempt only with their landmen, seeing also the galleys on a sudden coming towards them, were in confusion; and some of them put themselves in order upon and before the walls, against those that came from the city: and others went out to meet the horsemen and darters, that were coming in great numbers and with speed from Olympieium and the parts without: others again went aboard, and withal came to aid those ashore. But when the galleys were manned they put off, being seventy–five in number; and those of Syracuse about eighty. 38. Having spent much of the day in charging and retiring and trying each other, and performed nothing worth the mentioning, save that the Syracusians sunk a galley or two of the Athenians, they parted again: and the land soldiers retired at the same time from the wall of the Athenian camp. The next day the Syracusians lay still, without showing any sign of what they meant to do. Yet Nicias seeing that the battle by sea was with equality, and imagining that they would fight again, made the captains to repair their galleys, such as had been torn1 : and two great ships to be moored without those piles which he had driven into the sea before his galleys, to be instead of a haven enclosed. These ships he placed about two acres’ breadth2 asunder: to the end, if any galley chanced to be pressed, it might safely run in and again go safely out at leisure. In performing of this, the Athenians spent a whole day from morning until night.

  The Athenians and Syracusians fight again.The stratagem of Ariston, a master of a galley.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  39. The next day the Syracusians assaulted the Athenians again with the same forces3 , both by sea and land, that they had done before; but begun earlier in the morning; and being opposed fleet against fleet, they drew out a great part of the day, now again as before, in attempting upon each other without effect. Till at last Ariston the son of Pyrrhichus, a Corinthian, the most expert master that the Syracusians had in their fleet, persuaded the commanders in the navy to send to such in the city as it belonged to, and command that the market should be speedily kept at the sea–side, and to compel every man to bring thither whatsoever he had fit for meat, and there to sell it: that the mariners disbarking, might presently dine by the galleys’ side, and quickly again unlooked–for assault the Athenians afresh the same day. 40. This advice being liked, they sent a messenger, and the market was furnished. And the Syracusians suddenly rowed astern1 towards the city; and disbarking, dined there right on the shore. The Athenians, supposing they had retired towards the city as vanquished, landed at leisure: and amongst other business went about the dressing of their dinner, as not expecting to have fought again the same day. But the Syracusians suddenly going aboard, came towards them again: and the Athenians, in great tumult and for the most part undined, embarking disorderly, at length with much ado went out to meet them. For a while they held their hands on both sides, and but observed each other. But anon after, the Athenians thought not fit, by longer dallying, to overcome themselves with their own labour, but rather to fight as soon as they could; and thereupon at once with a joint shout charged the enemy, and the fight began. The Syracusians received [and resisted2 ] their charge; and fighting, as they had before determined, with their galleys head to head with those of the Athenians, and provided with beaks for the purpose, brake the galleys of the Athenians very much between the heads of the galleys and the oars. The Athenians were also annoyed much by the darters from the decks; but much more by those Syracusians, who going about in small boats passed under the rows of the oars of the enemy’s galleys, and coming close to their sides, threw their darts at the mariners from thence1 .

  The Syracusians have the victory.

  41. The Syracusians having fought in this manner with the utmost of their strength, in the end gat the victory: and the Athenians, between the [two] ships, escaped into their harbour. The Syracusian galleys chased them as far as to those ships: but the dolphins hanging from the masts2 over the entrance of the harbour, forbade them to follow any further. Yet there were two galleys, which upon a jollity after victory approached them, but both were lost: of which one with her men and all was taken. The Syracusians, after they had sunk seven galleys of the Athenians and torn many more, and of the men had taken some alive and killed others, retired, and for both the battles erected trophies: and had already an assured hope of being far superior by sea, and also made account to subdue the army by land. And they prepared to assault them again in both kinds.

  Demosthenes and Eurymedon with a new army arrive at Syracuse.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.Demosthenes attempteth to win the wall which the Syracusians had built through Epipolæ to exclude the proceeding of the wall of the Athenians.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  42. In the meantime Demosthenes and Eurymedon arrived with the Athenian supply; being3 about seventy–three galleys, and men of arms, of their own and of their confederates, about five thousand; besides darters, as well barbarians as Greeks, not a few, and slingers and archers, and all other provision sufficient. For the present it not a little daunted the Syracusians and their confederates, to see no end of their danger; and that, notwithstanding the fortifying in Deceleia, another army should come now equal and like unto their former; and that their power should be so great in every kind. And on the other side, it was a kind of strengthening after weakness to the Athenian army that was there before. Demosthenes, when he saw how things stood, and thinking it unfit to loiter and fall into Nicias his case:—for Nicias, who was formidable at his first coming, when he set not presently upon Syracuse but wintered at Catana, both grew into contempt, and was prevented also by the coming of Gylippus thither with an army out of Peloponnesus: the which, if Nicias had gone against Syracuse at first, had never been so much as sent for: for supposing themselves to have been strong enough alone, they had at once both found themselves too weak, and the city been enclosed with a wall; whereby, though they had sent for it, it could not have helped them as it did:—Demosthenes, I say, considering this, and that he also even at the present and the same day was most terrible to the enemy, intended with all speed to make use of this present terribleness of the army. And having observed that the cross wall of the Syracusians, wherewith they hindered the Athenians from enclosing the city, was but single; and that if they could be masters of the ascent to Epipolæ, and again of the camp there, the same might easily be taken, (for none would have stood against them): hasted to put it to trial, and thought it his shortest way to the dispatching of the war. For either he should have success, he thought, and so win Syracuse, or he would lead away the army, and no longer without purpose consume both the Athenians there with him and the whole state. The Athenians therefore went out, and first wasted the territory of the Syracusians about the river Anapus; and were the stronger, as at first, both by sea and land. For the Syracusians durst neither way go out against them, but only with their horsemen and darters from Olympieium. 43. After this, Demosthenes thought good to try the wall which the Athenians had built to enclose the city withal1 , with engines. But seeing the engines were burnt by the defendants fighting from the wall, and that having assaulted it in divers parts with the rest of his army, he was notwithstanding put back, he resolved to spend the time no longer; but having gotten the consent of Nicias and the rest in commission thereunto, to put in execution his design for Epipolæ, as was before intended. By day, it was thought impossible not to be discovered, either in their approach or in their ascent. Having therefore first commanded to take five days’ provision of victual, and all the masons and workmen, as also store of casting weapons, and whatsoever they might need, if they overcame, for fortification: he and Eurymedon and Menander, with the whole army, marched about midnight to Epipolæ, leaving Nicias in the camp. Being come to Epipolæ at Euryelus, where also the army went up before, they were not only not discovered by the Syracusians that kept the watch, but ascending1 took a certain fortification of the Syracusians there, and killed part of them that kept it. But the greatest number escaping, ran presently to the camps, of which there were in Epipolæ three walled about without the city, one of Syracusians, one of other Sicilians, and one of confederates2 , and carried the news of their coming in, and told it to those six hundred Syracusians that kept this part of Epipolæ at the first; who presently went forth to meet them. But Demosthenes and the Athenians lighting on them, though they fought valiantly, put them to flight; and presently marched on3 , making use of the present heat of the army to finish what he came for before it were too late: and others [going on] in their first course took the cross–wall of the Syracusians, they flying that kept it, and were throwing down the battlements thereof. The Syracusians, and their confederates, and Gylippus and those with him, came out to meet them from their camps: but because the attempt was unexpected and in the night, they charged the Athenians timorously, and were even at first forced to retire. But as the Athenians advanced more out of order, [chiefly] as having already gotten the victory, but1 desiring also quickly to pass through all that remained yet unfoughten with, lest through their remissness in following they might again rally themselves; the Bœotians withstood them first, and charging forced them to turn their backs.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The Athenians fly.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  44. And here the Athenians were mightily in disorder and perplexed: so that it hath been very hard to be informed of any side, in what manner each thing passed. For if in the day time, when things are better seen, yet they that are present cannot tell how all things go, save only what every man with much ado seeth near unto himself: how then in a battle by night, (the only one that happened between great armies in all this war), can a man know2 anything for certain? For though the moon shined bright, yet they saw one another no otherwise than as by the moonlight was likely: so as to see a body, but not be sure whether it were a friend or not. And the men of arms on both sides, being not a few in number, had but little ground to turn in. Of the Athenians, some were already overcome, others3 went on in their first way. Also a great part of the rest of the army was already, part gotten up, and part ascending, and knew not which way to march. For after the Athenians once turned their backs, all before them was in confusion4 ; and it was hard to distinguish of anything for the noise. For the Syracusians and their confederates prevailing, encouraged each other and received the assailants with exceeding great shouts: (for they had no other means in the night to express themselves): and the Athenians sought each other, and took for enemies all before them, though friends and of the number of those that fled; and by often asking the word, there being no other means of distinction, all asking at once they both made a great deal of stir amongst themselves, and revealed the word to the enemy. But they did not in like manner know the word of the Syracusians; because these, being victorious and undistracted, knew one another better: so that when they lighted on any number of the enemy, though they themselves were more, yet the enemy escaped as knowing the watchword; but they, when they could not answer, were slain. But that which hurt them most was the tune of the Pæan: which being in both armies the same, drave them to their wits’ end. For the Argives and Corcyræans, and all other of the Doric race on the Athenians’ part, when they sounded the Pæan, terrified the Athenians on one side: and the enemy terrified them with the like on the other side. Wherefore at the last1 , falling one upon another in divers parts of the army, friends against friends, and countrymen against countrymen, they not only terrified each other, but came to hand–strokes and could hardly again be parted. As they fled before the enemy, the way of the descent from Epipolæ by which they were to go back being but strait, many of them threw themselves down from the rocks, and died so. And of the rest that gat down safely into the plain, though the greatest part, and all that were of the old army by their knowledge of the country, escaped into the camp: yet of these that came last, some lost their way; and straying in the fields, when the day came on were cut off by the Syracusian horsemen that ranged the country about.

  45. The next day the Syracusians erected two trophies; one in Epipolæ at the ascent1 , and another where the first check was given by the Bœotians. The Athenians received their dead under truce. And many there were that died, both of themselves and of their confederates: but the arms taken were more than for the number of the slain. For of such as were forced to quit their bucklers and leap down from the rocks, though some perished, yet some there also were that escaped.

  The Syracusians send for more supplies, and hope to win the Athenian camp.

  46. After this, the Syracusians having by such unlooked–for prosperity recovered their former courage, sent Sicanus with fifteen galleys to Agrigentum, being in sedition; to bring that city, if they could, to their obedience2 . And Gylippus went again to the Sicilian cities3 by land, to raise yet another army, as being in hope to take the camp of the Athenians by assault, considering how the matter had gone in Epipolæ.

  The Athenianyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. commanders take council what to do.The advice of Demosthenes.

  47. In the meantime the Athenian generals went to council upon their late overthrow, and present general weakness1 of the army. For they saw not only that their designs prospered not, but that the soldiers also were weary of staying. For they were troubled with sickness, proceeding from a double cause; this being the time of the year most obnoxious to diseases, and the place where they lay moorish and noisome: and all things else appeared desperate. Demosthenes2 thought fit to stay no longer; and since the execution of his design at Epipolæ had failed, delivered his opinion for going out of the haven, whilst the seas were open, and whilst, at least with this addition of galleys, they were stronger than the army of the enemy. “For it was better,” he said, “for the city to make war upon those which fortify against them at home, than against the Syracusians; seeing they cannot now be easily overcome: and there was no reason why they should spend much money in lying before the city.” This was the opinion of Demosthenes.

  The opinion of Nicias.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  48. Nicias, though he also thought their estate bad, yet was unwilling to have their weakness discovered3 ; and by decreeing of their departure openly with the votes of many, to make known the same to the enemy; for if at any time they had a mind to be gone, they should then be less able to do it secretly. Besides, the estate of the enemy, inasmuch as he understood it better than the rest, put him into some hope that it might yet grow worse than their own, in case they pressed the siege; especially being already masters of the sea, far and near, with their present fleet1 . There was moreover a party for the Athenians in Syracuse, that desired to betray the state into their hands: and that sent messengers unto him, and suffered him not to rise and be gone. All which he knowing, though he were in truth doubtful what opinion to be of, and did yet consider; nevertheless openly in his speech, he was against the withdrawing of the army: and said, “that he was sure the people of Athens would take it ill, if he went thence without their order: for that they were not to have such judges as should give sentence upon their own sight of things done, rather than upon the report of calumniators; but such as would believe whatsoever some fine speaker should accuse them of. That many, nay most of the soldiers here, who now cry out upon their misery2 , will there cry out on the contrary; and say the generals have betrayed the state, and come away for a bribe. That he3 would not therefore, knowing the nature of the Athenians so well, choose to be put to death unjustly, and charged with a dishonourable crime by the Athenians, rather than, if he must needs do one, to suffer the same at the hand of the enemy by his own adventure4 . And yet,” he said, “the state of the Syracusians was still inferior to their own. For paying much money to strangers, and laying out much more on forts1 [without and about the city]; having also had a great navy a year already in pay; they must needs want money at last, and all these things fail them2 . For they have spent already two thousand talents, and are much in debt besides. And whensoever they shall give over this course and make pay no longer, their strength is gone3 ; as being auxiliary, and not constrained to follow the war, as the Athenians are. Therefore it was fit,” he said, “to stay close to the city; and not to go away as if they were too weak in money, wherein they were much superior.”

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  49. Nicias, when he spake this, assured them of it4 , as knowing the state of Syracuse precisely and their want of money; and that there were some that desired to betray the city to the Athenians, and sent him word not to go. Withal he had now confidence in the fleet, which, as being before overcome, he had not5 . As for lying where they did, Demosthenes would by no means hear of it. But if the army might not be carried away without order from the Athenians, but must needs stay in Sicily; then, he said, they might go6 to Thapsus or Catana, from whence by their landmen they might invade and turn much of the country to them1 and wasting the fields of the enemies, weaken the Syracusians; and be to fight with their galleys in the main sea, and not in a narrow, (which is the advantage of the enemy), but in a wide place, where the benefit of skill should be theirs; and where they should not be forced, in charging and retiring, to come up and fall off in narrow and circumscribed limits. In sum he said, he by no means liked to stay where they were: but with all speed, no longer delaying the matter, to arise and be gone. Eurymedon also gave the like counsel. Nevertheless, upon the contradiction of Nicias, there grew a kind of sloth and procrastination in the business; and a suspicion withal, that the asseveration2 of Nicias was grounded on somewhat that he knew above the rest. And thereupon the Athenians deferred their going thence, and stayed upon the place.

  Gylippus returneth with another army from the cities of Sicily.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The Athenians out of superstition forbear to remove, because of an eclipse of the moon.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  50. In the meantime Gylippus and Sicanus returned unto Syracuse. Sicanus without his purpose at Agrigentum; for whilst he was yet in Gela, the sedition which had been raised in the behalf of the Syracusians was turned into friendship3 : but Gylippus not without another great army out of Sicily, besides the men of arms, which having set forth from Peloponnesus in ships the spring before, were then lately arrived at Selinus from out of Afric. For having been driven into Afric, and the Cyrenæans having given them two galleys with pilots, in passing by the shore they aided the Euesperitæ1 besieged by the Africans; and having overcome the Africans, they went over to Neapolis, a town of traffic belonging to the Carthagenians; where the passage into Sicily is shortest, and but two days and a night’s sail over; and from thence they crossed the sea to Selinus. As soon as they were come, the Syracusians again presently prepared to set upon the Athenians, both by sea and land. The Athenian generals seeing them have another army, and their own2 not bettering, but every day growing worse than other, but especially as being pressed to it by the sickness of the soldiers, repented now that they removed not before: and Nicias being now no longer against it as he was, but desirous only that it might not be concluded openly3 , gave order unto all as secretly as was possible to put forth of the harbour, and to be ready when the sign should be given. But when they were about it, and everything was ready, the moon happened to be eclipsed: for it was full moon. And not only the greatest part of the Athenians4 called upon the generals to stay, but Nicias also (for he was addicted to superstition and observations of that kind somewhat too much) said that it should come no more into debate whether they should go or not, till the three times nine days were past, which the soothsayers appoint in that behalf. And the Athenians, though upon going, stayed still for this reason.

  The Syracusians assault the Athenian camp with their landsoldiers.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. The Syracusians overcome the Athenians again by sea.

  51. The Syracusians also having intelligence of this, were encouraged unto the pressing of the Athenians much the more: for that they confessed themselves already too weak for them, both by sea and land; for else they would never have sought to have run away. Besides, they would not have them sit down in any other part of Sicily, and become the harder to be warred on; but had rather thereright, and in a place most for their own advantage, compel them to fight by sea. To which end they manned their galleys; and after they had rested1 as long as was sufficient, when they saw their time, the first day they assaulted the Athenians’ camp. And some small number of men of arms and horsemen of the Athenians sallied out against them by certain gates: and the Syracusians intercepting some of the men of arms, beat1 them back into the camp. But the entrance being strait, there were seventy of the horsemen lost; and men of arms some, but not many. 52. The2 next day they came out with their galleys, seventy–six in number, and the Athenians set forth against them with eighty–six; and being come together, they fought. Eurymedon had charge of the right wing of the Athenians; and desiring to encompass the galleys of the enemies, drew forth his own galleys in length more towards the shore; and was cut off by the Syracusians, that had first overcome the middle battle of the Athenians, from the rest, in the bottom and inmost part of the haven; and both slain himself, and the galleys that were with him lost. And that done, the rest of the Athenian fleet was also chased and driven ashore.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  53. Gylippus, when he saw the navy of the enemy vanquished, and carried past the piles and their own harbour, came with a part of his army to the pier3 to kill such as landed, and to cause that the Syracusians might the easier pull the enemy’s galleys from the shore, whereof themselves were masters. But the Tuscans, who kept guard in that part for the Athenians, seeing them coming that way in disorder, made head: and charging these first1 , forced them into the marsh called Lysimeleia. But when afterwards a greater number of the Syracusians and their confederates came to help them, then also the Athenians, to help the Tuscans, and for fear to lose their galleys, fought with them; and having overcome them, pursued them, and not only slew many2 of their men of arms, but also saved the most of their galleys, and brought them back into the harbour. Nevertheless the Syracusians took eighteen, and slew the men taken in them. And amongst the rest they let drive before the wind (which blew right upon the Athenians) an old ship full of faggots and brands set on fire, to burn them. The Athenians on the other side, fearing the loss of their navy, devised remedies for the fire: and having quenched the flame and kept the ship from coming near, escaped that danger.

  54. After this the Syracusians set up a trophy, both for the battle by sea, and for the men of arms which they intercepted above before the camp, where also they took the horses. And the Athenians erected a trophy likewise, both for the flight of those footmen which the Tuscans drave into the marsh, and for those which they themselves put to flight with the rest of the army.

  The Athenians dejected, repent of the voyage.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  55. When the Syracusians had now manifestly overcome their fleet3 ; (for they feared at first the supply of galleys that came with Demosthenes); the Athenians were in good earnest utterly out of heart. And as they were much deceived in the event, so they repented more of the voyage1 . For having come against these cities, the only ones that were for institution like unto their own, and governed by the people as well as themselves2 , and which had a navy and horses and greatness; seeing they could create no dissension amongst them about change of government, to win them that way, nor could subdue it with the greatness of their forces when they were far the stronger, but misprospered in most of their designs; they were then at their wits’ end: but now, when they were also vanquished by sea, (which they would never have thought), they were much more dejected than ever.

  The Syracusians intend to keep in the Athenians, and reckon upon the glory of a full victory.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The nations that were at the wars of Syracuse on the one side or other.

  56. The Syracusians went presently about the haven without fear, and meditated how to shut up the same: that the Athenians might not3 steal away without their knowledge, though they would. For now they studied not only how to save themselves, but how to hinder the safety of the Athenians. For the Syracusians conceived, not untruly, that their own strength was at this present the greater; and that if they could vanquish the Athenians and their confederates both by sea and land, it would be a mastery of great honour to them amongst the rest of the Grecians. For all the rest of Greece should be4 one part freed by it, and the other part out of fear of subjection hereafter: for it would be impossible for the Athenians, with the remainder of their strength, to sustain the war that would be made upon them afterwards. And they being reputed the authors of it, should be had in admiration, not only with all men now living, but also with posterity. And to say truth, it was a worthy mastery; both for the causes shewn, and also for that they became victors not of the Athenians only, but many others their confederates; nor again they themselves alone, but their confederates also, having been in joint command with the Corinthians and Lacedæmonians, and both exposed their city to the first hazard, and of the business by sea performed the greatest part themselves1 . The greatest number of nations, except the general roll of those which in this war adhered to Athens and Lacedæmon, were together at this one city.

  Athenians. Lemnians. Imbrians. Æginetæ. year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Hestiæans of Eubœa. Eretrians. Chalcideans. Styrians. Carystians. Ceians. Andrians. Tenians. Milesians. Samians. Chians. Methymnæans. Tenedians. Ænians. Platæans. year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Rhodians and Cythereans. Cephallenians. Zacynthians. Corcyræans. Messenians. Megareans. Argives. year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Mantineans and other Arcadians. Cretans. Ætolians. Acarnanians. Thurians. Metapontians. Naxians. Catanæans. Egestæans. Tuscans. Iapygians.

  57. And this number on both sides, against Sicily and for it, some to help win, and some to help save it, came to the war at Syracuse: not on any pretence of right, nor as kindred to aid kindred, but as profit or necessity severally chanced to induce them2 . The Athenians being Ionic, went against the Syracusians that be Doric, voluntarily. With these, as being their colonies, went the Lemnians and Imbrians3 , and the Æginetæ that dwelt in Ægina then, all of the same language and institutions with themselves: also the Hestiæans of Eubœa1 . Of the rest, some went with them as their subjects, and some as their free confederates; and some also hired. Subjects and tributaries: as the Eretrians, Chalcideans, Styrians, and Carystians, from Eubœa: Ceians, Andrians, Tenians, from out of the islands: Milesians, Samians, and Chians, from Ionia. Of these the Chians followed them as free, not as tributaries of money, but of galleys. And these were almost all of them Ionians, descended from the Athenians; except only the Carystians, that are of the nation of the Dryopes2 . And though they were subjects and went upon constraint, yet they were Ionians against Dorians3 . Besides these there went with them Æolians: namely, the Methymnæans, subjects to Athens, not tributaries of money but of galleys; and the Tenedians and Ænians, tributaries. Now here, Æolians were constrained to fight against Æolians4 ; namely, against their founders the Bœotians, that took part with the Syracusians. But the Platæans, and only they, being Bœotians5 , fought against Bœotians upon just quarrel. The Rhodians and Cythereans, Doric both1 , by constraint bore arms; one of them, namely the Cythereans, a colony of the Lacedæmonians, with the Athenians against the Lacedæmonians that were with Gylippus; and the other, that is to say, the Rhodians, being by descent Argives, not only against the Syracusians, who were also Doric, but against their own colony, the Geloans, which took part with the Syracusians. Then of the islanders about Peloponnesus, there went with them the Cephallenians and Zacynthians: not but that they were free states, but because they were kept in awe as islanders by the Athenians, who were masters of the sea. And the Corcyræans, being not only Doric but Corinthians, fought openly against both Corinthians and Syracusians, though a colony of the one, and of kin to the other: which they did necessarily, (to make the best of it2 ); but indeed no less willingly, in respect of their hatred to the Corinthians. Also the Messenians now so called, in Naupactus, were taken along to this war; and the Messenians at Pylus, then holden by the Athenians. Moreover the Megarean outlaws3 , though not many, by advantage taken of their misery, were fain to fight against the Selinuntians that were Megareans likewise. But now the rest of their army was rather voluntary. The Argives not so much for the league, as for their enmity against the Lacedæmonians and their present particular spleen4 , followed the Athenians to the war though Ionic, against Dorians. And the Mantineans and other Arcadian mercenaries went with them, as men accustomed ever to invade the enemy shewed them: and now for gain had for enemies, as much as any, those other Arcadians which went thither with the Corinthians. The Cretans and Ætolians were all1 mercenary: and it fell out, that the Cretans, who together with the Rhodians were founders of Gela, not only took not part with their colony, but fought against it willingly for their hire2 . And some Acarnanians also went with them for gain: but most of them went as confederates, in love to Demosthenes and for good will to the state of Athens. And thus many within the bound of the Ionian gulf. Then of Italians, fallen into the same necessity of seditious times3 , there went with them to this war the Thurians and Metapontians: of Greek Sicilians, the Naxians and Catanæans. Of barbarian, the Egestæans, who also drew with them the most of those Greek Sicilians4 . Without Sicily, there went with them some Tuscans, upon quarrels between them and the Syracusians; and some Iapygian mercenaries. These were the nations that followed the army of the Athenians.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Syracusians. Camarinæans. Himeræans. Siculi. Lacedæmonians. Corinthians. Leucadians. Ambraciotes. Arcadian mercenaries. Sicyonians.

  58. On the other side, there opposed them on the part of the Syracusians, the Camarinæans their borders: and beyond them again the Geloans: and then (the Agrigentines not stirring) beyond them again the same way, the Selinuntians. These inhabit the part of Sicily that lieth opposite to Afric. Then the Himeræans, on the side that lieth on the Tyrrhene sea, where they are the only Grecians inhabiting, and only aided them. These were their confederates of the Greek nation within Sicily; all Dorians and free states. Then of the barbarians there, they had the Siculi1 , all but what revolted to the Athenians. For Grecians without Sicily, the Lacedæmonians sent them a Spartan commander, with some Helotes and the rest freedmen2 . Then aided them both with galleys and with land–men, the Corinthians only; and for kindred’s sake, the Leucadians and Ambraciotes: out of Arcadia, those mercenaries sent by the Corinthians: and Sicyonians on constraint3 : and from without Peloponnesus, the Bœotians. To the foreign aids the Sicilians themselves, as being great cities, added more in every kind than as much again: for they got together men of arms, galleys, and horses, great store, and other number in abundance. And to all these again the Syracusians themselves added, as I may say, about as much more, in respect of the greatness both of their city and of their danger.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The Syracusians shut up the haven.

  59. These were the succours assembled on either part, and which were then all there: and after them came no more, neither to the one side nor the other. No marvel then, if the Syracusians1 thought it a noble mastery, if to the victory by sea already gotten they could add the taking of the whole Athenian army, so great as it was; and hinder their escape both by sea and land. Presently therefore they fall in hand with stopping up the mouth of the great haven, being about eight furlongs wide, with galleys laid cross and lighters and boats upon their anchors: and withal prepared whatsoever else was necessary in case the Athenians would hazard another battle; meditating on no small matters in anything.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  60. The Athenians, seeing the shutting up of the haven and the rest of the enemy’s designs, thought good to go to council upon it. And the generals and commanders of regiments2 having met and considered their present want, both otherwise and in this, that they neither had provision for the present, (for upon their resolution to be gone, they had sent before to Catana to forbid the sending in of any more), nor were likely to have for the future unless their navy got the upper hand: they resolved to abandon their camp above, and to take in some place, no greater than needs they must3 , near unto their galleys, with a wall; and leaving some to keep it, to go aboard with the rest of the army, and to man every galley they had, serviceable and less serviceable: and having caused all sorts of men to go aboard and fight it out, if they gat the victory, to go to Catana; if not, to make their retreat in order of battle by land (having first set fire on their navy) the nearest way unto some amicable place, either barbarian or Grecian, that they should best be able to reach unto before the enemy.

  As they had concluded, so they did. For they both came down to the shore from their camp above: and also manned every galley they had, and compelled to go aboard every man of age of any ability whatsoever. So the whole navy was manned to the number of one hundred and ten galleys: upon which they had many archers and darters, both Acarnanians and other strangers, and all things else provided according to their means and purpose1 . And Nicias, when almost everything was ready, perceiving the soldiers to be dejected for being so far overcome by sea, contrary to their custom, and yet in respect of the scarcity of victual desirous as soon as could be to fight, called them together, and encouraged them then the first time2 with words to this effect:

  the oration of nicias.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Niciasyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Niciasyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Nicias

  61. “Soldiers, Athenians and other our confederates, [though] the trial at hand will be common to all alike, and will concern the safety and country no less of each of us than of the enemy: (for if our galleys get the victory, we may every one see his native city again): yet1 ought we not to be discouraged like men of no experience, who failing in their first adventures, ever after carry a fear suitable to their misfortunes. But you Athenians here present, having had experience already of many wars, and you our confederates, that have always gone along with our armies, remember how often the event falleth out otherwise in war than one would think: and in hope that fortune will once also be of our side, prepare yourselves to fight again in such manner as shall be worthy the number you see yourselves to be. 62. What we thought would be helps in the narrowness of the haven, against such a multitude of galleys as will be there, and against the provision of the enemy upon their decks, whereby we were formerly annoyed, we have with the masters now considered them all; and as well as our present means will permit, made them ready. For many archers and darters shall go aboard: and that multitude, which if we had been to fight in the main sea we would not have used, because by slugging the galleys it would take away the use of skill, will nevertheless be useful here, where we are forced to make a landfight from our galleys. We have also devised, instead of what should have been provided for in the building of our galleys2 , against the thickness of the beaks of theirs, which did most hurt us, to lash their galleys unto ours with iron grapnels: whereby (if the men of arms1 do their part) we may keep the galleys which once come close up from falling back again. For we are brought to a necessity now, of making it a land–fight upon the water: and it will be the best for us neither to fall back ourselves, nor to suffer the enemy to do so; especially when, except what our men on land shall make good, the shore is altogether hostile. 63. Which you remembering, must therefore fight it out to the utmost, and not suffer yourselves to be beaten back unto the shore: but when galley to galley shall once be fallen close, never think any cause worthy to make you part, unless you have first beaten off the men of arms of the enemy from their decks. And this I speak to you rather that are the men of arms, than to the mariners: inasmuch as that part belongeth rather unto you that fight above; and in you2 it lieth even yet to achieve the victory for the most part with the landmen. Now for the mariners, I advise, and withal beseech them, not to be too much daunted with the losses past; having now both a greater number of galleys, and greater forces upon the decks. Think3 it a pleasure worth preserving, that being taken, by your knowledge of the language and imitation of our fashions, for Athenians (though you be not so), you are not only admired for it through all Greece, but also partake of our dominion in matter of profit, no less than ourselves; and for awfulness to the nations subject and protection from injury, more. You therefore that alone participate freely of our dominion, cannot with any justice betray the same. In despite therefore of the Corinthians, whom you have often vanquished, and of the Sicilians, who as long as our fleet was at the best durst never so much as stand us, repel them: and make it appear that your knowledge even with weakness and loss, is better than the strength of another with fortune. 64. Again, to such of you as are Athenians, I must remember this: that you have no more such fleets in your harbours, nor such able men of arms; and that if aught happen to you but victory, your enemies here will presently be upon you at home; and those at home will be unable to defend themselves, both against those that shall go hence, and against the enemy that lieth there already. So one part of us shall fall into the mercy of the Syracusians, against whom you yourselves know with what intent you came hither: and the other part which is at home, shall fall into the hands of the Lacedæmonians. Being therefore in this one battle to fight both for yourselves and them, be therefore valiant now if ever: and bear in mind every one of you, that you that go now aboard, are the land forces, the sea forces, the whole estate and great name of Athens. For which, if any man excel others in skill or courage, he can never shew it more opportunely than now, when he may both help himself with it and the whole.”

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  65. Nicias having thus encouraged them, commanded presently to go aboard. Gylippus and the Syracusians might easily discern that the Athenians meant to fight, by seeing their preparation. Besides, they had advertisement of their purpose to cast iron grapnels into their galleys; and as for everything else, so also for that they had made provision. For they covered the fore–part of their galleys, and also the decks for a great way, with hides: that the grapnels cast in might slip, and not be able to take hold. When all was ready, Gylippus likewise and the other commanders used unto their soldiers this hortative:

  the oration of gylippus and the syracusian generals.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Gylippus and the Syracusian generals.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Gylippus and the Syracusian generals.

  66. “That not only our former acts have been honourable, but that we are to fight now also for further honour, men of Syracuse and confederates, the most of you seem to know already; for else you never would so valiantly have undergone it1 : and if there be any man that is not so sensible of it as he ought, we will make it appear unto him better. For whereas the Athenians came into this country, with design first to enslave Sicily, and then if that succeeded, Peloponnesus and the rest of Greece; and whereas already they had the greatest dominion of any Grecians whatsoever, either present or past: you, the first that ever withstood their navy, wherewith they were everywhere masters, have in the former battles overcome them, and shall in likelihood overcome them again in this. For men that are cut short where they thought themselves to exceed, become afterwards further out of opinion with themselves than they would have been if they had never thought so: and when they come short of their hope in things they glory in, they come short also in courage of the true strength of their forces. And this is likely now to be the case of the Athenians. 67. Whereas with us it falleth out, that our former courage, wherewith though unexperienced we durst stand them, being now confirmed, and an opinion added of being the stronger1 , giveth to every one of us a double hope. And in all enterprises, the greatest hope conferreth for the most part the greatest courage. As for their imitation of our provisions, they are things we are acquainted withal, and we shall not in any kind be unprovided for them. But they, when they shall have many men of arms upon their decks, being not used to it; and many, as I may term them, land–darters2 , both Acarnanians and others, who would not be able to direct their darts though they should sit3 ; how can they choose but put the galleys into danger, and be all in confusion amongst themselves, moving in a fashion not their own4 ? As for the number of their galleys, it will help them nothing: if any of you fear also that, as being to fight against odds in number. For many in little room are so much the slower to do what they desire, and easiest to be annoyed by our munition5 . But the very truth you shall now understand by these things, whereof we suppose we have most certain intelligence. Overwhelmed with calamities, and forced by the difficulties which they are in at this present, they are grown desperate; not trusting to their forces, but willing to put themselves upon the decision of fortune, as well as they may; that so they may either go out by force, or else make their retreat afterward by land, as men whose estates cannot change into the worse.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  68. “Against such confusion, therefore, and against the fortune of our greatest enemies now betraying itself into our hands, let us fight with anger: and with an opinion, not only that it is most lawful to fulfil our hearts’ desire upon those our enemies, that justified their coming hither as a righting of themselves against an assailant; but also, that to be revenged on an enemy, is both most natural, and, as is most commonly said, the sweetest thing in the world1 . And that they are our enemies, and our greatest enemies, you all well enough know; seeing them come hither into our dominion to bring us into servitude. Wherein if they had sped, they had put the men to the greatest tortures, the women and children to the greatest dishonesty, and the whole city to the most ignominous name2 in the world. In regard whereof, it is not fit that any of you should be so tender, as to think it gain if they go away without putting you to further danger; for so they mean to do, though they get the victory: but effecting (as it is likely we shall) what we intend, both to be revenged of these, and to deliver unto all Sicily their liberty, which they enjoyed before, but now is more assured. Honourable is that combat1 , and rare are those hazards, wherein the failing bringeth little loss, and the success a great deal of profit.”

  1st September.Nicias encourageth his soldiers anew.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. He prepareth to fight.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. The Athenians and Syracusians fight.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  69. When Gylippus and the commanders of the Syracusians had in this manner encouraged their soldiers, they presently put their men on board; perceiving the Athenians to do the same. Nicias perplexed2 with this present estate, and seeing how great and how near the danger was, being now on the point to put forth from the harbour; and doubting, as in great battles it falleth out, that somewhat in every kind was still wanting, and that he had not yet sufficiently spoken his mind, called unto him again all the captains of galleys, and spake unto them every one by their fathers, their tribes, and their proper names, and entreated every one of them that had reputation in any kind, not to betray the same; and those whose ancestors were eminent, not to deface their hereditary virtues; remembering them of their country’s liberty, and the uncontrolled power of all men to live as they pleased: and saying whatsoever else in such a pinch men are accustomed, not out of their store, to utter things stale3 , and in all occasions the same, touching their wives, children, and patrial gods, but such things as being thought by them available in the present discouragement, they use to cry into their ears. And when he thought he had admonished them, not enough, but as much as the time would permit him, he went his way, and drew out those forces that were to serve on land on the sea–side: and embattled them so as they might take up the greatest length of ground they were able, thereby so much the more to confirm the courage of them that were aboard. And Demosthenes, Menander, and Eudemus, (for those of the Athenian commanders went aboard), putting forth of the harbour1 , went immediately to the lock of the haven, and to the passage that was left open, with intention to force their way out. 70. But the Syracusians and their confederates, being out already with the same number of galleys they had before, disposed part of them to the guard of the open passage2 , and the rest in circle about the haven; to the end they might fall upon the Athenians from all parts at once, and that their land–forces might withal be near to aid them wheresoever the galleys touched. In the Syracusian navy commanded Sicanus and Agatharchus, each of them over a wing; and Pythen, with the Corinthians, had the middle battle. After the Athenians were come to the lock of the haven, at the first charge they overcame the galleys placed there to guard it, and endeavoured to break open the bars thereof. But when afterwards the Syracusians and confederates came upon them from every side, they fought not at the lock only, but also in the haven itself: and the battle was sharp, and such as there had never before been the like. For the courage wherewith the mariners on both sides brought up their galleys to any part1 they were bidden, was very great, and great was the plotting and counterplotting, and contention one against another of the masters: also the soldiers, when the galleys boarded each other, did their utmost to excel each other in all points of skill that could be used upon the decks2 : and every man, in the place assigned him, put himself forth to appear the foremost. But many galleys falling close together in a narrow compass, (for they were the most galleys that in any battle they had used, and fought in the least room: being little fewer on the one side and the other than two hundred), they ran against each other but seldom, because there was no means of retiring nor of passing by, but made assaults upon each other oftener, as galley with galley, either flying or pursuing, chanced to fall foul3 . And as long as a galley was making up, they that stood on the decks used4 their darts and arrows and stones in abundance: but being once come close, the soldiers at hand–strokes attempted to board each other. And in many places it so fell out, through want of room, that they which ran upon a galley on one side, were run upon themselves on the other; and that two galleys, or sometimes more, were forced to lie aboard of one; and that the masters were at once to have a care, not in one place only, but in many together, how to defend on the one side, and how to offend on the other: and the great noise of many galleys fallen foul of one another, both amazed them and took away their hearing of what their directors directed. For1 they directed thick and loud on both sides, not only as art required, but out of their present eagerness: the Athenians crying out to theirs to force the passage, and now if ever valiantly to lay hold upon their safe return to their country; and the Syracusians and their confederates to theirs, how. honourable a thing to every one of them it would be to hinder their escape, and by this victory to improve every man the honour of his own country. Moreover, the commanders of either side, where they saw any man without necessity to row a–stern, would call unto the captain of the galley by his name, and ask him, the Athenians, whether he retired because he thought the most hostile land to be more their friend than the sea, which they had so long been masters of2 : the Syracusians theirs, whether when they knew that the Athenians desired earnestly by any means to fly, they would nevertheless fly from the flyers.

  The diversity of passion of them that beheld theyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. fight from the shore.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. The Athenians fly.

  71. Whilst the conflict was upon the water, the land–men had a conflict, and sided with them in their affections1 : they of the place, contending for increase of the honours they had already gotten; and the invaders, fearing a worse estate than they were already in. For the Athenians, who had their whole fortune at stake in their galleys, were in such a fear of the event as they had never been in the like: and were thereby of necessity to behold the fight upon the water with very different passions2 . For the sight being near, and not looking all of them upon one and the same part, he that saw their own side prevail took heart, and fell to calling upon the gods, that they would not deprive them of their safety: and they that saw them have the worse, not only lamented, but shrieked outright; and had their minds more subdued by the sight of what was done, than they that were present in the battle itself. Others that looked on some part where the fight was equal, because the contention continued so as they could make no judgment on it, with gesture of body on every occasion agreeable to their expectation, passed the time in a miserable perplexity3 . For they were ever within a little either of escaping, or of perishing. And one might hear in one and the same army, as long as the fight upon the water was indifferent, at one and the same time lamentations, shouts that they won, that they lost: and whatsoever else a great army in great danger is forced differently to utter. They also that were aboard suffered the same: till at last the Syracusians and their confederates, after long resistance on the other side, put them to flight, and manifestly pressing, chased them with great clamour and encouragement of their own to the shore. And the sea–forces making to the shore, some one way and some another, except only such as were lost by being far from it, escaped into the harbour1 . And the army that was upon the land, no longer now of different passions, with one and the same vehemence2 , all with shrieks and sighs unable to sustain what befel, ran part to save the galleys, part to the defence of the camp: and the residue, who were far the greatest number, fell presently to consider every one of the best way to save himself. And this was the time wherein of all other they stood in greatest fear3 , and they suffered now the like to what they had made others to suffer before at Pylus. For the Lacedæmonians then, besides4 the loss of their fleet, lost the men which they had set over into the island: and the Athenians now, without some accident not to be expected, were out of all hope to save themselves by land.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The stratagem of Hermocrates, to hinder the escape of the Athenians.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.2d September.Gylippus goeth out with his forces, and besets the way.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  72. After this cruel battle, and many galleys and men on either side consumed, the Syracusians and their confederates, having the victory, took up the wreck and the bodies of their dead: and returning into the city, erected a trophy. But the Athenians, in respect of the greatness of their present loss, never thought upon asking leave to take up their dead or wreck: but fell immediately to consultation how to be gone1 the same night. And Demosthenes coming unto Nicias, delivered his opinion for going once again aboard, and forcing the passage, if it were possible, betimes the next morning, saying that their galleys which were yet remaining and serviceable were more than those of the enemy: for the Athenians had yet left them about sixty, and the Syracusians under fifty. But when Nicias approved the advice, and would have manned out the galleys, the mariners refused to go aboard: as being not only dejected with their defeat, but also without opinion of ever having the upperhand any more. Whereupon they now resolved all to make their retreat by land. 73. But Hermocrates of Syracuse suspecting their purpose, and apprehending it as a matter dangerous that so great an army, going away by land and sitting down in some part or other of Sicily, should there renew the war, repaired unto the magistrates: and admonished them, that it was not fit, through negligence, to suffer the enemy in the night time to go their ways, (alleging what he thought best to the purpose); but that all the Syracusians and their confederates should go out and fortify in their way, and prepossess all the narrow passages with a guard. Now they were all of them of the same opinion no less than himself, and thought it fit to be done: but they conceived withal, that the soldier now joyful and taking his ease after a sore battle, being also holiday, (for it was their day of sacrifice to Hercules2 ), would not easily be brought to obey. For through excess of joy for the victory, they would most of them, being holiday, be drinking; and look for anything rather than to be persuaded at this time to take up arms again and go out1 . But seeing the magistrates upon this consideration thought it hard to be done, Hermocrates not prevailing, of his own head contrived this. Fearing lest the Athenians should pass the worst of their way in the night, and so at ease out–go them, as soon as it grew dark he sent certain of his friends, and with them certain horsemen, to the Athenian camp: who approaching so near as to be heard speak, called to some of them to come forth, as if they had been friends of the Athenians; (for Nicias had some within that used to give him intelligence); and bade them to advise Nicias not to dislodge that night, for that the Syracusians had beset the ways; but that the next day, having had the leisure to furnish their army, they might march away. 74. Upon this advertisement they abode that night, supposing it had been without fraud2 . And afterwards, because they went not presently, they thought good to stay there that day also, to the end that the soldiers might pack up their necessaries as commodiously as they could, and begone, leaving all things else behind them save what was necessary for their bodies. But Gylippus and the Syracusians, with their land forces, went out before them: and not only stopped up the ways in the country about by which the Athenians were likely to pass, and kept a guard at the fords of brooks and rivers, but also stood embattled to receive and stop their army in such places as they thought convenient. And with their galleys they rowed to the harbour of the Athenians, and towed their galleys away from the shore. Some few whereof they burnt, as the Athenians themselves meant to have done: but the rest at their leisure, as any of them chanced in any place to drive ashore, they afterwards hauled into the city1 .

  3rd September. The Athenians march away from before Syracuse by land.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  75. After this, when everything seemed unto Nicias and Demosthenes sufficiently prepared, they dislodged, being now the third day from their fight by sea. It was a lamentable departure, not only for the particulars2 , as that they marched away with the loss of their whole fleet, and that instead of their great hopes they had endangered both themselves and the state: but also for the dolorous objects which were presented both to the eye and mind of every of them in particular, in the leaving of their camp. For their dead lying unburied, when any one saw his friend on the ground, it struck him at once both with fear and grief. But the living that were3 sick or wounded, both grieved them more than the dead, and were more miserable. For with entreaties and lamentations they put them to a stand, pleading to be taken along by whomsoever they saw of their fellows or familiars, and hanging on the necks of their comrades1 , and following as far as they were able: and when the strength of their bodies failed, that they could go no further, with ah–mes! and imprecations were there left. Insomuch as the whole army, filled with tears and irresolute2 , could hardly get away; though the place were hostile, and they had suffered already, and feared to suffer in the future, more than with tears could be expressed: but3 hung down their heads, and generally blamed themselves. For they seemed nothing else but even the people of some great city expugned by siege, and making their escape. For the whole number that marched, were no less one with another than forty thousand men. Of which not only the ordinary sort carried every one what he thought he should have occasion to use; but also the men of arms and horsemen, contrary to their custom, carried their victuals under their arms, partly for want and partly for distrust of their servants, who from time to time4 ran over to the enemy; but at this time went the greatest number. And yet what they carried was not enough to serve the turn: for not a jot more provision was left remaining in the camp. Neither were the sufferings of others5 , and that equal division of misery, which nevertheless is wont to lighten it, in that we suffer with many, at this time so much as thought light in itself. And the rather, because they considered from what splendour and glory which they enjoyed before, into how low an estate they were now fallen. For never Grecian army so differed from itself. For whereas they came with a purpose to enslave others, they departed in greater fear of being made slaves themselves; and instead of prayers and hymns with which they put to sea, they went back again with the contrary maledictions1 ; and whereas they came out seamen, they departed landmen, and relied not upon their naval forces but upon their men of arms. Nevertheless, in respect of the great danger yet hanging over them, these miseries seemed all [but] tolerable.

  76. Nicias, perceiving the army to be dejected, and the great change that was in it, came up to the ranks, and encouraged and comforted them as far as for the present means he was able. And as he went from part to part he exalted his voice more than ever before, both as being earnest in his exhortation, and because also he desired that the benefit of his words might reach as far as might be.

  the oration of nicias to his afflicted armyyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Niciasyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Oration of Nicias

  77. “Athenians and confederates, we must hope still, even in our present estate. Men have been saved ere now from greater dangers than these are. Nor ought you too much to accuse yourselves, either for your losses past, or the undeserved miseries we are now in. Even I myself, that have the advantage of none of you in strength of body, (you see how I am in my sickness), nor am I thought inferior to any of you for prosperity past, either in respect of mine own private person or otherwise, am nevertheless now in as much danger as the meanest of you. And yet I have worshipped the gods frequently according to the law, and lived justly and unblameably towards men. For which cause my hope is still confident of the future: though these calamities, as being not according to the measure of our desert, do indeed make me fear. But they may perhaps cease. For both the enemies have already had sufficient fortune: and the gods, if any of them have been displeased with our voyage, have already sufficiently punished us. Others have invaded their neighbours as well as we: and as their offence, which proceeded of human infirmity, so their punishment also hath been tolerable. And we have reason now, both to hope for more favour from the gods; (for our case deserveth their pity rather than their hatred); and also not to despair of ourselves, seeing how good and how many men of arms you are, marching together in order of battle1 . Make account of this, that wheresoever you please to sit down, there presently of yourselves you are a city: such as not any other in Sicily can either easily sustain, if you assault, or remove, if you be once seated. Now for your march, that it may be safe and orderly, look to it yourselves; making no other account any of you, but what place soever he shall be forced to fight in, the same, if he win it, must be his country and his walls2 . March you must with diligence, both night and day alike, for our victual is short: and if we can but reach some amicable territory of the Siculi, (for these are still firm to us for fear of the Syracusians), then you may think yourselves secure. Let us therefore send before to them, and bid them meet us1 , and bring us forth some supplies of victual. In sum, soldiers, let me tell you it is necessary that you be valiant; for there is no place near, where being cowards you can possibly be saved: whereas if you escape through the enemies at this time, you may every one2 see again whatsoever anywhere he most desires; and the Athenians may re–erect the great power of their city, how low soever fallen. For the men, not the walls nor the empty galleys, are the city.”

  The Athenians march, and theyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Syracusians assault them always as they go.4th September.5th September.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. 6th September.7th September.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  78. Nicias, as he used this hortative, went withal about the army, and where he saw any man straggle and not march in his rank, he brought him about and set him in his place. Demonsthenes having spoken to the same or like purpose, did as much to those soldiers under him. And they marched forward, those with Nicias in a square battalion, and then those with Demosthenes in the rear3 . And the men of arms received those that carried the baggage, and the other multitude, within them. When they were come to the ford of the river Anapus, they there found certain of the Syracusians and their confederates embattled against them on the bank: but these they put to flight, and having won the passage marched forward. But the Syracusian horsemen lay still upon them, and their light–armed plied them with their darts, in the flank. This day the Athenians marched forty furlongs, and lodged that night at the foot of a certain hill. The next day, as soon as it was light, they marched forwards about twenty furlongs; and descending into a certain champaign ground, encamped there, with intent both to get victual at the houses, (for the place was inhabited), and to carry water with them thence: for before them in the way they were to pass, for many furlongs together there was but little to be had. But the Syracusians in the meantime got before them, and cut off1 their passage with a wall. This was at a steep hill, on either side whereof was the channel of a torrent with steep and rocky banks: and it is called Acræum Lepas2 . The next day the Athenians went on: and the horsemen and darters of the Syracusians and their confederates, being a great number of both, pressed them so with their horses and darts, that the Athenians after long fight were compelled to retire again into the same camp; but now with less victual than before, because the horsemen would suffer them no more to straggle abroad. 79. In the morning betimes they dislodged, and put themselves on their march again, and forced their way to the hill1 which the enemy had fortified; where they found before them the Syracusian foot embattled in great length above the fortification [on the hill’s side]: for the place itself was but narrow. The Athenians coming up assaulted the wall: but the shot of the enemy, who were many, and the steepness of the hill, (for they could easily cast home from above), making them unable to take it, they retired again and rested. There happened withal some claps of thunder and a shower of rain, as usually falleth out at this time of the year, being now near autumn: which further disheartened the Athenians, who thought that also this did tend to their destruction. Whilst they lay still, Gylippus and the Syracusians sent part of their army to raise a wall at their backs, in the way they had come: but this the Athenians hindered, by sending against them part of theirs. After this, the Athenians retiring with their whole army into a more champaign ground2 , lodged there that night: and the next day went forward again. And the Syracusians with their darts, from every part round about, wounded many of them; and when the Athenians charged, they retired, and when they retired, the Syracusians charged; and that especially upon the hindmost, that by putting to flight a few they might terrify the whole army. And for a good while the Athenians in this manner withstood them: and afterwards, being gotten five or six furlongs forward, they rested in the plain: and the Syracusians went from them to their own camp.

  Nicias and Demosthenes rise in the night, and march a contrary way: Nicias foremost, and in order; but Demosthenes in the rear, slower and more in disorder.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. 8th September.

  80. This night it was concluded by Nicias and Demosthenes, seeing the miserable estate of their army, and the want already of all necessaries, and that many of their men in many assaults of the enemy were wounded, to lead away the army as far as they possibly could1 : not the way they purposed before, but toward the sea; which was the contrary way to that which the Syracusians guarded. Now this whole journey of the army lay not towards Catana, but towards the other side of Sicily, Camarina and Gela, and the cities, as well Grecian as barbarian, that way. When they had made many fires accordingly, they marched in the night: and (as usually it falleth out in all armies, and most of all in the greatest, to be subject to affright and terror, especially marching by night and in hostile ground, and the enemy near) were in confusion2 . The army of Nicias leading the way, kept together and got far afore; but that of Demosthenes, which was the greater half, was both severed from the rest and marched more disorderly. Nevertheless, by the morning betimes they got to the sea–side, and entering into the Helorine way they went on towards the river Cacyparis, to the end when they came thither to march upwards along the river’s side through the heart of the country. For they hoped that this way the Siculi, to whom they had sent, would meet them. When they came to the river, here also they found a certain guard of the Syracusians stopping their passage with a wall and with piles. When they had quickly forced this guard, they passed the river, and again marched on to another river, called Erineus: for that was the way which the guides directed them1 .

  Demosthenes overtaken by the enemy, resisteth as long as he can, and is taken.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.Demosthenes yieldeth.

  81. In the meantime the Syracusians and their confederates, as soon as day appeared, and that they knew the Athenians were gone, most of them accusing Gylippus as if he had let them go with his consent, followed them with speed the same way, which they easily understood they were gone; and about dinner time overtook them. When they were come up to those with Demosthenes, who were the hindmost, and had marched more slowly and disorderly than the other part had done, as having been put into disorder in the night, they fell upon them and fought. And the Syracusian horsemen hemmed them in and forced them up into a narrow compass, the more easily now1 , because they were divided from the rest. Now the army of Nicias was gone by this time one hundred and fifty furlongs2 further on. For he led away the faster, because he thought not that3 their safety consisted in staying and fighting voluntarily; but rather in a speedy retreat, and then only fighting when they could not choose. But Demosthenes was both in greater and more continual toil, in respect that he marched in the rear, and consequently was pressed by the enemy4 : and seeing the Syracusians pursuing him, he went not on, but put his men in order to fight, till by his stay he was encompassed, and reduced, he and the Athenians with him, into great disorder. For being shut up5 within a place enclosed round with a wall, and which on either side had a way [open] amongst abundance of olive trees; they were charged from all sides at once with the enemy’s shot. For the Syracusians assaulted them in this kind, and not in close battle, upon very good reason. For to hazard battle against men desperate, was not so much for theirs, as for the Athenians’ advantage. Besides, after so manifest successes, they spared themselves somewhat; because they were loth to wear themselves out6 before the end of the business; and thought by this kind of fight to subdue and take them alive. 82. Whereupon, after they had plied the Athenians and their confederates all day long from every side with shot, and saw that with their wounds and other annoyance they were already tired: Gylippus and the Syracusians and their confederates first made proclamation, that if any of the islanders would come over to them, they should be at liberty. And the men of some few cities went over. And by and by after, they made agreement with all the rest that were with Demosthenes; that they should deliver up their arms, and none of them be put to death, neither violently, nor by bonds, nor by want of the necessities of life. And they all yielded, to the number of six thousand men: and the silver they had, they laid it all down, casting it into the hollow of targets; and filled with the same four targets. And these men they carried presently into the city.

  9th September.The offer of Nicias to redeem his army not accepted.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.10th September.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.10th September.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  Nicias, and those that were with him, attained the same day to the river Erineus; which passing, he caused his army to sit down upon a certain ground more elevate than the rest. 83. Where the Syracusians the next day overtook and told him, that those with Demosthenes had yielded themselves; and willed him to do the like. But he, not believing it, took truce for a horseman to enquire the truth. Upon return of the horseman, and word that they had yielded, he sent a herald to Gylippus and the Syracusians: saying, that he was content to compound on the part of the Athenians, to repay whatsoever money the Syracusians had laid out, so that his army might be suffered to depart; and that till payment of the money were made, he would deliver them hostages, Athenians, every hostage rated as a talent. But Gylippus and the Syracusians refusing the condition, charged them; and having hemmed them in, plied them with shot, as they had done the other army, from every side till evening. This part of the army was also pinched with the want both of victual and other1 necessaries. Nevertheless observing the quiet of the night, they were about to march. But no sooner took they their arms up, than the Syracusians perceiving it gave the alarm. Whereupon the Athenians finding themselves discovered, sat down again: all but three hundred, who breaking by force through the guards, marched as far as they could that night2 . 84. And Nicias, when it was day, led his army forward; the Syracusians and their confederates still pressing them in the same manner, shooting and darting at them from every side. The Athenians hasted to get the river Asinarus; not only because they were urged on every side by the assault of the many horsemen and other multitude, and thought to be more at ease when they were over the river, but out of weariness also and desire to drink. When they were come unto the river, they rushed in without any order, every man striving who should first get over. But the pressing of the enemy, made the passage now more difficult3 . For being forced to take the river in heaps, they fell upon and trampled one another under their feet; and falling amongst the spears and utensils of the army, some perished presently; and others catching hold one of another1 , were carried away together down the stream. And [not only] the Syracusians standing along the farther bank, being a steep one, killed the Athenians with their shot from above, as they were many of them greedily drinking, and troubling one another in the hollow of the river: but the Peloponnesians came also down and slew them with their swords, and those especially that were in the river2 . And suddenly the water was corrupted: nevertheless they drunk it, foul as it was with blood and mire; and many also fought for it. 85. In the end, when many dead lay heaped in the river, and the army was utterly defeated, part at the river, and part (if any gat away) by the horsemen; Nicias yielded himself unto Gylippus, (having more confidence in him than in the Syracusians): to be for his own person at the discretion of him and the Lacedæmonians, and3 no further slaughter to be made of the soldiers. Gylippus from thenceforth commanded to take prisoners. So the residue, except such as were hidden from them, (which were many), they carried alive into the city. They sent also to pursue the three hundred which brake through their guards in the night; and took them. That which was left together of this army to the public, was not much1 ; but they that were conveyed away by stealth were very many: and all Sicily was filled with them, because they were not taken, as those with Demosthenes were, by composition. Besides, a great part [of these] were slain; for the slaughter [at this time] was exceeding great, none greater in all the Sicilian war2 . They were also not a few that died in those other assaults in their march. Nevertheless many also escaped, some then presently, and some by running away after servitude; the rendezvous of whom was Catana.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  86. The Syracusians and their confederates being come together, returned with their prisoners, all they could get, and with the spoil, into the city. As for all other the prisoners of the Athenians and their confederates, they put them into the quarries3 , as the safest custody. But Nicias and Demosthenes they killed, against Gylippus his will. For Gylippus thought the victory would be very honourable, if, over and above all his other success, he could carry home both the generals of the enemy to Lacedæmon. And it fell out that one of them, Demosthenes, was their greatest enemy, for the things he had done in the island and at Pylus; and the other, upon the same occasion, their greatest friend. For Nicias had earnestly laboured to have those prisoners which were taken in the island, to be set at liberty; by persuading the Athenians to the peace. For which cause the Lacedæmonians were inclined to love him: and it was principally in confidence of that, that he rendered himself to Gylippus. But certain Syracusians, as it is reported, some of them for fear (because they had been tampering with him) lest being put to the torture he might bring them into trouble, whereas now they were well enough; and others, especially the Corinthians, fearing he might get away by corruption of one or other, being wealthy, and work them some mischief afresh, having persuaded their confederates to the same, killed him. For these, or for causes near unto these, was he put to death: being the man that, of all the Grecians of my time, had least deserved to be brought to so great a degree of misery1 .

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  87. As for those in the quarries, the Syracusians handled them at first but ungently. For in this hollow place2 , first the sun and suffocating air (being without roof) annoyed them one way: and on the other side, the nights coming upon that heat, autumnal and cold, put them, by reason of the alteration, into strange diseases: especially doing all things, for want of room, in one and the same place; and the carcasses of such as died of their wounds, or change1 [of air] or other like accident, lying together there on heaps. Also the smell was intolerable: besides that they were afflicted with hunger and thirst. For for eight months together, they allowed no more but to every man a cotyle2 of water by the day, and two cotyles of corn. And whatsoever misery is probable that men in such a place may suffer, they suffered. Some seventy days they lived thus thronged. Afterwards, retaining the Athenians, and such Sicilians and Italians as were of the army with them, they sold the rest. How many were taken in all, it is hard to say exactly: but they were seven thousand at the fewest. And this was the greatest action that happened in all this war, or at all, that we have heard of amongst the Grecians3 : being to the victors most glorious, and most calamitous to the vanquished. For being wholly overcome in every kind, and receiving small loss in nothing, their army, and fleet, and all [that ever they had], perished (as they use to say) with an universal destruction1 . Few of many returned home. And thus passed the business concerning Sicily.

  THE EIGHTH BOOK of the HISTORY OF THUCYDIDES.

  THE PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.

  The revolt of the Athenian confederates and the offers made by Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus, the king’s lieutenants of the lower Asia, draw the Lacedæmonians to the war in Ionia and Hellespont.—First in Ionia, and the provinces of Tissaphernes: who, by the counsel of Alcibiades and connivance of Astyochus, hindereth their proceedings.—Alcibiades in the meanwhile, to make way for his return into his country, giveth occasion of sedition about the government: whence ensued the authority of the four hundred, under the pretext of the five thousand: the recalling of Alcibiades by the army: and at length, by his countenance, the deposing again of the four hundred, and end of the sedition.—But in the meantime they lose Eubœa.—Mindarus, the successor of Astyochus, finding himself abused by Tissaphernes, carrieth the war to Pharnabazus into Hellespont: and there presently loseth a battle to the Athenians before Abydos, being then summer and the twenty–first year of the war.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. The fear and sorrow of the Athenians upon hearing of the news.The Athenians resolve to stand it out.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The end of the nineteenth summer.

  1. When the news was told at Athens, they believed not a long time, though it were plainly related and by those very soldiers1 that escaped from the defeat itself, that all was so utterly lost as it was. When they knew it, they were mightily offended with the orators1 that furthered the voyage: as if they themselves had never decreed it. They were angry also with those that gave out prophecies2 , and with the soothsayers: and with whosoever else had at first by any divination put them into hope that Sicily should be subdued. Every thing, from every place, grieved them; and fear and astonishment, the greatest that ever they were in, beset them round3 . For they were not only grieved for the loss which both every man in particular and the whole city sustained, of so many men of arms, horsemen, and serviceable men, the like whereof they saw was not left: but seeing they had neither galleys in their haven, nor money in their treasury, nor furniture in their galleys, were even desperate at that present of their safety; and thought the enemy out of Sicily would come forthwith with their fleet into Peiræus, especially after the vanquishing of so great a navy; and that the enemy here would surely now, with double preparation in every kind, press them to the utmost both by sea and land, and be aided therein by their revolting confederates. Nevertheless, as far as their means would stretch, it was thought best to stand it out; and getting materials and money where they could have it, to make ready a navy, and to make sure of their confederates, especially those of Eubœa; and to introduce a greater frugality in the city4 , and to erect a magistracy of the elder sort, as occasion should be offered to preconsult of the business that passed. And they were ready, in respect of their present fear, (as is the people’s fashion), to order every thing aright. And as they resolved this, so they did it. And the summer ended.

  The Grecians take part all of them against the Athenians.The hopes of the Lacedæmonians.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  2. The winter following, upon the great overthrow of the Athenians in Sicily, all the Grecians were presently up against them. Those who before were confederates of neither side, thought fit no longer, though uncalled, to abstain from the war, but to go against the Athenians of their own accord; as having not only every one severally this thought, that had the Athenians prospered in Sicily they would afterwards have come upon them also, but imagined1 withal that the rest of the war would be but short, whereof it would be an honour to participate. And such of them as were confederates of the Lacedæmonians, longed now more than ever to be freed as soon as might be of their great toil. But above all, the cities subject to the Athenians were ready, even beyond their ability, to revolt; as they that judged according to their passion, without admitting reason in the matter, that the next summer they were to remain with victory2 . But the Lacedæmonians themselves took heart, not only from all this, but also principally from that, that their confederates in Sicily with great power, having another navy now necessarily added to their own1 , would in all likelihood be with them in the beginning of the spring. And being every way full of hopes, they purposed without delay2 to fall close to the war: making account, if this were well ended, both to be free hereafter from any more such dangers as the Athenians, if they had gotten Sicily, would have put them into; and also having pulled them down, to have the principality of all Greece now secure unto themselves.

  Agis levieth money.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.The Lacedæmonians appoint a fleet of a hundred galleys to be made ready amongst the cities of league.

  3. Whereupon Agis their king went out with a part of his army the same winter from Deceleia, and levied money amongst the confederates for the building of a navy: and turning into the Melian gulf, upon an old grudge took a great booty from the Œtæans, which he made money of3 ; and forced those of Pthiotis being Achaians, and others in those parts subjects to the Thessalians, (the Thessalians complaining and unwilling), to give them hostages and money. The hostages he put into Corinth, and endeavoured to draw them into the league. And the Lacedæmonians imposed upon the states confederate, the charge of building one hundred galleys: that is to say, on their own state and on the Bœotians, each twenty–five; on the Phoceans and Locrians, fifteen; on the Corinthians, fifteen; on the Arcadians, Sicyonians, and Pellenians, ten; and on the Megareans, Trœzenians, and Hermionians, ten. And put all things else in readiness presently with the spring to begin the war.

  The Athenians build their navy, and contract their charges.

  4. The Athenians also made their preparations, as they had designed; having gotten timber and built their navy this same winter, and fortified the promontory of Sunium that their cornboats might come about in safety. Also they abandoned the fort in Laconia, which they had built as they went by for Sicily. And generally where there appeared expense upon anything unuseful, they contracted their charge.

  The Eubœansyear xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. offer to revolt to Agis.The Lesbians offer to revolt to Agis.The Chians and Erythræans desire to revolt.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Tissaphernes, lieutenant of the lower Asia, laboureth to have the Lacedæmonians come unto him.

  5. Whilst they were on both sides doing thus1 , there came unto Agis about their revolt from the Athenians, first the ambassadors of the Eubœans. Accepting the motion, he sent for Alcamenes the son of Sthenelaidas and for Melanthus from Lacedæmon, to go commanders into Eubœa. Whom, when he1 was come to him with about three hundred freedmen, he was now about to send over. But in the meantime came the Lesbians, they also desiring to revolt: and by the means2 of the Bœotians Agis changed his former resolution, and prepared for the revolt of Lesbos, deferring that of Eubœa; and assigned them Alcamenes, the same that should have gone into Eubœa, for their governor3 : and the Bœotians promised them ten galleys, and Agis other ten. Now this was done without acquainting therewith the state of Lacedæmon. For Agis, as long as he was about Deceleia with the power he had, had the law in his own hands, to send what army and whither he listed, and to levy men and money at his pleasure. And at this time, the confederates of him (as I may call them) did better obey him, than the confederates of the Lacedæmonians did them at home4 : for having the power in his hands, he was terrible wheresoever he came. And he was now for the Lesbians. But the Chians and Erythræans, they also desiring to revolt, went not to Agis, but to the Lacedæmonians in the city: and with them went also an ambassador from Tissaphernes, lieutenant to king Darius in the low countries of Asia1 . For Tissaphernes also instigated the Peloponnesians, and promised to pay their fleet. For he had lately begged of the king2 the tribute accruing in his own province; for which he was in arrearage, because he could receive nothing out of any of the Greek cities by reason of the Athenians. And therefore he thought by weakening the Athenians, to receive his tribute the better, and withal to draw the Lacedæmonians into a league with the king: and thereby, as the king had commanded, to kill or take alive Amorges, Pissuthnes his bastard son, who was in rebellion against him about Caria3 . The Chians therefore and Tissaphernes followed this business jointly.

  year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4. Pharnabazus, lieutenant of Hellespont, laboureth the like for himself.year xix. A. C. 413. Ol. 91. 4.

  6. Calligeitus the son of Laophon, a Magarean, and Timagoras the son of Athenagoras, a Cyzicene, both banished their own cities and abiding with Pharnabazus the son of Pharnaces, came also about the same time to Lacedæmon; sent by Pharnabazus to procure a fleet for the Hellespont, that he also, if he could, might cause the Athenian cities in his province to revolt for his tribute’s sake, and be the first to draw the Lacedæmonians into league with the king: just the same things that were desired before by Tissaphernes. Now Pharnabazus and Tissaphernes treating apart1 , there was great canvassing at Lacedæmon, between the one side that persuaded to send to Ionia and Chios, and the other that would have the army and fleet go first into the Hellespont. But the Lacedæmonians indeed approved best by much of the business of the Chians and of Tissaphernes. For with these co–operated Alcibiades, hereditary guest and friend of Endius the ephore of that year in the highest degree: insomuch as in respect of that guesthood, Alcibiades his family received a Laconic name2 . For Endius was called Endius Alcibiadis. Nevertheless the Lacedæmonians sent first one Phrynis, a man of those parts3 , to Chios, to see if the galleys they had were so many as they reported, and whether the city were otherwise so sufficient as it was said to be. And when the messenger brought back word that all that had been said was true, they received both the Chians and the Erythræans presently into their league: and decreed to send them forty galleys, there being at Chios, from such places as the Chians named, no less than sixty already. And of these at first they were about to send out ten, with Melancridas for admiral1 : but afterwards, upon occasion of an earthquake, for Melancridas they sent Chalcideus, and instead of ten galleys they went about the making ready of five only in Laconia. So the winter ended: and nineteenth year of this war written by Thucydides2 .

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. The Lacedæmonians send to Corinth to hasten away the fleet to Chios.The confederates in council at Corinth set downyear xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. an order for the war following, with which to begin and which to follow.The Athenians understand the purpose of the Chians to revolt.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.

  7. In the beginning of the next summer, because the Chians pressed to have the galleys sent away, and feared lest the Athenians should get notice what they were doing; (for all their ambassadors went out by stealth); the Lacedæmonians send away to Corinth three Spartans, to will them with all speed to transport their galleys over the isthmus to the other sea towards Athens, and to go all to Chios, as well those which Agis had made ready to go to Lesbos as the rest: the number of the galleys of the league which were then there, being forty wanting one. 8. But Calligeitus and Timagoras, who came from Pharnabazus, would have no part in this fleet that went for Chios; nor would deliver the money, twenty–five talents, which they had brought with them, to pay for their setting forth, but made account to go out with another fleet afterwards by themselves. When Agis saw that the Lacedæmonians meant to send first to Chios, he resolved not of any other course himself; but the confederates assembling at Corinth went to council upon the matter, and concluded thus: that they should go first to Chios under the command of Chalcideus, who was making ready the five galleys at Laconia; and then to Lesbos under the charge of Alcamenes, intended also to be sent thither by Agis; and lastly into Hellespont, in which voyage they ordained that Clearchus, the son of Rhamphias, should have the command; and concluded to carry over the isthmus first the one half of their galleys, and that those should presently put to sea, that the Athenians might have their minds more upon those, than on the other half to be transported afterwards. For they determined to pass that sea openly; contemning the weakness of the Athenians, in respect they had not any navy of importance yet appearing. As they resolved, so presently they carried over one and twenty galleys. 9. But when the rest urged to put to sea, the Corinthians were unwilling to go along before they should have ended the celebration of the Isthmian holidays, then come. Hereupon Agis was content, that they for their parts should observe the Isthmian truce; and he therefore to take the fleet upon himself as his own1 . But the Corinthians not agreeing to that, and the time passing away, the Athenians got intelligence the easier of the practice of the Chians: and sent thither Aristocrates, one of their generals, to accuse them of it. The Chians denying the matter, he commanded them for their better credit to send along with him some galleys for their aid due by the league1 : and they sent seven. The cause why they sent these galleys, was the many not acquainted with the practice; and the few and conscious not willing to undergo the enmity of the multitude without having strength first, and their not expecting any longer the coming of the Lacedæmonians, because they had so long delayed them.

  The Athenians drive the Peloponnesian galleys into Peiræus, a desert haven, and there besiege them.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.

  10. In the meantime the Isthmian games were celebrating, and the Athenians (for they had word sent them of it) came and saw2 ; and the business of the Chians grew more apparent. After they went thence, they took order presently that the fleet might not pass from Cenchreiæ undiscovered. And after the holidays were over, the Corinthians put to sea for Chios3 under the conduct of Alcamenes. And the Athenians at first with equal number came up to them, and endeavoured to draw them out into the main sea4 : but seeing the Peloponnesians followed not far, but turned another way, the Athenians went also from them. For the seven galleys of Chios, which were part of this number, they durst not trust. But afterwards having manned thirty–seven others5 , they gave chase to the enemy by the shore, and drave them into Peiræus in the territory of Corinth: (this Peiræus is a desert haven, and the utmost upon the confines of Epidauria). One galley that was far from land, the Peloponnesians lost; the rest they brought together into the haven. But the Athenians charging them by sea with their galleys, and withal setting their men a–land, mightily troubled and disordered them: brake their galleys upon the shore, and slew Alcamenes their commander. And some1 they lost of their own.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. The voyage of Chalcideus and Alcibiades to Chios.

  11. The fight being ended, they assigned a sufficient number of galleys to lie opposite to those of the enemy, and the rest to lie under a2 little island not far off: in which also they encamped, and sent to Athens for a supply. For the Peloponnesians had with them for aid of their galleys, the Corinthians the next day3 : and not long after, divers others of the inhabitants thereabouts. But when they considered that the guarding of them in a desert place would be painful, they knew not what course to take; and once they thought to have set the galleys on fire: but it was concluded afterwards to draw them to the land, and guard them with their landmen till some good occasion should be offered for their escape. And Agis also, when he heard the news, sent unto them Thermon, a Spartan. The Lacedæmonians having been advertised of the departure of these galleys from the isthmus, (for the ephores had commanded Alcamenes, when he put to sea to send them word by a horseman1 ), were minded presently to have sent away also the five galleys also that were in Laconia, and Chalcideus the commander of them, and with him Alcibiades. But afterwards, as they were ready to go out, came the news of the galleys chased into Periæus: which so much discouraged them, in respect they stumbled in the very entrance of the Ionic war, that they purposed now, not only not to send away those galleys of their own, but also to call back again some of those that were already at sea.

  12. When Alcibiades saw this, he dealt with Endius and the rest of the ephores again, not to fear the voyage: alleging that they would [make haste, and] be there before the Chians should have heard of the misfortune of the fleet; and that as soon as he should arrive in Ionia himself, he could easily make the cities there to revolt, by declaring unto them the weakness of the Athenians and the diligence of the Lacedæmonians; wherein he should be thought more worthy to be believed than any other. Moreover to Endius he said, that it would be an honour in particular to him, that Ionia should revolt and the king be made confederate to the Lacedæmonians by his own means2 , and not to have it the mastery of Agis: for he was at difference with Agis. So having prevailed with Endius and the other ephores1 , he took sea with five galleys, together with Chalcideus of Lacedæmon; and made haste.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. Sixteen galleys of Peloponnesus, intercepted and hardly handled in their return from Sicily by the Athenians, arrive in Corinth.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.

  13. About the same time came back from Sicily those sixteen galleys of the Peloponnesians, which, having aided Gylippus in that war, were intercepted by the way about Leucadia and evil entreated by twenty–seven galleys of Athens, that watched thereabouts under the command of Hippocles, the son of Menippus, for such galleys as should return out of Sicily. For all the rest, saving one, avoiding the Athenians, were arrived in Corinth before1 .

  Chios and Erythræ revolt.Clazomenæ revolteth.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.

  14. Chalcideus and Alcibiades, as they sailed, kept prisoner every man they met with by the way; to the end that notice might not be given of their passage. And touching first at Corycus in the continent, where also they dismissed those whom they had apprehended; after conference there with some of the conspirators of the Chians, that advised them to go to the city without sending them word before, they came upon the Chians suddenly and unexpected. It put the commons into much wonder and astonishment: but the few had so ordered the matter beforehand, that an assembly2 chanced to be holden at the same time. And when Chalcideus and Alcibiades had spoken in the same; and told them that many galleys were coming to them, but not that those other galleys were besieged in Peiræus; the Chians first, and afterwards the Erythræans, revolted from the Athenians. After this they went with three galleys to Clazomenæ, and made that city to revolt also. And the Clazomenians presently crossed over to the continent, and there fortified Polichna1 : lest they should need a retiring place from the little island wherein they dwelt. The rest also, all that had revolted, fell to fortifying, and making of preparation for the war.

  The Athenians abrogate the decree touching the thousand talents reserved for the extremities of state, and furnish out a fleet with the money.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.

  15. This news of Chios was quickly brought to the Athenians; who conceiving themselves to be now beset with great and evident danger, and that the rest of the confederates, seeing so great a city to revolt, would be no longer quiet, in this their present fear2 decreed that those thousand talents, which through all this war they had affected to keep untouched, forthwith abrogating the punishment ordained for such as spake or gave their suffrages3 to stir it, should now be used, and therewith galleys not a few manned. They decreed also to send thither out of hand, under the command of Strombichides the son of Diotimus, eight galleys of the number of those that besieged the enemy at Peiræus; the which, having forsaken their charge to give chase to the galleys that went with Chalcideus, and not able to overtake them, were now returned: and shortly after also to send Thrasycles to help them with twelve galleys more, which also had departed from the same guard upon the enemy. And those seven galleys of Chios, which likewise kept watch at Peiræus with the rest, they fetched from thence, and gave the bondmen that served in them their liberty, and the chains to those that were free. And instead of all those galleys that kept guard1 upon the galleys of the Peloponnesians, they made ready other with all speed in their places; besides thirty more, which they intended to furnish out afterwards. Great was their diligence; and nothing was of light importance that they went about for the recovery of Chios.

  Teos revolteth.

  16. Strombichides in the meantime arrived2 at Samos: and taking into his company one Samian galley, went thence to Teos, and entreated them not to stir. But towards Teos was Chalcideus also coming with twenty–three galleys from Chios: and with him also the land forces of the Clazomenians and Erythræans3 . Whereof Strombichides having been advertised, he put forth again before his arrival; and standing off at sea, when he saw the many galleys that came from Chios, he fled towards Samos, they following him. The land forces, the Teians would not at the first admit: but after this flight of the Athenians, they brought them in. And these for the most part4 held their hands for a while, expecting the return of Chalcideus from the chase: but when he stayed somewhat long, they fell of themselves to the demolishing of the wall built about the city of Teos by the Athenians towards the continent; wherein they were also helped by some few barbarians, that came down thither under the leading of Tages, deputy lieutenant of Tissaphernes.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.Miletus revolteth.

  17. Chalcideus and Alcibiades, when they had chased Strombichides into Samos, armed the mariners that were in the galleys of Peloponnesus, and left them in Chios; instead of whom they manned with mariners of Chios both those and twenty galleys more: and with this fleet they went to Miletus with intent to cause it to revolt. For the intention of Alcibiades, that was acquainted with the principal Milesians, was to prevent the fleet which was to come from Peloponnesus, and to turn these cities first1 ; that the honour of it might be ascribed to the Chians, to himself, to Chalcideus, and (as he had promised) to Endius that set them out, as having brought most of the cities to revolt with the forces of the Chians only and of those galleys that came with Chalcideus. So these, for the greatest part of their way undiscovered, and arriving not much sooner than Strombichides and Thrasycles, (who now chancing to be present with [those] twelve galleys from Athens followed them with Strombichides), caused the Milesians to revolt. The Athenians following them at the heels with nineteen galleys, being shut out by the Milesians, lay at anchor at Lada2 , an island over against the city.

  Presently upon the revolt of Miletus was made the first league between the king and the Lacedæmonians by Tissaphernes and Chalcideus, as followeth:

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. League between Tissaphernes and the Lacedæmonians.

  18. “The Lacedæmonians and their confederates have made a league with the king and Tissaphernes on these articles:

  “Whatsoever territory or cities the king possesseth, and his ancestors have possessed, the same are to remain the king’s.

  “Whatsoever money or other profit redounded to the Athenians from their cities1 , the king and the Lacedæmonians are jointly to hinder, so as the Athenians may receive nothing from thence, neither money nor other thing.

  “The king, and the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, are to make joint war against the Athenians. And without consent of both parts it shall not be lawful to lay down the war against the Athenians, neither for the king, nor for the Lacedæmonians and their confederates.

  “If any shall revolt from the king, they shall be enemies to the Lacedæmonians and their confederates: and if any shall revolt from the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, they shall in like manner be enemies to the king.”

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4.Lebedos and Eræ revolt.

  19. This was the league. Presently after this the Chians set out ten galleys more, and went to Anæa: both to hearken what became of the business at Miletus, and also to cause the cities thereabouts to revolt. But word being sent them from Chalcideus to go back, and that Amorges was at hand2 with his army, they went thence to the temple of Jupitor. [Being there] they1 descried sixteen galleys more, which had been sent out by the Athenians under the charge of Diomedon after the putting to sea of those with Thrasycles: upon sight of whom they fled, one galley to Ephesus, the rest towards Teos. Four of them the Athenians took, but empty, the men having gotten on shore: the rest escaped into the city of Teos. And the Athenians went away again towards Samos. The Chians putting to sea again with the remainder of their fleet and with the land forces, caused first Lebedos to revolt, and then Eræ: and afterwards returned, both with their fleet and landmen, every one to his own.

  The Peloponnesians in Peiræus escape.Astyochus admiral of the Peloponnesians.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 91. 4. Tissaphernes razeth the remainder of the Athenian wall at Teos.

  20. About the same time, the twenty galleys of Peloponnesus, which the Athenians had formerly2 chased into Peiræus, and against whom they now lay with a like number, suddenly forced their passage; and having the victory in fight, took four of the Athenian galleys; and going to Cenchreiæ, prepared afresh for their voyage to Chios and Ionia. At which time there came also unto them from Lacedæmon for commander, Astyochus; who was now admiral of the whole navy3 . When the landmen were gone from Teos, Tissaphernes himself came thither with his forces; and he also demolished the wall as much as was left standing, and went his way again. Not long after the going away of him, came thither Diomedon with ten galleys of Athens. And having made a truce with the Teians, that he also might be received, he put to sea again, and kept the shore to Eræ, and assaulted it; but failing to take it, departed.

  21. It fell out about the same time that the commons of Samos, together with the Athenians who were there with three galleys, made an insurrection against the great men; and slew of them in all about two hundred. And having banished four hundred more, and distributed amongst themselves their lands and houses, (the Athenians having now, as assured of their fidelity, decreed them their liberty), they administered the affairs of the city from that time forward by themselves, no more communicating with the Geomori1 , nor permitting any of the common people to marry with them.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The Chians endeavour to turn Lesbos from the Athenians to the Lacedæmonians with their single power: and cause first Methymna, then Mytilene to revolt.

  22. After this, the same summer, the Chians, as they had begun, persevering in their earnestness to bring the cities to revolt, even without the Lacedæmonians, [with their single forces], and desiring to make as many fellows of their danger as they were able, made war by themselves with thirteen galleys against Lesbos: which was according to what was concluded by the Lacedæmonians, namely, to go thither in the second place, and thence into the Hellespont. And withal the land forces, both of such Peloponnesians as were present and of their confederates thereabouts, went along by them to Clazomenæ and Cyme: these under the command of Eualas a Spartan, and the galleys, of Deiniades a man of the parts thereabouts1 . The galleys putting in at Methymna, caused that city to revolt first. . . . . . . . . . .2

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.The Athenians recover MytileneAstyochus seeing he could do no good at Lesbos, returned to Chios.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.The Athenians recover Clazomenæ.

  23. Now Astyochus the Lacedæmonian admiral, having set forth as he intended from Cenchreiæ3 , arrived at Chios. The third day after his coming thither, came Leon and Diomedon into Lesbos with twenty–five galleys of Athens: for Leon came with a supply of ten galleys more from Athens afterwards1 . Astyochus in the evening of the same day, taking with him one galley more of Chios, took his way toward Lesbos, to help it what he could: and put in at Pyrrha, and the next day at Eressos. Here he heard that Mytilene was taken by the Athenians, even with the shout of their voices. For the Athenians coming unexpected, entered the haven2 : and having beaten the galleys of the Chians, disbarked and overcame those that made head against them, and won the city. When Astyochus heard this, both from the Eressians and from those Chian galleys that came from Methymna with Eubulus; which having been left there before, as soon as Mytilene was lost fled, and three of them chanced to meet with him, (for one was taken by the Athenians); he continued his course for Mytilene no longer: but having caused Eressos to revolt, and armed the soldiers he had aboard, made them to march toward Antissa and Methymna by land3 , under the conduct of Eteonicus; and he himself with his own galleys and those three of Chios, rowed thither along the shore, hoping that the Methymnæans, upon sight of his forces, would take heart and continue in their revolt. But when in Lesbos all things went against him, he re–embarked his army and returned to Chios. And the landmen4 that were aboard, and should have gone into Hellespont, went again into their cities. After this came to them six galleys to Chios, of those of the confederate fleet at Cenchreiæ. The Athenians, when they had reestablished the state of Lesbos, went thence and took Polichna, which the Clazomenians had fortified in the continent; and brought them all back again into the city which is in the island, save only the authors of the revolt; for these got away to Daphnus. And Clazomenæ returned to the obedience of the Athenians.

  Chalcideus slain.

  24. The same summer, those Athenians that with twenty galleys lay in the isle of Lada before Miletus, landing in the territory of Miletus at Panormus, slew Chalcideus the Lacedæmonian commander, that came out against them but with a few; and set up a trophy, and the third day after departed1 . But the Milesians pulled down the trophy, as erected where the Athenians were not masters.

  The Athenians make sharp war upon Chios.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.Praise of the Chians.

  Leon and Diomedon, with the Athenian galleys that were at Lesbos, made war upon the Chians by sea from the isles called Œnussæ, which lie before Chios, and from Sidussa and Pteleum (forts they held in Erythræa), and from Lesbos2 . They that were aboard were men of arms of the roll, compelled to serve in the fleet3 . With these they landed at Cardamyle; and having overthrown the Chians that made head in a battle at Bolissus, and slain many of them, they recovered from the enemy all the places of that quarter. And again they overcame them in another battle at Phanæ, and in a third at Leuconium. After this, the Chians went out no more to fight: by which means the Athenians made spoil of their territory, excellently well furnished1 . For except it were the Lacedæmonians, the Chians were the only men that I have heard of, that had joined advisedness to prosperity; and the more their city increased, had carried the more respect in the administration thereof to assure it. Nor ventured they now to revolt, (lest any man should think that, in this act at least, they regarded not what was the safest), till they had many and strong confederates with whose help to try their fortune; nor till such time as they perceived the people of Athens (as they themselves could not deny) to have their estate after the defeat in Sicily reduced to extreme weakness. And if through human misreckoning they miscarried in aught, they erred with many others: who in like manner had an opinion, that the state of the Athenians would quickly have been overthrown.

  Being therefore shut up by sea, and having their lands spoiled, some within undertook to make the city return unto the Athenians. Which though the magistrates perceived, yet they themselves stirred not; but having received Astyochus into the city with four galleys that were with him from Erythræ, they took advice together, how by taking hostages, or some other gentle way, to make them give over the conspiracy. Thus stood the business with the Chians.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The Athenians fight with the Milesians, and begin to besiege the city.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  25. In the end of this summer a thousand five hundred men of arms of Athens, and a thousand of Argos1 , (for the Athenians had put armour upon five hundred light–armed of the Argives), and of other confederates a thousand more, with forty–eight galleys, reckoning those which were for transportation of soldiers, under the conduct of Phrynicus, Onomacles, and Scironides, came in2 to Samos, and crossing over to Miletus encamped before it. And the Milesians issued forth with eight hundred men of arms of their own, besides the Peloponnesians that came with Chalcideus and some auxiliar strangers3 with Tissaphernes (Tissaphernes himself being also there with his cavalry): and fought with the Athenians and their confederates. The Argives, who made one wing of themselves, advancing before the rest and in some disorder, in contempt of the enemy, as being Ionians and not likely to sustain their charge, were by the Milesians overcome: and lost no less than three hundred of their men. But the Athenians, when they had first overthrown the Peloponnesians, and then beaten back the barbarians and other multitude, and not fought with the Milesians at all, (for they, after they were come from the chase of the Argives and saw their other wing defeated, went into the town), sat down with their arms, as being now masters of the field, close under the wall of the city. It fell out in this battle, that on both sides the Ionics had the better of the Dorics. For the Athenians overcame the opposite Peloponnesians; and the Milesians, the Argives. The Athenians, after they had erected their trophy, the place being an isthmus, prepared to take in the town with a wall: supposing if they got Miletus, the other cities would easily come in.

  The Athenians rise from Miletus upon the coming of fifty–five galleys from Peloponnesus.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  26. In the meantime it was told them about twilight, that the five and fifty galleys from Peloponnesus and Sicily were hard by, and only not already come. For1 there came into Peloponnesus out of Sicily, by the instigation of Hermocrates to help to consummate the subversion of the Athenian state, twenty galleys of Syracuse and two of Selinus: and the galleys that had been preparing in Peloponnesus being then also ready, they were, both these and the other, committed to the charge of Theramenes, to be conducted by him to Astyochus the admiral: and they put in first at Eleus2 , an island over against Miletus. And being advertised there that the Athenians lay before the town, they went from thence into the gulf of Iasus, to learn how the affairs of the Milesians stood. Alcibiades coming a horseback to Teichiussa of the territory of Miletus, in which part of the gulf the Peloponnesian galleys lay at anchor, they were informed by him of the battle: for Alcibiades was, with the Milesians and with Tissaphernes, present in it. And he exhorted them, unless they meant to lose what they had in Ionia and the whole business, to succour Miletus with all speed, and not to suffer it to be taken in with a wall. 27. According to this, they concluded to go the next morning and relieve it. Phrynichus, when he had certain word from Derus1 of the arrival of those galleys, his colleagues advising to stay and fight it out with their fleet, said that he would neither do it himself, nor suffer them to do it, or any other, as long as he could hinder it. For seeing he might fight with them hereafter, when they should know against how many galleys of the enemy, and with what additions to their own2 , sufficiently and at leisure made ready, they might do it; he would never, he said, for fear of being upbraided with baseness, (for it was no baseness for the Athenians to let their navy give way upon occasion; but by what means soever it should fall out, it would be a great baseness to be beaten3 ), be swayed to hazard battle against reason, and not only to dishonour the state, but also to cast it into extreme danger; seeing that since their late losses it hath scarce been fit with their strongest preparation, willingly, no nor urged by precedent necessity, to undertake4 , how then without constraint to seek out voluntary, dangers? Therefore he commanded them with all speed to take aboard those that were wounded, and their landmen and whatsoever utensils they brought with them; but to leave behind whatsoever they had taken in the territory of the enemy, to the end that their galleys might be the lighter: and to put off for Samos, and thence, when they had all their fleet together, to make out against the enemy as occasion should be offered. As Phrynichus advised this, so he put it in execution: and was esteemed a wise man, not then only, but afterwards; nor in this only, but in whatsoever else he had the ordering of. Thus the Athenians presently in the evening, with their victory unperfect, dislodged from before Miletus. From Samos the Argives, in haste and in anger for their overthrow, went home.

  The Peloponnesians and Tissaphernes take Iasus: wherein was Amorges, rebel to the king, whom they take prisoner.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.The end of the twentieth summer.

  28. The Peloponnesians setting forth betimes in the morning from Teichiussa, put in at Miletus1 ; and stayed there one day. The next day they took with them those galleys of Chios, which had formerly been chased together with Chalcideus; and meant to have returned to Teichiussa, to take aboard such necessaries2 as they had left ashore. But as they were going, Tissaphernes came to them with his landmen, and persuaded them to set upon Iasus, where Amorges the king’s enemy then lay. Whereupon they assaulted Iasus upon a sudden: and they within not thinking but they had been the fleet of the Athenians, took it. The greatest praise in this action was given to the Syracusians. Having taken Amorges, the bastard son of Pissuthnes, but a rebel to the king, the Peloponnesians delivered him to Tissaphernes, to carry him if he would to the king, as he had order to do. The city they pillaged; wherein, as being a place of ancient riches, the army got a very great quantity of money. The auxiliary soldiers of Amorges, they received without doing them hurt, into their own army; being for the most part Peloponnesians. The town itself they delivered to Tissaphernes, with all the prisoners, as well free as bond; upon composition with him, at a Daric stater1 by the poll. And so they returned to Miletus. And from hence they sent Pedaritus the son of Leon, whom the Lacedæmonians had sent hither to be governor of Chios, to Erythræ; and with him, the bands that had aided Amorges by land; and made Philip governor there in Miletus. And so this summer ended.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  29. The next winter Tissaphernes, after he had put a garrison into Iasus, came to Miletus: and for one month’s pay, which was promised on his part at Lacedæmon, he gave unto the soldiers through the whole fleet after an Attic drachma a man by the day. But for the rest of the time he would pay but three oboles, till he had asked the king’s pleasure: and if the king commanded it, then he said he would pay them the full drachma. Nevertheless upon the contradiction of Hermocrates, general of the Syracusians, (for Theramenes was but slack in exacting pay, as not being general, but only to deliver the galleys that came with him to Astyochus), it was agreed that but for the five galleys that were over and above, they should have more than three oboles a man. For to fifty–five galleys he allowed three talents a month; and to as many as should be more than that number, after the same proportion1 .

  The Athenians send part of the fleet against Chios, and part against Miletus.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  30. The same winter the Athenians that were at Samos, (for2 there were now come in thirty–five galleys more from home, with Charminus, Strombichides, and Euctemon, their commanders), having gathered together their galleys, as well those that had been at Chios as all the rest, concluded, distributing to every one his charge by lot, to go lie before Miletus with a fleet; but against Chios, to send out both a fleet and an army of landmen. And they did so. For Strombichides, Onomacles, and Euctemon, with thirty galleys and part of those thousand3 men of arms that went to Miletus, which they carried along with them in vessels for transportation of soldiers, according to their lot went to Chios: and the rest remaining at Samos with seventy–four galleys, were masters of the sea, and went1 to Miletus.

  Astyochus goeth from Chios to Clazomenæ:thence to Phocæa and Cume.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The Lesbians offer to turn to Astyochus.

  31. Astyochus, who was now2 in Chios requiring hostages in respect of the treason, after he heard of the fleet that was come with Theramenes, and that the articles of the league with Tissaphernes were mended3 , gave over that business: and with ten galleys of Peloponnesus and ten of Chios, went thence and assaulted Pteleum; but not being able to take it, he kept by the shore to Clazomenæ. There he summoned those within to yield: with offer to such of them as favoured the Athenians, that they might go up and dwell at Daphnus. And Tamos the deputy lieutenant4 of Ionia, offered them the same. But they not hearkening thereunto, he made an assault upon the city, being unwalled: but when he could not take it, he put to sea again, and with a mighty wind was himself carried to Phocæa and Cume; but the rest of the fleet put in at Marathusa, Pele, and Drimyssa, islands that lie over against Clazomenæ. After they had stayed there eight days in regard of the winds, spoiling and destroying, and partly taking aboard whatsoever goods of the Clazomenians lay without, they went afterwards to Phocæa and Cume to Astyochus. 32. While Astyochus was there, the ambassadors of the Lesbians came unto him, desiring to revolt1 from the Athenians. And as for him, they prevailed with him: but seeing the Corinthians and the other confederates were unwilling in respect of their former ill success there, he put to sea for Chios. Whither after a great tempest his galleys, some from one place and some from another, at length arrived all. After this, Pedaritus, who was now2 at Erythræ, whither he was come from Miletus by land, came over with his forces into Chios. Besides those forces he brought over with him, he had the soldiers which were of the five galleys that came thither with Chalcideus and were left there, to the number of five hundred; and armour to arm them.

  Astyochus and I’edaritus, the governor of Chios, disagree.

  Now some of the Lesbians having promised to revolt3 , Astyochus communicated the matter with Pedaritus and the Chians, alleging how meet it would be to go with a fleet and make Lesbos to revolt; for that they should either get more confederates, or failing, they should at least weaken the Athenians. But they gave him no ear; and for the Chian galleys, Pedaritus told him [plainly] he should have none of them. 33. Whereupon Astyochus taking with him five galleys of Corinth, a sixth of Megara, one of Hermione, and those of Laconia which he brought with him, went towards Miletus to his charge: mightily threatening the Chians, in case they should need him, not to help them.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  When he was come to Corycus in Erythræa, he stayed there. And the Athenians from Samos lay on the other side of the point, the one not knowing that the other was so near1 . Astyochus, upon a letter sent him from Pedaritus, signifying that there were come certain Erythræan captives dismissed from Samos with design to betray Erythræ, went presently back to Erythræ: so little he missed of falling into the hands of the Athenians. Pedaritus also went over to him; and having narrowly enquired touching these seeming traitors, and found that the whole matter was but a pretence which the men had used for their escape from Samos2 , they acquitted them, and departed one to Chios, the other, as he was going before, towards Miletus.

  The Athenian galleys tossed with tempest.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The Athenians take the galleys of the Peloponnesians, sent to waft in the ships of corn from Ægypt to Cnidus.

  34. In the meantime, the army of the Athenians being come about by sea from Corycus to Arginum, lighted on three long–boats of the Chians; which3 when they saw, they presently chased. But there arose a great tempest; and the long–boats of Chios with much ado recovered the harbour. But of the Athenian galleys, especially such as followed them furthest, there perished three, driven ashore at the city of Chios; and the men that were aboard them were part taken, and part slain. The rest of the fleet escaped into a haven called Phœnicus, under the hill Mimas: from whence they got afterwards to Lesbos, and there fortified1 .

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  35. The same winter Hippocrates setting out from Peloponnesus with ten galleys of Thurium, commanded by Dorieus the son of Diogoras2 with two others, and with one galley of Laconia and one of Syracuse, went to Cnidus. This city was now revolted from Tissaphernes3 : and the Peloponnesians that lay at Miletus hearing of it, commanded that, the one half of their galleys remaining for the guard of Cnidus, the other half should go about Triopium, and help to bring in the ships which were to come from Ægypt4 . This Triopium is a promontory of the territory of Cnidus, lying out in the sea and consecrated to Apollo. The Athenians, upon advertisement hereof, setting forth from Samos, took those galleys1 that kept guard at Triopium: but the men that were in them escaped to land. After this they went to Cnidus, which they assaulted; and had almost taken, being without wall. And the next day they assaulted it again; but being less able to hurt it now than before, because they had fenced it better this night, and the men also were gotten into it that fled from their galleys under Triopium, they invaded2 and wasted the Cnidian territory; and so went back to Samos.

  They assault the city of Cnidus, but cannot win it.

  36. About the same time, Astyochus being come to the navy at Miletus, the Peloponnesians had3 plenty of all things for the army. For they had not only sufficient pay, but the soldiers also had store of money yet remaining of the pillage of Iasus. And the Milesians underwent the war with a good will. Nevertheless the former articles of the league made by Chalcideus with Tissaphernes seemed4 defective, and not so advantageous to them as to him. Whereupon they agreed to new ones, in the presence of Tissaphernes5 , which were these:

  The second league between the Lacedæmonians and the king of Persia.

  37. “The agreement of the Lacedæmonians and their confederates with king Darius and his children6 , and with Tissaphernes, for league and amity according to the articles following:

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  “Whatsoever territories and cities do belong unto king Darius, or were his father’s or his ancestors’, against these shall neither the Lacedæmonians1 go to make war, nor any way to annoy them: neither shall the Lacedæmonians nor their confederates exact tribute of any of those cities. Neither shall king Darius, nor any under his dominion, make war upon or any way annoy the Lacedæmonians, or any of the Lacedæmonian confederates.

  “If the Lacedæmonians or their confederates shall need anything of the king, or the king of the Lacedæmonians or of their confederates: what they shall persuade each other to do, that if they do it, shall be good.

  “They shall both of them make war jointly against the Athenians and their confederates: and when they shall give over the war, they shall also do it jointly.

  “Whatsoever army shall be in the king’s country, sent for by the king, the king shall defray.

  “If any of the cities comprehended in the league made with the king, shall invade the king’s territories, the rest shall oppose them and defend the king to the utmost of their power. If any city of the king’s, or under his dominion, shall invade the Lacedæmonians or their confederates, the king shall make opposition and defend them to the utmost of his power.”

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. Theramenes goeth to sea in a light–horseman, and is cast away.

  38. After this accord made, Theramenes delivered his galleys into the hands of Astyochus: and putting to sea in a light–horseman, is no more seen1 .

  The Chians in distress, send for aid to Astyochus.Astyochus refuseth to aid them, and is complained of by Pedaritus his letters to the state.

  The Athenians that were now come with their army from Lesbos to Chios, and were masters of the field and of the sea, fortified Delphinium, a place both strong to the land–ward, and that had also a harbour2 for shipping, and was not far from the city itself of Chios. And the Chians, as having been disheartened in divers former battles, and otherwise not only not mutually well affected, but jealous one of another; (for Tydeus3 and his accomplices had been put to death by Pedaritus for Atticism, and the rest of the city was kept in awe, but by force, and for a time); stirred not against them. And for the causes mentioned, not conceiving themselves, neither with their own strength nor with the help of those that Pedaritus had with him, sufficient to give them battle, they sent to Miletus to require aid from Astyochus. Which when he denied them, Pedaritus sent letters to Lacedæmon complaining of the wrong. Thus proceeded the affairs of the Athenians at Chios. Also their fleet at Samos went often out against the fleet of the enemy at Miletus: but when theirs would never come out of the harbour to encounter them, they returned to Samos and lay still.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The galleys that were provided for Pharnabazus set forth toward Ionia.Antisthenes and eleven other Spartans sent with absolute authority into Ionia.They arrive at Caunus in Asia.

  39. The same winter, about the solstice, went out from Peloponnesus towards Ionia those twenty–seven galleys, which at the procurement of Calligeitus of Megara and Timagoras of Cyzicus were made ready by the Lacedæmonians for Pharnabazus. The commander of them was Antisthenes a Spartan: with whom the Lacedæmonians sent eleven Spartans more to be of council with Astyochus; whereof Lichas the son of Arcesilaus was one1 . These had commission, that when they should be arrived at Miletus, besides their general care to order everything to the best, they should send away these galleys, either the same or more or fewer, into the Hellespont to Pharnabazus, if they so thought fit; and to appoint Clearchus the son of Rhamphias, that went along in them, for commander: and that the same eleven, if they thought it meet, should put Astyochus from his charge, and ordain Antisthenes in his place: for they had him in suspicion for the letters of Pedaritus. These galleys holding their course from Malea through the main sea, and arriving at Melos, lighted on ten galleys of the Athenians: whereof three they took, but without the men, and fired them. After this, because they feared lest those Athenian galleys that escaped from Melos should give notice of their coming to those in Samos, (as also it fell out), they changed their course and went towards Crete: and having made their voyage the longer that it might be the safer, they put in at Caunus in Asia. Now from thence, as being in a place of safety, they sent a messenger to the fleet at Miletus for a convoy.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. The Chians desire help of Astyochus.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  40. The Chians and Pedaritus about the same time, notwithstanding [their former repulse, and] that Astyochus was still backward, sent messengers to him, desiring him to come with his whole fleet to help them, being besieged: and not to suffer the greatest of their confederate cities in all Ionia to be thus shut up by sea and ravaged by land, as it was. For the Chians having many slaves1 , more than any one state except that of the Lacedæmonians, whom for their offences they the more ungently punished because of their number; many of them, as soon as the Athenians appeared to be settled in their fortifications, ran over presently to them; and were they, that knowing the territory so well, did it the greatest spoil. Therefore the Chians said he must help them, whilst there was hope and possibility to do it: Delphinium being still in fortifying and unfurnished2 , and greater fences being in making both about their camp and fleet. Astyochus, though he meant it not before, because he would have made good his threats, yet when he saw the confederates were willing, he was bent to have relieved them.

  Astyochus is diverted from helping the Chians, and goeth to waft in the twenty–seven galleys of Peloponnesus that lay at Caunus.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  41. But in the meantime came the messenger from the twenty–seven galleys, and from the Lacedæmonian counsellors, that were come to Caunus1 . Astyochus therefore esteeming the wafting in of these galleys, whereby they might the more freely command the sea, and the safe coming in of those Lacedæmonians, who were to look into his actions, a business that ought to be preferred above all other, presently gave over his journey for Chios, and went towards Caunus. As he went by the coast, he landed at Cos Meropidis2 , being unwalled, and thrown down by an earthquake which had happened there, the greatest verily in man’s memory; and rifled it, the inhabitants being fled into the mountains: and overrunning the country, made booty of all that came in his way, saving of freemen; and those he dismissed. From Cos he went by night to Cnidus: but found it necessary, by the advice of the Cnidians, not to land his men there, but to follow as he was after those twenty galleys of Athens, wherewith Charminus, one of the Athenian generals gone out from Samos, stood watching for those twenty–seven galleys that were come from Peloponnesus, the same that Astyochus himself was going to convoy in. For they at Samos had had intelligence from Miletus1 of their coming: and Charminus was lying for them about Syme, Chalce, Rhodes, and the coast of Lycia: for by this time he knew that they were at Caunus. 42. Astyochus, therefore, desiring to outgo the report of his coming, went as he was to Syme; hoping to find those galleys out from the shore. But [a shower of] rain, together with the cloudiness of the sky, made his galleys to miss their course in the dark, and disordered them.

  A fight between the Peloponnesian and Athenian fleets: wherein the Athenians had the worse.

  The next morning, the fleet being scattered, the left wing was manifestly descried by the Athenians, whilst the rest wandered yet about the island. And thereupon Charminus and the Athenians put forth against them with twenty galleys2 , supposing they had been the same galleys they were watching for from Caunus: and presently charging, sunk three of them and hurt others, and were superior in the fight, till such time as, contrary to their expectation, the greater part of the fleet came in sight, and enclosed them about. They then betook themselves to flight: and with the loss of six galleys the rest escaped into the island of Teuglussa, and from thence to Halicarnassus. After this the Peloponnesians putting in at Cnidus, and joining with those seven–and–twenty galleys that came from Caunus, went all together to Syme: and having there erected a trophy, returned again and lay at Cnidus.

  year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  43. The Athenians, when they understood what had passed in this battle, went from Samos with their whole navy to Syme. But neither went they out against the navy in Cnidus, nor the navy there against them. Whereupon they took up the furniture of their galleys at Syme, and assaulted Loryma, a town in the continent; and so returned to Samos.

  Tissaphernes and the Lacedæmonians disagree about the articles of their league.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  The whole navy of the Peloponnesians being1 at Cnidus, was [now] in repairing and refurnishing with such things as it wanted: and withal those eleven Lacedæmonians conferred with Tissaphernes (for he also was present) touching such things as they disliked in the articles before agreed on2 , and concerning the war, how it might be carried for the future in the best and most advantageous manner for them both. But Lichas was he that considered the business more nearly; and said, that neither the first league, nor yet the later by Theramenes, was made as it ought to have been: and that it would be a very hard condition, that whatsoever territories the king and his ancestors possessed before, he should possess the same now3 ; for so he might bring again into subjection all the islands, and the sea, and the Locrians, and all as far as Bœotia; and the Lacedæmonians, instead of restoring the Grecians into liberty, should put them into subjection to the rule of the Medes. Therefore he required other and better articles to be drawn, and not to stand to these: as for pay, in the new articles they would require none1 . But Tissaphernes chafing at this, went his way in choler: and nothing was done.

  Rhodes revolteth to the Peloponnesians.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  44. The Peloponnesians solicited by messengers from the great men of Rhodes, resolved to go thither: because they hoped it would not prove impossible, with their number of seamen and army of land soldiers, to bring that island into their power2 ; and withal supposed themselves able, with their present confederates, to maintain their fleet without asking money any more of Tissaphernes. Presently therefore, the same winter, they put forth from Cnidus: and arriving in the territory of Rhodes, at Cameirus, first frighted the commons out of it, that knew not of the business; and they fled3 . Then the Lacedæmonians called together both these, and the Rhodians of the two cities Lindus and Iëlysus; and persuaded them to revolt from the Athenians. And Rhodes turned to the Peloponnesians. The Athenians at the same time, hearing of their design, put forth with their fleet from Samos, desiring to have arrived before them: and were seen in the main sea, too late, though not much4 . For the present they went away to Chalce, and thence back to Samos; but afterwards they came forth with their galleys divers times, and made war against Rhodes, from Chalce, Cos, and Samos. Now the Peloponnesians did no more to the Rhodians, but levy money amongst them to the sum of thirty–two talents: and otherwise for fourscore days that they lay there, having their galleys hauled ashore, they meddled not1 .

  A. C. 412.Alcibiades flieth to Tissaphernes, and crosseth the business of the Peloponnesians.He adviseth Tissaphernes to shorten their pay:year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. and to corrupt the captains.The integrity of Hermocrates.Alcibiades answereth in Tissaphernes’ name to the cities that call upon him for money, and puts them off.He counselleth Tissaphernes to prolong the war, and afflict both sides.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.He adviseth him, of the two, to favour the Athenians the rather, as fitter to help subdue the Grecians.

  45. In this time, as also before the going of the Peloponnesians to Rhodes, came to pass the things that follow. Alcibiades, after the death of Chalcideus and battle at Miletus, being suspected by the Peloponnesians, and Astyochus having received letters from them from Lacedæmon to put him to death; (for he was an enemy to Agis, and also otherwise not well trusted): retired to Tissaphernes first, for fear; and afterwards to his power hindered2 the affairs of the Peloponnesians. And being in everything his instructor, he not only cut shorter their pay, insomuch as from a drachma he brought it to three oboles, and those also not continually paid; advising Tissaphernes to tell them, how that the Athenians, men of a long continued skill in naval affairs, allowed but three oboles to their own, not so much for want of money, but lest the mariners, some of them growing insolent by superfluity, should disable their bodies by spending their money on such things as would weaken them, and others should quit the galleys with the arrear of their pay in their captains’ hands for a pawn1 : but also gave counsel to Tissaphernes to give money to the captains of the galleys and to the generals of the several cities, save only those of Syracuse, to give way unto it. For Hermocrates [the general of the Syracusians] was the only man, that in the name of the whole league stood against it. And for the cities that came to require money, he would put them back himself, and answer them in Tissaphernes his name; and say, namely to the Chians, that they were impudent men, being the richest of the Grecian states and preserved by strangers, to expect nevertheless that others, for their liberty, should not only venture their persons, but maintain them with their purses: and to other states, that they did unjustly, having laid out their money before they revolted that they might serve the Athenians, not to bestow as much or more now upon themselves: and told them, that Tissaphernes, now he made war at his own charges, had reason to be sparing; but when money should come down from the king he would give them their full pay, and assist the cities as should be fit. 46. Moreover, he advised Tissaphernes not to be too hasty to make an end of the war, nor to fetch in the Phœnician fleet which was making ready, nor take more men2 into pay, whereby to put the whole power both by sea and land into the hands of one: but to let the dominion remain divided into two, that the king, when one side troubled him, might set upon it with the other: whereas the dominion both by sea and land being in one, he will want by whom to pull down those that hold it, unless with great danger and cost he should come and try it out himself: but thus the danger would be less chargeable, he being but at a small part of the cost; and he should wear out the Grecians one against another, and himself in the meantime remain in safety1 . He said further, that the Athenians were fitter to partake dominion with him than the other; for that they were less ambitious of power by land; and that their speeches and actions tended more to the king’s purpose2 : for that they would join with him to subdue the Grecians, that is to say, for themselves as touching the dominion by sea, and for the king as touching the Grecians in the king’s territories: whereas the Lacedæmonians, on the contrary, were come to set them free: and it was not likely but that they that were come to deliver the Grecians from the Grecians, will, if they overcome the Athenians, deliver them also from the barbarians. He gave counsel therefore, first to wear them out both; and then, when he had clipped, as near as he could, the wings of the Athenians, to dismiss the Peloponnesians out of his country.

  Tissaphernes, guided by the counsel of Alci–year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. biades, hindereth the success of the Peloponnesians.

  And Tissaphernes had a purpose to do accordingly; as far as by his actions can be conjectured. For hereupon he gave himself to believe Alcibiades, as his best counsellor in these affairs: and neither paid the Peloponnesians their wages, nor would suffer them to fight by sea: but pretending the coming of the Phœnician fleet, whereby they might afterwards fight with odds1 , he overthrew their proceedings, and abated the vigour of their navy, before very puissant; and was in all things else more backward than he could possibly dissemble.

  Alcibiades aimeth at his return to Athens by making show of his power with Tissaphernes.Motion made for the recalling of Alcibiades, and deposing of the people.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  47. Now Alcibiades advised the king and Tissaphernes to this, whilst he was with them, partly because he thought the same to be indeed the best course; but partly also, to make way for his own return into his country: knowing that if he destroyed it not, the time would one day come that he might persuade the Athenians to recall him. And the best way to persuade them to it, he thought, was this: to make it appear unto them that he was powerful with Tissaphernes. Which also came to pass. For after the Athenian soldiers at Samos saw what power he had with him, the captains of galleys and principal men there2 : partly upon Alcibiades his own motion, who had sent to the greatest amongst them, that they should remember him to the best sort, and say that he desired to come home, so the government might be in the hands of a few, not of evil persons nor yet of the multitude that cast him out3 ; and that he would bring Tissaphernes to be their friend, [and to war on their side]: but chiefly of their own accords, had their minds inclined to the deposing of the popular government.

  Conspiracy in the army at Samos against the democracy of Athens.

  48. This business was set on foot first in the camp; and from thence proceeded afterwards into the city. And certain persons went over to Alcibiades out of Samos, and had conference with him. And when he had undertaken to bring to their friendship first Tissaphernes, and then the king, in case the government were taken from the people: for then, he said, the king might the better rely upon them: they that were of most power in the city, who also were the most toiled out1 , entered into great hope both to have the ordering of the state at home themselves, and victory also over the enemy. And when they came back to Samos, they drew all such as were for their purpose into an oath of conspiracy with themselves: and to the multitude gave it out openly, that if Alcibiades might be recalled and the people put from the government, the king would turn their friend and furnish them with money.

  year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. Phrynichus is against the recalling of Alcibiades.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  Though the multitude were grieved with this proceeding for the present, yet for the great hope they had of the king’s pay they stirred not. But they that were setting up the oligarchy, when they had communicated thus much to the multitude, fell to consideration, anew and with more of their complices, of the things spoken by Alcibiades. And the rest thought the matter easy, and worthy to be believed: but Phrynichus, who yet was general of the army, liked it not; but thought, as the truth was, that Alcibiades cared no more for the oligarchy than the democracy, nor had any other aim in it, but only by altering the government that then was to be called home by his associates: and said, “they were especially to look to this, that they did not mutiny for the king1 , who could not very easily be induced (the Peloponnesians being now as much masters at sea as themselves, and having no small cities within his dominions) to join with the Athenians, whom he trusted not; and to trouble himself, when he might have the friendship of the Peloponnesians, that never did him hurt: as for the confederate cities to whom they promise oligarchy, in that they themselves do put down the democracy,” he said, “he knew full well, that neither those which were already revolted would the sooner return to, nor those that remained be ever the more confirmed in their obedience thereby: for they would never be so willing to be in subjection either to the few or to the people, as they would be to have their liberty, which side soever it were that should give it them: but would think, that even those which are termed the good men2 , if they had the government, would give them as much to do as the people, being contrivers and authors to the people of doing those mischiefs against them, out of which they make most profit unto themselves: and that if the few had the rule, then they should be put to death unheard, and more violently than by the former; whereas the people is their refuge, and moderator of the others’ insolence. This,” he said, “he was certain that the cities thought; in that they had learned the same by the actions themselves: and that therefore what was yet propounded by Alcibiades, he by no means approved1 .” 49. But those of the conspiracy there assembled, not only approved the present proposition, but also made preparation to send Pisander2 and others ambassadors to Athens: to negociate concerning the reduction of Alcibiades, the dissolution of the democracy, and the procuring unto the Athenians the friendship of Tissaphernes.

  The treason of Phrynichus against the state, for fear of Alcibiades.He writes secret letters to Astyochus.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. Astyochus appeacheth him to Alcibiades.Phrynichus sends to Astyochus again, and offers to put the whole army into his hands.The device of Phrynichus to avoid the danger.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  50. Now Phrynichus knowing that an overture was to be made at Athens for the restoring of Alcibiades, and that the Athenians would embrace it; and fearing lest being recalled he should do him a mischief (in regard he had spoken against it) as one that would have hindered the same: betook himself to this course. He sends secret letters to Astyochus, the Lacedæmonian general, who was yet3 about Miletus, and advertised him that Alcibiades undid their affairs, and was procuring the friendship of Tissaphernes for the Athenians: writing in plain terms the whole business, and desiring to be excused if he rendered evil to his enemy with some disadvantage to his country. Astyochus had before this laid by the purpose of revenge against Alcibiades, especially when he was not in his own hands1 . And going to him to Magnesia and to Tissaphernes, related unto them what advertisement he had received from Samos, and made himself the appeacher. For he adhered, as was said, to Tissaphernes for his private lucre, both in this and in divers other matters: which was also the cause that concerning the pay, when the abatement was made, he was not so stout in opposing it as he ought to have been. Hereupon Alcibiades sendeth letters presently to those that were in office at Samos, accusing Phrynichus of what he had done, and requiring to have him put to death. Phrynichus perplexed with this discovery, and brought into danger indeed, sends again to Astyochus, blaming what was past as not well concealed: and promised now to be ready to deliver unto him the whole army at Samos to be destroyed: writing from point to point, (Samos being unwalled), in what manner he would do it; and saying, that since his life was brought in danger, they could not blame him though he did this or any other thing, rather than be destroyed by his most deadly enemies. This also Astyochus revealed unto Alcibiades. 51. But Phrynichus having had notice betimes how he abused him, and that letters of this from Alcibiades were in a manner come2 , he anticipates the news himself: and tells the army, that whereas Samos was unwalled and the galleys rid not all within, the enemy meant to come and assault the harbour1 : that he had sure intelligence hereof, and that they ought therefore with all speed to raise a wall about the city, and to put garrisons into other places thereabouts2 . Now Phrynichus was general himself, and it was in his own power to see it done. They then fell to walling; whereby Samos (which they meant to have done howsoever) was so much the sooner walled in. Not long after came letters from Alcibiades, that the army was betrayed by Phrynichus, and that the enemy purposed to invade the harbour where they lay3 . But now they thought not Alcibiades worthy to be believed, but rather that having foreseen the design of the enemy, he went about, out of malice, to fasten it upon Phrynichus as conscious of it likewise. So that he did him no hurt by telling it, but bare witness rather of that which Phrynichus had told them of before.

  Alcibiades endeavoureth to turn Tissaphernes to the part of the Athenians.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.

  52. After this Alcibiades endeavoured to incline and persuade Tissaphernes to the friendship of the Athenians. For though Tissaphernes feared the Peloponnesians, because their fleet was greater than that of the Athenians; yet if he had been able4 , he had a good will to have been persuaded by him; especially in his anger against the Peloponnesians, after the dissension at Cnidus, about the league made by Theramenes; (for they were already fallen out, the Peloponnesians being about this time in Rhodes). Wherein that which had been before spoken by Alcibiades, how that the coming of the Lacedæmonians was to restore all the cities to their liberty, was now verified by Lichas; in that he said, it was an article not to be suffered, that the king should hold those cities which he and his ancestors then or before had holden. Alcibiades therefore, as one that laboured for no trifle, with all his might applied himself to Tissaphernes.

  Pisander getteth the Athenians to be content with the oligarchy, and to give him and others commission to treat with Alcibiades.year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1.Phrynichus accused by Pisan–year xx. A. C. 412. Ol. 92. 1. der, and discharged of his command.

  53. The Athenian ambassadors sent from Samos with Pisander, being arrived at Athens, were making their propositions to the people: and related unto them summarily the points of their business, and principally this; “that if they would call home Alcibiades, and not suffer the government to remain in the hands of the people in such manner as it did, they might have the king for their confederate, and get the victory of the Peloponnesians”. Now when many opposed that point touching the democracy; and the enemies of Alcibiades clamoured withal, that it would be a horrible thing he should return by forcing the government1 , when the Eumolpidæ and Ceryces2 bare witness against him concerning the mysteries for which he fled, and prohibited his return under their curse: Pisander, at this great opposition and querimony, stood out, and going amongst them took out one by one those that were against it, and asked them; “whether, now that the Peloponnesians had as many galleys at sea to oppose them as they themselves had, and confederate cities more than they, and were furnished with money by the king and Tissaphernes, the Athenians being without, they had any other hope to save their state but by persuading the king to come about to their side”. And they that were asked having nothing to answer, then in plain terms he said unto them: “This you cannot now obtain, except we administer the state with more moderation, and bring the power into the hands of a few, that the king may rely upon us. And we1 deliberate at this time, not so much about the form, as about the preservation of the state; for if you mislike the form2 , you may change it again hereafter. And let us recall Alcibiades, who is the only man that can bring this to pass.” The people hearing of the oligarchy, took it very heinously at first: but when Pisander had proved evidently, that there was no other way of safety, in the end, partly for fear and partly because they hoped again to change the government, they yielded thereunto. So they ordered, that Pisander and ten others should go and treat both with Tissaphernes and Alcibiades, as to them should seem best. Withal, upon the accusation of Pisander against Phrynichus, they discharged both Phrynichus and Scironides, his fellow–commissioner, of their command: and made Diomedon and Leon generals of the fleet in their places. Now the cause why Pisander accused Phrynichus, and said he had betrayed Iasus and Amorges, was only this: he thought him a man unfit for the business now in hand with Alcibiades.

  Pisander, after he had gone about to all those combinations1 , (which were in the city before, for obtaining of places of judicature and of command), exhorting them to stand together and advise about deposing the democracy; and when he had dispatched the rest of his business, so as there should be no more cause for him to stay there2 : took sea with those other ten to go to Tissaphernes.

  A. C. 411. Leon and Diomedon war upon the Peloponnesian navy at Rhodes.

  55. Leon and Diomedon arriving the same winter at the Athenian fleet, made a voyage against Rhodes; and finding there the Peloponnesian galleys drawn up to land, disbarked and overcame in battle such of the Rhodians as made head; and then put to sea again and went to Chalce. After this they made sharper war upon them from Cos3 . For from thence they could better observe the Peloponnesian navy when it should put off from the land.

  year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. Chios distressed, and Pedaritus the captain slain.

  In this while there arrived at Rhodes Xenophontidas, a Laconian, sent out of Chios from Pedaritus, to advertise them that the fortification of the Athenians there was now finished: and that unless they came and relieved them with their whole fleet, the state of Chios must utterly be lost. And it was resolved to relieve them. But Pedaritus in the meantime, with the whole power both of his own auxiliary forces and of the Chians, made an assault upon the fortification which the Athenians had made about their navy: part whereof he won, and had gotten some galleys that were drawn a–land. But the Athenians issuing out upon them, first put to flight the Chians, and then overcame also the rest of the army about Pedaritus: and slew Pedaritus himself, and took many of the Chians prisoners and much armour1 . 56. After this the Chians were besieged both by sea and land more narrowly: and great famine was in the city.

  Alcibiades unable to make good his word, about bringing Tissaphernes to the Athenians’ side, demands excessive conditions, to make the breach ap–year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. pear to proceed from the Athenians, and to save his own credit.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  Pisander, and the other Athenian ambassadors that went with him, when they came to Tissaphernes, began to confer about the agreement. But Alcibiades (for he was not sure of Tissaphernes, because he stood in fear too much of the Peloponnesians, and had a purpose besides, as Alcibiades himself had taught him, to weaken both sides [yet more]), betook himself to this shift: that Tissaphernes should break off the treaty by making to the Athenians exorbitant demands. And it seemed that Tissaphernes and he aimed at the same thing1 : Tissaphernes for fear; and Alcibiades, for that when he saw Tissaphernes not desirous to agree, [though the offers were never so great], he was unwilling to have the Athenians think he could not persuade him to it, but rather that he was already persuaded and willing, and that the Athenians came not to him with sufficient offers. For Alcibiades being the man that spake for Tissaphernes, though he were also present, made unto them such excessive demands, that though the Athenians should have yielded to the greatest part of them, yet it must have been attributed to them that the treaty went not on2 . For they demanded, first, that all Ionia should be rendered: then again, the adjacent islands and other things: which the Athenians stood not against. In fine, at the third meeting, when he feared now plainly to be found unable to make good his word, he required, that they should suffer the king to build a navy, and sail up and down by their coast3 wheresoever and with what number soever of galleys he himself should think good. Upon this the Athenians would treat no longer, esteeming the conditions intolerable and that Alcibiades had abused them, and so went away in a chafe to Samos.

  Tissaphernes hearkeneth again to the Peloponnesians.

  57. Presently after this, the same winter, Tissaphernes went to Caunus, with intent both to bring the Peloponnesians back to Miletus, and also, (as soon as he should have agreed unto new articles, such as he could get), to give the fleet their pay; and not to fall directly out with them: for fear lest so many galleys wanting maintenance, should either be forced by the Athenians to fight and so be overcome, or, emptied of men, the business might succeed with the Athenians according to their own desire without him. Besides he was afraid1 , lest looking for maintenance they should make spoil in the continent. In consideration and foresight of all which things, he desired to counterpoise the Grecians2 . And sending for the Peloponnesians, he gave them their pay; and now made the third league, as followeth:

  The third league between Tissa–year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. phernes and the Peloponnesians.

  58. “In the thirteenth year of the reign of Darius, Alexippidas being ephor in Lacedæmon, agreement was made in the plain of Mæander, between the Lacedæmonians and their confederates on one part, and Tissaphernes and Hieramenes1 and the sons of Pharnaces on the other part, concerning the affairs of the king, and of the Lacedæmonians and their confederates.

  “That whatsoever country in Asia belongeth to the king, shall be the king’s still2 : and that concerning his own countries, it shall be lawful for the king to do whatsoever he shall think meet.

  “That the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall not invade any the territories of the king to harm them; nor the king, the territories of the Lacedæmonians or their confederates.

  “If any of the Lacedæmonians or their confederates shall invade the king’s country to do it hurt, the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall oppose it: and if any of the king’s country shall invade the Lacedæmonians or their confederates to do them hurt, the king shall oppose it.

  “That Tissaphernes shall, according to the rates agreed on3 , maintain the present fleet till the king’s fleet arrive.

  year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  “That when the king’s navy shall be come, the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall maintain their own navy themselves, if they please: or if they will have Tissaphernes to maintain it, he shall do it; and that the Lacedæmonians and their confederates, at the end of the war, repay Tissaphernes whatsoever money they shall have received of him1 .

  “When the king’s galleys shall be arrived, both they and the galleys of the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall make the war jointly, according as to Tissaphernes and the Lacedæmonians and their confederates shall seem good: and if they will give over the war against the Athenians, they shall give it over in the same manner.”

  59. Such were the articles. After this Tissaphernes prepared for the fetching in of the Phœnician fleet, according to the agreement, and to do whatsoever else he had undertaken: desiring to have it seen, at least, that he went about it.

  Oropus taken by treason.year xx. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  60. In the end of this winter, the Bœotians took Oropus by treason. It had in it a garrison of Athenians2 . They that plotted it, were certain Eretrians and some of Oropus itself; who were then contriving the revolt of Eubœa. For the place being built to keep Eretria in subjection3 , it was impossible, as long as the Athenians held it, but that it would much annoy both Eretria and the rest of Eubœa. Having4 Oropus in their hands already, they came to Rhodes to call the Peloponnesians into Eubœa. But the Peloponnesians had a greater inclination to relieve Chios now distressed: and putting to sea, departed out of Rhodes with their whole fleet. When they were come about Triopium, they descried the Athenian fleet in the main sea going from Chalce. And neither side assaulting other, they put in, the one fleet at Samos, the other at Miletus: for the Peloponnesians saw they could not pass to relieve Chios without a battle. Thus ended this winter; and the twentieth year of this war written by Thucydides.

  year xxi.The Chians fight against the Athenians that besieged them.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  61. The next summer, in the beginning of the spring, Dercylidas a Spartan was sent by land into Hellespont with a small army, to work the revolt of Abydos, a colony of the Milesians. And the Chians at the same time, whilst Astyochus was at a stand how to help them, were compelled by the pressure of the siege to hazard a battle by sea. Now whilst Astyochus lay at Rhodes, they had received into the city of Chios, after the death of Pedaritus, one Leon a Spartan, that came along with Antisthenes as a private soldier1 : and with him twelve galleys that lay at the guard of Miletus, whereof five were Thurians, four Syracusians, one of Anæa, one of Miletus, and one of Leon’s own. Whereupon the Chians issuing forth with the whole force of the city, seized a certain place of strength: and1 put forth thirty–six galleys against thirty–two of the Athenians, and fought. After a sharp fight, wherein the Chians and their associates had not the worst, and when it began to be dark, they retired again into the city.

  Abydos and Lampsacus revolt.Strombichides recovereth Lampsacus.

  62. Presently after this, Dercylidas being arrived now in Hellespont from Miletus by land, Abydos revolted to him and to Pharnabazus: and two days after revolted Lampsacus. Strombichides having intelligence of this, made haste thither from Chios with four–and–twenty sail of Athenians: those being also of that number which transported his men of arms. And when he had overcome the Lampsacenes that came out against him, and taken Lampsacus, being an open town, at the first shout of their voices, and made prize of all the goods they found and of the slaves, he placed the freemen there again: and went against Abydos. But when that city neither yielded nor could be taken by assault, he crossed over from Abydos to the opposite shore: and in Sestos, a city of Chersonesus, possessed heretofore by the Medes2 , he placed a garrison for the custody of the whole Hellespont.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  63. In the meantime not only the Chians had the sea at more command, but Astyochus also and the army at Miletus, having been advertised of what passed in the fight by sea, and that Strombichides and those galleys with him were gone away, took heart. And Astyochus going to Chios with two galleys, fetched away the galleys that were there1 : and with the whole fleet now together went against Samos. But seeing they of Samos, by reason of their jealousy one towards another, came not against him, he went back again to Miletus. For it was about this time that the democracy was put down at Athens2 .

  The democracy at Athens put down by Pisander and his fellows.The authors of the oligarchy resolve to leave out Alcibiades, and to govern the state with their private means for themselves.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  For after that Pisander and his fellow–ambassadors that had been with Tissaphernes, were come to Samos, they both assured their affairs yet better in the army, and also provoked the principal men of the Samians to attempt with them the erecting of the oligarchy; though there were then an insurrection amongst them against the oligarchy. And withal the Athenians at Samos, in a conference amongst themselves, deliberated how, since Alcibiades would not, to let him alone; for indeed they thought him no fit man to come into an oligarchy: but for themselves, seeing they were already engaged in the danger, to take care both to keep the business from a relapse, and withal to sustain the war, and to contribute money and whatsoever else was needful with alacrity, out of their private estates; and no more to toil for other than themselves3 . 64. Having thus advised, they sent Pisander with half the ambassadors presently home, to follow the business there; with command to set up the oligarchy in all the cities they were to touch at by the way: the other half they sent about1 , some to one part [of the state] and some to another. And they sent away Diotrephes to his charge, who was now about Chios, chosen to go governor of the cities upon Thrace.

  The Athenians having set up the oligarchy in Thasos, it presently revolteth from them.

  He, when he came to Thasos, deposed the people. And within two months at most after he was gone, the Thasians fortified their city: as needing no longer an aristocracy with the Athenians2 , but expecting liberty every day by the help of the Lacedæmonians. For there were also certain of them with the Peloponnesians, driven out by the Athenians: and these3 practised with such in the city as were for their purpose, to receive galleys into it and to cause it to revolt. So that it fell out for them just as they would have it: that that estate of theirs4 was set up without their danger, and that the people was deposed that would have withstood it. Insomuch as at Thasos it fell out contrary to what those Athenians thought, which erected the oligarchy: and so, in my opinion, it did in many other places of their dominion. For the cities now grown wise5 , and withal resolute in their proceedings, sought a direct liberty; and preferred not before it that outside of a well–ordered government, introduced by the Athenians.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. The proceeding of Pisander in setting up the oligarchy.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  65. They with Pisander, according to the order given them, entering into the cities as they went by, dissolved the democracies: and having in some places obtained also an aid of men of arms, they came to Athens: and found the business, for the greatest part, dispatched to their hands by their accomplices before their coming. For certain young men combining themselves, had not only murdered Androcles privily, a principal patron of the popular government, and one that had his hand the farthest in the banishment of Alcibiades: (whom they slew for two causes; for the sway he bare amongst the people; and to gratify Alcibiades, who they thought would return and get them the friendship of Tissaphernes): but had also made away divers men unfit for their design in the same manner. They had withal an oration ready made, which they delivered in public, wherein they said, that there ought none to receive wages but such as served in the wars1 , nor to participate of the government more than five thousand; and those, such as by their purses and persons were best able to serve the commonwealth. 66. And this with the most carried a good shew: because they that would set forward the alteration of the state, were to have the managing of the same1 . Yet the people and the Council of the Bean met still; but debated nothing, save what the conspirators thought fit: nay, all that spake were of that number, and had considered before what they were to say2 . Nor would any of the rest speak against them, for fear, because they saw the combination was great: and if any man did, he was quickly made away by one convenient means or other; and no inquiry made after the deed–doers, nor justice prosecuted against any that was suspected. But the people were so quiet and so afraid, that every man thought it gain to escape violence, though he said never a word. Their hearts failed them, because they thought the conspirators more indeed than they were: and to learn their number, in respect of the greatness of the city and for that they knew not one another, they were unable3 . For the same cause also was it impossible for any man that was angry at it, to bemoan himself, whereby to be revenged on them that conspired4 : for he must have told his mind, either to one he knew not, or to one he knew and trusted not. For the populars approached each other, every one with jealousy, as if they thought him of the plot. For indeed there were such amongst them, as no man would have thought would ever have turned to the oligarchy: and those were they that caused1 in the many that diffidence; and by strengthening the jealousy of the populars one against another, conferred most to the security of the few.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. The form of the new oligarchy.

  67. During this opportunity, Pisander and they that were with him, coming in fell in hand presently with the remainder of the business. And first they assembled the people, and delivered their opinion, for ten men to be chosen with power absolute to make a draught of laws; and having drawn them, to deliver their opinion at a day appointed before the people, touching the best form of government for the city. Afterwards, when that day came, they summoned the assembly to Colonus2 : which is a place consecrated to Neptune without the city, about two furlongs off. And they that were appointed to write the laws, presented this, and only this: That it should be lawful for any Athenian to deliver whatsoever opinion he pleased; imposing of great punishments upon whosoever should either accuse any that so spake of violating the laws3 , or otherwise do him hurt. Now here indeed it was in plain terms propounded, “that not any magistracy of the form before used, might any longer be in force, nor any fee belong unto it: but that five Prytanes might be elected, and these five choose a hundred, and every one of this hundred take unto him three others: and these four hundred entering into the council–house, might have absolute authority to govern the state as they thought best, and to summon the five thousand as oft as to them it should seem good”.

  Pisander a principal man of the oligarchals.Antiphon another setter up of the few.The praise of Antiphon.Phrynichus an–year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. other author of the oligarchy.

  68. He that delivered this opinion was Pisander: who was also otherwise openly the forwardest to put down the democracy. But he that contrived the whole business, how to bring it to this pass, and had long thought upon it, was Antiphon: a man for virtue not inferior to any Athenian of his time, and the ablest of any man both to devise well, and also to express well what he had devised: and though he came not into the assemblies of the people, nor willingly to any other debatings, because the multitude had him in jealousy for the opinion they had of the power of his eloquence; yet when any man that had occasion of suit, either in the courts of justice or in the assembly of the people, came to him for his counsel, this one man was able to help him most. The same man, when afterwards the government of the four hundred went down and was vexed of the people, was heard plead for himself, when his life was in question for that business1 , the best of any man to this day. Phrynichus also shewed himself an earnest man for the oligarchy, and that more earnestly than any other; because he feared Alcibiades, and knew him to be acquainted with all his practices at Samos with Astyochus; and thought in all probability, that he would never return to live under the government of the few. And this man, in any matter of weight, appeared the most sufficient to be relied on1 . Also Theramenes the son of Agnon, an able man both for elocution and understanding, was another of the principal of those that overthrew the democracy.

  So that it is no marvel if the business took effect, being by many and wise men conducted, though it were a hard one. For it went sore with the Athenian people, almost a hundred years after the expulsion of the tyrants, to be now deprived of their liberty: having not only not been subject to any, but also for the half of this time been inured to dominion over others.

  The Four Hundred enter upon the senate and dismiss the senate of five hundred called.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. the Council of the Bean.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  69. When the assembly, after it had passed these things no man contradicting, was dissolved; then afterwards they brought the four hundred into the council–house in this manner. The Athenians were evermore partly on the walls, and partlyat their arms in the camp, in regard of the enemy that lay at Deceleia1 . Therefore on the day appointed, they suffered such as knew not their intent, to go forth as they were wont. But to such as were of the conspiracy, they quietly gave order not to go to the camp itself2 , but to lag behind at a certain distance: and if any man should oppose what was in doing, to take arms and keep them back. They to whom this charge was given, were [the] Andrians, Tenians, three hundred Carystians, and such of the colony of Ægina which the Athenians had sent thither to inhabit3 , as came on purpose to this action with their own arms. These things thus ordered, the four hundred, with every man a secret dagger, accompanied with one hundred and twenty young men of Greece4 , whom they used for occasions of shedding of blood, came in upon the Counsellers of the Bean, as they sat in the councilhouse, and commanded them to take their salary and be gone: which also they brought ready with them, for the whole time they were behind5 , and paid it to them as they went out. 70. And the rest of the citizens mutinied not, but rested quiet1 .

  Agis, in hope that the city was in sedition, cometh to assault it, but is repulsed.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.The Four Hundred send to Lacedæmon to procure a peace.

  The four hundred being now entered into the council–house, created Prytanes amongst themselves by lot, and made their prayers and sacrifices to the gods, all that were before usual at the entrance upon the government. And afterwards receding far from that course which in the administration of the state was used by the people, saving that for Alcibiades his sake they recalled not the outlaws, in other things they governed the commonwealth imperiously: and not only slew some, though not many, such as they thought fit to be made away, and imprisoned some, and confined others to places abroad; but also sent heralds to Agis, king of the Lacedæmonians, who was then at Deceleia, signifying that they would come to composition with him; and that now he might better treat with them, than he might before with the unconstant people. 71. But he, not imagining that the city was yet in quiet nor willing so soon to deliver up their ancient liberty, but rather that if they saw him approach with great forces they would be in tumult, not yet believing fully but that some stir or other would arise amongst them, gave no answer at all to those that came from the four hundred, touching the composition: but having sent for new and great forces out of Peloponnesus, came down himself not long after, both with the army at Deceleia and those new comers, to the Athenian walls: hoping that they would fall into his hands according to his desire, at least the more easily for their confusion, or perhaps at the very first shout of their voices, in respect of the tumult that in all likelihood was to happen both within and without the city. For, as for the long walls, in regard of the few defendants likely to be found upon them, he thought he could not fail to take them1 . But when he came near, and the Athenians were without any the least alteration within; and had with their horsemen which they sent out, and a part of their men of arms and of their light–armed and of their archers, overthrown some of his men that approached too near, and gotten some arms and bodies of the slain: rectified thus, he withdrew his army again. And himself, and such as were with him before, stayed in their places at Deceleia; but as for those that came last, after they had stayed awhile in the country, he sent them home again. After this the four hundred, notwithstanding their former repulse, sent ambassadors unto Agis anew: and he now receiving them better, by his advice they sent ambassadors also to Lacedæmon about an agreement, being desirous of peace.

  They sent to Samos, to excuse their doings to the army.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  72. They likewise sent ten men to Samos, to satisfy the army: and to tell them, “that the oligarchy was not set up to any prejudice of the city or citizens, but for the safety of the whole state: and that they which had their hands in it were five thousand, and not four hundred only1 ; notwithstanding that the Athenians, by reason of warfare and employment abroad, never assembled, of how great consequence soever was the matter to be handled, so frequent as to be five thousand there at once”2 . And having in other things instructed them how to make the best of the matter, they sent them away immediately after the government was changed: fearing, as also it fell out, lest the seafaring multitude would not only not continue in this oligarchical form themselves, but the mischief beginning there would depose them also.

  The oligarchy assaulted at Samos by the populars.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  73. For in Samos there was a commotion about the oligarchy already: and this that followeth, happened about the same time that the four hundred were set up in Athens. Those Samians that had risen3 against the nobility, and were of the people’s side, turning when Pisander came thither, at the persuasion of him and of those Athenians in Samos that were his accomplices, conspired together to the number of three hundred, and were to have assaulted the rest as populars. And one Hyperbolus, a lewd fellow1 , who, not for any fear of his power or for any dignity, but for wickedness of life and dishonour he did the city, had been banished by ostracism, they slew: abetted therein both by Charminus, one of the commanders, and by other Athenians that were amongst them, who had given them their faith. And together with these, they committed other facts of the same kind: and were fully bent to have assaulted the popular side. But they having gotten notice thereof, made known the design both to the generals, Leon and Diomedon; (for these being honoured by the people, endured the oligarchy unwillingly); and also to Thrasybulus and Thrasyllus, whereof one was captain of a galley, and the other captain of a band of men of arms2 , and to such others continually as they thought stood3 in greatest opposition to the conspirators: and required of them that they would not see them destroyed, and Samos alienated from the Athenians, by the only means of which their dominion had till this time kept itself in the state it is in. They hearing it, went to the soldiers, and exhorted them one by one not to suffer it; especially to the Paralians, who were all Athenians and freemen, come thither in the galley called Paralus, and had always before been enemies to the oligarchy1 . And Leon and Diomedon, whensoever they went forth any whither, left them certain galleys for their guard: so that when the three hundred assaulted them, the commons of the Samians, with the help of all these, and especially of the Paralians, had the upperhand: and of the three hundred slew thirty. Three of the chief authors they banished: and burying in oblivion the fault of the rest, governed the state from that time forward as a democracy.

  The army send to Athens to signify their doings against the oligarchy at Samos: not knowing that the oligarchy was then in authority at Athens.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.The democracy re–established in the army.year xxi. A C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  74. The Paralus, and in it Chæreas the son of Archestratus, a man of Athens, one that had been forward in the making of this change, the Samians and the soldiers dispatched presently away to Athens, to advertise them of what was done: for they knew not yet, that the government was in the hands of the four hundred. When they arrived, the four hundred cast some two or three of these of the Paralus into prison: the rest, after they had taken the galley from them and put them aboard another military galley, they commanded to keep guard about Eubœa. But Chæreas, by some means or other getting presently away, seeing how things went, came back to Samos; and related to the army all that the Athenians had done, aggravating it to the utmost: as that they punished every man with stripes, to the end that none should contradict the doings of those that bore rule; and that their wives and children at home were abused; and that they had an intention further to take and imprison all that were of kin to any of the army which was not of their faction, to the intent to kill them if they of Samos would not submit to their authority. And many other things he told them, adding lies of his own. 75. When they heard this, they were ready at first to have fallen upon the chief authors of the oligarchy, and upon such of the rest as were partakers of it. Yet afterwards, being hindered by such as came between1 and advised them not to overthrow the state, the enemy lying so near with their galleys to assault them; they gave it over. After this, Thrasybulus the son of Lycus, and Thrasyllus, (for these were the principal authors of the change), determining now openly to reduce the state at Samos to a democracy, took oaths of all the soldiers, especially of the oligarchicals, the greatest they could devise2 : both that they should be subject to the democracy and agree together; and also that they should zealously prosecute the war against the Peloponnesians; and withal be enemies to the four hundred, and not to have to do with them by ambassadors. The same oath was taken by all the Samians that were of age; and the Athenian soldiers communicated with them their whole affairs, together with whatsoever should succeed of their dangers1 : for whom and for themselves, they made account there was no refuge of safety; but that if either the four hundred or the enemy at Miletus overcame them, they must needs perish.

  The army encourageth itself against the city and state at home by comparison of their strength.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.year xxi. A C 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  76. So there was a contention at this time: one side compelling the city to a democracy; the other, the army to an oligarchy. And presently there was an assembly of the soldiers called: wherein they deprived the former commanders, and such captains of galleys as they had in suspicion, of their charge; and chose others, both captains of galleys and commanders, in their places; of which Thrasybulus and Thrasyllus were two. And they stood up and encouraged one another, both otherwise, and with this: “that they had no cause to be dejected for the city’s revolting from them; for they at Athens, being the lesser part, had forsaken them, who were not only the greater part, but also every way the better provided2 . For they having the whole navy, could compel the rest of the cities subject unto them to pay in their money as well now, as if they were to set out from Athens itself. And that they also had a city, namely Samos, no weak one; but even such a one, as when they were enemies, wanted little of taking the dominion of the sea from the Athenians. That the seat of the war, was the same it was before3 ; and that they should be better able to provide themselves of things necessary, having the navy, than they should be that were at home in the city. And that they at Athens were masters of the entrance of Peiræus, both formerly by the favour of them at Samos1 : and that now also, unless they restore them the government, they shall again be brought to that pass, that those at Samos shall be better able to bar them the use of the sea, than they shall be to bar it them of Samos. That it was a trifle and worth nothing, which was conferred to the overcoming of the enemy by the city; and a small matter it would be to lose it, seeing they had neither any more silver to send them, (for the soldiers shifted for themselves), nor yet good direction, which is the thing for which the city hath the command of the armies. Nay, that in this point they erred which were at Athens; in that they had abrogated the laws of their country: whereas they at Samos did both observe the same themselves, and endeavour to constrain the other to do so likewise2 . So that such of them in the camp as should give good council, were as good as they in the city. And that Alcibiades, if they would decree his security and his return, would with all his heart procure the king to be their confederate. And that which is the main thing, if they failed of all other helps, yet with so great a fleet they could not fail of many places to retire to, in which they might find both city and territory.”

  77. When they had thus debated the matter in the assembly and encouraged one another, they made ready, as at other times, whatsoever was necessary for the war1 . And the ten ambassadors which were sent to Samos from the four hundred, hearing of this by the way at Delos, whither they were come already, stayed still there.

  Upon the murmur of the soldiers against Astyochus, he goeth to Samos to offer the Athenians battle:

  78. About the same time also, the soldiers of the Peloponnesian fleet at Miletus murmured amongst themselves, that Astyochus and Tissaphernes overthrew the state of their affairs. Astyochus in refusing to fight; both before, when their own fleet was stronger2 , and that of the Athenians but small; and also now, whilst they were said to be in sedition, and their fleet divided; and in expecting the Phœnician fleet, in fame, not in fact to come from Tissaphernes3 : and Tissaphernes, in that he not only brought not in that fleet of his, but also impaired theirs by not giving them their pay, neither fully nor continually: and that they therefore ought no longer to delay time, but to hazard battle. This was urged principally by the Syracusians.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.who refuse it.The Athenians offer battle to the Peloponnesians, and they refuse it.

  79. Astyochus and the confederates, when they heard of the murmur, and had in council resolved to fight, especially after they were informed that Samos was in a tumult: putting forth with their whole fleet to the number of one hundred and twelve sail, with order given to the Milesians to march by land to the same place, went to Mycale. But the Athenians, being come out from Samos with their fleet of eighty–two galleys, and riding now at Glauce of the territory of Mycale, ([for] in this part [toward Mycale] Samos is but a little way from the continent), when they descried the Peloponnesian fleet coming against them, put in again to Samos: as not esteeming themselves a sufficient number, to hazard their whole fortune on the battle. Besides, they stayed for the coming of Strombichides from Hellespont to their aid (for they saw that they of Miletus had a desire to fight) with those galleys that went from Chios against Abydos1 : for they had sent unto him before. So these retired into Samos. And the Peloponnesians putting in at Mycale, there encamped: as also did the land–forces of the Milesians, and others of the country thereabouts. The next day, when they meant to have gone against Samos, they received news that Strombichides with his galleys was arrived out of Hellespont: and thereupon returned presently to Miletus. Then the Athenians on the other side, with the addition of these galleys, went to Miletus, being now one hundred and eight sail, intending to fight: but when nobody came out against them, they likewise went back to Samos.

  The Peloponnesians send part of their fleet to–year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. wards the Hellespont, but there went through but only ten galleys.

  80. Immediately after this, the same summer, the Peloponnesians, who refused to come out against the enemy, as holding themselves with their whole fleet too weak to give them battle, and were now at a stand how to get money for the maintenance of so great a number of galleys1 : sent Clearchus, the son of Rhamphias, with forty galleys, according to the order at first from Peloponnesus2 , to Pharnabazus. For not only Pharnabazus himself had sent for, and promised to pay them: but they were advertised besides by ambassadors, that Byzantium had a purpose to revolt. Hereupon these Peloponnesian galleys having put out into the main sea, to the end that they might not be seen as they passed by; and tossed with tempests, part of them, which were the greatest number, and Clearchus with them, got into Delos, and came afterwards to Miletus again; but Clearchus went thence again into the Hellespont by land, and had the command there: and part under the charge of Helixus, a Megarean, which were ten sail, went safely through into the Hellespont, and caused Byzantium to revolt. And after this, when they of Samos heard of it, they sent certain galleys into Hellespont to oppose them, and to be a guard to the cities thereabouts: and there followed a small fight between them of eight galleys to eight, before Byzantium.

  Alcibiades is recalled and cometh to Samos.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.He manifesteth his power with Tissaphernes.Alcibiades general of the Athenian army.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  81. In the meantime, they that were in authority at Samos, and especially Thrasybulus, who after the form of government changed was still of the mind to have Alcibiades recalled, at length in an assembly persuaded the soldiers to the same. And when they had decreed for Alcibiades both his return and his security, he went to Tissaphernes and fetched Alcibiades to Samos: accounting it their only means of safety, to win Tissaphernes from the Peloponnesians to themselves. An assembly being called, Alcibiades complained of and lamented the calamity of his own exile, and speaking much of the business of the state gave them no small hopes of the future time: hyperbolically magnifying his own power with Tissaphernes, to the end that both they which held the oligarchy at home might the more fear him, and so the conspiracies1 dissolve, and also those at Samos the more honour him and take better heart unto themselves; and withal, that the enemy might object the same to the utmost to Tissaphernes2 , and fall from their present hopes. Alcibiades therefore, with the greatest boast that could be, affirmed that Tissaphernes had undertaken to him, that as long as he had anything left, if he might but trust the Athenians they should never want for maintenance; no, though he should be constrained3 to make money of his own bed; and that he would fetch the Phœnician fleet, now at Aspendus, not to the Peloponnesians but to the Athenians: and that then only he would rely upon the Athenians, when Alcibiades called home should undertake for them4 . 82. Hearing this and much more, they chose him presently for general together with those that were before; and committed unto them the whole government of their affairs. And now there was not a man that would have sold his present hopes, both of subsisting themselves1 and being revenged of the four hundred, for any good in the world: and were ready even then, upon those words of his, contemning the enemy there present, to set sail for Peiræus. But he, though many pressed it, by all means forbade their going against Peiræus, being to leave their enemies so near: but since they had chosen him general, he was, he said, to go to Tissaphernes first, and to dispatch such business with him as concerned the war. And as soon as the assembly brake up, he took his journey accordingly: to the end that he might seem to communicate everything with him, and for that he desired also to be in more honour with him, and to show that he was general, and a man capable to do him2 good or hurt. And it happened to Alcibiades, that he awed the Athenians with Tissaphernes, and Tissaphernes with the Athenians.

  The Peloponnesians murmur against Tissaphernes aad Astyochus.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.Mutiny against Astyochus.The Milesians take in the fortyear xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. made in their city by Tissaphernes.

  83. When the Peloponnesians that were at Miletus, heard that Alcibiades was gone home; whereas they mistrusted Tissaphernes before, now they much more accused him3 . For it fell out, that when at the coming of the Athenians with their fleet before Miletus they refused to give them battle, Tissaphernes became thereby a great deal slacker in his payment; and besides that he was hated by them before this for Alcibiades’ sake4 , the soldiers now, meeting in companies apart, reckoned up one to another the same matters which they had noted before, and some also, men of value and not the common soldier alone, recounted this withal; how they had never had their full stipend; that the allowance was but small, and yet not continually paid; and that unless they either fought, or went to some other place where they might have maintenance, their men would abandon the fleet; and that the cause of all this was in Astyochus, who for private lucre gave way to the humour of Tissaphernes. 84. Whilst these were upon this consideration, there happened also a certain tumult about Astyochus. For the mariners of the Syracusians and Thurians, by how much they were a multitude that had greater liberty than the rest, with so much the stouter importunity they demanded their pay. And he not only gave them somewhat an insolent answer, but also threatened Dorieus, that amongst the rest spake for the soldiers under himself, and lift up his staff against him. When the soldiers saw that, they took up a cry like seamen indeed, all at once; and were running upon Astyochus to have stricken him. But foreseeing it, he fled to an altar; and was not stricken, but they were parted again1 . The Milesians also took in a certain fort in Miletus, built by Tissaphernes, having privily assaulted it; and cast out the garrison that was within it. These things were by the rest of the confederates, and especially by the Syracusians, well approved of: but Lichas liked them not; saying, it behoved the Milesians, and the rest dwelling within the king’s dominion, to have obeyed Tissaphernes in all moderate things, and till such time as the war should have been well dispatched to have courted him. And the Milesians, for this and other things of this kind, were offended with Lichas: and afterwards when he died of sickness, would not permit him to be buried in that place where the Lacedæmonians then present would have had him.

  Mindarus successor to Astyochus, taketh charge of the army, and Astyochus goeth home.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  85. Whilst they were quarrelling1 about their business with Astyochus and Tissaphernes, Mindarus cometh in from Lacedæmon to succeed Astyochus in his charge of the fleet: and as soon as he had taken the command upon him, Astyochus departed. But with him Tissaphernes sent2 a Carian, named Gauleites, one that spake both the languages, both to accuse the Milesians about the fort, and also to make an apology for himself: knowing that the Milesians went principally to exclaim upon him; and that Hermocrates went with them, and would bewray how Tissaphernes undid the business of the Peloponnesians with Alcibiades, and dealt on both hands. For he was continually at enmity with him about the payment of the soldiers’ wages: and in the end, when Hermocrates was banished from Syracuse, and other commanders of the Syracusian fleet, namely, Potamis, Myscon, and Demarchus, were arrived at Miletus, Tissaphernes lay more heavy upon him being an outlaw, than before; and accused him amongst other things, that he had asked him money, and because he could not have it became his enemy. So Astyochus and Hermocrates and the Milesians went their way to Lacedæmon.

  The ambassadors from the Four Hundred to excuse the change at Athensyear xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.Alcibiades saveth the Athenian state.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  Alcibiades by this time was come back from Tissaphernes to Samos. 86. And those ambassadors of the four hundred, which had been sent out before1 to mollify and to inform those of Samos, came from Delos now, whilst Alcibiades was present. An assembly being called, they were offering to speak. But the soldiers at first would not hear them; but cried out to have them put to death, for that they had deposed the people: yet afterwards with much ado they were calmed, and gave them hearing. They declared, “that the change had been made for the preservation of the city, not to destroy it, nor to deliver it to the enemy; for they could have done that before now, when the enemy during their government assaulted it2 : that every one of the five thousand was to participate of the government in their turns3 : and their friends were not, as Chæreas had laid to their charge, abused; nor had any wrong at all, but remained every one quietly upon his own.” Though they delivered this and much more, yet the soldiers believed them not1 , but raged still; and declared their opinions, some in one sort some in another, most agreeing in this to go against Peiræus. And now Alcibiades appeared to be the first and principal man in doing service to the commonwealth2 . For when the Athenians at Samos were carried headlong to invade themselves: in which case most manifestly the enemy had presently possessed himself of Ionia and Hellespont: [it was thought that] he was the man that kept them from it. Nor was there any man at that time able to have held in the multitude, but himself. He both made them to desist from the voyage, and rated off from the ambassadors those that were in their own particular incensed against them. Whom also he sent away, giving them their answer himself: “That he opposed not the government of the five thousand, but willed them to remove the four hundred, and to establish the council that was before of five hundred: that if they had frugally cut off any expense, so that such as were employed in the wars might be the better maintained, he did much commend them for it.” And withal he exhorted them to stand out, and give no ground to their enemies: for that as long as the city held out, there was great hope for them to compound3 ; but if either part miscarry once, either this at Samos or the other at Athens, there would none be left for the enemy to compound withal1 .

  There chanced to be present also the ambassadors of the Argives, sent unto the popular faction of the Athenians in Samos, to assist them. These Alcibiades commended, and appointed to be ready when they should be called for: and so dismissed them. These Argives came in with those of the Paralus, that had been bestowed formerly2 in the military galley by the four hundred, to go about Eubœa, and to convoy Læspodias, Aristophon, and Melesias, ambassadors from the four hundred, to Lacedæmon. These as they sailed by Argos, seized on the ambassadors3 , and delivered them as principal men in deposing of the people to the Argives: and returned no more to Athens, but came with the galley they then were in to Samos, and brought with them these ambassadors from the Argives.

  Tissaphernes goeth to the Phœnician fleet at Aspendus.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  87. The same summer, Tissaphernes, at the time4 that the Peloponnesians were offended with him most, both for the going home of Alcibiades and divers other things, as now manifestly Atticizing, with purpose, as indeed it seemed, to clear himself to them concerning his accusations, made ready for his journey to Aspendus for the Phœnician fleet, and willed Lichas to go along with him: saying that he would substitute Tamos his deputy lieutenant over the army, to pay the fleet1 whilst himself was absent.

  Conjectures of divers upon his going.

  This matter is diversly reported: and it is hard to know with what purpose he went to Aspendus, and yet brought not the fleet away with him. For it is known that one hundred and forty–seven sail of Phœnicians were come forward as far as Aspendus: but why they came not through, the conjectures are various. Some think it was upon design (as he formerly2 intended) to wear out the Peloponnesian forces: for which cause also Tamos, who had that charge, made no better, but rather worse payment than himself. Others, that having brought the Phœnicians as far as Aspendus, he might dismiss them for money: for he never meant to use their service3 . Some again said, it was because they exclaimed so against it at Lacedæmon: and that it might not be said he abused them, but that he went openly to a fleet really set out.

  The opinion of the author.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  For my own part, I think it most clear that it was to the end to consume and to balance the Grecians, that he brought not those galleys in: consuming them, in that he went thither and delayed the time; and equalizing them, in that bringing them to neither he made neither party the stronger. For if he had had a mind to end the war, it is manifest he might have been sure to have done it. For if he had brought them to the Lacedæmonians, in all reason he had given them the victory, who had a navy already1 rather equal than inferior to that of their enemies. But that which hurt them most2 , was the pretence he alleged for not bringing the fleet in. For he said, they were not so many sail as the king had ordained to be gotten together. But sure he might have ingratiated himself more in this business, by dispatching it with less of the king’s money, than by spending more3 . But whatsoever was his purpose, Tissaphernes went to Aspendus and was with the Phœnicians: and by his own appointment the Peloponnesians sent Philip, a Lacedæmonian, with him with two galleys, as to take charge of the fleet.

  Alcibiades, knowing that Tissaphernes would never bring on the fleet, goeth after him, to make the Peloponnesians think the fleet was stayed for his and the Athenians’ sakes

  88. Alcibiades, when he heard that Tissaphernes was gone to Aspendus, goes after him with thirteen galleys, promising to those at Samos a safe and great benefit; which was, that he would either bring those Phœnician galleys to the service of the Athenians, or at least hinder their coming to the Peloponnesians: knowing, as is likely, the mind of Tissaphernes by long acquaintance, that he meant not to bring them on, and desiring, as much as he could, to procure him the ill will of the Peloponnesians for the friendship shown to himself and to the Athenians, that he might thereby the better engage him to take their part. So he presently put to sea, holding his course for Phaselis and Caunus upwards4 .

  year xxi. A C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. Sedition at Athens about the change of the oligarchy into democracy again.Ambition of the oligarchicals amongst themselves over–year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. throweth their government.

  89. The ambassadors of the four hundred being returned from Samos to Athens, and having related what they had in charge from Alcibiades: how that he exhorted them to hold out, and not give ground to the enemy; and that he had great hopes to reconcile them to the army, and to overcome the Peloponnesians: whereas many of the sharers in the oligarchy were formerly discontented, and would gladly, if they could have done it safely, have quitted the business, they were now a great deal more confirmed in that mind. And already they had their meetings apart, and did cast aspersions on the goverment; and had for their ringleaders some of the heads of the oligarchicals and such as bare office amongst them, as Theramenes the son of Agnon, and Aristocrates the son of Scellius, and others, who though they were partakers with the foremost in the affairs of state, yet feared, as they said, Alcibiades and the army at Samos; and joined in the sending of ambassadors to Lacedæmon, because they were loth, by singling themselves from the greater number, to hurt the state, not that they dismissed the state into the hands of a very few: but said, that the five thousand ought in fact to be assigned, and not in voice only, and the government to be reduced to a greater equality. And this was indeed the form pretended in words by the four hundred. But the most of them, through private ambition, fell upon that, by which an oligarchy made out of a democracy is chiefly overthrown1 . For at once they claimed every one, not to be equal, but to be far the chief. Whereas in a democracy, when election is made, because a man is not overcome by his equals, he can better brook it1 . But the great power of Alcibiades at Samos, and the opinion they had that the oligarchy was not like to last, was it that most evidently encouraged them: and thereupon they every one contended who should most eminently become the patron of the people.

  The oligarchalsyear xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. fortify the mouth of the haven of Peiræus.year xxi. A. C 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  90. But those of the four hundred that were most opposite to such a form of government, and the principal of them; both Phrynichus, who had been general at Samos and was ever since2 at difference with Alcibiades; and Aristarchus, a man that had been an adversary to the people both in the greatest manner and for the longest time; and Pisander and Antiphon, and others of the greatest power, not only formerly, as soon as they entered into authority, and afterwards when the state at Samos revolted to the people, sent ambassadors to Lacedæmon and bestirred themselves for the oligarchy3 , and built a wall in the place called Eetioneia: but much more afterwards, when their ambassadors were come from Samos, and that they saw not only the populars, but also some others of their own party thought trusty before, to be now changed. And to Lacedæmon they sent Antiphon and Phrynichus with ten others with all possible speed, as fearing their adversaries1 both at home and at Samos, with commission to make a peace with the Lacedæmonians on any tolerable conditions, whatsoever or howsoever: and in this time went on with the building of the wall in Eetioneia with greater diligence than before. The scope they had in this wall, as it was given out by Theramenes2 [the son of Agnon], was not so much to keep out those of Samos, in case they should attempt by force to enter into Peiræus, as at their pleasure to be able to let in both the galleys and the land–forces of the enemies. For this Eetioneia is the pier3 of the Peiræus, close unto which is the mouth of the haven. And therefore they built this wall so to another wall that was built before to the continent, that a few men lying within it might command the entrance. For the end of each wall was brought to the tower upon the [very] mouth of the haven1 , as well of the old wall towards the continent as of the new which was built within it to the water. They built also an open ground–gallery, an exceeding great one and close to their new wall within Peiræus: and were masters of it, and constrained all men as well to bring thither their corn which they had already come in, as to unload2 there whatsoever should come in afterward; and to take and sell it from thence.

  Theramenes murmureth against their fortifying in Eetioneia.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. The scope of the oligarchicals.Phrynichus murdered.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. Theramenes and his faction set themselves against the rest of the Four Hundred.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.The soldiers pull down the wall they had built in Eetioneia.

  91. These things Theramenes murmured at long before: and when the ambassadors returned from Lacedæmon without compounding for them all in general, he gave out that this wall would endanger the undoing of the city. For at this very instant there happened to be riding on the coast of Laconia forty–two galleys, amongst which were some of Tarentum, some of Locri, some Italians, and some Sicilians3 ; set out from Peloponnesus at the instance of the Eubœans, bound for Eubœa and commanded by Hegesandridas the son of Hegesander, a Spartan. And these Theramenes said were coming, not so much towards Eubœa, as towards those that fortified in Eetioneia: and that if they were not looked to, they would surprise the city4 . Now some matter might indeed be gathered also from those that were accused: so that it was not a mere slander. For their principal design was, to retain the oligarchy with dominion over their confederates: but if they failed of that, yet being masters of the galleys and of the fortification, to have subsisted free themselves: if barred of that, then rather than to be the only men to suffer death under the restored democracy, to let in the enemy; and without either navy or fortification to have let what would have become of the city, and to have compounded for the safety of their own persons1 . 92. Therefore they went diligently on with the fortification, wherein were wickets and entries and backways for the enemy: and desired to have it finished in time. And though these things were spoken but amongst a few before and in secret, yet when Phrynichus, after his return from his Lacedæmonian ambassage, was by a certain watchman2 wounded treacherously in the market–place when it was full, as he went from the council–house, and not far from it fell instantly dead, and the murtherer gone; and that one of his complices, an Argive, taken by the four hundred and put to the torture, would confess no man of those named to him, nor anything else saving this, that many men used to assemble at the house of the captain of the watch and at other houses: then at length, because this accident bred no alteration, Theramenes and Aristocrates, and as many other, either of the four hundred or out of that number, as were of the same faction, proceeded more boldly to assault the government. For now also the fleet being come about from Laconia1 , and lying upon the coast of Epidaurus, had made incursions upon Ægina. And Theramenes thereupon alleged, that it was improbable that those galleys holding their course for Eubœa, would have put in at Ægina and then have gone back again to lie at Epidaurus, unless they had been sent for by such men as he had ever accused of the same: and that therefore there was no reason any longer to sit still. And in the end, after many seditious and suspicious speeches, they fell upon the state in good earnest. For the soldiers that were in Peiræus employed in fortifying Eetioneia, (amongst whom was also Aristocrates, captain of a band of men, and his band with him2 ), seized on Alexicles, principal commander of the soldiers under the four hundred, an eminent man of the other side: and carrying him into a house, kept him in hold. As soon as the news hereof was brought unto the four hundred, who chanced at the same time to be sitting in the council–house, they were ready all of them presently to have taken arms1 , threatening Theramenes and his faction. He to purge himself was ready to go with them and to help to rescue Alexicles: and taking with him one of the commanders who was also of his faction, went down into Peiræus. To help him went also Aristarchus, and certain horsemen of the younger sort. Great and terrible was the tumult. For in the city they thought Peiræus was already taken; and him that was laid in hold, slain: and in Peiræus, they expected every hour the power of the city to come upon them. At last the ancient men, stopping them that ran up and down the city to arm themselves; and Thucydides of Pharsalus, the city’s host, being then there, going boldly and close up to every one he met, and crying out unto them not to destroy their country when the enemy lay so near waiting for an advantage: with much ado quieted them, and held their hands from spilling their own blood. Theramenes coming into Peiræus, (for he also had command over the soldiers), made a shew by his exclaiming of being angry with them: but Aristarchus and those that were of the contrary side, were extremely angry in good earnest. Nevertheless the soldiers went on with their business, and repented not a jot of what they had done2 . Then they asked Theramenes, if he thought this fortification were made to any good end, and whether it were not better to have it demolished. And he answered, that if they thought good to demolish it, he also thought the same. At which word they presently got up, both the soldiers and also many others of Peiræus, and fell a digging down of the wall. Now the provocation that they used to the multitude, was in these words: “that whosoever desired that the sovereignty should be in the five thousand instead of the four hundred, ought also to set himself to the work in hand.” For notwithstanding all this, they thought fit as yet to veil the democracy with the name of the five thousand; and not to say plainly whosoever will have the sovereignty in the people: lest the five thousand should have been extant indeed, and so a man by speaking to some or other of them, might do hurt to the business through ignorance. And for this cause it was that the four hundred would neither let the five thousand be extant, nor yet let it be known that they were not. For to make so many participant of the affairs of state, they thought was a direct democracy: but to have it doubtful, would make them afraid of one another.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.A day appointed for an assembly, wherein to treat of agreement.

  93. The next day, the four hundred, though out of order1 , yet met together in the councilhouse, and the soldiers in Peiræus, having enlarged Alexicles whom they had before imprisoned, and quite razed the fortification, came into the theatre of Bacchus near to Munychia, and there sat down with their arms: and presently, according as they had resolved in an assembly then holden, marched into the city, and there sat down again in the temple of Castor and Pollux1 . To this place came unto them certain men elected by the four hundred, and man to man reasoned and persuaded with such as they saw to be of the mildest temper, both to be quiet themselves and to restrain the rest: saying, that not only the five thousand should be made known who they were, but that out of these such should be chosen in turns to be of the four hundred, as the five thousand should think good: and entreating them by all means that they would not in the meantime overthrow the city, and force it into the hand of the enemy. Hereupon the whole number of the men of arms, after many reasons alleged to many men, grew calmer: and feared most2 the loss of the whole city. And it was agreed betwixt them, that an assembly should be held for making of accord in the temple of Bacchus at a day assigned.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  94. When they came to the temple of Bacchus, and wanted but a little of a full assembly, came news that Hegesandridas with his forty–two galleys came from Megara along the coast towards Salamis. And now there was not a soldier1 but thought it the very same thing that Theramenes and his party had before told them, “that those galleys were to come to the fortification”, and that it was now demolished to good purpose. But Hegesandridas, perhaps upon appointment, hovered upon the coast of Epidaurus and thereabouts: but it is likely that in respect of the sedition of the Athenians he stayed in those parts, with hope to take hold of some good advantage. Howsoever it was, the Athenians as soon as it was told them, ran presently with all the power of the city down to Peiræus: less esteeming their domestic war than that of the common enemy, which was not now far off, but even in the haven2 . And some went aboard the galleys that were then ready, some launched the rest; and others ran to defend the walls and mouth of the haven.

  The battle between the Athenians and the fleet of Hegesandridas at Eretria.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.The Athenians defeated.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  95. But the Peloponnesian galleys being now3 gone by and gotten about the promontory of Sunium, cast anchor between Thoricus and Prasiæ, and put in afterwards at Oropus. The Athenians with all speed, constrained to make use of tumultuary forces1 , such as a city in time of sedition might afford, and desirous with all haste to make good their greatest stake, (for Eubœa, since they were shut out of Attica, was all they had), sent a fleet under the command of Timocharis to Eretria. Which arriving, with those galleys that were in Eubœa before, made up the number of six–and–thirty sail. And they were presently constrained to hazard battle: for Hegesandridas brought out his galleys from Oropus, when he had first there dined. Now Oropus is from Eretria about three–score furlongs of sea. Whereupon the Athenians also, as the enemy came towards them, began to embark: supposing that their soldiers had been somewhere near unto the galleys. But it fell out that they were gone abroad to get their dinner, not in the market; (for by set purpose of the Eretrians, to the end that the enemy might fall upon the Athenians that embarked slowly before they were ready, and force them to come out and fight2 , nothing was there to be sold); but in the utmost houses of the city. There was besides a sign set up at Eretria, to give them notice at Oropus at what time to set forward. The Athenians drawn out by this device3 , and fighting before the haven of Eretria, made resistance nevertheless for a while: but afterwards they turned their backs, and were chased ashore. Such as fled to the city of the Eretrians, taking it for their friend, were handled most cruelly, and slaughtered by them of the town; but such as got to the fort in Eretria, holden by the Athenians, saved themselves: and so did so many of their galleys as got to Chalcis.

  Eubœa revolteth

  The Peloponnesians, after they had taken twenty–two Athenian galleys with the men, whereof some they slew and some they took prisoners, erected a trophy: and not long after having caused all Eubœa to revolt, save only Oreus, which the Athenians held with their own forces1 , they settled the rest of their business there.

  The lamentable estate of the Athenians upon the loss of Eubœa.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1. The Lacedæmonians let slip the advantage which they might have had, if in prosecution of the victory they had come to Peiræus.The Lacedæmonians commodious enemies to the Athenians.

  96. When the news of that which had happened in Eubœa was brought to Athens, it put the Athenians into the greatest astonishment that ever they had been in before. For neither did their loss in Sicily, though then thought great, nor any other at any time so much affright them as this. For now when the army at Samos was in rebellion, when they had no more galleys nor men to put aboard, when they were in sedition amongst themselves and in continual expectation of falling together by the ears: then in the neck of all arrived this great calamity; wherein they not only lost their galleys, but also, which was worst of all, Eubœa, by which they [had] received more commodity than by Attica. How then could they choose but be dejected? But most of all they were troubled, and that for the nearness, with a fear lest upon this victory the enemy should take courage and come immediately into Peiræus, now empty of shipping: of which they thought nothing wanting, but that they were not there already. And had they been anything adventurous, they might easily have done it: and then1 , had they stayed there and besieged them, they had not only increased the sedition, but also compelled the fleet to come away from Ionia to the aid of their kindred and of the whole city, though enemies to the oligarchy; and in the meantime gotten the Hellespont, Ionia, the Islands, and all places even to Eubœa, and, as one may say, the whole Athenian empire into their power. But the Lacedæmonians, not only in this but in many other things, were most commodious enemies to the Athenians to war withal. For being of most different humours; the one swift, the other slow; the one adventurous, the other timorous; the Lacedæmonians gave them great advantage, especially when their greatness was by sea. This was evident in the Syracusians: who being in condition like unto them, warred best against them.

  The Athenians settle their government, and put an end to the sedition, by deposing the Four Hundred, and setting up the Five Thousand.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  97. The Athenians upon this news made ready, notwithstanding, twenty galleys; and called an assembly, one then presently in the place called Pnyx, where they were wont to assemble at other times: in which having deposed the four hundred, they decreed the sovereignty to the five thousand; of which number were all such to be, as were charged with arms: and from that time forward to salariate no man for magistracy; with a penalty on the magistrate receiving the salary, to be held for an execrable person. There were also divers other assemblies held afterwards; wherein they elected law–makers, and enacted other things concerning the government1 . And now first (at least in my time) the Athenians seem to have ordered their state aright: which consisted now of a moderate temper, both of the few and of the many. And this was the first thing, that after so many misfortunes past made the city again to raise her head.

  They recall Alcibiades.

  They decreed also the recalling of Alcibiades, and those that were in exile with him: and sending to him and to the army at Samos, willed them to fall in hand with their business.

  Most of the oligarchicals fly to the enemy.Aristarchus betrayeth Œnoe.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 1.

  98. In this change Pisander and Alexicles, and such as were with them, and they that had been principal in the oligarchy, immediately withdrew themselves to Deceleia. Only Aristarchus (for it chanced that he had charge of the soldiers) took with him certain archers of the most barbarous2 , and went with all speed to Œnoe. This was a fort of the Athenians in the confines of Bœotia; and (for the loss that the Corinthians had received by the garrison of Œnoe1 ) was by voluntary Corinthians, and by some Bœotians by them called in to aid them, now besieged. Aristarchus therefore having treated with these, deceived those in Œnoe: and told them, that the city of Athens had compounded with the Lacedæmonians, and that they were to render up the place to the Bœotians; for that it was so conditioned in the agreement. Whereupon, believing him as one that had authority over the soldiery, and knowing nothing because besieged, upon security for their pass they gave up the fort. So the Bœotians receive Œnoe: and the oligarchy and sedition at Athens cease.

  A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2. Mindarus with the Peloponnesian fleet, seeing Tissaphernes and the Phœnician fleet came not, resolves to go to Pharnabazus in the Hellespont.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  99. About the same time of this summer, when none of those whom Tissaphernes at his going to Aspendus had substituted to pay the Peloponnesian navy at Miletus, did it; and seeing neither the Phœnician fleet nor Tissaphernes came2 to them; and seeing Philip, that was sent along with him, and also another, one Hippocrates a Spartan that was lying in Phaselis, had written to Mindarus the general, that the fleet was not to come at all and in every thing Tissaphernes abused them; seeing also that Pharnabazus had sent for them, and was willing, upon the coming to him of their fleet, for his own part also as well as Tissaphernes, to cause the rest of the cities within his own province to revolt from the Athenians: then at length, Mindarus hoping for benefit by him3 , with good order and sudden warning, that the Athenians at Samos might not be aware of their setting forth, went into the Hellespont with seventy–three galleys, besides sixteen which the same summer were gone into the Hellespont before, and had overrun part1 of Chersonnesus. But tossed with the wind she was forced to put in at Icarus: and after he had stayed there through ill weather some five or six days, he arrived at Chios.

  Mindarus stayeth by the way at Chios: Thrasyllus in the meantime outgoes him, and watches for his going by at Lesbos.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  100. Thrasyllus having been advertised of his departure from Miletus, he also puts to sea from Samos with five and fifty sail; hasting to be in the Hellespont before him. But hearing that he was in Chios, and conceiving that he would stay there, he appointed spies to lie in Lesbos and in the continent over against it, that the fleet of the enemy might not remove without his knowledge: and he himself going to Methymna, commanded provision to be made of meal, and other necessaries; intending, if they stayed there long, to go from Lesbos and invade them in Chios. Withal, because Eressos was revolted from Lesbos2 , he purposed to go thither with his fleet: if he could, to take it in. For the most potent of the Methymnæan exiles had gotten into their society about fifty men of arms3 out of Cume, and hired others out of the continent: and with their whole number in all three hundred, having for their leader Anaxarchus a Theban, chosen in respect of their descent from the Thebans1 , first assaulted Methymna. But beaten in the attempt by the Athenian garrison that came against them from Mytilene, and again in a skirmish without the city driven quite away, they passed by the way of the mountain to Eressos, and caused it to revolt. Thrasyllus therefore intended to go thither with his galleys, and to assault it. At his coming he found Thrasybulus there also before him, with five galleys from Samos: for he had been advertised of the outlaws coming over; but being too late to prevent them, he went to Eressos and lay before it at anchor. Hither also came two galleys of Methymna, that were going home from the Hellespont: so that they were in all threescore and seven sail, out of which they made an army, intending with engines, or any other way they could, to take Eressos by assault2 .

  Mindarus and his fleet steal by into the Hellespont unseen of those that watched their going in Lesbos.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  101. In the meantime, Mindarus and the Peloponnesian fleet that was at Chios, when they had spent two days in victualling their galleys, and had received of the Chians three Chian tessaracostes3 a man, on the third day put speedily off from Chios: and kept far1 from the shore, that they might not fall amongst the galleys at Eressos. And leaving Lesbos on the left hand, went to the continent side: and putting in at a haven in Craterei2 , belonging to the territory of Phocæa, and there dining, passed along the territory of Cume, and came to Arginusæ in the continent over against Mytilene, where they supped. From thence they put forth late in the night, and came to Harmatus, a place in the continent over against Methymna: and after dinner going a great pace by Lectus, Larissa, Hamaxitus, and other the towns in those parts, came before midnight to Rhœteium; this now is in Hellespont3 . But some of his galleys put in at Sigeium, and other places thereabouts.

  The Athenians at Sestos with eighteen galleys steal out of the Hellespont: but are met by Mindarus, and four of them taken.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  102. The Athenians that lay with eighteen galleys at Sestos, knew that the Peloponnesians were entering into the Hellespont by the fires, both those which their own watchmen put up, and by the many which appeared on the enemies’ shore: and therefore the same night in all haste, as they were, kept the shore of Chersonnesus towards Elæus, desiring to get out into the wide sea and to decline the fleet of the enemy: and went out unseen of those sixteen galleys that lay at Abydos4 , though these had warning before from the fleet of their friends that came on, to watch them narrowly that they went not out. But in the morning, being in sight of the fleet with Mindarus and chased by him, they could not all escape, but the most of them got to the continent and into Lemnos; only four of the hindmost were taken near Elæus: whereof the Peloponnesians took one with the men in her, that had run herself aground at the temple of Protesilaus; and two other without the men; and set fire on a fourth, abandoned upon the shore of Imbros.

  103. After this they besieged Elæus the same day, with those galleys of Abydos which were with them1 , and with the rest, being now altogether fourscore and six sail. But seeing it would not yield, they went away to Abydos.

  The Athenians haste from Lesbos after the Peloponnesians into Hellespont.

  The Athenians, who had been deceived by their spies, and not imagining that the enemy’s fleet could have gone by without their knowledge, and attended at leisure the assault of Eressos: when now they knew they were gone, immediately left Eressos and hasted to the defence of Hellespont. By the way they took two galleys of the Peloponnesians, that having ventured into the main more boldly in following the enemy than the rest had done, chanced to light upon the fleet of the Athenians. The next day they came to Elæus, and stayed: and thither from Imbros came unto them those other galleys that had escaped from the enemy. Here they spent five days in preparation for a battle2 .

  104. After this, they fought in this manner. The Athenians went by the shore, ordering their galleys one by one, towards Sestos. The Peloponnesians also, when they saw this, brought out their fleet against them from Abydos.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2. The Athenians and Peloponnesians fight, and the Athenians get the victory.

  Being sure to fight, they drew out their fleets in length, the Athenians along the shore of Chersonnesus, beginning at Idacus and reaching as far as Arrhiana, threescore and six1 galleys: and the Peloponnesians, from Abydos to Dardanum, fourscore and six2 galleys. In the right wing of the Peloponnesians, were the Syracusians: in the other, Mindarus himself, and those galleys that were nimblest. Amongst the Athenians, Thrasyllus had the left wing, and Thrasybulus the right: and the rest of the commanders, every one the place assigned him.

  Now the Peloponnesians laboured to give the first onset, and with their left wing to over–reach the right wing of the Athenians and keep them from going out3 , and to drive those in the middle to the shore which was near. The Athenians, who perceived it, where the enemy went about to cut off their way out, put forth the same way that they did, and outwent them: the left wing of the Athenians was also gone forward by this time beyond the point called Cynos–sema4 . By means whereof that part of the fleet which was in the middest became both weak and divided, especially when theirs was the less fleet: and the sharp and angular figure of the place about Cynos–sema, took away the sight of what passed there from those that were on the other side.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  105. The Peloponnesians therefore, charging this middle part, both drave their galleys to the dry land: and being far superior in fight, went out after them and assaulted them upon the shore. And to help them neither was Thrasybulus able who was in the right wing, for the multitude of the enemies that pressed him; nor Thrasyllus in the left wing, both because he could not see what was done for the promontory of Cynos–sema, and because also he was kept from it by the Syracusians and others, lying upon his hands no fewer in number than themselves. Till at last the Peloponnesians, bold upon their victory, chasing some one galley some another, fell into some disorder in a part1 of their army. And then those about Thrasybulus, having observed that the opposite galleys sought now no more to go beyond them, turned upon them; and fighting put them presently to flight2 : and having also cut off from the rest of the fleet such galleys of the Peloponnesians, of that part that had the victory, as were scattered abroad, some they assaulted3 , but the greatest number they put into affright unfoughten. The Syracusians also, whom those about Thrasyllus had already caused to shrink, when they saw the rest fly fled outright.

  The courage of the Athenians erected with this victory.year xxi. A C 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  106. This defeat being given, and the Peloponnesians having for the most part escaped first to the river Pydius4 , and afterwards to Abydos: though the Athenians took but few of their galleys, (for the narrowness of the Hellespont afforded to the enemy a short retreat), yet the victory was the most seasonable to them that could be. For having till this day stood in fear of the Peloponnesian navy, both for the loss which they had received by little and little and also for their great loss in Sicily, they now ceased either to accuse themselves, or to think highly any longer of the naval power of their enemies. The galleys they took were these: eight of Chios, five of Corinth, of Ambracia two1 , of Leucas, Laconia, Syracuse, and Pellene, one a–piece. Of their own they lost fifteen.

  When they had set up a trophy in the promontory of Cynos–sema, and taken up the wrecks, and given truce to the enemies to fetch away the bodies of their dead: they presently sent away a galley with a messenger to carry news of the victory to Athens. The Athenians, upon the coming in of this galley hearing of their unexpected good fortune, were encouraged much after their loss in Eubœa and after their sedition: and conceived that their estate might yet keep up, if they plied the business courageously.

  The Athenians recover Cyzicus, and take eight galleys of the Peloponnesians.

  107. The fourth day after this battle, the Athenians that were in Sestos having hastily prepared2 their fleet, went to Cyzicus, which was revolted: and espying, as they passed by, the eight galleys come from Byzantium riding under Harpagium and Priapus, set upon them: and having also overcome those that came to their aid from the land, took them3 . Then coming to Cyzicus, being an open town, they brought it again into their own power; and levied a sum of money amongst them.

  year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2. The Peloponnesians recover some of their galleys taken, at Elæus.They send for the fleet with Hegesandridas out of Eubœa.

  The Peloponnesians1 in the meantime going from Abydos to Elæus, recovered as many of their galleys [formerly] taken as remained whole: the rest, the Elæusians [had] burnt. They also sent Hippocrates and Epicles into Eubœa, to fetch away the fleet that was there.

  Alcibiades returneth from Aspendus to Samos.Hefortifieth Cos.

  108. About the same time also, returned Alcibiades to Samos with his thirteen galleys2 from Caunus and Phaselis: reporting that he had diverted the Phœnician fleet from coming to the Peloponnesians, and that he had inclined Tissaphernes to the friendship of the Athenians more than he was before. Thence manning out nine galleys more, he exacted a great sum of money of the Hallicarnasseans, and fortified Cos. Being now almost autumn, he returned to Samos3 .

  The Antandrians put out the garrison of Tissaphernes out of their citadel.year xxi. A. C. 411. Ol. 92. 2.

  The Peloponnesians being now in Hellespont, the Antandrians (who are Æolians) received into the city men of arms4 from Abydos by land through mount Ida, upon injury that had been done them by Arsaces, a deputy lieutenant of Tissaphernes. This Arsaces having feigned a certain war, not declared against whom, had formerly called out the chiefest of the Delians (the which in hallowing of Delos by the Athenians were turned out, and had planted themselves in Adramyttium) to go with him to this war: and when under colour of amity and confederacy he had drawn them out, he observed a time when they were at dinner, and having hemmed them in with his own soldiers murdered them with darts. And therefore, for this act’s sake fearing lest he might do some unlawful prank against them also, and for that he had otherwise done them injury1 , they cast his garrison out of their citadel.

  Tissaphernes goeth toward Hellespont, to recover the favour of the Peloponnesians.

  109. Tissaphernes, hearing of this, being the act of the Peleponnesians as well as that at Miletus or that at Cnidus; (for in those cities his garrisons had also been cast out in the same manner2 ); and conceiving that he was deeply charged to them, and fearing lest they should do him some other hurt; and withal not enduring that Pharnabazus should receive them, and with less time and cost speed better against the Athenians than he had done: resolved to make a journey to them in the Hellespont, both to complain of what was done at Antandros, and to clear himself of his accusations the best he could, as well concerning the Phœnician fleet as other matters. And first he put in at Ephesus, and offered sacrifices to Diana3 .

  The end of the one–and–twentieth summer.

  When the winter following this summer shall be ended, the one–and–twentieth year [of this war] shall be complete1 .

  ERRATA.

  Vol. i. p. 12, note 1.	For “Simnæ” read “Limnæ”.
  p. 256, note 2.	For “was, with Nisæaga, lost” read “was, with Nisæa, again lost”.
  	For “Megalces” read “Megacles”.
  p. 270, note 4.	For “migrated from Arne in Thessaly” read “migrated thence”.
  Vol. ii. p. 260, line 18.	For “Irineus” read “Erineum”.

  richards, printer, 100, st. martin’s lane.

  BOOKS PUBLISHED BY JOHN BOHN.

  An Apology for Cathedral Service, crown 8vo, bds. 8s.

  “A very elegant, learned, and instructive little volume”.

  —Quarterly Review.

  Arrian on Coursing. The Cynegeticus of the Younger Xenophon, translated from the Greek, with Classical and Practical Annotations, and a brief Sketch of the Life of the Author. To which is added an Appendix, containing some Account of the Canes Venatici of Classical Antiquity, by a Graduate of Medicine (the Reverend William Dansey) imperial 8vo, with 24 Embellishments from the Antique, on India Paper, extra boards, 1l. 11s. 6d.

  “The reader who is curious about the art of coursing, will find the results of vast reading and not slender experience brought together in an agreeable manner by this translator and annotator of Arrian’s celebrated treatise.”

  —Quarterly Review.

  Bathurst’s (Archdeacon Henry) Memoirs of the Late Dr. Henry Bathurst, Lord Bishop of Norwich; 2 vols. 8vo, (published at 2l. 10s.) reduced to 12s. in cloth.

  Brydges’ (The Right Hon. Sir Harford Jones) Work on Persia : The Dynasty of the Kajars, translated from the original Persian Manuscript presented by His Majesty Faty Aly Shah to Sir Harford Jones Brydges, Bart. K.C. LLD. late Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary from his Britannic Majesty to the Court of Teheran. To which is prefixed, a succinct Account of the History of Persia previous to that period, 8vo, frontispiece and 3 maps, boards, 1l. 4s.

  Ciceronis Sex Orationum Fragmenta inedita, edente Angelo Maio. Accedunt Conjecturæ C. J. Blomfield, nunc Episcopi Londinensis; 8vo, bds. 4s.

  Descant on the Penny Postage.Encore Edition, with a few new Cadences; crown 8vo, 1s. 6d.

  “A very clever, humorous brochure, full of good hits and amusing satire”.

  —Gentleman’s Magazine for 1842, p. 189.

  Descant upon Railroads, by X. A. P. crown 8vo, sewed, 1s. 6d.

  Field (Richard, D.D. Dean of Gloucester) of the Church, Five Books. A New Edition, with the Quotations at full length, and Notes, by the Rev. John S. Brewer, M.A. vol. 1, 8vo, bds. 15s.

  The second and third volumes will appear shortly.

  Fox’s (George Croker) Death of Demosthenes, and other original Poems; with the Prometheus and Agamemnon of Æschylus, translated from the Greek; foolscap 8vo, cloth lettered, 8s.

  “The Prometheus is translated with correctness and spirit, and in a masculine and severe style, suitable to its subject, and to the genius of the original poet. We give the same praise to the Agamemnon.”

  —Gentleman’s Magazine.

  “The Death of Demosthenes is indeed a noble subject nobly executed. Mr. Fox’s volume must charm all, except the ignorant without learning, and the learned without taste.”

  —Dublin Review.

  Groves’ (Captain John R.) Observations on the Utility of Floating Breakwaters (manufactured in Iron), as applied to the Formation of Harbours of Refuge. Third Edition; 8vo, with folding plate, sewed, 1s.

  Captain Groves’ Floating Breakwater is now being tried at Dover.

  Hobbes’ (Thomas, of Malmesbury) Complete Works,both English and Latin, now first collected and edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart. 14 vols. 8vo, portrait and plates, cloth lettered, 8l. 8s.

  “Hobbes’ language is so lucid and concise, that it would almost be as improper to put an algebraical process in different terms as some of his metaphysical paragraphs.”

  —Hallam (Introductiou to the Literature of Europe, wherein he has given an excellent analysis of Hobbes’ writings).

  Kennet’s (White, Bishop of Peterborough) Discourse of Lay Impropriations, edited from the original Manuscript, with Notes and Illustrations, by Samuel Francis Wood, Esq. crown 8vo, bds. 10s.

  Maltby’s (Edward, D.D. Bishop of Durham) New and Complete Greek Gradus. Second Edition, 8vo (published at 1l. 1s.) reduced to 16s. in boards.

  Nuttall’s (Dr. P. A.) Classical and Archæological Dictionary of the Manners, Customs, Laws, Institutions, Arts, &c. of the celebrated Nations of Antiquity, and of the Middle Ages. To which is prefixed a Synoptical and Chronological View of Ancient History; 8vo (published at 16s.) and reduced to 8s. in cloth lettered.

  Photii Lexicon, Græce, e Codice Galeano descripsit Ricardus Porsonus; 2 vols. 8vo, portrait (published at 1l. 10s.) reduced to 12s. in bds.

  Porsoni (Ricardi) Adversaria: Notæ et Emendationes in Poetas Græcos quas ex Schedis MSS. Porsoni apud Collegium SS. Trinitatis Cantabrigiæ repositis deprompserunt et ordinarunt nec non Indicibus instruxerunt J. H. Monk, Episcopus Gloucestrensis, et C. J. Blomfield, Episcopus Londinensis; 8vo (published at 1l. 5s.) and now reduced to 5s. in boards.

  Priaulx’s (Osmond de Beauvoir) Quæstiones Mosaicæ, or the Book of Genesis compared with the Remains of Ancient Religions. From the Creation to the Death of Abraham; 8vo, bds. 15s.

  “The aim and object of the present enquiry, appears to be an examination into the mysteries of the Creation, as set forth in the book of Genesis, and at the same time a comparison of the account as given by Moses, with the reliquiæ of ancient theories on the same subject. The book is well written, the language close, terse, clear, and condensed,—the comparison of theories elaborate, and for the most part correct; much gratification as well as positive instruction may therefore be gathered from these Quæstiones Mosaicæ.”

  —British Friend of India Magazine, and Indian Review.

  Priaulx’s (Osmond de Beauvoir) National Education, its Principles and Objects exemplified in a Plan for a Normal School; 8vo, bds. 6s.

  This work deserves an attentive perusal.

  Wackerbarth’s (Athanasius Diedrich) Lyra Ecclesiastica: or a Collection of Ancient and Godly Latin Hymns, with an English Translation in Corresponding Metre. First and Second Series, foolscap 8vo, each, 1s.

  Shortly will be Published in one volume 8vo (800 pages)

  A Catalogue of English Books in all Classes of Literature, on sale by John Bohn, 17 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden.

  [1 ]Exercises dedicated to Apollo, and celebrated at Delphi about the twelfth of the month Elaphebolium, as may be gathered by the beginning of the truce on that day. [In the month Elaphebolion of the third year of the Olympiad, according to Corsini, Boeckh, Mueller, Goeller, and others: who take the meaning of this passage to be, that “the truce was dissolved, and war again renewed up to the time of the Pythian games”, at which time followed the peace; see ch. 19. In the month Hecatombæon of the same year, according to Arnold, who follows Haack and others in rendering the passage: “the truce having lasted till the celebration of the Pythian games, then ended”. The passage has given rise to much controversy, which concerns the date of the Pythian games rather than any fact in this history.]

  [1 ][“Not pure to perform the functions of priest”.—They are said by Diodorus to have incurred the displeasure of Athens by their attachment to Sparta. The command of the Delphic oracle for their restoration (see ch. 32.) seems to show a connexion between them and that oracle, which may have afforded them the opportunity of injuring Athens. Thirlwall.]

  [2 ][See iii. 104.]

  [1 ][The Lacedæmonian. iv. 132]

  [2 ][That is, the new wall.]

  [1 ][That is, the land of the state: not the private property of individuals. As at Rome, the agrarian laws concerned only the public lands. See Arnold’s note.]

  [2 ][“Making desert”.]

  [1 ][“Those Locrians, that had settled and been again driven from Messana”:—“and the Locrians thereupon held Messana for a while.” These were the Locrians called Epizephyrii.]

  [1 ][“Cleon, when as before mentioned he sailed from Torone for Amphipolis, making” &c. Bekker &c. ὡς: vulgo ὅς. The voyage has been already mentioned, ch. 3.]

  [2 ][μάλιστα: “about”.]

  [1 ][“During this while”.]

  [2 ][Amphipolis is supposed to have been situated, like Syracuse, not on the top, but on the slope of the hill: and this is the “strong hill” whereon Cleon halted, and whence he could look down into every part of the city. This explains the term κατῆλθεν, “in not coming down with engines”.—“It was thought” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, citizens only.]

  [2 ][Contempt, ἀπὸ τοῦ ὄντος, “from seeing the real state of the case”.]

  [1 ][“To attack”.]

  [1 ][“Or else to be the subjects of the Athenians, (if at the best you escape without slavery or death), and that subjection more irksome than before: and to be besides the hinderers” &c. The distinction is made between δοῦλος, the general term, signifying both political and domestic slavery: and ἀνδρ̧άποδον, signifying the latter only. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“And in the city (the interior of which was exposed to view from without) as he was sacrificing at the temple of Pallas and about the matters before related, it was told Cleon (for &c.).” The act of sacrificing indicated the intention of Brasidas to fight: see vi. 69, note.]

  [1 ][“And thinking to be beforehand in the retreat”. Bekker &c. ϕθήσεσθαι: vulgo, ὀϕθήσεσθαι.]

  [2 ][“And in their march to begin the movement with the left wing in the direction of Eion, as the only practicable plan”. Göl. Arn.—“And Brasidas upon this seeing his opportunity, and that” &c.]

  [3 ][“The palisade”.]

  [4 ][“The steepest part of the hill”: where Cleon halted to view the city. Arn. Goell. The “long wall” was to the south of the city.]

  [1 ][“And Brasidas, upon their retreat advancing upon the right wing, is wounded”.]

  [2 ][Cleon was a tanner by trade: a man of slender abilities, and possessed of no knowledge, political or military. His eloquence was impetuous and coarse, set off with a loud voice. He was the first that ventured to abandon the grave manner and decent gesture prescribed by usage to the Athenian orator: and adopted the style, as it is described by Cicero, of the Roman orator; the femur percussum, pedis supplosio, &c.]

  [1 ][“And preserving him (from the enemy), brought him” &c.]

  [2 ][A distinguished honour: the ordinary burial–place being always outside the walls. The Athenians at the height of the Roman power refused this honour to M. Marcellus: “quod religione se impediri dicerent, neque tamen id antea cuiquam concesserant”. Cicero, epis. ad divers. iv. 12. At Rome to bury within the walls was forbidden by the Twelve Tables: though Cicero mentions some few exceptions, “ut C. Fabricius, virtutis causa”. De legibus, ii. 23. Arnold.]

  [3 ][“Sacrificed to him as to a hero”.—ἐντέμνειν, to sacrifice to the dead, by cutting off the head from the back of the neck, whereby it fell to the ground: and so opposed to σϕάζειν, to sacrifice to the gods above, by holding back the head so as to look upwards, and cutting the throat. Arnold. Nevertheless, σϕάξαι is the term used by Ulysses in Hecuba, Eurip. 221, for the sacrifice of Polyxene to Achilles, and such the manner of the sacrifice.—The worship of their founder was a duty of the colonists amongst the Greeks. Thus the Chersonesitans to Miltiades, τελευτήσαντι θύουσι, ὡς νόμος ο’κιστῇ (Herod. vi. 38.).]

  [1 ][That is, Spartans had never before been known to surrender with arms in their hands: for they had before lost more men, as at Thermopylæ, and at Thyrea (Herod. i. 82). Of the 420 men of arms sent over into Sphacteria, not half were Spartans (see iv. 38.)]

  [1 ][This is the treaty referred to in ii. 9: no more particular account is given of it. For Cynuria, see ch. 41.]

  [2 ][οἱ Σπαρ̧τιᾶται πρ̧ῶτοι. In a certain sense all Dorians were equal in rights and dignity: but there were yet manifold gradations, which when once formed, were retained by the aristocratic feelings of the people. In the first place, there was the dignity of the Heracleid families, which without possessing any essential privilege in Sparta had a precedence throughout the whole nation: and connected with this, a certain pre–eminence of the Hyllean tribe. Then again in the times of the Peloponnesian war “men of the first rank”, οἰ πρ̧ῶτοι ἄνδρες, are often mentioned in Sparta, who, without being magistrates, had a considerable influence on the government. The καλοὶ κ’αγαθοὶ were also, in general, persons of distinction. Muell. iii. 5. Of the following words “and all equally their kinsmen” no satisfactory explanation is given. Goeller renders them: “et pariter sibi cognati”.]

  [1 ][Cleon is accused of being the author, not only of the fine imposed on Pericles in the second year of the war, (an act for which, as aimed at a party man, there may be some allowance), but of another act of a different character, the banishment of Thucydides. It is to be hoped that this latter charge is without foundation: if for no other reason, that our estimation of his character, drawn by the hand of the exile, may not be affected.]

  [2 ][“Whilst he had never &c. and was still in repute, to carry his good fortune” &c.]

  [1 ][The Theori, messengers to the oracle, were at Sparta called after their god, Pythii: of whom each of the two kings, in their character of high priest, nominated two. The office was one of great dignity: they were entrusted to deliver the oracle truly and honestly to the kings; and were the assessors of the kings and gerusia, and the messmates of the former both at home and in the field. It is probable that the three Pythian interpreters at Athens, who were however specially chosen for each theoria, once possessed equal dignity: but their powers, naturally incompatible with a democracy, were lost at a very early period: see Muell. iii. 1.—The semigod is Hercules: the Spartans, the conquerors and lords of the Achæans, submitting to be governed themselves by kings, as it is said, the descendants of Hercules, and therefore of Achæan blood. That the Dorians were led to the conquest of Peloponnesus by Achæan chiefs, was a tradition current, not only amongst the Dorians themselves, but amongst other nations also: and the victory of Echemus, the king of Tegea, over Hyllus, the son of Hercules, in the first Dorian invasion, is pleaded by the Tegeatans as their title to the post of honour at the battle of Platæa (Herod. ix. 26).—Thucydides here attributes the founding of Lacedæmon to Eurysthenes and Procles, (the sons of Aristodemus, one of the three sons of Aristomachus), the first two kings of Sparta: whereas Herodotus, in relating the origin of the two kings (vi. 52), says that Aristodemus, and not his sons, was the founder. In either case, Sparta must have been a place of very slight importance before the Dorian invasion: which alone made it the ruler of the surrounding states. It was built differently from Mycenæ, Tiryns, and other Achæan cities of the Cyclopean, or Pelasgian, architecture: the Acropolis is on a hill of inconsiderable height, of easy ascent, and without trace of ancient fortification or walls: it has no monuments of the times of the fabulous princes, the Pelopidæ &c., whilst Amyclæ, amongst many others, possessed the tombs of Cassandra, Agamemnon, and Clytemnestra: Muell. i. 5.—The “ploughing with a silver share”, betokened a famine, and the consequent dearness of the fruits of the earth. Schol.—Pleistoanax, condemned for bribery (see vi. 104, n.) to pay a fine beyond his means, lived in banishment in a house partly in, and partly out of the temple, that he might enjoy security and at the same time avoid profaning the temple: which could not be done, were the whole house in it.]

  [1 ][“About the spring &c. already braved them beforehand with” &c.]

  [1 ][The Delphian nobility were of Doric origin: and so great was their influence over the temple, that they may be considered as the actual managers of it. They formed a criminal court, and sentenced all offenders against the temple, by the Pythian decision, to be hurled from a precipice: and whether any murder was expiable or not, was a question within their jurisdiction. Muell. ii. 1.—As the temple therefore of the Doric god: at whose bidding the Spartans entered on many hazardous enterprizes, dethroned the tyrants throughout Greece, &c.: and without whose sanction they never undertook any important action (as this history shews by many examples): its independence was of the last importance to Sparta.]

  [1 ][The tribute taxed in the time of Aristides, was four hundred and sixty talents. In his lifetime, whether with his assent or not is disputed, the treasury, on the nominal proposal of the Samians, was removed from Delos (i. 96) to Athens. The tribute, as may be supposed, suffered no reduction by the change. Cimon having first of all stripped the weaker states in succession of their means of defence (i. 99), the tribute was ere long raised by Pericles to six hundred, and in course of time by Alcibiades and others to thirteen hundred talents. The cause of this increase is well worthy of attention. It was the practice of Cimon and the aristocratical party to ingratiate themselves with the people, by distributing their vast wealth in so called liberality amongst the lower class of citizens. Great as was the mischief of this practice, it was thrown into the shade by the invention of Pericles. Unable to contend with the private wealth of his antagonists, he resorted to a similar application of the public money: and his entrance into the public assembly was marked by a series of measures, all tending to enable the poorer citizens to live upon the public treasury. Besides the vast public works, good in themselves, but undertaken mainly with the view of giving bread to a great number of workmen, he was the author of two remarkable laws. In former times, it had been found necessary for the public tranquillity, that the admission to the theatre, originally gratuitous, should be subjected to the charge of a small sum of money. Pericles passed a law entitling every citizen to this money out of the treasury. Had the design been simply to place the amusement of the theatre within reach of the poor citizens, the obvious plan was to revive the free admission. In course of time, the theoricon absorbed the entire surplus funds of the treasury, after defraying the ordinary civil expenditure: and the military chest was left to depend on extraordinary contributions. His other measure was still more mischievous: the payment of an obole to the juror for his attendance at the courts of justice. The pay was just high enough to ensure the attendance of the most objectionable class of jurors to sit in judgment on the life and fortune of their fellow–citizens. Corruption was probably a vice inherent in the tribunals as organized by Solon: the 6000 sworn citizens, or jurors, called the ἡλιαία. But that the bribing of them was, a few years later than the present time, reduced to a regular system; and that condemnations of obnoxious individuals were extorted by threats of withholding prosecutions, and thereby cutting short the juror’s pay: this Pericles alone is answerable for. As to the allies, the amount of direct taxes wrung from them, was the least of their grievances. A far sorer burthen was the transfer of all criminal causes, and all suits involving property above a certain low amount, from their own tribunals to those of Athens. She derived therefrom the profits, comparatively trifling, arising from fees of justice and the influx of strangers into the city, at the expense of suffering to the allies difficult to be conceived. This is what the Athenian orator (i. 77) wishes to represent as a commercium juris præbendi et repetendi. At the time of Pericles’ accession to power, the Athenians, amongst whom democracy had already made rapid strides, had still left one security for an impartial trial in criminal cases. This security stood in his way: and he did not hesitate, by the overthrow of the Areopagus, to place the life and fortune of every citizen at the mercy of a vote of an assembly of 6000 citizens. Of the justice dealt out by a popular assembly, an example is seen in the affair of the Hermes–busts (vi. 44, note): another in the fate of the ten generals after the battle of Arginusæ. The working of the Heliæa shewed itself in the occasional direct division of the rich man’s property amongst the citizens at large (Herm. § 163, n. 7): and in the common practice of confiscating the property of the rich to supply the wants of the treasury, whence the jurors derived their salary (Arist. v. 5, vi. 2, 5.). It may perhaps be a question, whether if victory in this war had sided with Athens, she could long have survived this state of things: and whether Pericles had any faith in her so doing.]

  [1 ][“And all others, allies of the Spartans, in Scione, and all” &c.]

  [1 ][In formulis jurisjurandi, varii et confirmandi et fidem dandi gradus erant. Præter usitatum testium jusjurandum aliud erat sanctius, quod magis quam alia fidem obstringere videbatur: quale præstabant Areopagitæ, dum se et omnem progeniem diris devovent, quodque ut præcipua gravitate et vi præditum memoratur. Imprimis illam formulam obligare putaverunt, qua per liberos jurabant. Goeller.—He observes also, that the Athenians swore on behalf of themselves and their allies (see ch. 47): here therefore they swear both to the Lacedæmonians and to their allies, whilst the latter swear to the Athenians only.—The Amyclæum was a temple of Apollo at Amyclæ, and not actually a part of Sparta so called, as supposed by some: but from its nearness, Amyclæ itself was considered as part of Sparta, as the Peiræus of Athens and the Heræum of Argos. Haack. Popp.]

  [2 ]By Delphi, where the Pythian games were kept.

  [1 ][“This treaty begins from the ephoralty of Pleistolas, the fourth day before the end (i. e. the 26th) of the month Artemisium; and from the archonship of Alcæus at Athens, the sixth day before the end (the 24th) of the month Elaphebolion”.]

  [2 ][“A few days less.” Goeller, Arnold. Of the next sentence the sense may be correctly given: but the text, as it stands, is admitted to be untranslatable.]

  [3 ][That is, “as they are here written”.]

  [1 ][“Might be altered: and finding it already ratified” &c. Goeller.]

  [1 ][ξυμμαχίαν: in its strict sense, an alliance offensive and defensive (see i. 44); here, an alliance defensive only.]

  [1 ][“And hitherto hath been written this first war, which during these ten years was without intermission.” Goeller.]

  [1 ][Auctoris computatio annorum progreditur usque ad annum Ol. 91. 2. A.C. 414: quo tempore Lacedæmonii, ab Alcibiade exstimulati, rursus ad bellum aperte cum Atheniensibus gerendum se accinxerunt: vide vi. 93. Exeunt ipsi sex anni et menses decem. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“For let him consider how it (the composition) is characterized by the facts of the case”. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Found in this solitary instance the event exactly agreeing with the prediction”. Arn.—“For I myself remember yet” &c.]

  [3 ][“And I lived to the end of it, being of an age to judge of events and also applying” &c.]

  [4 ][“Conversant with.” Arnold.]

  [1 ][“The controversy therefore after these ten years, and the following rupture of the treaty, and the war thereupon how it was” &c.]

  [2 ][“After concluding &c., the embassies from Peloponnesus, which were sent for to assist at them, retired from Lacedæmon. And all but the Corinthians went home: but they turning” &c. Bekk. &c.]

  [3 ][“The Argives”—The limiting the alliance to such states as treated others upon a footing of equality in the distribution of justice, operated as an exclusion from it of all states not independent on the one hand, and of Athens and Sparta on the other. Goeller.]

  [1 ][ἡγήσεσθαι: to obtain the ἡγεμονία, or to be the leading power.]

  [2 ][“But rather made their account by being at peace with both”. Arnold, Goeller.—The Dorians that subdued Argos, did not, like the Spartans, congregate themselves in the capital, but dispersed themselves in several of the ancient and considerable cities: whereby the influence of Argos in Argolis was almost annihilated, and she was reduced to being the head of a league for common defence and regulation of the common interests. Within a century after the Dorian invasion, Spartan ambition had made attempts, with little success, upon Argos: but when the final conquest of Cynuria (see ch. 41, n.) had given her the key of Argolis, Cleomenes in a decisive victory, some time between 524 and the Persian war (see Muell. iii. 4), slew six thousand of her Dorian citizens. After this disaster, and till the next generation arrived at manhood and expelled them, the government fell into the hands of the slaves (gymnesii): and to replenish her free population, she was obliged to collect and admit to the rights of citizenship the subject periœci of the surrounding cities. She was too crippled to take any part in the Persian war, and followed the counsel of the oracle: “hostile to her neighbours, but the friend of the gods, to draw in her spear and sit watchfully guarding her head: and the head will take care of the body”: Herod. vii. 148. Hatred of Spartan supremacy had no small influence on her policy: she preferred exclusion from the common affairs of Peloponnesus, and even submitting to the yoke of the barbarian, rather than acknowledge the ἡγεμονία of Sparta: Herod. ibid. Her new population was industrious, and multiplied apace; and prosperity and wealth returned to Argos: but her constitution thereby received a democratic tendency inconsistent with the Doric character, the peculiar features of which gradually disappeared.]

  [1 ][Except the possession of Messenia, nothing was so vitally important to Sparta as her influence over the towns of Arcadia: as their hostility would exclude her from all intercourse with the rest of Greece. Very little is known of the manner in which she gained a footing in those towns. The invading Dorians effected no settlement in their march through Arcadia in their route to Sparta: though no opposition is heard of by any state except Tegea. Still in the two first Messenian wars the Arcadians appear as the allies of the Messenians. In later times their territory, the most extensive in Peloponnesus, served only as a thoroughfare for hostile armies: the people, the native Pelasgians, who had immemorial possession of the land (Herod. i. 146, viii. 73), had no weight in the affairs of Peloponnesus, and shed their blood for hire in quarrels with which they had no concern. The Mantineans however, though they now followed the policy of Argos, had long been attached to the Peloponnesian league, and the faithful ally of Sparta: and their present defection may be attributed partly to their desire to retain possession of Parrhasia and to their hostility to Tegea, (ever since its reduction the staunch ally of Sparta), and partly to the establishment of a democratic government under the influence of Argos. This defection is not forgotten in after times: see ch. 50, n.]

  [1 ]The Peloponnesian.

  [2 ][See ii. 30, iv. 49.]

  [3 ][τοὺς ἐπὶ Θρ̧ᾴκης.]

  [1 ][In ch. 28.—“The reason of this was, that the Eleians had a quarrel” &c.]

  [2 ][That is, of the Lepreatans’ territory.—“The Eleians left the Lepreatans in possession of their lands, with the imposition thereon of a talent” &c.]

  [3 ][“Were independent”: that is, of the Eleians.]

  [1 ][This seems to refer to the fundamental preliminary agreement, described in ch. 17 in very different terms: “that peace should be concluded on the terms of each party rendering what they had taken in the war”: otherwise we must suppose that the Peloponnesian confederates had given each other a guarantee to this effect before the war. Thirlwall.]

  [2 ][“Thought themselves also wronged: but being watched and courted by the Lacedæmonians, and thinking the Argive democracy would not be so commodious for them &c., they stirred &c.” Goell.]

  [3 ][See Cleon’s decree, iv. 122.]

  [1 ][“Part (of their plan)”.—“the whole of Peloponnesus”.—Tegea since its reduction by Sparta, had ever been supported by her, in accordance with her policy of preventing the growth of any considerable state, against the pretensions of Mantineia: and to the fidelity of Tegea she was perhaps indebted for her safety at this perilous moment. All her recollections connected with Tegea were not of a pleasant nature. Led by their misinterpretation of an ambiguous oracle, the Spartans (854, A.C.) invaded the territory of Tegea, carrying with them the fetters which they expected to lay upon the Tegeatans: but being overthrown, submitted to have them imposed on themselves. Herodotus (i. 67.) saw the same fetters suspended in the temple of Minerva at Tegea. The importance of Tegea to Sparta in a military point of view has already been noticed: iii. 8, note.]

  [1 ][“But no treaty”.]

  [2 ][“As a check upon Sciritis”. See v. 51. Arn.]

  [3 ][“Themselves guarded the territory of their confederates the Parrhasians”. Arnold.]

  [1 ][An essential condition of their freedom: being bound to the soil, and incapable of removal from it, or of receiving their freedom but at the will of the state.]

  [2 ][νεοδαμώδων: “recently ascribed to the δῆμος,” i. e. new Spartans: a name acquired by the enfranchised helot after having been some time in possession of his liberty. Their number soon nearly equalled that of the citizens. There were also Mothones or Mothaces (from μόθων, verna): helots, that having been brought up with young Spartans (like Eumæus in the house of Ulysses) obtained their freedom without the rights of citizenship. Their descendants however must sometimes have obtained those rights: since Callicratides, Lysander, and Gylippus were of Mothonic origin. Mueller. iii. 3.]

  [3 ][“They disgraced them.” Of ἀτιμία there were, both at Sparta and Athens, various degrees. The highest degree at Sparta was a kind of excommunication, reserved for for him that disgraced himself in the field, or returned, as Aristodemus at Thermopylæ, without his companions. The culprit could fill no public office: had the lowest place in the chorus: in the game of ball, neither party would have him on their side: he could find no competitor in the gymnasium, no companion of his tent in the field: none would give him fire: his degradation was made visible to the world by his ragged cloak and halfshaved beard. Muell. iii. 10.—The same degree of infamy at Athens amounted to actual outlawry, the ἄτιμος fairly losing all protection of the law, both public and private: whilst the minor degree deprived him of some specified rights only; as the right of speaking and voting in the public assembly, of entering the agora, of sailing to the Hellespont or to Ionia, &c. Herm. § 124.]

  [1 ][“Being in office”. The object of disgracing, was to render them incapable of abusing their office to the detriment of the state.]

  [2 ][“The Dians”: that is, the inhabitants of Dium in the peninsula of Athos. The Dictideans are unknown. Popp. Goell. Arn.]

  [3 ][“Places”. Methone, Pteleum, Atalantis, Cythera &c. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Would choose the friendship of &c., at the risk of the enmity” &c.: Arn.—“Would prefer making friends &c. before coming to a rupture” &c.: Goell.]

  [2 ][“Commissioned to deliver”.]

  [1 ][“To the Bœotarchs”.]

  [2 ][“Meanwhile it was thought fit by the Bœotarchs, Corinthians, Megareans, and the ambassadors from Chalcidice, to take an oath to each other to give” &c.]

  [1 ][The Bœotian states were united in a confederacy represented by a congress of deputies, who met at the festival of Pambœotia, in the temple of the Itonian Athene near Coroneia, more perhaps for religious than political purposes. There were also other national councils which deliberated on peace and war, of perhaps nearly equal antiquity: though first mentioned at a later period when there were four of them. It does not appear how they were constituted, or whether with reference to as many territorial divisions, of which we have no other trace. The chief magistrates of the league, called Bœotarchs, presided in those councils and commanded the national forces. The fourteen wooden images carried to the top of Cithæron (iv. 99, note) seem to point to that as the original number of the confederate states: and that of the Bœotarchs was perhaps once the same, though afterwards reduced and undergoing many changes. Thebes had early the privilege of appointing two: one of whom was superior in authority over all the rest, and was president of the board. Thirl.—It is probably this Bœotarch of Thebes, that in federal decrees is called ἄρχων ἐν κοινῷ βοιωτῶν, sometimes simply ἄρχων. To exercise the office, which was annual, beyond the legitimate time, was a capital offence: and Epaminondas and Pelopidas, even after the battle of Leuctra, were brought to trial for violating this law. But the Bœotarch was reeligible: and Pelopidas accordingly was chosen Bœotarch eleven years consecutively. Mueller, Hermann, § 179]

  [1 ][“To have tried to league”.]

  [2 ][The acquisition of Mecyberna (a port–town about two miles from Olynthus) was the commencement of a series of conquests, which led Olynthus to aspire to the rank of an imperial state. Not long after the end of this war, she succeeded in forming and placing herself at the head of a confederacy of the Chalcidean states, embracing not fewer than 32 towns; some, as Potidæa, of considerable note. Her power was further augmented in a very important degree by the cession to her from Amyntas of a considerable part of the kingdom of Macedonia. She became of ability to bring into the field as many as 8,000 heavy infantry, a far greater number of targetiers, and nearly 1,000 horse. Thebes and Athens did not disdain to send ambassadors to her, to treat of an alliance. Sparta became alarmed, and sent an army of not less than 10,000 to crush the danger in its infancy. This, not without receiving some checks, she succeeded in doing: and little foreseeing the remote consequences, conceived she had achieved a great triumph. But the power of Olynthus, now broken, was unequal afterwards to withstand the attacks of Philip: who subdued and razed her to the ground. And the Chalcidean peninsula, which had hitherto separated Macedonia from the sea, at the same time that it became the fairest part of his dominions, virtually made him master of the whole of Greece. See Thirl. ch. 37, 43.]

  [1 ][“Were so desirous of the Bœotian connexion, that” &c. The effect of making this separate treaty, was to raise Bœotian from a dependent member of the confederacy to the rank of an independent ally. Herm.§ 38.]

  [2 ][By the Bœotians: see ch. 42.]

  [1 ][“Intending to compound &c., and then, so far as circumstances permitted, to keep quiet”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][The Cynurii are one of the seven races described by Herodotus (viii. 73.) as inhabiting Peloponnesus: of which, he says, four, the Dorians, Ætolians, Dryopes, and Lemnians, were foreign races; one, the Achæans, had never quitted Peloponnesus, but dwelt, not in their original seats, but in those of the Ionians; and two, the Arcadians and Cynurians, were aboriginal (that is, Pelasgians), and dwelt in their original seats: but of all these, the Cynurians were the only Ionians, though the Argive government had doricised them. Cynuria, a valley between Laconia and Argolis, is said to have been subdued by Sparta as early as 1006: but in 720 the war about it was renewed, and the Argives got and kept possession of it and of the whole coast as far as Malea, including the island of Cythera, till about 548 (the time at which Sparta reduced Tegea), when they finally lost it by the famous battle of Thyrea, alluded to by Thucydides. The two armies being about to join battle, it was agreed to decide the dispute for Cynuria by a contest between 300 chosen men on each side. The armies withdrew to avoid the temptation to violate the agreement: and the 600 fought till there were left only two Argives, and one Spartan, Othryades, who were parted by night. The Argives ran home to report their victory: whereupon Othryades spoiled the dead, erected a trophy, and slew himself to avoid the disgrace of surviving his companions. The next day the victory was claimed by the Argives, as having the greater number of survivors; by the Spartans, as having erected a trophy. The dispute was settled by a battle, in which Sparta was victorious: and the Argives shaved their heads, and vowed their hair should never grow till they recovered Cynuria. (Herod. i. 82). Much blood was shed for this inconsiderable territory: which decided which was to be the leading power in Peloponnesus. It was not till Sparta was master of it, that she was able to attack Argos with success: see ch. 28, note.]

  [1 ][“By the Bœotians”.]

  [1 ][“A man though yet young (as he would be considered in any other city), yet for the dignity of his ancestors of great consideration”. Both by his father’s and mother’s side, he was connected with the noblest of the Eupatrids. He traced his paternal line through Eurysaces, son of Ajax, to Æacus: his mother, the daughter of Megacles, belonged to the Alcmæonides, and thus Cleisthenes, the friend of the democracy, was among his ancestors. His father Clinias had equipped and manned a galley with 200 men in the Persian war: he fell at the battle of Coroneia (447), leaving Alcibiades, perhaps, seven or eight years old, and the heir to one of the largest fortunes in Athens. Thirl.]

  [1 ][“His grandfather”.]

  [2 ][“And that having made peace with themselves, first to subdue the Argives and then turn upon the Athenians destitute of help, that this was their object in making peace”. Duker]

  [3 ][“To come with the Mantineans and Eleians and invite the Athenians to an alliance, the opportunity” &c.]

  [4 ][“When they knew”.]

  [1 ][That is, they ratified afresh the existing treaty: thereby intimating that the Bœotian alliance was not to be considered as a dissolution of that with the Athenians.]

  [2 ][“A peace”. This relates only to forbearing to attack each other: the alliance follows below.]

  [1 ][“Nor for the Athenians or their confederates against the Argives or Eleians or Mantineans, or their confederates, by any fraud or machination whatsoever”.]

  [2 ][“Eleians and Mantineans have made a defensive alliance with each other” &c.]

  [1 ][“Nor by sea, to make war” &c.]

  [2 ][“For a man of arms, a light–armed soldier, and an archer; and of a drachme of Ægina” &c.—The Æginetan drachme was equal to ten Athenian oboli: three Æginetan oboli, therefore, or half–drachme, were equal to five Athenian oboli; that is, to not quite sevenpence English (see i. 96). The Athenian standard supplanted the Æginetan from the time of the founding of Messene and Megalopolis. See Muell. iii. 10.]

  [1 ][“With victims full–grown”: not the young of their several kinds: hostiæ majores, and not hostiæ lactantes. Arn.]

  [2 ][“The home magistrates”: that is, the prytanes, archons, secretaries, and other high officers, as opposed to the strategi. Goell.—Of the “council”, and of “the eighty” of Argos we are entirely ignorant. The Artynæ must be an ancient office, and older at least than the abolition of the monarchy, that is, than the Persian war: for the same office existed in their ancient colony, Epidaurus, whose constitution resembled that of Argos only in the more ancient period. Its origin may have been a division of the regal authority into civil and military functions. Muell. iii. 8.]

  [3 ][οἱ δημιουργοὶ: magistrates not uncommon in Peloponnesus. Amongst the Achæans at least, their chief duty was to transact business with the people: which makes it possible that at Argos they were identical with the leaders of the people. Muell. iii. 8.—The theori were a sacred college whose functions were perpetual, like the college of pontifices and augurs at Rome. Arn.]

  [4 ][οἱ τὰ τέλη ἔχοντες: not simply magistrates, but some particular body of men exercising sovereign authority. Goell. A body like the original senate at Rome. Arn.]

  [1 ][The great Panathenæan holidays. “Panathenæa Magna quarto quoque anno, et tertio quovis Olympiadum, inde ab Hecatombæonis die vicessimo octavo celebrabantur”. Goeller.]

  [1 ]Pancratium consisted of wrestling and fighting with fists.

  [2 ][“According to the Olympic law”:—“That they had borne arms against the fort of Phyrcon, and put their soldiers into Lepreum in the time of the Olympic truce”.—Sparta in conjunction with the Eleians and Ætolians were the authors of the ἐκεχειρία, or Peloponnesian armistice. The same ὀλυμπιακαὶ σπονδαὶ put a stop to warfare for a sufficient period, to enable the spectators to go and return from the festival in safety: and during this period the territory of Elis was of course regarded as inviolable, and no armed force could traverse it without incurring the penalties of sacrilege. The Eleians sent round to the different states the σπονδοϕόροι, trucebearers, of Jupiter: who proclaimed the armistice, first to their own countrymen, and then to the other Peloponnesian states: after which no army could invade another’s territory. The fine here imposed is the same as that required at this time for the ransom of prisoners of war: whence it is evident that the transgressors of the truce were considered as becoming slaves of the god, and required to be ransomed from him. The fine was divided between the Eleians and the temple of Olympia. By these and similar laws was the armistice protected, which was intended not merely to secure the celebration of the games from disturbance, but to effect a peaceable meeting of the Peloponnesians, and give occasion to the settling of disputes and conclusion of alliances. Apollo, the Doric god, was at this time regarded as the protector of the sacred armistice. Thirl. ch. x: Muell. i. 7. It does not however appear, that the non–payment of the fine moved either the Eleians or the Delphians to claim the Lacedæmonians as slaves of the god. The important influence of the Delphic oracle on these games is said to have occasioned the time of their celebration to be regulated by the Pythian cycle of eight years.]

  [1 ][“But considering at the time that they (the Lacedæmonians) had done them no wrong, they (the Eleians) afterwards announced to them the truce: and after that, they (the Lacedæmonians) nowhere bore arms against them”. Goell.]

  [1 ][The Lacedæmonians being excluded from the games, Lichas had entered his chariot in the name of the Bœotian people instead of his own. He appears again hereafter in viii. 43, 84.—From the frequency with which he introduces the subject, Thucydides seems to have duly appreciated, what he did not live to know by experience, the value of the Spartan professions of “making a war for the liberty of Greece”. Nothing was so much coveted by the Spartans as an excuse for giving effect to their leading maxim of dividing, in order to render powerless, the Peloponnesian states: and this unwise provocation was not forgotten when the Spartans found their hands free from the occupation of this war. Three years had not elapsed from that time, when Elis was required by the “deliverers of Greece” to acknowledge the independence of her subject towns: and on her refusal, the allies of Sparta were summoned to invade and ravage her territory. The Arcadians and Achaians in particular were attracted by the scent of the rich booty: and the campaign is said to have spread abundance over the rest of Peloponnesus. In the end her walls were demolished, her subject towns made independent, and she herself reduced to the state of a dependent ally of Sparta. The next was a more decided step. The peace of Antalcidas, the main feature in which was the guarantee of the independence of all the Greek states, had received the assent of Sparta in the expectation that the oligarchy would be found powerful enough to get the upper hand in all the Peloponnesian states. But finding that she had miscalculated, in direct violation of that treaty she called on Manteneia (385) to throw down her walls: in other words, to place herself at the mercy of Sparta. The refusal to obey was followed by the demolition of the city, and the distribution of the inhabitants amongst the five hamlets out of which it was originally formed. Phlius, by a timely compliance, saved herself from a similar fate. After these acts, which were discountenanced by both her allies, Corinth and Thebes, it will excite no surprise to see Sparta seize and occupy, in time of peace, the Cadmeia of Thebes. All this, however, might have been pardonable, and as the first necessary step towards the establishment of a government of Peloponnesus, even justifiable, had the Spartans at the same time shown any signs of a capacity for effecting that object. But the example of Heracleia (see ch. 52, and iii. 93) and the countenance given by her to all the worst acts of the 30 tyrants in Athens, are amongst the manifold proofs that the government of others was a business with which the Spartans had very little acquaintance.]

  [1 ][“Grievously infested after the late battle”.—“Hegesippidas the Lacedæmonian”.]

  [2 ][“With the co–operation”.]

  [1 ][Epidaurus, Trœzen, Ægina, and other towns, received their share of Doric inhabitants either mediately or immediately from Argos: but she having lost her power over the towns of Argolis, certain obligations on the part of those cities towards Argos belonging to early times, became at a later period mere forms. Such was the obligation of the Epidaurians to send sacrifices to the temple of Apollo Pythæus: a temple erected on the ascent to the Larissa of Argos, probably soon after the Dorian invasion, to the national deity who had led them into the country, and common to all the surrounding district, though belonging more particularly to the Argives. The Dryopians, in their character of Craugallidæ (see iv. 54, note) had erected temples to the same god at Asine in acknowledgment of a similar dependence: of which one only was spared by the Argives, when they destroyed that town. Muell. i. 5. Which of the above two temples is meant by Thucydides, is disputed: Arnold understands that at Argos, Valcknaer and others that at Asine.—Of the word βοταμίων, “in consideration of their pastures”, no explanation is given.]

  [1 ][This is an exception to the general rule of the Peloponnesian confederacy, that the object for which the allies were summoned, should be publicly declared: a rule of some moment for the independence of the less important members. Another example of the same exception is seen in the invasion of Attica by Cleomenes: Herod. v. 74.]

  [2 ][“And sent word about to their allies, to be prepared to march after the next month, which was the month Carneius and a festival with the Dorians. Upon their retreat, the Argives setting out on the fourth day before the end of the month next to the month Carneius, and marching the whole of that day, crossed the frontiers of the Epidaurians and began wasting their territory”. Bekk. Arn.—“And marching that day, invaded the Epidaurian territory and wasted it the whole time (till the Carneian holidays)”. Goell.—The Hyacinthia and Carneia were festivals in consecutive months in honour of Apollo of Amyclæ: the latter a warlike festival, lasting nine days, during which nine tents were pitched near the city, in each of which lived nine men in the manner of a military camp. Muell. ii. 8. It was unlawful for the Dorians to bear arms during this festival: and the Spartans made it their excuse for leaving the Athenians, when they applied to them for aid, to fight the battle of Marathon single–handed: see Herod. vi. 106, 120.—Arnold supports his reading, by supposing that the διαβατήρια, the passage of the frontiers, was the only object of the Argives: that, that effected, they might ravage the territory unmolested, whilst the allies of the Epidaurians were prevented by the festival from crossing the frontiers to help them.]

  [1 ][“That some one from either side should go” &c.]

  [2 ][ἐξεϛρατεῦσθαι: “had ended their expedition”: Haack. Popp. Bred. Arn.: the same word being used in the first part of the sentence in the sense of “drew forth their army”. Goeller, by an alteration of the text and punctuation, makes the sense as follows: “The Athenians &c., hearing that the Lacedæmonians were in the field, came to help with a thousand men &c.: and when they were no longer wanted, went home”.]

  [1 ]Which was erected for the articles of the peace to be written in. [The writing upon this pillar that the Lacedæmonians had violated their oaths, was a step short of declaring the treaty to be at an end: which would have been done by destroying the pillar. Arn.]

  [2 ][That is, expecting that the Epidaurians would be abroad, defending their territory against the plundering warfare of the Argives. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“If they quickly” &c.]

  [2 ][“Were met together”.]

  [3 ][“Five hundred horsemen, and as many hamippi”. The Bœotian cavalry were accompanied by light–armed men, who sometimes mounted behind, sometimes vaulted off rapidly, and were thus doubly formidable. Muell. iii. 12.]

  [4 ][“Both at first”.]

  [1 ][“To the road through Nemea: by which they thought the Lacedæmonians &c. would fall in (to the plain of Argos)”.]

  [2 ][“By another by–road over the mountains”. Muell.]

  [3 ][“By the road to Nemea”.]

  [4 ][“Out of Nemea”.]

  [1 ][“As they had been ordered”.]

  [2 ][πρόξενος: see iii. 70, note.]

  [1 ][The escort of the king was called by the name of damosia, and consisted of his tent–comrades: to which belonged the Polemarchs, the Pythians, the three ὅμοιοι and the two ephors who attended the king on all expeditions. Muell. iii. 12.]

  [2 ][As soon as the king had assumed the command of the army, and had crossed the boundaries, he became, by ancient custom, general with unlimited command. He had authority to dispatch and assemble armies, and to lead and encamp the army according to his own judgment. Any person who dared to resist him, was outlawed: and he had power of life and death, and could execute without trial. Muell. iii. 6.]

  [3 ][And it was best seen whilst it was yet all together in Nemea”. It is probable that the Lacedæmonians and their allies on their return took the road through Nemea to Phlius, being the easiest route: they could not otherwise have been all together at Nemea. Schol.]

  [1 ][“Thus the army, offended with Agis, retreated” &c. Bekker.]

  [2 ][“In the bed of the Charadrus: the place the soldiers use, before entering the city, to have their causes (ἀπὸ στρατείας) that have arisen out of the campaign heard”. Goell. The military courts were held without the city: because within the walls, the ordinary law would have resumed its authority and its usual forms. Arn.]

  [1 ][“And these prevailed with also, yet staid” &c. Goell.]

  [2 ][“They all”: all the allies.]

  [3 ][Tegea and Mantineia, the two principal towns of Arcadia, were connected by their position, the former with Sparta, the latter with Argos, which supplied occasion for interminable feuds between them: and these feuds were heightened by the circumstance that the contiguous plains, which formed the main part of their territories, were liable to be much damaged by the waters from their mountains, which might easily be turned toward either side. Thirl.]

  [1 ][δέκα μυριάσι: a hundred thousand drachmæ: that is, if these were, as supposed by Mueller, Æginetan drachmæ, about 5,729l. 3s. 4d.: the Æginetan drachme being about thirteen–pence three–farthings. See ch. 47 and i. 96, note.]

  [2 ][“They made a decree at that present, such &c.; for they elected ten Spartans to be of his council, without whose” &c. Mueller (iii. 6) considers the law not to have been passed for that campaign only. We have already seen instances in which the Spartan general has been put under the restraint of a council: as the case of Alcidas, iii. 69, 76, 79. But in those cases the council had not an equal voice with the general.]

  [1 ][“Seeing that they were marching against” &c.]

  [2 ][Some apprehension of his own “different from his original plan”.]

  [3 ][The plain of Mantineia is a high table–land, considerably above the level of the valleys on the coast of Peloponnesus, although surrounded by high mountains with respect to which it is itself a low plain. It is so complete a basin, that the streams which flow into it from the mountains have no outlet but through the mountains themselves: the limestone of the country abounds in caverns, and the streams, sinking into these, appear again at a considerable distance in the valleys at a lower level near the coast, These swallows, katavóthra, are exceedingly numerous in Arcadia: almost all the streams being, at some part of their course, swallowed up, and reappearing at a greater or less interval. This plain is so complete a level, that in some parts there is not slope enough to carry off the mountain torrents: and it would be flooded, but for trenches made to carry the waters towards one or other of the katavóthra provided by nature for their discharge. Thus the waters about Mantineia were, anciently, carried off by the katavóthra at the southern extremity of the plain, in the territory of Tegea. But Agis, here, turns them in the opposite direction, towards Mantineia: where the katavóthra were smaller, and the drainage consequently would be less easily effected. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“If they should light upon him”.]

  [1 ][“And straightway they fell of themselves rapidly into their ranks”.]

  [2 ][“Are commanders of commanders”. An allusion to the endless gradations of rank in the Lacedæmonian army: whereby almost every Spartan was in some respect a commander.]

  [3 ][Originally the Sciritæ were no doubt, as they were called, inhabitants of the district Sciritis, on the confines of Laconia, towards Parrhasia; their rights and duties appear to have been defined by agreement; their mode of fighting was also perhaps Arcadian. In marches they formed the advanced guard: in camp they occupied the extreme place, and in battle the left wing. Although we have no express statement of their mode of arming, they can hardly have been heavy–armed troops: since they were particularly employed when a rapid change of position, or a vigorous attack, such as storming heights, was required. They were often at the post of greatest danger. They were 600 in this war. Muell. iii. 12.]

  [4 ][νεοδαμώδεις: see ch. 34, note.]

  [1 ][From the time that the Dorian Argives took in and made citizens of the periœci of the surrounding towns, for replenishing their own numbers (see ch. 28, note), commences an entirely new era in the constitution of Argos. The newly–adopted citizens appear to have obtained the full rights of the old: and the change in her constitution was no less, than if the whole body of the Achæan periœci in Laconia had declared themselves the sovereign power. Democracy had ever after the upper hand in Argos, which could not be without the disappearance of the Dorian character: as was seen in the diminution of their military skill. For this reason the Argives were reduced to form a standing army of a thousand citizens of noble extraction, under the command of generals possessing great civil power. This body soon endeavoured to set up an oligarchy: but the democracy proved to be the preponderating power. Mueller, iii. 4. See Hermann, § 33, 38.]

  [1 ][“In all seven lochi; in each lochos four pentecostyes; in each pentecostys four enomotiæ”.—The ἐνωμοτία was, as the word shows, a number of men bound by a common oath: they stood in the deep phalanx one behind the other, the enomotarch at the head of the whole file. But here the enomotia appears to have had four files of eight men each: that is, 32 men in all. The seven lochi therefore contained 3584 hoplites. To these adding the 300 picked men about the king, the 400 cavalry, and the old men in reserve by the baggage, perhaps 500, the whole amount would be 4784. A sixth part of the army having been sent back (ch. 64), the entire army must have been 5740 men: representing the number of hoplites, which after all her losses in the field Sparta herself could at this time furnish. Fifty years later, at the battle of Leuctra, 700 Spartans were all she could bring into the field (see iv. 126, note).—It was to her hoplites, armed with long spear, short sword, and a huge shield hanging from the neck by a thong and reaching down to the knee, that her attention was almost exclusively devoted. It was this manner of arming that the Achæans found themselves unable to cope with, when the Dorians invaded Peloponnesus: and to this the Spartans owed their victory over the naked Persians at Platæa, who, as Herodotus says (ix. 62), were not behind the Spartans in either courage or strength, but without armour or military skill could make no impression on the Spartan phalanx. But Iphicrates, the Athenian, discovered the way, by doubling the length of the spear and sword, and greatly diminishing the size of the shield, of rendering the peltastæ (targetiers) formidable even to the Spartan hoplites: as they found out at the battle of Leuctra.]

  [1 ][“And for their dominion or servitude: that the one, after tasting of it, might not be taken” &c. See ch. 28.]

  [2 ][The ἡγεμονία refers to the time of the Pelopidæ: and the Dorians here appropriate to themselves the greatness of the Achæans of Mycenæ. Arn.—“And at one time an equal share of it”: that is, an equal share with the Spartans of the leading (ἡγεμονία). Goeller.]

  [3 ][μετὰ τῶν πολεμικῶν νόμων: “with war–songs”. The pæan took its name from that of Apollo: he was first called παιήων (healer), then the hymn, and lastly the singers. It was originally a song sung after any deliverance: as after a plague, or victory. And νόμος was the strain or musical part of the song. Muell. ii. 6, 8.]

  [1 ][As “large” armies &c.]

  [1 ][“To make a flank movement from themselves” (the Lacedæmonians, the centre of the army) “until they extended as far as the Mantineans”. The Sciritæ and Mantineans were the left and right wing of each army.]

  [2 ][“Two polemarchs, with their lochi out of” &c.]

  [3 ][“And when upon the lochi not moving forward, he ordered the Sciritæ to join them (the Lacedæmonians), they too were no longer able to effect the junction”.]

  [1 ][In reality, hoplites: see iv. 38, n.]

  [2 ][It may be supposed that, like Sparta, Argos contained five quarters, each of which had its own lochos: but no information about these five lochi is attainable. Arn.]

  [3 ][“And some, not quick enough to escape being overtaken”.]

  [4 ][“As soon as &c. they were now broken off on both sides; and at the same time the right wing of the Lacedæmonians and Tegeates with their superior numbers surrounded the Athenians; and danger beset them on both sides, in the one part being surrounded, and in the other already beaten”. Compare the battle in iv. 96. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Many were slain”.—“The flight however and going off” &c. Besides not making long pursuits, the Lacedæmonians were also forbidden to spoil the slain during the battle; for a very obvious reason.]

  [2 ][The spoiling of arms, at least during the battle, was forbidden to the Spartans: and the consecration to the gods of the spoils of the slain enemies, as well as all rejoicings for victory, were considered as illomened. With the retreat ceased all hostilities. Muell. iii. 12.]

  [1 ][“When the battle was about taking place”. It was against the law that both kings should be with the army at the same time: a law occasioned by the dissension between Demaretus and Cleomenes. Herod. v. 75.]

  [2 ][“To be still the same”.]

  [1 ][“And of the Argives left behind to defend it and that came out to meet them, slew many”.]

  [2 ][Neither Jupiter nor Juno were genuine Dorian gods, but were amongst those borrowed by them from other nations. The whole of Argolis and Corinth were from early times under the protection of Juno, originally a Pelasgian goddess: and Argos was the original seat of her worship, which thence received its peculiar form and character; the worship of the Samian Juno, as well as that at Sparta, Epidaurus, and Ægina, being supposed, from the resemblance of the ceremonies, to be derived from Argos. The native traditions concerning Io are only fabulous expressions for the ideas and feelings excited by this religion: and the Corinthian fables of Medea, whose worship with that of Juno the Corinthians introduced at Corcyra, refer to the indigenous worship of Juno Acræa. Mueller, iv. 10.]

  [1 ][πρ̧όξενος: see iii. 70, note.]

  [2 ][“And brought two proposilions: one, of the terms on which the war should proceed, if they would have war: another of the terms on which there should be peace, if they would have peace”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“To the assembly”: see i. 87, n.]

  [4 ][See ch. 61.]

  [5 ][That is, the Athenians and the allies: see ch. 75. Goeller.]

  [1 ][παῖδα: any child.]

  [2 ][“And for so much as concerneth the offering to the god &c. the Spartans to require an oath of the Epidaurians, and to administer it to them accordingly”. This is Goeller’s suggestion. Arnold considers the passage as corrupt: but that the general sense of it is, that the matter of the beast for sacrifice alleged by the Argives to be due to the temple of Apollo Pythæus from the Epidaurians (see ch. 53), should be decided by the oath of the Epidaurians, whether they believed it to be due or not. As to the custom amongst the ancients of purging themselves by their oath, besides the examples cited by Arnold there is one in Homer, Iliad ψ. 580.]

  [3 ][This clause is aimed at the Athenians, as the preceding one at the Mantineans and Eleians.]

  [4 ][“And having shown these to their confederates, let them make composition if they will”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“And if any thing else shall seem good to the allies, let them send it home (to the Spartans and Argives)”. Goell. See the same precaution, ch. 41. The purport of this obscure passage seems to be, that the treaty was to be communicated to the allies of each, but not to depend on their sanction. Thirl.]

  [2 ][“Let the other cities in Peloponnesus be partakers of the treaty and alliance, retaining their own laws and institutions and their own territory, giving equal and like trials of judgments (καττὰ πάτρια) according to the customs of their ancestors”. Bekker &c.: κοινανεόντων. Vulgo, κοινᾶν ἐόντων.]

  [1 ][“And now managing their affairs in common, they voted to receive no herald or embassy from the Athenians, till” &c.]

  [1 ][He was eighth in descent from Temenus of Argos, the founder of the family of the Temenidæ, the kings of Macedonia.]

  [2 ][See ch. 75.]

  [3 ]Which they had the leading of in Arcadia. [That is, over the Parrhasians and others: see ch. 33, 67. A leading maxim of Spartan policy, not less perseveringly followed up than the subversion of the tyrants, was to keep Peloponnesus divided amongst the greatest possible number of independent states: this, in the mistaken expectation that the aristocratical party would thereby become predominant in Peloponnesus, was her object in the peace of Antalcidas (387). As to Arcadia in particular, nothing was so much to be dreaded by her as its becoming united, and thereby independent and powerful: as it would thereby lie in its power at any time to cut her off from all intercourse with the north of Greece. This it was that suggested to the Thebans the founding of Megalopolis: a plan executed by Epaminondas after the battle of Leuctra, and followed a year or two later by the still more deadly blow to Sparta, the founding of Messene.]

  [1 ][The Dians. See ch. 35.]

  [2 ][The Gymnopædia, a festival in which large choruses of naked men and boys appeared, said to owe its institution to the famous battle of the 300 (see ch. 41, note): of which Mueller observes (i. 7. 16.), that the story is the more fabulous, for being celebrated in sacred songs at the Gymnopædia. The story was not yet a century and a half old.]

  [1 ][“Both from those of the Lacedæmonian faction in the city, and from the Argives who had been driven out”. Goell. Hobbes has followed Portus in turning ἀγγέλων into Ἀργείων, and leaving out the latter word after καὶ τῶν ἔξω.]

  [2 ][“Were privy to this their building”.]

  [3 ][The Peloponnesian population being agricultural, and knowing little of these handicrafts, were less skilful than the Athenian workmen. Arnold.]

  [1 ][This is according to the translation of Portus: considered by Goeller to be correct as to the sense, though departing from the text, which is corrupt. Haack also proposes to read ἐν μακεδονίᾳ.]

  [2 ][That is, from his undertaking: “by his tergiversation”. Göll.]

  [1 ][Herod. viii. 48. The Minyans, the posterity of the Argonauts settled at Lemnos, were driven thence by the Pelasgians, whom the Bœotians had forced to take shelter in Attica, whence they were for some cause again compelled to seek a fresh home. These Minyans, according to Herodotus (iv. 148), took refuge in Laconia: and having in the third generation revolted against the Dorians, migrated in consequence from Laconia to Crete, accompanied by some Spartans. In their passage they left a portion of their body in Melos; which dated its unfortunate connexion with Sparta from this epoch. Thirl. ch. 7. For the date of its foundation, see chap. 112.]

  [1 ][κρίνετε: “decide”, or, “form your opinion upon every &c”.]

  [2 ][“If, as is likely, we shall be superior in the argument in point of right and justice, and therefore yield not, will bring” &c.]

  [1 ][“But agreeably to what we both of us really think, (to the real sentiments of both), we would have you think of getting what you can, (not what you may have a right to): both of us knowing, that in human disputation justice is then only considered, when strength is equal; whereas” &c. Arn. Goell.]

  [2 ][“We then consider it at any rate profitable to you, (for to that, you having thus placed for discussion the point of profit in the place of that of justice, must we address ourselves), not to trample on that which is for the good of all men, but as mortals, ever in danger of stumbling, to place justice in moderation, which has before now convinced many a one, that he has been a gainer by remaining somewhat within his strict right”. Göl.—“To place justice in moderation, and to any one that can satisfy his hearers with somewhat within the limits of strict justice, to let him have the benefit of it”. Arn.—Bekker &c., ἐντὸς: vulgo, ἐκτός.]

  [1 ][“But we have not now to do with the Lacedæmonians, but to see whether the subject is to set upon and get the better of those that once commanded him”. Bekker, &c. Goeller agrees with Hobbes.—With respect to the sentiment “we fear not the sequel”; Thucydides probably was a witness of the politic moderation of the Lacedæmonians, which at the end of the war saved Athens from the doom awarded to her by Corinth and Thebes: see ch. 50, note, and iii. 68, note.]

  [2 ][“To advantage our own dominion”.]

  [1 ][“And that they remain free by their own strength, and that we through fear do not meddle with them.”]

  [2 ][“Unless you that are islanders, and weaker than the rest, shall get the better of the masters of the sea”. This is apparently the sense, but the grammatical construction of the words is by Arnold pronounced to be desperate.]

  [3 ][“But do you not think there is security in it?”—That is, in not trying to subdue those from whom you have no right to claim obedience. Schol.]

  [1 ][“Assuredly then, if you &c., it would be in us” &c.]

  [2 ][“Is sometimes more uncertain or unexpected”. Goell.]

  [1 ][That is, their all.]

  [2 ][“But with those that are making a cast for their all, (for &c.), though it be known for treacherous, and whilst one knowing it might be on his guard against it, it still does not desert them”.—That is, they next put hope in chance. Goell.]

  [1 ][“For neither have we any opinions of right and wrong, nor do we aught, at variance with the belief of men in what concerns the gods, or to their will in what concerns themselves. For of the gods we believe, and of man we know for certain, that by a natural necessity wherever they are the stronger, there they will reign”.]

  [1 ][“But we, for this very same way of thinking of theirs, do now especially trust to their interest, that they will not betray &c., and thereby become untrustworthy to such of the Grecians” &c.]

  [2 ][“We think that they will consider dangers undergone for us, less hazardous than those undergone for others, by how much the nearer for action we lie to Peloponnesus” &c. Goell.]

  [3 ][“Of those that call others to their aid”.]

  [1 ][“But about what comes nearer home to you, your confederacy and your own territory”. Bekk. Arn.]

  [2 ][“You may some day come, by experience of these things (the invasions of Attica by the Peloponnesians), to know that the Athenians never gave over” &c. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“For you will hardly betake yourselves to that false shame, which in dangers leading to manifest destruction, and therefore disgraceful to incur, has been the ruin of many men”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Will not” &c.]

  [2 ][“Which is your only country, and is to be happy” &c. Such is the sense of this corrupt passage.]

  [3 ][“Having determined on the same answer as they had already made”. These Melians were not the government, and decreed nothing.]

  [4 ][“Of men and of the Lacedæmonians”.]

  [1 ][“Making a treaty of peace, such as” &c.

  [2 ][That is, “an inroad”.]

  [3 ][“Did not even then war”.]

  [1 ][“By proclamation.”]

  [2 ][Hoc vix intelligi potest de foro urbis Meliorum. Puto designari forum rerum venalium in munitionibus Atheniensium, et locum ubi asservabatur frumentum, et alia ad usus militum qui urbem obsidebant. Id indicant ea, quæ mox de frumento et aliis rebus a Meliis raptis Thucydides dicit. Duk.—De foris militaribus vid. i. 62, iii. 6. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And other provision as much as they wanted”. Bekker &c., χρήσιμα: vulgo, χρήμασιν.]

  [1 ][It would seem from the threats put into the mouth of the Athenian speaker (see ch. 93, 111), that the same decree which ordered the expedition, had also fixed the punishment to be inflicted on the Melians if they resisted: as had been done in the case of Scione. The guilt of proposing, or at any rate of supporting the decree, is laid to the charge of Alcibiades. Thirl. ch. 24.—The foregoing dialogue has been the subject of much comment, which would perhaps have been spared, had more attention been given to its scope and object. The Athenians supposing, truly or falsely, that the independence of the Melians endangered their empire by encouraging revolt amongst their allies, prepared to subdue them: but resolved first to try the effect of an embassy to persuade them to surrender without a struggle. The ambassadors were not admitted to speak before the popular assembly: and thus shut out from all opportunity of either sowing dissension or of appealing to the passions of their audience, they found themselves reduced to the sober arguments of expediency. The attempt of the Melians to draw them on to the ground of justice, whereon their own triumph was certain, is met by the declaration of the ambassadors that they do not come there to argue that question, but to deliberate only on what was for the interest of both parties. The Melians accordingly proceed to argue, that it is not for the interest of the Athenians to outrage public feeling by the unprovoked invasion of an independent state: and if there they have the best of the argument, they are unable, on the other hand, to find any satisfactory answer to the question, “where lies your hope of safety”. There is in this an open avowal of the real motives, by which nations universally, and individuals for the most part, are governed in their dealings with each other: stripped indeed of the ordinary disguise of the conventional language of right and justice, in which those motives are usually enveloped. But so far as Thucydides is concerned, it is difficult to say what were the arguments really used on this occasion, if these were not they. As to the Athenians, they were probably as much mistaken in the policy even of the invasion itself, as they most certainly were in the revolting effusion of blood that followed: which could tend to no other end than to defeat their own object, the security of their empire; as they found to their cost at the termination of the Sicilian expedition. And those that would desire to know what mankind might possibly have become under a decided and permanent ascendancy of the Hellenic race, must lament to see both Sparta and Athens exhibit such a total lack of the art “regere imperio populos”, as to leave that race without a hope.]

  [1 ][“Is divided by a space of the sea of 20 stadia, so as not to be main land”. It does not appear that there was one measure for the land, and another for the sea.]

  [2 ][Thucydides calls this river “the Sicanus, the river in Iberia”: but what river he speaks of, is not known with any certainty. Iberia seems to have been the name of the country extending westward of the Rhone; as far, at least, as the Pyrenees: for whether the Iberians were migrators to the north of those mountains, is disputed. Niebuhr seems to think they were.]

  [1 ][Segesta, oppidum pervetus, quod ab Ænea fugiente a Troja, atque in hæc loca veniente, conditum esse demonstrant. Cicero in Verr. iv.—The Elymians were probably composed of different tribes, varying in their degrees of affinity to the Greeks, though we cannot adopt the Greek legend which represents them as fugitives from Troy mixed with Phoceans and with followers of Philoctetes: and Thucydides himself seems to mark the uncertainty of the tradition, by observing that the Chalcideans under Theocles were the first Greeks who gained a footing in Sicily. Thirlwall. chap. 12.]

  [2 ][“With a favourable (or aft) wind”. But whether κατίοντος means here a “favourable” wind, or one “setting down the current”, is matter of doubt.—The current was commonly said to run down from the Tyrrhenian into the Sicilian sea. Arn.—The name of Opicans (Oscans or Ausones) was given by the Greeks, before the end of the 4th century of Rome (i.e., before 352 A.C.), to all the tribes dwelling within the limits assigned to Italy by Timæus. Niebuhr, Rom. Hist.]

  [3 ][“Of the Sikeli”. Bekker &c., σικελῶν: vulgo, ἀρ̧κάδων.—It was not till late that the name of Italy was given to the whole region comprised within its natural boundaries, the Alps and the sea. That name in the earliest times was a national one in the south, and meant no more than the land of the Itali: and was not extended to the more northerly regions till the Roman sway had united the peninsula into one state, and by colonization and the diffusion of the Latin tongue had moulded its inhabitants into a single nation. The Greeks, who regarded none but the Œnotrians (by which name they designated the Pelasgi seated in Lucania and Bruttium) as Italians, were long strangers to the wider extent in which the name was applied within the country itself, and never so applied it. The region which originally bore the name was, according to them, the peninsula bounded by the isthmus between the Scylletic and Napetine gulfs, that is, the southern part of what was afterwards called Bruttium. It was from Antiochus, a historian contemporary with Herodotus, that it was first learnt that the whole country to the south of Tarentum and Posidonia, when it belonged to the Œnotrians, was called Italia. For his own days, however, Antiochus drew a narrower boundary of Italy: by a line from Metapontum to the river Laos. Tarentum he places beyond the limits of Italy, in Iapygia. Hence the Tarentines were not embraced under the name Italiots, or Italian Greeks. Niebuhr.—It was in the course of the century following the beginning of the Olympiads, that the Greeks established themselves on the coast of Sicily; and spread themselves so far over the south of Italy, that it acquired the name of the Great or the Greater Greece. Thirl. ch. 12.]

  [1 ][“And all round Sicily the Phœnicians inhabited promontories by the sea, which they had taken off with a fortification, and small islands adjacent” &c.]

  [2 ][Now Palermo: the capital.]

  [1 ][The name of the Delphian god had now attained throughout Peloponnesus the universal respect which it so long enjoyed: it had led the way to the settlement and conquest of that peninsula, and hence he was called the leader and founder of the Dorians. The regulation of colonies by the Delphian oracle was the chief instrument which extended the worship of Apollo on the Mediterranean. Muell. ii. 3.—The θεωροὶ (ambassadors) were men sent yearly by the mother–country, to be present at certain solemn festivals of the colony, carrying with them sacrifices and gifts. Goell.]

  [2 ]Nasos, Ortygia: an island, part of the city of Syracuse. [ἡ πόλις ἡ ἐντός: the rest was then called ἡ ἔξω.]

  [1 ][“And the rest being driven forth from Thapsos, and Hyblon, a king of the Sikeli, letting them take the place and instigating them to settle there, built Megara” &c.]

  [2 ][“But the place where now the citadel stands, and which was the first that was walled in, is called Lindii”. Nomen hoc primordiis coloniæ inditum est, quia Antiphemus et Rhodii, ejus socii, maximam partem Lindo, urbe Rhodia, venerant. Goell.—The plural form of the name, like that of Λεόντινοι, illustrates what Thucydides calls a general custom in the earliest times, that the several tribes gave their own names to the countries where they settled. When the Lindians first arrived in Sicily, they called their first fortified settlement, established probably on the top of a hill or cliff, by no other name than their own. Afterwards as the settlement grew and the buildings extended down into the plain and to the river, so that what was once the whole town was now only a small part of it, the new and enlarged town was distinguished by a local name derived from the river which ran beside it; but the original city, now become a citadel, retained its old national name. So at Argos, the citadel, which was the old Pelasgian settlement, retained its Pelasgian name Larissa; the more modern city, which grew up at its feet, received the name which belonged formerly to the whole country, and was called Argos. France supplies many instances of towns having succeeded to the name of the people of the whole district: as in Amiens, Ambiani; Tours, Turones; Rheims, Rhemi; &c. Arn.]

  [1 ][The name, in the geography of the Greeks of the time of Thucydides, for the coast of the Tyrrhenian sea, from the Tiber southwards as far as the confines of Œnotria: that is, nearly as far as Pæstum and the river Silarus. Arn.]

  [2 ][Samians and Milesians. Herodotus, vi. 22.]

  [3 ][See iii. 86, note.]

  [1 ][Hippocrates &c., “he became the founder and colonized anew Camarina. And being again overturned by Gelon, it was a third time new–colonized by Geloans”. Γελῴων for Γέλωνος, is a correction of Wesseling adopted by Poppo, Goeller, and Arnold. Tertia urbis instauratio debetur Gelois, qui multis a Gelonis morte annis in eam commigrarunt. Goell.]

  [2 ][The kindred refers to all such as were Ionians, that is, Chalcideans; such as the Leontines, Naxians, Catanæans: the new confederates, to some of the remaining people of Sicily, as the Camarinæans and Agrigentines, who were brought over to the Athenians by Phæax in v. 4. Haack. This is a mistake as to Camarina: see 75. iii. 86. Poppo.]

  [1 ][“Blockaded them”.]

  [1 ][“Sat down for one day”. Orneæ, Tiryns, and Mycenæ, were amongst the towns dispeopled by Argos to replenish her own population: see v. 28, note. The old Achæan inhabitants of Orneæ, who appear to have remained unsubdued till about 580, afterwards gave their name of Orneatans to all the subject periœci of Argos.]

  [1 ][“Methone on the borders of Macedonia”.]

  [2 ][This is a talent for a month’s pay of each ship’s crew: which, taking the crew at two hundred men, would be a drachme per day for every man. This is double the usual pay: but the same which we have already seen to have been given to those that served at the siege of Potidæa, iii. 17: owing perhaps to the same reason, the distance from home and probable length of the service. Arn.]

  [1 ][Bekker and the rest, ἀκούσιος: “having against his will been chosen”, &c. Vulgo, ἀκούσας. In support of the first, Duker cites Nicias, ch. 12: “if there be any man here, (ἄσμενος αἱρεθεὶς), that is glad to be chosen” &c.: and Hermocrates, ch. 34: “for that the man of most experience has the charge against his will”. See also Plutarch, Alcib. 18. Goell.]

  [2 ][An equally good” &c.]

  [1 ][“For to that end have the practices been directed of some, both amongst ourselves and our enemies”. Meaning Alcibiades, and the ephors Cleobulus and Xenares: see v. 36. Schol.]

  [2 ][As the Corinthians. The Eleians and Megareans had not accepted it.]

  [3 ][A truce that might be renounced at the end of every ten days. These were the Bœotians.]

  [1 ][“So that it behoveth a certain person (Alcibiades) to consider of these things, and not to endanger our city whilst it is yet at sea, (not yet safe in port), and not to grasp at new dominion before we are sure of that we have already: if so it be, that the Chalcideans Thraceward have been so many years in open revolt, and are yet unreduced”. Goell.]

  [2 ][“And failing, should be in a very different plight from what we were before attacking them”. The Sicilians at present, if not subjects, are still not enemies: but that will not be so, after an attack upon them which shall miscarry. Schol.]

  [1 ][“Whereas in the other case, it is not likely that one power would molest the other”.]

  [2 ][“Whom because beyond your hope (considering what your fear of them used to be) you have overcome, you now in contempt” &c. Goell.]

  [3 ][“Then only, when we are masters of our own minds, or of ourselves”. Goell. “Of their, the enemy’s minds”: that is, by fairness or superior ability. Arn.]

  [1 ][The question &c. “will not be about these Sicilian barbarians, the Egestæans, but how to be without loss of time on our guard against a city plotting against us through their oligarchical government”. See i. 19: “the Lacedæmonians drew them to embrace” &c.]

  [2 ]He glanceth at Alcibiades. [Tam sumptuosum erat Athenis, et vero in plurimis Græciæ partibus equos alere, ut documentum esset magnarum opum, et putaretur indicare opulentiam et inde nobilitatem majorum. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And that the matter” &c.]

  [1 ][παρακελευστοὺς: “persons that have got possession of any office of state as president, epistates, senator &c., by contrivance or other illegal means:” as interpreted by Goeller. He adds, that they appear to be the followers of the societies or clubs mentioned in viii. 54: see note ibid. But he does not explain how Alcibiades, now playing the part of a demagogue, could have any connection with any of the clubs, all of which were aristocratical.]

  [2 ][“To doat on what they have not got; knowing that by passion men rarely succeed, but by foresight very often: but on behalf of their country, which is making a cast of greater peril than ever before, to hold up their hands” &c.]

  [3 ][That is to say, the Sicilians were not to sail in the Grecian seas, nor the Grecians on the coast of Sicily, with more than one ship of war. A common stipulation: see ii. 7. iii. 71. iv. 78. vi. 52. viii. 56. Arn.]

  [1 ][“Considering, if you dread putting the question a second time, that a violation of the laws has nothing criminal in it, when done before so many witnesses”. The putting the question a second time, was a mode of reviewing the decrees of the people not consistent with the established forms of the Athenian assembly.]

  [1 ][“They became his enemy as one that aspired” &c.]

  [2 ][“For I ran seven chariots, which is more than any private man ever did before: and I was victor, and was besides second and fourth, and carried in all other things a magnificence” &c.]

  [1 ]χορηγίαι: the exhibition of masks, games, and other festivals. [The Choregi were ten in number, one for each tribe. It was their business to provide the chorus in all dramatic entertainments, as well as in the dithyrambic or lyric recitations, in the festival of the great Dionysia. They paid the expenses of the training of the chorus, and also of its maintenance during the interval: and they furnished the dresses and whatever else was required by the chorus in the performance of its part. Arn.—The expenses of the office required a fortune of at least three talents: and as no man would accept it willingly, the office went through the tribe in a certain order. Herm. § 161.]

  [2 ][“It is no unprofitable object”. Vulgo, Bekker, Goeller, διάνοια. Duker, Bauer, Arnold, ἄνοια: taking it in an ironical sense.]

  [1 ][“Renowned in my private life”.]

  [2 ][“From which though they escaped, they have not even yet recovered their confidence. And this hath my youth” &c.]

  [3 ][παρ̧ὰ ϕύσιν: beyond nature, “monstrous”. Arn.—“Beyond my years”: in reply to Nicias, καὶ τὸ πρᾶγμα μέγα, κ. τ. λ. in ch. 12. Goell.]

  [4 ][“And this is the work of my youth, and what is called my monstrous folly. So did I deal with the Peloponnesian power with all discreetness of speech, and gaining credit by my vehemence obtained belief for my words. And now no longer dread it (my folly): but as long” &c. Arn. Vulgo, πεϕοβῆσθαι: Bekker &c., πεϕόβησθε.]

  [1 ][“For their cities swarm with a motley population, and easily admit of changes and new forms in their constitutions: and for this reason no one is furnished to fight as for his own country, either in respect of his personal appointments, or of the means of public defence”. See ch. 36, note.]

  [2 ][“Greece was much deceived as to the number of her heavy–armed soldiers, and was scarcely sufficiently armed in this present war”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And the hope &c. was never less than now: and be they never so determined, by land indeed they are strong enough to invade us though we went not into Sicily, but by sea they can do us no harm; for we shall leave” &c.]

  [2 ][“Or stand to make distinction of races”. Bekker &c., ϕυλοκρινοῖεν: vulgo, ϕιλοκρίνοιεν.—“We should be making but small addition to our present dominion, but should rather put that self–same empire to hazard”.]

  [1 ][“There”, in Sicily.]

  [2 ][“For at sea we shall beat all the Sicilians put together”. Bekker and the rest, ναυκράτορες: vulgo, αὐτοκρ̧άτορες.]

  [3 ][“The accustomed order”.]

  [1 ][“With most constancy”.]

  [2 ][“Coming forward”.]

  [3 ][“And Nicias, seeing that by the same arguments he could no longer divert them from their purpose, but that by the vastness of the provision, if he should require a great one, he might perhaps bring about a change of mind, stood forth again” &c.]

  [1 ][“The present matter”.]

  [2 ][“And the Greek cities, for one island, in number many”. The “other seven”, are Syracuse, Gela, Selinus, Agrigentum, Messana, Himera, Catana. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And not be cooped up by their many horsemen”.]

  [1 ][“And shall have to carry on a war, not like one amongst your subject states here, when you have gone as the ally of one against another; where we have had” &c.]

  [2 ][“And in ships we must be far superior”.]

  [3 ][“In ships of burthen; and bakers, pressed into the service from the mills, in proportion”. Arn.]

  [1 ][“And we must consider ourselves like those that go to make a settlement amongst a foreign and hostile race: who must the first day they land straightway make themselves masters of the field, or” &c.]

  [1 ][“The contrary of what he intended. For they considered that he approved of the expedition, and that now there would be no” &c.]

  [2 ][“And know by inquiry”. Schol.]

  [3 ][“More at leisure”.]

  [1 ][“And as for the rest of the armament in proportion, both archers from hence and from Crete &c., that they (himself and the generals) would provide it” &c.]

  [2 ][“The city had just recovered itself during the armistice from the effects of the sickness and the continual war, both in number of youth grown up and in stock of money: so that there was a more ready supply of all things”.—At Athens the public mind was entirely occupied by this one thought: all conversation turned upon this subject. The young greedily listened to the descriptions with which the veterans who had already served in Sicily, fed their curiosity: and in the palæstra would interrupt their exercises to trace the form of the island in the sand, and to discuss its position with respect to Africa and Carthage. Thirl.]

  [1 ][“That is to say, the square figure, of which by the custom of the place there are so many in private doorways and in the temples”. The square form of these images is variously explained: as signifying, that as the master of eloquence and truth, on whichever side it fell it alighted safely; or that eloquence had no need of hands or feet, or of any of the bodily powers.]

  [2 ][“He might with impunity denounce the same”. The μήνυσις, denunciation or information, was the proceeding open to those that were not citizens, whereby having first obtained ἄδεια, impunity, they might denounce any public wrongdoer. The citizen could do the same by the εἰσαγγελία, a proceeding attended with less danger and expense to the informer, and needing no ἄδεια. See Herm. § 133.—The first trace of the existence of a party sworn to the overthrow of the democracy, is supposed to be that mentioned by Thucydides, i. 107: the discovery of which party and of their intrigues with Sparta led to the battle of Tanagra. § 164.]

  [1 ][“He on the spot both made answer to the informations against him, and declared himself ready before sailing (for by this time every thing was ready for the expedition) to stand his trial whether he had done any of these things; and if he had, to suffer justice” &c.]

  [2 ][“Turned it off and prevented it”: that is, his trial at that time.]

  [1 ][“Could better contrive”.]

  [2 ][“Upon a day” &c. Hobbes perhaps refers to the “day set” for meeting at Corcyra.]

  [1 ][“As a thing worth seeing, and surpassing belief”. Valla, Portus.]

  [2 ]Empty, in respect of those that carried provision. [“For the state allowed a drachme a day to every mariner, and furnished empty galleys, of the swift ones sixty, and of such as carried” &c.—The following is Hermann’s account of the mode of maintaining the Athenian navy. “When with the extended naval power of Athens, the old division of the people into forty–eight, and later into fifty Naukrariæ, each of which provided a ship, became extinct, the generals appointed every year from amongst the richest citizens the necessary number of Trierarchs, one for every ship: which the Trierarch thereupon had at his own cost to fit out and keep in repair, the state providing nothing more than the empty vessels and the pay for the ship’s company. It is believed that later the expenses of Trierarch, like those of Choregus, were divided between two. When however the command of the ship in person, originally part of the duty of Trierarch, became less essential, thereupon sprung up the custom for the Trierarch to sell by auction to him that would undertake it on the lowest terms, the charge of the entire trierarchy: a mischief which the regulation of the Symmorii, made A.C.357, raised to a still greater height. It was then that the twelve hundred wealthiest citizens became permanently bound to the duty of Trierarch; and were for that purpose divided into twenty Symmorii; and each of these again into Synteleiæ, of sixteen members at the most, each Synteleia having the charge of providing for a ship; at less cost however than formerly, because the state now provided the furniture of the vessel. The richest amongst the Symmorii made the ready outlay, and afterwards divided it amongst the rest: not unfrequently contriving to rid themselves of all contribution: although being the same for all, their share was therefore proportionally small. Demosthenes, in Olymp. cx. first re–established the just proportion: whereby with the possession of a certain fortune was combined the duty of maintaining a trireme: so that the less rich, up to that amount, had the privilege of becoming a member of a Synteleia; the richer, on the contrary, in proportion to their means had to take the charge of more than one ship”. Antiq. § 161.—The fortune which by the law of Demosthenes subjected the possessor to the charge of one trireme, was ten talents: under which amount, the possessor might enter the Synteleia. The number of ships which one man might be charged with, seems to have been limited to three. See Dem. pro Cor. At the present time, there appear to have been elected annually four hundred Trierarchs: and a fortune exceeding eight talents, as Goeller says, subjected to this duty, which no one was liable to two years consecutively. The Naukrariæ, abovementioned, were divisions of the four ϕυλαὶ of Athens; each of which was divided into three Phratriæ, and each Phratria into four Naukrariæ. Boeckh says “that each Naukraria furnished two horsemen and one ship, καὶ ναῦν μίαν, whence perhaps the name”.]

  [1 ]σημεῖα: the images, which being set on the fore part of the vessel, did give it the name for the most part.

  [2 ][καταλόγοις χρηϛοῖς: “were chosen out of the best lists”: that is, composed of none but citizens, and those all within the military age. Compare Herod. iv, 135. Arn.]

  [3 ][“It begat contention amongst themselves, each striving in his own station to surpass the rest”.]

  [4 ][“What either soldier or merchant carried” &c.]

  [1 ][“And the fleet was not less noised about for the strange boldness of the attempt and the gloriousness of the show, than for the excessive greatness of the expedition as compared with those against whom they were setting forth; and for that it was the most distant expedition from home ever attempted, and with the greatest hopes of the future, if compared with their present means”. See Thucydides’ own opinion of what the expedition was capable of, ii. 65.]

  [2 ][“Had been mixed throughout the whole army”.]

  [3 ]σπένδοντες. It was a form amongst the Grecians and other nations then, both before great enterprises to wish good fortune, and at the making of league and peace to ratify what they did, by drinking one to another. [What is here called “drinking to each other”, is the ordinary ceremony of a libation (wine poured into the sea). “And when both the epibatæ and the generals had from golden and silver cups made their libations”. See the libation by Æneas; in Æneid. v. 776.]

  [4 ][“They vied with each other as far as Ægina”.]

  [1 ][“How you may best” &c.]

  [1 ][“Through the report that they went” &c. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Will some time or another invade their city”.]

  [2 ][Anglice: openly or secretly, or some way or another. Arnold].

  [3 ][“And as many as possible of the rest”.]

  [1 ][Bekker &c., κατ’ ὀλίγον: “few at a time”. Vulgo, κατὰ λόγον. Hobbes has followed the Scholiast, or an interpolation of Portus in his Latin translation.]

  [2 ][“If they should use their oars, we might charge them weary with rowing, or we might” &c.]

  [3 ][“I am therefore from this reasoning of opinion, that excluded hence they would not so much as put over from Corcyra; but that either whilst they are spending time &c., their operations will be driven into the winter; or that deterred with our” &c. Valla.]

  [1 ][“That the time for showing contempt of one’s enemy, is the heat of fight: but that at the present moment the most useful thing would be, to consider preparation made with fear as the most secure, and therefore to act as if in danger”. Compare ii. 11. Goell.]

  [1 ][“That have privately some fear”: that is, that have good cause to be afraid of somewhat.—For the right understanding of this speech, some knowledge is requisite of the leading events of the history of the Greek cities in Sicily: and of the result of those events, the present state of parties there. Syracuse, like other Dorian colonies, contained originally three different classes: the original colonists, the γαμόροι (Herod. vii. 155), who conquered and divided the land, and formed the πολίτευμα or governing body: the natives whom they reduced to slavery, called κυλλύριοι (a name not understood): and the δῆμος, a vast body of exiled and discontented persons from Greece, who had subsequently been invited to reinforce the original colonists, without however being received into the πολίτευμα. But the Dorian states of Sicily and Italy had, unlike those of Peloponnesus, admitted the demus into the city. Hence the great size of their cities: and a still more important consequence. For the demus was found to be what Gelo called it, ξυνοίκημα ἀχαριτώτατον (Herod. vii. 156), a most unwelcome inmate: and was ever struggling to force its way into the government, and, above all, to obtain a redivision (ἀναδασμός) of the lands. The gamori and their cyllyrii stood to the demus in the same relation as the patricians and their clients to the plebeians at Rome: and the change in the constitution took much the same course, first to a politeia, and thence in time to an absolute democracy. In 492, the union of the demus and the slaves drove the gamori into exile. But confusion and anarchy, the fruit of the supineness of the men of property (Arist. v. 3), soon made the people glad to submit to the tyranny of Gelo, though bringing back in his train the ejected gamori. His dynasty was overthrown in 466, and again made way for a politeia. The foreign mercenaries, whom he had admitted to the rights of citizenship, were disfranchised: and upon their flying to arms, were driven from the city, and settled at Messana: and the estates which Gelo had provided them with at the expense of the aristocracy, were restored to their former owners. The example of Syracuse was followed by the Greek cities in general: the tyrants were ejected and democratic constitutions established throughout Sicily. But though at first at peace amongst themselves, internally they enjoyed but little tranquillity. The multitude were ill satisfied with barren political privileges, which resigned the real advantages (in their eyes) of the revolution to those that had regained their estates. The ἀναδασμός formed the exciting topic with them: and the attempts of demagogues by that handle to re–establish tyranny, are said to have been the origin of an institution at Syracuse similar to ostracism at Athens, called petalism: the laurel–leaf serving the purpose of the oyster–shell. But being found to end only in detering the best citizens from taking part in public affairs, it was soon abandoned. The distracted state of affairs encouraged the Sikel chief, Ducetius, to attempt the restoration of the empire of his countrymen. The jealousy of the growing power of Syracuse, especially of her conquests in the Sikel country, the fruit of the war of Ducetius, engendered a war between that state and Agrigentum: in which most of the Greek cities sided with one or other of the rival states. But the victory over the Agrigentine party at Himera (452), finally established the supremacy of Syracuse over all the Dorian, if not all the Grecian states of Sicily, except Camarina. Hermocrates, a young noble, is the leader of the aristocratical party: whilst Athenagoras seems to have a kind of tribunician authority, as official advocate of the commons. This is the period of the Syracusan constitution, which is alluded to with approbation by Aristotle (v. 10). But the Athenian expedition was the cause of further changes: see vii. 87, note. See Muell. iii. 9: Thirl. ch. xxii.]

  [1 ][“Nor have men of arms so many as we, not at least coming in their fleet”.]

  [2 ][Though they had here &c. “they would scarcely be able to escape &c.: much less when all Sicily is their enemy, (as it will be, for there will be no division), and in a camp pitched by men just landed from their ships, with tents and other equipments such as necessity may supply them with, and never able for our horsemen to stir far abroad”. Arn. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Nor can be”.]

  [2 ][“Lest we should be”.]

  [1 ][“Which must he done, first by gaining you the many &c.: (for one must not only take revenge &c.): and on the other hand the few, by in somewhat reproving them” &c.]

  [2 ][“Asked myself”.]

  [3 ][That is, “before your time”.]

  [4 ][“Rather than to disgrace you as sufficient”.]

  [5 ][δυνάμενοι: “the nobles”.]

  [1 ][“But even yet, ye most unwise of all men: (ye are either the most stupid of all the Grecians, if you do not know that you are preparing mischief for yourselves, or the most wicked, if you know that and yet dare do it): even yet, I say”, &c. Arn. Bekker and the rest put a full stop at τολμᾶτε.]

  [2 ][“Whereas if you affect other matters, (than the common good), you shall run &c.”]

  [3 ][“And if there be not any of these things true, as I believe there is not, &c.”]

  [4 ][That is, that they will be as treacherous in their acts as false in their words. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And whatsoever we may find out, we will” &c.]

  [2 ][ἐπεξέτασιν: “a second review”: that is, on the uniting of the army; there having probably been one of its parts before sailing. Arn.]

  [3 ][“They assigned by lot one to each general; to the end that they might not by sailing together come into want of water” &c. The generals were three: see ch. 8. Bekker &c., ἅμα πλέοντες: vulgo, ἀναπλέοντες.]

  [4 ][“More orderly and more” &c.]

  [1 ][“With such an armament as that described”.]

  [2 ][ἐπιβάται: marines. See iii. 95.—The 1500 Athenians were ἐκ καταλόγου, sometimes called ἐκ τῶν τάξεων. All citizens were subject to the expense and duties of hoplitæ, and were enrolled accordingly: and to them are opposed the δῆμος ψιλός and Thetes, as also the allies. Goell.—From a lost passage of Aristophanes, the thetes, like the proletarii among the Romans, are stated not to have been subject to military duty. But though that may have been so in earlier times, it may still be assumed that it was not long before they began to serve as light–armed and in the fleet; and that in cases of great urgency they served as heavy–armed, as did even many of the metœci, without however being bound to this duty. It is probable therefore that they were armed at the public expense. Thucydides accordingly mentions thetes amongst the heavy–armed: but distinguishes them from the heavy–armed levied ἐκ καταλόγου. Boeckh. The marines are so levied in viii.24.]

  [1 ][Vessels belonging to private individuals pressed into the service by the state. See ch. 22.]

  [2 ][“All which” &c.]

  [3 ][That is, the cities would sell them no provisions. ἀγορά signifies the thing sold, as well as the market. Goeller.]

  [4 ][The most celebrated of all the Lacedæmonian colonies, and one which really proceeded from Sparta, was Tarentum. The history of its origin, though buried in fable, is connected with that of the first Messenian war. The leader of the colony was a Heracleid; though Taras is called a son of Neptune, because they carried over his worship from Tænarum to Italy. The fruitful and luxuriant soil, the soft and voluptuous climate, and the commerce for which Tarentum was well situated (though never actively carried on), engendered that effeminacy of character, which gave countenance to the fable that the founders were παρθενίαι, sons of unmarried women. The Locrians who in 683 founded Locri, must also have had Spartan leaders: since, as their coins show, they paid particular honours to the Dioscuri, and in time of distress in war the statues of those gods were sent to them from Sparta, as to a people of the same origin. Muell. i. 6. As to the παρθενίαι, Aristotle (v. 7) seems not to doubt the truth of the story of their having been the founders of Tarentum.]

  [1 ][Ἰταλιῶται: Italiots, the name of the Greek settlers in Italy, in distinction to the Ἰταλοί, Italians, or natives. The same distinction holds between the Σικελιῶται and the Σικελοί, the Sicilians and the Sikeli: that is, the Greek settlers and the natives.]

  [2 ][περιπόλια: “and to the stations of the national guards, garrisons”.]

  [1 ]Eryx was a city near Egesta, and subject to it.

  [2 ][“Those that came in the trireme”. τριηριτῶν, see Herod. v. 85.]

  [3 ][“All for the most part making use of the same plate”.]

  [1 ][“It put the Athenians of the triremes into” &c.]

  [1 ][“As having a port and station whence conveniently to attack and watch the movements of the enemy”. In iv. 1 Messana is said to have the προσβολή of Sicily. Goell.]

  [2 ][“Contemn it rather”.]

  [1 ][“And whence to watch for opportunities to attack the enemy”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“In column”. Bekker &c., ἐπὶ κέρως: some MSS. ἐπικαίρ̧ως.]

  [3 ][These words “not to stay”, which are unmeaning, are not in the Greek. “They sent forward ten of their galleys to sail to the great haven, and discover &c.; and to approach the city and proclaim from their galleys &c.”]

  [1 ][“Ill walled–up”. Goell. Arn.]

  [2 ][“And made their camp”. Bekker and Goeller read διαπλεύσαντες, “the Athenians crossed the strait to Rhegium”; instead of πλεύσαντες, which is simply “they went to Rhegium”. Arnold says that the former would be the proper expression for those coming from Rhegium to Catana, but is not applicable to those going from Catana to Rhegium, on account of the difference in the course owing to the formation of the coast.]

  [1 ][αὖθις: “they again continued along the coast to Camarina”. Arn.]

  [2 ][“And also for others of the army, against whom as well as him there were informations relating to the profanation of the mysteries, and also to the affair of the Mercuries”.]

  [3 ][“They thought it better to sift the matter thoroughly and get at the truth, than that owing to the bad character of the informer any one, even having the character of a good citizen, should be accused and escape unquestioned”. Hobbes has taken the scholiast’s interpretation of βασανίσαι τὸ πρᾶγμα: which can scarcely mean torture applied to the person accused. Valla and Portus take it in its natural sense.]

  [1 ][The Athenian democracy received their first great impulse from a quarter, whence it might have been little looked for: from oligarchical Sparta. The Alcmæonidæ, whom fear of Peisistratus had driven from Athens, on the death of Hipparchus settled at Delphi, and there contrived to bribe the Pythoness to bid all that came to the oracle from Sparta, whether in a public or private character, to rid Athens of her tyrants. Her habitual reverence for the commands of her god, backed by her eagerness to lay hold of every opportunity to carry out her favourite policy, was too much for her friendly feelings towards the family of Peisistratus: and Hippias was driven from Athens. But a short experience made her sensible that she had mistaken (as she did again, a century and more later, in the peace of Antalcidas) the relative strength of the aristocratical and democratical parties. Athens too, hitherto nowise superior to her neighbours, was no sooner released from the shackles of her tyrants and in the enjoyment of a regular government, than she surpassed them all in warlike qualities. With this too came to light the treason of the Pythoness: supposed to have been the work of Cleisthenes, the leader of the democracy. Cleomenes was therefore dispatched with an army to the aid of the sinking party of Isagoras, which was nevertheless forced to seek its safety in flight: not however before Cleomenes had been master of the Acropolis, and there found prophecies, left behind (purposely perhaps) by the Peisistratidæ, announcing dire evils to befall Sparta from Athens. And Sparta hereupon was ready, but for the strenuous protest of the confederates, to have undone her own work and recalled Hippias to Athens. See Herod. v. 68–96.]

  [1 ][πρ̧οπηλακιῶν: from πηλὸς, mud, signifies the offering of any species of insult, by word or deed, whether cognizable by law or not. Goell.]

  [2 ][“These, tyrants as they were, held” &c. Göl. The tenth of all rents &c., levied by Peisistratus, was reduced by his sons to a twentieth.]

  [1 ][The altar of the twelve gods, which is mentioned by Herodotus (vi. 108) as being in existence in 520, is supposed by Goeller to have been the central point whence, from the time of Peisistratus, the distances were measured throughout Attica. On the sides of the road, busts of Hermes were placed by Hipparchus to serve as mile–stones.—“And that other of Apollo in the temple of Pythium”.]

  [1 ][“Whereas he both retained the same with abundant security, owing to his having long accustomed the people to dread him and to his habitual attention to his guards, and was not to seek” &c. Goell.]

  [2 ][“As being unfit for the office. This being taken heavily by Harmodius, Aristogeiton too was for his sake far more exasperated (than before)”. Both Harmodius and Aristogeiton were, according to Herodotus (v. 55), descended from the Gephyræans, a Phœnician race that came with Cadmus to Bœotia, as it is since called. On the expulsion of the Cadmeians by the Argives, the Gephyræans were left in possession of Tanagra: but the subsequent irruption of the Bœotians drove them to Athens (see iii. 61, note). If therefore the κανηϕόροι or basket–carriers in the Panathenæa and other festivals were chosen strictly ἐξ εὐγενῶν, from the virgins of pure blood, the sister of Harmodius, as of foreign origin, was undoubtedly liable to exception on that ground.]

  [3 ][“They made all things” &c.]

  [1 ]The guard of Hippias the tyrant.

  [2 ][“If any number, however small, should make a beginning”.]

  [3 ][“The temple called Leocorium”. A temple of Minerva at Athens, taking its name from the three daughters, sacrificed, according to report, by their father Leos to Minerva for the safety of the city, at the bidding of the Delphic oracle.]

  [1 ][This is understood to mean, that he was put to very severe torture to extort from him the names of his accomplices. This was a practice not confined to Athens. To slaves, and even foreigners, whose evidence was considered material, torture was applied as a matter of course: as however ready they might be to give their evidence, it was considered worthless without it.]

  [2 ][“This desperate feat”.]

  [1 ]A woman of Athens, a city flourishing for letters and civility, to a man of Lampsacus, a city infamous for barbarity and effeminacy.

  [1 ][This prisoner was Andocides, the orator.—As Thucydides could not satisfy himself as to the credit due to his story, it would be presumption for any one now to pronounce upon it. But the narrative which we have still remaining from the hand of Andocides himself, in an oration composed some years after in his own defence, raises a strong suspicion that it had at most but a very slender ground–work of truth. Thirl. ch. xxv.]

  [2 ][“Yet by obtaining a promise of pardon he might both save his own life and deliver” &c.—“by a free confession under a promise of pardon, than” &c.]

  [3 ][“That those who were conspiring against the multitude”.]

  [4 ][“They went through the forms of trial”.]

  [1 ][“That set upon him”.]

  [2 ][“That an army, no great one, of the Lacedæmonians was come as far as the isthmus upon some practice with the Bœotians” (against the Athenians).]

  [3 ][“Not on an understanding with the Bœotians”.]

  [4 ][The 300 Argives suspected of Lacedæmonism: see v. 84.]

  [5 ][“And suspicion beset Alcibiades on all sides”.]

  [1 ][“Fearing to go home to meet their trial with the present prejudice existing against them”. Goell. Arn. That Alcibiades and the rest should have declined a trial will surprise no one, when it is considered, amongst other indications of the temper of the Athenian people and the sort of trial they were likely to have, that the story of the principal informer, Dioclides, was this: that he knew the mutilators of the Hermesbusts, that they amounted to 300 persons, that on the night of the outrage he had seen them enter the orchestra of the theatre, that he stood behind a pillar and could discern, by the light of the moon which shone full in their faces, the features of almost all, that he did not see the outrage perpetrated, but the next day meeting some of the 300 he taxed them with the deed, which they admitted and gave him money to be silent: and that on this evidence, uncorroborated and unquestioned, it was resolved by the council of 500 (which was invested with extraordinary powers for investigating the supposed conspiracy) to arrest and put to the torture forty–two persons named in a list given in by Dioclides, two in this list being members of the council. This informer was crowned and drawn in a chariot to the council–house, to be entertained amongst the privileged guests at the public table. He afterwards confessed himself to be an impostor, and suffered death. Superstition seems to have had its share in producing this popular madness. There are many indications, that during the war, while the public morals were more and more infected with licentiousness, and the new sceptical opinions were spreading among the upper classes, superstition was gaining ground in the great body of the people. The proceedings and disclosures which followed the mutilation of the Hermes–busts, though the result of political intrigues, are still no to be overlooked as illustrations of the state of religion. And the remains of the old comedy contain many allusions to the introduction of new rites, all of a mystic and enthusiastic nature, and belonging to foreign and barbarous superstitions, which seem either to have been imported during this period into Athens, or to have attracted a greater number of devotees than before, especially among the women. Such were the orgies of the Thracian goddess Cotytto, those of the god Sabazius, the Phrygian Bacchus, the worship of Rhea or Cybele, and of Adonis. Some of these rites, as the secret orgies of Cotytto, appear, like the Roman Bacchanalia, to have been used as a cover for the grossest licentiousness. It was generally noticed as an ill omen, that the festival of Adonis, which was celebrated by the women with representation of funeral exsequies, fell on the day on which the Sicilian expedition was decreed. See Thirl. ch. xxv. xxxii.]

  [1 ][“For they knew they should not be so well able (to effect their object) if they should disembark in the face of an enemy prepared against them; or if they should be known to be marching by land, for that” &c.]

  [2 ][“Some Syracusian outlaws”.]

  [3 ][The Syracusans derived this worship of Jupiter from that at Olympia in Elis: Archias, their founder, having been accompanied by one of the Iamidæ, the sacred family of Olympia. The worship of the Olympian Jupiter seems to have originated with the Achæans, who also in other places consecrated temples to Jupiter alone. But it is remarkable that in no Doric country was there any great establishment of the worship of this god: but wherever it occurred, it was connected with and subordinate to that of some other deity. Muell. ii. 10. The Syracusans reckoned their time by the office of the Amphipolis, or high priest of the Olympieium.]

  [1 ][“The army”: that is, the Athenians in the camp, as distinguished from those in Catana. Goell. Arn.]

  [2 ][παρεσκευάσθαι, “a preparation”, is set down by Arnold as an interpolation. Duker says: “sufficiebat ἰέναι ἐπὶ κατάνην: omnino suspectum habeo hunc locum”. “Having intended to have been prepared to go” &c. Goell.]

  [3 ][“Gave orders to the Syracusians to be ready for the expedition with all their forces”.]

  [1 ][“That had come to join them”.]

  [2 ][“The Olympieium”.]

  [3 ][Syracuse is said by Plutarch to have been a city not inferior to Athens: and must therefore have contained at one time about 200,000 inhabitants. Ortygia, the ancient city, called also Νῆσος, and by the Romans Insula, Arx, Urbs, Peninsula, was (except Temenites) the only name of the various quarters of the city known to Thucydides. That which was afterwards called Acradina, he calls τὴν ἔξω πόλιν. The name Temenites afterwards became changed for Neapolis: and in time Tyca and Epipolæ also became suburbs of the city. The circuit of the ancient walls of this Pentapolis was, according to Strabo, 180 stadia: which agrees pretty nearly with the result of modern surveys. The territory of the city extended toward the north to that of the Leontines: on the south it was conterminous with that of the Camarinæans. Many of the Sikelian cities were tributary to it. The population has in modern times returned within its ancient limits of Ortygia: and does not now exceed at the utmost 40,000, and is according to some far less. See Goeller, ch. 66, note.]

  [1 ][“They made a stockade along the line of their galleys; and close to Dascon, where it was most easy of access to the enemy, hastily erected a fort with unhewn stones &c.” Bekk. Arn. Goeller’s punctuation agrees with that of Hobbes.]

  [2 ][“But first the Syracusan horsemen came to help, and then afterwards all the foot too was collected together. And they marched up at first near, but after &c”.]

  [3 ][“Of a hollow square”. For the difference in the Athenian and Syracusian tactics, see iv. 93. note.]

  [1 ][“And in the middle of these, who formed the reserve, they placed the baggage–carriers”.]

  [2 ][“What need we a long exhortation, who are here for one and the same contest”: that is, “we are all engaged in one common cause, and should be mutually encouraged by the sight of each other”. Arn.]

  [1 ][“The throwers of stones”. λιθοβόλοι, lapidatores, milites erant, qui saxa non fundis, sed manibus emittebant”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“According to custom”. It is not meant that the Syracusans only offered the usual sacrifice. The Greeks in general always sacrificed before battle (see iv. 92, v. 10.); and waited to engage till the sacrifice was pronounced propitious: a custom which was of course turned to account by the general. At the battle of Platæa, Pausanias induced the Lacedæmonians and Tegeetans to support with patience a murderous attack by the Persian archers, till the sacrifice appeared fair (Herod. ix. 61): that is, till the movement of the Persians gave him the opportunity for charging with advantage.]

  [1 ][That is, winter. See the next chapter.]

  [2 ][“Because the Syracusan horsemen being &c., checked them, and whensoever” &c.]

  [3 ][ὅμως: “notwithstanding their defeat sent” &c.]

  [4 ][Ut in patriam relata, ibi sepelirentur, ut arbitror: quod et de Themistoclis ossibus quidam prodiderunt, et de Eumene Plutarchus. Notus est ex omnibus scriptoribus hic mos veterum. Duk. For the bones of Themistocles, see also i. 138.]

  [1 ][“And with the spoils of their enemies they returned” &c.]

  [2 ][“And being moreover like men, if one may so say, without any knowledge of a trade (ἰδιώτας) opposed to the most experienced of all Greece”. Arn.—“That they had also been greatly hurt” &c.]

  [1 ][“And the disorder and anarchy of the many”: that is, “of the privates”.]

  [2 ][“They were to have the better of their enemy: when to their courage, which they have already, should be added good order in action”.]

  [3 ][τὸ ὅρκιον: “the oath”. The usual oath of unlimited obedience, taken when any commander was invested with unlimited authority. Arnold.]

  [4 ][“Both that an allied force might join them”. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“For Alcibiades, upon leaving his command on being sent for home, knowing that he would have to fly, and being aware of what was about to be done, discovered” &c.]

  [2 ][“First slew &c., and then falling into sedition and arming themselves, obtained” &c.]

  [3 ][τὰς ἐπιπολὰς; Anglice Overton. Epipolæ was the name of the steep and broken ground, that rose with a continual ascent from the city towards the western and inland parts: from whence was visible the whole interior of the city. Its highest part, and the ground immediately adjacent to it, consisted of three continuous hills, standing in a straight line. By the principal of these, Euryelus, which formed the extremity of Epipolæ, was the ascent from the parts about the river Anapus, and from the inland country, and from Megara, Thapsos, and Leon. Goell.—“including τὸν τεμενίτην”: a name of Apollo, apparently so called from τέμενος, in like manner as Diana Nemorensis Aricii extra Romam from nemus. This name of Apollo, Temenites, became that of the quarter where his τὲμενος stood. And that it stood in Neapolis, which after the time of Thucydides became the name of this quarter of the city, appears from Cicero iv. Verr, 73. Goell.]

  [1 ][See iii. 86.]

  [2 ][“To be beforehand in accusing the Athenians”. Bekker &c., προδιαβαλεῖν: vulgo, προσδιαβαλεῖν.]

  [1 ][ἀπὸ σϕῶν: “of their own free choice”. Goell. Arn. Hobbes has taken “their colonies”, that is, “those descended from themselves”, from Portus and the Scholiast.]

  [2 ][See i. 99.]

  [1 ][“And seeing them wholly bent upon this, to draw some &c., and to cause some &c., and to beguile others as, finding apt matter to address to each, they best may”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“And think we, that if a neighbour, a distant one, perish before us, the danger will not reach us: but that he that has ill fortune before us, is the only one that is to be unlucky”?]

  [1 ][“But by pretending to hate me (the Syracusan), to gain thereby the friendship (ἐκείνου) of the Sicilian that is the enemy of the Syracusan”. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Or even feareth us”.]

  [3 ][“Possible”.]

  [4 ][“To envy”.]

  [1 ][ἀλόγως makes an antithesis to εὐλόγῳ: which, as in many other cases, seems all that can be said for it.—“And you”, εὐλόγῳ προϕάσει, “with a reasonable pretext, should aid your” &c.]

  [1 ][“Especially as aid will be here from” &c.]

  [2 ][“That forecast of yours, to aid neither forsooth, as being in league” &c. Bekker &c., προμήθειαν: vulgo, προθυμίαν.]

  [3 ][οὐδὲν ἔργον εἷναι: “is of no profit”. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“But the matter stands thus”. It cannot be said that the Ionians were ever enemies to the Dorians. Mueller (i. 8.) observes, that it is remarkable that during the whole of the time in which Sparta was founding her empire, (that is, down to the sixth century A.C.), we read of no serious contest between Dorians and Ionians: that Megara and Ægina carried on border–wars with Athens, but the whole race took no part in the contest: and that in regard to the important island of Salamis, Sparta in her character of umpire actually awarded the possession of it to Athens, to the great detriment of Megara.]

  [1 ][“And having ourselves become the leaders (ἡγεμόνες) of those who were before subject to the king, we continue such: thinking that so having power to defend ourselves, we should be less in the power of the Peloponnesians, and, to speak plainly, having subdued, but not without just cause, the Ionians and islanders, &c. For they came” &c.—The Dorians of Asia, armed after the Hellenic fashion and sprung from Peloponnesus, furnished 30 ships. The Ionians, who so long as they were seated in what is now called Achaia, and before the coming of Danaus and Xuthus to Peloponnesus, were, as the Greeks say, called Ægialan Pelasgi, but in the time of Ion son of Xuthus, Ionians, furnished 100 ships, and the islanders 17: both armed after the Hellenic fashion. This was the Pelasgian race, which afterwards, as well as the 12 Ionic states from Athens, was called Ionic. The Æolians, armed after the Hellenic fashion, and anciently, as the Greeks say, called Pelasgi, furnished 60 ships. The Hellespontians, colonists of the Ionians and Dorians, (save those of Abydos, who were left by Xerxes to guard the bridge), furnished 100 ships, armed after the Hellenic fashion. Herod. vii. 93–5.]

  [2 ][“And we use no specious phrases, as that we alone &c.; or that we have put ourselves into danger for the liberty of them (the Dorians and islanders) more than that of all Greece, our own amongst the rest. But to seek means” &c. Bekker &c., οὐ καλλιεπούμεθα: vulgo, οὐκ ἄλλῳ ἑπόμεθα.]

  [1 ][“And let no one suppose that we be solicitous for those that are nothing to us; remembering, that so long as you be preserved, from the very fact of your being strong enough to make head against the Syracusans, we are less likely to be annoyed by their sending of forces to the Peloponnesians”.]

  [2 ][It is reasonable”.]

  [1 ][“For neither would it be easy even for us to deal with so great a force, when united in one; nor without us, would you find these here (the Syracusans) a feeble enemy”.]

  [2 ][προσείοντες ϕόβον: “the fear you held up before our eyes, was no other than this: that if we looked on and saw you got under by the Syracusans, we too should be in danger”. προσείειν dicuntur pastores, quum frondem manu quatientes, pecus quo volunt ducunt. Daker.]

  [3 ][And therefore, such as a maritime power could not deal with.]

  [4 ][That is, “than this power which we have brought here”.]

  [1 ][“To move you, as if you were men that know not what you are about, against us” &c.]

  [1 ][“For in every place, that even where we are not at hand, yet he that looketh &c., and he that contriveth &c., for the obvious expectation each hath, one of meeting with our aid, the other, that if we come we are like to put him in some jeopardy, they are both brought” &c.]

  [2 ][“Refuse not therefore this security, both common to him that requires it, and now present to yourselves”.]

  [1 ][“But fearing lest the Syracusans, that were near them, should even without their aid get the victory, they at the first sent those (τοὺς) few horse: and now resolved for the future in fact rather to support the Syracusans, but as sparingly as possible; but for the present, that they might no less &c., in words to give equal answer to each”.]

  [2 ][“And the Syracusans prepared themselves for the war. And the Athenians” &c.]

  [3 ][“But the scattered inhabitants of the inland parts, who had been from all time independent, agreed straightway, all but a few, with the Athenians”.—αἱ οἰκήσεις, a term chosen rather than πόλεις, or even κῶμαι, to denote the absolutely barbarian habits of those Sikeli, whose habitations had nothing in them approaching to civil union. Arn.]

  [4 ][“But others they were hindered (from forcing to come in) by the Syracusans sending garrisons and supporting them with succours”.]

  [1 ][ἐς τυρσηνίαν.—If we search for the traces of their diffusion, the Pelasgi will appear to be one of the greatest nations of Europe: extending in their migrations almost as widely as the Celts. Thessalian, Sikelian, Tyrsenian, Pelasgian: these are only various names of a nation extending from the Po and Arno almost to the Bosporus: and it was by no arbitrary fiction that Æschylus makes Pelasgus, son of παλαίχθων, boast that his people were masters of the whole country west of the Strymon. The regions of the east, again, were overrun with Pelasgic tribes. Lemnos, Imbros, and Samothrace, were well known Pelasgian settlements even down to the historical period: they inhabited Lesbos and Chios before the Greeks, and, as it is said, the whole of Ionia from Mycale and of Æolis. But all that was left in later times of this immense race, were detached and widely–scattered remnants, like those of the Celtic tribes in Spain: which, like them too, were conceived to be, not the fragments of a great people, but settlements formed, like those of the Greeks, by dispersed migrations and colonizations.—Tyrsenia was the name by which the Greeks, in early times, designated the whole of western Italy. We find a line of Tyrsenian settlements, whose Pelasgic origin is well established, along the whole coast of the sea, which thence derives its name, from Pisa down to the borders of Œnotria. In the historical age, however, the nation peculiarly so called by the Greeks were the Etruscans: with whom their colonies in Sicily and Italy were continually forming relations of war or peace, and whose fame stood high in Hellas itself for power, arts, and wealth. It was forgotten that the Etruscans, who called themselves Rasena, and appear to have been of Rætian (Rhœtian) origin, and neither in language nor laws to have had the remotest resemblance to the Greeks or Pelasgi, had gotten the name of Tyrrhenians only by having conquered Tyrrhenia, and become the masters of those Tyrrhenians who did not quit their homes. And from Tyrrhenia retaining its name after this conquest, two entirely different races came to be called Tyrrhenians by the Greeks: the Pelasgi on the coast of Asia and the islands in the north of the Ægean, and the Etruscans. As to the former, it was evidently the custom at the time of the Peloponnesian war, to call the old Pelasgian inhabitants of Lemnos and Imbros Tyrsenian Pelasgi. They were the descendants of the Pelasgi, who, after the Dorian invasion, left Bœotia, and obtained for a time settlements in Attica on condition of labouring for the state (ii. 17, note). After ousting the Minyæ and abiding long in Lemnos and Imbros, being compelled by the Athenians to migrate anew, they shaped their course, some to the Hellespont, some to the coast of Thrace and the peninsula of Mount Athos. Hence Thucydides (iv. 109) says that Athos was inhabited by a Pelasgic race, the Tyrsenians who had previously settled in Attica and Lemnos. They came originally, as the story runs, from the south of Etruria: and must undoubtedly have called themselves Tyrsenians. Their first appearance however was in Acarnania: and all that Pausanias could learn of their extraction, was that they were Sikelians: a name which had extended across the Ionian sea to Epirus. And the probability is that they came, not from the Tiber, but from Epirus: and the Pelasgic extraction of the Epirots having been forgotten in the time of Thucydides, they were the only Pelasgi then known in southern Hellas.—When the Greek settlements were founded in Italy, the Etruscans had not yet made their appearance. It is to the Pelasgi, and not to the Etruscans, we must refer the lines wherein Hesiod speaks of Agrius and Latinus as ruling the renowned Tyrsenians: and they must be the pirates that infested the western seas before the Greeks sent colonies to Sicily, and that with the Carthaginians (about 540 A. C.) defeated the Phocæans (see Herod. i. 166). Subsequently all the pirates of the lower sea seem to have been regarded by the Greeks as Tyrrhenians.—About 500 A.C. the Etruscans were at the height of their power, and commanded the whole Tyrrhenian sea. The defeat of their fleet by Hiero in 474, seems to have broken their maritime power: in the course of this century they lost the whole country beyond the Apennines, and in three centuries more were swallowed up in the Roman empire. See Niebuhr, Œnotrians and Pelasgi.]

  [1 ][“They endeavoured to move the Italiots not to disregard what the Athenians were about, as aimed equally at themselves”. Of the Italiots, the Tarentines and Locrians were connected by blood or alliance with the Peloponnesians: the Metapontians, Thurians, and Rhegians with the Athenians.]

  [1 ][“Renounced your προξενίαν”: see iii. 70, note: and v. 43.]

  [2 ][“To the wickeder measures”.]

  [3 ][“We however became leaders of the democracy, thinking it reason in what form &c., in that to preserve it: (for such of us as have any judgment know &c.: but of confessed madness nothing new can be said): and we thought it not safe” &c.]

  [1 ][“And concerning what you are to consult about, and I, if I know aught more than you, am to advise, hear it now”.]

  [2 ][“The Italiots”.—“The dominion of Carthage”; that is, Sardinia, Corsica, and probably some of the states of Africa. Arn.]

  [3 ][“If these, in whole or in part, succeeded, we were now to undertake Peloponnesus, having gained the accession of the whole power of the Greeks there, and hiring many of the barbarians” &c.]

  [4 ][“With which besieging Peloponnesus round, and by attacks by land with our army at the same time, of the cities taking some by assault and some walling in” &c.]

  [1 ][“For the Sicilians, though very inexpert, yet if they could closely unite, might even yet get the better: but that the Syracusans &c., and withal blockaded by the fleet, should withstand” &c.]

  [2 ][“Unless this be done with speed, and an army be embarked for those parts, of such as” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, the live and dead stock; slaves, cattle, trees, &c. Arn.]

  [2 ][The courts of justice would be closed, the citizens’ whole time being occupied with the war: and the state would thereby lose the fees and fines arising from the suits of its own citizens, and what is more serious, from the suits of their allies, who were obliged to resort to the tribunals at Athens. Boeckh. See v. 18, note.]

  [1 ][“I retain not my love of country, wherein I am wronged by it, but wherein I lived in safety in it as one of the citizens”.]

  [1 ][περιορώμενοι: “had delayed it through circumspection”.]

  [2 ][“Sending forthwith”.]

  [3 ][“And appointing Gylippus, the son of Cleandridas, commander of the Syracusans”.]

  [1 ][“To send both the money and the horsemen”.]

  [2 ][“The 250 horsemen”: those mentioned in the last chapter.]

  [1 ][“And after this”.]

  [2 ][“And the same summer, not long after”.]

  [3 ][“And the Thebans coming to help, were part apprehended and part escaped” &c. Bekker and the rest, θηβαίων: vulgo, ἀθηναίων.]

  [4 ][“Overhanging the city”.]

  [5 ][“For that in no other way could they get up. For the rest of the place” &c.]

  [6 ][Anglice, Overton.]

  [1 ][“And they first set apart”.]

  [2 ][“And the Athenians on the morrow of the same night (that is, at the same time with the Syracusans) were reviewing their army: (they had unperceived put in with their army from Catana at the place called Leon, distant from Epipolæ six or seven stadia, and had landed their infantry, and stationed their fleet at Thapsos, a peninsula projecting with a narrow isthmus into the sea, not far distant from Syracuse either by sea or land): and their naval forces had palisadoed the isthmus, and were lying quiet in Thapsos”.]

  [3 ][“Saw them or could come to them” &c.]

  [4 ][“Disorderly manner”.]

  [1 ][A continuation of the tumuli at the summit of Epipolæ, perhaps so called from its resemblance to the Greek letter lambda. Goell.]

  [2 ][“And Naxians”.]

  [3 ]A temple of Fortune, part of the city. [συκὴ: by Livy and Cicero written Tyca and Tycha. The latter (Verr. iv.) speaks of a temple of Fortune existing in that district.—The “wall in a circle” is the wall of circumvallation.]

  [1 ][ϕυλὴ μία: “one tribe”. From this, amongst other passages, it appears that the Athenians observed the custom, common amongst other nations, of retaining the distinction of tribes in the arrangement of their army. The same appears of the Messenians, in iii. 90: of the Spartans, in v. 15: and of the Syracusans, vi. 100. So at the battle of Marathon, the Athenians were arranged in their tribes (Herod. vi. 111). And Nestor, in Il. ii. 362, bids Agamemnon separate the men by tribes and phratriæ, “so that tribe may support tribe, and phratria phratria”. Hence the word ϕύλοπις is used by Homer for μάχη, or battle.]

  [2 ][“The Athenians fell to work upon the northern part of their wall of circumvallation”.]

  [1 ][“Were as yet masters”.]

  [2 ][ϕυλὴν μίαν: see ch. 98, note. Arnold believes there is no information of the number of tribes at Syracuse: for though at Corinth there were eight, this would be no rule for its colony, placed under such different circumstances, and receiving from time to time such numbers of new citizens: and as in ch. 72, the number of generals appears to be fifteen, it may be supposed that as in Athens the generals were ten, corresponding to the ten tribes, and the same in other democratical states, so in Syracuse the tribes were fifteen. Of the aqueduct, or conduit, the traces are yet extant.]

  [1 ][Πυλίς, modo est portula munimenti alicujus, per quam milites præsidii exeunt et intrant, plerumque palis a subito hostium impetu munita: modo, est portula postica mœnium urbis. Hic, πυλίς est portula partis urbis, quæ ex Temenite in Epipolas ferebat. Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Beginning from their wall of circumvallation”. It was already begun in ch. 99.—Hanc celeritatem circummunitionis si quis cum Plutarcho miretur, comparet Epipolas viginti diebus muro triginta stadiorum circumdatas apud Diodorum xiv. 18: comparet ingentia opera circa Carthaginem spatio viginti dierum noctiumque a Scipione ducta, et obsidionem Numantiæ. Goeller. See Plutarch. Nicias, 17.]

  [1 ][“By the river”: that is, towards the bridge.]

  [2 ][“But the Syracusans fearing to be prevented, and also having there the greater part of their horsemen, set upon” &c.]

  [3 ][ἡ πρώτη ϕυλακὴ. Velim doceri quænam in pugna sit πρ̧ώτη ϕυλακὴ cornuum. Interim suspicari licebit, fortassis legendum esse ϕυλὴ: vide cap. 98. Duk. Arnold has adopted ϕυλὴ.]

  [1 ][“And being deserted by all but a few of those that had passed the ditch with him, was slain with” &c.]

  [2 ][Beyond the river they were in safety, having possession of the Olympieium. See chap. 75.]

  [3 ]The plether, according to Suidas, contains 68 cubits. [The cubit was a foot and a half: the plethron is said by Goeller to be 100 feet.]

  [1 ][“For the present ill success” &c.]

  [1 ][“Went first on an embassy from Tarentum to Thurii, on the strength of his father’s having been a citizen of the latter place”. Both father and son are a striking example of the singular venality of the Spartan character. The father Cleandridas, the counsellor of king Pleistoanax (v. 16), was charged with receiving a bribe from Pericles (A. C. 445) to withdraw their army, when invading Attica after the battle of Coroneia (iii. 68, note). Cleandridas fled from his trial, was condemned to death in his absence, and finished his days in a voluntary exile. The son Gylippus, charged with a like offence, ended his life by starvation. The difficulty is, not merely to account for an unusually strong propensity to a vice, which seems to have prevailed amongst kings, gerontes, ephors, generals, all alike: but to explain how the practice could exist consistently with the banishment from the state of the precious metals. Of its universal prevalence the oracle leaves no doubt: ἁ ϕιλοχρηματία σπάρταν ὀλεῖ, ἄλλο δὲ οὐδέν, “avarice, and nothing else, will be the ruin of Sparta”. See Herm. § 46.—Cleandridas had been of eminent service to the Thurians, in concluding a peace between them and the Tarentines, with whom they were at war: which was followed in 433 by the founding of Heracleia. The earliest mention of the Lucanians is on the occasion of the skill and courage displayed by him in leading the Thurians against them. But in 389 the Thurians were defeated, and almost exterminated near Laos, of which the Lucanians had made themselves masters. See Niebuhr, vol. i. p. 96.]

  [1 ][“By a wind sitting in the north”: that is, blowing from the north. The words κατὰ τὸν τεριναῖον κολπον, are incapable of explanation, and by Goeller are included in brackets.]

  [2 ][“And that rather about the rest of Peloponnesus, than into Laconia”.]

  [1 ][These Locrians, who take their name from the promontory Epizephyrium, were for the most part descendants of the Ozolian and Opuntian Locrians: but Syracusans contributed largely to the foundation of their city; besides which the Spartans are said to have colonized Locri in the first Messenian war. It may therefore be considered as a Doric state: its constitution was oligarchical, and in this state as well as Opus are found the hundred families, which by virtue of their nobility enjoyed a large share of the government: their dialect moreover was Doric. They were governed by the laws given to them by Zaleucus about 650 A. C.: the earliest written code which existed in Greece. See Muel. iii. 11.]

  [1 ][“And certain of the Sikeli”.]

  [1 ][“For they understood that he was already near”.]

  [1 ][“And he chanced to come at the critical moment, at which the Athenians had already finished a double wall reaching to the great harbour, of seven or eight stadia: save” &c.]

  [2 ][That is, the rock which separated Tycha and Neapolis.]

  [1 ][πρὸς τὸ ἐγκάρ̧σιον: “towards the cross wall of the Syracusans”. that is, so as to meet the former cross wall, which had been taken by the Athenians, vi. 100. Göl.—“towards the cross wall of the Athenians”: that is, their wall of circumvallation, which ran across this new wall. Thirl.—“in a cross direction”: that is, across the Athenian wall. Arn.]

  [2 ][“Retreated hastily”.]

  [3 ]The lesser haven, [Laccius].

  [1 ][“And his fighting galleys”.]

  [2 ][“At Polichne near the Olympieium”. Goeller.]

  [3 ][“Using the stones which the Athenians had before laid there for themselves: and kept the Syracusans and their allies continually drawn out and in battle array in advance of the wall. And the Athenians, on the other side, &c.”]

  [1 ][“The wall which was now drawing near to theirs”.]

  [2 ][“And proceeding, would make it all one to the Athenians whether they fought and conquered, or whether they fought not”: that is, victory would no longer be of any use to them. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Helped the Syracusans to build up to the cross wall”: that is, the wall of the Athenians, which crossed the Syracusan wall. In the last chapter, the Syracusans are said to have already brought their wall beyond the Athenian wall: which Goeller explains, by supposing that in their haste they built the extremity at the Athenian line first, and the Corinthians now helped them to fill up the interval.]

  [1 ][Bekker &c., μνήμης: “of memory”. Goell. Arn. vulgo, γνώμης.]

  [1 ][There were three different secretaries. The secretary of the Prytaneium, who was chosen by lot, and changed with each Prytaneia: he had charge of the votes and proceedings of the council. Another was elected by the council, to take charge of the laws. The third, the one here meant, was chosen by the people, and read documents, when necessary, to the assembly and the council. Herm. § 127.]

  [2 ][“In other messages”. In his last edition Bekker has included in brackets the word πολλαῖς. Goeller observes that the Athenians had not yet been twelve months in Sicily; and the passage being four months (see vi. 21), Nicias could scarcely in that time have sent many messages.—Consistently with ch. 8, the word ἐπιστολαῖς must be taken in the sense of oral despatches. Thirl.]

  [3 ][“We now sit still: (for we cannot have the use of our whole army &c.): and they have built” &c.]

  [1 ][“And let none think it so great a matter that they should attack us even by sea. For though” &c.]

  [2 ][“Are now leaky”.]

  [3 ][διαψῦξαι: naves subductas siccare. Hemsterh. ad Lucian. Cont.]

  [4 ][“Keep us in continual expectation of an assault. And they are manifestly practising themselves; and it is in their own choice” &c.]

  [1 ][θεράποντες. “ministri nautarum”: sic θεράποντες militum sunt, iv. 16. Goeller.]

  [2 ]These were they which Nicias, upon the taking of Hyccara, made sale of himself. [See vi. 62.]

  [1 ][“Nor get supplies for the ships from any place, (which the enemy &c.), but our stock in hand and our daily consumption are limited to what we brought with us”. Arn.]

  [2 ][“Consideration: for I &c.”]

  [1 ][Haack. Popp. Thirl. Arn. “120”.—Goell. Bekk. “20”.]

  [1 ][“In ships of burthen”.]

  [2 ][“The first breach of the peace was in them” (the Athenians).]

  [3 ][“Rather from their own side”.]

  [1 ][For this expedition, see vi. 105.]

  [2 ][“Very early indeed”.]

  [1 ][“About 120 stadia”.]

  [2 ][νεοδαμωδῶν: see v. 34, note.]

  [1 ][“Thirty galleys”.]

  [2 ][“With order to go also to Argos, and summon on shipboard, according to the league, the hoplitæ of the Argives”.]

  [3 ][“As many of the islanders as they could get from all sides, and from the rest of their allies, their subjects, getting whatsoever they might have of use for the war”.]

  [1 ][“They (the Syracusans) too, may in like manner strike the same fear into them”.]

  [2 ][He marched out of the city by Epipolæ, descended into the plain in the rear of the Athenian lines, crossed the Anapus, and came upon Plemmyrium along the table–land extending from the sea to the fort and temple of Olympieium. Arn.]

  [1 ][“From the dock–yard”.]

  [2 ][“And the men in the firsttaken fort, so many at least as escaped to certain boats and merchant–ships, with some difficulty reached the camp: for the Syracusans at this time having the best of the fight with the ships in the great haven, they were chased by one nimble galley”.—“The camp”, that is, the camp which the Athenians had in the double–wall from the crag of Temenites to the sea, where, as appears in chap 11, was stationed a part of their army. And to keep up the communication between Plemmyrium and the double–wall, they still kept a naval camp in the bay (μυχῷ) of the great haven near Dascon: for that all their ships did not remove to Plemmyrium, appears from eh. 4 and 53. To that naval camp first of all, therefore, betook themselves the fugitives from Plemmyrium; and thence to the double–wall. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Their old (νεωσοίκων) docks under cover”: wherein ships were built or repaired. νεώρ̧ιον (ch. 22) the “dock–yard”: ἐπίνειον, a “town having a dock–yard”. See ii. 84, i. 30, and the scholiast. Goell.]

  [1 ][μυριοϕόρον: “of the burthen of ten thousand talents”; or, according to those who use the form μυριαμϕόρον, of ten thousand amphoræ: the burthen of ships being reckoned in both talents and amphoræ.]

  [2 ][“Dragged them up”.]

  [3 ][“The covered docks”.]

  [4 ][“So that it was dangerous to sail near them, lest not seeing them one should be stranded as on a rock”.]

  [5 ][That is to say, in Sicily.]

  [1 ][“To where is the temple of Apollo, opposite to Cythera of Laconia”. Cythera was also the name of a town in Cyprus.]

  [1 ][“Of the Thracian sword–men of the Dian race”. See ii. 96.]

  [2 ][“With garrisons that infested the country by turns”.]

  [1 ][“And the city was obliged to bring from abroad all things alike: and instead of a city &c. For the Athenians were harrassed both summer and winter, with watching on the battlements” &c.]

  [1 ][The exhaustion of her allies, brought about by the extraordinary war–taxes imposed over and above the standing tribute, obliged Athens at this time to commute all their taxes into one of a twentieth of all imports and exports. Herm. § 166.—This continued to be paid to the end of the war. Goell.]

  [2 ][“And in the evening going over” &c.]

  [3 ][“At day–break he cometh to the city, being no great one”. Bekk. &c., οὐ μεγαλῃ: vulgo οὐ deest.]

  [1 ][“Other no small disorder”.]

  [2 ][Popp. Goell. Arn.: ἔξω τοξεύματος, “out of bow–shot”: vulgo et Bekk.: ἔξω ζεύγματος, “beyond the bridge over the Euripus”. — The corrupt (the latter) reading maintained its hold on the MSS. the more easily, that in the time of the lower empire there was a bridge over the Euripus, which was naturally called ζεῦγμα. But it is absurd to suppose that the Athenians would have made Eubœa accessible by land, when it was so important to her to keep it under the protection of her navy. Arnold.—“For in the rest of the retreat” &c. Their loss was greatest in getting aboard: not great in the rest of the retreat, because they behaved therein not amiss.]

  [1 ][μέρος τι: “a considerable part of the whole”. Goell. Arn.]

  [2 ][“To Corcyra”. Bekker &c. ἐπὶ: vulgo, ἐκ.]

  [3 ][“Arriving at”.]

  [1 ][“He met with Eurymedon returning from Sicily; who had at the time before–mentioned in winter taken the supply of money to the army, and had been sent back: who told him &c.” He was despatched to Sicily at the winter solstice (see ch. 16): his arrival in Sicily is not noticed. Goeller says it was now the end of June: which gives six months for the voyage to Sicily and back]

  [2 ][“And were about to fight”.]

  [3 ][They send away ten galleys “with Conon: and go themselves about completing the assembling of their army”. The galleys at Naupactus were originally 20: see ch. 17.]

  [1 ][Selinus and Himera are particulary meant, whose route lay along the southern coast. Arn.]

  [2 ][“Sent them a navy to the number of five ships”.]

  [3 ][“Almost all Sicily”.]

  [1 ][“Having their army from Corcyra and the continent now ready, crossed the Ionian sea with &c.”—Iapygia embraced the southeastern part of Italy, according to the more ancient writers, from Metapontum, or including that city, from the Siris to mount Garganus, or as the Greeks called it, mount Drion; which seems to have been the southern limit of Ombrica in their early geography. This extensive country is said by the Greeks to have been inhabited by three distinct tribes, the Messapians, the Peucetians, and the Daunians: by the first, on the peninsula to the east of Tarentum; by the Peucetians, to the north of them along the coast from Brundusium to Barium; between which and mount Garganus lay the Daunians. The name Iapygia is the same with Apulia: the Latin termination icus in Appicus, which is the same as Apulus, being contracted in Oscan into ix; thus making Apix. No good Roman writer would ever say Iapygia instead of Apulia: nor any good Greek writer the reverse. Niebuhr.]

  [2 ][Metapontum was founded by a body of Achæans, at the invitation of Sybaris: herself also of Achæan origin and mistress of the country afterwards called Lucania, and the founder of Posidonia (Pæstum) and Laos. By the industrious cultivation of her highly fertile territory Metapontum afterwards attained to extraordinary wealth. She became united with Sybaris and Croton and their four colonies in a league similar to the Achæan league. The extraordinary city Sybaris, which has received opprobrium probably altogether unmerited, at all events much exaggerated, was in 510 A.C. utterly destroyed by Croton: the first irremediable wound sustained by Magna Græcia, followed by a bloody revolution in which Croton wore herself out.—The Messapians, who had extended their dominion far into Œnotria, had become before the present time the object of jealousy and alarm to the neighbouring tribes: and the Peucetians and Daunians, leagued with the Tarentines, had destroyed their power. They were still the enemies of the Tarentines, and as such therefore the friends of the Athenians. Niebuhr. See also Muell. ii. 3.]

  [1 ][“About the same time the Peloponnesians in the twenty–five galleys, who to cover the passage to Sicily of the transports were lying opposite to the galleys in Naupactus, having made ready for action and manned some additional galleys, so as they were &c.”]

  [2 ][That is, the Achaians; who had now all sided with Sparta. Arn.]

  [1 ][“Were struck and stove in on the bows by the heads of the Corithian galleys, which had their epotides made stouter for this very object”. The epotides, literally earcaps, were two beams projecting from the bows for holding the beak.]

  [2 ][“Thought they had the better, if they had not &c.; and the Athenians thought &c.”]

  [1 ][The Crotoniatæ, according to Herodotus (viii. 47), were by race Achæans: but Mueller observes that the colony must have been established under the authority of Sparta; Apollo and Hercules, the Doric god and hero, being both worshipped there with especial honour, and the early constitution being also Doric. Croton was the soil whereon Pythagoras made the experiment of his real aristocracy. The single galley sent by this state to assist the Greeks at the battle of Salamis, was the sole instance of support given to their cause by any state beyond the limits of Greece: Herod. ibid.—Thurii was a scion of Sybaris, also an Achæan colony and contemporaneous with Croton (A.C. 710). About sixty years after the overthrow and destruction of their city by Croton, the descendants of the exiled Sybarites succeeded in again forming a settlement on its site: but in a few years were again forced to fly by the jealousy of Croton. The exiles now applied for help to Sparta and Athens: and by the latter state were favourably received. Under the usual guidance of an oracle, the new city, called Thurii from a fountain which rose there, was built with geometrical regularity near the former site of Sybaris. Amongst the new settlers were Herodotus the historian, and Lysias the orator. The Sybarite exiles, however, not being content to live on terms of equality with the new settlers, dissensions arose, in which the former are said to have been exterminated. The remaining Thurians then invited adventurers to join them from Greece on terms of perfect equality. In imitation of the Athenians, they divided themselves into ten tribes, named after the different nations of which the colony was composed. Of these, four represented Athens, Ionia, Eubœa, and the islands; three Peloponnessus; and three the north of Greece. See Thirl. ch. xviii.]

  [1 ][“And placed in the bows thick epotides, supported by beams running along them to the sides of the galley, six cubits long both within and without”: that is, six cubits within the galley, and six without.]

  [1 ][περίπλουν, διέκπλουν: see i. 49, note.]

  [2 ][“If driven back, could make no anacrousis save to the land”:—“that, namely, opposite their own camp”. The Syracusans were in possession of all the rest of the shore of the harbour: and the short distance of the line of battle from the shore would not admit of performing the anacrousis (see i. 49, note) with proper effect.]

  [3 ][“Wherein to execute the anacrousis”.]

  [1 ][“The Syracusans having thus adapted their plans to their present knowledge and power”. What in ordinary cases would be bad seamanship, was well suited to the case of the Syracusans. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ][“Against so much of it as fronted the city”.]

  [3 ][“And straight hereupon”.]

  [1 ][“Such as had any damage: and moored ships of burthen without the piles &c.” It appears that there were several of these ships.]

  [2 ][“Two plethra”: see vi. 102, n.]

  [3 ][“The same manner of attack”.]

  [1 ][πρύμναν κρουσάμενοι: “retreating”. ἀνακρούσασθαι, to row astern in order to charge again; πρύμναν κρούσασθαι, in order to retreat.]

  [2 ][Vulgo, ἠμύνοντο: Bekk. om.]

  [1 ][Through the port–holes, which were large enough to admit at least a man’s head: see Herod. v. 33.]

  [2 ][“From the beams”. These beams seem to have been of considerable size, and the whole engine powerful enough to break clean through any galley on which the dolphin fell. — The ships were moored, not abreast, but one after another in two files. Goell.]

  [3 ][“With the foreign ships”.]

  [1 ][“The cross wall of the Syracusans”. Bekker &c., παρατειχίσματος: vulgo, ἀποτειχίσματος. Thucydides carefully distinguishes the former word, by which he always means the cross wall of the Syracusans, from the latter, which he applies to the Athenian wall of circumvallation. See Lucian. de Conscr. Hist. c. 38. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Advancing”. At Euryelus they were already at the summit of the heights.—The fortification taken was apparently on the very crest of the slope, on or near the spot which the Athenians had formerly fortified at Labdalum. Arn.]

  [2 ][“One of the Syracusans, one of the other Sicilians”, &c. The three camps appear to have been formed immediately under the walls of the city. The six hundred Syracusans were probably stationed higher on the slope, perhaps at the point where the cross wall terminated. Arn. Goell.]

  [3 ][ἐς τὸ πρ̧όσθεν: that is, they marched on without staying to take the cross wall.—ἀπὸ τῆς πρώτης, “in their first course”, is unexplained.]

  [1 ][“And desiring”.]

  [2 ][“Could any one have known” &c.: apte ad hunc locum. Goeller, Arnold.]

  [3 ][“Others, not worsted”.]

  [4 ][“For all before them, the flight having taken place, was already in confusion, and it was hard &c.”]

  [1 ][“When they were once thrown into confusion, falling” &c.—The pæan varied according to the tribe. All Dorians, as Spartans, Argives, Corinthians, and Syracusans, had the same. Muell. ii. 6.]

  [1 ][That is to say, at Euryelus: see ch. 2.]

  [2 ][“To bring over the city, and induce it to send succours”. ὑπάγεσθαι is well explained by Reiske, “perducere veluti vitulum ostensa fronde”. Arn. Goell.]

  [3 ][“To the rest of Sicily”. Bekker &c., ἐς τὴν ἄλλην Σικελίαν: vulgo, ἐς Σ.]

  [1 ][“Discouragement”.]

  [2 ][“Demosthenes therefore was of opinion &c: but, as he was minded even when the attempt was hazarded at Epipolæ, so, since it had failed, he gave his vote for losing no time in going off, whilst the sea” &c.]

  [3 ][“Was unwilling in terms to confess their weakness”.]

  [1 ][“For they would wear them out by want of money; especially being now, with their present fleet, more decidedly masters at sea”.]

  [2 ][“Cry out that their affairs were desperate”.]

  [3 ][“That he at any rate”.]

  [4 ][ἰδίᾳ: “in his own person”.]

  [1 ][ἐν περιπολίοις: see vi. 45, n.]

  [2 ][“They were badly off now, and in course of time would not know how to get on”.]

  [3 ][“And as soon as ever they fail in the pay of any part of their forces, be it never so inconsiderable, their affairs are ruined”.]

  [4 ][“In saying this, Nicias’ reliance was upon his knowing” &c. It is manifest from the last chapter, that he did not disclose his intrigues with the party in Syracuse.]

  [5 ][Nicias relied on his knowing &c: “and was encouraged, as on the former occasion, by his confidence in the fleet”. Goell. Duker says of this passage, “hæc mihi ænigmata sunt”.]

  [6 ][“They must rise and go” &c.]

  [1 ][“Whence with their landmen they might overrun much of the country and subsist themselves, whilst they weakened their enemies by wasting their territory”. Bekker &c., θρέψονται: vulgo, τρέψονται.]

  [2 ][“The confidence”.]

  [3 ][“The party that was for friendship with the Syracusans had been driven out”. Goell. Arn.]

  [1 ][A people to the west of Barca, and to the north of the Auschisæ. Herod. iv. 171.]

  [2 ][“Their own affairs”.]

  [3 ][That is to say, he did not wish a council of war to be held, at which the taxiarchs and trierarchs would be present, and the question decided by open voting. And the generals being αὐτοκράτορες, (having absolute authority), might act on their own responsibility. Arn.]

  [4 ][“Looking upon it as ominous, called” &c. Pericles, who had gained from Anaxagoras some more correct notions of the heavenly bodies than were common in his time, had ventured on the occasion of the expedition about Peloponnesus in 430 (ii. 56) to disregard an eclipse of the sun: and explained its real cause, by showing that the same effect was produced by a cloak held up between the sun and the eyes of the bystanders. But the nature of an eclipse of the moon was still less generally understood. Unfortunately the astronomer Meton did not accompany the expedition, having, it is said, feigned madness to avoid it: and one of the most intelligent among the soothsayers, Stilbides, was lately dead. Still, if none of the rest could have been found to declare, as appears to have been the opinion of Philochorus, one learned on those questions (Plut. Nicias), that for a retreating army the veiling of one of the celestial luminaries was an auspicious sign, three days’ delay was commonly held sufficient. But the soothsayers of Nicias enjoined that the retreat should be deferred for three times nine days, that is, till the next full moon. See Thirl. ch. 26. There is some difference of opinion whether “three”, or “three times nine days” is the proper reading: founded mainly upon a passage of Diodorus.]

  [1 ][“And after essaying themselves”. Bekker &c., ἀνεπειρῶντο: some MSS., ἀνεπαύοντο.]

  [1 ][“And putting to flight the rest, beat them back” &c.]

  [2 ][“And this day, the Syracusans retreated. But the next day they came out with their galleys seventy–six in number; and at the same time marched against the fortifications with their infantry. And the Athenians set forth” &c.]

  [3 ][“To the causeway”.—χηλὴ is here not an artificial mole, but one of the prominencies forming and embracing the bay near Dascon. Goell.—After following the citywall for some way, till it turned off in an inland direction, the χηλὴ then continued along the edge of the harbour: forming a sort of narrow causeway between the sea on one side, and the marshy ground on the other. And the ground being thus narrow, the Syracusans, as soon as they were beaten, were naturally driven off the causeway into the marshy ground on their right–hand, called the marsh of Lysimeleia. Arn.]

  [1 ][“But the Tyrseni, who &c, made head: and charging the first they met, forced &c”.]

  [2 ][“Some few”. Bekker &c., οὐ πολλοὺς: vulgo, om. οὐ.]

  [3 ][“Even their fleet”.]

  [1 ][“Were utterly out of heart, and great was their dismay: but far greater still their repenting of the voyage”.]

  [2 ][See vi. 36, note.]

  [3 ][“Might no longer” &c.]

  [4 ][“Should be straightway one part freed”.]

  [1 ][“Having opened the way to the greatest part of it themselves. For the greatest number” &c. προκόψαντες, a metaphor taken from cutting a way before one through a forest. Arn. Goell.]

  [2 ][“For so many as follows, on both sides, against Sicily and for it, those with the Athenians to help win, and those with the Syracusans to help save it, came to the war at Syracuse, not siding with each other according to justice or kindred, but rather as profit” &c.]

  [3 ][Lemnos and Imbros (Herod. v. 26) were in the reign of Darius at the close of the sixth century A.C. still occupied by the Pelasgians who migrated thither from Attica (see vi. 88, note). Lemnos was colonized with Athenians by Miltiades some years before the battle of Marathon (Herod. vi. 140): and Imbros may have been colonized by him in his flight from the Chersonese to Athens (ibid. 41).]

  [1 ][“And moreover the Hestiæans, dwelling in Hestiæa in Eubœa: all of the same language” &c.—For the Æginetæ, see ii. 27: and for the Hestiæans, see i. 114.]

  [2 ][See iv. 54, note. Herodotus (viii. 46) reckons the Styrians amongst the Dryopes.]

  [3 ][“Yet at any rate as Ionians against Dorians they still followed”. Popp. Goell. Arn. Ἴωνές γε: vulgo et Bekk. τε.]

  [4 ][See iii. 2, note.]

  [5 ][καταντικρὺ: “being outright Bœotians”: not like the Methymnæans, descended from a common stock, but actual Bœotians themselves. Arn. But see iii. 61, note.]

  [1 ][For Rhodes, see iii. 104, note: Cythera, iv. 53, 54.]

  [2 ][“As they pretended”.

  [3 ][See iv. 66–74.]

  [4 ][“Each man’s present particular interest”. Bekker &c., ὠϕελίας: vulgo deest. Valla has “utilitatis”.]

  [1 ][“Were also mercenary”.]

  [2 ][“That the Cretans, who &c., unwillingly for their hire, came not with, but against their colony”. Bekker &c., ἄκοντας: Valla, ultro.—“And some of the Acarnanians, for love of gain but more for love of Demosthenes” &c.]

  [3 ][“Of Italiots the Thurians and Metapontians, as having been overtaken in such necessities at that time, necessities belonging to seditious times, went with them”. Necessities such, as to force them to fly their country and join the Athenians. Arn. Goell.]

  [4 ][“Of the Sikeli”. Bekker &c., σικελῶν: vulgo, σικελιωτῶν.]

  [1 ][“The Sikeli alone, all” &c.]

  [2 ][“Sent them a Spartan general, but the rest neodamodes and helots: (now neodamode is equivalent to freeman): then aided” &c. See Neodamodes, v. 34, note.]

  [3 ][Sicyon was reduced by Sparta in 418: see v. 81.]

  [1 ][“And their allies”. Bekker &c.]

  [2 ][ταξίαρχοι: see iv. 4, note. It seems to be the opinion of Schœmann, as cited by Goeller, that the taxiarch of the tribe commanded the hoplitæ of his tribe in the field.]

  [3 ][“No greater than they needs must for their baggage and their sick, near” &c. By the “camp above”, is meant the upper extremity of the Athenian lines, where they extended to the κρ̧ημνός, the cliff of Epipolæ, and were most distant from the sea–shore. The Athenians were now, as observed by Nicias, more like a besieged than a besieging army: the enemy having a free communication with the surrounding country by means of Epipolæ, whilst their cavalry, with a safe retreat at Olympieium, could act on the rear of the Athenian lines, and prevent them from getting provisions. Arn. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And such a purpose”: of gaining the victory, not by skill, but by the landsmen on board. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [2 ][“And first of all exhorted”. Bekker &c., τε: vulgo, τότε.]

  [1 ][“And we ought not to be discouraged”.]

  [2 ][“We have also devised what was called for to fit our ships to encounter the thick epotides of the enemy, which did most &c.”.]

  [1 ][“If the marines do” &c.]

  [2 ][“In us”. Bekker &c.]

  [3 ][“And to bear in mind that pleasure, how worthy it is to be preserved, that being taken” &c. This is addressed to the metœci, who formed a large part of the seamen of the Athenian navy. Of these the ἰσοτελεῖς stood nearly on the footing of Athenian citizens (see ii. 31, note). But that they received more protection from injury than the citizens, or were in any respect better off, seems to be considered as an exaggeration. They had not in fact the full rights of citizens.]

  [1 ][Undergone “what you have”.]

  [1 ][“Of having overcome the strongest and being therefore” &c.]

  [2 ]ἀκόντισται χερσαῖοι. Such as being upon land could use their darts, but not tottering upon the water.

  [3 ][“Sitting still”: that is, motionless as they will be. Goell. Arn.]

  [4 ]That is, according to the motion of the galley, not steadily as upon land.

  [5 ][“And very easy to injure with the devices adopted by us”: that is, the thick epotides &c.]

  [1 ][“Most lawful against enemies, to justify, as vengeance taken upon a future aggressor, the satiating of the mind’s desire, but also that we shall have the opportunity of avenging ourselves on our enemy, said to be the sweetest” &c. Goell.]

  [2 ]The name of subject.

  [1 ][“But that it were an honourable struggle, to effect, as is likely we shall, what we intend, to be revenged &c. And those are the rarest of hazards, wherein” &c.]

  [2 ][ἐκπεπληγμένος: terrified.]

  [3 ][“Their country, the most free in the word, and the uncontrolled power in it of all men” &c.:—“not caring though they seem to utter things stale, although on all occasions the same” &c. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Putting forth of their own station”.—The words, “and to the passage” &c., are considered by Poppo and Goeller to be an interpolation: it not appearing that there was any such passage, and the word διέκπλουν, in Thucydides, always meaning some naval evolution.]

  [2 ][“Of the mouth of the harbour”.]

  [1 ][ὁπότε, “whenever”.]

  [2 ][“Also the marines, when &c., did their best that the service on deck might not be behind the rest of the skill displayed”.]

  [3 ][“The (ἐμβολαὶ) charges on the enemy’s side, owing to there being no room for anacrousis or diecplous, were few: whilst the (προσβολαὶ) running aboard of each other, as one galley might chance to fall foul of another in flight or attack, were far more frequent”. See i. 49, note.]

  [4 ][ἐπ’ αὐτὴν: “against it”.]

  [1 ][“Of what their keleustæ said. For loud was the exhorting, and loud the shouting on both sides amongst the keleustæ”. See ii. 84, n.]

  [2 ][“Which they had with no small labour made themselves masters of”. Bekk. Goell. Arn., οὐ δι’ὀλίγου πόνου: vulgo, om. πόνου.]

  [1 ][“During this doubtful conflict on the water, the army on the shore of both sides had also their struggle and contention of mind”.]

  [2 ][“And were thereby” &c. Considered to be a corrupt passage.]

  [3 ][“Moving their bodies in their extreme fear in sympathy with their thoughts, passed their time as ill as the worst of them”. Arn.]

  [1 ][“All that were not taken on the water, reaching the shore escaped to the camp”.]

  [2 ][“The same impulse”.]

  [3 ][“Consternation”.]

  [4 ][“By the loss &c., lost also” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, how to retreat by land. “But Demosthenes” &c.]

  [2 ][As Dorians, the Syracusans worshipped the Dorian hero Hercules.]

  [1 ][“They would most of them be drinking in the feast: and that they might expect to persuade them to any thing rather than at this time to take up arms &c.”]

  [2 ][“And having so said, they went their way: and the Athenians reported what they had heard to their generals; who suspecting no fraud, upon this report abode that night”.]

  [1 ][“And the rest at their leisure and without opposition they towed away wheresoever each had drifted, and hauled” &c.]

  [2 ][“Not on one account only”.]

  [3 ][“That were left behind, both wounded and sick, were to the living far more grievous than the dead”.]

  [1 ][“Departing comrades”.]

  [2 ][“And in this straight”.]

  [3 ][“And besides their grief there was a general dissatisfaction with themselves: for they seemed” &c.—“of a city expugned, and that no small one. For the whole number that marched” &c.]

  [4 ][“Who before this, but now in greatest numbers, ran over” &c. It must be borne in mind, that the Greek soldier did not, like the Roman, carry his own provisions.]

  [5 ][“The rest of their ignominy”:—“especially considering from what splendour and glory” &c.]

  [1 ][“Omens”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And surveying yourselves, your men of arms how good, and in your ranks how many you are, despair not too much, but consider that wheresoever you please to sit down” &c.]

  [2 ][“By winning it, he will thereby gain both country and walls”.]

  [1 ][“They have been sent to and told to meet us”. Bekker &c., προπέπεμπται: vulgo, προπέμπετε.]

  [2 ][“The rest of you shall see again &c., and you, Athenians, shall re–erect &c.”]

  [3 ][“And they marched arranged in a hollow oblong, the division of Nicias leading the way, and that of Demosthenes following”. Bekker &c., πρῶτον μὲν ἡγούμενον: vulgo desunt.]

  [1 ][“And were cutting off”: that is, during this halt of the Athenians.]

  [2 ][λέπας, according to Goeller, signifies rupes: “the top of the rock”.—It must be remembered, that the object of the Athenians was to penetrate far enough into the interior to reach the country of the Sikeli. This they attempted in the first instance to effect, by ascending one of the valleys which fall into that of the Anapus: but being unable to force their passage in this direction, they fell back upon the coast, intending to follow the coast–road through the low country near the sea till they should arrive at another valley, when they would again turn inland, and make a second attempt to penetrate to their friends the Sikeli. Arn.]

  [1 ][“And sought to force and win the hill” &c. Goell.—“embattled in great depth above” &c.]

  [2 ][“More towards the plain”.]

  [1 ][“The miserable estate &c., both from the want &c. and from many being wounded, to leave burning all the fires they could and lead away the army as far &c.”—It being now manifest that to reach the Sikelian country by the valley from Syracuse, was utterly hopeless, the generals resolved to change the line of retreat, and to penetrate into the interior by the valley of the Cacyparis, terminating on the sea–coast about six or seven miles to the southward of the Anapus. To effect this they proposed to gain a march upon the enemy by setting out at night, and falling back towards the sea till they came into the road from Syracuse to Helorus: and then to follow this road in a direction parallel to the coast, till they reached the Cacyparis, when they would turn again to the right and once more move towards the interior. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“A panic seized them”.]

  [1 ][Finding the enemy already on the Cacyparis, they were afraid of finding the valley stopped at the upper end; and therefore marched on to the next, that of the Erineus: their guides informing them that by ascending this they might gain the interior; and here, as they hoped, might anticipate the enemy. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Indeed”. Bekker &c., δὴ: one MS. ἢδη.]

  [2 ][“As much as fifty stadia”. Bekker &c, καὶ πεντήκοντα: vulgo, ἑκατὸν κ. π.]

  [3 ][“That in their present condition their safety &c.”]

  [4 ][“And was the first to sustain the enemy: and at this time, knowing the Syracusans were pursuing him, he was more taken up with ordering his men for battle than in marching on, till &c.”]

  [5 ][“Being driven back in confusion”. Arn.]

  [6 ][“To be taken off”.]

  [1 ]Vulgo, ἄλλων: Bekk. &c. om.]

  [2 ][“Went off in the night as they could”.]

  [3 ][“They rush in, observing order no longer; and every man striving to get over first, and the enemy lying upon them, made the passage now difficult”.]

  [1 ][“And entangled (in the baggage) sank down”. Goell. Arn. It is said a little below, that the men fought with each other for the water: a fact inconsistent with the stream being strong enough to “carry them away”.]

  [2 ][And the Syracusans &c. killed the Athenians, as they were drinking, “and confusedly crowded together in the hollow of the river: and the Peloponnesians especially went down and slew them in the river. And the water was quickly spoiled: nevertheless &c.”—Here, as in other instances, the Syracusans showed no inclination to come to close quarters with the Athenians: but were better pleased to see that done by the Peloponnesian troops, whilst they themselves plied them with missiles from a distance. Arn.]

  [3 ][“But no further slaughter &c. And after this Gylippus” &c.]

  [1 ][“The portion of the army that was collected together in a body, was not much: but they that” &c.]

  [2 ][Hobbes has adapted his language to the words “Sicilian war”. The comparison is undoubtedly weak: and some desire to read “Grecian war”.]

  [3 ][Lautumias Syracusanas omnes audistis, plerique nostis. Opus est ingens, magnificum regum ac tyrannorum. Totum est ex saxo in mirandam altitudinem depresso, et multorum operis penitus exciso, ideoque, quamquam ἀστέγαστον, nihil tam clausum ad exitus, nihil tam septum undique, nihil tam tutum ad custodias nec fieri nec cogitari potest. In has lautumias, si qui publice custodiendi sunt, etiam ex ceteris oppidis Siciliæ deduci imperantur. Cic. ii. Verr. 5, cited by Goell.—In retaliation of this treatment of the Athenians, the Syracusans taken by Thrasyllus at the battle of Ephesus, were put into the quarries of Munychia. But the prisoners contrived to dig their way out through the rock: and escaped to Megara, where they occasioned the revolt of Nisæa, which Athens did not again recover.]

  [1 ][“Deserved, for his study of every lawful virtue, to be brought &c.”]

  [2 ][“For in a hollow, and many in small space, first the sun &c.”]

  [1 ][“Or the change”: of temperature above–mentioned.]

  [2 ][See iv. 16, note.]

  [3 ][“Or, as appears to me, the greatest even of the Hellenic actions known by report”.—We have a description by Livy of a moment, two centuries later than the present time, when Syracuse, not as now exulting over a defeated besieging army, was on the point, after standing a three years’ siege, of tasting the treatment of a city taken by assault. “Marcellus, ut mœnia ingressus, ex superioribus locis urbem, omnium ferme illa tempestate pulcherrimam, subjectam oculis vidit, illachrymasse dicitur, partim guadio tantæ perpetratæ rei, partim vetusta gloria urbis. Atheniensium classes demersæ, et duo ingentes exercitus cum duobus clarissimis ducibus deleti, occurrebant; et tot bella cum Carthaginiensibus tanto cum discrimine gesta; tot tam opulenti tyranni regesque ......... Ea quum universa occurrerent animo, subiretque cogitatio, jam illa momento horæ arsura omnia, et ad cineres reditura: priusquam signa Achradinam admoveret, præmittit Syracusanos, ut alloquio leni perlicerent hostes ad dedendam urbem.” xxv. 24.—For the present, as at Athens the ναυτικὸς ὄχλος, the authors of the victory of Salamis, and thence of the Athenian ἡγεμονία and dominion of the sea, established an unlimited and irresistible democracy, so did it happen here. But less than ten years’ experience of their own incapacity for the task of government, drove them to make trial of dictators: an experiment which at last ended in the tyranny of Dionysius: another example to be added to those of Theagenes of Megara (iv. 66, note) and Peisistratus of Athens, of the people becoming the dupe of confidence placed in a demagogue for his merit of ἀπέχθεια ἡ πρὸς τοὺς πλουσίους, hatred of the rich. See Arist. v. 4, 5.]

  [1 ][The loss is computed by Isocrates at 40,000 soldiers, and 240 triremes: by Boeckh, at 65,000 soldiers. The narrative of Thucydides shows a loss of 209 triremes. Goeller.]

  [1 ][“By the best or most credible of the soldiers that escaped” &c. Goell.—“that all was at any rate so utterly lost” &c.]

  [1 ][That is, Demostratus; and probably Pisander, ch. 49: also Androcles, ch. 65. Goell.]

  [2 ][The people misinterpreted an oracle from Dodona, Σικελίαν οἰκίζειν: overlooking a small hill so called not far from the city.]

  [3 ][“And these events had changed their hopes into fear and the utmost consternation”. Goell.]

  [4 ][That is, in respect of sacred festivals, shows, and the pay of the jurors. Duk.—The preconsultation operated as a veto upon moving any matter in the public assembly not first approved of by this council. It seems probable that this innovation was intended as a step to further changes of an oligarchical tendency. See Thirl. ch. xxvii.]

  [1 ][ἡγούμενοι: om. Bekker, &c.]

  [2 ][“As they that judged according to passion: and did not allow them a word to say as to their being able to hold out another summer”: that is, considered they had no chance of holding out. Arnold, Goeller.]

  [1 ][“To their former resources”. The meaning is, that necessity had compelled the Sicilians to equip a fleet, which but for the Athenian expedition they never would have done. Arn.]

  [2 ][“They purposed in earnest to fall” &c.]

  [3 ][“Upon the old enmity between them carried off the greater part of their pillageable property, and made money of it: and forced the Achæans of Phthia” &c. The unexpected excursion left no time to drive off the cattle: which Agis seized, and then restored to the owners for money. Arn.—The Ænianes, or as they are called from dwelling about mount Œta, the Œtæans, in early times inhabited the inland parts of Thessaly. Although they admitted a certain dependence on the Delphic oracle, and adopted the fables of Hercules, yet from their geographical position they lived in opposition and hostility to the Malians and Dorians. It is probable, that the migration of the Dorians to Peloponnesus is in some way connected with the arrival of the Ænianes in this region. It was chiefly on this account that Sparta founded Heracleia in Trachinia (iii. 92): which would doubtless have caused the revival of an important Doric power in this part of Greece, had not the jealousy of the Thessalians and Dolopians, and even of the Malians themselves, been awakened at its first establishment. Muell. i. 2.—The “others in those parts”, must have been the Perrhæbians to the north of Larissa, and the Magnesians to the east of mount Pelion. For these were subject to the Thessalians, and were called periœci, but had not ceased to be distinct nations: Thessaly itself comprehending the valley of the Peneus (the ancient ἄρ̧γος πελασγικὸν), and a district towards the Pegasæan bay called by Herodotus αἰολίς. This country, and the towns of Larissa, Crannon, Pharsalus, and Iolcus, the Thessalians had in their own immediate possession: the cultivation however being performed by their slaves the penestæ, the ancient Pelasgo–Æolian inhabitants. Idem iii. 4.]

  [1 ][“And no less active than if they were at the beginning of preparation for the war, there came this winter unto Agis” &c.]

  [1 ][“When they were come”.]

  [2 ][“The co–operation”. The Lesbians were akin to the Bœotians: see iii. 2, note.]

  [3 ][“For harmost”. The name of a Spartan officer appointed in those states, which had hitherto been under the Athenian government: who was found no less oppressive than their old masters. Herm. §39.]

  [4 ][“And at this time the allies did far more readily, as one may say, obey him than the Lacedæmonians at home”. For the power of the Spartan kings beyond the frontiers, see v. 60, note.]

  [1 ][“Darius son of Artaxerxes”. Lower Asia, according to Herodotus, was divided by Darius, son of Hystaspes, into three satrapies: one called the province of Dascylium (i. 129), and comprehending the Hellespontine cities, Phrygia, Bithynia, Paphlagonia, and Cappadocia: another, Ionia, Æolis, Caria, Lycia, and Pamphylia: and a third comprising only Mysia and Lydia. But the two last were more generally united under one governor who resided at Sardis, and was called Satrap τῶν κάτω, or τῶν ἐπιθαλασσίων. This province appears sometimes to have had civil and military governors distinct from each other: the σατράπης and the στρατηγός τῶν κάτω being different persons. Arn]

  [2 ][“For he had lately been called upon by the king to pay the tribute accruing &c.”]

  [3 ][Pissuthnes, the satrap of Ionia, had rebelled against Darius; and after maintaining himself with the aid of some Greek auxiliaries for some time against Tissaphernes and two other generals, had at last been induced to surrender on solemn assurance of personal security. He was brought to Darius, and put to death by a torture called the σποδὸς, and said to be the invention of Darius himself. The intended victim was entertained with a banquet, and it was contrived that he should fall asleep. He then sank through a trap–door into a pit filled with cinders, where he rotted and starved. This atrocity was probably the cause of the rebellion of the son. See Thirl. ch. xxvii.]

  [1 ][“Now each side treating these matters a part, both those from Pharnabazus and those from Tissaphernes”.]

  [2 ][“The Laconic name”: that is, Alcibiades, originally a Laconian name. As Endius was the son of Alcibiades, so again his son would be Alcibiades the son of Endius: and so, according to the Greek custom, the two names would alternate through all generations. See Arnold’s note.]

  [3 ][“One of the periœci”.]

  [1 ][“The then admiral”. ii. 80, n.]

  [2 ][This expression, and the same in ch. 60, are amongst the proofs adduced to show that this book was written by Thucydides. See ch. 109, note.]

  [1 ][“And that he should take upon himself the responsibility of the expedition”.—“The Athenians got more intelligence of &c.”]

  [1 ][“He commanded them as a pledge of their fidelity to the league, to send some galleys”. Duk. Göll.]

  [2 ][“And the Athenians, the games (or the truce of the games) being announced, sent theori to them”. Goell. See i. 25, note.]

  [3 ][“With twenty–one ships”.]

  [4 ][“And the Athenians, with equal number, first of all sailing up to them, then began to retreat towards the main sea”. Arn. Goell.]

  [5 ][“But afterwards manned others, so that the number in all was thirty–seven”: that is, having manned sixteen additional ships. “It seems easier to adopt this interpretation of the words of Thucydides, than with Krueger to strike out the words καὶ τριάκοντα: though, as he observes, they may have crept into the text from ch. 15, and if omitted they would leave the context perfectly intelligible and probable”. Thirlwall.—Poppo and Arnold consider the above the correct interpretation. Goeller takes the words in their literal sense, that there were manned thirty–seven additional ships, making in all fifty–eight.]

  [1 ][That is, some men.]

  [2 ][“Under the little island”.]

  [3 ][“For there came to the Peloponnesians the next day the Corinthians, who were going to their ships to protect them”. Arn. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And to the Lacedæmonians it was first of all reported that the ships had got to sea from the isthumus: (for the ephors had ordered Alcamenes, when that should happen to send &c.): and they were minded &c.”.]

  [2 ][“By his (Alcibiades) means”:—“for he (Alcibiades) was at difference” &c. Goell. For the cause of this difference see ch. 44, note.]

  [1 ][Of the origin of the office of the five ephori little is known. They were ancient Doric magistrates: but by whom or when instituted, is uncertain. Their power seems to have originated in judicial functions: the basis being a superintendence (whence their name, ἔϕοροι, inspectors,) over the market. This was at Sparta no unimportant object of care: every Spartan bringing his corn to market to exchange for other commodities. This jurisdiction received its first extension from the privilege of instituting scrutinies into the official conduct of all magistrates, except the gerontes: in the end, it usurped many of the functions of royalty. Thus, the ephors transacted business with foreign ambassadors, and dispatched their own abroad. In war, they sent out the troops on what day they deemed fit: and appear to have had even the power to determine the number. The king, or the general to whom they entrusted the army, received from them instructions how to act: they were recalled by their scytale, and summoned by them before a judicial tribunal. They had, it appears, at all times the management of the treasury: and as the finances of Sparta were continually on the increase, so the office of treasurer must have become more important. But it is evident that the power of the ephors was essentially founded on the supreme authority of the public assembly, which they had the privilege of convening and putting to the vote, and whose agents and plenipotentiaries they were. Unable to act for itself, it entrusted to the ephors, who were chosen from among the people on democratic principles, a power similar to that exercised in so pernicious a manner by the demagogues of Athens. Plato and Aristotle compare their power to a tyranny: and in Greece the tyrant, it will be remembered, generally arose out of the demagogue. Accordingly, the ephors reached the summit of their power, when they began to lead the public assembly. They are censured by Aristotle (ii. 7.) for their corrupt habits and dissolute life: their mode of election was, he says, a mockery. They were the cause of the dissolution of the Spartan constitution: the decrees by which it was undermined, (particularly the law of the ephor Epitadeus, permitting the gift and devise of landed property), originated with them. And when Agis and Cleomenes engaged in a fruitless struggle with a degenerate age to restore the constitution of Lycurgus, they began with the overthrow of the ephors. See Muell. iii. 7.]

  [1 ][“About this time were returning the sixteen galleys of the Peloponnesians from Sicily, which had aided Gylippus in putting an end to the war. And being intercepted about Leucadia, and evil entreated &c, all but one escaped the Athenians and arrived at Corinth.” Bekker, &c, ξυνδιαπολεμήσασαι: vulgo, ξυνπολεμήσασαι.]

  [2 ][βουλήν, “the council”: which is used in opposition to ἐκκλησία, the assembly of the people: and implies that the constitution of Chios was oligarchical. An assembly was hardly the thing wanted.]

  [1 ][τὴν πολίχναν. A general name, which has become a proper one by usage; like Ham, Kirby &c, in English; or more like Borgo in Italian: the full name of the place being properly τὴν πολίχναν τῶν κλαζομενίων, Borgo dei Clazomeni; and thence in common speech, simply τὴν πολίχναν, Borgo. Arn.—Clazomenæ, at this time an island, was by Alexander joined to the continent by a mole. Goell.]

  [2 ][ἐκπλήξεως: consternation.]

  [3 ][“As spake or put it to the vote”.]

  [1 ][“That had left the guard”:—“they manned and sent out with all speed others in their places”.]

  [2 ][“With his eight galleys”.]

  [3 ][παρῄει: “and at the same time the land forces of the Clazomenians and Erythræans moved along the shore”: that is, by the side of Chalcideus. Arn. Goell.]

  [4 ][And the land forces held their hand” &c. Bekker &c, οἱ πεζοὶ: vulgo, οἱ πολλοί.]

  [1 ][“Was to bring over them (the Milesians) before the arrival of the fleet from Peloponnesus”.]

  [2 ][“Lade, the island” &c. The scene of the sea–fight in 498 between the Persians under Darius and the revolted Ionians: see Herod vi. 7–17. It is now joined to the continent by the mud of the Mæander, and its place marked only by a hill: and Miletus is no longer on the sea–shore.]

  [1 ][“From these cities”.]

  [2 ][“At hand by land”.]

  [1 ][“And they descry” &c.—Around the temple of Jupiter a small town had probably grown up, as at the more famous διὸς ἱερὸν near the mouth of the Bosphorus. The “land forces” mentioned a little below, were those of the Clazomenians and Erythræans, said in ch. 16 to have been admitted into Teos. Arnold.]

  [2 ][“Had as before mentioned chased”: see ch. 10.]

  [3 ][“To whom now belonged the entire (ναυαρ̧χία) command of the fleet”: that is, of the fleet of the allies, as well as of Sparta.—In the fifth century A. C. a general demoralization, the fruit of the extended limits of the foreign power of Sparta, pervaded by degrees every department of the state. Expeditions in distant countries, beyond seas especially, operated not only to thwart the design of the legislator, by bringing individuals in contact with foreign manners and luxuries, but occasioned in many respects a total abandonment of it. From this source flowed a degree of self–seeking, the more dangerous that the possibility of it had not been contemplated in framing the constitution. But the necessity of sending to various countries commanders independent of the king, ran counter to the constitution of Lycurgus. This begat new dignities: Harmosts for the conquered cities, Navarchs and Epistolcis for the fleet: the lawful limits of which offices means were soon found to evade. And that characters such as Clearchus and Lysander, should under these circumstances be found not proof against the allurements of fame and ambition, is far less surprising than the same weakness in Pausanias, in whose time Sparta possessed more of the virtue of self–denial. Herm. § 46.]

  [1 ][The same class as the γαμόροι of Syracuse: see vi. 36, note.—“Nor permitting the common people either to give their children in marriage to them, or to marry from amongst them”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Deiniadas, a periœcos”. This is an unusual occurrence. But the Spartans did not hold the naval service in much estimation: and moreover, the inhabitants of the maritime towns were more practised in naval affairs than the Dorians of the interior. Even here it is not to be supposed that the periœcos had any Spartans under him: but that like Gylippus, he was no more than a commander of the Chians. See Muell. iii. 2.]

  [2 ]It seemeth that something is here wanting, and supplied thus by Fran. Porta. “Then the Chians, leaving four galleys here for guard of the place, went to Mytilene with the rest, and caused that city also to revolt”. [The foregoing sentence is supplied by Æmilius, not Francis, Portus. Valla has supplied the sentence in nearly the same words. The Greek is found in one MS. only. “And four ships are left behind in it. And the rest again caused Mytilene to revolt”.]

  [3 ][“Setting forth with four ships, as he was preparing to do, from Cenchreiæ”. See ch. 20.]

  [1 ][After Diomedon in ch. 19.]

  [2 ][“As they were sailing unexpectedly entering the haven”.]

  [3 ][“And armed (the inhabitants), he sends the hoplitæ of his own ships to Antissa &c.” Goell. Arn.]

  [4 ][That is, the forces of “their confederates thereabouts” (ch. 22), who with the Peloponnesian landforces had accompanied the Chian fleet in its expedition to Lesbos. Arn. Goell.]

  [1 ][“Sailed across and set up a trophy”.]

  [2 ][“Leon and Diomedon, with &c., from the Œnussæ, the islands lying before Chios, and from Sidusse and Pteleum, destroyed the forts they possessed in Erythræa: and making Lesbos the base of their operations, made war with their fleet upon Chios”. Valla, Goeller: inserting καθεῖλον, found in one MS.]

  [3 ][The epibatæ, usually chosen from the fourth class, were now, owing to the peculiar exigency of the times, drawn from the higher classes. Goell. Arn.]

  [1 ][“And from the Medan war until that time unravaged”.]

  [1 ][A thousand of Athens: fifteen hundred of Argos: Bekk. &c.]

  [2 ][“From Athens”.]

  [3 ][It is a question whether these were Greeks or barbarians: probably however they were Greeks: Arcadians, we may suppose, from Peloponnesus (see v. 29, note). The word ξενικὸν describes them with respect to Tissaphernes, and not to the historian himself. The “Peloponnesians that came with Chalcideus” must have been too few to offer any resistance to a 1000 heavy–armed Athenians, being only the epibatæ of five ships: but the Peloponnesian mercenaries of Tissaphernes added considerably to their strength. “And some foreign (ἐπικουρ̧ικὸν) mercenaries of Tissaphernes”. Arn.]

  [1 ][“For of the Sikeliots, at the instigation mainly of Hermocrates &c., there came of Syracusan galleys twenty and of Selinuntian two, and those from Peloponnesus, which had been preparing and were now ready. And both were committed to Theramenes of Lacedæmon &c.”]

  [2 ][“At Leros, the island” &c. Bekker &c., λέρον: vulgo, ἐλεόν.]

  [1 ][Bekker &c., λέρου: vulgo, δέρου.]

  [2 ][“And with how many of their own against them” (the enemy’s galleys).]

  [3 ][“But rather would it be base to have to compound, if they were beaten, on any terms”. Goell. Valla and Portus agree with Hobbes.]

  [4 ][“Willingly, or at any rate only on strong necessity, to undertake the enemy”. Goell.]

  [1 ][“After (the departure of the Athenians) put in” &c. Goell.]

  [2 ][σκεύη: The masts, sails, and rigging; which had, as usual, been left on shore, when the fleet sailed in expectation of going into action. Compare Xenoph. Hellen. i. 1. § 13: vi. 2. 27. Arn. See ch. 43.]

  [1 ][The Daric stater was of gold, and equivalent to twenty Attic drachmæ. Schol.—The Daric stater, as also that of Philip of Macedon, Alexander, and Lysimachus, was equal in value to the golden Attic stater, or the Attic didrachme. And the didrachme was valued at 20 drachmæ of silver: so that in the mina there would be 5 staters, in the talent 300; calculating the value of gold at ten times that of silver. Boeckh. The same appears from Xenoph. Anab. i. 7. § 18. Arn.]

  [1 ][“It was agreed that for every 5 ships, they should have somewhat more than 3 oboli a man a day. For he gave 3 talents a month for 5 ships: and to the rest, insomuch as there were more ships than this number (that is, for any number less than five), he was to give after the same rate.” Goell. Vulgo, ἐς πέντε ναῦς καὶ πεντήκοντα: Bekker &c. om. καὶ π.—The alteration of 3 oboles a man a day to 3 talents for every 5 ships a month, would give 36 minæ for each ship a month: and reckoning 200 men to each ship, the month’s pay of each man would be 18 drachmæ, or 3⅘ oboles a day.]

  [2 ][“The Athenians having gathered &c, as well &c as all the rest (for there were now &c).”—This was done in pursuance of the advice of Phrynichus (ch. 27), to assemble their fleet at Samos, and make sorties from time to time. The distribution of the command by lot, was practised, where no one of the generals was αὐτοκράτωρ: see instances in vi. 42, 62.]

  [3 ][See chap. 25, note.]

  [1 ][“Made a descent on”.]

  [2 ][“At the time before mentioned,” ch. 24:—“as a precaution against treason”.]

  [3 ][“And that the affairs of the league were in better plight”.—“And with the ten galleys of Peloponnesus”: that is, six that arrived in ch. 23, and four brought by Astyochus in ch. 24.]

  [4 ][ὕπαρχος must be the subsatrap.]

  [1 ][“Again to revolt”. See ch. 22, 23.]

  [2 ][“Who at the time before mentioned (ch. 28) went by land from Miletus, being at Erythræ passed over” &c. The “five galleys” see in ch. 6, 8, 12, 17.]

  [3 ][“Having announced their intention to revolt”:—“to go with the fleet”.]

  [1 ][“And the Athenians sailing with an army from Samos to Chios took up their station on the opposite side of a hill; separated from each other without knowing it. But Astyochus, upon a letter from Peraditus reaching him at nightfall &c., went presently &c.”]

  [2 ][That is, the men had persuaded the Athenians, that if they had their liberty they could bring Erythræ back to them.]

  [3 ][“And no sooner did they see them and give chace, than straight a great tempest arose: and the longboats &c.” Goell.]

  [1 ][“And there began preparations for the fortification”: that is, for fortifying Delphinium (ch. 38). Arn.]

  [2 ][Diagoras was of the royal family of Rhodes; where the monarchy expired about 660 A. C. His sons had before the present time been condemned to death and banished by the Athenians, as heads of the aristocracy. Dorieus, one of them, is again condemned, and again escapes in ch. 84. The ancient fortune of the Rhodians, which was owing to their adherence to the Doric customs and to their great commercial activity, was interrupted by the troubles of this war: in which democracy and aristocracy were alternately introduced by the Athenian and Lacedæmonian influence. Soon after this period (A. C. 408) the city of Rhodes was founded, and peopled with the inhabitants of the three cities, Lindus, Ialysus, and Cameirus: see iii, 103, n. In 396 Rhodes was again recovered and made democratical by Athens: but in 391 the Spartan party was again uppermost, and the Social War finally put an end to Athenian influence. The Doric characteristics were retained here longer than in most other Doric states: courage, constancy, with a haughty sternness of manners, and a certain temperance, which in a manner contrasted with their magnificence in meals, buildings, and all the arts. Muell. iii. 9.]

  [3 ][Popp. Goell. Arn. Thirl. ὑπὸ τισσαϕέρνους, “revolted from the Athenians through Tissaphernes”. Vulgo et Bekk. ἀπὸ τ.]

  [4 ][“And they in Miletus hearing of it, bade that one–half &c., the other half, which were about Triopion, should attack and seize the corn ships from Egypt”. That is, the Athenian corn ships: part of Egypt being at this time in revolt from Persia. Goell.]

  [1 ][“The six galleys that” &c.]

  [2 ][They went away and wasted” &c. Bekker &c, ἀπελθόντες: vulgo, ἐπελθόντες.]

  [3 ][“Had still plenty” &c.]

  [4 ][“To the Peloponnesians”]

  [5 ][“Whilst Theramenes was still there”.]

  [6 ][The king’s sons were probably named, in order that they might be bound after their father’s death. For the new king, it seems, was not bound by his predecessor’s acts, unless accepted by himself. Thus the treaties with Philip and Antiochus were renewed with their successors. Livy xl. xlii. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“Nor their allies”. This and the former treaty (ch. 18) differ, in this article, only in the substitution of ἦσαν for εἶχον, property for possession: “whatsoever belonged unto”, instead of “whatsoever they used to possess”: what territories belong to the king, being still left an open question. See again ch. 58.]

  [1 ][“Sails away and is lost at sea”. Thirl.—“Sails away and disappears”: fearing to be called to account at Sparta for complying with Tissaphernes about the pay. Arn. Goell.]

  [2 ][“Having harbours”.]

  [3 ][“For the accomplices of Tydeus, the son of Ion, had now &c, and the rest of the city was by force reduced to an oligarchy”. Whether this Ion is the poet of Chios, one of some celebrity, whose first tragedy was represented in 452, is uncertain.]

  [1 ][See Lichas, ch. 43, 84, and v. 50. The powers of these ξύμβουλοι are far more extensive than of those in ii. 85, iii. 69, 76, or even in v. 63: the reason of this strong measure appears, perhaps, in ch. 50.]

  [1 ][The Chians had been a trading people from very early times: and are said to be the first of the Greeks that regularly dealt in slaves. The antiquity of slavery amongst them is proved by their slaves still retaining the Homeric name θερ̧άποντες, signifying “those that wait on others”, whether bond or free: which had never been exchanged for the more common name δοῦλος. Arn.—The Athenians were probably not far behind the Chians: Hermann (§ 114) calculating their slaves at nearly 400,000: though Mueller (iii. 3) says that, in this war, their slaves were not 200,000. It seems certain, however, that their number was considerable enough to induce the state to render their condition not only tolerable, but very little inferior to that of the citizens: Herm. ibid.—It appears from Herodotus (vi. 37), that in earlier times slavery was known in no part of Greece. It was the want of slaves that drew to the Nine–pipes for water the daughters of the Athenian citizens, for violating whom the Pelasgi were expelled from Attica.]

  [2 ][“Unfinished”.]

  [1 ][“Came a message from Caunus, that the 27 galleys and the council of the Lacedæmonians are at hand”.]

  [2 ][“At Cos Meropis”. Cos was said to be the daughter of the hero Merops, by whom it was first settled. The ancient inhabitants were called by the Greeks Meropes. Some connect the name with the Homeric epithet of ἄνθρωποι, μέροπες, articulate speakers.—“The city being unwalled &c., he rifled &c.”]

  [1 ][“from Melos. Bekk. &c.]

  [2 ][With less than the twenty galleys”: see ch. 41.]

  [1 ][“Being now at Cnidus”.]

  [2 ][“Touching what had been already done, if aught displeased them, and concerning the war &c.”]

  [3 ][“It would be a serious matter, if whatsoever territory the king &c had ever ruled, the same he should now claim as part of his empire”.—“All the islands and Thessaly, and the Locri” &c.]

  [1 ][“Or at any rate not to stand to these: nor was pay wanted upon any such terms”.]

  [2 ][“Because they hoped to bring that island, one not inconsiderable both for number of ships and land forces, into their power”.]

  [3 ][“And arriving first at Cameirus of Rhodes with 94 ships, frighted &c; especially as the city was unwalled; and they fled”.]

  [4 ][“But being too late, though not much, they thereupon went away to Chalce”.]

  [1 ][“And the Peloponnesians levied of the Rhodians 32 talents, and drew up their ships and did nothing else for 80 days”.]

  [2 ][“Endamaged with him (Tissaphernes) the affairs &c”.—Alcibiades, during his stay at Sparta, had made an implacable enemy of Agis. He is said to have excited his jealousy, by declaring himself ambitious of giving a king to Sparta: which, whether well or ill founded, was increased by his queen Timæa calling, amongst her women, her infant son Leotychides by the name of Alcibiades. The Spartan government too was far from being well pleased with the influence of Alcibiades amongst the Asiatic Greeks, though immediately subservient to its interest. See Thirl. ch. xxviii.]

  [1 ][That is, leaving in their captains’ hands their arrears of pay: a pledge, which would induce the captain to give leave of absence to the injury of the service. Goell.]

  [2 ][“More of the Grecians”.]

  [1 ][“And the danger would be less, to wear out the Greeks against each other, at less cost and with security to himself”.]

  [2 ][“And that they conducted the war on principles and with a practice most conformable to the king’s interest”. Arn.]

  [1 ][“With more than enough”. Goell. Arn.]

  [2 ][What is said in the first instance of “the soldiers”, that is, of the army in general, becomes limited to the trierarchs and principal men, when mention is made of a regular design on mere political grounds to overthrow the constitution: for to this the army at large had no inclination. Arn.—“To remember him to the chief men”.]

  [3 ][“And not of the mischievous and democratical party that cast him out”.—Hobbes seems to have read ξυμπολεμεῖν, “to war on their side”, for ξυμπολετεύειν: “to come home and share in the government”.]

  [1 ][That is, with the public burthens, which were thrown principally on the rich. Goell.]

  [1 ][“And said that for themselves they had especially to see to it, that there be no sedition: that it was not easy for the king (the Peloponnesians being &c.) to join” &c.]

  [2 ][καλοὺς κἀγαθοὺς. See iv. 40, n.]

  [1 ][“And that he at all events was not pleased with aught that Alcibiades even at the present time was about”.]

  [2 ][Peisander had been one of the most active in stirring the public feeling in the affair of the Hermesbusts.]

  [3 ][ἔτι τότε; “yet at the time before mentioned”: ch. 42. All this took place before the Peloponnesians set out for Rhodes in ch. 44.]

  [1 ][“But Astyochus was not thinking of punishing Alcibiades, especially as he no longer put himself, as heretofore, within his reach: but going” &c.]

  [2 ][“Were all but arrived”.]

  [1 ][“The naval camp”.]

  [2 ][“To fortify the city and take other precautions”.]

  [3 ][“Meant to attack them”.]

  [4 ][That is, to become a friend of the Athenians.—“especially when he saw the difference at Cnidus with the Peloponnesians about the treaty of Theramenes. For now about this time, they being in Rhodes, had happened the quarrel, wherein that which &c.” See ch. 43.]

  [1 ][“That he should return, who had violated the laws”.]

  [2 ]Eumolpidæ, a family descended from Eumolpus, the author at Athens of the Mysteries of Ceres. This family had the chief authority in matters that concerned those rites. — Ceryces, heralds in war, ambassadors in peace. Suidas. They pronounced all formal words in the ceremonies of their religion, and were a family descended from Ceryx son of Mercury. [Other families besides these are mentioned, in which public rites were hereditary: as the Eteobutadæ, Thaulonidæ, &c. Goell.—In every family of the Kerukes, the father had his son solemnly enrolled in the sacred order as soon as he had passed his boyhood, having first made oath that he was his true son, to prevent the intermixture of any strange blood. At Sparta, the sacred order of the Kerukes and μάγειροι, cooks, were strictly hereditary. Arn.]

  [1 ][“And unless we deliberate &c: and unless we recall” &c.]

  [2 ][That is, “any of these present alterations”.]

  [1 ][ξυνωμοσίας, sometimes called ἐταιρείας, societies or clubs: already mentioned in iii. 82. These were naturally the resort of the weaker of the two political parties: and accordingly the first trace of them appears in the time of Cimon, when the aristocracy was on the decline. Their professed object was to give each other mutual support in elections and in suits in the courts of law: their real object, to overthrow the democracy, by the aid, if need be, of the foreign enemy, and at the expense of the independence of their own state. And accordingly Lysander, in his choice of the 30 tyrants, is said to have been guided by no principle of either aristocracy or wealth, but simply by the clubs.]

  [2 ][“And having arranged other matters (ἐπὶ τοἰς παροῦσιν) against the present democracy, so that there should be no longer delay: took sea” &c. Schol. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And carried on the war thence (from Chalce) rather than from Cos”. Bekk. &c., μᾶλλον ἢ ἐκ: vulgo om. ἢ. It appears in ch. 60, that the Athenians had taken up their station at Chalce. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“And slew Pedaritus and many of the Chians, and took much armour”.]

  [1 ][“And it seems to me that this same thing was also the object of Tissaphernes”.]

  [2 ][“For Alcibiades, speaking on behalf and in the presence of Tissaphernes, made such excessive demands, that the Athenians, though conceding in a great measure whatever he asked, were nevertheless the side that brake off the conference”.]

  [3 ][Bekker, Arnold, Thirlwall, ἑαυτοῦ, “his own”, the king’s coast. Goeller and others: ἑαυτῶν, the coast “of themselves”, that is, of Persia and the Athenians. This touches the question of the treaty said by Diodorus and Plutarch to have been concluded between the Athenians and Persia after Cimon’s victories, A. C. 450; whereby it was provided, that no king’s ship of war should sail beyond Phaselis and the Cyanean or Chelidonian islands. Arnold seems inclined to give some credit to the treaty: upon which Haack remarks, that Thucydides makes no mention of it in i. 112, where he relates the expedition and death of Cimon: whilst Hermann (§ 39) contents himself with refering to the authorities on both sides; calling it “the so–called Cimonian peace”. Thirlwall however treats it as an undoubted fabrication. Goeller observes, that whether that story be true or not, and supposing the Athenians on this occasion to deliver up to the king all Ionia, it was still important to them to restrain him from menacing the islands with his fleet: for which reason he prefers ἑαυτῶν. The passage in Livy, xxxiii. 20: “Nephelida, promontorium Ciliciæ, inclytum fœdere antiquo Atheniensium”: is supposed to refer to this treaty of Cimon.—“Which the Athenians not opposing, at last at the third meeting, fearing &c., he required &c. Then indeed the Athenians would concede no more, but conceiving they were trifled with and abused by Alcibiades, went away &c.”]

  [1 ][“Especially afraid”.]

  [2 ][“In consideration &c., conformably to his design of counterpoising the Grecians, sending” &c.]

  [1 ][Hieramenes is said to have married a sister of Darius.]

  [2 ][“That the king’s territory, so far as it lies in Asia, belongs to the king”. Another expression intended to evade the question, what is or is not the king’s territory: see ch. 18, 37.]

  [3 ][κατὰ τὰ ξυγκείμενα: “according to the original treaty”. It is not clear whether this refers to the rate of pay, or only to the general undertaking mentioned in ch. 5, to pay the Peloponnesian fleet. The rate of pay specified at Sparta appears, from ch. 29, to have been a drachme a day. But after the present treaty the Peloponnesians, it seems, contented themselves with the ordinary allowance: for Xenophon, Hell. i. 5, speaks of a contract whereby the king had engaged to give half a drachme a day. Kreuger supposes that this was the rate always implied, when no particular sum was expressed. Thirl. ch. xxviii.]

  [1 ][Received, that is, after the arrival of the king’s fleet. Goeller, Arnold, Thirlwall.]

  [2 ][Took Oropus “though garrisoned by Athenians”.]

  [3 ][“For the place being immediately opposite to Eretria, it was impossible &c.”]

  [4 ][“Having then Oropus &c., the Eretrians come to Rhodes” &c.]

  [1 ][“The Chians had, after the death of Pedaritus, received as commander Leon, a Spartan from Miletus, who came with Antisthenes as epibates”. The meaning here of epibates (iii. 95, note) is doubtful. Kreuger supposes it to be the title of an inferior officer in the Spartan naval service, like ἐπιστολεὺς: but this the scholiast denies. Perhaps it only signified one who sailed with the admiral, to be ready for any special service which might need a Spartan. Arn., Antisthenes, see ch. 39.]

  [1 ][“And at the same time”.]

  [2 ][Popp. Goell. Arn. τότε: “held at that memorable time by the Medes” (i. 89). Vulgo et Bekk. ποτε.]

  [1 ][Not all the ships; for the Chians would not have parted with their own: it seems therefore that Leon’s squadron only can be referred to. Thirl.]

  [2 ][“For about this time, and still earlier, the democracy had been put down at Athens”. Bekk. &c., κατελέλυτο: vulgo, κατελύετο.—It was in the month of April that Astyochus sailed to Samos: and the government of the Four Hundred was set up in Athens at the end of February or the beginning of March. Goell.]

  [3 ][“And at the same time their Athenian partisans at Samos considered amongst themselves, that they had best let Alcibiades alone; since he would not join them: (for that he was no fit man to come into an oligarchy): and to depend on themselves, being already engaged &c., to see that affairs suffer no relapse, and with alacrity to contribute &c., as men toiling no longer for other than themselves.”]

  [1 ][“To other subject places”.]

  [2 ][That is, the aristocracy of Thasos had no need of the aristocracy of Athens.]

  [3 ][“With all their might”.]

  [4 ][“That the city was set up”.]

  [5 ][σωϕροσύνην λαβοῦσαι: “assuming a sober wary spirit”: with regard to the means of effecting their object. The phrase is very singular and obscure. Thirl.]

  [1 ][“They openly too held language, preconcerted amongst them, that none ought to receive wages, but such &c.” The pay of the army and navy, a highly necessary measure of Pericles (i. 141, note), first placed arms in the hands of such as were necessitated to gain their daily bread. In the course of this war, either by Cleon or an unknown Callistratus, was introduced the further innovation of paying the citizens that attended the assembly (iii. 59, note). This, together with the pay of the jurors (v. 18, note), magistrates, senators &c., was now abolished: which at once operated to exclude from the magistracies and judicial offices the classes without property. The former however was revived after the fall of the 30 tyrants.]

  [1 ][“This was thrown out as a bait to the many: for as for the powers of government, the authors of the revolution meant to keep them to themselves”. The 400 were all chosen by Peisander and his party: the 5000 were never to be named at all.—The “council of the bean” was the senate: chosen by the bean, that is, by ballot.]

  [2 ][“And all that was to be said, was considered beforehand by the conspirators”.]

  [3 ][“And to find out the conspirators, a thing impossible for the greatness of the city, their ignorance of each other also put it out of their power”.]

  [4 ][“For the same cause, one that was aggrieved could not even complain to any one, thereby to repel him that was plotting against him.”]

  [1 ][“Most of all caused”.]

  [2 ][“They enclosed the assembly at &c.—about ten stadia off”.—The Scythians, or foreign mercenary police, used to enclose the place of assembly with a red rope, as well to exclude non–voters as to confine the voters till the business was finished. The ordinary place of assembly, originally the Pnyx within the city, was afterwards, as in most democratic states, the theatre, mostly that of Dionysus in the Peiræus. (Herm. § 128). The present assembly was held without the city, that is, beyond the influence of the slaves and metœci, who would have favoured any disturbance.]

  [3 ][“Should either prosecute by γραϕή παρανόμων, or should otherwise do him hurt. And thereupon it was openly propounded, that no magistracy” &c. See iii. 43, note.]

  [1 ][“When called in question for having established (the Four Hundred)”. Thucydides is said to have been a disciple of Antiphon: a supposition which receives countenance from the terms in which he is here spoken of. He is also said to have been the first orator who wrote speeches for his clients, or opened a school of rhetoric. He is sent, in ch. 90, with Phrynichus and others on an embassy to Sparta: for this he was tried and lost his life: his property was confiscated, his body refused burial in Attica, and his family declared ἄτιμοι.]

  [1 ][“And for this dangerous business, after that he entered upon it, he appeared the ablest of all”. See his assassination, ch. 92. The career of the person next named, Theramenes, son of Hagnon, is remarkable. He will be found before long deserting to the democracy. He was one of the promoters of the prosecution of the ten generals for not recovering their own dead after their victory at Arginusæ. He was afterwards one of Lysander’s 30 tyrants: and was finally put to death for his opposition to the headlong measures of Critias, the leader of the extreme party amongst the thirty.]

  [1 ][“The Athenians, in regard of the enemy at Deceleia, were all of them evermore, some upon the walls, and some on station where the arms were piled. On this day, therefore, they suffered” &c. As soon as the assembly was dissolved, those that were not in the conspiracy, were allowed to disperse as usual after the parade.]

  [2 ][“Not to go exactly to the station of the arms”.]

  [3 ][These new settlers peculiarly dreaded the Peloponnesians getting the upper hand in the war, and restoring (as in fact they did at the end of the war) the Æginetæ whom they had dispossessed of their estates. Arn.]

  [4 ][Supposed to be called Grecians, to distinguish them from the Scythians, of whom the ordinary police of Athens was composed. They were probably members of some of the aristocratical clubs already noticed: see ch. 54. Arn.]

  [5 ][“For the remainder of the current year”.]

  [1 ][“And when the council went out in this manner without opposition, and the rest of the citizens mutinied not, but rested quiet: then the Four Hundred being entered into the council–house &c.”]

  [1 ][“Hoping either that their agitation would render them more submissive to their (the Peloponnesians’) purpose, or that in the confusion likely to be found both within and without he might succeed, even with the very first attack, in taking the long walls, in regard of their deserted state for the same reason”. Goell. Arn. τῆς τῶν μακρῶν τειχῶν: vulgo et Bekk. τῶν γὰρ μ. τ.]

  [1 ][“And that the government was in the hands of 5000, and not 400 only.”]

  [2 ][It is observed that this could not be true, because some decrees, as ostracism and all privilegia, required a majority, or at all events the presence, of 6000 citizens. It is also observed that it does not appear how so large a proportion of the citizens could be absent on foreign service, as to leave at home no more than 5000 to attend the assembly. But in the first place, that is not said: but only that 5000 did not attend the assembly. And next, the assertion is not that of Thucydides, but of Pisander and his party: and most probably an exaggeration. Of the citizens however, whose gross number is reckoned at about 20,000, a fourth part would be a large proportion to assemble on any but very important occasions.]

  [3 ][τότε: “at the time before–mentioned”: see ch. 21.]

  [1 ][μοχθηρὸν ἄνθρ̧ωπον: an epithet implying that he was capable of any baseness. He labours under the charge not only of political profligacy, but of private dishonesty in the exercise of his trade of a lampmaker. Thirl. ch. xxxii. There is a tradition that it was by an intrigue of Alcibiades that ostracism was applied to Hyperbolus, and that it answered its intended purpose: ostracism was thereby rendered contemptible, and fell into disuse (Herm. § 164). It is an invention attributed to Cleisthenes: it was afterwards adopted by the democracies of Argos and Megara, and under another name, petalism, at Syracuse also. It is spoken of by Aristotle (iii. 9, v. 8) with some approbation, not only as a check on the dangerous power of individuals, but also as some security against the people resorting to more violent measures to rid themselves of obnoxious persons. He adds however that the people knew not how to use their weapon: instead of looking to the common weal, στασιαστικῶς ἐχρῶντο τοῖς ὀστρακισμοῑς. iii. 9.]

  [2 ][“Captain of the hoplites”.]

  [3 ][“And to such others as they thought stood always”.]

  [1 ][“Especially to the Paralians, the crew of the ship (Paralus); all Athenians and freemen, and ever at all times hostile to oligarchy, even before its appearance”.—The whole ναυτικὸς ὄχλος, the greater part of whom were slaves, (i. 141, note; iii. 17, note), was strongly disposed to democracy: but the Paralians, receiving higher pay, had a still stronger interest than the rest in upholding the maritime dominion, and therefore also the democracy, of Athens.]

  [1 ][“By those between (the two extreme parties)”: that is to say, by the moderate men. Goeller.]

  [2 ][See v. 18, note.]

  [1 ][“Made common cause with them as to the result of the present dangerous crisis”.]

  [2 ][“The better able to provide themselves”. Goell. Arn.]

  [3 ][“For that they both had Samos for their city, &c.: and were able to defend themselves from the enemy from this place as heretofore”.—The allusion of taking the dominion of the sea from Athens, is to the events of i. 116: where Pericles, notwithstanding the honours he received on his return from that expedition, and his comparison of his nine months’ siege of Samos to Agamemnon’s ten years’ siege of Troy, appears to have had a narrow escape of coming home with a different tale.]

  [1 ][“Of themselves, stationed as an advanced guard at Samos”.]

  [2 ][“And will endeavour to force them (the Athenians) to do so”.]

  [1 ][“They set themselves also to preparing for war with no less alacrity”.]

  [2 ][“Whilst they were themselves yet in greater strength”: greater, that is, than now.]

  [3 ][“They were running the risk of perishing by delay”.]

  [1 ][For these galleys see ch. 62. “Besides, having previous intelligence that they in Miletus were intending to fight, they stayed” &c.]

  [1 ][“The same summer, the Peloponnesians, immediately after their declining to put to sea, as being now in their opinion too weak to engage with the united force of the enemy, being at a stand how &c, especially as Tissaphernes paid badly: send Clearchus with forty galleys” &c. Goell.]

  [2 ][See this order in chap. 39.]

  [1 ][ξυνωμοσίαι: “the clubs”.]

  [2 ][“That the enemy might to the utmost be embroiled with Tissaphernes”. Goell. Arn.]

  [3 ][“At last be constrained”.]

  [4 ][“Should undertake to him (Tissaphernes)”. Bekker &c., αὐτῷ: vulgo, αὐτοῖς.]

  [1 ][“Of saving themselves”.]

  [2 ][“To do him now good” &c. Bekker &c., ἤδη: vulgo om.]

  [3 ][“Were much more ill–disposed towards him”. Duk. Goell.]

  [4 ][“Became slacker in his payments: and added to the hatred they bore him even before this on account of Alcibiades. And the soldiers meeting &c.”]

  [1 ][“For the multitude (the mariners) of the Syracusans and Thurians, being for the most part freemen, therefore with the stoutest importunity &c.” Their navy was not, like that of the Athenians and Peloponnesians, manned with slaves.—“And he not only gave them a somewhat insolent answer and used threats, but against Dorieus, as he spake in behalf of his men, he lifted up his staff.” The custom of carrying sticks was common to the Spartans with the Dorians of lower Italy. Muell. iv. 2. See Herod. iii. 137, where the Crotonians attack τοῖσι σκυτάλοισι the Persians laying hands on Democedes.—“When the multitude of the soldiers saw it, they as well indeed as the sailors raised a cry and ran upon Astyochus &c:—he was not however stricken indeed, but &c.”]

  [1 ][“In this sort”.]

  [2 ][“Sent as ambassador”. The Carians generally understood Greek, and also acted as interpreters to the Persians. Mardonius sends a Carian to consult the oracles of Greece: and Cyrus has Carian interpreters at his court. See Valckenaer ad Herod. viii. 133. Goell.]

  [1 ][τότε: see ch. 72, 77.]

  [2 ][The assault by Agis in ch. 71.]

  [3 ][“That all should in their turn partake (or be) of the 5000”. Arn.]

  [1 ]]“Gave heed to them none the more”.]

  [2 ][“Appeared then for the first time to have done service to the state inferior to no man”. Goell.]

  [3 ][“There was great hope they might also compose their own differences”.]

  [1 ][“Even when their differences shall be composed, there will no longer be any hope”: that is, reconciliation will come too late.]

  [2 ][τότε: see ch. 74.]

  [3 ][“About Eubœa. And as they (the Paralians) were carrying the Athenian ambassadors sent by the 400 to Lacedæmon, Læspodias &c, as they sailed by Argos they laid hands on the ambassadors, and” &c. Vulgo, οἳ ἐπειδὴ ἐγένοντο: Bekker &c., om. οἳ.]

  [4 ][“Tissaphernes about this time of the same summer, when the Peloponnesians &c.”]

  [1 ][“His deputy to pay the army so long as &c.”]

  [2 ][“Actually did intend”.]

  [3 ][“For in no case (whether he got money or not) did he mean to use their service.” Goell.]

  [1 ][“Who indeed, even as it was, were lying opposite to the Athenians with a navy rather equal” &c.]

  [2 ][“But what bewrayed him most”. Bekker &c., καταϕωρ̧ᾷ.]

  [3 ][“By not spending much of the king’s money, and by effecting the same matters with less”.]

  [4 ][That is, towards the centre of the Persian government. Arn]

  [1 ][Theramenes, Aristocrates, and others, “who were partakers with the foremost of the affairs of the state, but being in real fear of the army at Samos and Alcibiades, and of the ambassadors sent to Lacedæmon, lest without the authority of the majority (of the oligarchy) they should do the state some mischief, avowed frankly, not indeed that they were desirous of ridding themselves of the domination of a narrow oligarchy, but that the 5000 ought to be constituted in reality and not in name only, and a more equal politeia established. Such was their political pretence in words. But the most of them through private ambition were intent upon that, by which” &c. Goell.—They feared, or affected to fear, that the ambassadors sent to Lacedæmon had some secret instructions from the small minority who had assumed all the powers of government, to concert measures for betraying the city into the enemy’s hand. Thirl. ch. xxviii.]

  [1 ][“A man more easily brooks want of success, as being the result of inferior deserts”. Goell.]

  [2 ][τότε: “who was at difference &c. at the time of his command at Samos”.]

  [3 ][“For peace”. Bekk. &c., τὴν ὁμολογίαν: vulgo, τὴν ὀλιγαρ̧χίαν.]

  [1 ][“The state of affairs”.]

  [2 ][“And those with him”.]

  [3 ][“Is a pier &c.”—The city walls being carried down to either side of the harbour’s mouth, were prolonged thence across the mouth upon moles, until a passage only was left in the middle for two or three triremes abreast between two towers, the opening of which might be further secured by a chain. Leake’s Topography of Athens.—The “old wall” ran inland from the point where the mole touched the ordinary line of coast, intended to cover the place from an enemy attacking from without. The “new wall” was to secure their fort on the mole from an attack from Peiræus or the interior of the harbour. And the object was to isolate Eetioneia like a castle, cut off from the harbour by the new wall, as it was from the country on the outside by the old wall. The city might now at any time be reduced by famine. Ar.]

  [1 ][“Which was narrow”.]

  [2 ][ἐξαιρεῖσθαι. Locus Athenis erat ἐξαίρ̧εσις dictus: quod illic exemtas navibus aut curribus sarcinas seponerent. Hudson.]

  [3 ][“All this then was denounced by Theramenes both long before, and again when the ambassadors returned &c.: saying, that this wall would endanger &c.”—“Riding at Las in Laconia”—“some from Tarentum and Locri, Italiots and Sikeliots”.

  [4 ][“If they were not looked to, they (in the city) would be destroyed ere they were aware”.]

  [1 ][“To let in the enemy, and compound for the city, to do as it might without walls or ships, so that they at least might have security for their own persons”. Goell.]

  [2 ][“By one of the peripoli;—and the murderer escaped, but his accomplice, an Argive, taken &c., would confess the name of no one as the instigator, nor aught else save this &c.” By the Peripolarch, Goeller understands, not the “captain of the watch”, but the prefect of the ephebi, that is, of the peripoli: though the name peripolarch belonged equally to both.]

  [1 ][“From Las.”]

  [2 ][“For the soldiers &c., amongst whom was Aristocrates, a taxiarch, at the head of his own ϕυλὴ (vi. 98, n.), seized on Alexicles, a general of the oligarchy and much given to the clubs (ἑταίρους), and carrying him into a house kept him in hold. And there aided them in this, moreover, one Hermon, commander of the peripoli stationed at Munychia: and what was more, the bulk of the hoplites assented to it all. As soon as the news hereof was brought &c.” Bekker &c., ἑταίρους: vulgo, ἑτέρους.]

  [1 ][“They were ready, all but such as were dissatisfied with the state of things, to run to the arms (that is to say, where they were piled): threatening, &c.”

  [2 ][“But the ancient men with difficulty hindering those that were running about the city and making for the arms, and Thucydides &c., who was there, being active in stopping every man he met &c., they became pacified and held &c. And Theramenes coming to Peiræus, being himself also a general, made a shew &c.: but Aristarchus and those opposed to the multitude were in high wrath. But the hoplites went to work most of them all the same, and listened to nothing, and asked Theramenes whether &c.” Bekker &c., τῷ πλήθει: vulgo, τῷ ἀληθεῖ.

  [1 ][“In perturbation as they were, yet” &c.]

  [1 ][“And piled their arms, and held an assembly: and it being so resolved, marched straightway to the city, and there piled their arms in the Anaceium.”—The Anaceium was the temple of Castor and Pollux, so called from their Peloponnesian name ἄνακες, one the meaning of which is not settled (see Plut. Thes.). The worship of the Tyndaridæ is not of Dorian origin, although they were considered as the leaders of the Spartan army. It was found by the Dorians at the time of their entrance into Peloponnesus already established at Amyclæ, Therapne, and other places: and was perhaps founded in the ancient Peloponnesian worship of the great gods or Cabiri, which in time became transferred to the human Tyndaridæ. Their images were two upright beams with two others laid across them, called δόκανα: one or both of their statues accompanied every military expedition, according as one or both of the kings went with the army. See Muell. ii. 10.]

  [2 ][“Feared very much.”]

  [1 ][Popp. Goell. Arn.: τῶν πολλῶν, “and every one of the many thought”: vulgo et Bekk. τῶν ὁπλιτῶν.]

  [2 ][Literally, “As their domestic war, greater than that from their foreign enemy, was not far off but at the very mouth of their harbour.” The sense required seems to be that of Arnold: “seeing that a foreign war, greater than their domestic one, was not far off, but” &c.]

  [3 ][“Sailing by, and doubling the promontory” &c.]

  [1 ][“Raw and undisciplined forces, as would be the case the city being in sedition and they wishing to send speedy aid in a matter of the last importance: (for Eubœa, cut off as Attica was, was every thing to them): sent” &c.]

  [2 ][“Just as they were”.]

  [3 ][“Putting to sea in this unprepared state”.]

  [1 ][“For of this the Athenians held possession themselves”. The Athenian cleruchi, or settlers planted there by Pericles after the last recovery of the island in 445. See i. 114. Arnold.]

  [1 ][“And then had they, either by lying off the Peiræus raised to a still greater height the sedition of the city, or stayed and besieged them, they had forced the fleet, though enemies &c., to come away &c.”]

  [1 ][“Wherein they made framers of the constitution, and passed other votes for establishing the politeia:” νομοθέτας, corresponding to the ξυγγραϕεῖς of the oligarchy in ch. 67. Arn.—“And at the first, the Athenians seem, within my time at least, to have ordered their affairs better by far than at any other time”. Thucydides here, as in ch. 89, seems to use the word πολιτεία in the same sense in which it is used by Aristotle (iii. 5): ὅταν δὲ τὸ πλῆθος πρὸς τὸ κοινὸν πολιτεύηται συμϕέρον, καλεῖται τὸ κοινὸν ὄνομα πασῶν τῶν πολιτειῶν, πολιτεία. And the chief requisite of Aristotle’s politeia is also found in the present Athenian constitution: διὸπερ κατὰ ταύτην τὴν πολιτείαν κυριώτατον τὸ προπολεμοῦν, καὶ μετέχουσιν αὐτῆς οἱ κεκτημένοι τὰ ὅπλα.]

  [2 ][Designat ministros publicos, qui τοξόται Athenis vocabantur. Erant enim hoc genus fere barbari: unde et Scythæ dicti. Duker. They were at first 300: afterwards raised to 1200. Herm. § 129.]

  [1 ][“And owing to an accident which befell them (the Corinthians) of the slaughter by those in Œnoe of some of their men returning from Deceleia, was besieged by &c.”]

  [2 ][“No signs hitherto of either &c. coming”.]

  [3 ][Seeing that Pharnabazus had sent &c., “and like Tissaphernes, was eager himself too to bring the fleet, and make the remaining cities of his own government to revolt, hoping to get something by it: then indeed Mindarus, with good order &c., went” &c.]

  [1 ][“A considerable part”. For the 16 galleys, see ch. 102.—The Hellespont and Bosporus, the great thoroughfare of Greek commerce, became at this time the principal theatre of the war: it was observed by Agis, that the issue of the struggle would depend on the command of it. Thirl. ch. xxix.]

  [2 ][“Eressos of Lesbos had revolted”. &c.]

  [3 ][“For the most potent &c. had brought over from Cume about 50 heavy–armed volunteers: and had hired others &c.”]

  [1 ][“Anaxander a Theban:—their relationship to the Thebans”: see iii. 2, note. Bekk. &c., ἀναξανδρος: vulgo, ἀναξάρ̧χου.]

  [2 ][“To these were added two ships returning from the Hellespont, and the Methymnæan ships; so that they were in all &c.: with the landforces of which they prepared, with engines &c.” The Methymnæan ships must have been five, to make 67 in all.]

  [3 ]A tessaracoste seemeth to have been a coin amongst the Chians, and the fortieth part of some greater coin. [Like the ἕκται ϕωκαΐδες. If it was the fortieth part of the stater, its value would be about 3 oboli: and the whole would be 3 days’ pay, at 3 oboli a–day. Arn.]

  [1 ][“Kept not far &c.” Bekk. &c., οὐ πελάγιαι: vulgo, om. οὐ. If they left Lesbos on the left hand, they were not far from the shore.]

  [2 ][“Carteria”. Bekker &c.]

  [3 ][“And were then in the Hellespont”.]

  [4 ][See chap. 99.]

  [1 ][“Which joined them”.]

  [2 ][“For the battle”.]

  [1 ][Bekk. &c., “76”: vulgo, “86.”]

  [2 ][Vulgo et Bekk. “68”: Goell. “88” Arn. Thirl. “86”. See chapter 103.]

  [3 ][“To keep them, if they could, from getting out”: that is, out of the strait.]

  [4 ][So called from Hecuba, who was changed into a dog and died there. See Eurip. Hecuba, 1245–55.]

  [1 ][“A considerable part”.]

  [2 ][“And then Thrasybulus, desisting now from the attempt to outgo the left wing of the Peloponnesians, turned and attacked the ships opposed to him, and put them straight to flight”.]

  [3 ][“They beat them, and the greatest part” &c.]

  [4 ][Bekker &c., μείδιον: vulgo, πύδιον. Nothing is known of either name.]

  [1 ][“And of Bœotia two”.]

  [2 ][“Repaired”.]

  [3 ][“And having overpowered the men on shore, took the ships”: for the ships, see ch. 80.—At Harpagium is said to have taken place the rape (ἁρπαγὴ) of Ganymede.]

  [1 ][“But the Peloponnesians too &c.” The Athenians had left their prizes at Elæus, which was their station before the battle.]

  [2 ][See ch. 88.]

  [3 ][“Having so done, and established a governor in Cos, being now almost autumn he returned to Samos. And Tissaphernes, when he heard of the sailing of the Peloponnesian ships from Miletus to the Hellespont, returned from Aspendus to Ionia. Whilst the Peloponnesians were in the Hellespont, the Antandrians &c.”]

  [4 ][“Whom they had transported from Abydos &c.”]

  [1 ][“And for that he imposed upon them other intolerable grievances, they cast &c.”]

  [2 ][“Tissaphernes, seeing that this too was the work of the Peloponnesians, and not only that at Miletus and Cnidus: for &c.” For the garrison at Miletus, see ch. 84.]

  [3 ][The great goddess of the Ephesians. The many–sided divinity of Ephesus was much less a Grecian than an Asiatic goddess, and was intimately allied with the leading personages of the Persian theology. Thirl. ch. xxix. See iii. 104, the latter part of the note.]

  [1 ][Goeller considers this last sentence as spurious: because, if genuine, Thucydides, when he wrote it, must either have abandoned the idea of continuing the history, or have noted the year for fear of forgetting it. The whole of this eighth book has been denied by some of the ancient writers, all later than Dionysius of Halicarnassus, to be the work of Thucydides: and has been variously ascribed to his daughter, to Theopompus, and to Xenophon: to the latter, owing to his own history being, as was supposed, connected with that of Thucydides by the phrase with which it commences, μετὰ ταῦτα. One of the main arguments adduced against its authenticity, is the absence in this book of all speeches. To this it is replied, that the purpose for which the speeches are introduced in the former books, the description of the characters, manners and civil constitutions of the belligerent nations, was already answered: and that of the characters that appear in this book, except Alcibiades, already sufficiently described, none are of any great note: and that at Athens with the entrance of the oligarchy vanished all liberty of speech. Goeller observes that this latter part of the history is certainly less highly finished: yet, but for the absence of speeches, the critics would not readily have adjudged it to be less perfect than the rest: and he adds “ultimum librum Thucydidis esse, vix jam a quoquam dubitatur”. With respect to the supposition of Xenophon being the author of this book, and that his own history beginning with μετά ταῦτα is an immediate continuation of it; it is observed by Mr. Thirlwall, that it is certain that an interval of five or six weeks must have intervened between the last event here related and that with which Xenophon’s narrative opens: and that it seems clear that the beginning of his work has been lost.

• Back to Top

  8: 8. Plato’s Dialogues - The Apology

  We will read and discuss a number of Plato’s Dialogues, beginning with The Apology.

  Plato, The Dialogues of Plato translated into English with Analyses and Introductions by B. Jowett, M.A. in Five Volumes. 3rd edition revised and corrected (Oxford University Press, 1892). Chapter: APOLOGY.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/766/93694 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  APOLOGY.

  INTRODUCTION.

  Apology.Introduction.

  In what relation the Apology of Plato stands to the real defence of Socrates, there are no means of determining. It certainly agrees in tone and character with the description of Xenophon, who says in the Memorabilia (iv. 4, 4) that Socrates might have been acquitted ‘if in any moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of the dicasts;’ and who informs us in another passage (iv. 8, 4), on the testimony of Hermogenes, the friend of Socrates, that he had no wish to live; and that the divine sign refused to allow him to prepare a defence, and also that Socrates himself declared this to be unnecessary, on the ground that all his life long he had been preparing against that hour. For the speech breathes throughout a spirit of defiance, ‘ut non supplex aut reus sed magister aut dominus videretur esse judicum’ (Cic. de Orat. i. 54); and the loose and desultory style is an imitation of the ‘accustomed manner’ in which Socrates spoke in ‘the agora and among the tables of the money-changers.’ The allusion in the Crito (45 B) may, perhaps, be adduced as a further evidence of the literal accuracy of some parts (37 C, D). But in the main it must be regarded as the ideal of Socrates, according to Plato’s conception of him, appearing in the greatest and most public scene of his life, and in the height of his triumph, when he is weakest, and yet his mastery over mankind is greatest, and his habitual irony acquires a new meaning and a sort of tragic pathos in the face of death. The facts of his life are summed up, and the features of his character are brought out as if by accident in the course of the defence. The conversational manner, the seeming want of arrangement, the ironical simplicity, are found to result in a perfect work of art, which is the portrait of Socrates.

  Yet some of the topics may have been actually used by Socrates; and the recollection of his very words may have rung in the ears of his disciple. The Apology of Plato may be compared generally with those speeches of Thucydides in which he has embodied his conception of the lofty character and policy of the great Pericles, and which at the same time furnish a commentary on the situation of affairs from the point of view of the historian. So in the Apology there is an ideal rather than a literal truth; much is said which was not said, and is only Plato’s view of the situation. Plato was not, like Xenophon, a chronicler of facts; he does not appear in any of his writings to have aimed at literal accuracy. He is not therefore to be supplemented from the Memorabilia and Symposium of Xenophon, who belongs to an entirely different class of writers. The Apology of Plato is not the report of what Socrates said, but an elaborate composition, quite as much so in fact as one of the Dialogues. And we may perhaps even indulge in the fancy that the actual defence of Socrates was as much greater than the Platonic defence as the master was greater than the disciple. But in any case, some of the words used by him must have been remembered, and some of the facts recorded must have actually occurred. It is significant that Plato is said to have been present at the defence (Apol. 38 B), as he is also said to have been absent at the last scene in the Phaedo (59 B). Is it fanciful to suppose that he meant to give the stamp of authenticity to the one and not to the other?—especially when we consider that these two passages are the only ones in which Plato makes mention of himself. The circumstance that Plato was to be one of his sureties for the payment of the fine which he proposed has the appearance of truth. More suspicious is the statement that Socrates received the first impulse to his favourite calling of cross-examining the world from the Oracle of Delphi; for he must already have been famous before Chaerephon went to consult the Oracle (Riddell, i. p. xvi), and the story is of a kind which is very likely to have been invented. On the whole we arrive at the conclusion that the Apology is true to the character of Socrates, but we cannot show that any single sentence in it was actually spoken by him. It breathes the spirit of Socrates, but has been cast anew in the mould of Plato.

  There is not much in the other Dialogues which can be compared with the Apology. The same recollection of his master may have been present to the mind of Plato when depicting the sufferings of the Just in the Republic (ii. 361 foll., vi. 500 A). The Crito may also be regarded as a sort of appendage to the Apology, in which Socrates, who has defied the judges, is nevertheless represented as scrupulously obedient to the laws. The idealization of the sufferer is carried still further in the Gorgias (476 foll.), in which the thesis is maintained, that ‘to suffer is better than to do evil;’ and the art of rhetoric is described as only useful for the purpose of self-accusation. The parallelisms which occur in the so-called Apology of Xenophon are not worth noticing, because the writing in which they are contained is manifestly spurious. The statements of the Memorabilia (i. 2; iv. 8) respecting the trial and death of Socrates agree generally with Plato; but they have lost the flavour of Socratic irony in the narrative of Xenophon.

  The Apology or Platonic defence of Socrates is divided into three parts: 1st. The defence properly so called; 2nd. The shorter address in mitigation of the penalty; 3rd. The last words of prophetic rebuke and exhortation.

  Analysis.

  17The first part commences with an apology for his colloquial style; he is, as he has always been, the enemy of rhetoric, and knows of no rhetoric but truth; he will not falsify his character by 18making a speech. Then he proceeds to divide his accusers into two classes; first, there is the nameless accuser—public opinion. All the world from their earliest years had heard that he was a corrupter of youth, and had seen him caricatured in the Clouds of Aristophanes. Secondly, there are the professed accusers, who are but the mouth-piece of the others. The accusations of both might be summed up in a formula. The first say, ‘Socrates is an evil-doer and a curious person, searching into things under the earth and above the heaven; and making the worse appear the better cause, and teaching all this to others.’ The second, ‘Socrates is an evil-doer and corrupter of the youth, who does not receive the gods whom the state receives, but introduces other new divinities.’ These last words appear to have been the actual indictment (cp. Xen. Mem. i. 1); and the previous formula, which is a summary of public opinion, assumes the same legal style.

  19The answer begins by clearing up a confusion. In the representations of the Comic poets, and in the opinion of the multitude, he had been identified with the teachers of physical science and with the Sophists. But this was an error. For both of them he professes a respect in the open court, which contrasts with his manner of speaking about them in other places. (Cp. for Anaxagoras, Phaedo 98 B, Laws xii. 967; for the Sophists, Meno 95 D, Rep. vi. 492, Tim. 19 E, Theaet. 154 E, Soph. 265 foll., etc.) But at the same time he shows that he is not one of them. Of natural philosophy he knows nothing; not that he despises such pursuits, but the fact is that he is ignorant of them, and never says a word about them. Nor is he paid for giving instruction—that is another mistaken notion:—he has nothing to teach. But he commends 20Evenus for teaching virtue at such a ‘moderate’ rate as five minae. Something of the ‘accustomed irony,’ which may perhaps be expected to sleep in the ear of the multitude, is lurking here.

  He then goes on to explain the reason why he is in such an evil name. That had arisen out of a peculiar mission which he had taken upon himself. The enthusiastic Chaerephon (probably in 21anticipation of the answer which he received) had gone to Delphi and asked the oracle if there was any man wiser than Socrates; and the answer was, that there was no man wiser. What could be the meaning of this—that he who knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing, should be declared by the oracle to be the wisest of men? Reflecting upon the answer, he determined to refute it by finding ‘a wiser;’ and first he went to the politicians, and then to the poets, and then to the craftsmen, but 22always with the same result—he found that they knew nothing, or hardly anything more than himself; and that the little advantage which in some cases they possessed was more than counterbalanced by their conceit of knowledge. He knew nothing, and knew that he knew nothing: they knew little or nothing, and imagined that they knew all things. Thus he had passed his 23life as a sort of missionary in detecting the pretended wisdom of mankind; and this occupation had quite absorbed him and taken him away both from public and private affairs. Young men of the richer sort had made a pastime of the same pursuit, ‘which was not unamusing.’ And hence bitter enmities had arisen; the professors of knowledge had revenged themselves by calling him a villainous corrupter of youth, and by repeating the commonplaces about atheism and materialism and sophistry, 24which are the stock-accusations against all philosophers when there is nothing else to be said of them.

  The second accusation he meets by interrogating Meletus, who is present and can be interrogated. ‘If he is the corrupter, who is the improver of the citizens?’ (Cp. Meno 91 C.) ‘All men 25everywhere.’ But how absurd, how contrary to analogy is this! How inconceivable too, that he should make the citizens worse when he has to live with them. This surely cannot be intentional; 26and if unintentional, he ought to have been instructed by Meletus, and not accused in the court.

  But there is another part of the indictment which says that he teaches men not to receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new gods. ‘Is that the way in which he is supposed to corrupt the youth?’ ‘Yes, it is.’ ‘Has he only new gods, or none at all?’ ‘None at all.’ ‘What, not even the sun and moon?’ ‘No; why, he says that the sun is a stone, and the moon earth.’ That, replies Socrates, is the old confusion about Anaxagoras; the Athenian people are not so ignorant as to attribute to the influence of Socrates notions which have found their way into the drama, and may be learned at the theatre. Socrates undertakes 27to show that Meletus (rather unjustifiably) has been compounding a riddle in this part of the indictment: ‘There are no gods, but Socrates believes in the existence of the sons of gods, which is absurd.’

  28Leaving Meletus, who has had enough words spent upon him, he returns to the original accusation. The question may be asked, Why will he persist in following a profession which leads him to death? Why?—because he must remain at his post where the god has placed him, as he remained at Potidaea, and Amphipolis, 29and Delium, where the generals placed him. Besides, he is not so overwise as to imagine that he knows whether death is a good or an evil; and he is certain that desertion of his duty 30is an evil. Anytus is quite right in saying that they should never have indicted him if they meant to let him go. For he will certainly obey God rather than man; and will continue to preach to all men of all ages the necessity of virtue and improvement; and if they refuse to listen to him he will still persevere and reprove them. This is his way of corrupting the youth, which he will not cease to follow in obedience to the god, even if a thousand deaths await him.

  He is desirous that they should let him live—not for his own sake, but for theirs; because he is their heaven-sent friend (and 31they will never have such another), or, as he may be ludicrously described, he is the gadfly who stirs the generous steed into motion. Why then has he never taken part in public affairs? Because the familiar divine voice has hindered him; if he had been a public man, and had fought for the right, as he would certainly have fought against the many, he would not have lived, and could therefore have done no good. Twice in public matters 32he has risked his life for the sake of justice—once at the trial of the generals; and again in resistance to the tyrannical commands of the Thirty.

  But, though not a public man, he has passed his days in instructing the citizens without fee or reward—this was his mission. Whether his disciples have turned out well or ill, he cannot justly be charged with the result, for he never promised to teach them 33anything. They might come if they liked, and they might stay away if they liked: and they did come, because they found an amusement in hearing the pretenders to wisdom detected. If they have been corrupted, their elder relatives (if not themselves) might surely come into court and witness against him, and there is an opportunity still for them to appear. But their fathers 34and brothers all appear in court (including ‘this’ Plato), to witness on his behalf; and if their relatives are corrupted, at least they are uncorrupted; ‘and they are my witnesses. For they know that I am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is lying.’

  This is about all that he has to say. He will not entreat the judges to spare his life; neither will he present a spectacle of weeping children, although he, too, is not made of ‘rock or oak.’ 35Some of the judges themselves may have complied with this practice on similar occasions, and he trusts that they will not be angry with him for not following their example. But he feels that such conduct brings discredit on the name of Athens: he feels, too, that the judge has sworn not to give away justice; and he cannot be guilty of the impiety of asking the judge to break his oath, when he is himself being tried for impiety.

  36As he expected, and probably intended, he is convicted. And now the tone of the speech, instead of being more conciliatory, becomes more lofty and commanding. Anytus proposes death as the penalty: and what counter-proposition shall he make? He, the benefactor of the Athenian people, whose whole life has been spent in doing them good, should at least have the Olympic 37victor’s reward of maintenance in the Prytaneum. Or why should he propose any counter-penalty when he does not know whether death, which Anytus proposes, is a good or an evil? and he is certain that imprisonment is an evil, exile is an evil. Loss of money might be no evil, but then he has none to give; 38perhaps he can make up a mina. Let that be the penalty, or, if his friends wish, thirty minae; for which they will be excellent securities.

  [He is condemned to death.]

  He is an old man already, and the Athenians will gain nothing but disgrace by depriving him of a few years of life. Perhaps he could have escaped, if he had chosen to throw down his arms and entreat for his life. But he does not at all repent of the manner of his defence; he would rather die in his own fashion than live 39in theirs. For the penalty of unrighteousness is swifter than death; that penalty has already overtaken his accusers as death will soon overtake him.

  And now, as one who is about to die, he will prophesy to them. They have put him to death in order to escape the necessity of giving an account of their lives. But his death ‘will be the seed’ of many disciples who will convince them of their evil ways, and will come forth to reprove them in harsher terms, because they are younger and more inconsiderate.

  40He would like to say a few words, while there is time, to those who would have acquitted him. He wishes them to know that the divine sign never interrupted him in the course of his defence; the reason of which, as he conjectures, is that the death to which he is going is a good and not an evil. For either death is a long sleep, the best of sleeps, or a journey to another world in which the souls of the dead are gathered together, and in which 41there may be a hope of seeing the heroes of old—in which, too, there are just judges; and as all are immortal, there can be no fear of any one suffering death for his opinions.

  Nothing evil can happen to the good man either in life or death, and his own death has been permitted by the gods, because it was better for him to depart; and therefore he forgives his judges because they have done him no harm, although they never meant to do him any good.

  He has a last request to make to them—that they will trouble 42his sons as he has troubled them, if they appear to prefer riches to virtue, or to think themselves something when they are nothing.

  Introduction.

  ‘Few persons will be found to wish that Socrates should have defended himself otherwise,’—if, as we must add, his defence was that with which Plato has provided him. But leaving this question, which does not admit of a precise solution, we may go on to ask what was the impression which Plato in the Apology intended to give of the character and conduct of his master in the last great scene? Did he intend to represent him (1) as employing sophistries; (2) as designedly irritating the judges? Or are these sophistries to be regarded as belonging to the age in which he lived and to his personal character, and this apparent haughtiness as flowing from the natural elevation of his position?

  For example, when he says that it is absurd to suppose that one man is the corrupter and all the rest of the world the improvers of the youth; or, when he argues that he never could have corrupted the men with whom he had to live; or, when he proves his belief in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods, is he serious or jesting? It may be observed that these sophisms all occur in his cross-examination of Meletus, who is easily foiled and mastered in the hands of the great dialectician. Perhaps he regarded these answers as good enough for his accuser, of whom he makes very light. Also there is a touch of irony in them, which takes them out of the category of sophistry. (Cp. Euthyph. 2.)

  That the manner in which he defends himself about the lives of his disciples is not satisfactory, can hardly be denied. Fresh in the memory of the Athenians, and detestable as they deserved to be to the newly restored democracy, were the names of Alcibiades, Critias, Charmides. It is obviously not a sufficient answer that Socrates had never professed to teach them anything, and is therefore not justly chargeable with their crimes. Yet the defence, when taken out of this ironical form, is doubtless sound: that his teaching had nothing to do with their evil lives. Here, then, the sophistry is rather in form than in substance, though we might desire that to such a serious charge Socrates had given a more serious answer.

  Truly characteristic of Socrates is another point in his answer, which may also be regarded as sophistical. He says that ‘if he has corrupted the youth, he must have corrupted them involuntarily.’ But if, as Socrates argues, all evil is involuntary, then all criminals ought to be admonished and not punished. In these words the Socratic doctrine of the involuntariness of evil is clearly intended to be conveyed. Here again, as in the former instance, the defence of Socrates is untrue practically, but may be true in some ideal or transcendental sense. The commonplace reply, that if he had been guilty of corrupting the youth their relations would surely have witnessed against him, with which he concludes this part of his defence, is more satisfactory.

  Again, when Socrates argues that he must believe in the gods because he believes in the sons of gods, we must remember that this is a refutation not of the original indictment, which is consistent enough—‘Socrates does not receive the gods whom the city receives, and has other new divinities’—but of the interpretation put upon the words by Meletus, who has affirmed that he is a downright atheist. To this Socrates fairly answers, in accordance with the ideas of the time, that a downright atheist cannot believe in the sons of gods or in divine things. The notion that demons or lesser divinities are the sons of gods is not to be regarded as ironical or sceptical. He is arguing ‘ad hominem’ according to the notions of mythology current in his age. Yet he abstains from saying that he believed in the gods whom the State approved. He does not defend himself, as Xenophon has defended him, by appealing to his practice of religion. Probably he neither wholly believed, nor disbelieved, in the existence of the popular gods; he had no means of knowing about them. According to Plato (cp. Phaedo 118 B; Symp. 220 D), as well as Xenophon (Memor. i. 1, 30), he was punctual in the performance of the least religious duties; and he must have believed in his own oracular sign, of which he seemed to have an internal witness. But the existence of Apollo or Zeus, or the other gods whom the State approves, would have appeared to him both uncertain and unimportant in comparison of the duty of self-examination, and of those principles of truth and right which he deemed to be the foundation of religion. (Cp. Phaedr. 230; Euthyph. 6, 7; Rep. ii. 373 ff.).

  The second question, whether Plato meant to represent Socrates as braving or irritating his judges, must also be answered in the negative. His irony, his superiority, his audacity, ‘regarding not the person of man,’ necessarily flow out of the loftiness of his situation. He is not acting a part upon a great occasion, but he is what he has been all his life long, ‘a king of men.’ He would rather not appear insolent, if he could avoid it (οὐχ ὡς αὐθαδιζόμενος τον̂το λέγω). Neither is he desirous of hastening his own end, for life and death are simply indifferent to him. But such a defence as would be acceptable to his judges and might procure an acquittal, it is not in his nature to make. He will not say or do anything that might pervert the course of justice; he cannot have his tongue bound even ‘in the throat of death.’ With his accusers he will only fence and play, as he had fenced with other ‘improvers of youth,’ answering the Sophist according to his sophistry all his life long. He is serious when he is speaking of his own mission, which seems to distinguish him from all other reformers of mankind, and originates in an accident. The dedication of himself to the improvement of his fellow-citizens is not so remarkable as the ironical spirit in which he goes about doing good only in vindication of the credit of the oracle, and in the vain hope of finding a wiser man than himself. Yet this singular and almost accidental character of his mission agrees with the divine sign which, according to our notions, is equally accidental and irrational, and is nevertheless accepted by him as the guiding principle of his life. Socrates is nowhere represented to us as a freethinker or sceptic. There is no reason to doubt his sincerity when he speculates on the possibility of seeing and knowing the heroes of the Trojan war in another world. On the other hand, his hope of immortality is uncertain;—he also conceives of death as a long sleep (in this respect differing from the Phaedo), and at last falls back on resignation to the divine will, and the certainty that no evil can happen to the good man either in life or death. His absolute truthfulness seems to hinder him from asserting positively more than this; and he makes no attempt to veil his ignorance in mythology and figures of speech. The gentleness of the first part of the speech contrasts with the aggravated, almost threatening, tone of the conclusion. He characteristically remarks that he will not speak as a rhetorician, that is to say, he will not make a regular defence such as Lysias or one of the orators might have composed for him, or, according to some accounts, did compose for him. But he first procures himself a hearing by conciliatory words. He does not attack the Sophists; for they were open to the same charges as himself; they were equally ridiculed by the Comic poets, and almost equally hateful to Anytus and Meletus. Yet incidentally the antagonism between Socrates and the Sophists is allowed to appear. He is poor and they are rich; his profession that he teaches nothing is opposed to their readiness to teach all things; his talking in the marketplace to their private instructions; his tarry-at-home life to their wandering from city to city. The tone which he assumes towards them is one of real friendliness, but also of concealed irony. Towards Anaxagoras, who had disappointed him in his hopes of learning about mind and nature, he shows a less kindly feeling, which is also the feeling of Plato in other passages (Laws xii. 967 B). But Anaxagoras had been dead thirty years, and was beyond the reach of persecution.

  It has been remarked that the prophecy of a new generation of teachers who would rebuke and exhort the Athenian people in harsher and more violent terms was, as far as we know, never fulfilled. No inference can be drawn from this circumstances as to the probability of the words attributed to him having been actually uttered. They express the aspiration of the first martyr of philosophy, that he would leave behind him many followers, accompanied by the not unnatural feeling that they would be fiercer and more inconsiderate in their words when emancipated from his control.

  The above remarks must be understood as applying with any degree of certainty to the Platonic Socrates only. For, although these or similar words may have been spoken by Socrates himself, we cannot exclude the possibility, that like so much else, e.g. the wisdom of Critias, the poem of Solon, the virtues of Charmides, they may have been due only to the imagination of Plato. The arguments of those who maintain that the Apology was composed during the process, resting on no evidence, do not require a serious refutation. Nor are the reasonings of Schleiermacher, who argues that the Platonic defence is an exact or nearly exact reproduction of the words of Socrates, partly because Plato would not have been guilty of the impiety of altering them, and also because many points of the defence might have been improved and strengthened, at all more conclusive. (See English Translation, p. 137.) What effect the death of Socrates produced on the mind of Plato, we cannot certainly determine; nor can we say how he would or must have written under the circumstances. We observe that the enmity of Aristophanes to Socrates does not prevent Plato from introducing them together in the Symposium engaged in friendly intercourse. Nor is there any trace in the Dialogues of an attempt to make Anytus or Meletus personally odious in the eyes of the Athenian public.

  APOLOGY.

  Apology.Socrates.Socrates begs to be allowed to speak in his accustomed manner.The judges must excuse Socrates if he defends himself in his own fashion.

  17How you, O Athenians, have been affected by my accusers, I cannot tell; but I know that they almost made me forget who I was—so persuasively did they speak; and yet they have hardly uttered a word of truth. But of the many falsehoods told by them, there was one which quite amazed me;—I mean when they said that you should be upon your guard and not allow yourselves to be deceived by the force of my eloquence. To say this, when they were certain to be detected as soon as I opened my lips and proved myself to be anything but a great speaker, did indeed appear to me most shameless—unless by the force of eloquence they mean the force of truth; for if such is their meaning, I admit that I am eloquent. But in how different a way from theirs! Well, as I was saying, they have scarcely spoken the truth at all; but from me you shall hear the whole truth: not, however, delivered after their manner in a set oration duly ornamented with words and phrases. No, by heaven! but I shall use the words and arguments which occur to me at the moment; for I am confident in the justice of my cause1 : at my time of life I ought not to be appearing before you, O men of Athens, in the character of a juvenile orator—let no one expect it of me. And I must beg of you to grant me a favour:—If I defend myself in my accustomed manner, and you hear me using the words which I have been in the habit of using in the agora, at the tables of the money-changers, or anywhere else, I would ask you not to be surprised, and not to interrupt me on this account. For I am more than seventy years of age, and appearing now for the first time in a court of law, I am quite a stranger to the language of the place; and therefore I would have you regard me as if I were really a stranger, whom you would excuse if 18he spoke in his native tongue, and after the fashion of his country:—Am I making an unfair request of you? Never mind the manner, which may or may not be good; but think only of the truth of my words, and give heed to that: let the speaker speak truly and the judge decide justly.

  He has to meet two sorts of accusers.

  And first, I have to reply to the older charges and to my first accusers, and then I will go on to the later ones. For of old I have had many accusers, who have accused me falsely to you during many years; and I am more afraid of them than of Anytus and his associates, who are dangerous, too, in their own way. But far more dangerous are the others, who began when you were children, and took possession of your minds with their falsehoods, telling of one Socrates, a wise man, who speculated about the heaven above, and searched into the earth beneath, and made the worse appear the better cause. The disseminators of this tale are the accusers whom I dread; for their hearers are apt to fancy that such enquirers do not believe in the existence of the gods. And they are many, and their charges against me are of ancient date, and they were made by them in the days when you were more impressible than you are now—in childhood, or it may have been in youth—and the cause when heard went by default, for there was none to answer. And hardest of all, I do not know and cannot tell the names of my accusers; unless in the chance case of a Comic poet. All who from envy and malice have persuaded you—some of them having first convinced themselves—all this class of men are most difficult to deal with; for I cannot have them up here, and cross-examine them, and therefore I must simply fight with shadows in my own defence, and argue when there is no one who answers. I will ask you then to assume with me, as I was saying, that my opponents are of two kinds; one recent, the other ancient: and I hope that you will see the propriety of my answering the latter first, for these accusations you heard long before the others, and much oftener.

  Well, then, I must make my defence, and endeavour to clear 19away in a short time, a slander which has lasted a long time. May I succeed, if to succeed be for my good and yours, or likely to avail me in my cause! The task is not an easy one; I quite understand the nature of it. And so leaving the event with God, in obedience to the law I will now make my defence.

  There is the accusation of the theatres; which declares that he is a student of natural philosophy.

  I will begin at the beginning, and ask what is the accusation which has given rise to the slander of me, and in fact has encouraged Meletus to prefer this charge against me. Well, what do the slanderers say? They shall be my prosecutors, and I will sum up their words in an affidavit: ‘Socrates is an evil-doer, and a curious person, who searches into things under the earth and in heaven, and he makes the worse appear the better cause; and he teaches the aforesaid doctrines to others.’ Such is the nature of the accusation: it is just what you have yourselves seen in the comedy of Aristophanes1 , who has introduced a man whom he calls Socrates, going about and saying that he walks in air, and talking a deal of nonsense concerning matters of which I do not pretend to know either much or little—not that I mean to speak disparagingly of any one who is a student of natural philosophy. I should be very sorry if Meletus could bring so grave a charge against me. But the simple truth is, O Athenians, that I have nothing to do with physical speculations. Very many of those here present are witnesses to the truth of this, and to them I appeal. Speak then, you who have heard me, and tell your neighbours whether any of you have ever known me hold forth in few words or in many upon such matters. . . . You hear their answer. And from what they say of this part of the charge you will be able to judge of the truth of the rest.

  There is the report that he is a Sophist who receives money.The ironical question which Socrates put to Callias.

  As little foundation is there for the report that I am a teacher, and take money; this accusation has no more truth in it than the other. Although, if a man were really able to instruct mankind, to receive money for giving instruction would, in my opinion, be an honour to him. There is Gorgias of Leontium, and Prodicus of Ceos, and Hippias of Elis, who go the round of the cities, and are able to persuade the young men to leave their own citizens by whom 20they might be taught for nothing, and come to them whom they not only pay, but are thankful if they may be allowed to pay them. There is at this time a Parian philosopher residing in Athens, of whom I have heard; and I came to hear of him in this way:—I came across a man who has spent a world of money on the Sophists, Callias, the son of Hipponicus, and knowing that he had sons, I asked him: ‘Callias,’ I said, ‘if your two sons were foals or calves, there would be no difficulty in finding some one to put over them; we should hire a trainer of horses, or a farmer probably, who would improve and perfect them in their own proper virtue and excellence; but as they are human beings, whom are you thinking of placing over them? Is there any one who understands human and political virtue? You must have thought about the matter, for you have sons; is there any one?’ ‘There is,’ he said. ‘Who is he?’ said I; ‘and of what country? and what does he charge?’ ‘Evenus the Parian,’ he replied; ‘he is the man, and his charge is five minae.’ Happy is Evenus, I said to myself, if he really has this wisdom, and teaches at such a moderate charge. Had I the same, I should have been very proud and conceited; but the truth is that I have no knowledge of the kind.

  The accusations against me have arisen out of a sort of wisdom which I practise.My practice of it arose out of a declaration of the Delphian Oracle that I was the wisest of men.

  I dare say, Athenians, that some one among you will reply, ‘Yes, Socrates, but what is the origin of these accusations which are brought against you; there must have been something strange which you have been doing? All these rumours and this talk about you would never have arisen if you had been like other men: tell us, then, what is the cause of them, for we should be sorry to judge hastily of you.’ Now I regard this as a fair challenge, and I will endeavour to explain to you the reason why I am called wise and have such an evil fame. Please to attend then. And although some of you may think that I am joking, I declare that I will tell you the entire truth. Men of Athens, this reputation of mine has come of a certain sort of wisdom which I possess. If you ask me what kind of wisdom, I reply, wisdom such as may perhaps be attained by man, for to that extent I am inclined to believe that I am wise; whereas the persons of whom I was speaking have a superhuman wisdom, which I may fail to describe, because I have it not myself; and he who says that I have, speaks falsely, and is taking away my character. And here, O men of Athens, I must beg you not to interrupt me, even if I seem to say something extravagant. For the word which I will speak is not mine. I will refer you to a witness who is worthy of credit; that witness shall be the God of Delphi—he will tell you about my wisdom, if I have any, and of what sort it is. You must have known Chaerephon; he was early 21a friend of mine, and also a friend of yours, for he shared in the recent exile of the people, and returned with you. Well, Chaerephon, as you know, was very impetuous in all his doings, and he went to Delphi and boldly asked the oracle to tell him whether—as I was saying, I must beg you not to interrupt—he asked the oracle to tell him whether any one was wiser than I was, and the Pythian prophetess answered, that there was no man wiser. Chaerephon is dead himself; but his brother, who is in court, will confirm the truth of what I am saying.

  I went about searching after a man who was wiser than myself: at first among the politicians; then among the philosophers; and found that I had an advantage over them, because I had no conceit of knowledge.

  Why do I mention this? Because I am going to explain to you why I have such an evil name. When I heard the answer, I said to myself, What can the god mean? and what is the interpretation of his riddle? for I know that I have no wisdom, small or great. What then can he mean when he says that I am the wisest of men? And yet he is a god, and cannot lie; that would be against his nature. After long consideration, I thought of a method of trying the question. I reflected that if I could only find a man wiser than myself, then I might go to the god with a refutation in my hand. I should say to him, ‘Here is a man who is wiser than I am; but you said that I was the wisest.’ Accordingly I went to one who had the reputation of wisdom, and observed him—his name I need not mention; he was a politician whom I selected for examination—and the result was as follows: When I began to talk with him, I could not help thinking that he was not really wise, although he was thought wise by many, and still wiser by himself; and thereupon I tried to explain to him that he thought himself wise, but was not really wise; and the consequence was that he hated me, and his enmity was shared by several who were present and heard me. So I left him, saying to myself, as I went away: Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good. I am better off than he is,—for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows; I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another who had still higher pretensions to wisdom, and my conclusion was exactly the same. Whereupon I made another enemy of him, and of many others besides him.

  I found that the poets were the worst possible interpreters of their own writings.

  Then I went to one man after another, being not unconscious of the enmity which I provoked, and I lamented and feared this: but necessity was laid upon me,—the word of God, I thought, ought to be considered first. And I said to myself, Go I must to all who appear to know, and find out the meaning of the oracle. And I swear to you, Athenians, 22by the dog I swear!—for I must tell you the truth—the result of my mission was just this: I found that the men most in repute were all but the most foolish; and that others less esteemed were really wiser and better. I will tell you the tale of my wanderings and of the ‘Herculean’ labours, as I may call them, which I endured only to find at last the oracle irrefutable. After the politicians, I went to the poets; tragic, dithyrambic, and all sorts. And there, I said to myself, you will be instantly detected; now you will find out that you are more ignorant than they are. Accordingly, I took them some of the most elaborate passages in their own writings, and asked what was the meaning of them—thinking that they would teach me something. Will you believe me? I am almost ashamed to confess the truth, but I must say that there is hardly a person present who would not have talked better about their poetry than they did themselves. Then I knew that not by wisdom do poets write poetry, but by a sort of genius and inspiration; they are like diviners or soothsayers who also say many fine things, but do not understand the meaning of them. The poets appeared to me to be much in the same case; and I further observed that upon the strength of their poetry they believed themselves to be the wisest of men in other things in which they were not wise. So I departed, conceiving myself to be superior to them for the same reason that I was superior to the politicians.

  The artisans had some real knowledge, but they had also a conceit that they knew things which were beyond them.

  At last I went to the artisans, for I was conscious that I knew nothing at all, as I may say, and I was sure that they knew many fine things; and here I was not mistaken, for they did know many things of which I was ignorant, and in this they certainly were wiser than I was. But I observed that even the good artisans fell into the same error as the poets;—because they were good workmen they thought that they also knew all sorts of high matters, and this defect in them overshadowed their wisdom; and therefore I asked myself on behalf of the oracle, whether I would like to be as I was, neither having their knowledge nor their ignorance, or like them in both; and I made answer to myself and to the oracle that I was better off as I was.

  The oracle was intended to apply, not to Socrates, but to all men who know that their wisdom is worth nothing.

  This inquisition has led to my having many enemies of 23the worst and most dangerous kind, and has given occasion also to many calumnies. And I am called wise, for my hearers always imagine that I myself possess the wisdom which I find wanting in others: but the truth is, O men of Athens, that God only is wise; and by his answer he intends to show that the wisdom of men is worth little or nothing; he is not speaking of Socrates, he is only using my name by way of illustration, as if he said, He, O men, is the wisest, who, like Socrates, knows that his wisdom is in truth worth nothing. And so I go about the world, obedient to the god, and search and make enquiry into the wisdom of any one, whether citizen or stranger, who appears to be wise; and if he is not wise, then in vindication of the oracle I show him that he is not wise; and my occupation quite absorbs me, and I have no time to give either to any public matter of interest or to any concern of my own, but I am in utter poverty by reason of my devotion to the god.

  There are my imitators who go about detecting pretenders, and the enmity which they arouse falls upon me.Socrates, Meletus.

  There is another thing:—young men of the richer classes, who have not much to do, come about me of their own accord; they like to hear the pretenders examined, and they often imitate me, and proceed to examine others; there are plenty of persons, as they quickly discover, who think that they know something, but really know little or nothing; and then those who are examined by them instead of being angry with themselves are angry with me: This confounded Socrates, they say; this villainous misleader of youth!—and then if somebody asks them, Why, what evil does he practise or teach? they do not know, and cannot tell; but in order that they may not appear to be at a loss, they repeat the ready-made charges which are used against all philosophers about teaching things up in the clouds and under the earth, and having no gods, and making the worse appear the better cause; for they do not like to confess that their pretence of knowledge has been detected—which is the truth; and as they are numerous and ambitious and energetic, and are drawn up in battle array and have persuasive tongues, they have filled your ears with their loud and inveterate calumnies. And this is the reason why my three accusers, Meletus and Anytus and Lycon, have set upon me; Meletus, who has a quarrel with me on behalf of the poets; Anytus, on behalf of the craftsmen and politicians; Lycon, on behalf of the rhetoricians: and as I said 24at the beginning, I cannot expect to get rid of such a mass of calumny all in a moment. And this, O men of Athens, is the truth and the whole truth; I have concealed nothing, I have dissembled nothing. And yet, I know that my plainness of speech makes them hate me, and what is their hatred but a proof that I am speaking the truth? Hence has arisen the prejudice against me; and this is the reason of it, as you will find out either in this or in any future enquiry.

  The second class of accusers.

  I have said enough in my defence against the first class of my accusers; I turn to the second class. They are headed by Meletus, that good man and true lover of his country, as he calls himself. Against these, too, I must try to make a defence:—Let their affidavit be read: it contains something of this kind: It says that Socrates is a doer of evil, who corrupts the youth; and who does not believe in the gods of the state, but has other new divinities of his own. Such is the charge; and now let us examine the particular counts. He says that I am a doer of evil, and corrupt the youth; but I say, O men of Athens, that Meletus is a doer of evil, in that he pretends to be in earnest when he is only in jest, and is so eager to bring men to trial from a pretended zeal and interest about matters in which he really never had the smallest interest. And the truth of this I will endeavour to prove to you.

  Come hither, Meletus, and let me ask a question of you. You think a great deal about the improvement of youth?

  Yes, I do.

  All men are discovered to be improvers of youth with the single exception of Socrates.

  Tell the judges, then, who is their improver; for you must know, as you have taken the pains to discover their corrupter, and are citing and accusing me before them. Speak, then, and tell the judges who their improver is.—Observe, Meletus, that you are silent, and have nothing to say. But is not this rather disgraceful, and a very considerable proof of what I was saying, that you have no interest in the matter? Speak up, friend, and tell us who their improver is.

  The laws.

  But that, my good sir, is not my meaning. I want to know who the person is, who, in the first place, knows the laws.

  The judges, Socrates, who are present in court.

  What, do you mean to say, Meletus, that they are able to instruct and improve youth?

  Certainly they are.

  What, all of them, or some only and not others?

  All of them.

  By the goddess Herè, that is good news! There are plenty of improvers, then. And what do you say of the 25audience,—do they improve them?

  Yes, they do.

  And the senators?

  Yes, the senators improve them.

  But perhaps the members of the assembly corrupt them?—or do they too improve them?

  They improve them.

  Then every Athenian improves and elevates them; all with the exception of myself; and I alone am their corrupter? Is that what you affirm?

  That is what I stoutly affirm.

  But this rather unfortunate fact does not accord with the analogy of the animals.

  I am very unfortunate if you are right. But suppose I ask you a question: How about horses? Does one man do them harm and all the world good? Is not the exact opposite the truth? One man is able to do them good, or at least not many;—the trainer of horses, that is to say, does them good, and others who have to do with them rather injure them? Is not that true, Meletus, of horses, or of any other animals? Most assuredly it is; whether you and Anytus say yes or no. Happy indeed would be the condition of youth if they had one corrupter only, and all the rest of the world were their improvers. But you, Meletus, have sufficiently shown that you never had a thought about the young: your carelessness is seen in your not caring about the very things which you bring against me.

  And now, Meletus, I will ask you another question—by Zeus I will: Which is better, to live among bad citizens, or among good ones? Answer, friend, I say; the question is one which may be easily answered. Do not the good do their neighbours good, and the bad do them evil?

  Certainly.

  And is there any one who would rather be injured than benefited by those who live with him? Answer, my good friend, the law requires you to answer—does any one like to be injured?

  Certainly not.

  When I do harm to my neighbour I must do harm to myself: and therefore I cannot be supposed to injure them intentionally.

  And when you accuse me of corrupting and deteriorating the youth, do you allege that I corrupt them intentionally or unintentionally?

  Intentionally, I say.

  But you have just admitted that the good do their neighbours good, and the evil do them evil. Now, is that a truth which your superior wisdom has recognized thus early in life, and am I, at my age, in such darkness and ignorance as not to know that if a man with whom I have to live is corrupted by me, I am very likely to be harmed by him; and yet I corrupt him, and intentionally, too—so you say, although neither I nor any other human being is ever likely to be convinced by you. But either I do not corrupt them, or 26I corrupt them unintentionally; and on either view of the case you lie. If my offence is unintentional, the law has no cognizance of unintentional offences: you ought to have taken me privately, and warned and admonished me; for if I had been better advised, I should have left off doing what I only did unintentionally—no doubt I should; but you would have nothing to say to me and refused to teach me. And now you bring me up in this court, which is a place not of instruction, but of punishment.

  It will be very clear to you, Athenians, as I was saying, that Meletus has no care at all, great or small, about the matter. But still I should like to know, Meletus, in what I am affirmed to corrupt the young. I suppose you mean, as I infer from your indictment, that I teach them not to acknowledge the gods which the state acknowledges, but some other new divinities or spiritual agencies in their stead. These are the lessons by which I corrupt the youth, as you say.

  Yes, that I say emphatically.

  Socrates is declared by Meletus to be an atheist and to corrupt the religion of the young.

  Then, by the gods, Meletus, of whom we are speaking, tell me and the court, in somewhat plainer terms, what you mean! for I do not as yet understand whether you affirm that I teach other men to acknowledge some gods, and therefore that I do believe in gods, and am not an entire atheist—this you do not lay to my charge,—but only you say that they are not the same gods which the city recognizes—the charge is that they are different gods. Or, do you mean that I am an atheist simply, and a teacher of atheism?

  I mean the latter—that you are a complete atheist.

  What an extraordinary statement! Why do you think so, Meletus? Do you mean that I do not believe in the godhead of the sun or moon, like other men?

  I assure you, judges, that he does not: for he says that the sun is stone, and the moon earth.

  Meletus has confounded Socrates with Anaxagoras;

  Friend Meletus, you think that you are accusing Anaxagoras: and you have but a bad opinion of the judges, if you fancy them illiterate to such a degree as not to know that these doctrines are found in the books of Anaxagoras the Clazomenian, which are full of them. And so, forsooth, the youth are said to be taught them by Socrates, when there are not unfrequently exhibitions of them at the theatre1 (price of admission one drachma at the most); and they might pay their money, and laugh at Socrates if he pretends to father these extraordinary views. And so, Meletus, you really think that I do not believe in any god?

  and he has contradicted himself in the indictment.

  I swear by Zeus that you believe absolutely in none at all.

  Nobody will believe you, Meletus, and I am pretty sure that you do not believe yourself. I cannot help thinking, men of Athens, that Meletus is reckless and impudent, and that he has written this indictment in a spirit of mere wantonness and youthful bravado. Has he not compounded a 27riddle, thinking to try me? He said to himself:—I shall see whether the wise Socrates will discover my facetious contradiction, or whether I shall be able to deceive him and the rest of them. For he certainly does appear to me to contradict himself in the indictment as much as if he said that Socrates is guilty of not believing in the gods, and yet of believing in them—but this is not like a person who is in earnest.

  I should like you, O men of Athens, to join me in examining what I conceive to be his inconsistency; and do you, Meletus, answer. And I must remind the audience of my request that they would not make a disturbance if I speak in my accustomed manner:

  How can Socrates believe in divine agencies and not believe in gods?

  Did ever man, Meletus, believe in the existence of human things, and not of human beings? . . . I wish, men of Athens, that he would answer, and not be always trying to get up an interruption. Did ever any man believe in horsemanship, and not in horses? or in flute-playing, and not in flute-players? No, my friend; I will answer to you and to the court, as you refuse to answer for yourself. There is no man who ever did. But now please to answer the next question: Can a man believe in spiritual and divine agencies, and not in spirits or demigods?

  He cannot.

  How lucky I am to have extracted that answer, by the assistance of the court! But then you swear in the indictment that I teach and believe in divine or spiritual agencies (new or old, no matter for that); at any rate, I believe in spiritual agencies,—so you say and swear in the affidavit; and yet if I believe in divine beings, how can I help believing in spirits or demigods;—must I not? To be sure I must; and therefore I may assume that your silence gives consent. Now what are spirits or demigods? are they not either gods or the sons of gods?

  Certainly they are.

  Apology.Socrates.

  But this is what I call the facetious riddle invented by you: the demigods or spirits are gods, and you say first that I do not believe in gods, and then again that I do believe in gods; that is, if I believe in demigods. For if the demigods are the illegitimate sons of gods, whether by the nymphs or by any other mothers, of whom they are said to be the sons—what human being will ever believe that there are no gods if they are the sons of gods? You might as well affirm the existence of mules, and deny that of horses and asses. Such nonsense, Meletus, could only have been intended by you to make trial of me. You have put this into the indictment because you had nothing real of which to accuse me. But no one who has a particle of understanding will ever be convinced by you that the same men can believe in divine and superhuman things, and yet not believe that 28there are gods and demigods and heroes.

  I have said enough in answer to the charge of Meletus: any elaborate defence is unnecessary; but I know only too well how many are the enmities which I have incurred, and this is what will be my destruction if I am destroyed;—not Meletus, nor yet Anytus, but the envy and detraction of the world, which has been the death of many good men, and will probably be the death of many more; there is no danger of my being the last of them.

  Let no man fear death or fear anything but disgrace.

  Some one will say: And are you not ashamed, Socrates, of a course of life which is likely to bring you to an untimely end? To him I may fairly answer: There you are mistaken: a man who is good for anything ought not to calculate the chance of living or dying; he ought only to consider whether in doing anything he is doing right or wrong—acting the part of a good man or of a bad. Whereas, upon your view, the heroes who fell at Troy were not good for much, and the son of Thetis above all, who altogether despised danger in comparison with disgrace; and when he was so eager to slay Hector, his goddess mother said to him, that if he avenged his companion Patroclus, and slew Hector, he would die himself—‘Fate,’ she said, in these or the like words, ‘waits for you next after Hector;’ he, receiving this warning, utterly despised danger and death, and instead of fearing them, feared rather to live in dishonour, and not to avenge his friend. ‘Let me die forthwith,’ he replies, ‘and be avenged of my enemy, rather than abide here by the beaked ships, a laughing-stock and a burden of the earth.’ Had Achilles any thought of death and danger? For wherever a man’s place is, whether the place which he has chosen or that in which he has been placed by a commander, there he ought to remain in the hour of danger; he should not think of death or of anything but of disgrace. And this, O men of Athens, is a true saying.

  Socrates, who has often faced death in battle, will not make any condition in order to save his own life; for he does not know whether death is a good or an evil.He must always be a preacher of philosophy.‘Necessity is laid upon me:’ ‘I must obey God rather than man.’

  Strange, indeed, would be my conduct, O men of Athens, if I who, when I was ordered by the generals whom you chose to command me at Potidaea and Amphipolis and Delium, remained where they placed me, like any other man, facing death—if now, when, as I conceive and imagine, God orders me to fulfil the philosopher’s mission of searching into myself and other men, I were to desert my post through fear 29of death, or any other fear; that would indeed be strange, and I might justly be arraigned in court for denying the existence of the gods, if I disobeyed the oracle because I was afraid of death, fancying that I was wise when I was not wise. For the fear of death is indeed the pretence of wisdom, and not real wisdom, being a pretence of knowing the unknown; and no one knows whether death, which men in their fear apprehend to be the greatest evil, may not be the greatest good. Is not this ignorance of a disgraceful sort, the ignorance which is the conceit that a man knows what he does not know? And in this respect only I believe myself to differ from men in general, and may perhaps claim to be wiser than they are:—that whereas I know but little of the world below, I do not suppose that I know: but I do know that injustice and disobedience to a better, whether God or man, is evil and dishonourable, and I will never fear or avoid a possible good rather than a certain evil. And therefore if you let me go now, and are not convinced by Anytus, who said that since I had been prosecuted I must be put to death; (or if not that I ought never to have been prosecuted at all); and that if I escape now, your sons will all be utterly ruined by listening to my words—if you say to me, Socrates, this time we will not mind Anytus, and you shall be let off, but upon one condition, that you are not to enquire and speculate in this way any more, and that if you are caught doing so again you shall die;—if this was the condition on which you let me go, I should reply: Men of Athens, I honour and love you; but I shall obey God rather than you, and while I have life and strength I shall never cease from the practice and teaching of philosophy, exhorting any one whom I meet and saying to him after my manner: You, my friend,—a citizen of the great and mighty and wise city of Athens,—are you not ashamed of heaping up the greatest amount of money and honour and reputation, and caring so little about wisdom and truth and the greatest improvement of the soul, which you never regard or heed at all? And if the person with whom I am arguing, says: Yes, but I do care; then I do not leave him or let him go at once; but I proceed to interrogate and examine and cross-examine him, and if I think that he has no virtue in him, but only says that he has, I reproach him with undervaluing the 30greater, and overvaluing the less. And I shall repeat the same words to every one whom I meet, young and old, citizen and alien, but especially to the citizens, inasmuch as they are my brethren. For know that this is the command of God; and I believe that no greater good has ever happened in the state than my service to the God. For I do nothing but go about persuading you all, old and young alike, not to take thought for your persons or your properties, but first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul. I tell you that virtue is not given by money, but that from virtue comes money and every other good of man, public as well as private. This is my teaching, and if this is the doctrine which corrupts the youth, I am a mischievous person. But if any one says that this is not my teaching, he is speaking an untruth. Wherefore, O men of Athens, I say to you, do as Anytus bids or not as Anytus bids, and either acquit me or not; but whichever you do, understand that I shall never alter my ways, not even if I have to die many times.

  Neither you nor Meletus can ever injure me.

  Men of Athens, do not interrupt, but hear me; there was an understanding between us that you should hear me to the end: I have something more to say, at which you may be inclined to cry out; but I believe that to hear me will be good for you, and therefore I beg that you will not cry out. I would have you know, that if you kill such an one as I am, you will injure yourselves more than you will injure me. Nothing will injure me, not Meletus nor yet Anytus—they cannot, for a bad man is not permitted to injure a better than himself. I do not deny that Anytus may, perhaps, kill him, or drive him into exile, or deprive him of civil rights; and he may imagine, and others may imagine, that he is inflicting a great injury upon him: but there I do not agree. For the evil of doing as he is doing—the evil of unjustly taking away the life of another—is greater far.

  I am the gadfly of the Athenian people, given to them by God, and they will never have another, if they kill me.

  And now, Athenians, I am not going to argue for my own sake, as you may think, but for yours, that you may not sin against the God by condemning me, who am his gift to you. For if you kill me you will not easily find a successor to me, who, if I may use such a ludicrous figure of speech, am a sort of gadfly, given to the state by God; and the state is a great and noble steed who is tardy in his motions owing to his very size, and requires to be stirred into life. I am that gadfly which God has attached to the state, and all day long 31and in all places am always fastening upon you, arousing and persuading and reproaching you. You will not easily find another like me, and therefore I would advise you to spare me. I dare say that you may feel out of temper (like a person who is suddenly awakened from sleep), and you think that you might easily strike me dead as Anytus advises, and then you would sleep on for the remainder of your lives, unless God in his care of you sent you another gadfly. When I say that I am given to you by God, the proof of my mission is this:—if I had been like other men, I should not have neglected all my own concerns or patiently seen the neglect of them during all these years, and have been doing yours, coming to you individually like a father or elder brother, exhorting you to regard virtue; such conduct, I say, would be unlike human nature. If I had gained anything, or if my exhortations had been paid, there would have been some sense in my doing so; but now, as you will perceive, not even the impudence of my accusers dares to say that I have ever exacted or sought pay of any one; of that they have no witness. And I have a sufficient witness to the truth of what I say—my poverty.

  The internal sign always forbade him to engage in politics; and if he had done so, he would have perished long ago.

  Some one may wonder why I go about in private giving advice and busying myself with the concerns of others, but do not venture to come forward in public and advise the state. I will tell you why. You have heard me speak at sundry times and in divers places of an oracle or sign which comes to me, and is the divinity which Meletus ridicules in the indictment. This sign, which is a kind of voice, first began to come to me when I was a child; it always forbids but never commands me to do anything which I am going to do. This is what deters me from being a politician. And rightly, as I think. For I am certain, O men of Athens, that if I had engaged in politics, I should have perished long ago, and done no good either to you or to myself. And do not be offended at my telling you the truth: for the truth is, that no man who goes to war with you or any other multitude, honestly striving against the many lawless and unrighteous 32deeds which are done in a state, will save his life; he who will fight for the right, if he would live even for a brief space, must have a private station and not a public one.

  He had shown that he would sooner die than commit injustice at the trial of the generals and under the tyranny of the Thirty.

  I can give you convincing evidence of what I say, not words only, but what you value far more—actions. Let me relate to you a passage of my own life which will prove to you that I should never have yielded to injustice from any fear of death, and that ‘as I should have refused to yield’ I must have died at once. I will tell you a tale of the courts, not very interesting perhaps, but nevertheless true. The only office of state which I ever held, O men of Athens, was that of senator: the tribe Antiochis, which is my tribe, had the presidency at the trial of the generals who had not taken up the bodies of the slain after the battle of Arginusae; and you proposed to try them in a body, contrary to law, as you all thought afterwards; but at the time I was the only one of the Prytanes who was opposed to the illegality, and I gave my vote against you; and when the orators threatened to impeach and arrest me, and you called and shouted, I made up my mind that I would run the risk, having law and justice with me, rather than take part in your injustice because I feared imprisonment and death. This happened in the days of the democracy. But when the oligarchy of the Thirty was in power, they sent for me and four others into the rotunda, and bade us bring Leon the Salaminian from Salamis, as they wanted to put him to death. This was a specimen of the sort of commands which they were always giving with the view of implicating as many as possible in their crimes; and then I showed, not in word only but in deed, that, if I may be allowed to use such an expression, I cared not a straw for death, and that my great and only care was lest I should do an unrighteous or unholy thing. For the strong arm of that oppressive power did not frighten me into doing wrong; and when we came out of the rotunda the other four went to Salamis and fetched Leon, but I went quietly home. For which I might have lost my life, had not the power of the Thirty shortly afterwards come to an end. And many will witness to my words.

  He is always talking to the citizens, but he teaches nothing; he takes no pay and has no secrets.

  Now do you really imagine that I could have survived all these years, if I had led a public life, supposing that like a good man I had always maintained the right and had made justice, as I ought, the first thing? No indeed, men of Athens, neither I nor any other man. But I have been 33always the same in all my actions, public as well as private, and never have I yielded any base compliance to those who are slanderously termed my disciples, or to any other. Not that I have any regular disciples. But if any one likes to come and hear me while I am pursuing my mission, whether he be young or old, he is not excluded. Nor do I converse only with those who pay; but any one, whether he be rich or poor, may ask and answer me and listen to my words; and whether he turns out to be a bad man or a good one, neither result can be justly imputed to me; for I never taught or professed to teach him anything. And if any one says that he has ever learned or heard anything from me in private which all the world has not heard, let me tell you that he is lying.

  The parents and kinsmen of those whom he is supposed to have corrupted do not come forward and testify against him.

  But I shall be asked, Why do people delight in continually conversing with you? I have told you already, Athenians, the whole truth about this matter: they like to hear the cross-examination of the pretenders to wisdom; there is amusement in it. Now this duty of cross-examining other men has been imposed upon me by God; and has been signified to me by oracles, visions, and in every way in which the will of divine power was ever intimated to any one. This is true, O Athenians; or, if not true, would be soon refuted. If I am or have been corrupting the youth, those of them who are now grown up and have become sensible that I gave them bad advice in the days of their youth should come forward as accusers, and take their revenge; or if they do not like to come themselves, some of their relatives, fathers, brothers, or other kinsmen, should say what evil their families have suffered at my hands. Now is their time. Many of them I see in the court. There is Crito, who is of the same age and of the same deme with myself, and there is Critobulus his son, whom I also see. Then again there is Lysanias of Sphettus, who is the father of Aeschines—he is present; and also there is Antiphon of Cephisus, who is the father of Epigenes; and there are the brothers of several who have associated with me. There is Nicostratus the son of Theosdotides, and the brother of Theodotus (now Theodotus himself is dead, and therefore he, at any rate, will not seek to stop him); and there is Paralus the son of Demodocus, who had a brother Theages; 34and Adeimantus the son of Ariston, whose brother Plato is present; and Aeantodorus, who is the brother of Apollodorus, whom I also see. I might mention a great many others, some of whom Meletus should have produced as witnesses in the course of his speech; and let him still produce them, if he has forgotten—I will make way for him. And let him say, if he has any testimony of the sort which he can produce. Nay, Athenians, the very opposite is the truth. For all these are ready to witness on behalf of the corrupter, of the injurer of their kindred, as Meletus and Anytus call me; not the corrupted youth only—there might have been a motive for that—but their uncorrupted elder relatives. Why should they too support me with their testimony? Why, indeed, except for the sake of truth and justice, and because they know that I am speaking the truth, and that Meletus is a liar.

  He is flesh and blood, but he will not appeal to the pity of his judges: or make a scene in the court such as he has often witnessed.

  Well, Athenians, this and the like of this is all the defence which I have to offer. Yet a word more. Perhaps there may be some one who is offended at me, when he calls to mind how he himself on a similar, or even a less serious occasion, prayed and entreated the judges with many tears, and how he produced his children in court, which was a moving spectacle, together with a host of relations and friends; whereas I, who am probably in danger of my life, will do none of these things. The contrast may occur to his mind, and he may be set against me, and vote in anger because he is displeased at me on this account. Now if there be such a person among you,—mind, I do not say that there is,—to him I may fairly reply: My friend, I am a man, and like other men, a creature of flesh and blood, and not ‘of wood or stone,’ as Homer says; and I have a family, yes, and sons, O Athenians, three in number, one almost a man, and two others who are still young; and yet I will not bring any of them hither in order to petition you for an acquittal. And why not? Not from any self-assertion or want of respect for you. Whether I am or am not afraid of death is another question, of which I will not now speak. But, having regard to public opinion, I feel that such conduct would be discreditable to myself, and to you, and to the whole state. One who has reached my years, and who has a name for wisdom, ought not to demean himself. Whether this opinion of me be deserved or not, at any rate the world has decided that Socrates is in some way superior to other men. And if those 35among you who are said to be superior in wisdom and courage, and any other virtue, demean themselves in this way, how shameful is their conduct! I have seen men of reputation, when they have been condemned, behaving in the strangest manner: they seemed to fancy that they were going to suffer something dreadful if they died, and that they could be immortal if you only allowed them to live; and I think that such are a dishonour to the state, and that any stranger coming in would have said of them that the most eminent men of Athens, to whom the Athenians themselves give honour and command, are no better than women. And I say that these things ought not to be done by those of us who have a reputation; and if they are done, you ought not to permit them; you ought rather to show that you are far more disposed to condemn the man who gets up a doleful scene and makes the city ridiculous, than him who holds his peace.

  The judge should not be influenced by his feelings, but convinced by reason.

  But, setting aside the question of public opinion, there seems to be something wrong in asking a favour of a judge, and thus procuring an acquittal, instead of informing and convincing him. For his duty is, not to make a present of justice, but to give judgment; and he has sworn that he will judge according to the laws, and not according to his own good pleasure; and we ought not to encourage you, nor should you allow yourselves to be encouraged, in this habit of perjury—there can be no piety in that. Do not then require me to do what I consider dishonourable and impious and wrong, especially now, when I am being tried for impiety on the indictment of Meletus. For if, O men of Athens, by force of persuasion and entreaty I could overpower your oaths, then I should be teaching you to believe that there are no gods, and in defending should simply convict myself of the charge of not believing in them. But that is not so—far otherwise. For I do believe that there are gods, and in a sense higher than that in which any of my accusers believe in them. And to you and to God I commit my cause, to be determined by you as is best for you and me.

  There are many reasons why I am not grieved, O men of 36Athens, at the vote of condemnation. I expected it, and am only surprised that the votes are so nearly equal; for I had thought that the majority against me would have been far larger; but now, had thirty votes gone over to the other side, I should have been acquitted. And I may say, I think, that I have escaped Meletus. I may say more; for without the assistance of Anytus and Lycon, any one may see that he would not have had a fifth part of the votes, as the law requires, in which case he would have incurred a fine of a thousand drachmae.

  Socrates all his life long has been seeking to do the greatest good to the Athenians.Should he not be rewarded with maintenance in the Prytaneum?

  And so he proposes death as the penalty. And what shall I propose on my part, O men of Athens? Clearly that which is my due. And what is my due? What return shall be made to the man who has never had the wit to be idle during his whole life; but has been careless of what the many care for—wealth, and family interests, and military offices, and speaking in the assembly, and magistracies, and plots, and parties. Reflecting that I was really too honest a man to be a politician and live, I did not go where I could do no good to you or to myself; but where I could do the greatest good privately to every one of you, thither I went, and sought to persuade every man among you that he must look to himself, and seek virtue and wisdom before he looks to his private interests, and look to the state before he looks to the interests of the state; and that this should be the order which he observes in all his actions. What shall be done to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, O men of Athens, if he has his reward; and the good should be of a kind suitable to him. What would be a reward suitable to a poor man who is your benefactor, and who desires leisure that he may instruct you? There can be no reward so fitting as maintenance in the Prytaneum, O men of Athens, a reward which he deserves far more than the citizen who has won the prize at Olympia in the horse or chariot race, whether the chariots were drawn by two horses or by many. For I am in want, and he has enough; and he only gives you the appearance of happiness, and I give you the reality. And if I am to estimate the penalty fairly, I should say that maintenance in the Prytaneum 37is the just return.

  The consciousness of innocence gives him confidence.No alternative in his own judgment preferable to death.

  Perhaps you think that I am braving you in what I am saying now, as in what I said before about the tears and prayers. But this is not so. I speak rather because I am convinced that I never intentionally wronged any one, although I cannot convince you—the time has been too short; if there were a law at Athens, as there is in other cities, that a capital cause should not be decided in one day, then I believe that I should have convinced you. But I cannot in a moment refute great slanders; and, as I am convinced that I never wronged another, I will assuredly not wrong myself. I will not say of myself that I deserve any evil, or propose any penalty. Why should I? Because I am afraid of the penalty of death which Meletus proposes? When I do not know whether death is a good or an evil, why should I propose a penalty which would certainly be an evil? Shall I say imprisonment? And why should I live in prison, and be the slave of the magistrates of the year—of the Eleven? Or shall the penalty be a fine, and imprisonment until the fine is paid? There is the same objection. I should have to lie in prison, for money I have none, and cannot pay. And if I say exile (and this may possibly be the penalty which you will affix), I must indeed be blinded by the love of life, if I am so irrational as to expect that when you, who are my own citizens, cannot endure my discourses and words, and have found them so grievous and odious that you will have no more of them, others are likely to endure me. No indeed, men of Athens, that is not very likely. And what a life should I lead, at my age, wandering from city to city, ever changing my place of exile, and always being driven out! For I am quite sure that wherever I go, there, as here, the young men will flock to me; and if I drive them away, their elders will drive me out at their request; and if I let them come, their fathers and friends will drive me out for their sakes.

  For wherever he goes he must speak out.

  Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and then you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you? Now I have great difficulty in making you understand my answer to this. For if I tell you that to do as you say would be a disobedience to the God, and therefore that I cannot hold my tongue, you will not 38believe that I am serious; and if I say again that daily to discourse about virtue, and of those other things about which you hear me examining myself and others, is the greatest good of man, and that the unexamined life is not worth living, you are still less likely to believe me. Yet I say what is true, although a thing of which it is hard for me to persuade you. Also, I have never been accustomed to think that I deserve to suffer any harm. Had I money I might have estimated the offence at what I was able to pay, and not have been much the worse. But I have none, and therefore I must ask you to proportion the fine to my means. Well, perhaps I could afford a mina, and therefore I propose that penalty: Plato, Crito, Critobulus, and Apollodorus, my friends here, bid me say thirty minae, and they will be the sureties. Let thirty minae be the penalty; for which sum they will be ample security to you.

  They will be accused of killing a wise man.Why could they not wait a few years?

  Not much time will be gained, O Athenians, in return for the evil name which you will get from the detractors of the city, who will say that you killed Socrates, a wise man; for they will call me wise, even although I am not wise, when they want to reproach you. If you had waited a little while, your desire would have been fulfilled in the course of nature. For I am far advanced in years, as you may perceive, and not far from death. I am speaking now not to all of you, but only to those who have condemned me to death. And I have another thing to say to them: You think that I was convicted because I had no words of the sort which would have procured my acquittal—I mean, if I had thought fit to leave nothing undone or unsaid. Not so; the deficiency which led to my conviction was not of words—certainly not. But I had not the boldness or impudence or inclination to address you as you would have liked me to do, weeping and wailing and lamenting, and saying and doing many things which you have been accustomed to hear from others, and which, as I maintain, are unworthy of me. I thought at the time that I ought not to do anything common or mean when in danger: nor do I now repent of the style of my defence; I would rather die having spoken after my manner, than speak in your manner and live. For neither in war nor yet at law ought I or any man to use every way of escaping death. 39Often in battle there can be no doubt that if a man will throw away his arms, and fall on his knees before his pursuers, he may escape death; and in other dangers there are other ways of escaping death, if a man is willing to say and do anything. The difficulty, my friends, is not to avoid death, but to avoid unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death. I am old and move slowly, and the slower runner has overtaken me, and my accusers are keen and quick, and the faster runner, who is unrighteousness, has overtaken them. And now I depart hence condemned by you to suffer the penalty of death,—they too go their ways condemned by the truth to suffer the penalty of villainy and wrong; and I must abide by my award—let them abide by theirs. I suppose that these things may be regarded as fated,—and I think that they are well.

  They are about to slay Socrates because he has been their accuser: other accusers will rise up and denounce them more vehemently.

  And now, O men who have condemned me, I would fain prophesy to you; for I am about to die, and in the hour of death men are gifted with prophetic power. And I prophesy to you who are my murderers, that immediately after my departure punishment far heavier than you have inflicted on me will surely await you. Me you have killed because you wanted to escape the accuser, and not to give an account of your lives. But that will not be as you suppose: far otherwise. For I say that there will be more accusers of you than there are now; accusers whom hitherto I have restrained: and as they are younger they will be more inconsiderate with you, and you will be more offended at them. If you think that by killing men you can prevent some one from censuring your evil lives, you are mistaken; that is not a way of escape which is either possible or honourable; the easiest and the noblest way is not to be disabling others, but to be improving yourselves. This is the prophecy which I utter before my departure to the judges who have condemned me.

  He believes that what is happening to him will be good, because the internal oracle gives no sign of opposition.

  Friends, who would have acquitted me, I would like also to talk with you about the thing which has come to pass, while the magistrates are busy, and before I go to the place at which I must die. Stay then a little, for we may as well talk 40with one another while there is time. You are my friends, and I should like to show you the meaning of this event which has happened to me. O my judges—for you I may truly call judges—I should like to tell you of a wonderful circumstance. Hitherto the divine faculty of which the internal oracle is the source has constantly been in the habit of opposing me even about trifles, if I was going to make a slip or error in any matter; and now as you see there has come upon me that which may be thought, and is generally believed to be, the last and worst evil. But the oracle made no sign of opposition, either when I was leaving my house in the morning, or when I was on my way to the court, or while I was speaking, at anything which I was going to say; and yet I have often been stopped in the middle of a speech, but now in nothing I either said or did touching the matter in hand has the oracle opposed me. What do I take to be the explanation of this silence? I will tell you. It is an intimation that what has happened to me is a good, and that those of us who think that death is an evil are in error. For the customary sign would surely have opposed me had I been going to evil and not to good.

  Death either a good or nothing:=a profound sleep.How blessed to have a just judgment passed on us; to converse with Homer and Hesiod; to see the heroes of Troy, and to continue the search after knowledge in another world!

  Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there is great reason to hope that death is a good; for one of two things—either death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if you suppose that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, death will be an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare with this the other days and nights of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he had passed in the course of his life better and more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will not say a private man, but even the great king will not find many such days or nights, when compared with the others. Now if death be of such a nature, I say that to die is gain; for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the dead abide, what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in the world below, he is delivered from the professors 41of justice in this world, and finds the true judges who are said to give judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus and Aeacus and Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus and Musaeus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, let me die again and again. I myself, too, shall have a wonderful interest in there meeting and conversing with Palamedes, and Ajax the son of Telamon, and any other ancient hero who has suffered death through an unjust judgment; and there will be no small pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall then be able to continue my search into true and false knowledge; as in this world, so also in the next; and I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be wise, and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able to examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition; or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or numberless others, men and women too! What infinite delight would there be in conversing with them and asking them questions! In another world they do not put a man to death for asking questions: assuredly not. For besides being happier than we are, they will be immortal, if what is said is true.

  Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and know of a certainty, that no evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by mere chance. But I see clearly that the time had arrived when it was better for me to die and be released from trouble; wherefore the oracle gave no sign. For which reason, also, I am not angry with my condemners, or with my accusers; they have done me no harm, although they did not mean to do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them.

  Do to my sons as I have done to you.

  Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; or if they pretend to be something when they are really nothing,—then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they are something when they are really 42nothing. And if you do this, both I and my sons will have received justice at your hands.

  The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways—I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

  [1 ]Or, I am certain that I am right in taking this course.

  [1 ]Aristoph., Clouds, 225 ff.

  [1 ]Probably in allusion to Aristophanes who caricatured, and to Euripides who borrowed the notions of Anaxagoras, as well as to other dramatic poets.

• Back to Top

  9: 9. Plato’s Dialogues - Crito

  Read the Dialogue known as “Crito”.

  Plato, The Dialogues of Plato translated into English with Analyses and Introductions by B. Jowett, M.A. in Five Volumes. 3rd edition revised and corrected (Oxford University Press, 1892). Chapter: CRITO.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/766/93697 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CRITO.

  INTRODUCTION.

  Crito.Introduction.

  The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in the will of heaven, but simply as the good citizen, who having been unjustly condemned is willing to give up his life in obedience to the laws of the state. . . . .

  Analysis.

  43The days of Socrates are drawing to a close; the fatal ship has been seen off Sunium, as he is informed by his aged friend and contemporary Crito, who visits him before the dawn has broken; he himself has been warned in a dream that on the 44third day he must depart. Time is precious, and Crito has come early in order to gain his consent to a plan of escape. This can be easily accomplished by his friends, who will incur no 45danger in making the attempt to save him, but will be disgraced for ever if they allow him to perish. He should think of his duty to his children, and not play into the hands of his enemies. Money is already provided by Crito as well as by Simmias and 46others, and he will have no difficulty in finding friends in Thessaly and other places.

  Socrates is afraid that Crito is but pressing upon him the opinions of the many: whereas, all his life long he has followed the dictates of reason only and the opinion of the one wise or skilled man. There was a time when Crito himself had allowed the propriety of this. And although some one will say ‘the many can kill us,’ that makes no difference; but a good life, in other words, a just and honourable life, is alone to be valued. All considerations of loss of reputation or injury to his children should be dismissed: the only question is whether he would be right in attempting to escape. Crito, who is a disinterested 47person not having the fear of death before his eyes, shall answer this for him. Before he was condemned they had often held discussions, in which they agreed that no man should either do evil, 48or return evil for evil, or betray the right. Are these principles to be altered because the circumstances of Socrates are altered? Crito admits that they remain the same. Then is his escape consistent 49with the maintenance of them? To this Crito is unable or unwilling to reply.

  Socrates proceeds:—Suppose the Laws of Athens to come 50and remonstrate with him: they will ask ‘Why does he seek to overturn them?’ and if he replies, ‘they have injured him,’ will not the Laws answer, ‘Yes, but was that the agreement? Has he any objection to make to them which would justify him in 51overturning them? Was he not brought into the world and educated by their help, and are they not his parents? He might 52have left Athens and gone where he pleased, but he has lived there for seventy years more constantly than any other citizen.’ Thus he has clearly shown that he acknowledged the agreement, which he cannot now break without dishonour to himself and danger to his friends. Even in the course of the trial he might have proposed exile as the penalty, but then he declared that he preferred death to exile. And whither will he direct his footsteps? In any well-ordered state the Laws will consider him as 53an enemy. Possibly in a land of misrule like Thessaly he may be welcomed at first, and the unseemly narrative of his escape will be regarded by the inhabitants as an amusing tale. But if he offends them he will have to learn another sort of lesson. Will he continue to give lectures in virtue? That would hardly be decent. And how will his children be the gainers if he takes them into Thessaly, and deprives them of Athenian citizenship? 54Or if he leaves them behind, does he expect that they will be better taken care of by his friends because he is in Thessaly? Will not true friends care for them equally whether he is alive or dead?

  Finally, they exhort him to think of justice first, and of life and children afterwards. He may now depart in peace and innocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil. But if he breaks agreements, and returns evil for evil, they will be angry with him while he lives; and their brethren the Laws of the world below will receive him as an enemy. Such is the mystic voice which is always murmuring in his ears.

  Introduction.

  That Socrates was not a good citizen was a charge made against him during his lifetime, which has been often repeated in later ages. The crimes of Alcibiades, Critias, and Charmides, who had been his pupils, were still recent in the memory of the now restored democracy. The fact that he had been neutral in the death-struggle of Athens was not likely to conciliate popular good-will. Plato, writing probably in the next generation, undertakes the defence of his friend and master in this particular, not to the Athenians of his day, but to posterity and the world at large.

  Whether such an incident ever really occurred as the visit of Crito and the proposal of escape is uncertain: Plato could easily have invented far more than that (Phaedr. 275 B); and in the selection of Crito, the aged friend, as the fittest person to make the proposal to Socrates, we seem to recognize the hand of the artist. Whether any one who has been subjected by the laws of his country to an unjust judgment is right in attempting to escape, is a thesis about which casuists might disagree. Shelley (Prose Works, p. 78) is of opinion that Socrates ‘did well to die,’ but not for the ‘sophistical’ reasons which Plato has put into his mouth. And there would be no difficulty in arguing that Socrates should have lived and preferred to a glorious death the good which he might still be able to perform. ‘A rhetorician would have had much to say upon that point’ (50 B). It may be observed however that Plato never intended to answer the question of casuistry, but only to exhibit the ideal of patient virtue which refuses to do the least evil in order to avoid the greatest, and to show his master maintaining in death the opinions which he had professed in his life. Not ‘the world,’ but the ‘one wise man,’ is still the paradox of Socrates in his last hours. He must be guided by reason, although her conclusions may be fatal to him. The remarkable sentiment that the wicked can do neither good nor evil is true, if taken in the sense, which he means, of moral evil; in his own words, ‘they cannot make a man wise or foolish.’

  This little dialogue is a perfect piece of dialectic, in which granting the ‘common principle’ (49 D), there is no escaping from the conclusion. It is anticipated at the beginning by the dream of Socrates and the parody of Homer. The personification of the Laws, and of their brethren the Laws in the world below, is one of the noblest and boldest figures of speech which occur in Plato.

  CRITO.

  PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

  Socrates.

  Crito.

  Scene:—The Prison of Socrates.

  Socrates.

  Crito.Socrates, Crito.

  43Why have you come at this hour, Crito? it must be quite early?

  Crito.

  Yes, certainly.

  Soc.

  Crito appears at break of dawn in the prison of Socrates, whom he finds asleep.

  What is the exact time?

  Cr.

  The dawn is breaking.

  Soc.

  I wonder that the keeper of the prison would let you in.

  Cr.

  He knows me, because I often come, Socrates; moreover, I have done him a kindness.

  Soc.

  And are you only just arrived?

  Cr.

  No, I came some time ago.

  Soc.

  Then why did you sit and say nothing, instead of at once awakening me?

  Cr.

  I should not have liked myself, Socrates, to be in such great trouble and unrest as you are—indeed I should not: I have been watching with amazement your peaceful slumbers; and for that reason I did not awake you, because I wished to minimize the pain. I have always thought you to be of a happy disposition; but never did I see anything like the easy, tranquil manner in which you bear this calamity.

  Soc.

  Why, Crito, when a man has reached my age he ought not to be repining at the approach of death.

  Cr.

  And yet other old men find themselves in similar misfortunes, and age does not prevent them from repining.

  Soc.

  That is true. But you have not told me why you come at this early hour.

  Cr.

  The ship from Delos is expected.

  I come to bring you a message which is sad and painful; not, as I believe, to yourself, but to all of us who are your friends, and saddest of all to me.

  Soc.

  What? Has the ship come from Delos, on the arrival of which I am to die?

  Cr.

  No, the ship has not actually arrived, but she will probably be here to-day, as persons who have come from Sunium tell me that they left her there; and therefore to-morrow, Socrates, will be the last day of your life.

  Soc.

  Very well, Crito; if such is the will of God, I am willing; but my belief is that there will be a delay of a day.

  Cr.

  Why do you think so? 44

  Soc.

  I will tell you. I am to die on the day after the arrival of the ship.

  Cr.

  Yes; that is what the authorities say.

  Soc.

  A vision of a fair woman who prophesies in the language of Homer that Socrates will die on the third day.

  But I do not think that the ship will be here until to-morrow; this I infer from a vision which I had last night, or rather only just now, when you fortunately allowed me to sleep.

  Cr.

  And what was the nature of the vision?

  Soc.

  There appeared to me the likeness of a woman, fair and comely, clothed in bright raiment, who called to me and said: O Socrates,

  ‘The third day hence to fertile Phthia shalt thou go1 .’

  Cr.

  What a singular dream, Socrates!

  Soc.

  There can be no doubt about the meaning, Crito, I think.

  Cr.

  Yes; the meaning is only too clear. But, oh! my beloved Socrates, let me entreat you once more to take my advice and escape. For if you die I shall not only lose a friend who can never be replaced, but there is another evil: people who do not know you and me will believe that I might have saved you if I had been willing to give money, but that I did not care. Now, can there be a worse disgrace than this—that I should be thought to value money more than the life of a friend? For the many will not be persuaded that I wanted you to escape, and that you refused.

  Soc.

  But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the many? Good men, and they are the only persons who are worth considering, will think of these things truly as they occurred.

  Cr.

  Crito by a variety of arguments tries to induce Socrates to make his escape. The means will be easily provided and without danger to any one.

  But you see, Socrates, that the opinion of the many must be regarded, for what is now happening shows that they can do the greatest evil to any one who has lost their good opinion.

  Soc.

  I only wish it were so, Crito; and that the many could do the greatest evil; for then they would also be able to do the greatest good—and what a fine thing this would be! But in reality they can do neither; for they cannot make a man either wise or foolish; and whatever they do is the result of chance.

  Cr.

  Well, I will not dispute with you; but please to tell me, Socrates, whether you are not acting out of regard to me and your other friends: are you not afraid that if you escape from prison we may get into trouble with the informers for having stolen you away, and lose either the whole or a great part of 45our property; or that even a worse evil may happen to us? Now, if you fear on our account, be at ease; for in order to save you, we ought surely to run this, or even a greater risk; be persuaded, then, and do as I say.

  Soc.

  Yes, Crito, that is one fear which you mention, but by no means the only one.

  Cr.

  He is not justified in throwing away his life; he will be deserting his children, and will bring the reproach of cowardice on his friends.

  Fear not—there are persons who are willing to get you out of prison at no great cost; and as for the informers, they are far from being exorbitant in their demands—a little money will satisfy them. My means, which are certainly ample, are at your service, and if you have a scruple about spending all mine, here are strangers who will give you the use of theirs; and one of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought a large sum of money for this very purpose; and Cebes and many others are prepared to spend their money in helping you to escape. I say, therefore, do not hesitate on our account, and do not say, as you did in the court1 , that you will have a difficulty in knowing what to do with yourself anywhere else. For men will love you in other places to which you may go, and not in Athens only; there are friends of mine in Thessaly, if you like to go to them, who will value and protect you, and no Thessalian will give you any trouble. Nor can I think that you are at all justified, Socrates, in betraying your own life when you might be saved; in acting thus you are playing into the hands of your enemies, who are hurrying on your destruction. And further I should say that you are deserting your own children; for you might bring them up and educate them; instead of which you go away and leave them, and they will have to take their chance; and if they do not meet with the usual fate of orphans, there will be small thanks to you. No man should bring children into the world who is unwilling to persevere to the end in their nurture and education. But you appear to be choosing the easier part, not the better and manlier, which would have been more becoming in one who professes to care for virtue in all his actions, like yourself. And indeed, I am ashamed not only of you, but of us who are your friends, when I reflect that the whole business will be attributed entirely to our want of courage. The trial need never have come on, or might have been managed differently; and this last act, or crowning folly, will seem to have occurred through our negligence and cowardice, who might have saved you, if we had been good for 46anything; and you might have saved yourself, for there was no difficulty at all. See now, Socrates, how sad and discreditable are the consequences, both to us and you. Make up your mind then, or rather have your mind already made up, for the time of deliberation is over, and there is only one thing to be done, which must be done this very night, and if we delay at all will be no longer practicable or possible; I beseech you therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and do as I say.

  Soc.

  Socrates is one of those who must be guided by reason.Ought he to follow the opinion of the many or of the few, of the wise or of the unwise?

  Dear Crito, your zeal is invaluable, if a right one; but if wrong, the greater the zeal the greater the danger; and therefore we ought to consider whether I shall or shall not do as you say. For I am and always have been one of those natures who must be guided by reason, whatever the reason may be which upon reflection appears to me to be the best; and now that this chance has befallen me, I cannot repudiate my own words: the principles which I have hitherto honoured and revered I still honour, and unless we can at once find other and better principles, I am certain not to agree with you; no, not even if the power of the multitude could inflict many more imprisonments, confiscations, deaths, frightening us like children with hobgoblin terrors1 . What will be the fairest way of considering the question? Shall I return to your old argument about the opinions of men?—we were saying that some of them are to be regarded, and others not. Now were we right in maintaining this before I was condemned? And has the argument which was once good now proved to be talk for the sake of talking—mere childish nonsense? That is what I want to consider with your help, Crito:—whether, under my present circumstances, the argument appears to be in any way different or not; and is to be allowed by me or disallowed. That argument, which, as I believe, is maintained by many persons of authority, was to the effect, as I was saying, that the opinions of some men are to be regarded, and of other men not to be regarded. Now 47you, Crito, are not going to die to-morrow—at least, there is no human probability of this—and therefore you are disinterested and not liable to be deceived by the circumstances in which you are placed. Tell me then, whether I am right in saying that some opinions, and the opinions of some men only, are to be valued, and that other opinions, and the opinions of other men, are not to be valued. I ask you whether I was right in maintaining this?

  Cr.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  The good are to be regarded, and not the bad?

  Cr.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the opinions of the wise are good, and the opinions of the unwise are evil?

  Cr.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And what was said about another matter? Is the pupil who devotes himself to the practice of gymnastics supposed to attend to the praise and blame and opinion of every man, or of one man only—his physician or trainer, whoever he may be?

  Cr.

  Of one man only.

  Soc.

  And he ought to fear the censure and welcome the praise of that one only, and not of the many?

  Cr.

  Clearly so.

  Soc.

  And he ought to act and train, and eat and drink in the way which seems good to his single master who has understanding, rather than according to the opinion of all other men put together?

  Cr.

  True.

  Soc.

  And if he disobeys and disregards the opinion and approval of the one, and regards the opinion of the many who have no understanding, will he not suffer evil?

  Cr.

  Certainly he will.

  Soc.

  And what will the evil be, whither tending and what affecting, in the disobedient person?

  Cr.

  Clearly, affecting the body; that is what is destroyed by the evil.

  Soc.

  The opinion of the one wise man is to be followed.

  Very good; and is not this true, Crito, of other things which we need not separately enumerate? In questions of just and unjust, fair and foul, good and evil, which are the subjects of our present consultation, ought we to follow the opinion of the many and to fear them; or the opinion of the one man who has understanding? ought we not to fear and reverence him more than all the rest of the world: and if we desert him shall we not destroy and injure that principle in us which may be assumed to be improved by justice and deteriorated by injustice;—there is such a principle?

  Cr.

  Certainly there is, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Take a parallel instance:—if, acting under the advice of those who have no understanding, we destroy that which is improved by health and is deteriorated by disease, would life be worth having? And that which has been destroyed is—the body?

  Cr.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Could we live, having an evil and corrupted body?

  Cr.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  And will life be worth having, if that higher part of man be destroyed, which is improved by justice and depraved by injustice? Do we suppose that principle, whatever it 48may be in man, which has to do with justice and injustice, to be inferior to the body?

  Cr.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  More honourable than the body?

  Cr.

  Far more.

  Soc.

  No matter what the many say of us.

  Then, my friend, we must not regard what the many say of us: but what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will say, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when you advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and unjust, good and evil, honourable and dishonourable. — ‘Well,’ some one will say, ‘but the many can kill us.’

  Cr.

  Yes, Socrates; that will clearly be the answer.

  Soc.

  Not life, but a good life, to be chiefly valued.

  And it is true: but still I find with surprise that the old argument is unshaken as ever. And I should like to know whether I may say the same of another proposition—that not life, but a good life, is to be chiefly valued?

  Cr.

  Yes, that also remains unshaken.

  Soc.

  And a good life is equivalent to a just and honourable one—that holds also?

  Cr.

  Yes, it does.

  Soc.

  Admitting these principles, ought I to try and escape or not?

  From these premisses I proceed to argue the question whether I ought or ought not to try and escape without the consent of the Athenians: and if I am clearly right in escaping, then I will make the attempt; but if not, I will abstain. The other considerations which you mention, of money and loss of character and the duty of educating one’s children, are, I fear, only the doctrines of the multitude, who would be as ready to restore people to life, if they were able, as they are to put them to death—and with as little reason. But now, since the argument has thus far prevailed, the only question which remains to be considered is, whether we shall do rightly either in escaping or in suffering others to aid in our escape and paying them in money and thanks, or whether in reality we shall not do rightly; and if the latter, then death or any other calamity which may ensue on my remaining here must not be allowed to enter into the calculation.

  Cr.

  I think that you are right, Socrates; how then shall we proceed?

  Soc.

  Let us consider the matter together, and do you either refute me if you can, and I will be convinced; or else cease, my dear friend, from repeating to me that I ought to escape against the wishes of the Athenians: for I highly value your attempts to persuade me to do so, but I may not be persuaded against my own better judgement. And now please to consider my first position, and try how you can 49best answer me.

  Cr.

  I will.

  Soc.

  May we sometimes do evil that good may come?

  Are we to say that we are never intentionally to do wrong, or that in one way we ought and in another way we ought not to do wrong, or is doing wrong always evil and dishonourable, as I was just now saying, and as has been already acknowledged by us? Are all our former admissions which were made within a few days to be thrown away? And have we, at our age, been earnestly discoursing with one another all our life long only to discover that we are no better than children? Or, in spite of the opinion of the many, and in spite of consequences whether better or worse, shall we insist on the truth of what was then said, that injustice is always an evil and dishonour to him who acts unjustly? Shall we say so or not?

  Cr.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then we must do no wrong?

  Cr.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  Nor when injured injure in return, as the many imagine; for we must injure no one at all1 ?

  Cr.

  Clearly not.

  Soc.

  Again, Crito, may we do evil?

  Cr.

  Surely not, Socrates.

  Soc.

  May we render evil for evil?

  And what of doing evil in return for evil, which is the morality of the many—is that just or not?

  Cr.

  Not just.

  Soc.

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

  Cr.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  Or is evil always to be deemed evil? Are you of the same mind as formerly about all this?

  Then we ought not to retaliate or render evil for evil to any one, whatever evil we may have suffered from him. But I would have you consider, Crito, whether you really mean what you are saying. For this opinion has never been held, and never will be held, by any considerable number of persons; and those who are agreed and those who are not agreed upon this point have no common ground, and can only despise one another when they see how widely they differ. Tell me, then, whether you agree with and assent to my first principle, that neither injury nor retaliation nor warding off evil by evil is ever right. And shall that be the premiss of our argument? Or do you decline and dissent from this? For so I have ever thought, and continue to think; but, if you are of another opinion, let me hear what you have to say. If, however, you remain of the same mind as formerly, I will proceed to the next step.

  Cr.

  Crito assents.

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

  Soc.

  Then ought Socrates to desert or not?

  Then I will go on to the next point, which may be put in the form of a question:—Ought a man to do what he admits to be right, or ought he to betray the right?

  Cr.

  He ought to do what he thinks right.

  Soc.

  But if this is true, what is the application? In 50leaving the prison against the will of the Athenians, do I wrong any? or rather do I not wrong those whom I ought least to wrong? Do I not desert the principles which were acknowledged by us to be just—what do you say?

  Cr.

  I cannot tell, Socrates; for I do not know.

  Soc.

  The Laws come and argue with him.—Can a State exist in which law is set aside?

  Then consider the matter in this way:—Imagine that I am about to play truant (you may call the proceeding by any name which you like), and the laws and the government come and interrogate me: ‘Tell us, Socrates,’ they say; ‘what are you about? are you not going by an act of yours to overturn us—the laws, and the whole state, as far as in you lies? Do you imagine that a state can subsist and not be overthrown, in which the decisions of law have no power, but are set aside and trampled upon by individuals?’ What will be our answer, Crito, to these and the like words? Any one, and especially a rhetorician, will have a good deal to say on behalf of the law which requires a sentence to be carried out. He will argue that this law should not be set aside; and shall we reply, ‘Yes; but the state has injured us and given an unjust sentence.’ Suppose I say that?

  Cr.

  Very good, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Has he any fault to find with them?No man has any right to strike a blow at his country any more than at his father or mother.

  ‘And was that our agreement with you?’ the law would answer; ‘or were you to abide by the sentence of the state?’ And if I were to express my astonishment at their words, the law would probably add: ‘Answer, Socrates, instead of opening your eyes—you are in the habit of asking and answering questions. Tell us,—What complaint have you to make against us which justifies you in attempting to destroy us and the state? In the first place did we not bring you into existence? Your father married your mother by our aid and begat you. Say whether you have any objection to urge against those of us who regulate marriage?’ None, I should reply. ‘Or against those of us who after birth regulate the nurture and education of children, in which you also were trained? Were not the laws, which have the charge of education, right in commanding your father to train you in music and gymnastic?’ Right, I should reply. ‘Well then, since you were brought into the world and nurtured and educated by us, can you deny in the first place that you are our child and slave, as your fathers were before you? And if this is true you are not on equal terms with us; nor can you think that you have a right to do to us what we are doing to you. Would you have any right to strike or revile or do any other evil to your father or your master, if you had one, because you have been struck or reviled by him, or received some other evil at his hands?—you would not say this? And because we think right to 51destroy you, do you think that you have any right to destroy us in return, and your country as far as in you lies? Will you, O professor of true virtue, pretend that you are justified in this? Has a philosopher like you failed to discover that our country is more to be valued and higher and holier far than mother or father or any ancestor, and more to be regarded in the eyes of the gods and of men of understanding? also to be soothed, and gently and reverently entreated when angry, even more than a father, and either to be persuaded, or if not persuaded, to be obeyed? And when we are punished by her, whether with imprisonment or stripes, the punishment is to be endured in silence; and if she lead us to wounds or death in battle, thither we follow as is right; neither may any one yield or retreat or leave his rank, but whether in battle or in a court of law, or in any other place, he must do what his city and his country order him; or he must change their view of what is just: and if he may do no violence to his father or mother, much less may he do violence to his country.’ What answer shall we make to this, Crito? Do the laws speak truly, or do they not?

  Cr.

  I think that they do.

  Soc.

  The Laws argue that he has made an implied agreement with them which he is not at liberty to break at his pleasure.

  Then the laws will say: ‘Consider, Socrates, if we are speaking truly that in your present attempt you are going to do us an injury. For, having brought you into the world, and nurtured and educated you, and given you and every other citizen a share in every good which we had to give, we further proclaim to any Athenian by the liberty which we allow him, that if he does not like us when he has become of age and has seen the ways of the city, and made our acquaintance, he may go where he pleases and take his goods with him. None of us laws will forbid him or interfere with him. Any one who does not like us and the city, and who wants to emigrate to a colony or to any other city, may go where he likes, retaining his property. But he who has experience of the manner in which we order justice and administer the state, and still remains, has entered into an implied contract that he will do as we command him. And he who disobeys us is, as we maintain, thrice wrong; first, because in disobeying us he is disobeying his parents; secondly, because we are the authors of his education; thirdly, because he has made an agreement with us that he 52will duly obey our commands; and he neither obeys them nor convinces us that our commands are unjust; and we do not rudely impose them, but give him the alternative of obeying or convincing us:—that is what we offer, and he does neither.

  ‘These are the sort of accusations to which, as we were saying, you, Socrates, will be exposed if you accomplish your intentions; you, above all other Athenians.’ Suppose now I ask, why I rather than anybody else? they will justly retort upon me that I above all other men have acknowledged the agreement. ‘There is clear proof,’ they will say, ‘Socrates, that we and the city were not displeasing to you. Of all Athenians you have been the most constant resident in the city, which, as you never leave, you may be supposed to love1 . For you never went out of the city either to see the games, except once when you went to the Isthmus, or to any other place unless when you were on military service; nor did you travel as other men do. Nor had you any curiosity to know other states or their laws: your affections did not go beyond us and our state; we were your special favourites, and you acquiesced in our government of you; and here in this city you begat your children, which is a proof of your satisfaction. Moreover, you might in the course of the trial, if you had liked, have fixed the penalty at banishment; the state which refuses to let you go now would have let you go then. But you pretended that you preferred death to exile2 , and that you were not unwilling to die. And now you have forgotten these fine sentiments, and pay no respect to us the laws, of whom you are the destroyer; and are doing what only a miserable slave would do, running away and turning your back upon the compacts and agreements which you made as a citizen. And first of all answer this very question: Are we right in saying that you agreed to be governed according to us in deed, and not in word only? Is that true or not?’ How shall we answer, Crito? Must we not assent?

  Cr.

  We cannot help it, Socrates.

  Soc.

  This agreement he is now going to break.

  Then will they not say: ‘You, Socrates, are breaking the covenants and agreements which you made with us at your leisure, not in any haste or under any compulsion or deception, but after you have had seventy years to think of them, during which time you were at liberty to leave the city, if we were not to your mind, or if our covenants appeared to you to be unfair. You had your choice, and might have gone either to Lacedaemon or Crete, both which states are often praised by you for their good government, or to some other Hellenic or foreign state. Whereas you, 53above all other Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state, or, in other words, of us her laws (and who would care about a state which has no laws?), that you never stirred out of her; the halt, the blind, the maimed were not more stationary in her than you were. And now you run away and forsake your agreements. Not so, Socrates, if you will take our advice; do not make yourself ridiculous by escaping out of the city.

  If he does he will injure his friends and will disgrace himself.

  ‘For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of way, what good will you do either to yourself or to your friends? That your friends will be driven into exile and deprived of citizenship, or will lose their property, is tolerably certain; and you yourself, if you fly to one of the neighbouring cities, as, for example, Thebes or Megara, both of which are well governed, will come to them as an enemy, Socrates, and their government will be against you, and all patriotic citizens will cast an evil eye upon you as a subverter of the laws, and you will confirm in the minds of the judges the justice of their own condemnation of you. For he who is a corrupter of the laws is more than likely to be a corrupter of the young and foolish portion of mankind. Will you then flee from well-ordered cities and virtuous men? and is existence worth having on these terms? Or will you go to them without shame, and talk to them, Socrates? And what will you say to them? What you say here about virtue and justice and institutions and laws being the best things among men? Would that be decent of you? Surely not. But if you go away from well-governed states to Crito’s friends in Thessaly, where there is great disorder and licence, they will be charmed to hear the tale of your escape from prison, set off with ludicrous particulars of the manner in which you were wrapped in a goatskin or some other disguise, and metamorphosed as the manner is of runaways; but will there be no one to remind you that in your old age you were not ashamed to violate the most sacred laws from a miserable desire of a little more life? Perhaps not, if you keep them in a good temper; but if they are out of temper you will hear many degrading things; you will live, but how?—as the flatterer of all men, and the servant of all men; and doing what?—eating and drinking in Thessaly, having gone abroad in order that you may get a dinner. And where will be your fine sentiments 54about justice and virtue? Say that you wish to live for the sake of your children—you want to bring them up and educate them—will you take them into Thessaly and deprive them of Athenian citizenship? Is this the benefit which you will confer upon them? Or are you under the impression that they will be better cared for and educated here if you are still alive, although absent from them; for your friends will take care of them? Do you fancy that if you are an inhabitant of Thessaly they will take care of them, and if you are an inhabitant of the other world that they will not take care of them? Nay; but if they who call themselves friends are good for anything, they will—to be sure they will.

  Let him think of justice first, and of life and children afterwards.

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

  The mystic voice.

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

  Cr.

  I have nothing to say, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Leave me then, Crito, to fulfil the will of God, and to follow whither he leads.

  [1 ]Homer, Il. ix. 363.

  [1 ]Cp. Apol. 37 C, D.

  [1 ]Cp. Apol. 30 C.

  [1 ]e.g. cp. Rep. i. 335 E.

  [1 ]Cp. Phaedr. 230 C.

  [2 ]Cp. Apol. 37 D.

• Back to Top

  10: 10. Plato’s Dialogues - The Gorgias

  Read the Dialogue known as “The Gorgias”.

  Plato, The Dialogues of Plato translated into English with Analyses and Introductions by B. Jowett, M.A. in Five Volumes. 3rd edition revised and corrected (Oxford University Press, 1892). Chapter: GORGIAS.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/766/93703 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  GORGIAS.

  INTRODUCTION.

  Gorgias.Introduction.

  In several of the dialogues of Plato, doubts have arisen among his interpreters as to which of the various subjects discussed in them is the main thesis. The speakers have the freedom of conversation; no severe rules of art restrict them, and sometimes we are inclined to think, with one of the dramatis personae in the Theaetetus (177 C), that the digressions have the greater interest. Yet in the most irregular of the dialogues there is also a certain natural growth or unity; the beginning is not forgotten at the end, and numerous allusions and references are interspersed, which form the loose connecting links of the whole. We must not neglect this unity, but neither must we attempt to confine the Platonic dialogue on the Procrustean bed of a single idea. (Cp. Introduction to the Phaedrus.)

  Two tendencies seem to have best the interpreters of Plato in this matter. First, they have endeavoured to hang the dialogues upon one another by the slightest threads; and have thus been led to opposite and contradictory assertions respecting their order and sequence. The mantle of Schleiermacher has descended upon his successors, who have applied his method with the most various results. The value and use of the method has been hardly, if at all, examined either by him or them. Secondly, they have extended almost indefinitely the scope of each separate dialogue; in this way they think that they have escaped all difficulties, not seeing that what they have gained in generality they have lost in truth and distinctness. Metaphysical conceptions easily pass into one another; and the simpler notions of antiquity, which we can only realize by an effort, imperceptibly blend with the more familiar theories of modern philosophers. An eye for proportion is needed (his own art of measuring) in the study of Plato, as well as of other great artists. We may readily admit that the moral antithesis of good and pleasure, or the intellectual antithesis of knowledge and opinion, being and appearance, are never far off in a Platonic discussion. But because they are in the background, we should not bring them into the foreground, or expect to discern them equally in all the dialogues.

  There may be some advantage in drawing out a little the main outlines of the building; but the use of this is limited, and may be easily exaggerated. We may give Plato too much system, and alter the natural form and connection of his thoughts. Under the idea that his dialogues are finished works of art, we may find a reason for everything, and lose the highest characteristic of art, which is simplicity. Most great works receive a new light from a new and original mind. But whether these new lights are true or only suggestive, will depend on their agreement with the spirit of Plato, and the amount of direct evidence which can be urged in support of them. When a theory is running away with us, criticism does a friendly office in counselling moderation, and recalling us to the indications of the text.

  Like the Phaedrus, the Gorgias has puzzled students of Plato by the appearance of two or more subjects. Under the cover of rhetoric higher themes are introduced; the argument expands into a general view of the good and evil of man. After making an ineffectual attempt to obtain a sound definition of his art from Gorgias, Socrates assumes the existence of a universal art of flattery or simulation having several branches;—this is the genus of which rhetoric is only one, and not the highest species. To flattery is opposed the true and noble art of life which he who possesses seeks always to impart to others, and which at last triumphs, if not here, at any rate in another world. These two aspects of life and knowledge appear to be the two leading ideas of the dialogue. The true and the false in individuals and states, in the treatment of the soul as well as of the body, are conceived under the forms of true and false art. In the development of this opposition there arise various other questions, such as the two famous paradoxes of Socrates (paradoxes as they are to the world in general, ideals as they may be more worthily called): (1) that to do is worse than to suffer evil; and (2) that when a man has done evil he had better be punished than unpunished; to which may be added (3) a third Socratic paradox or ideal, that bad men do what they think best, but not what they desire, for the desire of all is towards the good. That pleasure is to be distinguished from good is proved by the simultaneousness of pleasure and pain, and by the possibility of the bad having in certain cases pleasures as great as those of the good, or even greater. Not merely rhetoricians, but poets, musicians, and other artists, the whole tribe of statesmen, past as well as present, are included in the class of flatterers. The true and false finally appear before the judgment-seat of the gods below.

  The dialogue naturally falls into three divisions, to which the three characters of Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles respectively correspond; and the form and manner change with the stages of the argument. Socrates is deferential towards Gorgias, playful and yet cutting in dealing with the youthful Polus, ironical and sarcastic in his encounter with Callicles. In the first division the question is asked—What is rhetoric? To this there is no answer given, for Gorgias is soon made to contradict himself by Socrates, and the argument is transferred to the hands of his disciple Polus, who rushes to the defence of his master. The answer has at last to be given by Socrates himself, but before he can even explain his meaning to Polus, he must enlighten him upon the great subject of shams or flatteries. When Polus finds his favourite art reduced to the level of cookery, he replies that at any rate rhetoricians, like despots, have great power. Socrates denies that they have any real power, and hence arise the three paradoxes already mentioned. Although they are strange to him, Polus is at last convinced of their truth; at least, they seem to him to follow legitimately from the premises. Thus the second act of the dialogue closes. Then Callicles appears on the scene, at first maintaining that pleasure is good, and that might is right, and that law is nothing but the combination of the many weak against the few strong. When he is confuted he withdraws from the argument, and leaves Socrates to arrive at the conclusion by himself. The conclusion is that there are two kinds of statesmanship, a higher and a lower—that which makes the people better, and that which only flatters them, and he exhorts Callicles to choose the higher. The dialogue terminates with a mythus of a final judgment, in which there will be no more flattery or disguise, and no further use for the teaching of rhetoric.

  The characters of the three interlocutors also correspond to the parts which are assigned to them. Gorgias is the great rhetorician, now advanced in years, who goes from city to city displaying his talents, and is celebrated throughout Greece. Like all the Sophists in the dialogues of Plato, he is vain and boastful, yet he has also a certain dignity, and is treated by Socrates with considerable respect. But he is no match for him in dialectics. Although he has been teaching rhetoric all his life, he is still incapable of defining his own art. When his ideas begin to clear up, he is unwilling to admit that rhetoric can be wholly separated from justice and injustice, and this lingering sentiment of morality, or regard for public opinion, enables Socrates to detect him in a contradiction. Like Protagoras, he is described as of a generous nature; he expresses his approbation of Socrates’ manner of approaching a question; he is quite ‘one of Socrates’ sort, ready to be refuted as well as to refute,’ and very eager that Callicles and Socrates should have the game out. He knows by experience that rhetoric exercises great influence over other men, but he is unable to explain the puzzle how rhetoric can teach everything and know nothing.

  Polus is an impetuous youth, a runaway ‘colt,’ as Socrates describes him, who wanted originally to have taken the place of Gorgias under the pretext that the old man was tired, and now avails himself of the earliest opportunity to enter the lists. He is said to be the author of a work on rhetoric (462 C), and is again mentioned in the Phaedrus (267 B), as the inventor of balanced or double forms of speech (cp. Gorg. 448 C, 467 C; Symp. 185 C). At first he is violent and ill-mannered, and is angry at seeing his master overthrown. But in the judicious hands of Socrates he is soon restored to good-humour, and compelled to assent to the required conclusion. Like Gorgias, he is overthrown because he compromises; he is unwilling to say that to do is fairer or more honourable than to suffer injustice. Though he is fascinated by the power of rhetoric, and dazzled by the splendour of success, he is not insensible to higher arguments. Plato may have felt that there would be an incongruity in a youth maintaining the cause of injustice against the world. He has never heard the other side of the question, and he listens to the paradoxes, as they appear to him, of Socrates with evident astonishment. He can hardly understand the meaning of Archelaus being miserable, or of rhetoric being only useful in self-accusation. When the argument with him has fairly run out,

  Callicles, in whose house they are assembled, is introduced on the stage: he is with difficulty convinced that Socrates is in earnest; for if these things are true, then, as he says with real emotion, the foundations of society are upside down. In him another type of character is represented; he is neither sophist nor philosopher, but man of the world, and an accomplished Athenian gentleman. He might be described in modern language as a cynic or materialist, a lover of power and also of pleasure, and unscrupulous in his means of attaining both. There is no desire on his part to offer any compromise in the interests of morality; nor is any concession made by him. Like Thrasymachus in the Republic, though he is not of the same weak and vulgar class, he consistently maintains that might is right. His great motive of action is political ambition; in this he is characteristically Greek. Like Anytus in the Meno, he is the enemy of the Sophists; but favours the new art of rhetoric, which he regards as an excellent weapon of attack and defence. He is a despiser of mankind as he is of philosophy, and sees in the laws of the state only a violation of the order of nature, which intended that the stronger should govern the weaker (cp. Rep. ii. 358–360). Like other men of the world who are of a speculative turn of mind, he generalizes the bad side of human nature, and has easily brought down his principles to his practice. Philosophy and poetry alike supply him with distinctions suited to his view of human life. He has a good will to Socrates, whose talents he evidently admires, while he censures the puerile use which he makes of them. He expresses a keen intellectual interest in the argument. Like Anytus, again, he has a sympathy with other men of the world; the Athenian statesmen of a former generation, who showed no weakness and made no mistakes, such as Miltiades, Themistocles, Pericles, are his favourites. His ideal of human character is a man of great passions and great powers, which he has developed to the utmost, and which he uses in his own enjoyment and in the government of others. Had Critias been the name instead of Callicles, about whom we know nothing from other sources, the opinions of the man would have seemed to reflect the history of his life.

  And now the combat deepens. In Callicles, far more than in any sophist or rhetorician, is concentrated the spirit of evil against which Socrates is contending, the spirit of the world, the spirit of the many contending against the one wise man, of which the Sophists, as he describes them in the Republic, are the imitators rather than the authors, being themselves carried away by the great tide of public opinion. Socrates approaches his antagonist warily from a distance, with a sort of irony which touches with a light hand both his personal vices (probably in allusion to some scandal of the day) and his servility to the populace. At the same time, he is in most profound earnest, as Chaerephon remarks. Callicles soon loses his temper, but the more he is irritated, the more provoking and matter of fact does Socrates become. A repartee of his which appears to have been really made to the ‘omniscient’ Hippias, according to the testimony of Xenophon (Mem. iv. 4, 6, 10), is introduced (490 E). He is called by Callicles a popular declaimer, and certainly shows that he has the power, in the words of Gorgias, of being ‘as long as he pleases,’ or ‘as short as he pleases’ (cp. Protag. 336 D). Callicles exhibits great ability in defending himself and attacking Socrates, whom he accuses of trifling and word-splitting; he is scandalized (p. 494) that the legitimate consequences of his own argument should be stated in plain terms; after the manner of men of the world, he wishes to preserve the decencies of life. But he cannot consistently maintain the bad sense of words; and getting confused between the abstract notions of better, superior, stronger, he is easily turned round by Socrates, and only induced to continue the argument by the authority of Gorgias. Once, when Socrates is describing the manner in which the ambitious citizen has to identify himself with the people, he partially recognizes the truth of his words.

  The Socrates of the Gorgias may be compared with the Socrates of the Protagoras and Meno. As in other dialogues, he is the enemy of the Sophists and rhetoricians; and also of the statesmen, whom he regards as another variety of the same species. His behaviour is governed by that of his opponents; the least forwardness or egotism on their part is met by a corresponding irony on the part of Socrates. He must speak, for philosophy will not allow him to be silent. He is indeed more ironical and provoking than in any other of Plato’s writings: for he is ‘fooled to the top of his bent’ by the worldliness of Callicles. But he is also more deeply in earnest. He rises higher than even in the Phaedo and Crito: at first enveloping his moral convictions in a cloud of dust and dialectics, he ends by losing his method, his life, himself, in them. As in the Protagoras and Phaedrus, throwing aside the veil of irony, he makes a speech, but, true to his character, not until his adversary has refused to answer any more questions. The presentiment of his own fate is hanging over him. He is aware that Socrates, the single real teacher of politics, as he ventures to call himself, cannot safely go to war with the whole world, and that in the courts of earth he will be condemned. But he will be justified in the world below. Then the position of Socrates and Callicles will be reversed; all those things ‘unfit for ears polite’ which Callicles has prophesied as likely to happen to him in this life, the insulting language, the box on the ears, will recoil upon his assailant. (Compare Rep. x. 613, D, E, and the similar reversal of the position of the lawyer and the philosopher in the Theaetetus, 173–176.)

  There is an interesting allusion to his own behaviour at the trial of the generals after the battle of Arginusae, which he ironically attributes to his ignorance of the manner in which a vote of the assembly should be taken (473 E). This is said to have happened ‘last year’ (b. c. 406), and therefore the assumed date of the dialogue has been fixed at 405 b. c., when Socrates would already have been an old man. The date is clearly marked, but is scarcely reconcilable with another indication of time, viz. the ‘recent’ usurpation of Archelaus, which occurred in the year 413 (470 D); and still less with the ‘recent’ death (503 B) of Pericles, who really died twenty-four years previously (429 b. c.) and is afterwards reckoned among the statesmen of a past age (cp. 517 A); or with the mention of Nicias, who died in 413, and is nevertheless spoken of as a living witness (472 A, B). But we shall hereafter have reason to observe, that although there is a general consistency of times and persons in the Dialogues of Plato, a precise dramatic date is an invention of his commentators (Preface to Republic, p. ix).

  The conclusion of the Dialogue is remarkable, (1) for the truly characteristic declaration of Socrates (p. 509 A) that he is ignorant of the true nature and bearing of these things, while he affirms at the same time that no one can maintain any other view without being ridiculous. The profession of ignorance reminds us of the earlier and more exclusively Socratic Dialogues. But neither in them, nor in the Apology, nor in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, does Socrates express any doubt of the fundamental truths of morality. He evidently regards this ‘among the multitude of questions’ which agitate human life ‘as the principle which alone remains unshaken’ (527 B). He does not insist here, any more than in the Phaedo, on the literal truth of the myth, but only on the soundness of the doctrine which is contained in it, that doing wrong is worse than suffering, and that a man should be rather than seem; for the next best thing to a man’s being just is that he should be corrected and become just; also that he should avoid all flattery, whether of himself or of others; and that rhetoric should be employed for the maintenance of the right only. The revelation of another life is a recapitulation of the argument in a figure.

  (2) Socrates makes the singular remark, that he is himself the only true politician of his age. In other passages, especially in the Apology, he disclaims being a politician at all. There he is convinced that he or any other good man who attempted to resist the popular will would be put to death before he had done any good to himself or others. Here he anticipates such a fate for himself, from the fact that he is ‘the only man of the present day who performs his public duties at all.’ The two points of view are not really inconsistent, but the difference between them is worth noticing: Socrates is and is not a public man. Not in the ordinary sense, like Alcibiades or Pericles, but in a higher one; and this will sooner or later entail the same consequences on him. He cannot be a private man if he would; neither can he separate morals from politics. Nor is he unwilling to be a politician, although he foresees the dangers which await him; but he must first become a better and wiser man, for he as well as Callicles is in a state of perplexity and uncertainty (527 D, E). And yet there is an inconsistency: for should not Socrates too have taught the citizens better than to put him to death (519)?

  And now, as he himself says (506 D), we will ‘resume the argument from the beginning.’

  Analysis.

  Socrates, who is attended by his inseparable disciple, Chaerephon, 447meets Callicles in the streets of Athens. He is informed that he has just missed an exhibition of Gorgias, which he regrets, because he was desirous, not of hearing Gorgias display his rhetoric, but of interrogating him concerning the nature of his art. Callicles proposes that they shall go with him to his own house, where Gorgias is staying. There they find the great 448rhetorician and his younger friend and disciple Polus.

  Soc. Put the question to him, Chaerephon. Ch. What question? Soc. Who is he?—such a question as would elicit from a man the answer, ‘I am a cobbler.’ Polus suggests that Gorgias may be tired, and desires to answer for him. ‘Who is Gorgias?’ asks Chaerephon, imitating the manner of his master Socrates. ‘One of the best of men, and a proficient in the best and noblest of experimental arts,’ etc., replies Polus, in rhetorical and balanced phrases. Socrates is dissatisfied at the length and unmeaningness of the answer; he tells the disconcerted volunteer that he has mistaken the quality for the nature of the art, and remarks to Gorgias, that Polus has learnt how to make a speech, but not how to answer a question. He wishes that Gorgias would answer him. Gorgias is willing enough, and replies to the question asked by Chaerephon,—that he is a rhetorician, and in Homeric language, ‘boasts 449himself to be a good one.’ At the request of Socrates he promises to be brief; for ‘he can be as long as he pleases, and as short as he pleases.’ Socrates would have him bestow his length on others, and proceeds to ask him a number of questions, which are answered by him to his own great satisfaction, and with a brevity which excites the admiration of Socrates. The result of the discussion may be summed up as follows:—

  450Rhetoric treats of discourse; but music and medicine, and other particular arts, are also concerned with discourse; in what way then does rhetoric differ from them? Gorgias draws a distinction between the arts which deal with words, and the arts which have to do with external actions. Socrates extends this distinction further, and divides all productive arts into two classes: (1) arts which may be carried on in silence; and (2) arts which have to do with words, or in which words are coextensive with action, such as arithmetic, geometry, rhetoric. But still 451Gorgias could hardly have meant to say that arithmetic was the same as rhetoric. Even in the arts which are concerned with words there are differences. What then distinguishes rhetoric from the other arts which have to do with words? ‘The words which rhetoric uses relate to the best and greatest of human things.’ But tell me, Gorgias, what are the best? ‘Health first, beauty next, wealth third,’ in the words of the old song, or how would you rank them? The arts will come to you in a body, each 452claiming precedence and saying that her own good is superior to that of the rest—How will you choose between them? ‘I should say, Socrates, that the art of persuasion, which gives freedom to all men, and to individuals power in the state, is the greatest 453good.’ But what is the exact nature of this persuasion?—is the persevering retort: You could not describe Zeuxis as a painter, or even as a painter of figures, if there were other painters of figures; neither can you define rhetoric simply as an art of persuasion, because there are other arts which persuade, such as arithmetic, which is an art of persuasion about odd and even numbers. Gorgias is made to see the necessity of a further limitation, and he now defines rhetoric as the art of persuading in 454the law courts, and in the assembly, about the just and unjust. But still there are two sorts of persuasion: one which gives knowledge, and another which gives belief without knowledge; and knowledge is always true, but belief may be either true or 455false,—there is therefore a further question: which of the two sorts of persuasion does rhetoric effect in courts of law and assemblies? Plainly that which gives belief and not that which gives knowledge; for no one can impart a real knowledge of such matters to a crowd of persons in a few minutes. And there is another point to be considered:—when the assembly meets to advise about walls or docks or military expeditions, the rhetorician is not taken into counsel, but the architect, or the general. How would Gorgias explain this phenomenon? All who intend to become disciples, of whom there are several in the company, and not Socrates only, are eagerly asking:—About what then will rhetoric teach us to persuade or advise the state?

  Gorgias illustrates the nature of rhetoric by adducing the example of Themistocles, who persuaded the Athenians to build their docks and walls, and of Pericles, whom Socrates himself has heard speaking about the middle wall of the Piraeus. He adds 456that he has exercised a similar power over the patients of his brother Herodicus. He could be chosen a physician by the assembly if he pleased, for no physician could compete with a rhetorician in popularity and influence. He could persuade the multitude of anything by the power of his rhetoric; not that the rhetorician ought to abuse this power any more than a boxer 457should abuse the art of self-defence. Rhetoric is a good thing, but, like all good things, may be unlawfully used. Neither is the teacher of the art to be deemed unjust because his pupils are unjust and make a bad use of the lessons which they have learned from him.

  Socrates would like to know before he replies, whether Gorgias will quarrel with him if he points out a slight inconsistency into which he has fallen, or whether he, like himself, is one who loves 458to be refuted. Gorgias declares that he is quite one of his sort, but fears that the argument may be tedious to the company. The company cheer, and Chaerephon and Callicles exhort them to proceed. Socrates gently points out the supposed inconsistency into which Gorgias appears to have fallen, and which he is inclined to think may arise out of a misapprehension of his own. 459The rhetorician has been declared by Gorgias to be more persuasive to the ignorant than the physician, or any other expert. And he is said to be ignorant, and this ignorance of his is regarded by Gorgias as a happy condition, for he has escaped the trouble of learning. But is he as ignorant of just and unjust as he 460is of medicine or building? Gorgias is compelled to admit that if he did not know them previously he must learn them from his teacher as a part of the art of rhetoric. But he who has learned carpentry is a carpenter, and he who has learned music is a musician, and he who has learned justice is just. The rhetorician then must be a just man, and rhetoric is a just thing. But Gorgias has already admitted the opposite of this, viz. that rhetoric may be abused, and that the rhetorician may act unjustly. How is the 461inconsistency to be explained?

  The fallacy of this argument is twofold; for in the first place, a man may know justice and not be just—here is the old confusion of the arts and the virtues;—nor can any teacher be expected to counteract wholly the bent of natural character; and secondly, a man may have a degree of justice, but not sufficient to prevent him from ever doing wrong. Polus is naturally exasperated at the sophism, which he is unable to detect; of course, he says, the rhetorician, like every one else, will admit that he knows justice (how can he do otherwise when pressed by the interrogations of Socrates?), but he thinks that great want of manners is shown in bringing the argument to such a pass. Socrates ironically replies, that when old men trip, the young set 462them on their legs again; and he is quite willing to retract, if he can be shown to be in error, but upon one condition, which is that Polus studies brevity. Polus is in great indignation at not being allowed to use as many words as he pleases in the free state of Athens. Socrates retorts, that yet harder will be his own case, if he is compelled to stay and listen to them. After some altercation they agree (cp. Protag. 338), that Polus shall ask and Socrates answer.

  ‘What is the art of Rhetoric?’ says Polus. Not an art at all, replies Socrates, but a thing which in your book you affirm to have created art. Polus asks, ‘What thing?’ and Socrates answers, An experience or routine of making a sort of delight or gratification. ‘But is not rhetoric a fine thing?’ I have not yet told you what rhetoric is. Will you ask me another question—What is cookery? ‘What is cookery?’ An experience or routine of making a sort of delight or gratification. Then they are the same, or rather fall under the same class, and rhetoric 463has still to be distinguished from cookery. ‘What is rhetoric?’ asks Polus once more. A part of a not very creditable whole, which may be termed flattery, is the reply. ‘But what part?’ A shadow of a part of politics. This, as might be expected, is wholly unintelligible, both to Gorgias and Polus; and, in order 464to explain his meaning to them, Socrates draws a distinction between shadows or appearances and realities; e.g. there is real health of body or soul, and the appearance of them; real arts and sciences, and the simulations of them. Now the soul and body have two arts waiting upon them, first the art of politics, which attends on the soul, having a legislative part and a judicial part; and another art attending on the body, which has no generic name, but may also be described as having two divisions, one of which is medicine and the other gymnastic. Corresponding with these four arts or sciences there are four shams or simulations of them, mere experiences, as they may be termed, because they give no reason of their own existence. The art of dressing up is the sham or simulation of gymnastic, the art of cookery, of medicine; 465rhetoric is the simulation of justice, and sophistic of legislation.

  They may be summed up in an arithmetical formula:—

  Tiring : gymnastic : : cookery : medicine : : sophistic : legislation.

  And,

  Cookery : medicine : : rhetoric : the art of justice.

  And this is the true scheme of them, but when measured only by the gratification which they procure, they become jumbled together and return to their aboriginal chaos. Socrates apologizes for the 466length of his speech, which was necessary to the explanation of the subject, and begs Polus not unnecessarily to retaliate on him.

  ‘Do you mean to say that the rhetoricians are esteemed flatterers?’ They are not esteemed at all. ‘Why, have they not 467great power, and can they not do whatever they desire?’ They have no power, and they only do what they think best, and never what they desire; for they never attain the true object of desire, which is the good. ‘As if you, Socrates, would not envy the possessor of despotic power, who can imprison, exile, kill any one whom he -469pleases.’ But Socrates replies that he has no wish to put any one to death; he who kills another, even justly, is not to be envied, and he who kills him unjustly is to be pitied; it is better to suffer than to do injustice. He does not consider that going about with a dagger and putting men out of the way, or setting a house on 470fire, is real power. To this Polus assents, on the ground that such acts would be punished, but he is still of opinion that evildoers, if they are unpunished, may be happy enough. He instances Archelaus, son of Perdiccas, the usurper of Macedonia. 471Does not Socrates think him happy?—Socrates would like to know more about him; he cannot pronounce even the great king to be happy, unless he knows his mental and moral condition. Polus explains that Archelaus was a slave, being the son of a woman who was the slave of Alcetas, brother of Perdiccas king of Macedon—and he, by every species of crime, first murdering his uncle and then his cousin and half-brother, obtained the kingdom. This was very wicked, and yet all the world, including 472Socrates, would like to have his place. Socrates dismisses the appeal to numbers; Polus, if he will, may summon all the rich men of Athens, Nicias and his brothers, Aristocrates, the house of Pericles, or any other great family—this is the kind of evidence which is adduced in courts of justice, where truth depends upon numbers. But Socrates employs proof of another sort; his appeal is to one witness only,—that is to say, the person with whom he is speaking; him he will convict out of his own mouth. And he is prepared to show, after his manner, that Archelaus cannot be a wicked man and yet happy. 473

  The evil-doer is deemed happy if he escapes, and miserable if he suffers punishment; but Socrates thinks him less miserable if he suffers than if he escapes. Polus is of opinion that such a paradox as this hardly deserves refutation, and is at any rate sufficiently refuted by the fact. Socrates has only to compare the lot of the successful tyrant who is the envy of the world, and of the wretch who, having been detected in a criminal attempt against the state, is crucified or burnt to death. Socrates replies, that if they are both criminal they are both miserable, but that the unpunished is the more miserable of the two. At this Polus laughs outright, which leads Socrates to remark that laughter is a new species of refutation. Polus replies, that he is already refuted; for if he will take the votes of the company, he will find that no one agrees with 474him. To this Socrates rejoins, that he is not a public man, and (referring to his own conduct at the trial of the generals after the battle of Arginusae) is unable to take the suffrages of any company, as he had shown on a recent occasion; he can only deal with one witness at a time, and that is the person with whom he is arguing. But he is certain that in the opinion of any man to do is worse than to suffer evil.

  Polus, though he will not admit this, is ready to acknowledge that to do evil is considered the more foul or dishonourable of the two. But what is fair and what is foul; whether the terms are applied to bodies, colours, figures, laws, habits, studies, must they not be defined with reference to pleasure and utility? Polus 475assents to this latter doctrine, and is easily persuaded that the fouler of two things must exceed either in pain or in hurt. But the doing cannot exceed the suffering of evil in pain, and therefore must exceed in hurt. Thus doing is proved by the testimony of Polus himself to be worse or more hurtful than suffering.

  There remains the other question: Is a guilty man better off 476when he is punished or when he is unpunished? Socrates replies, that what is done justly is suffered justly: if the act is just, the effect is just; if to punish is just, to be punished is just, and therefore fair, and therefore beneficent; and the benefit is that the soul 477is improved. There are three evils from which a man may suffer, and which affect him in estate, body, and soul;—these are, poverty, disease, injustice; and the foulest of these is injustice, the evil of the soul, because that brings the greatest hurt. And there are 478three arts which heal these evils—trading, medicine, justice—and the fairest of these is justice. Happy is he who has never committed 479injustice, and happy in the second degree he who has been healed by punishment. And therefore the criminal should himself 480go to the judge as he would to the physician, and purge away his crime. Rhetoric will enable him to display his guilt in proper colours, and to sustain himself and others in enduring the necessary 481penalty. And similarly if a man has an enemy, he will desire not to punish him, but that he shall go unpunished and become worse and worse, taking care only that he does no injury to himself. These are at least conceivable uses of the art, and no others have been discovered by us.

  Here Callicles, who has been listening in silent amazement, asks Chaerephon whether Socrates is in earnest, and on receiving the assurance that he is, proceeds to ask the same question of Socrates himself. For if such doctrines are true, life must have been turned upside down, and all of us are doing the opposite of what we ought to be doing.

  Socrates replies in a style of playful irony, that before men can understand one another they must have some common feeling. And such a community of feeling exists between himself and Callicles, for both of them are lovers, and they have both a pair of 482loves; the beloved of Callicles are the Athenian Demos and Demos the son of Pyrilampes; the beloved of Socrates are Alcibiades and philosophy. The peculiarity of Callicles is that he can never contradict his loves; he changes as his Demos changes in all his opinions; he watches the countenance of both his loves, and repeats their sentiments, and if any one is surprised at his sayings and doings, the explanation of them is, that he is not a free agent, but must always be imitating his two loves. And this is the explanation of Socrates’ peculiarities also. He is always repeating what his mistress, Philosophy, is saying to him, who, unlike his other love, Alcibiades, is ever the same, ever true. Callicles must refute her, or he will never be at unity with himself; and discord in life is far worse than the discord of musical sounds.

  Callicles answers, that Gorgias was overthrown because, as Polus said, in compliance with popular prejudice he had admitted that if his pupil did not know justice the rhetorician must teach him; and Polus has been similarly entangled, because his modesty led him to admit that to suffer is more honourable than to do injustice. By custom ‘yes,’ but not by nature, says Callicles. And Socrates is 483always playing between the two points of view, and putting one in the place of the other. In this very argument, what Polus only meant in a conventional sense has been affirmed by him to be a law of nature. For convention says that ‘injustice is dishonourable,’ but nature says that ‘might is right.’ And we are always taming down the nobler spirits among us to the conventional level. But sometimes a great man will rise up and reassert his original rights, trampling under foot all our formularies, and then the light 484of natural justice shines forth. Pindar says, ‘Law, the king of all, does violence with high hand;’ as is indeed proved by the example of Heracles, who drove off the oxen of Geryon and never paid for them.

  This is the truth, Socrates, as you will be convinced, if you leave philosophy and pass on to the real business of life. A little philosophy is an excellent thing; too much is the ruin of a man. He who has not ‘passed his metaphysics’ before he has grown up to manhood will never know the world. Philosophers are ridiculous when they take to politics, and I dare say that politicians are equally ridiculous when they take to philosophy: ‘Every man,’ as Euripides says, ‘is fondest of that in which he is best.’ Philosophy 485is graceful in youth, like the lisp of infancy, and should be cultivated as a part of education; but when a grown-up man lisps or studies philosophy, I should like to beat him. None of those over-refined natures ever come to any good; they avoid the busy haunts of men, and skulk in corners, whispering to a few admiring youths, and never giving utterance to any noble sentiments.

  For you, Socrates, I have a regard, and therefore I say to you, as Zethus says to Amphion in the play, that you have ‘a noble soul 486disguised in a puerile exterior.’ And I would have you consider the danger which you and other philosophers incur. For you would not know how to defend yourself if any one accused you in a law-court,—there you would stand, with gaping mouth and dizzy brain, and might be murdered, robbed, boxed on the ears with impunity. Take my advice, then, and get a little common sense; leave to others these frivolities; walk in the ways of the wealthy and be wise.

  Socrates professes to have found in Callicles the philosopher’s touchstone; and he is certain that any opinion in which they both agree must be the very truth. Callicles has all the three qualities 487which are needed in a critic—knowledge, good-will, frankness; Gorgias and Polus, although learned men, were too modest, and their modesty made them contradict themselves. But Callicles is well-educated; and he is not too modest to speak out (of this he has already given proof), and his good-will is shown both by his own profession and by his giving the same caution against philosophy to Socrates, which Socrates remembers hearing him give 488long ago to his own clique of friends. He will pledge himself to retract any error into which he may have fallen, and which Callicles may point out. But he would like to know first of all what he and Pindar mean by natural justice. Do they suppose that the rule of justice is the rule of the stronger or of the better? ‘There is no difference.’ Then are not the many superior to the one, and the opinions of the many better? And their opinion is that justice is equality, and that to do is more dishonourable than to suffer wrong. 489And as they are the superior or stronger, this opinion of theirs must be in accordance with natural as well as conventional justice. ‘Why will you continue splitting words? Have I not told you that the superior is the better?’ But what do you mean by the better? Tell me that, and please to be a little milder in your language, if 490you do not wish to drive me away. ‘I mean the worthier, the wiser.’ You mean to say that one man of sense ought to rule over ten thousand fools? ‘Yes, that is my meaning.’ Ought the physician then to have a larger share of meats and drinks? or the weaver to have more coats, or the cobbler larger shoes, or the 491farmer more seed? ‘You are always saying the same things, Socrates.’ Yes, and on the same subjects too; but you are never saying the same things. For, first, you defined the superior to be the stronger, and then the wiser, and now something else;—what do you mean? ‘I mean men of political ability, who ought to govern and to have more than the governed.’ Than themselves? ‘What do you mean?’ I mean to say that every man is his own governor. ‘I see that you mean those dolts, the temperate. But my doctrine is, that a man should let his desires grow, and take the means of satisfying them. To the many this is impossible, 492and therefore they combine to prevent him. But if he is a king, and has power, how base would he be in submitting to them! To invite the common herd to be lord over him, when he might have the enjoyment of all things! For the truth is, Socrates, that luxury and self-indulgence are virtue and happiness; all the rest is mere talk.’

  Socrates compliments Callicles on his frankness in saying what other men only think. According to his view, those who want nothing are not happy. ‘Why,’ says Callicles, ‘if they were, stones and the dead would be happy.’ Socrates in reply is led into a half-serious, half-comic vein of reflection. ‘Who knows,’ as Euripides says, ‘whether life may not be death, and death life?’ Nay, there are philosophers who maintain that even in life we are 493dead, and that the body (σω̂μα) is the tomb (ση̂μα) of the soul. And some ingenious Sicilian has made an allegory, in which he represents fools as the uninitiated, who are supposed to be carrying water to a vessel, which is full of holes, in a similarly holey sieve, and this sieve is their own soul. The idea is fanciful, but nevertheless is a figure of a truth which I want to make you acknowledge, viz. that the life of contentment is better than the life of indulgence. Are you disposed to admit that? ‘Far otherwise.’ Then hear another parable. The life of self-contentment and self-indulgence may be represented respectively by two men, who are filling jars with streams of wine, honey, milk,—the jars of the one are sound, and the jars of the other leaky; the first fills his jars, and has no more trouble with them; the second is always filling 494them, and would suffer extreme misery if he desisted. Are you of the same opinion still? ‘Yes, Socrates, and the figure expresses what I mean. For true pleasure is a perpetual stream, flowing in and flowing out. To be hungry and always eating, to be thirsty and always drinking, and to have all the other desires and to satisfy them, that, as I admit, is my idea of happiness.’ And to be itching and always scratching? ‘I do not deny that there may be happiness even in that.’ And to indulge unnatural desires, if they are abundantly satisfied? Callicles is indignant at the introduction of such topics. But he is reminded by Socrates that they are 495introduced, not by him, but by the maintainer of the identity of pleasure and good. Will Callicles still maintain this? ‘Yes, for the sake of consistency, he will.’ The answer does not satisfy Socrates, who fears that he is losing his touchstone. A profession of seriousness on the part of Callicles reassures him, and they proceed with the argument. Pleasure and good are the same, but knowledge and courage are not the same either with pleasure or good, or with one another. Socrates disproves the first of these statements by showing that two opposites cannot coexist, but must 496alternate with one another—to be well and ill together is impossible. But pleasure and pain are simultaneous, and the cessation of them is simultaneous; e.g. in the case of drinking and thirsting, 497whereas good and evil are not simultaneous, and do not cease simultaneously, and therefore pleasure cannot be the same as good.

  Callicles has already lost his temper, and can only be persuaded to go on by the interposition of Gorgias. Socrates, having already guarded against objections by distinguishing courage and knowledge from pleasure and good, proceeds:—The good are good by the presence of good, and the bad are bad by the presence of evil. 498And the brave and wise are good, and the cowardly and foolish are bad. And he who feels pleasure is good, and he who feels pain is bad, and both feel pleasure and pain in nearly the same degree, and sometimes the bad man or coward in a greater degree. 499Therefore the bad man or coward is as good as the brave or may be even better.

  Callicles endeavours now to avert the inevitable absurdity by affirming that he and all mankind admitted some pleasures to be good and others bad. The good are the beneficial, and the bad are the hurtful, and we should choose the one and avoid the other. But this, as Socrates observes, is a return to the old doctrine of himself and Polus, that all things should be done for the sake of the good.

  500Callicles assents to this, and Socrates, finding that they are agreed in distinguishing pleasure from good, returns to his old 501division of empirical habits, or shams, or flatteries, which study pleasure only, and the arts which are concerned with the higher interests of soul and body. Does Callicles agree to this division? Callicles will agree to anything, in order that he may get through the argument. Which of the arts then are flatteries? Flute-playing, harp-playing, choral exhibitions, the dithyrambics of Cinesias are all equally condemned on the ground that they give pleasure only; and Meles the harp-player, who was the father of 502Cinesias, failed even in that. The stately muse of Tragedy is bent upon pleasure, and not upon improvement. Poetry in general is only a rhetorical address to a mixed audience of men, women, and children. And the orators are very far from speaking with a view to what is best; their way is to humour the assembly as if they were children.

  Callicles replies, that this is only true of some of them; others have a real regard for their fellow-citizens. Granted; then there are two species of oratory; the one a flattery, another which has a real regard for the citizens. But where are the orators among whom you find the latter? Callicles admits that there are none 503remaining, but there were such in the days when Themistocles, Cimon, Miltiades, and the great Pericles were still alive. Socrates replies that none of these were true artists, setting before themselves the duty of bringing order out of disorder. The good man 504and true orator has a settled design, running through his life, to which he conforms all his words and actions; he desires to implant justice and eradicate injustice, to implant all virtue and eradicate all vice in the minds of his citizens. He is the physician 505who will not allow the sick man to indulge his appetites with a variety of meats and drinks, but insists on his exercising self-restraint. And this is good for the soul, and better than the unrestrained indulgence which Callicles was recently approving.

  Here Callicles, who had been with difficulty brought to this point, turns restive, and suggests that Socrates shall answer his own questions. ‘Then,’ says Socrates, ‘one man must do for two;’ and though he had hoped to have given Callicles an ‘Amphion’ in return for his ‘Zethus,’ he is willing to proceed; at the 506same time, he hopes that Callicles will correct him, if he falls into error. He recapitulates the advantages which he has already won:—

  The pleasant is not the same as the good—Callicles and I are agreed about that,—but pleasure is to be pursued for the sake of the good, and the good is that of which the presence makes us good; we and all things good have acquired some virtue or other. And virtue, whether of body or soul, of things or persons, is not attained by accident, but is due to order and harmonious arrangement. 507And the soul which has order is better than the soul which is without order, and is therefore temperate and is therefore good, and the intemperate is bad. And he who is temperate is also just and brave and pious, and has attained the perfection of goodness and therefore of happiness, and the intemperate whom you approve is the opposite of all this and is wretched. He therefore who would be happy must pursue temperance and avoid intemperance, and if possible escape the necessity of punishment, but if he have done wrong he must endure punishment. In this 508way states and individuals should seek to attain harmony, which, as the wise tell us, is the bond of heaven and earth, of gods and men. Callicles has never discovered the power of geometrical proportion in both worlds; he would have men aim at disproportion and excess. But if he be wrong in this, and if self-control is the true secret of happiness, then the paradox is true that the only use of rhetoric is in self-accusation, and Polus was right in saying that to do wrong is worse than to suffer wrong, and Gorgias was right in saying that the rhetorician must be a just man. And you were wrong in taunting me with my defenceless condition, and in saying that I might be accused or put to death or boxed on the ears with impunity. For I may repeat once more, that to strike is 509worse than to be stricken—to do than to suffer. What I said then is now made fast in adamantine bonds. I myself know not the true nature of these things, but I know that no one can deny my words and not be ridiculous. To do wrong is the greatest of evils, 510and to suffer wrong is the next greatest evil. He who would avoid the last must be a ruler, or the friend of a ruler; and to be the friend he must be the equal of the ruler, and must also resemble him. Under his protection he will suffer no evil, but will he also do no evil? Nay, will he not rather do all the evil which 511he can and escape? And in this way the greatest of all evils will befall him. ‘But this imitator of the tyrant,’ rejoins Callicles, ‘will kill any one who does not similarly imitate him.’ Socrates replies that he is not deaf, and that he has heard that repeated many times, and can only reply, that a bad man will kill a good one. ‘Yes, and that is the provoking thing.’ Not provoking to a man of sense who is not studying the arts which will preserve him from danger; and this, as you say, is the use of rhetoric in courts of justice. But how many other arts are there which also save men from death, and are yet quite humble in their pretensions—such as the art of swimming, or the art of the pilot? Does not the pilot do men at least as much service as the rhetorician, and yet for the voyage from Aegina to Athens he does not charge more than two obols, and when he disembarks is quite unassuming in his demeanour? The reason is that he is not certain 512whether he has done his passengers any good in saving them from death, if one of them is diseased in body, and still more if he is diseased in mind—who can say? The engineer too will often save whole cities, and yet you despise him, and would not allow your son to marry his daughter, or his son to marry yours. But what reason is there in this? For if virtue only means the saving of life, whether your own or another’s, you have no right to despise him or any practiser of saving arts. But is not virtue something different from saving and being saved? I would have 513you rather consider whether you ought not to disregard length of life, and think only how you can live best, leaving all besides to the will of Heaven. For you must not expect to have influence either with the Athenian Demos or with Demos the son of Pyrilampes, unless you become like them. What do you say to this?

  ‘There is some truth in what you are saying, but I do not entirely believe you.’

  That is because you are in love with Demos. But let us have a little more conversation. You remember the two processes—one which was directed to pleasure, the other which was directed to making men as good as possible. And those who have the care of the city should make the citizens as good as possible. But who 514would undertake a public building, if he had never had a teacher of the art of building, and had never constructed a building before? or who would undertake the duty of state-physician, if he had never cured either himself or any one else? Should we not examine him before we entrusted him with the office? And as Callicles is about to enter public life, should we not examine him? Whom has he made better? For we have already admitted that 515 this is the statesman’s proper business. And we must ask the same question about Pericles, and Cimon, and Miltiades, and Themistocles. Whom did they make better? Nay, did not Pericles make the citizens worse? For he gave them pay, and at first he was very popular with them, but at last they condemned him to 516death. Yet surely he would be a bad tamer of animals who, having received them gentle, taught them to kick and butt, and man is an animal; and Pericles who had the charge of man only made him wilder, and more savage and unjust, and therefore he could not have been a good statesman. The same tale might be repeated about Cimon, Themistocles, Miltiades. But the 517charioteer who keeps his seat at first is not thrown out when he gains greater experience and skill. The inference is, that the statesman of a past age were no better than those of our own. They may have been cleverer constructors of docks and harbours, but they did not improve the character of the citizens. I have told you again and again (and I purposely use the same images) that the soul, like the body, may be treated in two ways—there is 518the meaner and the higher art. You seemed to understand what I said at the time, but when I ask you who were the really good statesmen, you answer—as if I asked you who were the good trainers, and you answered, Thearion, the baker, Mithoecus, the author of the Sicilian cookery-book, Sarambus, the vintner. And you would be affronted if I told you that these are a parcel of cooks who make men fat only to make them thin. And those whom they have fattened applaud them, instead of finding fault with them, and lay the blame of their subsequent disorders on their physicians. In this respect, Callicles, you are like them; you applaud the statesmen of old, who pandered to the vices of the citizens, and filled the city with docks and harbours, but neglected 519virtue and justice. And when the fit of illness comes, the citizens who in like manner applauded Themistocles, Pericles, and others, will lay hold of you and my friend Alcibiades, and you will suffer for the misdeeds of your predecessors. The old story is always being repeated—‘after all his services, the ungrateful city banished him, or condemned him to death.’ As if the statesman should not have taught the city better! He surely cannot blame the state for having unjustly used him, any more than the sophist or teacher 520can find fault with his pupils if they cheat him. And the sophist and orator are in the same case; although you admire rhetoric and despise sophistic, whereas sophistic is really the higher of the two. The teacher of the arts takes money, but the teacher of virtue or politics takes no money, because this is the only kind of service which makes the disciple desirous of requiting his teacher.

  Socrates concludes by finally asking, to which of the two modes of serving the state Callicles invites him:—‘to the inferior and ministerial one,’ is the ingenuous reply. That is the only way of 521avoiding death, replies Socrates; and he has heard often enough, and would rather not hear again, that the bad man will kill the good. But he thinks that such a fate is very likely reserved for him, because he remarks that he is the only person who teaches the true art of politics. And very probably, as in the case which 522he described to Polus, he may be the physician who is tried by a jury of children. He cannot say that he has procured the citizens any pleasure, and if any one charges him with perplexing them, or with reviling their elders, he will not be able to make them understand that he has only been actuated by a desire for their good. And therefore there is no saying what his fate may be. ‘And do you think that a man who is unable to help himself is in a good condition?’ Yes, Callicles, if he have the true self-help, which is never to have said or done any wrong to himself or others. If I had not this kind of self-help, I should be ashamed; but if I die for want of your flattering rhetoric, I shall die in peace. For death is no evil, but to go to the world below laden with offences is the worst of evils. In proof of which I will tell you a tale:—

  Under the rule of Cronos, men were judged on the day of their 523death, and when judgment had been given upon them they departed—the good to the islands of the blest, the bad to the house of vengeance. But as they were still living, and had their clothes on at the time when they were being judged, there was favouritism, and Zeus, when he came to the throne, was obliged to alter the mode of procedure, and try them after death, having first sent down Prometheus to take away from them the foreknowledge of death. Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus were appointed to be the 524judges; Rhadamanthus for Asia, Aeacus for Europe, and Minos was to hold the court of appeal. Now death is the separation of soul and body, but after death soul and body alike retain their characteristics; the fat man, the dandy, the branded slave, are all distinguishable. Some prince or potentate, perhaps even the great king himself, appears before Rhadamanthus, and he instantly 525detects him, though he knows not who he is; he sees the scars of perjury and iniquity, and sends him away to the house of torment.

  For there are two classes of souls who undergo punishment—the curable and the incurable. The curable are those who are benefited by their punishment; the incurable are such as Archelaus, who benefit others by becoming a warning to them. The latter class are generally kings and potentates; meaner persons, happily for themselves, have not the same power of doing injustice. Sisyphus and Tityus, not Thersites, are supposed by Homer to be undergoing everlasting punishment. Not that there is anything to prevent a great man from being a good one, as is 526shown by the famous example of Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus. But to Rhadamanthus the souls are only known as good or bad; they are stripped of their dignities and preferments; he despatches the bad to Tartarus, labelled either as curable or incurable, and looks with love and admiration on the soul of some just one, whom he sends to the islands of the blest. Similar is the practice of Aeacus; and Minos overlooks them, holding a golden sceptre, as Odysseus in Homer saw him

  ‘Wielding a sceptre of gold, and giving laws to the dead.’

  My wish for myself and my fellow-men is, that we may present our souls undefiled to the judge in that day; my desire in life is to 527be able to meet death. And I exhort you, and retort upon you the reproach which you cast upon me,—that you will stand before the judge, gaping, and with dizzy brain, and any one may box you on the ear, and do you all manner of evil.

  Perhaps you think that this is an old wives’ fable. But you, who are the three wisest men in Hellas, have nothing better to say, and no one will ever show that to do is better than to suffer evil. A man should study to be, and not merely to seem. If he is bad, he should become good, and avoid all flattery, whether of the many or of the few.

  Follow me, then; and if you are looked down upon, that will do you no harm. And when we have practised virtue, we will betake ourselves to politics, but not until we are delivered from the shameful state of ignorance and uncertainty in which we are at present. Let us follow in the way of virtue and justice, and not in the way to which you, Callicles, invite us; for that way is nothing worth.

  Introduction.

  We will now consider in order some of the principal points of the dialogue. Having regard (1) to the age of Plato and the ironical character of his writings, we may compare him with himself and with other great teachers, and we may note in passing the objections of his critics. And then (2) casting one eye upon him, we may cast another upon ourselves, and endeavour to draw out the great lessons which he teaches for all time, stripped of the accidental form in which they are enveloped.

  (1) In the Gorgias, as in nearly all the other dialogues of Plato, we are made aware that formal logic has as yet no existence. The old difficulty of framing a definition recurs. The illusive analogy of the arts and the virtues also continues. The ambiguity of several words, such as nature, custom, the honourable, the good, is not cleared up. The Sophists are still floundering about the distinction of the real and seeming. Figures of speech are made the basis of arguments. The possibility of conceiving a universal art or science, which admits of application to a particular subject-matter, is a difficulty which remains unsolved, and has not altogether ceased to haunt the world at the present day (cp. Charmides, 166 ff.). The defect of clearness is also apparent in Socrates himself, unless we suppose him to be practising on the simplicity of his opponent, or rather perhaps trying an experiment in dialectics. Nothing can be more fallacious than the contradiction which he pretends to have discovered in the answers of Gorgias (see Analysis). The advantages which he gains over Polus are also due to a false antithesis of pleasure and good, and to an erroneous assertion that an agent and a patient may be described by similar predicates;—a mistake which Aristotle partly shares and partly corrects in the Nicomachean Ethics, V. i. 4; xi. 2. Traces of a ‘robust sophistry’ are likewise discernible in his argument with Callicles (pp. 490, 496, 516).

  (2) Although Socrates professes to be convinced by reason only, yet the argument is often a sort of dialectical fiction, by which he conducts himself and others to his own ideal of life and action. And we may sometimes wish that we could have suggested answers to his antagonists, or pointed out to them the rocks which lay concealed under the ambiguous terms good, pleasure, and the like. But it would be as useless to examine his arguments by the requirements of modern logic, as to criticise this ideal from a merely utilitarian point of view. If we say that the ideal is generally regarded as unattainable, and that mankind will by no means agree in thinking that the criminal is happier when punished than when unpunished, any more than they would agree to the stoical paradox that a man may be happy on the rack, Plato has already admitted that the world is against him. Neither does he mean to say that Archelaus is tormented by the stings of conscience; or that the sensations of the impaled criminal are more agreeable than those of the tyrant drowned in luxurious enjoyment. Neither is he speaking, as in the Protagoras, of virtue as a calculation of pleasure, an opinion which he afterwards repudiates in the Phaedo. What then is his meaning? His meaning we shall be able to illustrate best by parallel notions, which, whether justifiable by logic or not, have always existed among mankind. We must remind the reader that Socrates himself implies that he will be understood or appreciated by very few.

  He is speaking not of the consciousness of happiness, but of the idea of happiness. When a martyr dies in a good cause, when a soldier falls in battle, we do not suppose that death or wounds are without pain, or that their physical suffering is always compensated by a mental satisfaction. Still we regard them as happy, and we would a thousand times rather have their death than a shameful life. Nor is this only because we believe that they will obtain an immortality of fame, or that they will have crowns of glory in another world, when their enemies and persecutors will be proportionably tormented. Men are found in a few instances to do what is right, without reference to public opinion or to consequences. And we regard them as happy on this ground only, much as Socrates’ friends in the opening of the Phaedo are described as regarding him; or as was said of another, ‘they looked upon his face as upon the face of an angel.’ We are not concerned to justify this idealism by the standard of utility or public opinion, but merely to point out the existence of such a sentiment in the better part of human nature.

  The idealism of Plato is founded upon this sentiment. He would maintain that in some sense or other truth and right are alone to be sought, and that all other goods are only desirable as means towards these. He is thought to have erred in ‘considering the agent only, and making no reference to the happiness of others, as affected by him.’ But the happiness of others or of mankind, if regarded as an end, is really quite as ideal and almost as paradoxical to the common understanding as Plato’s conception of happiness. For the greatest happiness of the greatest number may mean also the greatest pain of the individual which will procure the greatest pleasure of the greatest number. Ideas of utility, like those of duty and right, may be pushed to unpleasant consequences. Nor can Plato in the Gorgias be deemed purely self-regarding, considering that Socrates expressly mentions the duty of imparting the truth when discovered to others. Nor must we forget that the side of ethics which regards others is by the ancients merged in politics. Both in Plato and Aristotle, as well as in the Stoics, the social principle, though taking another form, is really far more prominent than in most modern treatises on ethics.

  The idealizing of suffering is one of the conceptions which have exercised the greatest influence on mankind. Into the theological import of this, or into the consideration of the errors to which the idea may have given rise, we need not now enter. All will agree that the ideal of the Divine Sufferer, whose words the world would not receive, the man of sorrows of whom the Hebrew prophets spoke, has sunk deep into the heart of the human race. It is a similar picture of suffering goodness which Plato desires to pourtray, not without an allusion to the fate of his master Socrates. He is convinced that, somehow or other, such an one must be happy in life or after death. In the Republic, he endeavours to show that his happiness would be assured here in a well-ordered state. But in the actual condition of human things the wise and good are weak and miserable; such an one is like a man fallen among wild beasts, exposed to every sort of wrong and obloquy.

  Plato, like other philosophers, is thus led on to the conclusion, that if ‘the ways of God’ to man are to be ‘justified,’ the hopes of another life must be included. If the question could have been put to him, whether a man dying in torments was happy still, even if, as he suggests in the Apology, ‘death be only a long sleep,’ we can hardly tell what would have been his answer. There have been a few, who, quite independently of rewards and punishments or of posthumous reputation, or any other influence of public opinion, have been willing to sacrifice their lives for the good of others. It is difficult to say how far in such cases an unconscious hope of a future life, or a general faith in the victory of good in the world, may have supported the sufferers. But this extreme idealism is not in accordance with the spirit of Plato. He supposes a day of retribution, in which the good are to be rewarded and the wicked punished (522 E). Though, as he says in the Phaedo, no man of sense will maintain that the details of the stories about another world are true, he will insist that something of the kind is true, and will frame his life with a view to this unknown future. Even in the Republic he introduces a future life as an afterthought, when the superior happiness of the just has been established on what is thought to be an immutable foundation. At the same time he makes a point of determining his main thesis independently of remoter consequences (x. 612 A).

  (3) Plato’s theory of punishment is partly vindictive, partly corrective. In the Gorgias, as well as in the Phaedo and Republic, a few great criminals, chiefly tyrants, are reserved as examples. But most men have never had the opportunity of attaining this pre-eminence of evil. They are not incurable, and their punishment is intended for their improvement. They are to suffer because they have sinned; like sick men, they must go to the physician and be healed. On this representation of Plato’s the criticism has been made, that the analogy of disease and injustice is partial only, and that suffering, instead of improving men, may have just the opposite effect.

  Like the general analogy of the arts and the virtues, the analogy of disease and injustice, or of medicine and justice, is certainly imperfect. But ideas must be given through something; the nature of the mind which is unseen can only be represented under figures derived from visible objects. If these figures are suggestive of some new aspect under which the mind may be considered, we cannot find fault with them for not exactly coinciding with the ideas represented. They partake of the imperfect nature of language, and must not be construed in too strict a manner. That Plato sometimes reasons from them as if they were not figures but realities, is due to the defective logical analysis of his age.

  Nor does he distinguish between the suffering which improves and the suffering which only punishes and deters. He applies to the sphere of ethics a conception of punishment which is really derived from criminal law. He does not see that such punishment is only negative, and supplies no principle of moral growth or development. He is not far off the higher notion of an education of man to be begun in this world, and to be continued in other stages of existence, which is further developed in the Republic. And Christian thinkers, who have ventured out of the beaten track in their meditations on the ‘last things,’ have found a ray of light in his writings. But he has not explained how or in what way punishment is to contribute to the improvement of mankind. He has not followed out the principle which he affirms in the Republic, that ‘God is the author of evil only with a view to good,’ and that ‘they were the better for being punished.’ Still his doctrine of a future state of rewards and punishments may be compared favourably with that perversion of Christian doctrine which makes the everlasting punishment of human beings depend on a brief moment of time, or even on the accident of an accident. And he has escaped the difficulty which has often beset divines, respecting the future destiny of the meaner sort of men (Thersites and the like), who are neither very good nor very bad, by not counting them worthy of eternal damnation.

  We do Plato violence in pressing his figures of speech or chains of argument; and not less so in asking questions which were beyond the horizon of his vision, or did not come within the scope of his design. The main purpose of the Gorgias is not to answer questions about a future world, but to place in antagonism the true and false life, and to contrast the judgments and opinions of men with judgment according to the truth. Plato may be accused of representing a superhuman or transcendental virtue in the description of the just man in the Gorgias, or in the companion portrait of the philosopher in the Theaetetus; and at the same time may be thought to be condemning a state of the world which always has existed and always will exist among men. But such ideals act powerfully on the imagination of mankind. And such condemnations are not mere paradoxes of philosophers, but the natural rebellion of the higher sense of right in man against the ordinary conditions of human life. The greatest statesmen have fallen very far short of the political ideal, and are therefore justly involved in the general condemnation.

  Subordinate to the main purpose of the dialogue are some other questions, which may be briefly considered:—

  a. The antithesis of good and pleasure, which as in other dialogues is supposed to consist in the permanent nature of the one compared with the transient and relative nature of the other. Good and pleasure, knowledge and sense, truth and opinion, essence and generation, virtue and pleasure, the real and the apparent, the infinite and finite, harmony or beauty and discord, dialectic and rhetoric or poetry, are so many pairs of opposites, which in Plato easily pass into one another, and are seldom kept perfectly distinct. And we must not forget that Plato’s conception of pleasure is the Heracleitean flux transferred to the sphere of human conduct. There is some degree of unfairness in opposing the principle of good, which is objective, to the principle of pleasure, which is subjective. For the assertion of the permanence of good is only based on the assumption of its objective character. Had Plato fixed his mind, not on the ideal nature of good, but on the subjective consciousness of happiness, that would have been found to be as transient and precarious as pleasure.

  b. The arts or sciences, when pursued without any view to truth, or the improvement of human life, are called flatteries. They are all alike dependent upon the opinion of mankind, from which they are derived. To Plato the whole world appears to be sunk in error, based on self-interest. To this is opposed the one wise man hardly professing to have found truth, yet strong in the conviction that a virtuous life is the only good, whether regarded with reference to this world or to another. Statesmen, Sophists, rhetoricians, poets, are alike brought up for judgment. They are the parodies of wise men, and their arts are the parodies of true arts and sciences. All that they call science is merely the result of that study of the tempers of the Great Beast, which he describes in the Republic.

  c. Various other points of contact naturally suggest themselves between the Gorgias and other dialogues, especially the Republic, the Philebus, and the Protagoras. There are closer resemblances both of spirit and language in the Republic than in any other dialogue, the verbal similarity tending to show that they were written at the same period of Plato’s life. For the Republic supplies that education and training of which the Gorgias suggests the necessity. The theory of the many weak combining against the few strong in the formation of society (which is indeed a partial truth), is similar in both of them, and is expressed in nearly the same language. The sufferings and fate of the just man, the powerlessness of evil, and the reversal of the situation in another life, are also points of similarity. The poets, like the rhetoricians, are condemned because they aim at pleasure only, as in the Republic they are expelled the State, because they are imitators, and minister to the weaker side of human nature. That poetry is akin to rhetoric may be compared with the analogous notion, which occurs in the Protagoras, that the ancient poets were the Sophists of their day. In some other respects the Protagoras rather offers a contrast than a parallel. The character of Protagoras may be compared with that of Gorgias, but the conception of happiness is different in the two dialogues; being described in the former, according to the old Socratic notion, as deferred or accumulated pleasure, while in the Gorgias, and in the Phaedo, pleasure and good are distinctly opposed.

  This opposition is carried out from a speculative point of view in the Philebus. There neither pleasure nor wisdom are allowed to be the chief good, but pleasure and good are not so completely opposed as in the Gorgias. For innocent pleasures, and such as have no antecedent pains, are allowed to rank in the class of goods. The allusion to Gorgias’ definition of rhetoric (Philebus, 58 A, B; cp. Gorg. 452 D, E), as the art of persuasion, of all arts the best, for to it all things submit, not by compulsion, but of their own free will—marks a close and perhaps designed connection between the two dialogues. In both the ideas of measure, order, harmony, are the connecting links between the beautiful and the good.

  In general spirit and character, that is, in irony and antagonism to public opinion, the Gorgias most nearly resembles the Apology, Crito, and portions of the Republic, and like the Philebus, though from another point of view, may be thought to stand in the same relation to Plato’s theory of morals which the Theaetetus bears to his theory of knowledge.

  d. A few minor points still remain to be summed up: (1) The extravagant irony in the reason which is assigned for the pilot’s modest charge (p. 512); and in the proposed use of rhetoric as an instrument of self-condemnation (p. 480); and in the mighty power of geometrical equality in both worlds (p. 508). (2) The reference of the mythus to the previous discussion should not be overlooked: the fate reserved for incurable criminals such as Archelaus (p. 525); the retaliation of the box on the ears (p. 527); the nakedness of the souls and of the judges who are stript of the clothes or disguises which rhetoric and public opinion have hitherto provided for them (p. 523; cp. Swift’s notion that the universe is a suit of clothes, Tale of a Tub, section 2). The fiction seems to have involved Plato in the necessity of supposing that the soul retained a sort of corporeal likeness after death (p. 524). (3) The appeal to the authority of Homer, who says that Odysseus saw Minos in his court ‘holding a golden sceptre,’ which gives verisimilitude to the tale (p. 526).

  It is scarcely necessary to repeat that Plato is playing ‘both sides of the game,’ and that in criticising the characters of Gorgias and Polus, we are not passing any judgment on historical individuals, but only attempting to analyze the ‘dramatis personae’ as they were conceived by him. Neither is it necessary to enlarge upon the obvious fact that Plato is a dramatic writer, whose real opinions cannot always be assumed to be those which he puts into the mouth of Socrates, or any other speaker who appears to have the best of the argument; or to repeat the observation that he is a poet as well as a philosopher; or to remark that he is not to be tried by a modern standard, but interpreted with reference to his place in the history of thought and the opinion of his time.

  It has been said that the most characteristic feature of the Gorgias is the assertion of the right of dissent, or private judgment. But this mode of stating the question is really opposed both to the spirit of Plato and of ancient philosophy generally. For Plato is not asserting any abstract right or duty of toleration, or advantage to be derived from freedom of thought; indeed, in some other parts of his writings (e. g. Laws, x), he has fairly laid himself open to the charge of intolerance. No speculations had as yet arisen respecting the ‘liberty of prophesying;’ and Plato is not affirming any abstract right of this nature: but he is asserting the duty and right of the one wise and true man to dissent from the folly and falsehood of the many. At the same time he acknowledges the natural result, which he hardly seeks to avert, that he who speaks the truth to a multitude, regardless of consequences, will probably share the fate of Socrates.

  The irony of Plato sometimes veils from us the height of idealism to which he soars. When declaring truths which the many will not receive, he puts on an armour which cannot be pierced by them. The weapons of ridicule are taken out of their hands and the laugh is turned against themselves. The disguises which Socrates assumes are like the parables of the New Testament, or the oracles of the Delphian God; they half conceal, half reveal, his meaning. The more he is in earnest, the more ironical he becomes; and he is never more in earnest or more ironical than in the Gorgias. He hardly troubles himself to answer seriously the objections of Gorgias and Polus, and therefore he sometimes appears to be careless of the ordinary requirements of logic. Yet in the highest sense he is always logical and consistent with himself. The form of the argument may be paradoxical; the substance is an appeal to the higher reason. He is uttering truths before they can be understood, as in all ages the words of philosophers, when they are first uttered, have found the world unprepared for them. A further misunderstanding arises out of the wildness of his humour; he is supposed not only by Callicles, but by the rest of mankind, to be jesting when he is profoundly serious. At length he makes even Polus (p. 468) in earnest. Finally, he drops the argument, and heedless any longer of the forms of dialectic, he loses himself in a sort of triumph, while at the same time he retaliates upon his adversaries. From this confusion of jest and earnest, we may now return to the ideal truth, and draw out in a simple form the main theses of the dialogue.

  First Thesis:—

  It is a greater evil to do than to suffer injustice.

  Compare the New Testament—

  ‘It is better to suffer for well doing than for evil doing.’—1 Pet. iii. 17.

  And the Sermon on the Mount—

  ‘Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake.’—Matt. v. 10.

  The words of Socrates are more abstract than the words of Christ, but they equally imply that the only real evil is moral evil. The righteous may suffer or die, but they have their reward; and even if they had no reward, would be happier than the wicked. The world, represented by Polus, is ready, when they are asked, to acknowledge that injustice is dishonourable, and for their own sakes men are willing to punish the offender (cp. Rep. ii. 360 D). But they are not equally willing to acknowledge that injustice, even if successful, is essentially evil, and has the nature of disease and death. Especially when crimes are committed on the great scale—the crimes of tyrants, ancient or modern—after a while, seeing that they cannot be undone, and have become a part of history, mankind are disposed to forgive them, not from any magnanimity or charity, but because their feelings are blunted by time, and ‘to forgive is convenient to them.’ The tangle of good and evil can no longer be unravelled; and although they know that the end cannot justify the means, they feel also that good has often come out of evil. But Socrates would have us pass the same judgment on the tyrant now and always; though he is surrounded by his satellites, and has the applauses of Europe and Asia ringing in his ears; though he is the civilizer or liberator of half a continent, he is, and always will be, the most miserable of men. The greatest consequences for good or for evil cannot alter a hair’s breadth the morality of actions which are right or wrong in themselves. This is the standard which Socrates holds up to us. Because politics, and perhaps human life generally, are of a mixed nature we must not allow our principles to sink to the level of our practice.

  And so of private individuals—to them, too, the world occasionally speaks of the consequences of their actions:—if they are lovers of pleasure, they will ruin their health; if they are false or dishonest, they will lose their character. But Socrates would speak to them, not of what will be, but of what is—of the present consequence of lowering and degrading the soul. And all higher natures, or perhaps all men everywhere, if they were not tempted by interest or passion, would agree with him—they would rather be the victims than the perpetrators of an act of treachery or of tyranny. Reason tells them that death comes sooner or later to all, and is not so great an evil as an unworthy life, or rather, if rightly regarded, not an evil at all, but to a good man the greatest good. For in all of us there are slumbering ideals of truth and right, which may at any time awaken and develop a new life in us.

  Second Thesis:—

  It is better to suffer for wrong doing than not to suffer.

  There might have been a condition of human life in which the penalty followed at once, and was proportioned to the offence. Moral evil would then be scarcely distinguishable from physical; mankind would avoid vice as they avoid pain or death. But nature, with a view of deepening and enlarging our characters, has for the most part hidden from us the consequences of our actions, and we can only foresee them by an effort of reflection. To awaken in us this habit of reflection is the business of early education, which is continued in maturer years by observation and experience. The spoilt child is in later life said to be unfortunate—he had better have suffered when he was young, and been saved from suffering afterwards. But is not the sovereign equally unfortunate whose education and manner of life are always concealing from him the consequences of his own actions, until at length they are revealed to him in some terrible downfall, which may, perhaps, have been caused not by his own fault? Another illustration is afforded by the pauper and criminal classes, who scarcely reflect at all, except on the means by which they can compass their immediate ends. We pity them, and make allowances for them; but we do not consider that the same principle applies to human actions generally. Not to have been found out in some dishonesty or folly, regarded from a moral or religious point of view, is the greatest of misfortunes. The success of our evil doings is a proof that the gods have ceased to strive with us, and have given us over to ourselves. There is nothing to remind us of our sins, and therefore nothing to correct them. Like our sorrows, they are healed by time;

  • ‘While rank corruption, mining all within,
  • Infects unseen.’

  The ‘accustomed irony’ of Socrates adds a corollary to the argument:—‘Would you punish your enemy, you should allow him to escape unpunished’—this is the true retaliation. (Compare the obscure verse of Proverbs, xxv. 21, 22, ‘Therefore if thine enemy hunger, feed him,’ etc., quoted in Romans xii. 20.)

  Men are not in the habit of dwelling upon the dark side of their own lives: they do not easily see themselves as others see them. They are very kind and very blind to their own faults; the rhetoric of self-love is always pleading with them on their own behalf. Adopting a similar figure of speech, Socrates would have them use rhetoric, not in defence but in accusation of themselves. As they are guided by feeling rather than by reason, to their feelings the appeal must be made. They must speak to themselves; they must argue with themselves; they must paint in eloquent words the character of their own evil deeds. To any suffering which they have deserved, they must persuade themselves to submit. Under the figure there lurks a real thought, which, expressed in another form, admits of an easy application to ourselves. For do not we too accuse as well as excuse ourselves? And we call to our aid the rhetoric of prayer and preaching, which the mind silently employs while the struggle between the better and the worse is going on within us. And sometimes we are too hard upon ourselves, because we want to restore the balance which self-love has overthrown or disturbed; and then again we may hear a voice as of a parent consoling us. In religious diaries a sort of drama is often enacted by the consciences of men ‘accusing or else excusing them.’ For all our life long we are talking with ourselves:—What is thought but speech? What is feeling but rhetoric? And if rhetoric is used on one side only we shall be always in danger of being deceived. And so the words of Socrates, which at first sounded paradoxical, come home to the experience of all of us.

  Third Thesis:—

  We do not what we will, but what we wish.

  Socrates would teach us a lesson which we are slow to learn—that good intentions, and even benevolent actions, when they are not prompted by wisdom, are of no value. We believe something to be for our good which we afterwards find out not to be for our good. The consequences may be inevitable, for they may follow an invariable law, yet they may often be the very opposite of what is expected by us. When we increase pauperism by almsgiving; when we tie up property without regard to changes of circumstances; when we say hastily what we deliberately disapprove; when we do in a moment of passion what upon reflection we regret; when from any want of self-control we give another an advantage over us—we are doing not what we will, but what we wish. All actions of which the consequences are not weighed and foreseen, are of this impotent and paralytic sort; and the author of them has ‘the least possible power’ while seeming to have the greatest. For he is actually bringing about the reverse of what he intended. And yet the book of nature is open to him, in which he who runs may read if he will exercise ordinary attention; every day offers him experiences of his own and of other men’s characters, and he passes them unheeded by. The contemplation of the consequences of actions, and the ignorance of men in regard to them, seems to have led Socrates to his famous thesis:—‘Virtue is knowledge;’ which is not so much an error or paradox as a half truth, seen first in the twilight of ethical philosophy, but also the half of the truth which is especially needed in the present age. For as the world has grown older men have been too apt to imagine a right and wrong apart from consequences; while a few, on the other hand, have sought to resolve them wholly into their consequences. But Socrates, or Plato for him, neither divides nor identifies them; though the time has not yet arrived either for utilitarian or transcendental systems of moral philosophy, he recognizes the two elements which seem to lie at the basis of morality1 .

  Fourth Thesis:—

  To be and not to seem is the end of life.

  The Greek in the age of Plato admitted praise to be one of the chief incentives to moral virtue, and to most men the opinion of their fellows is a leading principle of action. Hence a certain element of seeming enters into all things; all or almost all desire to appear better than they are, that they may win the esteem or admiration of others. A man of ability can easily feign the language of piety or virtue; and there is an unconscious as well as a conscious hypocrisy which, according to Socrates, is the worst of the two. Again, there is the sophistry of classes and professions. There are the different opinions about themselves and one another which prevail in different ranks of society. There is the bias given to the mind by the study of one department of human knowledge to the exclusion of the rest; and stronger far the prejudice engendered by a pecuniary or party interest in certain tenets. There is the sophistry of law, the sophistry of medicine, the sophistry of politics, the sophistry of theology. All of these disguises wear the appearance of the truth; some of them are very ancient, and we do not easily disengage ourselves from them; for we have inherited them, and they have become a part of us. The sophistry of an ancient Greek sophist is nothing compared with the sophistry of a religious order, or of a church in which during many ages falsehood has been accumulating, and everything has been said on one side, and nothing on the other. The conventions and customs which we observe in conversation, and the opposition of our interests when we have dealings with one another (‘the buyer saith, it is nought—it is nought,’ etc.), are always obscuring our sense of truth and right. The sophistry of human nature is far more subtle than the deceit of any one man. Few persons speak freely from their own natures, and scarcely any one dares to think for himself: most of us imperceptibly fall into the opinions of those around us, which we partly help to make. A man who would shake himself loose from them, requires great force of mind; he hardly knows where to begin in the search after truth. On every side he is met by the world, which is not an abstraction of theologians, but the most real of all things, being another name for ourselves when regarded collectively and subjected to the influences of society.

  Then comes Socrates, impressed as no other man ever was, with the unreality and untruthfulness of popular opinion, and tells mankind that they must be and not seem. How are they to be? At any rate they must have the spirit and desire to be. If they are ignorant, they must acknowledge their ignorance to themselves; if they are conscious of doing evil, they must learn to do well; if they are weak, and have nothing in them which they can call themselves, they must acquire firmness and consistency; if they are indifferent, they must begin to take an interest in the great questions which surround them. They must try to be what they would fain appear in the eyes of their fellow-men. A single individual cannot easily change public opinion; but he can be true and innocent, simple and independent; he can know what he does, and what he does not know; and though not without an effort, he can form a judgment of his own, at least in common matters. In his most secret actions he can show the same high principle (cp. Rep. viii. 554 D) which he shows when supported and watched by public opinion. And on some fitting occasion, on some question of humanity or truth or right, even an ordinary man, from the natural rectitude of his disposition, may be found to take up arms against a whole tribe of politicians and lawyers, and be too much for them.

  Who is the true and who the false statesman?—

  The true statesman is he who brings order out of disorder; who first organizes and then administers the government of his own country; and having made a nation, seeks to reconcile the national interests with those of Europe and of mankind. He is not a mere theorist, nor yet a dealer in expedients; the whole and the parts grow together in his mind; while the head is conceiving, the hand is executing. Although obliged to descend to the world, he is not of the world. His thoughts are fixed not on power or riches or extension of territory, but on an ideal state, in which all the citizens have an equal chance of health and life, and the highest education is within the reach of all, and the moral and intellectual qualities of every individual are freely developed, and ‘the idea of good’ is the animating principle of the whole. Not the attainment of freedom alone, or of order alone, but how to unite freedom with order is the problem which he has to solve.

  The statesman who places before himself these lofty aims has undertaken a task which will call forth all his powers. He must control himself before he can control others; he must know mankind before he can manage them. He has no private likes or dislikes; he does not conceal personal enmity under the disguise of moral or political principle: such meannesses, into which men too often fall unintentionally, are absorbed in the consciousness of his mission, and in his love for his country and for mankind. He will sometimes ask himself what the next generation will say of him; not because he is careful of posthumous fame, but because he knows that the result of his life as a whole will then be more fairly judged. He will take time for the execution of his plans; not hurrying them on when the mind of a nation is unprepared for them; but like the Ruler of the Universe Himself, working in the appointed time, for he knows that human life, ‘if not long in comparison with eternity’ (Rep. vi. 498 D), is sufficient for the fulfilment of many great purposes. He knows, too, that the work will be still going on when he is no longer here; and he will sometimes, especially when his powers are failing, think of that other ‘city of which the pattern is in heaven’ (Rep. ix. 592 B).

  The false politician is the serving-man of the state. In order to govern men he becomes like them; their ‘minds are married in conjunction;’ they ‘bear themselves’ like vulgar and tyrannical masters, and he is their obedient servant. The true politician, if he would rule men, must make them like himself; he must ‘educate his party’ until they cease to be a party; he must breathe into them the spirit which will hereafter give form to their institutions. Politics with him are not a mechanism for seeming what he is not, or for carrying out the will of the majority. Himself a representative man, he is the representative not of the lower but of the higher elements of the nation. There is a better (as well as a worse) public opinion of which he seeks to lay hold; as there is also a deeper current of human affairs in which he is borne up when the waves nearer the shore are threatening him. He acknowledges that he cannot take the world by force—two or three moves on the political chessboard are all that he can foresee—two or three weeks or months are granted to him in which he can provide against a coming struggle. But he knows also that there are permanent principles of politics which are always tending to the well-being of states—better administration, better education, the reconciliation of conflicting elements, increased security against external enemies. These are not ‘of to-day or yesterday,’ but are the same in all times, and under all forms of government. Then when the storm descends and the winds blow, though he knows not beforehand the hour of danger, the pilot, not like Plato’s captain in the Republic, half-blind and deaf, but with penetrating eye and quick ear, is ready to take command of the ship and guide her into port.

  The false politician asks not what is true, but what is the opinion of the world—not what is right, but what is expedient. The only measures of which he approves are the measures which will pass. He has no intention of fighting an uphill battle; he keeps the roadway of politics. He is unwilling to incur the persecution and enmity which political convictions would entail upon him. He begins with popularity, and in fair weather sails gallantly along. But unpopularity soon follows him. For men expect their leaders to be better and wiser than themselves: to be their guides in danger, their saviours in extremity; they do not really desire them to obey all the ignorant impulses of the popular mind; and if they fail them in a crisis they are disappointed. Then, as Socrates says, the cry of ingratitude is heard, which is most unreasonable; for the people, who have been taught no better, have done what might be expected of them, and their statesmen have received justice at their hands.

  The true statesman is aware that he must adapt himself to times and circumstances. He must have allies if he is to fight against the world; he must enlighten public opinion; he must accustom his followers to act together. Although he is not the mere executor of the will of the majority, he must win over the majority to himself. He is their leader and not their follower, but in order to lead he must also follow. He will neither exaggerate nor undervalue the power of a statesman, neither adopting the ‘laissez faire’ nor the ‘paternal government’ principle; but he will, whether he is dealing with children in politics, or with full-grown men, seek to do for the people what the government can do for them, and what, from imperfect education or deficient powers of combination, they cannot do for themselves. He knows that if he does too much for them they will do nothing; and that if he does nothing for them they will in some states of society be utterly helpless. For the many cannot exist without the few; if the material force of a country is from below, wisdom and experience are from above. It is not a small part of human evils which kings and governments make or cure. The statesman is well aware that a great purpose carried out consistently during many years will at last be executed. He is playing for a stake which may be partly determined by some accident, and therefore he will allow largely for the unknown element of politics. But the game being one in which chance and skill are combined, if he plays long enough he is certain of victory. He will not be always consistent, for the world is changing; and though he depends upon the support of a party, he will remember that he is the minister of the whole. He lives not for the present, but for the future, and he is not at all sure that he will be appreciated either now or then. For he may have the existing order of society against him, and may not be remembered by a distant posterity.

  There are always discontented idealists in politics who, like Socrates in the Gorgias, find fault with all statesmen past as well as present, not excepting the greatest names of history. Mankind have an uneasy feeling that they ought to be better governed than they are. Just as the actual philosopher falls short of the one wise man, so does the actual statesman fall short of the ideal. And so partly from vanity and egotism, but partly also from a true sense of the faults of eminent men, a temper of dissatisfaction and criticism springs up among those who are ready enough to acknowledge the inferiority of their own powers. No matter whether a statesman makes high professions or none at all—they are reduced sooner or later to the same level. And sometimes the more unscrupulous man is better esteemed than the more conscientious, because he has not equally deceived expectations. Such sentiments may be unjust, but they are widely spread; we constantly find them recurring in reviews and newspapers, and still oftener in private conversation.

  We may further observe that the art of government, while in some respects tending to improve, has in others a tendency to degenerate, as institutions become more popular. Governing for the people cannot easily be combined with governing by the people: the interests of classes are too strong for the ideas of the statesman who takes a comprehensive view of the whole. According to Socrates the true governor will find ruin or death staring him in the face, and will only be induced to govern from the fear of being governed by a worse man than himself (Rep. i. 347 C). And in modern times, though the world has grown milder, and the terrible consequences which Plato foretells no longer await an English statesman, any one who is not actuated by a blind ambition will only undertake from a sense of duty a work in which he is most likely to fail; and even if he succeed, will rarely be rewarded by the gratitude of his own generation.

  Socrates, who is not a politician at all, tells us that he is the only real politician of his time. Let us illustrate the meaning of his words by applying them to the history of our own country. He would have said that not Pitt or Fox, or Canning or Sir R. Peel, are the real politicians of their time, but Locke, Hume, Adam Smith, Bentham, Ricardo. These during the greater part of their lives occupied an inconsiderable space in the eyes of the public. They were private persons; nevertheless they sowed in the minds of men seeds which in the next generation have become an irresistible power. ‘Herein is that saying true, One soweth and another reapeth.’ We may imagine with Plato an ideal statesman in whom practice and speculation are perfectly harmonized; for there is no necessary opposition between them. But experience shows that they are commonly divorced—the ordinary politician is the interpreter or executor of the thoughts of others, and hardly ever brings to the birth a new political conception. One or two only in modern times, like the Italian statesman Cavour, have created the world in which they moved. The philosopher is naturally unfitted for political life; his great ideas are not understood by the many; he is a thousand miles away from the questions of the day. Yet perhaps the lives of thinkers, as they are stiller and deeper, are also happier than the lives of those who are more in the public eye. They have the promise of the future, though they are regarded as dreamers and visionaries by their own contemporaries. And when they are no longer here, those who would have been ashamed of them during their lives claim kindred with them, and are proud to be called by their names. (Cp. Thucyd. vi. 16.)

  Who is the true poet?

  Plato expels the poets from his Republic because they are allied to sense; because they stimulate the emotions; because they are thrice removed from the ideal truth. And in a similar spirit he declares in the Gorgias that the statcly muse of tragedy is a votary of pleasure and not of truth. In modern times we almost ridicule the idea of poetry admitting of a moral. The poet and the prophet, or preacher, in primitive antiquity are one and the same; but in later ages they seem to fall apart. The great art of novel writing, that peculiar creation of our own and the last century, which, together with the sister art of review writing, threatens to absorb all literature, has even less of seriousness in her composition. Do we not often hear the novel writer censured for attempting to convey a lesson to the minds of his readers?

  Yet the true office of a poet or writer of fiction is not merely to give amusement, or to be the expression of the feelings of mankind, good or bad, or even to increase our knowledge of human nature. There have been poets in modern times, such as Goethe or Wordsworth, who have not forgotten their high vocation of teachers; and the two greatest of the Greek dramatists owe their sublimity to their ethical character. The noblest truths, sung of in the purest and sweetest language, are still the proper material of poetry. The poet clothes them with beauty, and has a power of making them enter into the hearts and memories of men. He has not only to speak of themes above the level of ordinary life, but to speak of them in a deeper and tenderer way than they are ordinarily felt, so as to awaken the feeling of them in others. The old he makes young again; the familiar principle he invests with a new dignity; he finds a noble expression for the common-places of morality and politics. He uses the things of sense so as to indicate what is beyond; he raises us through earth to heaven. He expresses what the better part of us would fain say, and the half-conscious feeling is strengthened by the expression. He is his own critic, for the spirit of poetry and of criticism are not divided in him. His mission is not to disguise men from themselves, but to reveal to them their own nature, and make them better acquainted with the world around them. True poetry is the remembrance of youth, of love, the embodiment in words of the happiest and holiest moments of life, of the noblest thoughts of man, of the greatest deeds of the past. The poet of the future may return to his greater calling of the prophet or teacher; indeed, we hardly know what may not be effected for the human race by a better use of the poetical and imaginative faculty. The reconciliation of poetry, as of religion, with truth, may still be possible. Neither is the element of pleasure to be excluded. For when we substitute a higher pleasure for a lower we raise men in the scale of existence. Might not the novelist, too, make an ideal, or rather many ideals of social life, better than a thousand sermons? Plato, like the Puritans, is too much afraid of poetic and artistic influences. But he is not without a true sense of the noble purposes to which art may be applied (Rep. iii. 401).

  Modern poetry is often a sort of plaything, or, in Plato’s language, a flattery, a sophistry, or sham, in which, without any serious purpose, the poet lends wings to his fancy and exhibits his gifts of language and metre. Such an one seeks to gratify the taste of his readers; he has the ‘savoir faire,’ or trick of writing, but he has not the higher spirit of poetry. He has no conception that true art should bring order out of disorder (504 A); that it should make provision for the soul’s highest interest (501 C); that it should be pursued only with a view to ‘the improvement of the citizens’ (502, 503). He ministers to the weaker side of human nature (Rep. x. 603–605); he idealizes the sensual; he sings the strain of love in the latest fashion; instead of raising men above themselves he brings them back to the ‘tyranny of the many masters,’ from which all his life long a good man has been praying to be delivered. And often, forgetful of measure and order, he will express not that which is truest, but that which is strongest. Instead of a great and nobly-executed subject, perfect in every part, some fancy of a heated brain is worked out with the strangest incongruity. He is not the master of his words, but his words—perhaps borrowed from another—the faded reflection of some French or German or Italian writer, have the better of him. Though we are not going to banish the poets, how can we suppose that such utterances have any healing or life-giving influence on the minds of men?

  ‘Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter:’ Art then must be true, and politics must be true, and the life of man must be true and not a seeming or sham. In all of them order has to be brought out of disorder, truth out of error and falsehood. This is what we mean by the greatest improvement of man. And so, having considered in what way ‘we can best spend the appointed time, we leave the result with God’ (512 E). Plato does not say that God will order all things for the best (cp. Phaedo, 97 C), but he indirectly implies that the evils of this life will be corrected in another. And as we are very far from the best imaginable world at present, Plato here, as in the Phaedo and Republic, supposes a purgatory or place of education for mankind in general, and for a very few a Tartarus or hell. The myth which terminates the dialogue is not the revelation, but rather, like all similar descriptions, whether in the Bible or Plato, the veil of another life. For no visible thing can reveal the invisible. Of this Plato, unlike some commentators on Scripture, is fully aware. Neither will he dogmatize about the manner in which we are ‘born again’ (Rep. vi. 498 D). Only he is prepared to maintain the ultimate triumph of truth and right, and declares that no one, not even the wisest of the Greeks, can affirm any other doctrine without being ridiculous.

  There is a further paradox of ethics, in which pleasure and pain are held to be indifferent, and virtue at the time of action and without regard to consequences is happiness. From this elevation or exaggeration of feeling Plato seems to shrink: he leaves it to the Stoics in a later generation to maintain that when impaled or on the rack the philosopher may be happy (cp. Rep. ii. 361 ff.). It is observable that in the Republic he raises this question, but it is not really discussed; the veil of the ideal state, the shadow of another life, are allowed to descend upon it and it passes out of sight. The martyr or sufferer in the cause of right or truth is often supposed to die in raptures, having his eye fixed on a city which is in heaven. But if there were no future, might he not still be happy in the performance of an action which was attended only by a painful death? He himself may be ready to thank God that he was thought worthy to do Him the least service, without looking for a reward; the joys of another life may not have been present to his mind at all. Do we suppose that the mediaeval saint, St. Bernard, St. Francis, St. Catharine of Sienna, or the Catholic priest who lately devoted himself to death by a lingering disease that he might solace and help others, was thinking of the ‘sweets’ of heaven? No; the work was already heaven to him and enough. Much less will the dying patriot be dreaming of the praises of man or of an immortality of fame: the sense of duty, of right, and trust in God will be sufficient, and as far as the mind can reach, in that hour. If he were certain that there were no life to come, he would not have wished to speak or act otherwise than he did in the cause of truth or of humanity. Neither, on the other hand, will he suppose that God has forsaken him or that the future is to be a mere blank to him. The greatest act of faith, the only faith which cannot pass away, is his who has not known, but yet has believed. A very few among the sons of men have made themselves independent of circumstances, past, present, or to come. He who has attained to such a temper of mind has already present with him eternal life; he needs no arguments to convince him of immortality; he has in him already a principle stronger than death. He who serves man without the thought of reward is deemed to be a more faithful servant than he who works for hire. May not the service of God, which is the more disinterested, be in like manner the higher? And although only a very few in the course of the world’s history—Christ himself being one of them—have attained to such a noble conception of God and of the human soul, yet the ideal of them may be present to us, and the remembrance of them be an example to us, and their lives may shed a light on many dark places both of philosophy and theology.

  The Myths of Plato.

  The myths of Plato are a phenomenon unique in literature. There are four longer ones: these occur in the Phaedrus (244–256), Phaedo (110–115), Gorgias (523–527), and Republic (x. 614–621). That in the Republic is the most elaborate and finished of them. Three of these greater myths, namely those contained in the Phaedo, the Gorgias and the Republic, relate to the destiny of human souls in a future life. The magnificent myth in the Phaedrus treats of the immortality, or rather the eternity of the soul, in which is included a former as well as a future state of existence. To these may be added, (1) the myth, or rather fable, occurring in the Statesman (268–274), in which the life of innocence is contrasted with the ordinary life of man and the consciousness of evil: (2) the legend of the Island of Atlantis, an imaginary history, which is a fragment only, commenced in the Timaeus (21–26) and continued in the Critias: (3) the much less artistic fiction of the foundation of the Cretan colony which is introduced in the preface to the Laws (iii. 702), but soon falls into the background: (4) the beautiful but rather artificial tale of Prometheus and Epimetheus narrated in his rhetorical manner by Protagoras in the dialogue called after him (320–328): (5) the speech at the beginning of the Phaedrus (231–234), which is a parody of the orator Lysias; the rival speech of Socrates and the recantation of it (237–241). To these may be added (6) the tale of the grasshoppers, and (7) the tale of Thamus and of Theuth, both in the Phaedrus (259 and 274–5): (8) the parable of the Cave (Rep. vii. ad init.), in which the previous argument is recapitulated, and the nature and degrees of knowledge having been previously set forth in the abstract are represented in a picture: (9) the fiction of the earthborn men (Rep. iii. 414; cp. Laws ii. 664), in which by the adaptation of an old tradition Plato makes a new beginning for his society: (10) the myth of Aristophanes respecting the division of the sexes, Sym. 189: (11) the parable of the noble captain, the pilot, and the mutinous sailors (Rep. vi. 488), in which is represented the relation of the better part of the world, and of the philosopher, to the mob of politicians: (12) the ironical tale of the pilot who plies between Athens and Aegina charging only a small payment for saving men from death, the reason being that he is uncertain whether to live or die is better for them (Gor. 511): (13) the treatment of freemen and citizens by physicians and of slaves by their apprentices,—a somewhat laboured figure of speech intended to illustrate the two different ways in which the laws speak to men (Laws iv. 720). There also occur in Plato continuous images; some of them extend over several pages, appearing and reappearing at intervals: such as the bees stinging and stingless (paupers and thieves) in the Eighth Book of the Republic (554), who are generated in the transition from timocracy to oligarchy: the sun, which is to the visible world what the idea of good is to the intellectual, in the Sixth Book of the Republic (508–9): the composite animal, having the form of a man, but containing under a human skin a lion and a many-headed monster (Rep. ix. 588–9): the great beast (vi. 493), i.e. the populace: and the wild beast within us, meaning the passions which are always liable to break out (ix. 571): the animated comparisons of the degradation of philosophy by the arts to the dishonoured maiden (vi. 495–6), and of the tyrant to the parricide, who ‘beats his father, having first taken away his arms’ (viii. 569): the dog, who is your only philosopher (ii. 376 B): the grotesque and rather paltry image of the argument wandering about without a head (Laws vi. 752), which is repeated, not improved, from the Gorgias (509 D): the argument personified as veiling her face (Rep. vi. 503 A), as engaged in a chase (iv. 427 C), as breaking upon us in a first, second and third wave (v. 457 C, 472 A, 473 C):—on these figures of speech the changes are rung many times over. It is observable that nearly all these parables or continuous images are found in the Republic; that which occurs in the Theaetetus (149 ff.), of the midwifery of Socrates, is perhaps the only exception. To make the list complete, the mathematical figure of the number of the state (Rep. viii. 546), or the numerical interval which separates king from tyrant (ix. 587–8), should not be forgotten.

  The myth in the Gorgias is one of those descriptions of another life which, like the Sixth Aeneid of Virgil, appear to contain reminiscences of the mysteries. It is a vision of the rewards and punishments which await good and bad men after death. It supposes the body to continue and to be in another world what it has become in this. It includes a Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno, like the sister myths of the Phaedo and the Republic. The Inferno is reserved for great criminals only. The argument of the dialogue is frequently referred to, and the meaning breaks through so as rather to destroy the liveliness and consistency of the picture. The structure of the fiction is very slight, the chief point or moral being that in the judgments of another world there is no possibility of concealment: Zeus has taken from men the power of foreseeing death, and brings together the souls both of them and their judges naked and undisguised at the judgment-seat. Both are exposed to view, stripped of the veils and clothes which might prevent them from seeing into or being seen by one another.

  The myth of the Phaedo is of the same type, but it is more cosmological, and also more poetical. The beautiful and ingenious fancy occurs to Plato that the upper atmosphere is an earth and heaven in one, a glorified earth, fairer and purer than that in which we dwell. As the fishes live in the ocean, mankind are living in a lower sphere, out of which they put their heads for a moment or two and behold a world beyond. The earth which we inhabit is a sediment of the coarser particles which drop from the world above, and is to that heavenly earth what the desert and the shores of the ocean are to us. A part of the myth consists of description of the interior of the earth, which gives the opportunity of introducing several mythological names and of providing places of torment for the wicked. There is no clear distinction of soul and body; the spirits beneath the earth are spoken of as souls only, yet they retain a sort of shadowy form when they cry for mercy on the shores of the lake; and the philosopher alone is said to have got rid of the body. All the three myths in Plato which relate to the world below have a place for repentant sinners, as well as other homes or places for the very good and very bad. It is a natural reflection which is made by Plato elsewhere, that the two extremes of human character are rarely met with, and that the generality of mankind are between them. Hence a place must be found for them. In the myth of the Phaedo they are carried down the river Acheron to the Acherusian lake, where they dwell, and are purified of their evil deeds, and receive the rewards of their good. There are also incurable sinners, who are cast into Tartarus, there to remain as the penalty of atrocious crimes; these suffer everlastingly. And there is another class of hardly-curable sinners who are allowed from time to time to approach the shores of the Acherusian lake, where they cry to their victims for mercy; which if they obtain they come out into the lake and cease from their torments.

  Neither this, nor any of the three greater myths of Plato, nor perhaps any allegory or parable relating to the unseen world, is consistent with itself. The language of philosophy mingles with that of mythology; abstract ideas are transformed into persons, figures of speech into realities. These myths may be compared with the Pilgrim’s Progress of Bunyan, in which discussions of theology are mixed up with the incidents of travel, and mythological personages are associated with human beings: they are also garnished with names and phrases taken out of Homer, and with other fragments of Greek tradition.

  The myth of the Republic is more subtle and also more consistent than either of the two others. It has a greater verisimilitude than they have, and is full of touches which recall the experiences of human life. It will be noticed by an attentive reader that the twelve days during which Er lay in a trance after he was slain coincide with the time passed by the spirits in their pilgrimage. It is a curious observation, not often made, that good men who have lived in a well-governed city (shall we say in a religious and respectable society?) are more likely to make mistakes in their choice of life than those who have had more experience of the world and of evil. It is a more familiar remark that we constantly blame others when we have only ourselves to blame; and the philosopher must acknowledge, however reluctantly, that there is an element of chance in human life with which it is sometimes impossible for man to cope. That men drink more of the waters of forgetfulness than is good for them is a poetical description of a familiar truth. We have many of us known men who, like Odysseus, have wearied of ambition and have only desired rest. We should like to know what became of the infants ‘dying almost as soon as they were born,’ but Plato only raises, without satisfying, our curiosity. The two companies of souls, ascending and descending at either chasm of heaven and earth, and conversing when they come out into the meadow, the majestic figures of the judges sitting in heaven, the voice heard by Ardiaeus, are features of the great allegory which have an indescribable grandeur and power. The remark already made respecting the inconsistency of the two other myths must be extended also to this: it is at once an orrery, or model of the heavens, and a picture of the Day of Judgment.

  The three myths are unlike anything else in Plato. There is an Oriental, or rather an Egyptian element in them, and they have an affinity to the mysteries and to the Orphic modes of worship. To a certain extent they are un-Greek; at any rate there is hardly anything like them in other Greek writings which have a serious purpose; in spirit they are mediaeval. They are akin to what may be termed the underground religion in all ages and countries. They are presented in the most lively and graphic manner, but they are never insisted on as true; it is only affirmed that nothing better can be said about a future life. Plato seems to make use of them when he has reached the limits of human knowledge; or, to borrow an expression of his own, when he is standing on the outside of the intellectual world. They are very simple in style; a few touches bring the picture home to the mind, and make it present to us. They have also a kind of authority gained by the employment of sacred and familiar names, just as mere fragments of the words of Scripture, put together in any form and applied to any subject, have a power of their own. They are a substitute for poetry and mythology; and they are also a reform of mythology. The moral of them may be summed up in a word or two: After death the Judgment; and ‘there is some better thing remaining for the good than for the evil.’

  All literature gathers into itself many elements of the past: for example, the tale of the earth-born men in the Republic appears at first sight to be an extravagant fancy, but it is restored to propriety when we remember that it is based on a legendary belief. The art of making stories of ghosts and apparitions credible is said to consist in the manner of telling them. The effect is gained by many literary and conversational devices, such as the previous raising of curiosity, the mention of little circumstances, simplicity, picturesqueness, the naturalness of the occasion, and the like. This art is possessed by Plato in a degree which has never been equalled.

  The myth in the Phaedrus is even greater than the myths which have been already described, but is of a different character. It treats of a former rather than of a future life. It represents the conflict of reason aided by passion or righteous indignation on the one hand, and of the animal lusts and instincts on the other. The soul of man has followed the company of some god, and seen truth in the form of the universal before it was born in this world. Our present life is the result of the struggle which was then carried on. This world is relative to a former world, as it is often projected into a future. We ask the question, Where were men before birth? as we likewise enquire, What will become of them after death? The first question is unfamiliar to us, and therefore seems to be unnatural; but if we survey the whole human race, it has been as influential and as widely spread as the other. In the Phaedrus it is really a figure of speech in which the ‘spiritual combat’ of this life is represented. The majesty and power of the whole passage—especially of what may be called the theme or proem (beginning ‘The mind through all her being is immortal’)—can only be rendered very inadequately in another language.

  The myth in the Statesman relates to a former cycle of existence, in which men were born of the earth, and by the reversal of the earth’s motion had their lives reversed and were restored to youth and beauty: the dead came to life; the old grew middle-aged, and the middle-aged young; the youth became a child, the child an infant, the infant vanished into the earth. The connection between the reversal of the earth’s motion and the reversal of human life is of course verbal only, yet Plato, like theologians in other ages, argues from the consistency of the tale to its truth. The new order of the world was immediately under the government of God; it was a state of innocence in which men had neither wants nor cares, in which the earth brought forth all things spontaneously, and God was to man what man now is to the animals. There were no great estates, or families, or private possessions, nor any traditions of the past, because men were all born out of the earth. This is what Plato calls the ‘reign of Cronos;’ and in like manner he connects the reversal of the earth’s motion with some legend of which he himself was probably the inventor.

  The question is then asked, under which of these two cycles of existence was man the happier,—under that of Cronos, which was a state of innocence, or that of Zeus, which is our ordinary life? For a while Plato balances the two sides of the serious controversy, which he has suggested in a figure. The answer depends on another question: What use did the children of Cronos make of their time? They had boundless leisure and the faculty of discoursing, not only with one another, but with the animals. Did they employ these advantages with a view to philosophy, gathering from every nature some addition to their store of knowledge? or, Did they pass their time in eating and drinking and telling stories to one another and to the beasts?—in either case there would be no difficulty in answering. But then, as Plato rather mischievously adds, ‘Nobody knows what they did,’ and therefore the doubt must remain undetermined.

  To the first there succeeds a second epoch. After another natural convulsion, in which the order of the world and of human life is once more reversed, God withdraws his guiding hand, and man is left to the government of himself. The world begins again, and arts and laws are slowly and painfully invented. A secular age succeeds to a theocratical. In this fanciful tale Plato has dropped, or almost dropped, the garb of mythology. He suggests several curious and important thoughts, such as the possibility of a state of innocence, the existence of a world without traditions, and the difference between human and divine government. He has also carried a step further his speculations concerning the abolition of the family and of property, which he supposes to have no place among the children of Cronos any more than in the ideal state.

  It is characteristic of Plato and of his age to pass from the abstract to the concrete, from poetry to reality. Language is the expression of the seen, and also of the unseen, and moves in a region between them. A great writer knows how to strike both these chords, sometimes remaining within the sphere of the visible, and then again comprehending a wider range and soaring to the abstract and universal. Even in the same sentence he may employ both modes of speech not improperly or inharmoniously. It is useless to criticise the broken metaphors of Plato, if the effect of the whole is to create a picture not such as can be painted on canvas, but which is full of life and meaning to the reader. A poem may be contained in a word or two, which may call up not one but many latent images; or half reveal to us by a sudden flash the thoughts of many hearts. Often the rapid transition from one image to another is pleasing to us: on the other hand, any single figure of speech if too often repeated, or worked out too much at length, becomes prosy and monotonous. In theology and philosophy we necessarily include both ‘the moral law within and the starry heaven above,’ and pass from one to the other (cp. for examples Psalm xviii. 1–25, xix. 1–9, etc.). Whether such a use of language is puerile or noble depends upon the genius of the writer or speaker, and the familiarity of the associations employed.

  In the myths and parables of Plato the ease and grace of conversation is not forgotten: they are spoken, not written words, stories which are told to a living audience, and so well told that we are more than half-inclined to believe them (cp. Phaedrus 274). As in conversation too, the striking image or figure of speech is not forgotten, but is quickly caught up, and alluded to again and again; as it would still be in our own day in a genial and sympathetic society. The descriptions of Plato have a greater life and reality than is to be found in any modern writing. This is due to their homeliness and simplicity. Plato can do with words just as he pleases; to him they are indeed ‘more plastic than wax’ (Rep. ix. 588 D). We are in the habit of opposing speech and writing, poetry and prose. But he has discovered a use of language in which they are united; which gives a fitting expression to the highest truths; and in which the trifles of courtesy and the familiarities of daily life are not overlooked.

  GORGIAS.

  PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE.

  Callicles.

  Socrates.

  Chaerephon.

  Gorgias.

  Polus.

  Scene: The house of Callicles.

  Callicles.

  Gorgias.Socrates, Callicles. Chaerephon.

  447The wise man, as the proverb says, is late for a fray, but not for a feast.

  Socrates.

  And are we late for a feast?

  Cal.

  Yes, and a delightful feast; for Gorgias has just been exhibiting to us many fine things.

  Soc.

  It is not my fault, Callicles; our friend Chaerephon is to blame; for he would keep us loitering in the Agora.

  Chaerephon.

  Never mind, Socrates; the misfortune of which I have been the cause I will also repair; for Gorgias is a friend of mine, and I will make him give the exhibition again either now, or, if you prefer, at some other time.

  Cal.

  What is the matter, Chaerephon—does Socrates want to hear Gorgias?

  Chaer.

  Yes, that was our intention in coming.

  Cal.

  Come into my house, then; for Gorgias is staying with me, and he shall exhibit to you.

  Soc.

  Very good, Callicles; but will he answer our questions? for I want to hear from him what is the nature of his art, and what it is which he professes and teaches; he may, as you [Chaerephon] suggest, defer the exhibition to some other time.

  Cal.

  Socrates, Gorgias, Chaerephon, Polus.

  There is nothing like asking him, Socrates; and indeed to answer questions is a part of his exhibition, for he was saying only just now, that any one in my house might put any question to him, and that he would answer.

  Soc.

  How fortunate! will you ask him, Chaerephon—?

  Chaer.

  What shall I ask him?

  Soc.

  Ask him who he is.

  Chaer.

  What do you mean?

  Soc.

  I mean such a question as would elicit from him, if he had been a maker of shoes, the answer that he is a cobbler. Do you understand?

  Chaer.

  I understand, and will ask him: Tell me, Gorgias, is our friend Callicles right in saying that you undertake to answer any questions which you are asked?

  Gorgias.

  Quite right, Chaerephon: I was saying as much only just now; and I may add, that many years have elapsed 448 since any one has asked me a new one.

  Chaer.

  Then you must be very ready, Gorgias.

  Gor.

  Of that, Chaerephon, you can make trial.

  Polus.

  Polus offers to take the place of Gorgias in the argument.

  Yes, indeed, and if you like, Chaerephon, you may make trial of me too, for I think that Gorgias, who has been talking a long time, is tired.

  Chaer.

  And do you, Polus, think that you can answer better than Gorgias?

  Pol.

  What does that matter if I answer well enough for you?

  Chaer.

  Not at all:—and you shall answer if you like.

  Pol.

  Ask:—

  Chaer.

  My question is this: If Gorgias had the skill of his brother Herodicus, what ought we to call him? Ought he not to have the name which is given to his brother?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Chaer.

  Then we should be right in calling him a physician?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Chaer.

  The question is asked, ‘What is Gorgias?’

  And if he had the skill of Aristophon the son of Aglaophon, or of his brother Polygnotus, what ought we to call him?

  Pol.

  Clearly, a painter.

  Chaer.

  But now what shall we call him—what is the art in which he is skilled?

  Pol.

  Socrates, Gorgias, Polus.Answer:—Gorgias is one of the best proficients in the noblest art.

  O Chaerephon, there are many arts among mankind which are experimental, and have their origin in experience, for experience makes the days of men to proceed according to art, and inexperience according to chance, and different persons in different ways are proficient in different arts, and the best persons in the best arts. And our friend Gorgias is one of the best, and the art in which he is a proficient is the noblest.

  Soc.

  Polus has been taught how to make a capital speech, Gorgias; but he is not fulfilling the promise which he made to Chaerephon.

  Gor.

  What do you mean, Socrates?

  Soc.

  I mean that he has not exactly answered the question which he was asked.

  Gor.

  Then why not ask him yourself?

  Soc.

  But I would much rather ask you, if you are disposed to answer: for I see, from the few words which Polus has uttered, that he has attended more to the art which is called rhetoric than to dialectic.

  Pol.

  What makes you say so, Socrates?

  Soc.

  This is no answer.

  Because, Polus, when Chaerephon asked you what was the art which Gorgias knows, you praised it as if you were answering some one who found fault with it, but you never said what the art was.

  Pol.

  Why, did I not say that it was the noblest of arts?

  Soc.

  Yes, indeed, but that was no answer to the question: nobody asked what was the quality, but what was the nature, of the art, and by what name we were to describe Gorgias. 449And I would still beg you briefly and clearly, as you answered Chaerephon when he asked you at first, to say what this art is, and what we ought to call Gorgias: Or rather, Gorgias, let me turn to you, and ask the same question,—what are we to call you, and what is the art which you profess?

  Gor.

  Better:—Gorgias is a rhetorician and a teacher of rhetoric.

  Rhetoric, Socrates, is my art.

  Soc.

  Then I am to call you a rhetorician?

  Gor.

  Yes, Socrates, and a good one too, if you would call me that which, in Homeric language, ‘I boast myself to be.’

  Soc.

  I should wish to do so.

  Gor.

  Then pray do.

  Soc.

  Socrates, Gorgias.

  And are we to say that you are able to make other men rhetoricians?

  Gor.

  Yes, that is exactly what I profess to make them, not only at Athens, but in all places.

  Soc.

  And will you continue to ask and answer questions, Gorgias, as we are at present doing, and reserve for another occasion the longer mode of speech which Polus was attempting? Will you keep your promise, and answer shortly the questions which are asked of you?

  Gor.

  Some answers, Socrates, are of necessity longer; but I will do my best to make them as short as possible; for a part of my profession is that I can be as short as any one.

  Soc.

  That is what is wanted, Gorgias; exhibit the shorter method now, and the longer one at some other time.

  Gor.

  Well, I will; and you will certainly say, that you never heard a man use fewer words.

  Soc.

  Very good then; as you profess to be a rhetorician, and a maker of rhetoricians, let me ask you, with what is rhetoric concerned: I might ask with what is weaving concerned, and you would reply (would you not?), with the making of garments?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And music is concerned with the composition of melodies?

  Gor.

  It is.

  Soc.

  By Herè, Gorgias, I admire the surpassing brevity of your answers.

  Gor.

  Yes, Socrates, I do think myself good at that.

  Soc.

  And rhetoric is concerned with discourse.

  I am glad to hear it; answer me in like manner about rhetoric: with what is rhetoric concerned?

  Gor.

  With discourse.

  Soc.

  What sort of discourse, Gorgias?—such discourse as would teach the sick under what treatment they might get well?

  Gor.

  No.

  Soc.

  Then rhetoric does not treat of all kinds of discourse?

  Gor.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  And yet rhetoric makes men able to speak?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And to understand that about which they speak?

  Gor.

  Of course.

  Soc.

  But does not the art of medicine, which we were just 450now mentioning, also make men able to understand and speak about the sick?

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then medicine also treats of discourse?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Of discourse concerning diseases?

  Gor.

  Just so.

  Soc.

  And does not gymnastic also treat of discourse concerning the good or evil condition of the body?

  Gor.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  But so are all the other arts.

  And the same, Gorgias, is true of the other arts:—all of them treat of discourse concerning the subjects with which they severally have to do.

  Gor.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  Then why, if you call rhetoric the art which treats of discourse, and all the other arts treat of discourse, do you not call them arts of rhetoric?

  Gor.

  Because, Socrates, the knowledge of the other arts has only to do with some sort of external action, as of the hand; but there is no such action of the hand in rhetoric which works and takes effect only through the medium of discourse. And therefore I am justified in saying that rhetoric treats of discourse.

  Soc.

  I am not sure whether I entirely understand you, but I dare say I shall soon know better; please to answer me a question:—you would allow that there are arts?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  As to the arts generally, they are for the most part concerned with doing, and require little or no speaking; in painting, and statuary, and many other arts, the work may proceed in silence; and of such arts I suppose you would say that they do not come within the province of rhetoric.

  Gor.

  You perfectly conceive my meaning, Socrates.

  Soc.

  You mean to say that rhetoric belongs to that class of arts which is chiefly concerned with words.

  But there are other arts which work wholly through the medium of language, and require either no action or very little, as, for example, the arts of arithmetic, of calculation, of geometry, and of playing draughts; in some of these speech is pretty nearly co-extensive with action, but in most of them the verbal element is greater—they depend wholly on words for their efficacy and power: and I take your meaning to be that rhetoric is an art of this latter sort?

  Gor.

  Exactly.

  Soc.

  And yet you would not call arithmetic rhetoric.

  And yet I do not believe that you really mean to call any of these arts rhetoric; although the precise expression which you used was, that rhetoric is an art which works and takes effect only through the medium of discourse; and an adversary who wished to be captious might say, ‘And so, Gorgias, you call arithmetic rhetoric.’ But I do not think that you really call arithmetic rhetoric any more than geometry would be so called by you. 451

  Gor.

  You are quite right, Socrates, in your apprehension of my meaning.

  Soc.

  Illustrations.

  Well, then, let me now have the rest of my answer:—seeing that rhetoric is one of those arts which works mainly by the use of words, and there are other arts which also use words, tell me what is that quality in words with which rhetoric is concerned:—Suppose that a person asks me about some of the arts which I was mentioning just now; he might say, ‘Socrates, what is arithmetic?’ and I should reply to him, as you replied to me, that arithmetic is one of those arts which take effect through words. And then he would proceed to ask: ‘Words about what?’ and I should reply, Words about odd and even numbers, and how many there are of each. And if he asked again: ‘What is the art of calculation?’ I should say, That also is one of the arts which is concerned wholly with words. And if he further said, ‘Concerned with what?’ I should say, like the clerks in the assembly, ‘as aforesaid’ of arithmetic, but with a difference, the difference being that the art of calculation considers not only the quantities of odd and even numbers, but also their numerical relations to themselves and to one another. And suppose, again, I were to say that astronomy is only words—he would ask, ‘Words about what, Socrates?’ and I should answer, that astronomy tells us about the motions of the stars and sun and moon, and their relative swiftness.

  Gor.

  You would be quite right, Socrates.

  Soc.

  And now let us have from you, Gorgias, the truth about rhetoric: which you would admit (would you not?) to be one of those arts which act always and fulfil all their ends through the medium of words?

  Gor.

  Rhetoric has to do with words: about the greatest and best of human things.

  True.

  Soc.

  Words which do what? I should ask. To what class of things do the words which rhetoric uses relate?

  Gor.

  To the greatest, Socrates, and the best of human things.

  Soc.

  That again, Gorgias, is ambiguous; I am still in the dark: for which are the greatest and best of human things? I dare say that you have heard men singing at feasts the old drinking song, in which the singers enumerate the goods of life, first health, beauty next, thirdly, as the writer of the song says, wealth honestly obtained.

  Gor.

  452Yes, I know the song; but what is your drift?

  Soc.

  But which are they?

  I mean to say, that the producers of those things which the author of the song praises, that is to say, the physician, the trainer, the money-maker, will at once come to you, and first the physician will say: ‘O Socrates, Gorgias is deceiving you, for my art is concerned with the greatest good of men and not his.’ And when I ask, Who are you? he will reply, ‘I am a physician.’ What do you mean? I shall say. Do you mean that your art produces the greatest good? ‘Certainly,’ he will answer, ‘for is not health the greatest good? What greater good can men have, Socrates?’ And after him the trainer will come and say, ‘I too, Socrates, shall be greatly surprised if Gorgias can show more good of his art than I can show of mine.’ To him again I shall say, Who are you, honest friend, and what is your business? ‘I am a trainer,’ he will reply, ‘and my business is to make men beautiful and strong in body.’ When I have done with the trainer, there arrives the money-maker, and he, as I expect, will utterly despise them all. ‘Consider, Socrates,’ he will say, ‘whether Gorgias or any one else can produce any greater good than wealth.’ Well, you and I say to him, and are you a creator of wealth? ‘Yes,’ he replies. And who are you? ‘A money-maker.’ And do you consider wealth to be the greatest good of man? ‘Of course,’ will be his reply. And we shall rejoin: Yes; but our friend Gorgias contends that his art produces a greater good than yours. And then he will be sure to go on and ask, ‘What good? Let Gorgias answer.’ Now I want you, Gorgias, to imagine that this question is asked of you by them and by me; What is that which, as you say, is the greatest good of man, and of which you are the creator? Answer us.

  Gor.

  Freedom and power,

  That good, Socrates, which is truly the greatest, being that which gives to men freedom in their own persons, and to individuals the power of ruling over others in their several states.

  Soc.

  And what would you consider this to be?

  Gor.

  and the word which gives them.

  What is there greater than the word which persuades the judges in the courts, or the senators in the council, or the citizens in the assembly, or at any other political meeting?—if you have the power of uttering this word, you will have the physician your slave, and the trainer your slave, and the money-maker of whom you talk will be found to gather treasures, not for himself, but for you who are able to speak and to persuade the multitude.

  Soc.

  Now I think, Gorgias, that you have very accurately explained what you conceive to be the art of rhetoric; and you mean to say, if I am not mistaken, that rhetoric is the 453artificer of persuasion, having this and no other business, and that this is her crown and end. Do you know any other effect of rhetoric over and above that of producing persuasion?

  Gor.

  Rhetoric is the art of persuading, says Gorgias.

  No: the definition seems to me very fair, Socrates; for persuasion is the chief end of rhetoric.

  Soc.

  Then hear me, Gorgias, for I am quite sure that if there ever was a man who entered on the discussion of a matter from a pure love of knowing the truth, I am such a one, and I should say the same of you.

  Gor.

  What is coming, Socrates?

  Soc.

  I will tell you: I am very well aware that I do not know what, according to you, is the exact nature, or what are the topics of that persuasion of which you speak, and which is given by rhetoric; although I have a suspicion about both the one and the other. And I am going to ask—what is this power of persuasion which is given by rhetoric, and about what? But why, if I have a suspicion, do I ask instead of telling you? Not for your sake, but in order that the argument may proceed in such a manner as is most likely to set forth the truth. And I would have you observe, that I am right in asking this further question: If I asked, ‘What sort of a painter is Zeuxis?’ and you said, ‘The painter of figures,’ should I not be right in asking, ‘What kind of figures, and where do you find them?’

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And the reason for asking this second question would be, that there are other painters besides, who paint many other figures?

  Gor.

  True.

  Soc.

  But if there had been no one but Zeuxis who painted them, then you would have answered very well?

  Gor.

  Quite so.

  Soc.

  But so is arithmetic, so is painting.

  Now I want to know about rhetoric in the same way;—is rhetoric the only art which brings persuasion, or do other arts have the same effect? I mean to say—Does he who teaches anything persuade men of that which he teaches or not?

  Gor.

  He persuades, Socrates,—there can be no mistake about that.

  Soc.

  Again, if we take the arts of which we were just now speaking:—do not arithmetic and the arithmeticians teach us the properties of number?

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And therefore persuade us of them?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then arithmetic as well as rhetoric is an artificer of persuasion?

  Gor.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  And if any one asks us what sort of persuasion, and about what,—we shall answer, persuasion which teaches the quantity of odd and even; and we shall be able to show that 454all the other arts of which we were just now speaking are artificers of persuasion, and of what sort, and about what.

  Gor.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  Then rhetoric is not the only artificer of persuasion?

  Gor.

  True.

  Soc.

  Of what persuasion is rhetoric the artificer?

  Seeing, then, that not only rhetoric works by persuasion, but that other arts do the same, as in the case of the painter, a question has arisen which is a very fair one: Of what persuasion is rhetoric the artificer, and about what?—is not that a fair way of putting the question?

  Gor.

  I think so.

  Soc.

  Then, if you approve the question, Gorgias, what is the answer?

  Gor.

  Of persuasion in the courts and assemblies about the just and unjust.

  I answer, Socrates, that rhetoric is the art of persuasion in courts of law and other assemblies, as I was just now saying, and about the just and unjust.

  Soc.

  And that, Gorgias, was what I was suspecting to be your notion; yet I would not have you wonder if by-and-by I am found repeating a seemingly plain question; for I ask not in order to confute you, but as I was saying that the argument may proceed consecutively, and that we may not get the habit of anticipating and suspecting the meaning of one another’s words; I would have you develope your own views in your own way, whatever may be your hypothesis.

  Gor.

  I think that you are quite right, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Then let me raise another question; there is such a thing as ‘having learned’?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And there is also ‘having believed’?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Knowledge and belief are not the same things; for there may be a false belief, but not a false knowledge.

  And is the ‘having learned’ the same as ‘having believed,’ and are learning and belief the same things?

  Gor.

  In my judgment, Socrates, they are not the same.

  Soc.

  And your judgment is right, as you may ascertain in this way:—If a person were to say to you, ‘Is there, Gorgias, a false belief as well as a true?’—you would reply, if I am not mistaken, that there is.

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Well, but is there a false knowledge as well as a true?

  Gor.

  No.

  Soc.

  No, indeed; and this again proves that knowledge and belief differ.

  Gor.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  And yet those who have learned as well as those who have believed are persuaded?

  Gor.

  Just so.

  Soc.

  Shall we then assume two sorts of persuasion,—one which is the source of belief without knowledge, as the other is of knowledge?

  Gor.

  By all means.

  Soc.

  And which sort of persuasion does rhetoric create in courts of law and other assemblies about the just and unjust, the sort of persuasion which gives belief without knowledge, or that which gives knowledge?

  Gor.

  455Clearly, Socrates, that which only gives belief.

  Soc.

  And rhetoric is only the creator of a belief, but gives no instruction.

  Then rhetoric, as would appear, is the artificer of a persuasion which creates belief about the just and unjust, but gives no instruction about them?

  Gor.

  True.

  Soc.

  And the rhetorician does not instruct the courts of law or other assemblies about things just and unjust, but he creates belief about them; for no one can be supposed to instruct such a vast multitude about such high matters in a short time?

  Gor.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  Neither is the rhetorician taken into counsel when anything has to be done.

  Come, then, and let us see what we really mean about rhetoric; for I do not know what my own meaning is as yet. When the assembly meets to elect a physician or a shipwright or any other craftsman, will the rhetorician be taken into counsel? Surely not. For at every election he ought to be chosen who is most skilled; and, again, when walls have to be built or harbours or docks to be constructed, not the rhetorician but the master workman will advise; or when generals have to be chosen and an order of battle arranged, or a position taken, then the military will advise and not the rhetoricians: what do you say, Gorgias? Since you profess to be a rhetorician and a maker of rhetoricians, I cannot do better than learn the nature of your art from you. And here let me assure you that I have your interest in view as well as my own. For likely enough some one or other of the young men present might desire to become your pupil, and in fact I see some, and a good many too, who have this wish, but they would be too modest to question you. And therefore when you are interrogated by me, I would have you imagine that you are interrogated by them. ‘What is the use of coming to you, Gorgias?’ they will say—‘about what will you teach us to advise the state?—about the just and unjust only, or about those other things also which Socrates has just mentioned?’ How will you answer them?

  Gor.

  But, says Gorgias, he will persuade people to do it.

  I like your way of leading us on, Socrates, and I will endeavour to reveal to you the whole nature of rhetoric. You must have heard, I think, that the docks and the walls of the Athenians and the plan of the harbour were devised in accordance with the counsels, partly of Themistocles, and partly of Pericles, and not at the suggestion of the builders.

  Soc.

  Such is the tradition, Gorgias, about Themistocles; and I myself heard the speech of Pericles when he advised us about the middle wall.

  Gor.

  And you will observe, Socrates, that when a decision 456has to be given in such matters the rhetoricians are the advisers; they are the men who win their point.

  Soc.

  I had that in my admiring mind, Gorgias, when I asked what is the nature of rhetoric, which always appears to me, when I look at the matter in this way, to be a marvel of greatness.

  Gor.

  The rhetorician more than a match for a man of any other profession.His pupils may make a bad use of his instructions, but he is not to be blamed for this.

  A marvel, indeed, Socrates, if you only knew how rhetoric comprehends and holds under her sway all the inferior arts. Let me offer you a striking example of this. On several occasions I have been with my brother Herodicus or some other physician to see one of his patients, who would not allow the physician to give him medicine, or apply the knife or hot iron to him; and I have persuaded him to do for me what he would not do for the physician just by the use of rhetoric. And I say that if a rhetorician and a physician were to go to any city, and had there to argue in the Ecclesia or any other assembly as to which of them should be elected state-physician, the physician would have no chance; but he who could speak would be chosen if he wished; and in a contest with a man of any other profession the rhetorician more than any one would have the power of getting himself chosen, for he can speak more persuasively to the multitude than any of them, and on any subject. Such is the nature and power of the art of rhetoric! And yet, Socrates, rhetoric should be used like any other competitive art, not against everybody,—the rhetorician ought not to abuse his strength any more than a pugilist or pancratiast or other master of fence;—because he has powers which are more than a match either for friend or enemy, he ought not therefore to strike, stab, or slay his friends. Suppose a man to have been trained in the palestra and to be a skilful boxer,—he in the fulness of his strength goes and strikes his father or mother or one of his familiars or friends; but that is no reason why the trainers or fencing-masters should be held in detestation or banished from the city;—surely not. For they taught their art for a good purpose, to be used against enemies and evil-doers, in self-defence not in aggression, and others have perverted 457their instructions, and turned to a bad use their own strength and skill. But not on this account are the teachers bad, neither is the art in fault, or bad in itself; I should rather say that those who make a bad use of the art are to blame. And the same argument holds good of rhetoric; for the rhetorician can speak against all men and upon any subject,—in short, he can persuade the multitude better than any other man of anything which he pleases, but he should not therefore seek to defraud the physician or any other artist of his reputation merely because he has the power; he ought to use rhetoric fairly, as he would also use his athletic powers. And if after having become a rhetorician he makes a bad use of his strength and skill, his instructor surely ought not on that account to be held in detestation or banished. For he was intended by his teacher to make a good use of his instructions, but he abuses them. And therefore he is the person who ought to be held in detestation, banished, and put to death, and not his instructor.

  Soc.

  If Gorgias, like Socrates, is one of those who rejoice in being refuted, he would like to cross-examine him; if not, not.Socrates, Gorgias, Chaerephon, Callicles.

  You, Gorglas, like myself, have had great experience of disputations, and you must have observed, I think, that they do not always terminate in mutual edification, or in the definition by either party of the subjects which they are discussing; but disagreements are apt to arise—somebody says that another has not spoken truly or clearly; and then they get into a passion and begin to quarrel, both parties conceiving that their opponents are arguing from personal feeling only and jealousy of themselves, not from any interest in the question at issue. And sometimes they will go on abusing one another until the company at last are quite vexed at themselves for ever listening to such fellows. Why do I say this? Why, because I cannot help feeling that you are now saying what is not quite consistent or accordant with what you were saying at first about rhetoric. And I am afraid to point this out to you, lest you should think that I have some animosity against you, and that I speak, not for the sake of discovering the truth, but from jealousy of you. Now if you are one of my sort, I should like to cross-examine you, but if not I will let you alone. And what is my sort? 458you will ask. I am one of those who are very willing to be refuted if I say anything which is not true, and very willing to refute any one else who says what is not true, and quite as ready to be refuted as to refute; for I hold that this is the greater gain of the two, just as the gain is greater of being cured of a very great evil than of curing another. For I imagine that there is no evil which a man can endure so great as an erroneous opinion about the matters of which we are speaking; and if you claim to be one of my sort, let us have the discussion out, but if you would rather have done, no matter;—let us make an end of it.

  Gor.

  I should say, Socrates, that I am quite the man whom you indicate; but, perhaps, we ought to consider the audience, for, before you came, I had already given a long exhibition, and if we proceed the argument may run on to a great length. And therefore I think that we should consider whether we may not be detaining some part of the company when they are wanting to do something else.

  Chaer.

  Delight of the audience at the prospect of an argument.

  You hear the audience cheering, Gorgias and Socrates, which shows their desire to listen to you; and for myself, Heaven forbid that I should have any business on hand which would take me away from a discussion so interesting and so ably maintained.

  Cal.

  By the gods, Chaerephon, although I have been present at many discussions, I doubt whether I was ever so much delighted before, and therefore if you go on discoursing all day I shall be the better pleased.

  Soc.

  I may truly say, Callicles, that I am willing, if Gorgias is.

  Gor.

  Socrates, Gorgias.

  After all this, Socrates, I should be disgraced if I refused, especially as I have promised to answer all comers; in accordance with the wishes of the company, then, do you begin, and ask of me any question which you like.

  Soc.

  Let me tell you then, Gorgias, what surprises me in your words; though I dare say that you may be right, and I may have misunderstood your meaning. You say that you can make any man, who will learn of you, a rhetorician?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Do you mean that you will teach him to gain the ears of the multitude on any subject, and this not by instruction 459but by persuasion?

  Gor.

  Quite so.

  Soc.

  The rhetorician has greater powers of persuasion with the mob than e. g. the physician.

  You were saying, in fact, that the rhetorician will have greater powers of persuasion than the physician even in a matter of health?

  Gor.

  Yes, with the multitude,—that is.

  Soc.

  You mean to say, with the ignorant; for with those who know he cannot be supposed to have greater powers of persuasion.

  Gor.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  The more ignorant therefore will have more power than he who knows.

  But if he is to have more power of persuasion than the physician, he will have greater power than he who knows?

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Although he is not a physician:—is he?

  Gor.

  No.

  Soc.

  And he who is not a physician must, obviously, be ignorant of what the physician knows.

  Gor.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  Then, when the rhetorician is more persuasive than the physician, the ignorant is more persuasive with the ignorant than he who has knowledge?—is not that the inference?

  Gor.

  In the case supposed:—yes.

  Soc.

  And the same holds of the relation of rhetoric to all the other arts; the rhetorician need not know the truth about things; he has only to discover some way of persuading the ignorant that he has more knowledge than those who know?

  Gor.

  Yes, Socrates, and is not this a great comfort?—not to have learned the other arts, but the art of rhetoric only, and yet to be in no way inferior to the professors of them?

  Soc.

  And is the rhetorician as ignorant of good and evil, just and unjust, as about special arts; or will Gorgias teach him these things first?

  Whether the rhetorician is or is not inferior on this account is a question which we will hereafter examine if the enquiry is likely to be of any service to us; but I would rather begin by asking, whether he is or is not as ignorant of the just and unjust, base and honourable, good and evil, as he is of medicine and the other arts; I mean to say, does he really know anything of what is good and evil, base or honourable, just or unjust in them; or has he only a way with the ignorant of persuading them that he not knowing is to be esteemed to know more about these things than some one else who knows? Or must the pupil know these things and come to you knowing them before he can acquire the art of rhetoric? If he is ignorant, you who are the teacher of rhetoric will not teach him — it is not your business; but you will make him seem to the multitude to know them, when he does not know them; and seem to be a good man, when he is not. Or will you be unable to teach him rhetoric 460at all, unless he knows the truth of these things first? What is to be said about all this? By heaven, Gorgias, I wish that you would reveal to me the power of rhetoric, as you were saying that you would.

  Gor.

  He must be taught.

  Well, Socrates, I suppose that if the pupil does chance not to know them, he will have to learn of me these things as well.

  Soc.

  Say no more, for there you are right; and so he whom you make a rhetorician must either know the nature of the just and unjust already, or he must be taught by you.

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Well, and is not he who has learned carpentering a carpenter?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And he who has learned music a musician?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And he who has learned medicine is a physician, in like manner? He who has learned anything whatever is that which his knowledge makes him.

  Gor.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And in the same way, he who has learned what is just is just?

  Gor.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  He who has learned what is just, is admitted to be just and to act justly. But if so, the rhetorician, having learned what is just, must act justly, and can never therefore make an ill use of rhetoric.

  And he who is just may be supposed to do what is just?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And must not1 the just man always desire to do what is just?

  Gor.

  That is clearly the inference.

  Soc.

  Surely, then, the just man will never consent to do injustice?

  Gor.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  And according to the argument the rhetorician must be a just man?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And will therefore never be willing to do injustice?

  Gor.

  Clearly not.

  Soc.

  But do you remember saying just now that the trainer is not to be accused or banished if the pugilist makes a wrong use of his pugilistic art; and in like manner, if the rhetorician makes a bad and unjust use of his rhetoric, that is not to be laid to the charge of his teacher, who is not to be banished, but the wrong-doer himself who made a bad use of his rhetoric—he is to be banished—was not that said?

  Gor.

  Yes, it was.

  Soc.

  But now we are affirming that the aforesaid rhetorician will never have done injustice at all?

  Gor.

  True.

  Soc.

  And at the very outset, Gorgias, it was said that rhetoric treated of discourse, not [like arithmetic] about odd and even, but about just and unjust? Was not this said?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Socrates, Polus.

  I was thinking at the time, when I heard you saying so, that rhetoric, which is always discoursing about justice, could not possibly be an unjust thing. But when you added, shortly afterwards, that the rhetorician might make a bad use 461of rhetoric I noted with surprise the inconsistency into which you had fallen; and I said, that if you thought, as I did, that there was a gain in being refuted, there would be an advantage in going on with the question, but if not, I would leave off. And in the course of our investigations, as you will see yourself, the rhetorician has been acknowledged to be incapable of making an unjust use of rhetoric or of willingness to do injustice. By the dog, Gorgias, there will be a great deal of discussion, before we get at the truth of all this.

  Polus.

  The paradoxes of Socrates arouse the ire of Polus.

  And do even you, Socrates, seriously believe what you are now saying about rhetoric? What! because Gorgias was ashamed to deny that the rhetorician knew the just and the honourable and the good, and admitted that to any one who came to him ignorant of them he could teach them, and then out of this admission there arose a contradiction—the thing which you so dearly love, and to which not he, but you, brought the argument by your captious questions—[do you seriously believe that there is any truth in all this?] For will any one ever acknowledge that he does not know, or cannot teach, the nature of justice? The truth is, that there is great want of manners in bringing the argument to such a pass.

  Soc.

  Socrates is willing enough to receive his correction, if he will only be brief.

  Illustrious Polus, the reason why we provide ourselves with friends and children is, that when we get old and stumble, a younger generation may be at hand to set us on our legs again in our words and in our actions: and now, if I and Gorgias are stumbling, here are you who should raise us up; and I for my part engage to retract any error into which you may think that I have fallen—upon one condition:

  Pol.

  What condition?

  Soc.

  That you contract, Polus, the prolixity of speech in which you indulged at first.

  Pol.

  ‘Am I to be deprived of speech in a free state?’

  What! do you mean that I may not use as many words as I please?

  Soc.

  ‘Am I to be compelled to listen?’

  Only to think, my friend, that having come on a visit to Athens, which is the most free-spoken state in Hellas, you when you got there, and you alone, should be deprived of the power of speech—that would be hard indeed. But then consider my case:—shall not I be very hardly used, if, when you are making a long oration, and refusing to answer what you are asked, I am compelled to stay and listen to you, and may 462not go away? I say rather, if you have a real interest in the argument, or, to repeat my former expression, have any desire to set it on its legs, take back any statement which you please; and in your turn ask and answer, like myself and Gorgias—refute and be refuted: for I suppose that you would claim to know what Gorgias knows—would you not?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And you, like him, invite any one to ask you about anything which he pleases, and you will know how to answer him?

  Pol.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And now, which will you do, ask or answer?

  Pol.

  I will ask; and do you answer me, Socrates, the same question which Gorgias, as you suppose, is unable to answer: What is rhetoric?

  Soc.

  Do you mean what sort of an art?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Socrates in his answer contrives to give Polus a lesson.

  To say the truth, Polus, it is not an art at all, in my opinion.

  Pol.

  Then what, in your opinion, is rhetoric?

  Soc.

  A thing which, as I was lately reading in a book of yours, you say that you have made an art.

  Pol.

  What thing?

  Soc.

  I should say a sort of experience.

  Pol.

  Does rhetoric seem to you to be an experience?

  Soc.

  That is my view, but you may be of another mind.

  Pol.

  An experience in what?

  Soc.

  An experience in producing a sort of delight and gratification.

  Pol.

  And if able to gratify others, must not rhetoric be a fine thing?

  Soc.

  What are you saying, Polus? Why do you ask me whether rhetoric is a fine thing or not, when I have not as yet told you what rhetoric is?

  Pol.

  Did I not hear you say that rhetoric was a sort of experience?

  Soc.

  Will you, who are so desirous to gratify others, afford a slight gratification to me?

  Pol.

  I will.

  Soc.

  Will you ask me, what sort of an art is cookery?

  Pol.

  What sort of an art is cookery?

  Soc.

  Not an art at all, Polus.

  Pol.

  Socrates, Polus, Gorgias.

  What then?

  Soc.

  I should say an experience.

  Pol.

  He puts rhetoric and cookery in the same class;

  In what? I wish that you would explain to me.

  Soc.

  An experience in producing a sort of delight and gratification, Polus.

  Pol.

  Then are cookery and rhetoric the same?

  Soc.

  No, they are only different parts of the same profession.

  Pol.

  Of what profession?

  Soc.

  I am afraid that the truth may seem discourteous; and I hesitate to answer, lest Gorgias should imagine that I am making fun of his own profession. For whether or no this is that art of rhetoric which Gorgias practises I 463really cannot tell:—from what he was just now saying, nothing appeared of what he thought of his art, but the rhetoric which I mean is a part of a not very creditable whole.

  Gor.

  A part of what, Socrates? Say what you mean, and never mind me.

  Soc.

  and that class is flattery.

  In my opinion then, Gorgias, the whole of which rhetoric is a part is not an art at all, but the habit of a bold and ready wit, which knows how to manage mankind: this habit I sum up under the word ‘flattery;’ and it appears to me to have many other parts, one of which is cookery, which may seem to be an art, but, as I maintain, is only an experience or routine and not an art:—another part is rhetoric, and the art of attiring and sophistry are two others: thus there are four branches, and four different things answering to them. And Polus may ask, if he likes, for he has not as yet been informed, what part of flattery is rhetoric: he did not see that I had not yet answered him when he proceeded to ask a further question: Whether I do not think rhetoric a fine thing? But I shall not tell him whether rhetoric is a fine thing or not, until I have first answered, ‘What is rhetoric?’ For that would not be right, Polus; but I shall be happy to answer, if you will ask me, What part of flattery is rhetoric?

  Pol.

  I will ask, and do you answer? What part of flattery is rhetoric?

  Soc.

  Will you understand my answer? Rhetoric, according to my view, is the ghost or counterfeit of a part of politics.

  Pol.

  Rhetoric is the shadow of a part of politics.

  And noble or ignoble?

  Soc.

  Ignoble, I should say, if I am compelled to answer, for I call what is bad ignoble:—though I doubt whether you understand what I was saying before.

  Gor.

  Indeed, Socrates, I cannot say that I understand myself.

  Soc.

  I do not wonder, Gorgias; for I have not as yet explained myself, and our friend Polus, colt by name and colt by nature, is apt to run away1 .

  Gor.

  ‘But what in the world does this mean?’

  Never mind him, but explain to me what you mean by saying that rhetoric is the counterfeit of a part of politics.

  Soc.

  I will try, then, to explain my notion of rhetoric, and 464if I am mistaken, my friend Polus shall refute me. We may assume the existence of bodies and of souls?

  Gor.

  Of course.

  Soc.

  Returning to first principles, Socrates assumes the existence of souls and bodies which may or may not be in a good condition, real or apparent.

  You would further admit that there is a good condition of either of them?

  Gor.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Which condition may not be really good, but good only in appearance? I mean to say, that there are many persons who appear to be in good health, and whom only a physician or trainer will discern at first sight not to be in good health.

  Gor.

  True.

  Soc.

  And this applies not only to the body, but also to the soul: in either there may be that which gives the appearance of health and not the reality?

  Gor.

  Yes, certainly.

  Soc.

  To the soul corresponds the art of politics which has two parts, legislation and justice, and to the body corresponds another nameless art of training which has two parts, medicine and gymnastic; and these four have four shams corresponding to them.Socrates.

  And now I will endeavour to explain to you more clearly what I mean: The soul and body being two, have two arts corresponding to them: there is the art of politics attending on the soul; and another art attending on the body, of which I know no single name, but which may be described as having two divisions, one of them gymnastic, and the other medicine. And in politics there is a legislative part, which answers to gymnastic, as justice does to medicine; and the two parts run into one another, justice having to do with the same subject as legislation, and medicine with the same subject as gymnastic, but with a difference. Now, seeing that there are these four arts, two attending on the body and two on the soul for their highest good; flattery knowing, or rather guessing their natures, has distributed herself into four shams or simulations of them; she puts on the likeness of some one or other of them, and pretends to be that which she simulates, and having no regard for men’s highest interests, is ever making pleasure the bait of the unwary, and deceiving them into the belief that she is of the highest value to them. Cookery simulates the disguise of medicine, and pretends to know what food is the best for the body; and if the physician and the cook had to enter into a competition in which children were the judges, or men who had no more sense than children, as to which of them best understands the goodness or badness of food, the physician would be starved to death. A flattery I deem this to be and of an ignoble sort, Polus, for to you 465I am now addressing myself, because it aims at pleasure without any thought of the best. An art I do not call it, but only an experience, because it is unable to explain or to give a reason of the nature of its own applications. And I do not call any irrational thing an art; but if you dispute my words, I am prepared to argue in defence of them.

  Cookery, then, I maintain to be a flattery which takes the form of medicine; and tiring, in like manner, is a flattery which takes the form of gymnastic, and is knavish, false, ignoble, illiberal, working deceitfully by the help of lines, and colours, and enamels, and garments, and making men affect a spurious beauty to the neglect of the true beauty which is given by gymnastic.

  The shams are cooking, dressing up, sophistry, rhetoric.

  I would rather not be tedious, and therefore I will only say, after the manner of the geometricians, (for I think that by this time you will be able to follow,)

  as tiring : gymnastic : : cookery : medicine;

  or rather,

  as tiring : gymnastic : : sophistry : legislation;

  and

  Socrates, Polus.

  as cookery : medicine : : rhetoric : justice.

  Socrates excuses himself for the length at which he has spoken.

  And this, I say, is the natural difference between the rhetorician and the sophist, but by reason of their near connection, they are apt to be jumbled up together; neither do they know what to make of themselves, nor do other men know what to make of them. For if the body presided over itself, and were not under the guidance of the soul, and the soul did not discern and discriminate between cookery and medicine, but the body was made the judge of them, and the rule of judgment was the bodily delight which was given by them, then the word of Anaxagoras, that word with which you, friend Polus, are so well acquainted, would prevail far and wide: ‘Chaos’ would come again, and cookery, health, and medicine would mingle in an indiscriminate mass. And now I have told you my notion of rhetoric, which is, in relation to the soul, what cookery is to the body. I may have been inconsistent in making a long speech, when I would not allow you to discourse at length. But I think that I may be excused, because you did not understand me, and could make no use of my answer when I spoke shortly, and therefore 466I had to enter into an explanation. And if I show an equal inability to make use of yours, I hope that you will speak at equal length; but if I am able to understand you, let me have the benefit of your brevity, as is only fair: And now you may do what you please with my answer.

  Pol.

  What do you mean? do you think that rhetoric is flattery?

  Soc.

  Nay, I said a part of flattery; if at your age, Polus, you cannot remember, what will you do by-and-by, when you get older?

  Pol.

  And are the good rhetoricians meanly regarded in states, under the idea that they are flatterers?

  Soc.

  Is that a question or the beginning of a speech?

  Pol.

  I am asking a question.

  Soc.

  Then my answer is, that they are not regarded at all.

  Pol.

  Polus cannot be made to understand that rhetoricians have

  How not regarded? Have they not very great power in states?

  Soc.

  Not if you mean to say that power is a good to the possessor.

  Pol.

  And that is what I do mean to say.

  Soc.

  Then, if so, I think that they have the least power of all the citizens.

  Pol.

  no real power in a state, because they do not do what they ultimately will, but only what they think best.

  What! are they not like tyrants? They kill and despoil and exile any one whom they please.

  Soc.

  By the dog, Polus, I cannot make out at each deliverance of yours, whether you are giving an opinion of your own, or asking a question of me.

  Pol.

  I am asking a question of you.

  Soc.

  Yes, my friend, but you ask two questions at once.

  Pol.

  How two questions?

  Soc.

  Why, did you not say just now that the rhetoricians are like tyrants, and that they kill and despoil or exile any one whom they please?

  Pol.

  I did.

  Soc.

  Well then, I say to you that here are two questions in one, and I will answer both of them. And I tell you, Polus, that rhetoricians and tyrants have the least possible power in states, as I was just now saying; for they do literally nothing which they will, but only what they think best.

  Pol.

  And is not that a great power?

  Soc.

  Polus has already said the reverse.

  Pol.

  Said the reverse! nay, that is what I assert.

  Soc.

  No, by the great—what do you call him?—not you, for you say that great power is a good to him who has the power.

  Pol.

  I do.

  Soc.

  And would you maintain that if a fool does what he thinks best, this is a good, and would you call this great power?

  Pol.

  I should not.

  Soc.

  For a fool and a flatterer cannot know what is good.

  Then you must prove that the rhetorician is not a fool, and that rhetoric is an art and not a flattery—and so 467you will have refuted me; but if you leave me unrefuted, why, the rhetoricians who do what they think best in states, and the tyrants, will have nothing upon which to congratulate themselves, if, as you say, power be indeed a good, admitting at the same time that what is done without sense is an evil.

  Pol.

  Yes: I admit that.

  Soc.

  How then can the rhetoricians or the tyrants have great power in states, unless Polus can refute Socrates, and prove to him that they do as they will?

  Pol.

  This fellow—

  Soc.

  I say that they do not do as they will;—now refute me.

  Pol.

  Why, have you not already said that they do as they think best?

  Soc.

  And I say so still.

  Pol.

  Then surely they do as they will?

  Soc.

  I deny it.

  Pol.

  But they do what they think best?

  Soc.

  Aye.

  Pol.

  That, Socrates, is monstrous and absurd.

  Soc.

  Good words, good Polus, as I may say in your own peculiar style; but if you have any questions to ask of me, either prove that I am in error or give the answer yourself.

  Pol.

  Very well, I am willing to answer that I may know what you mean.

  Soc.

  Do men appear to you to will that which they do, or to will that further end for the sake of which they do a thing? when they take medicine, for example, at the bidding of a physician, do they will the drinking of the medicine which is painful, or the health for the sake of which they drink?

  Pol.

  Clearly, the health.

  Soc.

  And when men go on a voyage or engage in business, they do not will that which they are doing at the time; for who would desire to take the risk of a voyage or the trouble of business?—But they will, to have the wealth for the sake of which they go on a voyage.

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  A man cannot will unless he knows the ultimate good for the sake of which he acts.

  And is not this universally true? If a man does something for the sake of something else, he wills not that which he does, but that for the sake of which he does it.

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And are not all things either good or evil, or intermediate and indifferent?

  Pol.

  To be sure, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Wisdom and health and wealth and the like you would call goods, and their opposites evils?

  Pol.

  I should.

  Soc.

  And the things which are neither good nor evil, and 468which partake sometimes of the nature of good and at other times of evil, or of neither, are such as sitting, walking, running, sailing; or, again, wood, stones, and the like:—these are the things which you call neither good nor evil?

  Pol.

  Exactly so.

  Soc.

  Are these indifferent things done for the sake of the good, or the good for the sake of the indifferent?

  Pol.

  Clearly, the indifferent for the sake of the good.

  Soc.

  When we walk we walk for the sake of the good, and under the idea that it is better to walk, and when we stand we stand equally for the sake of the good?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And when we kill a man we kill him or exile him or despoil him of his goods, because, as we think, it will conduce to our good?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Men who do any of these things do them for the sake of the good?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And did we not admit that in doing something for the sake of something else, we do not will those things which we do, but that other thing for the sake of which we do them?

  Pol.

  Most true.

  Soc.

  Then we do not will simply to kill a man or to exile him or to despoil him of his goods, but we will to do that which conduces to our good, and if the act is not conducive to our good we do not will it; for we will, as you say, that which is our good, but that which is neither good nor evil, or simply evil, we do not will. Why are you silent, Polus? Am I not right?

  Pol.

  You are right.

  Soc.

  Hence we may infer, that if any one, whether he be a tyrant or a rhetorician, kills another or exiles another or deprives him of his property, under the idea that the act is for his own interests when really not for his own interests, he may be said to do what seems best to him?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But does he do what he wills if he does what is evil? Why do you not answer?

  Pol.

  No man does what he wills who does what is evil.

  Well, I suppose not.

  Soc.

  Then if great power is a good as you allow, will such a one have great power in a state?

  Pol.

  He will not.

  Soc.

  Then I was right in saying that a man may do what seems good to him in a state, and not have great power, and not do what he wills?

  Pol.

  As though you, Socrates, would not like to have the power of doing what seemed good to you in the state, rather than not; you would not be jealous when you saw any one killing or despoiling or imprisoning whom he pleased, Oh, no!

  Soc.

  469Justly or unjustly, do you mean?

  Pol.

  In either case is he not equally to be envied?

  Soc.

  Forbear, Polus!

  Pol.

  Why ‘forbear’?

  Soc.

  Because you ought not to envy wretches who are not to be envied, but only to pity them.

  Pol.

  And are those of whom I spoke wretches?

  Soc.

  Yes, certainly they are.

  Pol.

  He who makes a bad use of power is not to be envied, but pitied.

  And so you think that he who slays any one whom he pleases, and justly slays him, is pitiable and wretched?

  Soc.

  No, I do not say that of him: but neither do I think that he is to be envied.

  Pol.

  Were you not saying just now that he is wretched?

  Soc.

  Yes, my friend, if he killed another unjustly, in which case he is also to be pitied; and he is not to be envied if he killed him justly.

  Pol.

  At any rate you will allow that he who is unjustly put to death is wretched, and to be pitied?

  Soc.

  Not so much, Polus, as he who kills him, and not so much as he who is justly killed.

  Pol.

  How can that be, Socrates?

  Soc.

  That may very well be, inasmuch as doing injustice is the greatest of evils.

  Pol.

  But is it the greatest? Is not suffering injustice a greater evil?

  Soc.

  Certainly not.

  Pol.

  Then would you rather suffer than do injustice?

  Soc.

  Better to suffer than to do injustice.

  I should not like either, but if I must choose between them, I would rather suffer than do.

  Pol.

  Then you would not wish to be a tyrant?

  Soc.

  Not if you mean by tyranny what I mean.

  Pol.

  I mean, as I said before, the power of doing whatever seems good to you in a state, killing, banishing, doing in all things as you like.

  Soc.

  A tyrant has no real power any more than a man who runs out into the Agora carrying a dagger.

  Well then, illustrious friend, when I have said my say, do you reply to me. Suppose that I go into a crowded Agora, and take a dagger under my arm. Polus, I say to you, I have just acquired rare power, and become a tyrant; for if I think that any of these men whom you see ought to be put to death, the man whom I have a mind to kill is as good as dead; and if I am disposed to break his head or tear his garment, he will have his head broken or his garment torn in an instant. Such is my great power in this city. And if you do not believe me, and I show you the dagger, you would probably reply: Socrates, in that sort of way any one may have great power—he may burn any house which he pleases, and the docks and triremes of the Athenians, and all their other vessels, whether public or private—but can you believe that this mere doing as you think best is great power?

  Pol.

  Certainly not such doing as this.

  Soc.

  But can you tell me why you disapprove of such a 470power?

  Pol.

  I can.

  Soc.

  Why then?

  Pol.

  Why, because he who did as you say would be certain to be punished.

  Soc.

  And punishment is an evil?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And you would admit once more, my good sir, that great power is a benefit to a man if his actions turn out to his advantage, and that this is the meaning of great power; and if not, then his power is an evil and is no power. But let us look at the matter in another way:—do we not acknowledge that the things of which we were speaking, the infliction of death, and exile, and the deprivation of property are sometimes a good and sometimes not a good?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Even what we commonly call the evils of life may be goods in disguise.

  About that you and I may be supposed to agree?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Tell me, then, when do you say that they are good and when that they are evil—what principle do you lay down?

  Pol.

  I would rather, Socrates, that you should answer as well as ask that question.

  Soc.

  Well, Polus, since you would rather have the answer from me, I say that they are good when they are just, and evil when they are unjust.

  Pol.

  You are hard of refutation, Socrates, but might not a child refute that statement?

  Soc.

  Then I shall be very grateful to the child, and equally grateful to you if you will refute me and deliver me from my foolishness. And I hope that refute me you will, and not weary of doing good to a friend.

  Pol.

  Yes, Socrates, and I need not go far or appeal to antiquity; events which happened only a few days ago are enough to refute you, and to prove that many men who do wrong are happy.

  Soc.

  What events?

  Pol.

  You see, I presume, that Archelaus the son of Perdiccas is now the ruler of Macedonia?

  Soc.

  At any rate I hear that he is.

  Pol.

  And do you think that he is happy or miserable?

  Soc.

  I cannot say, Polus, for I have never had any acquaintance with him.

  Pol.

  And cannot you tell at once, and without having an acquaintance with him, whether a man is happy?

  Soc.

  Most certainly not.

  Pol.

  Is the great king happy?

  Then clearly, Socrates, you would say that you did not even know whether the great king was a happy man?

  Soc.

  And I should speak the truth; for I do not know how he stands in the matter of education and justice.

  Pol.

  What! and does all happiness consist in this?

  Soc.

  Yes, indeed, Polus, that is my doctrine; the men and women who are gentle and good are also happy, as I maintain, and the unjust and evil are miserable.

  Pol.

  Then, according to your doctrine, the said Archelaus 471is miserable?

  Soc.

  Yes, my friend, if he is wicked.

  Pol.

  Polus attempts to prove the happiness of the unjust by the story of Archelaus, who has lately by many crimes gained the throne of Macedonia.

  That he is wicked I cannot deny; for he had no title at all to the throne which he now occupies, he being only the son of a woman who was the slave of Alcetas the brother of Perdiccas; he himself therefore in strict right was the slave of Alcetas; and if he had meant to do rightly he would have remained his slave, and then, according to your doctrine, he would have been happy. But now he is unspeakably miserable, for he has been guilty of the greatest crimes: in the first place he invited his uncle and master, Alcetas, to come to him, under the pretence that he would restore to him the throne which Perdiccas had usurped, and after entertaining him and his son Alexander, who was his own cousin, and nearly of an age with him, and making them drunk, he threw them into a waggon and carried them off by night, and slew them, and got both of them out of the way; and when he had done all this wickedness he never discovered that he was the most miserable of all men, and was very far from repenting: shall I tell you how he showed his remorse? he had a younger brother, a child of seven years old, who was the legitimate son of Perdiccas, and to him of right the kingdom belonged; Archelaus, however, had no mind to bring him up as he ought and restore the kingdom to him; that was not his notion of happiness; but not long afterwards he threw him into a well and drowned him, and declared to his mother Cleopatra that he had fallen in while running after a goose, and had been killed. And now as he is the greatest criminal of all the Macedonians, he may be supposed to be the most miserable and not the happiest of them, and I dare say that there are many Athenians, and you would be at the head of them, who would rather be any other Macedonian than Archelaus!

  Soc.

  Socrates sees no force in such arguments.

  I praised you at first, Polus, for being a rhetorician rather than a reasoner. And this, as I suppose, is the sort of argument with which you fancy that a child might refute me, and by which I stand refuted when I say that the unjust man is not happy. But, my good friend, where is the refutation? I cannot admit a word which you have been saying.

  Pol.

  That is because you will not; for you surely must think as I do.

  Soc.

  The multitude of witnesses are nothing to him.He must convince his opponent and himself by argument.

  Not so, my simple friend, but because you will refute me after the manner which rhetoricians practise in courts of law. For there the one party think that they refute the other when they bring forward a number of witnesses of good repute in proof of their allegations, and their adversary 472has only a single one or none at all. But this kind of proof is of no value where truth is the aim; a man may often be sworn down by a multitude of false witnesses who have a great air of respectability. And in this argument nearly every one, Athenian and stranger alike, would be on your side, if you should bring witnesses in disproof of my statement;—you may, if you will, summon Nicias the son of Niceratus, and let his brothers, who gave the row of tripods which stand in the precincts of Dionysus, come with him; or you may summon Aristocrates, the son of Scellius, who is the giver of that famous offering which is at Delphi; summon, if you will, the whole house of Pericles, or any other great Athenian family whom you choose;—they will all agree with you: I only am left alone and cannot agree, for you do not convince me; although you produce many false witnesses against me, in the hope of depriving me of my inheritance, which is the truth. But I consider that nothing worth speaking of will have been effected by me unless I make you the one witness of my words; nor by you, unless you make me the one witness of yours; no matter about the rest of the world. For there are two ways of refutation, one which is yours and that of the world in general; but mine is of another sort—let us compare them, and see in what they differ. For, indeed, we are at issue about matters which to know is honourable and not to know disgraceful; to know or not to know happiness and misery—that is the chief of them. And what knowledge can be nobler? or what ignorance more disgraceful than this? And therefore I will begin by asking you whether you do not think that a man who is unjust and doing injustice can be happy, seeing that you think Archelaus unjust, and yet happy? May I assume this to be your opinion?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  According to Polus the unjust man may be happy if he is unpunished: Socrates maintains that he is more happy, or less unhappy, if he meets with retribution.

  But I say that this is an impossibility—here is one point about which we are at issue:—very good. And do you mean to say also that if he meets with retribution and punishment he will still be happy?

  Pol.

  Certainly not; in that case he will be most miserable.

  Soc.

  On the other hand, if the unjust be not punished, then, according to you, he will be happy?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But in my opinion, Polus, the unjust or doer of unjust actions is miserable in any case,—more miserable, however, if he be not punished and does not meet with retribution, and less miserable if he be punished and meets with retribution at the hands of gods and men. 473

  Pol.

  You are maintaining a strange doctrine, Socrates.

  Soc.

  I shall try to make you agree with me, O my friend, for as a friend I regard you. Then these are the points at issue between us—are they not? I was saying that to do is worse than to suffer injustice?

  Pol.

  Exactly so.

  Soc.

  And you said the opposite?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  I said also that the wicked are miserable, and you refuted me?

  Pol.

  By Zeus I did.

  Soc.

  In your own opinion, Polus.

  Pol.

  Yes, and I rather suspect that I was in the right.

  Soc.

  You further said that the wrong-doer is happy if he be unpunished?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And I affirm that he is most miserable, and that those who are punished are less miserable—are you going to refute this proposition also?

  Pol.

  A proposition which is harder of refutation than the other, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Say rather, Polus, impossible; for who can refute the truth?

  Pol.

  What nonsense! Do you mean that the man who expires among tortures is happier than the successful tyrant?

  What do you mean? If a man is detected in an unjust attempt to make himself a tyrant, and when detected is racked, mutilated, has his eyes burned out, and after having had all sorts of great injuries inflicted on him, and having seen his wife and children suffer the like, is at last impaled or tarred and burned alive, will he be happier than if he escape and become a tyrant, and continue all through life doing what he likes and holding the reins of government, the envy and admiration both of citizens and strangers? Is that the paradox which, as you say, cannot be refuted?

  Soc.

  There again, noble Polus, you are raising hobgoblins instead of refuting me; just now you were calling witnesses against me. But please to refresh my memory a little; did you say—‘in an unjust attempt to make himself a tyrant’?

  Pol.

  Yes, I did.

  Soc.

  Neither is to be called happy if both are wicked.

  Then I say that neither of them will be happier than the other,—neither he who unjustly acquires a tyranny, nor he who suffers in the attempt, for of two miserables one cannot be the happier, but that he who escapes and becomes a tyrant is the more miserable of the two. Do you laugh, Polus? Well, this is a new kind of refutation,—when any one says anything, instead of refuting him to laugh at him.

  Pol.

  Why refute what nobody believes? Ask the company.

  But do you not think, Socrates, that you have been sufficiently refuted, when you say that which no human being will allow? Ask the company.

  Soc.

  Socrates never could count heads. [This is his description of one of the noblest actions of his life.]Say rather, why affirm what every body knows?

  O Polus, I am not a public man, and only last year, when my tribe were serving as Prytanes, and it became my duty as their president to take the votes, there was a laugh at 474me, because I was unable to take them. And as I failed then, you must not ask me to count the suffrages of the company now; but if, as I was saying, you have no better argument than numbers, let me have a turn, and do you make trial of the sort of proof which, as I think, is required; for I shall produce one witness only of the truth of my words, and he is the person with whom I am arguing; his suffrage I know how to take; but with the many I have nothing to do, and do not even address myself to them. May I ask then whether you will answer in turn and have your words put to the proof? For I certainly think that I and you and every man do really believe, that to do is a greater evil than to suffer injustice: and not to be punished than to be punished.

  Pol.

  And I should say neither I, nor any man: would you yourself, for example, suffer rather than do injustice?

  Soc.

  Yes, and you, too; I or any man would.

  Pol.

  Quite the reverse; neither you, nor I, nor any man.

  Soc.

  But will you answer?

  Pol.

  To be sure, I will; for I am curious to hear what you can have to say.

  Soc.

  Polus, while denying that to do injustice is worse than to suffer, acknowledges it to be more disgraceful. Hence the shipwreck of his argument.

  Tell me, then, and you will know, and let us suppose that I am beginning at the beginning: which of the two, Polus, in your opinion, is the worst?—to do injustice or to suffer?

  Pol.

  I should say that suffering was worst.

  Soc.

  And which is the greater disgrace?—Answer.

  Pol.

  To do.

  Soc.

  And the greater disgrace is the greater evil?

  Pol.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  I understand you to say, if I am not mistaken, that the honourable is not the same as the good, or the disgraceful as the evil?

  Pol.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  Let me ask a question of you: When you speak of beautiful things, such as bodies, colours, figures, sounds, institutions, do you not call them beautiful in reference to some standard: bodies, for example, are beautiful in proportion as they are useful, or as the sight of them gives pleasure to the spectators; can you give any other account of personal beauty?

  Pol.

  I cannot.

  Soc.

  And you would say of figures or colours generally that they were beautiful, either by reason of the pleasure which they give, or of their use, or of both?

  Pol.

  Yes, I should.

  Soc.

  And you would call sounds and music beautiful for the same reason?

  Pol.

  I should.

  Soc.

  Laws and institutions also have no beauty in them except in so far as they are useful or pleasant or both?

  Pol.

  I think not. 475

  Soc.

  And may not the same be said of the beauty of knowledge?

  Pol.

  To be sure, Socrates; and I very much approve of your measuring beauty by the standard of pleasure and utility.

  Soc.

  All things may be measured by the standard of pleasure and utility or of pain and evil.

  And deformity or disgrace may be equally measured by the opposite standard of pain and evil?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then when of two beautiful things one exceeds in beauty, the measure of the excess is to be taken in one or both of these; that is to say, in pleasure or utility or both?

  Pol.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  And of two deformed things, that which exceeds in deformity or disgrace, exceeds either in pain or evil—must it not be so?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But then again, what was the observation which you just now made, about doing and suffering wrong? Did you not say, that suffering wrong was more evil, and doing wrong more disgraceful?

  Pol.

  I did.

  Soc.

  If to do is, as Polus admits, more disgraceful than to endure wrong, it must also be more evil.

  Then, if doing wrong is more disgraceful than suffering, the more disgraceful must be more painful and must exceed in pain or in evil or both: does not that also follow?

  Pol.

  Of course.

  Soc.

  First, then, let us consider whether the doing of injustice exceeds the suffering in the consequent pain: Do the injurers suffer more than the injured?

  Pol.

  No, Socrates; certainly not.

  Soc.

  Then they do not exceed in pain?

  Pol.

  No.

  Soc.

  But if not in pain, then not in both?

  Pol.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  Then they can only exceed in the other?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  That is to say, in evil?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  Then doing injustice will have an excess of evil, and will therefore be a greater evil than suffering injustice?

  Pol.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  But have not you and the world already agreed that to do injustice is more disgraceful than to suffer?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And that is now discovered to be more evil?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And would you prefer a greater evil or a greater dishonour to a less one? Answer, Polus, and fear not; for you will come to no harm if you nobly resign yourself into the healing hand of the argument as to a physician without shrinking, and either say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to me.

  Pol.

  I should say ‘No.’

  Soc.

  Would any other man prefer a greater to a less evil?

  Pol.

  No, not according to this way of putting the case, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Polus is refuted out of his own mouth.

  Then I said truly, Polus, that neither you, nor I, nor any man, would rather do than suffer injustice; for to do injustice is the greater evil of the two.

  Pol.

  That is the conclusion.

  Soc.

  The next question: Is it better for the guilty to suffer or not to suffer punishment?

  You see, Polus, when you compare the two kinds of refutations, how unlike they are. All men, with the exception of myself, are of your way of thinking; but your single assent and witness are enough for me,—I have no need of any 476other; I take your suffrage, and am regardless of the rest. Enough of this, and now let us proceed to the next question; which is, Whether the greatest of evils to a guilty man is to suffer punishment, as you supposed, or whether to escape punishment is not a greater evil, as I supposed. Consider:—You would say that to suffer punishment is another name for being justly corrected when you do wrong?

  Pol.

  I should.

  Soc.

  And would you not allow that all just things are honourable in so far as they are just? Please to reflect, and tell me your opinion.

  Pol.

  Yes, Socrates, I think that they are.

  Soc.

  Consider again:—Where there is an agent, must there not also be a patient?

  Pol.

  I should say so.

  Soc.

  And will not the patient suffer that which the agent does, and will not the suffering have the quality of the action? I mean, for example, that if a man strikes, there must be something which is stricken?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And if the striker strikes violently or quickly, that which is struck will be struck violently or quickly?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And the suffering to him who is stricken is of the same nature as the act of him who strikes?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And if a man burns, there is something which is burned?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And if he burns in excess or so as to cause pain, the thing burned will be burned in the same way?

  Pol.

  Truly.

  Soc.

  And if he cuts, the same argument holds—there will be something cut?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And if the cutting be great or deep or such as will cause pain, the cut will be of the same nature?

  Pol.

  That is evident.

  Soc.

  Since the affection of the patient answers to the act of the agent, it follows that he who is punished justly suffers justly, and therefore honourably,

  Then you would agree generally to the universal proposition which I was just now asserting: that the affection of the patient answers to the act of the agent?

  Pol.

  I agree.

  Soc.

  Then, as this is admitted, let me ask whether being punished is suffering or acting?

  Pol.

  Suffering, Socrates; there can be no doubt of that.

  Soc.

  And suffering implies an agent?

  Pol.

  Certainly, Socrates; and he is the punisher.

  Soc.

  And he who punishes rightly, punishes justly?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And therefore he acts justly?

  Pol.

  Justly.

  Soc.

  Then he who is punished and suffers retribution, suffers justly?

  Pol.

  That is evident.

  Soc.

  And that which is just has been admitted to be honourable?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then the punisher does what is honourable, and the punished suffers what is honourable?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And if what is honourable, then what is good, for the honourable is either pleasant or useful? 477

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then he who is punished suffers what is good?

  Pol.

  That is true.

  Soc.

  Then he is benefited?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Do I understand you to mean what I mean by the term ‘benefited’? I mean, that if he be justly punished his soul is improved.

  Pol.

  Surely.

  Soc.

  Then he who is punished is delivered from the evil of his soul?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  and is delivered from the greatest of all evils, the evil of the soul, which, being the most disgraceful, is also the most painful or hurtful.

  And is he not then delivered from the greatest evil? Look at the matter in this way:—In respect of a man’s estate, do you see any greater evil than poverty?

  Pol.

  There is no greater evil.

  Soc.

  Again, in a man’s bodily frame, you would say that the evil is weakness and disease and deformity?

  Pol.

  I should.

  Soc.

  And do you not imagine that the soul likewise has some evil of her own?

  Pol.

  Of course.

  Soc.

  And this you would call injustice and ignorance and cowardice, and the like?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  So then, in mind, body, and estate, which are three, you have pointed out three corresponding evils—injustice, disease, poverty?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And which of the evils is the most disgraceful?—Is not the most disgraceful of them injustice, and in general the evil of the soul?

  Pol.

  By far the most.

  Soc.

  And if the most disgraceful, then also the worst?

  Pol.

  What do you mean, Socrates?

  Soc.

  I mean to say, that what is most disgraceful has been already admitted to be most painful or hurtful, or both.

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And now injustice and all evil in the soul has been admitted by us to be most disgraceful?

  Pol.

  It has been admitted.

  Soc.

  And most disgraceful either because most painful and causing excessive pain, or most hurtful, or both?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And therefore to be unjust and intemperate, and cowardly and ignorant, is more painful than to be poor and sick?

  Pol.

  Polus stumbles at the notion which he has already admitted, that the evil of the soul is more painful than that of the body.

  Nay, Socrates; the painfulness does not appear to me to follow from your premises.

  Soc.

  Then, if, as you would argue, not more painful, the evil of the soul is of all evils the most disgraceful; and the excess of disgrace must be caused by some preternatural greatness, or extraordinary hurtfulness of the evil.

  Pol.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  And that which exceeds most in hurtfulness will be the greatest of evils?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then injustice and intemperance, and in general the depravity of the soul, are the greatest of evils?

  Pol.

  That is evident.

  Soc.

  Now, what art is there which delivers us from poverty? Does not the art of making money?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And what art frees us from disease? Does not the art of medicine?

  Pol.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  478And what from vice and injustice? If you are not able to answer at once, ask yourself whither we go with the sick, and to whom we take them.

  Pol.

  To the physicians, Socrates.

  Soc.

  And to whom do we go with the unjust and intemperate?

  Pol.

  To the judges, you mean.

  Soc.

  —Who are to punish them?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And do not those who rightly punish others, punish them in accordance with a certain rule of justice?

  Pol.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  Then the art of money-making frees a man from poverty; medicine from disease; and justice from intemperance and injustice?

  Pol.

  That is evident.

  Soc.

  Which, then, is the best of these three?

  Pol.

  Will you enumerate them?

  Soc.

  Money-making, medicine, and justice.

  Pol.

  Justice, Socrates, far excels the two others.

  Soc.

  And justice, if the best, gives the greatest pleasure or advantage or both?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But is the being healed a pleasant thing, and are those who are being healed pleased?

  Pol.

  I think not.

  Soc.

  A useful thing, then?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Punishment is the deliverance from evil, and he who is punished, like him who is healed, is happier than he who is not punished or not healed.

  Yes, because the patient is delivered from a great evil; and this is the advantage of enduring the pain—that you get well?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And would he be the happier man in his bodily condition, who is healed, or who never was out of health?

  Pol.

  Clearly he who was never out of health.

  Soc.

  Yes; for happiness surely does not consist in being delivered from evils, but in never having had them.

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And suppose the case of two persons who have some evil in their bodies, and that one of them is healed and delivered from evil, and another is not healed, but retains the evil—which of them is the most miserable?

  Pol.

  Clearly he who is not healed.

  Soc.

  And was not punishment said by us to be a deliverance from the greatest of evils, which is vice?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And justice punishes us, and makes us more just, and is the medicine of our vice?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  Happiest of all is he who is just;

  He, then, has the first place in the scale of happiness who has never had vice in his soul; for this has been shown to be the greatest of evils.

  Pol.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  And he has the second place, who is delivered from vice?

  Pol.

  happy in the second degree he who is delivered from injustice by punishment, most deluded and most unhappy of all he who lives on, enjoying the fruit of his crimes.

  True.

  Soc.

  That is to say, he who receives admonition and rebuke and punishment?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then he lives worst, who, having been unjust, has no deliverance from injustice?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  479That is, he lives worst who commits the greatest crimes, and who, being the most unjust of men, succeeds in escaping rebuke or correction or punishment; and this, as you say, has been accomplished by Archelaus and other tyrants and rhetoricians and potentates1 ?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  May not their way of proceeding, my friend, be compared to the conduct of a person who is afflicted with the worst of diseases and yet contrives not to pay the penalty to the physician for his sins against his constitution, and will not be cured, because, like a child, he is afraid of the pain of being burned or cut:—Is not that a parallel case?

  Pol.

  Yes, truly.

  Soc.

  He would seem as if he did not know the nature of health and bodily vigour; and if we are right, Polus, in our previous conclusions, they are in a like case who strive to evade justice, which they see to be painful, but are blind to the advantage which ensues from it, not knowing how far more miserable a companion a diseased soul is than a diseased body; a soul, I say, which is corrupt and unrighteous and unholy. And hence they do all that they can to avoid punishment and to avoid being released from the greatest of evils; they provide themselves with money and friends, and cultivate to the utmost their powers of persuasion. But if we, Polus, are right, do you see what follows, or shall we draw out the consequences in form?

  Pol.

  If you please.

  Soc.

  Is it not a fact that injustice, and the doing of injustice, is the greatest of evils?

  Pol.

  That is quite clear.

  Soc.

  And further, that to suffer punishment is the way to be released from this evil?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  And not to suffer, is to perpetuate the evil?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  To do wrong, then, is second only in the scale of evils; but to do wrong and not to be punished, is first and greatest of all?

  Pol.

  That is true.

  Soc.

  Archelaus then is more miserable than his victims.

  Well, and was not this the point in dispute, my friend? You deemed Archelaus happy, because he was a very great criminal and unpunished: I, on the other hand, maintained that he or any other who like him has done wrong and has not been punished, is, and ought to be, the most miserable of all men; and that the doer of injustice is more miserable than the sufferer; and he who escapes punishment, more miserable than he who suffers.—Was not that what I said?

  Pol.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And it has been proved to be true?

  Pol.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Well, Polus, but if this is true, where is the great use 480of rhetoric? If we admit what has been just now said, every man ought in every way to guard himself against doing wrong, for he will thereby suffer great evil?

  Pol.

  True.

  Soc.

  Injustice, if not removed, will become the cancer of the soul.

  And if he, or any one about whom he cares, does wrong, he ought of his own accord to go where he will be immediately punished; he will run to the judge, as he would to the physician, in order that the disease of injustice may not be rendered chronic and become the incurable cancer of the soul; must we not allow this consequence, Polus, if our former admissions are to stand:—is any other inference consistent with them?

  Pol.

  To that, Socrates, there can be but one answer.

  Soc.

  The only use of rhetoric is that it enables a man toSocrates, Polus, Callicles.expose his own injustice and to petition for speedy punishment.

  Then rhetoric is of no use to us, Polus, in helping a man to excuse his own injustice, or that of his parents or friends, or children or country; but may be of use to any one who holds that instead of excusing he ought to accuse—himself above all, and in the next degree his family or any of his friends who may be doing wrong; he should bring to light the iniquity and not conceal it, that so the wrong-doer may suffer and be made whole; and he should even force himself and others not to shrink, but with closed eyes like brave men to let the physician operate with knife or searing iron, not regarding the pain, in the hope of attaining the good and the honourable; let him who has done things worthy of stripes, allow himself to be scourged, if of bonds, to be bound, if of a fine, to be fined, if of exile, to be exiled, if of death, to die, himself being the first to accuse himself and his own relations, and using rhetoric to this end, that his and their unjust actions may be made manifest, and that they themselves may be delivered from injustice, which is the greatest evil. Then, Polus, rhetoric would indeed be useful. Do you say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ to that?

  Pol.

  To me, Socrates, what you are saying appears very strange, though probably in agreement with your premises.

  Soc.

  Is not this the conclusion, if the premises are not disproven?

  Pol.

  Yes; it certainly is.

  Soc.

  A slighter and secondary use of rhetoric in self-defence against an enemy, or in preventing the punishment of an enemy.

  And from the opposite point of view, if indeed it be our duty to harm another, whether an enemy or not—I except the case of self-defence—then I have to be upon my 481guard—but if my enemy injures a third person, then in every sort of way, by word as well as deed, I should try to prevent his being punished, or appearing before the judge; and if he appears, I should contrive that he should escape, and not suffer punishment: if he has stolen a sum of money, let him keep what he has stolen and spend it on him and his, regardless of religion and justice; and if he have done things worthy of death, let him not die, but rather be immortal in his wickedness; or, if this is not possible, let him at any rate be allowed to live as long as he can. For such purposes, Polus, rhetoric may be useful, but is of small if of any use to him who is not intending to commit injustice; at least, there was no such use discovered by us in the previous discussion.

  Cal.

  Tell me, Chaerephon, is Socrates in earnest, or is he joking?

  Chaer.

  Socrates, Callias, Chaerephon.

  I should say, Callicles, that he is in most profound earnest; but you may as well ask him.

  Cal.

  Callicles asks in amazement whether Socrates really means what he says.

  By the gods, and I will. Tell me, Socrates, are you in earnest, or only in jest? For if you are in earnest, and what you say is true, is not the whole of human life turned upside down; and are we not doing, as would appear, in everything the opposite of what we ought to be doing?

  Soc.

  I am only repeating the words of philosophy, whose lover I am. For as you love the Athenian people and their namesake Demus, so I have two loves, philosophy and Alcibiades.The son of Cleinias is inconstant, but philosophy is ever the same: she it is whom you have to refute: I am only her mouthpiece.Socrates, Callicles.

  O Callicles, if there were not some community of feelings among mankind, however varying in different persons—I mean to say, if every man’s feelings were peculiar to himself and were not shared by the rest of his species—I do not see how we could ever communicate our impressions to one another. I make this remark because I perceive that you and I have a common feeling. For we are lovers both, and both of us have two loves apiece:—I am the lover of Alcibiades, the son of Cleinias, and of philosophy; and you of the Athenian Demus, and of Demus the son of Pyrilampes. Now, I observe that you, with all your cleverness, do not venture to contradict your favourite in any word or opinion of his; but as he changes you change, backwards and forwards. When the Athenian Demus denies anything that you are saying in the assembly, you go over to his opinion; and you do the same with Demus, the fair young son of Pyrilampes. For you have not the power to resist the words and ideas of your loves; and if a person were to express surprise at the strangeness of what you say from time to time when under their influence, you would probably reply to 482him, if you were honest, that you cannot help saying what your loves say unless they are prevented; and that you can only be silent when they are. Now you must understand that my words are an echo too, and therefore you need not wonder at me; but if you want to silence me, silence philosophy, who is my love, for she is always telling me what I am now telling you, my friend; neither is she capricious like my other love, for the son of Cleinias says one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow, but philosophy is always true. She is the teacher at whose words you are now wondering, and you have heard her yourself. Her you must refute, and either show, as I was saying, that to do injustice and to escape punishment is not the worst of all evils; or, if you leave her word unrefuted, by the dog the god of Egypt, I declare, O Callicles, that Callicles will never be at one with himself, but that his whole life will be a discord. And yet, my friend, I would rather that my lyre should be inharmonious, and that there should be no music in the chorus which I provided; aye, or that the whole world should be at odds with me, and oppose me, rather than that I myself should be at odds with myself, and contradict myself.

  Cal.

  Polus was vanquished because he refused to take a bold line.Callicles would return to the rule of nature in the lower sense of the term.Callicles.Convention was only introduced by the weak majority in order to protect themselves against the few strong.A man of courage would easily break down the guards of convention.

  O Socrates, you are a regular declaimer, and seem to be running riot in the argument. And now you are declaiming in this way because Polus has fallen into the same error himself of which he accused Gorgias:—for he said that when Gorgias was asked by you, whether, if some one came to him who wanted to learn rhetoric, and did not know justice, he would teach him justice, Gorgias in his modesty replied that he would, because he thought that mankind in general would be displeased if he answered ‘No;’ and then in consequence of this admission, Gorgias was compelled to contradict himself, that being just the sort of thing in which you delight. Whereupon Polus laughed at you deservedly, as I think; but now he has himself fallen into the same trap. I cannot say very much for his wit when he conceded to you that to do is more dishonourable than to suffer injustice, for this was the admission which led to his being entangled by you; and because he was too modest to say what he thought, he had his mouth stopped. For the truth is, Socrates, that you, who pretend to be engaged in the pursuit of truth, are appealing now to the popular and vulgar notions of right, which are not natural, but only conventional. Convention and nature are generally at variance with one another: and hence, if a person is too 483modest to say what he thinks, he is compelled to contradict himself; and you, in your ingenuity perceiving the advantage to be thereby gained, slyly ask of him who is arguing conventionally a question which is to be determined by the rule of nature; and if he is talking of the rule of nature, you slip away to custom: as, for instance, you did in this very discussion about doing and suffering injustice. When Polus was speaking of the conventionally dishonourable, you assailed him from the point of view of nature; for by the rule of nature, to suffer injustice is the greater disgrace because the greater evil; but conventionally, to do evil is the more disgraceful. For the suffering of injustice is not the part of a man, but of a slave, who indeed had better die than live; since when he is wronged and trampled upon, he is unable to help himself, or any other about whom he cares. The reason, as I conceive, is that the makers of laws are the majority who are weak; and they make laws and distribute praises and censures with a view to themselves and to their own interests; and they terrify the stronger sort of men, and those who are able to get the better of them, in order that they may not get the better of them; and they say, that dishonesty is shameful and unjust; meaning, by the word injustice, the desire of a man to have more than his neighbours; for knowing their own inferiority, I suspect that they are too glad of equality. And therefore the endeavour to have more than the many, is conventionally said to be shameful and unjust, and is called injustice1 , whereas nature herself intimates that it is just for the better to have more than the worse, the more powerful than the weaker; and in many ways she shows, among men as well as among animals, and indeed among whole cities and races, that justice consists in the superior ruling over and having more than the inferior. For on what principle of justice did Xerxes invade Hellas, or his father the Scythians? (not to speak of numberless other examples). Nay, but these are the men who act according to nature; yes, by Heaven, and according to the law of nature: not, perhaps, according to that artificial law, which we invent and impose upon our fellows, of whom we take the best and strongest from their youth upwards, and tame them like young lions,—charming them with the sound 484of the voice, and saying to them, that with equality they must be content, and that the equal is the honourable and the just. But if there were a man who had sufficient force, he would shake off and break through, and escape from all this; he would trample under foot all our formulas and spells and charms, and all our laws which are against nature: the slave would rise in rebellion and be lord over us, and the light of natural justice would shine forth. And this I take to be the sentiment of Pindar, when he says in his poem, that

  • Callicles.

  • ‘Law is the king of all, of mortals as well as of immortals;’

  this, as he says,

  Pindar.

  ‘Makes might to be right, doing violence with highest hand; as I infer from the deeds of Heracles, for without buying them—’1

  A little philosophy not a bad thing in youth.

  —I do not remember the exact words, but the meaning is, that without buying them, and without their being given to him, he carried off the oxen of Geryon, according to the law of natural right, and that the oxen and other possessions of the weaker and inferior properly belong to the stronger and superior. And this is true, as you may ascertain, if you will leave philosophy and go on to higher things: for philosophy, Socrates, if pursued in moderation and at the proper age, is an elegant accomplishment, but too much philosophy is the ruin of human life. Even if a man has good parts, still, if he carries philosophy into later life, he is necessarily ignorant of all those things which a gentleman and a person of honour ought to know; he is inexperienced in the laws of the State, and in the language which ought to be used in the dealings of man with man, whether private or public, and utterly ignorant of the pleasures and desires of mankind and of human character in general. And people of this sort, when they betake themselves to politics or business, are as ridiculous as I imagine the politicians to be, when they make their appearance in the arena of philosophy. For, as Euripides says,

  Euripides.

  ‘Every man shines in that and pursues that, and devotes the greatest portion of the day to that in which he most excels2 ,’

  Callicles.But the study should not be continued into later life.

  485but anything in which he is inferior, he avoids and depreciates, and praises the opposite from partiality to himself, and because he thinks that he will thus praise himself. The true principle is to unite them. Philosophy, as a part of education, is an excellent thing, and there is no disgrace to a man while he is young in pursuing such a study; but when he is more advanced in years, the thing becomes ridiculous, and I feel towards philosophers as I do towards those who lisp and imitate children. For I love to see a little child, who is not of an age to speak plainly, lisping at his play; there is an appearance of grace and freedom in his utterance, which is natural to his childish years. But when I hear some small creature carefully articulating its words, I am offended; the sound is disagreeable, and has to my ears the twang of slavery. So when I hear a man lisping, or see him playing like a child, his behaviour appears to me ridiculous and unmanly and worthy of stripes. And I have the same feeling about students of philosophy; when I see a youth thus engaged,—the study appears to me to be in character, and becoming a man of a liberal education, and him who neglects philosophy I regard as an inferior man, who will never aspire to anything great or noble. But if I see him continuing the study in later life, and not leaving off, I should like to beat him, Socrates; for, as I was saying, such a one, even though he have good natural parts, becomes effeminate. He flies from the busy centre and the market-place, in which, as the poet says, men become distinguished; he creeps into a corner for the rest of his life, and talks in a whisper with three or four admiring youths, but never speaks out like a freeman in a satisfactory manner. Now I, Socrates, am very well inclined towards you, and my feeling may be compared with that of Zethus towards Amphion, in the play of Euripides, whom I was mentioning just now: for I am disposed to say to you much what Zethus said to his brother, that you, Socrates, are careless about the things of which you ought to be careful; and that you

  • ‘Who have a soul so noble, are remarkable for a puerile exterior; 486
  • Neither in a court of justice could you state a case, or give any reason or proof,
  • Or offer valiant counsel on another’s behalf.’

  Socrates, Callicles.

  And you must not be offended, my dear Socrates, for I am speaking out of good-will towards you, if I ask whether you are not ashamed of being thus defenceless; which I affirm to be the condition not of you only but of all those who will carry the study of philosophy too far. For suppose that some one were to take you, or any one of your sort, off to prison, declaring that you had done wrong when you had done no wrong, you must allow that you would not know what to do:—there you would stand giddy and gaping, and not having a word to say; and when you went up before the Court, even if the accuser were a poor creature and not good for much, you would die if he were disposed to claim the penalty of death. And yet, Socrates, what is the value of

  • ‘An art which converts a man of sense into a fool,’

  who is helpless, and has no power to save either himself or others, when he is in the greatest danger and is going to be despoiled by his enemies of all his goods, and has to live, simply deprived of his rights of citizenship?—he being a man who, if I may use the expression, may be boxed on the ears with impunity. Then, my good friend, take my advice, and refute no more:

  • ‘Learn the philosophy of business, and acquire the reputation of wisdom.
  • But leave to others these niceties,’

  whether they are to be described as follies or absurdities:

  • ‘For they will only
  • Give you poverty for the inmate of your dwelling.’

  Cease, then, emulating these paltry splitters of words, and emulate only the man of substance and honour, who is well to do.

  Soc.

  Callicles the desired touchstone of Socrates.

  If my soul, Callicles, were made of gold, should I not rejoice to discover one of those stones with which they test gold, and the very best possible one to which I might bring my soul; and if the stone and I agreed in approving of her training, then I should know that I was in a satisfactory state, and that no other test was needed by me.

  Cal.

  What is your meaning, Socrates?

  Soc.

  I will tell you; I think that I have found in you the desired touchstone.

  Cal.

  Why?

  Soc.

  Socrates.Other men have not the knowledge or frankness or good-will which is required; and they are too modest. His sincerity is shown by his consistency.Socrates, Callicles.But still he would ask, What Callicles means by the superior?

  Because I am sure that if you agree with me in any of the opinions which my soul forms, I have at last found the truth indeed. For I consider that if a man is to make a 487complete trial of the good or evil of the soul, he ought to have three qualities—knowledge, good-will, outspokenness, which are all possessed by you. Many whom I meet are unable to make trial of me, because they are not wise as you are; others are wise, but they will not tell me the truth, because they have not the same interest in me which you have; and these two strangers, Gorgias and Polus, are undoubtedly wise men and my very good friends, but they are not outspoken enough, and they are too modest. Why, their modesty is so great that they are driven to contradict themselves, first one and then the other of them, in the face of a large company, on matters of the highest moment. But you have all the qualities in which these others are deficient, having received an excellent education; to this many Athenians can testify. And you are my friend. Shall I tell you why I think so? I know that you, Callicles, and Tisander of Aphidnae, and Andron the son of Androtion, and Nausicydes of the deme of Cholarges, studied together: there were four of you, and I once heard you advising with one another as to the extent to which the pursuit of philosophy should be carried, and, as I know, you came to the conclusion that the study should not be pushed too much into detail. You were cautioning one another not to be overwise; you were afraid that too much wisdom might unconsciously to yourselves be the ruin of you. And now when I hear you giving the same advice to me which you then gave to your most intimate friends, I have a sufficient evidence of your real good-will to me. And of the frankness of your nature and freedom from modesty I am assured by yourself, and the assurance is confirmed by your last speech. Well then, the inference in the present case clearly is, that if you agree with me in an argument about any point, that point will have been sufficiently tested by us, and will not require to be submitted to any further test. For you could not have agreed with me, either from lack of knowledge or from superfluity of modesty, nor yet from a desire to deceive me, for you are my friend, as you tell me yourself. And therefore when you and I are agreed, the result will be the attainment of perfect truth. Now there is no nobler enquiry, Callicles, than that which you censure me for making,—What ought the character of a man to be, and what his pursuits, and how far is he to go, both in maturer years and in youth? For be assured that if I err in my own conduct I do not err intentionally, 488but from ignorance. Do not then desist from advising me, now that you have begun, until I have learned clearly what this is which I am to practise, and how I may acquire it. And if you find me assenting to your words, and hereafter not doing that to which I assented, call me ‘dolt,’ and deem me unworthy of receiving further instruction. Once more, then, tell me what you and Pindar mean by natural justice: Do you not mean that the superior should take the property of the inferior by force; that the better should rule the worse, the noble have more than the mean? Am I not right in my recollection?

  Cal.

  Yes; that is what I was saying, and so I still aver.

  Soc.

  And do you mean by the better the same as the superior? for I could not make out what you were saying at the time—whether you meant by the superior the stronger, and that the weaker must obey the stronger, as you seemed to imply when you said that great cities attack small ones in accordance with natural right, because they are superior and stronger, as though the superior and stronger and better were the same; or whether the better may be also the inferior and weaker, and the superior the worse, or whether better is to be defined in the same way as superior:—this is the point which I want to have cleared up. Are the superior and better and stronger the same or different?

  Cal.

  I say unequivocally that they are the same.

  Soc.

  He means the better and stronger, and therefore the many who make the laws, which are noble because they are made by the better.

  Then the many are by nature superior to the one, against whom, as you were saying, they make the laws?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then the laws of the many are the laws of the superior?

  Cal.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  Then they are the laws of the better; for the superior class are far better, as you were saying?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And since they are superior, the laws which are made by them are by nature good?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the many are also of opinion that to do is more disgraceful than to suffer injustice.Socrates, Callicles.

  And are not the many of opinion, as you were lately 489saying, that justice is equality, and that to do is more disgraceful than to suffer injustice?—is that so or not? Answer, Callicles, and let no modesty be found to come in the way1 ; do the many think, or do they not think thus?—I must beg of you to answer, in order that if you agree with me I may fortify myself by the assent of so competent an authority.

  Cal.

  Yes; the opinion of the many is what you say.

  Soc.

  Then not only custom but nature also affirms that to do is more disgraceful than to suffer injustice, and that justice is equality; so that you seem to have been wrong in your former assertion, when accusing me you said that nature and custom are opposed, and that I, knowing this, was dishonestly playing between them, appealing to custom when the argument is about nature, and to nature when the argument is about custom?

  Cal.

  ‘Of course I don’t mean the mob.’

  This man will never cease talking nonsense. At your age, Socrates, are you not ashamed to be catching at words and chuckling over some verbal slip? do you not see—have I not told you already, that by superior I mean better: do you imagine me to say, that if a rabble of slaves and nondescripts, who are of no use except perhaps for their physical strength, get together, their ipsissima verba are laws?

  Soc.

  Ho! my philosopher, is that your line?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  I was thinking, Callicles, that something of the kind must have been in your mind, and that is why I repeated the question,—What is the superior? I wanted to know clearly what you meant; for you surely do not think that two men are better than one, or that your slaves are better than you because they are stronger? Then please to begin again, and tell me who the better are, if they are not the stronger; and I will ask you, great Sir, to be a little milder in your instructions, or I shall have to run away from you.

  Cal.

  You are ironical.

  Soc.

  Then once more,—Who are the better?

  No, by the hero Zethus, Callicles, by whose aid you were just now saying (486 A) many ironical things against me, I am not:—tell me, then, whom you mean by the better?

  Cal.

  I mean the more excellent.

  Soc.

  Do you not see that you are yourself using words which have no meaning and that you are explaining nothing?—will you tell me whether you mean by the better and superior the wiser, or if not, whom?

  Cal.

  490Most assuredly, I do mean the wiser.

  Soc.

  The wiser: the one wise among ten thousand fools,—he ought to rule.

  Then according to you, one wise man may often be superior to ten thousand fools, and he ought to rule them, and they ought to be his subjects, and he ought to have more than they should. This is what I believe that you mean (and you must not suppose that I am word-catching), if you allow that the one is superior to the ten thousand?

  Cal.

  Yes; that is what I mean, and that is what I conceive to be natural justice—that the better and wiser should rule and have more than the inferior.

  Soc.

  But this is contrary to the analogy of the other arts.

  Stop there, and let me ask you what you would say in this case: Let us suppose that we are all together as we are now; there are several of us, and we have a large common store of meats and drinks, and there are all sorts of persons in our company having various degrees of strength and weakness, and one of us, being a physician, is wiser in the matter of food than all the rest, and he is probably stronger than some and not so strong as others of us—will he not, being wiser, be also better than we are, and our superior in this matter of food?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Either, then, he will have a larger share of the meats and drinks, because he is better, or he will have the distribution of all of them by reason of his authority, but he will not expend or make use of a larger share of them on his own person, or if he does, he will be punished;—his share will exceed that of some, and be less than that of others, and if he be the weakest of all, he being the best of all will have the smallest share of all, Callicles:—am I not right, my friend?

  Cal.

  Callicles is disgusted at the commonplace parallels of Socrates.

  You talk about meats and drinks and physicians and other nonsense; I am not speaking of them.

  Soc.

  Well, but do you admit that the wiser is the better? Answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And ought not the better to have a larger share?

  Cal.

  Not of meats and drinks.

  Soc.

  I understand: then, perhaps, of coats—the skilfullest weaver ought to have the largest coat, and the greatest number of them, and go about clothed in the best and finest of them?

  Cal.

  Fudge about coats!

  Soc.

  Then the skilfullest and best in making shoes ought to have the advantage in shoes; the shoemaker, clearly, should walk about in the largest shoes, and have the greatest number of them?

  Cal.

  Fudge about shoes! What nonsense are you talking?

  Soc.

  Or, if this is not your meaning, perhaps you would say that the wise and good and true husbandman should actually have a larger share of seeds, and have as much seed as possible for his own land?

  Cal.

  How you go on, always talking in the same way, Socrates!

  Soc.

  Yes, Callicles, and also about the same things. 491

  Cal.

  Yes, by the Gods, you are literally always talking of cobblers and fullers and cooks and doctors, as if this had to do with our argument.

  Soc.

  But why will you not tell me in what a man must be superior and wiser in order to claim a larger share; will you neither accept a suggestion, nor offer one?

  Cal.

  I have already told you. In the first place, I mean by superiors not cobblers or cooks, but wise politicians who understand the administration of a state, and who are not only wise, but also valiant and able to carry out their designs, and not the men to faint from want of soul.

  Soc.

  Socrates is accused of always saying the same things: he accuses Callicles of never saying the same about the same.

  See now, most excellent Callicles, how different my charge against you is from that which you bring against me, for you reproach me with always saying the same; but I reproach you with never saying the same about the same things, for at one time you were defining the better and the superior to be the stronger, then again as the wiser, and now you bring forward a new notion; the superior and the better are now declared by you to be the more courageous: I wish, my good friend, that you would tell me, once for all, whom you affirm to be the better and superior, and in what they are better?

  Cal.

  I have already told you that I mean those who are wise and courageous in the administration of a state—they ought to be the rulers of their states, and justice consists in their having more than their subjects.

  Soc.

  But whether rulers or subjects will they or will they not have more than themselves, my friend?

  Cal.

  What do you mean?

  Soc.

  I mean that every man is his own ruler; but perhaps you think that there is no necessity for him to rule himself; he is only required to rule others?

  Cal.

  What do you mean by his ‘ruling over himself’?

  Soc.

  A simple thing enough; just what is commonly said, that a man should be temperate and master of himself, and ruler of his own pleasures and passions.

  Cal.

  What innocence! you mean those fools,—the temperate?

  Soc.

  Certainly:—any one may know that to be my meaning.

  Cal.

  Callicles reasserts his doctrine that the esteem in which virtue and justice are held is due only to men’s fear for themselves. No man who has the power to enjoy himself practises self-control.

  Quite so, Socrates; and they are really fools, for how can a man be happy who is the servant of anything? On the contrary, I plainly assert, that he who would truly live ought to allow his desires to wax to the uttermost, and not to chastise them; but when they have grown to their greatest 492he should have courage and intelligence to minister to them and to satisfy all his longings. And this I affirm to be natural justice and nobility. To this however the many cannot attain; and they blame the strong man because they are ashamed of their own weakness, which they desire to conceal, and hence they say that intemperance is base. As I have remarked already, they enslave the nobler natures, and being unable to satisfy their pleasures, they praise temperance and justice out of their own cowardice. For if a man had been originally the son of a king, or had a nature capable of acquiring an empire or a tyranny or sovereignty, what could be more truly base or evil than temperance—to a man like him, I say, who might freely be enjoying every good, and has no one to stand in his way, and yet has admitted custom and reason and the opinion of other men to be lords over him?—must not he be in a miserable plight whom the reputation of justice and temperance hinders from giving more to his friends than to his enemies, even though he be a ruler in his city? Nay, Socrates, for you profess to be a votary of the truth, and the truth is this:—that luxury and intemperance and licence, if they be provided with means, are virtue and happiness—all the rest is a mere bauble, agreements contrary to nature, foolish talk of men, nothing worth1 .

  Soc.

  There is a noble freedom, Callicles, in your way of approaching the argument; for what you say is what the rest of the world think, but do not like to say. And I must beg of you to persevere, that the true rule of human life may become manifest. Tell me, then:—you say, do you not, that in the rightly-developed man the passions ought not to be controlled, but that we should let them grow to the utmost and somehow or other satisfy them, and that this is virtue?

  Cal.

  Yes; I do.

  Soc.

  Then those who want nothing are not truly said to be happy?

  Cal.

  To live without pleasure or passion is to be dead.

  No indeed, for then stones and dead men would be the happiest of all.

  Soc.

  But surely life according to your view is an awful thing; and indeed I think that Euripides may have been right in saying,

  • ‘Who knows if life be not death and death life;’

  No; the true death, as Pythagorean philosophy tells us, is to pour water out of a vessel full of holes into a colander full of holes.

  and that we are very likely dead; I have heard a philosopher 493say that at this moment we are actually dead, and that the body (σω̂μα) is our tomb (ση̂μα2 ), and that the part of the soul which is the seat of the desires is liable to be tossed about by words and blown up and down; and some ingenious person, probably a Sicilian or an Italian, playing with the word, invented a tale in which he called the soul—because of its believing and make-believe nature—a vessel3 , and the ignorant he called the uninitiated or leaky, and the place in the souls of the uninitiated in which the desires are seated, being the intemperate and incontinent part, he compared to a vessel full of holes, because it can never be satisfied. He is not of your way of thinking, Callicles, for he declares, that of all the souls in Hades, meaning the invisible world (ἀειδὲς), these uninitiated or leaky persons are the most miserable, and that they pour water into a vessel which is full of holes out of a colander which is similarly perforated. The colander, as my informer assures me, is the soul, and the soul which he compares to a colander is the soul of the ignorant, which is likewise full of holes, and therefore incontinent, owing to a bad memory and want of faith. These notions are strange enough, but they show the principle which, if I can, I would fain prove to you; that you should change your mind, and, instead of the intemperate and insatiate life, choose that which is orderly and sufficient and has a due provision for daily needs. Do I make any impression on you, and are you coming over to the opinion that the orderly are happier than the intemperate? Or do I fail to persuade you, and, however many tales I rehearse to you, do you continue of the same opinion still?

  Cal.

  The latter, Socrates, is more like the truth.

  Soc.

  The temperate man is the sound, the intemperate the leaky vessel.

  Well, I will tell you another image, which comes out of the same school:—Let me request you to consider how far you would accept this as an account of the two lives of the temperate and intemperate in a figure:—There are two men, both of whom have a number of casks; the one man has his casks sound and full, one of wine, another of honey, and a third of milk, besides others filled with other liquids, and the streams which fill them are few and scanty, and he can only obtain them with a great deal of toil and difficulty; but when his casks are once filled he has no need to feed them any more, and has no further trouble with them or care about them. The other, in like manner, can procure streams, though not without difficulty; but his vessels are leaky and unsound, and night and day he is compelled to be filling 494them, and if he pauses for a moment, he is in an agony of pain. Such are their respective lives:—And now would you say that the life of the intemperate is happier than that of the temperate? Do I not convince you that the opposite is the truth?

  Cal.

  The life of desire and pleasure is not to be compared to a full vessel, but to an ever-running stream.

  You do not convince me, Socrates, for the one who has filled himself has no longer any pleasure left; and this, as I was just now saying, is the life of a stone: he has neither joy nor sorrow after he is once filled; but the pleasure depends on the superabundance of the influx.

  Soc.

  But the more you pour in, the greater the waste; and the holes must be large for the liquid to escape.

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  The life which you are now depicting is not that of a dead man, or of a stone, but of a cormorant; you mean that he is to be hungering and eating?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And he is to be thirsting and drinking?

  Cal.

  Yes, that is what I mean; he is to have all his desires about him, and to be able to live happily in the gratification of them.

  Soc.

  Capital, excellent; go on as you have begun, and have no shame; I, too, must disencumber myself of shame: and first, will you tell me whether you include itching and scratching, provided you have enough of them and pass your life in scratching, in your notion of happiness?

  Cal.

  What a strange being you are, Socrates! a regular mob-orator.

  Soc.

  That was the reason, Callicles, why I scared Polus and Gorgias, until they were too modest to say what they thought; but you will not be too modest and will not be scared, for you are a brave man. And now, answer my question.

  Cal.

  I answer, that even the scratcher would live pleasantly.

  Soc.

  And if pleasantly, then also happily?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  Callicles professes a virtuous indignation at the very mention of the consequences of his own doctrine.

  But what if the itching is not confined to the head? Shall I pursue the question? And here, Callicles, I would have you consider how you would reply if consequences are pressed upon you, especially if in the last resort you are asked, whether the life of a catamite is not terrible, foul, miserable? Or would you venture to say, that they too are happy, if they only get enough of what they want?

  Cal.

  Are you not ashamed, Socrates, of introducing such topics into the argument?

  Soc.

  Well, my fine friend, but am I the introducer of these topics, or he who says without any qualification that all who feel pleasure in whatever manner are happy, and who admits of no distinction between good and bad pleasures? And I 495 would still ask, whether you say that pleasure and good are the same, or whether there is some pleasure which is not a good?

  Cal.

  Well, then, for the sake of consistency, I will say that they are the same.

  Soc.

  You are breaking the original agreement, Callicles, and will no longer be a satisfactory companion in the search after truth, if you say what is contrary to your real opinion.

  Cal.

  Why, that is what you are doing too, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Then we are both doing wrong. Still, my dear friend, I would ask you to consider whether pleasure, from whatever source derived, is the good; for, if this be true, then the disagreeable consequences which have been darkly intimated must follow, and many others.

  Cal.

  That, Socrates, is only your opinion.

  Soc.

  And do you, Callicles, seriously maintain what you are saying?

  Cal.

  Indeed I do.

  Soc.

  Then, as you are in earnest, shall we proceed with the argument?

  Cal.

  By all means1 .

  Soc.

  Callicles, having admitted that pleasure and good are the same, is led to make the further admission that pleasure and knowledge and courage are different.

  Well, if you are willing to proceed, determine this question for me:—There is something, I presume, which you would call knowledge?

  Cal.

  There is.

  Soc.

  And were you not saying just now, that some courage implied knowledge?

  Cal.

  I was.

  Soc.

  And you were speaking of courage and knowledge as two things different from one another?

  Cal.

  Certainly I was.

  Soc.

  And would you say that pleasure and knowledge are the same, or not the same?

  Cal.

  Not the same, O man of wisdom.

  Soc.

  And would you say that courage differed from pleasure?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Well, then, let us remember that Callicles, the Acharnian, says that pleasure and good are the same; but that knowledge and courage are not the same, either with one another, or with the good.

  Cal.

  And what does our friend Socrates, of Foxton, say—does he assent to this, or not?

  Soc.

  He does not assent; neither will Callicles, when he sees himself truly. You will admit, I suppose, that good and evil fortune are opposed to each other?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And if they are opposed to each other, then, like health and disease, they exclude one another; a man cannot have them both, or be without them both, at the same time?

  Cal.

  What do you mean?

  Soc.

  Take the case of any bodily affection:—a man may have the complaint in his eyes which is called ophthalmia?

  Cal.

  To be sure. 496

  Soc.

  But he surely cannot have the same eyes well and sound at the same time?

  Cal.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  And when he has got rid of his ophthalmia, has he got rid of the health of his eyes too? Is the final result, that he gets rid of them both together?

  Cal.

  Certainly not.

  Soc.

  That would surely be marvellous and absurd?

  Cal.

  Very.

  Soc.

  A man may have good and evil by turns, but not at the same time.

  I suppose that he is affected by them, and gets rid of them in turns?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And he may have strength and weakness in the same way, by fits?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Or swiftness and slowness?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And does he have and not have good and happiness, and their opposites, evil and misery, in a similar alternation1 ?

  Cal.

  Certainly he has.

  Soc.

  If then there be anything which a man has and has not at the same time, clearly that cannot be good and evil—do we agree? Please not to answer without consideration.

  Cal.

  I entirely agree.

  Soc.

  Go back now to our former admissions.—Did you say that to hunger, I mean the mere state of hunger, was pleasant or painful?

  Cal.

  I said painful, but that to eat when you are hungry is pleasant.

  Soc.

  I know; but still the actual hunger is painful: am I not right?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And thirst, too, is painful?

  Cal.

  Yes, very.

  Soc.

  Need I adduce any more instances, or would you agree that all wants or desires are painful?

  Cal.

  I agree, and therefore you need not adduce any more instances.

  Soc.

  Very good. And you would admit that to drink, when you are thirsty, is pleasant?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And in the sentence which you have just uttered, the word ‘thirsty’ implies pain?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the word ‘drinking’ is expressive of pleasure, and of the satisfaction of the want?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  There is pleasure in drinking?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  When you are thirsty?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And in pain?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But he may have pleasure and pain at the same time.

  Do you see the inference:—that pleasure and pain are simultaneous, when you say that being thirsty, you drink? For are they not simultaneous, and do they not affect at the same time the same part, whether of the soul or the body?—which of them is affected cannot be supposed to be of any consequence: Is not this true?

  Cal.

  It is.

  Soc.

  You said also, that no man could have good and evil fortune at the same time?

  Cal.

  Yes, I did.

  Soc.

  Socrates, Callicles, Gorgias.

  But you admitted, that when in pain a man might also 497have pleasure?

  Cal.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  Therefore pleasure and pain are not the same as good and evil.

  Then pleasure is not the same as good fortune, or pain the same as evil fortune, and therefore the good is not the same as the pleasant?

  Cal.

  I wish I knew, Socrates, what your quibbling means.

  Soc.

  You know, Callicles, but you affect not to know.

  Cal.

  Well, get on, and don’t keep fooling: then you will know what a wiseacre you are in your admonition of me.

  Soc.

  Does not a man cease from his thirst and from his pleasure in drinking at the same time?

  Cal.

  I do not understand what you are saying.

  Gor.

  Nay, Callicles, answer, if only for our sakes;—we should like to hear the argument out.

  Cal.

  Yes, Gorgias, but I must complain of the habitual trifling of Socrates; he is always arguing about little and unworthy questions.

  Gor.

  What matter? Your reputation, Callicles, is not at stake. Let Socrates argue in his own fashion.

  Cal.

  Well, then, Socrates, you shall ask these little peddling questions, since Gorgias wishes to have them.

  Soc.

  I envy you, Callicles, for having been initiated into the great mysteries before you were initiated into the lesser. I thought that this was not allowable. But to return to our argument:—Does not a man cease from thirsting and from the pleasure of drinking at the same moment?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  And if he is hungry, or has any other desire, does he not cease from the desire and the pleasure at the same moment?

  Cal.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  Then he ceases from pain and pleasure at the same moment?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But he does not cease from good and evil at the same moment, as you have admitted:—do you still adhere to what you said?

  Cal.

  Yes, I do; but what is the inference?

  Soc.

  Socrates, Callicles.Another point of view.

  Why, my friend, the inference is that the good is not the same as the pleasant, or the evil the same as the painful; there is a cessation of pleasure and pain at the same moment; but not of good and evil, for they are different. How then can pleasure be the same as good, or pain as evil? And I would have you look at the matter in another light, which could hardly, I think, have been considered by you when you identified them: Are not the good good because they have good present with them, as the beautiful are those who have beauty present with them?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And do you call the fools and cowards good men? For you were saying just now that the courageous and the wise are the good—would you not say so?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And did you never see a foolish child rejoicing?

  Cal.

  Yes, I have.

  Soc.

  And a foolish man too?

  Cal.

  Yes, certainly; but what is your drift?

  Soc.

  498Nothing particular, if you will only answer.

  Cal.

  Yes, I have.

  Soc.

  And did you ever see a sensible man rejoicing or sorrowing?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Which rejoice and sorrow most—the wise or the foolish?

  Cal.

  They are much upon a par, I think, in that respect.

  Soc.

  Enough: And did you ever see a coward in battle?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And which rejoiced most at the departure of the enemy, the coward or the brave?

  Cal.

  I should say ‘most’ of both; or at any rate, they rejoiced about equally.

  Soc.

  No matter; then the cowards, and not only the brave, rejoice?

  Cal.

  Greatly.

  Soc.

  And the foolish; so it would seem?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And are only the cowards pained at the approach of their enemies, or are the brave also pained?

  Cal.

  Both are pained.

  Soc.

  And are they equally pained?

  Cal.

  I should imagine that the cowards are more pained.

  Soc.

  And are they not better pleased at the enemy’s departure?

  Cal.

  I dare say.

  Soc.

  Good is in proportion to pleasure, and the bad are often as much or more pleased than the good.

  Then are the foolish and the wise and the cowards and the brave all pleased and pained, as you were saying, in nearly equal degree; but are the cowards more pleased and pained than the brave?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  But surely the wise and brave are the good, and the foolish and the cowardly are the bad?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then the good and the bad are pleased and pained in a nearly equal degree?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then are the good and bad good and bad in a nearly equal degree, or have the bad the advantage both in good and evil? [i. e. in having more pleasure and more pain.]

  Cal.

  I really do not know what you mean.

  Soc.

  Why, do you not remember saying that the good were good because good was present with them, and the evil because evil; and that pleasures were goods and pains evils?

  Cal.

  Yes, I remember.

  Soc.

  And are not these pleasures or goods present to those who rejoice—if they do rejoice?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  Then those who rejoice are good when goods are present with them?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And those who are in pain have evil or sorrow present with them?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And would you still say that the evil are evil by reason of the presence of evil?

  Cal.

  I should.

  Soc.

  Then those who rejoice are good, and those who are in pain evil?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  The degrees of good and evil vary with the degrees of pleasure and of pain?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Have the wise man and the fool, the brave and the coward, joy and pain in nearly equal degrees? or would you say that the coward has more?

  Cal.

  I should say that he has.

  Soc.

  Help me then to draw out the conclusion which follows from our admissions; for it is good to repeat and 499review what is good twice and thrice over, as they say. Both the wise man and the brave man we allow to be good?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the foolish man and the coward to be evil?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And he who has joy is good?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And he who is in pain is evil?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  The good and evil both have joy and pain, but, perhaps, the evil has more of them?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Therefore the bad man is as good as the good, or perhaps even better.

  Then must we not infer, that the bad man is as good and bad as the good, or, perhaps, even better?—is not this a further inference which follows equally with the preceding from the assertion that the good and the pleasant are the same:—can this be denied, Callicles?

  Cal.

  I have been listening and making admissions to you, Socrates; and I remark that if a person grants you anything in play, you, like a child, want to keep hold and will not give it back. But do you really suppose that I or any other human being denies that some pleasures are good and others bad?

  Soc.

  Socrates begins again with some obvious truisms.

  Alas, Callicles, how unfair you are! you certainly treat me as if I were a child, sometimes saying one thing, and then another, as if you were meaning to deceive me. And yet I thought at first that you were my friend, and would not have deceived me if you could have helped. But I see that I was mistaken; and now I suppose that I must make the best of a bad business, as they said of old, and take what I can get out of you.—Well, then, as I understand you to say, I may assume that some pleasures are good and others evil?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  The beneficial are good, and the hurtful are evil?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And the beneficial are those which do some good, and the hurtful are those which do some evil?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Take, for example, the bodily pleasures of eating and drinking, which we were just now mentioning—you mean to say that those which promote health, or any other bodily excellence, are good, and their opposites evil?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And in the same way there are good pains and there are evil pains?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And ought we not to choose and use the good pleasures and pains?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  But not the evil?

  Cal.

  Clearly.

  Soc.

  Because, if you remember, Polus and I have agreed that all our actions are to be done for the sake of the good;—and will you agree with us in saying, that the good is the end of all our actions, and that all our actions are to be done for the sake of the good, and not the good for the sake of 500them?—will you add a third vote to our two?

  Cal.

  I will.

  Soc.

  Then pleasure, like everything else, is to be sought for the sake of that which is good, and not that which is good for the sake of pleasure?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  But can every man choose what pleasures are good and what are evil, or must he have art or knowledge of them in detail?

  Cal.

  He must have art.

  Soc.

  Let me now remind you of what I was saying to Gorgias and Polus; I was saying, as you will not have forgotten, that there were some processes which aim only at pleasure, and know nothing of a better and worse, and there are other processes which know good and evil. And I considered that cookery, which I do not call an art, but only an experience, was of the former class, which is concerned with pleasure, and that the art of medicine was of the class which is concerned with the good. And now, by the god of friendship, I must beg you, Callicles, not to jest, or to imagine that I am jesting with you; do not answer at random and contrary to your real opinion;—for you will observe that we are arguing about the way of human life; and to a man who has any sense at all, what question can be more serious than this?—whether he should follow after that way of life to which you exhort me, and act what you call the manly part of speaking in the assembly, and cultivating rhetoric, and engaging in public affairs, according to the principles now in vogue; or whether he should pursue the life of philosophy;—and in what the latter way differs from the former. But perhaps we had better first try to distinguish them, as I did before, and when we have come to an agreement that they are distinct, we may proceed to consider in what they differ from one another, and which of them we should choose. Perhaps, however, you do not even now understand what I mean?

  Cal.

  No, I do not.

  Soc.

  Then I will explain myself more clearly: seeing that you and I have agreed that there is such a thing as good, and that there is such a thing as pleasure, and that pleasure is not the same as good, and that the pursuit and process of acquisition of the one, that is pleasure, is different from the pursuit and process of acquisition of the other, which is good—I wish that you would tell me whether you agree with me thus far or not—do you agree?

  Cal.

  I do.

  Soc.

  Socrates repeats his distinction between true arts and flatteries or shams.

  Then I will proceed, and ask whether you also agree 501with me, and whether you think that I spoke the truth when I further said to Gorgias and Polus that cookery in my opinion is only an experience, and not an art at all; and that whereas medicine is an art, and attends to the nature and constitution of the patient, and has principles of action and reason in each case, cookery in attending upon pleasure never regards either the nature or reason of that pleasure to which she devotes herself, but goes straight to her end, nor ever considers or calculates anything, but works by experience and routine, and just preserves the recollection of what she has usually done when producing pleasure. And first, I would have you consider whether I have proved what I was saying, and then whether there are not other similar processes which have to do with the soul—some of them processes of art, making a provision for the soul’s highest interest—others despising the interest, and, as in the previous case, considering only the pleasure of the soul, and how this may be acquired, but not considering what pleasures are good or bad, and having no other aim but to afford gratification, whether good or bad. In my opinion, Callicles, there are such processes, and this is the sort of thing which I term flattery, whether concerned with the body or the soul, or whenever employed with a view to pleasure and without any consideration of good and evil. And now I wish that you would tell me whether you agree with us in this notion, or whether you differ.

  Cal.

  to which Callicles pretends to give assent.

  I do not differ; on the contrary, I agree; for in that way I shall soonest bring the argument to an end, and shall oblige my friend Gorgias.

  Soc.

  And is this notion true of one soul, or of two or more?

  Cal.

  Equally true of two or more.

  Soc.

  Then a man may delight a whole assembly, and yet have no regard for their true interests?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  There are arts which delight mankind but which never consider the soul’s higher interest.

  Can you tell me the pursuits which delight mankind—or rather, if you would prefer, let me ask, and do you answer, which of them belong to the pleasurable class, and which of them not? In the first place, what say you of flute-playing? Does not that appear to be an art which seeks only pleasure, Callicles, and thinks of nothing else?

  Cal.

  I assent.

  Soc.

  And is not the same true of all similar arts, as, for example, the art of playing the lyre at festivals?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And what do you say of the choral art and of dithyrambic poetry?—are not they of the same nature? Do you imagine that Cinesias the son of Meles cares about what 502will tend to the moral improvement of his hearers, or about what will give pleasure to the multitude?

  Cal.

  There can be no mistake about Cinesias, Socrates.

  Soc.

  And what do you say of his father, Meles the harp-player? Did he perform with any view to the good of his hearers? Could he be said to regard even their pleasure? For his singing was an infliction to his audience. And of harp-playing and dithyrambic poetry in general, what would you say? Have they not been invented wholly for the sake of pleasure?

  Cal.

  That is my notion of them.

  Soc.

  And as for the Muse of Tragedy, that solemn and august personage—what are her aspirations? Is all her aim and desire only to give pleasure to the spectators, or does she fight against them and refuse to speak of their pleasant vices, and willingly proclaim in word and song truths welcome and unwelcome?—which in your judgment is her character?

  Cal.

  There can be no doubt, Socrates, that Tragedy has her face turned towards pleasure and the gratification of the audience.

  Soc.

  And is not that the sort of thing, Callicles, which we were just now describing as flattery?

  Cal.

  Quite true.

  Soc.

  Well now, suppose that we strip all poetry of song and rhythm and metre, there will remain speech1 ?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And this speech is addressed to a crowd of people?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then poetry is a sort of rhetoric?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  And do not the poets in the theatres seem to you to be rhetoricians?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Poetry is of the nature of flattery.

  Then now we have discovered a sort of rhetoric which is addressed to a crowd of men, women, and children, freemen and slaves. And this is not much to our taste, for we have described it as having the nature of flattery.

  Cal.

  Quite true.

  Soc.

  Oratory, too, as practised regards the interest of the speaker rather than the good of the people.

  Very good. And what do you say of that other rhetoric which addresses the Athenian assembly and the assemblies of freemen in other states? Do the rhetoricians appear to you always to aim at what is best, and do they seek to improve the citizens by their speeches, or are they too, like the rest of mankind, bent upon giving them pleasure, forgetting the public good in the thought of their own interest, playing with the people as with children, and trying to amuse them, but never considering whether they are better or worse for this?

  Cal.

  I must distinguish. There are some who have a real 503care of the public in what they say, while others are such as you describe.

  Soc.

  There might be a higher style of oratory; and Callicles thinks that such really existed in the great days of old, the days of Miltiades and Themistocles and Pericles.

  I am contented with the admission that rhetoric is of two sorts; one, which is mere flattery and disgraceful declamation; the other, which is noble and aims at the training and improvement of the souls of the citizens, and strives to say what is best, whether welcome or unwelcome, to the audience; but have you ever known such a rhetoric; or if you have, and can point out any rhetorician who is of this stamp, who is he?

  Cal.

  But, indeed, I am afraid that I cannot tell you of any such among the orators who are at present living.

  Soc.

  Well, then, can you mention any one of a former generation, who may be said to have improved the Athenians, who found them worse and made them better, from the day that he began to make speeches? for, indeed, I do not know of such a man.

  Cal.

  What! did you never hear that Themistocles was a good man, and Cimon and Miltiades and Pericles, who is just lately dead, and whom you heard yourself?

  Soc.

  Yet even these famous men had no ideal or standard.

  Yes, Callicles, they were good men, if, as you said at first, true virtue consists only in the satisfaction of our own desires and those of others; but if not, and if, as we were afterwards compelled to acknowledge, the satisfaction of some desires makes us better, and of others, worse, and we ought to gratify the one and not the other, and there is an art in distinguishing them,—can you tell me of any of these statesmen who did distinguish them?

  Cal.

  No, indeed, I cannot.

  Soc.

  Some standard needed other than a man’s interest.

  Yet, surely, Callicles, if you look you will find such a one. Suppose that we just calmly consider whether any of these was such as I have described. Will not the good man, who says whatever he says with a view to the best, speak with a reference to some standard and not at random; just as all other artists, whether the painter, the builder, the shipwright, or any other look all of them to their own work, and do not select and apply at random what they apply, but strive to give a definite form to it? The artist disposes all 504things in order, and compels the one part to harmonize and accord with the other part, until he has constructed a regular and systematic whole; and this is true of all artists, and in the same way the trainers and physicians, of whom we spoke before, give order and regularity to the body: do you deny this?

  Cal.

  No; I am ready to admit it.

  Soc.

  Order is good, disorder evil, in a ship, in a human body, in a human soul.

  Then the house in which order and regularity prevail is good; that in which there is disorder, evil?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the same is true of a ship?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the same may be said of the human body?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And what would you say of the soul? Will the good soul be that in which disorder is prevalent, or that in which there is harmony and order?

  Cal.

  The latter follows from our previous admissions.

  Soc.

  What is the name which is given to the effect of harmony and order in the body?

  Cal.

  I suppose that you mean health and strength?

  Soc.

  Yes, I do; and what is the name which you would give to the effect of harmony and order in the soul? Try and discover a name for this as well as for the other.

  Cal.

  Why not give the name yourself, Socrates?

  Soc.

  Well, if you had rather that I should, I will; and you shall say whether you agree with me, and if not, you shall refute and answer me. ‘Healthy,’ as I conceive, is the name which is given to the regular order of the body, whence comes health and every other bodily excellence: is that true or not?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  From order and law spring temperance and justice.

  And ‘lawful’ and ‘law’ are the names which are given to the regular order and action of the soul, and these make men lawful and orderly:—and so we have temperance and justice: have we not?

  Cal.

  Granted.

  Soc.

  The true rhetorician will seek to implant these virtues, to implant justice and take away injustice.

  And will not the true rhetorician who is honest and understands his art have his eye fixed upon these, in all the words which he addresses to the souls of men, and in all his actions, both in what he gives and in what he takes away? Will not his aim be to implant justice in the souls of his citizens and take away injustice, to implant temperance and take away intemperance, to implant every virtue and take away every vice? Do you not agree?

  Cal.

  I agree.

  Soc.

  For what use is there, Callicles, in giving to the body of a sick man who is in a bad state of health a quantity of the most delightful food or drink or any other pleasant thing, which may be really as bad for him as if you gave him 505nothing, or even worse if rightly estimated. Is not that true?

  Cal.

  I will not say No to it.

  Soc.

  The body of the sick and the soul of the wicked must be chastised and improved.

  For in my opinion there is no profit in a man’s life if his body is in an evil plight—in that case his life also is evil: am I not right?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  When a man is in health the physicians will generally allow him to eat when he is hungry and drink when he is thirsty, and to satisfy his desires as he likes, but when he is sick they hardly suffer him to satisfy his desires at all: even you will admit that?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And does not the same argument hold of the soul, my good sir? While she is in a bad state and is senseless and intemperate and unjust and unholy, her desires ought to be controlled, and she ought to be prevented from doing anything which does not tend to her own improvement.

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Such treatment will be better for the soul herself?

  Cal.

  To be sure.

  Soc.

  And to restrain her from her appetites is to chastise her?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then restraint or chastisement is better for the soul than intemperance or the absence of control, which you were just now preferring?

  Cal.

  I do not understand you, Socrates, and I wish that you would ask some one who does.

  Soc.

  Callicles does not wish to be improved.

  Here is a gentleman who cannot endure to be improved or to subject himself to that very chastisement of which the argument speaks!

  Cal.

  I do not heed a word of what you are saying, and have only answered hitherto out of civility to Gorgias.

  Soc.

  What are we to do, then? Shall we break off in the middle?

  Cal.

  You shall judge for yourself.

  Soc.

  Well, but people say that ‘a tale should have a head and not break off in the middle,’ and I should not like to have the argument going about without a head1 ; please then to go on a little longer, and put the head on.

  Cal.

  How tyrannical you are, Socrates! I wish that you and your argument would rest, or that you would get some one else to argue with you.

  Soc.

  But who else is willing?—I want to finish the argument.

  Cal.

  Cannot you finish without my help, either talking straight on, or questioning and answering yourself?

  Soc.

  Socrates, Gorgias, Callicles.

  Must I then say with Epicharmus, ‘Two men spoke before, but now one shall be enough’? I suppose that there is absolutely no help. And if I am to carry on the enquiry by myself, I will first of all remark that not only I but all of us should have an ambition to know what is true and what is false in this matter, for the discovery of the truth is a common good. And now I will proceed to argue according to 506my own notion. But if any of you think that I arrive at conclusions which are untrue you must interpose and refute me, for I do not speak from any knowledge of what I am saying; I am an enquirer like yourselves, and therefore, if my opponent says anything which is of force, I shall be the first to agree with him. I am speaking on the supposition that the argument ought to be completed; but if you think otherwise let us leave off and go our ways.

  Gor.

  I think, Socrates, that we should not go our ways until you have completed the argument; and this appears to me to be the wish of the rest of the company; I myself should very much like to hear what more you have to say.

  Soc.

  I too, Gorgias, should have liked to. continue the argument with Callicles, and then I might have given him an ‘Amphion’ in return for his ‘Zethus’1 ; but since you, Callicles, are unwilling to continue, I hope that you will listen, and interrupt me if I seem to you to be in error. And if you refute me, I shall not be angry with you as you are with me, but I shall inscribe you as the greatest of benefactors on the tablets of my soul.

  Cal.

  My good fellow, never mind me, but get on.

  Soc.

  The pleasant not the same as the good, and is to be sought only for the sake of the good; and we are good when good is present in us, and good is the effect of order and truth and art.Socrates, Callicles.

  Listen to me, then, while I recapitulate the argument:—Is the pleasant the same as the good? Not the same. Callicles and I are agreed about that. And is the pleasant to be pursued for the sake of the good? or the good for the sake of the pleasant? The pleasant is to be pursued for the sake of the good. And that is pleasant at the presence of which we are pleased, and that is good at the presence of which we are good? To be sure. And we are good, and all good things whatever are good when some virtue is present in us or them? That, Callicles, is my conviction. But the virtue of each thing, whether body or soul, instrument or creature, when given to them in the best way comes to them not by chance but as the result of the order and truth and art which are imparted to them: Am I not right? I maintain that I am. And is not the virtue of each thing dependent on order or arrangement? Yes, I say. And that which makes a thing good is the proper order inhering in each thing? Such is my view. And is not the soul which has an order of her own better than that which has no order? Certainly. And the soul which has order is orderly? Of course. And that which is orderly is temperate? Assuredly. And the 507 temperate soul is good? No other answer can I give, Callicles dear; have you any?

  Cal.

  Go on, my good fellow.

  Soc.

  Then I shall proceed to add, that if the temperate soul is the good soul, the soul which is in the opposite condition, that is, the foolish and intemperate, is the bad soul. Very true.

  The temperate soul is the good soul, just in relation to men, and holy in relation to gods, and is therefore happy; and the intemperate is the reverse of all this.Socrates.If it be admitted that virtue is happiness and vice misery, then what Socrates said about the use of rhetoric in self-accusation turns out to be true.

  And will not the temperate man do what is proper, both in relation to the gods and to men;—for he would not be temperate if he did not? Certainly he will do what is proper. In his relation to other men he will do what is just; and in his relation to the gods he will do what is holy; and he who does what is just and holy must be just and holy? Very true. And must he not be courageous? for the duty of a temperate man is not to follow or to avoid what he ought not, but what he ought, whether things or men or pleasures or pains, and patiently to endure when he ought; and therefore, Callicles, the temperate man, being, as we have described, also just and courageous and holy, cannot be other than a perfectly good man, nor can the good man do otherwise than well and perfectly whatever he does; and he who does well must of necessity be happy and blessed, and the evil man who does evil, miserable: now this latter is he whom you were applauding—the intemperate who is the opposite of the temperate. Such is my position, and these things I affirm to be true. And if they are true, then I further affirm that he who desires to be happy must pursue and practise temperance and run away from intemperance as fast as his legs will carry him: he had better order his life so as not to need punishment; but if either he or any of his friends, whether private individual or city, are in need of punishment, then justice must be done and he must suffer punishment, if he would be happy. This appears to me to be the aim which a man ought to have, and towards which he ought to direct all the energies both of himself and of the state, acting so that he may have temperance and justice present with him and be happy, not suffering his lusts to be unrestrained, and in the never-ending desire to satisfy them leading a robber’s life. Such a one is the friend neither of God nor man, for he is incapable of communion, and he who is incapable of communion is also incapable of friendship. And philosophers tell us, Callicles, that communion and friendship and orderliness and temperance and justice bind together 508heaven and earth and gods and men, and that this universe is therefore called Cosmos or order, not disorder or misrule, my friend. But although you are a philosopher you seem to me never to have observed that geometrical equality is mighty, both among gods and men; you think that you ought to cultivate inequality or excess, and do not care about geometry.—Well, then, either the principle that the happy are made happy by the possession of justice and temperance, and the miserable miserable by the possession of vice, must be refuted, or, if it is granted, what will be the consequences? All the consequences which I drew before, Callicles, and about which you asked me whether I was in earnest when I said that a man ought to accuse himself and his son and his friend if he did anything wrong, and that to this end he should use his rhetoric—all those consequences are true. And that which you thought that Polus was led to admit out of modesty is true, viz. that, to do injustice, if more disgraceful than to suffer, is in that degree worse; and the other position, which, according to Polus, Gorgias admitted out of modesty, that he who would truly be a rhetorician ought to be just and have a knowledge of justice, has also turned out to be true.

  Socrates, Callicles.The greatest evil to do injustice, but there is a greater still, not to be punished for doing injustice.

  And now, these things being as we have said, let us proceed in the next place to consider whether you are right in throwing in my teeth that I am unable to help myself or any of my friends or kinsmen, or to save them in the extremity of danger, and that I am in the power of another like an outlaw to whom any one may do what he likes,—he may box my ears, which was a brave saying of yours; or take away my goods or banish me, or even do his worst and kill me; a condition which, as you say, is the height of disgrace. My answer to you is one which has been already often repeated, but may as well be repeated once more. I tell you, Callicles, that to be boxed on the ears wrongfully is not the worst evil which can befall a man, nor to have my purse or my body cut open, but that to smite and slay me and mine wrongfully is far more disgraceful and more evil; aye, and to despoil and enslave and pillage, or in any way at all to wrong me and mine, is far more disgraceful and evil to the doer of the wrong than to me who am the sufferer. 509These truths, which have been already set forth as I state them in the previous discussion, would seem now to have been fixed and riveted by us, if I may use an expression which is certainly bold, in words which are like bonds of iron and adamant; and unless you or some other still more enterprising hero shall break them, there is no possibility of denying what I say. For my position has always been, that I myself am ignorant how these things are, but that I have never met any one who could say otherwise, any more than you can, and not appear ridiculous. This is my position still, and if what I am saying is true, and injustice is the greatest of evils to the doer of injustice, and yet there is if possible a greater than this greatest of evils1 , in an unjust man not suffering retribution, what is that defence of which the want will make a man truly ridiculous? Must not the defence be one which will avert the greatest of human evils? And will not the worst of all defences be that with which a man is unable to defend himself or his family or his friends?—and next will come that which is unable to avert the next greatest evil; thirdly that which is unable to avert the third greatest evil; and so of other evils. As is the greatness of evil so is the honour of being able to avert them in their several degrees, and the disgrace of not being able to avert them. Am I not right, Callicles?

  Cal.

  Yes, quite right.

  Soc.

  Seeing then that there are these two evils, the doing injustice and the suffering injustice—and we affirm that to do injustice is a greater, and to suffer injustice a lesser evil—by what devices can a man succeed in obtaining the two advantages, the one of not doing and the other of not suffering injustice? must he have the power, or only the will to obtain them? I mean to ask whether a man will escape injustice if he has only the will to escape, or must he have provided himself with the power?

  Cal.

  He must have provided himself with the power; that is clear.

  Soc.

  And what do you say of doing injustice? Is the will only sufficient, and will that prevent him from doing injustice, or must he have provided himself with power and art; and if he have not studied and practised, will he be unjust still? Surely you might say, Callicles, whether you think that Polus and I were right in admitting the conclusion that no one does wrong voluntarily, but that all do wrong against their will?

  Cal.

  Granted, Socrates, if you will only have done. 510

  Soc.

  Then, as would appear, power and art have to be provided in order that we may do no injustice?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And what art will protect us from suffering injustice, if not wholly, yet as far as possible? I want to know whether you agree with me; for I think that such an art is the art of one who is either a ruler or even tyrant himself, or the equal and companion of the ruling power.

  Cal.

  Well said, Socrates; and please to observe how ready I am to praise you when you talk sense.

  Soc.

  Think and tell me whether you would approve of another view of mine: To me every man appears to be most the friend of him who is most like to him—like to like, as ancient sages say: Would you not agree to this?

  Cal.

  I should.

  Soc.

  The tyrant naturally hates both his superiors and inferiors: he likes only those who resemble him in character.

  But when the tyrant is rude and uneducated, he may be expected to fear any one who is his superior in virtue, and will never be able to be perfectly friendly with him.

  Cal.

  That is true.

  Soc.

  Neither will he be the friend of any one who is greatly his inferior, for the tyrant will despise him, and will never seriously regard him as a friend.

  Cal.

  That again is true.

  Soc.

  Then the only friend worth mentioning, whom the tyrant can have, will be one who is of the same character, and has the same likes and dislikes, and is at the same time willing to be subject and subservient to him; he is the man who will have power in the state, and no one will injure him with impunity:—is not that so?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And the way to be a great man and not to suffer injury is to become like him. And there can be no greater evil to him than this.

  And if a young man begins to ask how he may become great and formidable, this would seem to be the way—he will accustom himself, from his youth upward, to feel sorrow and joy on the same occasions as his master, and will contrive to be as like him as possible?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And in this way he will have accomplished, as you and your friends would say, the end of becoming a great man and not suffering injury?

  Cal.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  But will he also escape from doing injury? Must not the very opposite be true, if he is to be like the tyrant in his 511injustice, and to have influence with him? Will he not rather contrive to do as much wrong as possible, and not be punished?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  And by the imitation of his master and by the power which he thus acquires will not his soul become bad and corrupted, and will not this be the greatest evil to him?

  Cal.

  You always contrive somehow or other, Socrates, to invert everything: do you not know that he who imitates the tyrant will, if he has a mind, kill him who does not imitate him and take away his goods?

  Soc.

  But how provoking that the bad man should slay the good!

  Excellent Callicles, I am not deaf, and I have heard that a great many times from you and from Polus and from nearly every man in the city, but I wish that you would hear me too. I dare say that he will kill him if he has a mind—the bad man will kill the good and true.

  Cal.

  And is not that just the provoking thing?

  Soc.

  Nay, but we should not always study the arts which save us from death;—the art of swimming, the art of the pilot, &c.

  Nay, not to a man of sense, as the argument shows: do you think that all our cares should be directed to prolonging life to the uttermost, and to the study of those arts which secure us from danger always; like that art of rhetoric which saves men in courts of law, and which you advise me to cultivate?

  Cal.

  Yes, truly, and very good advice too.

  Soc.

  Well, my friend, but what do you think of swimming; is that an art of any great pretensions?

  Cal.

  No, indeed.

  Soc.

  Socrates.The pilot demands a very moderate payment as the fare of a passenger from Athens to Aegina, because he is not certain whether salvation from death be a good or an evil.

  And yet surely swimming saves a man from death, and there are occasions on which he must know how to swim. And if you despise the swimmers, I will tell you of another and greater art, the art of the pilot, who not only saves the souls of men, but also their bodies and properties from the extremity of danger, just like rhetoric. Yet his art is modest and unpresuming: it has no airs or pretences of doing anything extraordinary, and, in return for the same salvation which is given by the pleader, demands only two obols, if he brings us from Aegina to Athens, or for the longer voyage from Pontus or Egypt, at the utmost two drachmae, when he has saved, as I was just now saying, the passenger and his wife and children and goods, and safely disembarked them at the Piraeus,—this is the payment which he asks in return for so great a boon; and he who is the master of the art, and has done all this, gets out and walks about on the sea-shore by his ship in an unassuming way. For he is able to reflect and is aware that he cannot tell which of his fellow-passengers he has benefited, and which of them he has injured in not allowing them to be drowned. He knows that they are just the same when he has disembarked them as when they embarked, 512and not a whit better either in their bodies or in their souls; and he considers that if a man who is afflicted by great and incurable bodily diseases is only to be pitied for having escaped, and is in no way benefited by him in having been saved from drowning, much less he who has great and incurable diseases, not of the body, but of the soul, which is the more valuable part of him; neither is life worth having nor of any profit to the bad man, whether he be delivered from the sea, or the law-courts, or any other devourer;—and so he reflects that such a one had better not live, for he cannot live well1 .

  The engineer, too:—how much better than the pleader!Socrates, Callicles.He too is another of your saviours; but you despise him, whereas you ought to esteem him highly.I want you to consider whether you can possibly become great among the people unless you become like them.

  And this is the reason why the pilot, although he is our saviour, is not usually conceited, any more than the engineer, who is not at all behind either the general, or the pilot, or any one else, in his saving power, for he sometimes saves whole cities. Is there any comparison between him and the pleader? And if he were to talk, Callicles, in your grandiose style, he would bury you under a mountain of words, declaring and insisting that we ought all of us to be engine-makers, and that no other profession is worth thinking about; he would have plenty to say. Nevertheless you despise him and his art, and sneeringly call him an engine-maker, and you will not allow your daughters to marry his son, or marry your son to his daughters. And yet, on your principle, what justice or reason is there in your refusal? What right have you to despise the engine-maker, and the others whom I was just now mentioning? I know that you will say, ‘I am better, and better born.’ But if the better is not what I say, and virtue consists only in a man saving himself and his, whatever may be his character, then your censure of the engine-maker, and of the physician, and of the other arts of salvation, is ridiculous. O my friend! I want you to see that the noble and the good may possibly be something different from saving and being saved:—May not he who is truly a man cease to care about living a certain time?—he knows, as women say, that no man can escape fate, and therefore he is not fond of life; he leaves all that with God, and considers in what way he can best spend his appointed term;—whether by assimilating himself to the constitution under which he 513lives, as you at this moment have to consider how you may become as like as possible to the Athenian people, if you mean to be in their good graces, and to have power in the state; whereas I want you to think and see whether this is for the interest of either of us;—I would not have us risk that which is dearest on the acquisition of this power, like the Thessalian enchantresses, who, as they say, bring down the moon from heaven at the risk of their own perdition. But if you suppose that any man will show you the art of becoming great in the city, and yet not conforming yourself to the ways of the city, whether for better or worse, then I can only say that you are mistaken, Callicles; for he who would deserve to be the true natural friend of the Athenian Demus, aye, or of Pyrilampes’ darling who is called after them, must be by nature like them, and not an imitator only. He, then, who will make you most like them, will make you as you desire, a statesman and orator: for every man is pleased when he is spoken to in his own language and spirit, and dislikes any other. But perhaps you, sweet Callicles, may be of another mind. What do you say?

  Cal.

  Somehow or other your words, Socrates, always appear to me to be good words; and yet, like the rest of the world, I am not quite convinced by them1 .

  Soc.

  Callicles inclines for an instant to the Gospel of Socrates, but the love of the world and of popularity overcomes him.

  The reason is, Callicles, that the love of Demus which abides in your soul is an adversary to me; but I dare say that if we recur to these same matters, and consider them more thoroughly, you may be convinced for all that. Please, then, to remember that there are two processes of training all things, including body and soul; in the one, as we said, we treat them with a view to pleasure, and in the other with a view to the highest good, and then we do not indulge but resist them: was not that the distinction which we drew?

  Cal.

  Two processes of training; one having a view to pleasure, the other to good.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  And the one which had pleasure in view was just a vulgar flattery:—was not that another of our conclusions?

  Cal.

  Be it so, if you will have it.

  Soc.

  And the other had in view the greatest improvement of that which was ministered to, whether body or soul?

  Cal.

  Quite true.

  Soc.

  And we must train our citizens with a view to their good; and, as in other arts, we must show that we can be trusted to improve them.

  And must we not have the same end in view in the treatment of our city and citizens? Must we not try and make them as good as possible? For we have already discovered that there is no use in imparting to them any other 514good, unless the mind of those who are to have the good, whether money, or office, or any other sort of power, be gentle and good. Shall we say that?

  Cal.

  Yes, certainly, if you like.

  Soc.

  Well, then, if you and I, Callicles, were intending2 to set about some public business, and were advising one another to undertake buildings, such as walls, docks or temples of the largest size, ought we not to examine ourselves, first, as to whether we know or do not know the art of building, and who taught us?—would not that be necessary, Callicles?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  In the second place, we should have to consider whether we had ever constructed any private house, either of our own or for our friends, and whether this building of ours was a success or not; and if upon consideration we found that we had had good and eminent masters, and had been successful in constructing many fine buildings, not only with their assistance, but without them, by our own unaided skill—in that case prudence would not dissuade us from proceeding to the construction of public works. But if we had no master to show, and only a number of worthless buildings or none at all, then, surely, it would be ridiculous in us to attempt public works, or to advise one another to undertake them. Is not this true?

  Cal.

  Certainly.

  Soc.

  And does not the same hold in all other cases? If you and I were physicians, and were advising one another that we were competent to practise as state-physicians, should I not ask about you, and would you not ask about me, Well, but how about Socrates himself, has he good health? and was any one else ever known to be cured by him, whether slave or freeman? And I should make the same enquiries about you. And if we arrived at the conclusion that no one, whether citizen or stranger, man or woman, had ever been any the better for the medical skill of either of us, then, by Heaven, Callicles, what an absurdity to think that we or any human being should be so silly as to set up as state-physicians and advise others like ourselves to do the same, without having first practised in private, whether successfully or not, and acquired experience of the art! Is not this, as they say, to begin with the big jar when you are learning the potter’s art; which is a foolish thing?

  Cal.

  515True.

  Soc.

  And now, Callicles, what are you who are a public character doing for the improvement of the citizens?

  And now, my friend, as you are already beginning to be a public character, and are admonishing and reproaching me for not being one, suppose that we ask a few questions of one another. Tell me, then, Callicles, how about making any of the citizens better? Was there ever a man who was once vicious, or unjust, or intemperate, or foolish, and became by the help of Callicles good and noble? Was there ever such a man, whether citizen or stranger, slave or freeman? Tell me, Callicles, if a person were to ask these questions of you, what would you answer? Whom would you say that you had improved by your conversation? There may have been good deeds of this sort which were done by you as a private person, before you came forward in public. Why will you not answer?

  Cal.

  You are contentious, Socrates.

  Soc.

  Callicles makes no answer.Or how did Pericles and the great of old benefit the citizens?

  Nay, I ask you, not from a love of contention, but because I really want to know in what way you think that affairs should be administered among us—whether, when you come to the administration of them, you have any other aim but the improvement of the citizens? Have we not already admitted many times over that such is the duty of a public man? Nay, we have surely said so; for if you will not answer for yourself I must answer for you. But if this is what the good man ought to effect for the benefit of his own state, allow me to recall to you the names of those whom you were just now mentioning, Pericles, and Cimon, and Miltiades, and Themistocles, and ask whether you still think that they were good citizens.

  Cal.

  I do.

  Soc.

  But if they were good, then clearly each of them must have made the citizens better instead of worse?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And, therefore, when Pericles first began to speak in the assembly, the Athenians were not so good as when he spoke last?

  Cal.

  Very likely.

  Soc.

  Nay, my friend, ‘likely’ is not the word; for if he was a good citizen, the inference is certain.

  Cal.

  And what difference does that make?

  Soc.

  Pericles corrupted them by giving them pay.

  None; only I should like further to know whether the Athenians are supposed to have been made better by Pericles, or, on the contrary, to have been corrupted by him; for I hear that he was the first who gave the people pay, and made them idle and cowardly, and encouraged them in the love of talk and of money.

  Cal.

  You heard that, Socrates, from the laconising set who bruise their ears.

  Soc.

  He made them worse instead of better, for they all but put him to death.

  But what I am going to tell you now is not mere hearsay, but well known both to you and me: that at first, Pericles was glorious and his character unimpeached by any verdict of the Athenians—this was during the time when 516they were not so good—yet afterwards, when they had been made good and gentle by him, at the very end of his life they convicted him of theft, and almost put him to death, clearly under the notion that he was a malefactor.

  Cal.

  Well, but how does that prove Pericles’ badness?

  Soc.

  Why, surely, you would say that he was a bad manager of asses or horses or oxen, who had received them originally neither kicking nor butting nor biting him, and implanted in them all these savage tricks? Would he not be a bad manager of any animals who received them gentle, and made them fiercer than they were when he received them? What do you say?

  Cal.

  I will do you the favour of saying ‘yes.’

  Soc.

  And will you also do me the favour of saying whether man is an animal?

  Cal.

  Certainly he is.

  Soc.

  And was not Pericles a shepherd of men?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  And if he was a good political shepherd, ought not the animals who were his subjects, as we were just now acknowledging, to have become more just, and not more unjust?

  Cal.

  Quite true.

  Soc.

  And are not just men gentle, as Homer says?—or are you of another mind?

  Cal.

  I agree.

  Soc.

  And yet he really did make them more savage than he received them, and their savageness was shown towards himself; which he must have been very far from desiring.

  Cal.

  Do you want me to agree with you?

  Soc.

  Yes, if I seem to you to speak the truth:

  Cal.

  Granted then.

  Soc.

  And if they were more savage, must they not have been more unjust and inferior?

  Cal.

  Granted again.

  Soc.

  Then upon this view, Pericles was not a good statesman?

  Cal.

  That is, upon your view.

  Soc.

  Cimon was ostracised;Themistocles was exiled; Miltiades was nearly thrown from the rock.

  Nay, the view is yours, after what you have admitted. Take the case of Cimon again. Did not the very persons whom he was serving ostracize him, in order that they might not hear his voice for ten years? and they did just the same to Themistocles, adding the penalty of exile; and they voted that Miltiades, the hero of Marathon, should be thrown into the pit of death, and he was only saved by the Prytanis. And yet, if they had been really good men, as you say, these things would never have happened to them. For the good charioteers are not those who at first keep their place, and then, when they have broken-in their horses, and themselves become better charioteers, are thrown out—that is not the way either in charioteering or in any profession.—What do you think?

  Cal.

  I should think not.

  Soc.

  The older statesmen no better than the existing ones.

  Well, but if so, the truth is as I have said already, 517that in the Athenian State no one has ever shown himself to be a good statesman—you admitted that this was true of our present statesmen, but not true of former ones, and you preferred them to the others; yet they have turned out to be no better than our present ones; and therefore, if they were rhetoricians, they did not use the true art of rhetoric or of flattery, or they would not have fallen out of favour.

  Cal.

  But surely, Socrates, no living man ever came near any one of them in his performances.

  Soc.

  The older statesmen not able really to elevate the state to a higher level, but more capable of gratifying its desires.Socrates.You might as well say that the cook or the baker is a good trainer as that they were great statesmen.Socrates.The statesman like the Sophist; neither has any right to accuse their followers of wronging them; they should have taught them better.Socrates, Callicles.

  O, my dear friend, I say nothing against them regarded as the serving-men of the State; and I do think that they were certainly more serviceable than those who are living now, and better able to gratify the wishes of the State; but as to transforming those desires and not allowing them to have their way, and using the powers which they had, whether of persuasion or of force, in the improvement of their fellow-citizens, which is the prime object of the truly good citizen, I do not see that in these respects they were a whit superior to our present statesmen, although I do admit that they were more clever at providing ships and walls and docks, and all that. You and I have a ridiculous way, for during the whole time that we are arguing, we are always going round and round to the same point, and constantly misunderstanding one another. If I am not mistaken, you have admitted and acknowledged more than once, that there are two kinds of operations which have to do with the body, and two which have to do with the soul: one of the two is ministerial, and if our bodies are hungry provides food for them, and if they are thirsty gives them drink, or if they are cold supplies them with garments, blankets, shoes, and all that they crave. I use the same images as before intentionally, in order that you may understand me the better. The purveyor of the articles may provide them either wholesale or retail, or he may be the maker of any of them,—the baker, or the cook, or the weaver, or the shoemaker, or the currier; and in so doing, being such as he is, he is naturally supposed by himself and every one to minister to the body. For none of them know that there is another art—an art of gymnastic and medicine which is the true minister of the body, and ought to be the mistress of all the rest, and to use their results according to the knowledge which she has and they have not, of the real good or bad effects of meats 518and drinks on the body. All other arts which have to do with the body are servile and menial and illiberal; and gymnastic and medicine are, as they ought to be, their mistresses. Now, when I say that all this is equally true of the soul, you seem at first to know and understand and assent to my words, and then a little while afterwards you come repeating, Has not the State had good and noble citizens? and when I ask you who they are, you reply, seemingly quite in earnest, as if I had asked, Who are or have been good trainers?—and you had replied, Thearion, the baker, Mithoecus, who wrote the Sicilian cookery-book, Sarambus, the vintner: these are ministers of the body, first-rate in their art; for the first makes admirable loaves, the second excellent dishes, and the third capital wine;—to me these appear to be the exact parallel of the statesmen whom you mention. Now you would not be altogether pleased if I said to you, My friend, you know nothing of gymnastics; those of whom you are speaking to me are only the ministers and purveyors of luxury, who have no good or noble notions of their art, and may very likely be filling and fattening men’s bodies and gaining their approval, although the result is that they lose their original flesh in the long run, and become thinner than they were before; and yet they, in their simplicity, will not attribute their diseases and loss of flesh to their entertainers; but when in after years the unhealthy surfeit brings the attendant penalty of disease, he who happens to be near them at the time, and offers them advice, is accused and blamed by them, and if they could they would do him some harm; while they proceed to eulogize the men who have been the real authors of the mischief. And that, Callicles, is just what you are now doing. You praise the men who feasted the citizens and satisfied their desires, and people say that they have made the city great, not seeing that the swollen and ulcerated condition of the State is to be attributed to these elder statesmen; for they have filled the city full of harbours and docks and walls and revenues and all that, and have left no room for justice and temperance. And when the crisis of the disorder comes, 519the people will blame the advisers of the hour, and applaud Themistocles and Cimon and Pericles, who are the real authors of their calamities; and if you are not careful they may assail you and my friend Alcibiades, when they are losing not only their new acquisitions, but also their original possessions; not that you are the authors of these misfortunes of theirs, although you may perhaps be accessories to them. A great piece of work is always being made, as I see and am told, now as of old, about our statesmen. When the State treats any of them as malefactors, I observe that there is a great uproar and indignation at the supposed wrong which is done to them; ‘after all their many services to the State, that they should unjustly perish,’—so the tale runs. But the cry is all a lie; for no statesman ever could be unjustly put to death by the city of which he is the head. The case of the professed statesman is, I believe, very much like that of the professed sophist; for the sophists, although they are wise men, are nevertheless guilty of a strange piece of folly; professing to be teachers of virtue, they will often accuse their disciples of wronging them, and defrauding them of their pay, and showing no gratitude for their services. Yet what can be more absurd than that men who have become just and good, and whose injustice has been taken away from them, and who have had justice implanted in them by their teachers, should act unjustly by reason of the injustice which is not in them? Can anything be more irrational, my friend, than this? You, Callicles, compel me to be a mob-orator, because you will not answer.

  Cal.

  And you are the man who cannot speak unless there is some one to answer?

  Soc.

  I suppose that I can; just now, at any rate, the speeches which I am making are long enough because you refuse to answer me. But I adjure you by the god of friendship, my good sir, do tell me whether there does not appear to you to be a great inconsistency in saying that you have made a man good, and then blaming him for being bad?

  Cal.

  Yes, it appears so to me.

  Soc.

  520Do you never hear our professors of education speaking in this inconsistent manner?

  Cal.

  Yes, but why talk of men who are good for nothing?

  Soc.

  Sophistry is much superior to rhetoric.

  I would rather say, why talk of men who profess to be rulers, and declare that they are devoted to the improvement of the city, and nevertheless upon occasion declaim against the utter vileness of the city:—do you think that there is any difference between one and the other? My good friend, the sophist and the rhetorician, as I was saying to Polus, are the same, or nearly the same; but you ignorantly fancy that rhetoric is a perfect thing, and sophistry a thing to be despised; whereas the truth is, that sophistry is as much superior to rhetoric as legislation is to the practice of law, or gymnastic to medicine. The orators and sophists, as I am inclined to think, are the only class who cannot complain of the mischief ensuing to themselves from that which they teach others, without in the same breath accusing themselves of having done no good to those whom they profess to benefit. Is not this a fact?

  Cal.

  Certainly it is.

  Soc.

  He who teaches honesty ought to teach his pupils to pay him for the lesson.

  If they were right in saying that they make men better, then they are the only class who can afford to leave their remuneration to those who have been benefited by them. Whereas if a man has been benefited in any other way, if, for example, he has been taught to run by a trainer, he might possibly defraud him of his pay, if the trainer left the matter to him, and made no agreement with him that he should receive money as soon as he had given him the utmost speed; for not because of any deficiency of speed do men act unjustly, but by reason of injustice.

  Cal.

  Very true.

  Soc.

  And he who removes injustice can be in no danger of being treated unjustly: he alone can safely leave the honorarium to his pupils, if he be really able to make them good—am I not right1 ?

  Cal.

  Yes.

  Soc.

  Then we have found the reason why there is no dishonour in a man receiving pay who is called in to advise about building or any other art?

  Cal.

  Yes, we have found the reason.

  Soc.

  But when the point is, how a man may become best himself, and best govern his family and state, then to say that you will give no advice gratis is held to be dishonourable?

  Cal.

  True.

  Soc.

  And why? Because only such benefits call forth a desire to requite them, and there is evidence that a benefit has been conferred when the benefactor receives a return; otherwise not. Is this true?

  Cal.

  It is.

  Soc.

  Callicles advises Socrates to be the servant of the state, and not run the risk of popular enmity.

  Then to which service of the State do you invite me? determine for me. Am I to be the physician of the 521State who will strive and struggle to make the Athenians as good as possible; or am I to be the servant and flatterer of the State? Speak out, my good friend, freely and fairly as you did at first and ought to do again, and tell me your entire mind.

  Cal.

  I say then that you should be the servant of the State.

  Soc.

  The flatterer? well, sir, that is a noble invitation.

  Cal.

  The Mysian, Socrates, or what you please. For if you refuse, the consequences will be—

  Soc.

  Do not repeat the old story—that he who likes will kill me and get my money; for then I shall have to repeat the old answer, that he will be a bad man and will kill the good, and that the money will be of no use to him, but that he will wrongly use that which he wrongly took, and if wrongly, basely, and if basely, hurtfully.

  Cal.

  How confident you are, Socrates, that you will never come to harm! you seem to think that you are living in another country, and can never be brought into a court of justice, as you very likely may be brought by some miserable and mean person.

  Soc.

  Socrates has no fear of popular enmity, but is quite aware that he will incur it, because he is the only true politician of his time,

  Then I must indeed be a fool, Callicles, if I do not know that in the Athenian State any man may suffer anything. And if I am brought to trial and incur the dangers of which you speak, he will be a villain who brings me to trial—of that I am very sure, for no good man would accuse the innocent. Nor shall I be surprised if I am put to death. Shall I tell you why I anticipate this?

  Cal.

  By all means.

  Soc.

  I think that I am the only or almost the only Athenian living who practises the true art of politics; I am the only politician of my time. Now, seeing that when I speak my words are not uttered with any view of gaining favour, and that I look to what is best and not to what is most pleasant, having no mind to use those arts and graces which you recommend, I shall have nothing to say in the justice court. And you might argue with me, as I was arguing with Polus:—I shall be tried just as a physician would be tried in a court of little boys at the indictment of the cook. What would he reply under such circumstances, if some one were to accuse him, saying, ‘O my boys, many evil things has this man done to you: he is the death of you, especially of the younger ones among you, cutting and 522burning and starving and suffocating you, until you know not what to do; he gives you the bitterest potions, and compels you to hunger and thirst. How unlike the variety of meats and sweets on which I feasted you!’ What do you suppose that the physician would be able to reply when he found himself in such a predicament? If he told the truth he could only say, ‘All these evil things, my boys, I did for your health,’ and then would there not just be a clamour among a jury like that? How they would cry out!

  Cal.

  I dare say.

  Soc.

  Would he not be utterly at a loss for a reply?

  Cal.

  He certainly would.

  Soc.

  and he has no defence against men such as his opponents:

  And I too shall be treated in the same way, as I well know, if I am brought before the court. For I shall not be able to rehearse to the people the pleasures which I have procured for them, and which, although I am not disposed to envy either the procurers or enjoyers of them, are deemed by them to be benefits and advantages. And if any one says that I corrupt young men, and perplex their minds, or that I speak evil of old men, and use bitter words towards them, whether in private or public, it is useless for me to reply, as I truly might:—‘All this I do for the sake of justice, and with a view to your interest, my judges, and to nothing else.’ And therefore there is no saying what may happen to me.

  Cal.

  And do you think, socrates, that a man who is thus defenceless is in a good position?

  Soc.

  that is to say, he has the defence of truth, but not such a defence as men ordinarily produce.

  Yes, Callicles, if he have that defence, which as you have often acknowledged he should have—if he be his own defence, and have never said or done anything wrong, either in respect of gods or men; and this has been repeatedly acknowledged by us to be the best sort of defence. And if any one could convict me of inability to defend myself or others after this sort, I should blush for shame, whether I was convicted before many, or before a few, or by myself alone; and if I died from want of ability to do so, that would indeed grieve me. But if I died because I have no powers of flattery or rhetoric, I am very sure that you would not find me repining at death. For no man who is not an utter fool and coward is afraid of death itself, but he is afraid of doing wrong. For to go to the world below having one’s soul full of injustice is the last and worst of all evils. And in proof of what I say, if you have no objection, I should like to tell you a story.

  Cal.

  Very well, proceed; and then we shall have done.

  Soc.

  The philosopher has no reason to dread death, as Socrates will prove by a relation of what happens in the world below.Socrates.Before the days of Zeus, the judgments of another world too much resembled the judgments of this.Zeus takes measures for the correction and improvement of them.

  Listen, then, as story-tellers say, to a very pretty 523tale, which I dare say that you may be disposed to regard as a fable only, but which, as I believe, is a true tale, for I mean to speak the truth. Homer tells us1 , how Zeus and Poseidon and Pluto divided the empire which they inherited from their father. Now in the days of Cronos there existed a law respecting the destiny of man, which has always been, and still continues to be in Heaven,—that he who has lived all his life in justice and holiness shall go, when he is dead, to the Islands of the Blessed, and dwell there in perfect happiness out of the reach of evil; but that he who has lived unjustly and impiously shall go to the house of vengeance and punishment, which is called Tartarus. And in the time of Cronos, and even quite lately in the reign of Zeus, the judgment was given on the very day on which the men were to die; the judges were alive, and the men were alive; and the consequence was that the judgments were not well given. The Pluto and the authorities from the Islands of the Blessed came to Zeus, and said that the souls found their way to the wrong places. Zeus said: ‘I shall put a stop to this; the judgments are not well given, because the persons who are judged have their clothes on, for they are alive; and there are many who, having evil souls, are apparelled in fair bodies, or encased in wealth or rank, and, when the day of judgment arrives, numerous witnesses come forward and testify on their behalf that they have lived righteously. The judges are awed by them, and they themselves too have their clothes on when judging; their eyes and ears and their whole bodies are interposed as a veil before their own souls. All this is a hindrance to them; there are the clothes of the judges and the clothes of the judged.—What is to be done? I will tell you:—In the first place, I will deprive men of the foreknowledge of death, which they possess at present: this power which they have Prometheus has already received my orders to take from them: in the second place, they shall be entirely stripped before they are judged, for they shall be judged when they are dead; and the judge too shall be naked, that is to say, dead—he with his naked soul shall pierce into the other naked souls; and they shall die suddenly and be deprived of all their kindred, and leave their brave attire strewn upon the earth—conducted in this manner, the judgment will be just. I knew all about the matter before any of you, and therefore I have made my sons judges; two from Asia, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and one from Europe, 524Aeacus. And these, when they are dead, shall give judgment in the meadow at the parting of the ways, whence the two roads lead, one to the Islands of the Blessed, and the other to Tartarus. Rhadamanthus shall judge those who come from Asia, and Aeacus those who come from Europe. And to Minos I shall give the primacy, and he shall hold a court of appeal, in case either of the two others are in any doubt:—then the judgment respecting the last journey of men will be as just as possible.’

  As the body is, so is the soul after death; they both retain the traces of what they were in life,and they are punished accordingly.

  From this tale, Callicles, which I have heard and believe, I draw the following inferences:—Death, if I am right, is in the first place the separation from one another of two things, soul and body; nothing else. And after they are separated they retain their several natures, as in life; the body keeps the same habit, and the results of treatment or accident are distinctly visible in it: for example, he who by nature or training or both, was a tall man while he was alive, will remain as he was, after he is dead; and the fat man will remain fat; and so on; and the dead man, who in life had a fancy to have flowing hair, will have flowing hair. And if he was marked with the whip and had the prints of the scourge, or of wounds in him when he was alive, you might see the same in the dead body; and if his limbs were broken or misshapen when he was alive, the same appearance would be visible in the dead. And in a word, whatever was the habit of the body during life would be distinguishable after death, either perfectly, or in a great measure and for a certain time. And I should imagine that this is equally true of the soul, Callicles; when a man is stripped of the body, all the natural or acquired affections of the soul are laid open to view.—And when they come to the judge, as those from Asia come to Rhadamanthus, he places them near him and inspects them quite impartially, not knowing whose the soul is: perhaps he may lay hands on the soul of the great king, or of some other king or potentate, who has no soundness in him, but his soul is marked with the whip, and is full of the prints and scars of perjuries and crimes with which each action has stained him, and he is all crooked with falsehood and imposture, 525and has no straightness, because he has lived without truth. Him Rhadamanthus beholds, full of all deformity and disproportion, which is caused by licence and luxury and insolence and incontinence, and despatches him ignominiously to his prison, and there he undergoes the punishment which he deserves.

  The proper office of punishment is either to improve or to deter.The meaner sort of men are incapable of great crimes.Great men have sometimes been good men but power is apt to corrupt them.

  Now the proper office of punishment is twofold: he who is rightly punished ought either to become better and profit by it, or he ought to be made an example to his fellows, that they may see what he suffers, and fear and become better. Those who are improved when they are punished by gods and men, are those whose sins are curable; and they are improved, as in this world so also in another, by pain and suffering; for there is no other way in which they can be delivered from their evil. But they who have been guilty of the worst crimes, and are incurable by reason of their crimes, are made examples; for, as they are incurable, the time has passed at which they can receive any benefit. They get no good themselves, but others get good when they behold them enduring for ever the most terrible and painful and fearful sufferings as the penalty of their sins—there they are, hanging up as examples, in the prison-house of the world below, a spectacle and a warning to all unrighteous men who come thither. And among them, as I confidently affirm, will be found Archelaus, if Polus truly reports of him, and any other tyrant who is like him. Of these fearful examples, most, as I believe, are taken from the class of tyrants and kings and potentates and public men, for they are the authors of the greatest and most impious crimes, because they have the power. And Homer witnesses to the truth of this; for they are always kings and potentates whom he has described as suffering everlasting punishment in the world below: such were Tantalus and Sisyphus and Tityus. But no one ever described Thersites, or any private person who was a villain, as suffering everlasting punishment, or as incurable. For to commit the worst crimes, as I am inclined to think, was not in his power, and he was happier than those who had the 526power. No, Callicles, the very bad men come from the class of those who have power1 . And yet in that very class there may arise good men, and worthy of all admiration they are, for where there is great power to do wrong, to live and to die justly is a hard thing, and greatly to be praised, and few there are who attain to this. Such good and true men, however, there have been, and will be again, at Athens and in other states, who have fulfilled their trust righteously; and there is one who is quite famous all over Hellas, Aristeides, the son of Lysimachus. But, in general, great men are also bad, my friend.

  The impartiality of the judges in another world.

  As I was saying, Rhadamanthus, when he gets a soul of the bad kind, knows nothing about him, neither who he is, nor who his parents are; he knows only that he has got hold of a villain; and seeing this, he stamps him as curable or incurable, and sends him away to Tartarus, whither he goes and receives his proper recompense. Or, again, he looks with admiration on the soul of some just one who has lived in holiness and truth; he may have been a private man or not; and I should say, Callicles, that he is most likely to have been a philosopher who has done his own work, and not troubled himself with the doings of other men in his lifetime; him Rhadamanthus sends to the Islands of the Blessed. Aeacus does the same; and they both have sceptres, and judge; but Minos alone has a golden sceptre and is seated looking on, as Odysseus in Homer1 declares that he saw him:

  • ‘Holding a sceptre of gold, and giving laws to the dead.’

  Now I, Callicles, am persuaded of the truth of these things, and I consider how I shall present my soul whole and undefiled before the judge in that day. Renouncing the honours at which the world aims, I desire only to know the truth, and to live as well as I can, and, when I die, to die as well as I can. And, to the utmost of my power, I exhort all other men to do the same. And, in return for your exhortation of me, I exhort you also to take part in the great combat, which is the combat of life, and greater than every other earthly conflict. And I retort your reproach of me, and say, that you will not be able to help yourself when the day of trial and judgment, of which I was speaking, comes upon you; you will go before the judge, the son of Aegina, and, when he has got you in his grip and is carrying you off, you 527will gape and your head will swim round, just as mine would in the courts of this world, and very likely some one will shamefully box you on the ears, and put upon you any sort of insult.

  Perhaps this may appear to you to be only an old wife’s tale, which you will contemn. And there might be reason in your contemning such tales, if by searching we could find out anything better or truer: but now you see that you and Polus and Gorgias, who are the three wisest of the Greeks of our day, are not able to show that we ought to live any life which does not profit in another world as well as in this. And of all that has been said, nothing remains unshaken but the saying, that to do injustice is more to be avoided than to suffer injustice, and that the reality and not the appearance of virtue is to be followed above all things, as well in public as in private life; and that when any one has been wrong in anything, he is to be chastised, and that the next best thing to a man being just is that he should become just, and be chastised and punished; also that he should avoid all flattery of himself as well as of others, of the few or of the many: and rhetoric and any other art should be used by him, and all his actions should be done always, with a view to justice.

  Follow me then, and I will lead you where you will be happy in life and after death, as the argument shows. And never mind if some one despises you as a fool, and insults you, if he has a mind; let him strike you, by Zeus, and do you be of good cheer, and do not mind the insulting blow, for you will never come to any harm in the practice of virtue, if you are a really good and true man. When we have practised virtue together, we will apply ourselves to politics, if that seems desirable, or we will advise about whatever else may seem good to us, for we shall be better able to judge then. In our present condition we ought not to give ourselves airs, for even on the most important subjects we are always changing our minds; so utterly stupid are we! Let us, then, take the argument as our guide, which has revealed to us that the best way of life is to practise justice and every virtue in life and death. This way let us go; and in this exhort all men to follow, not in the way to which you trust and in which you exhort me to follow you; for that way, Callicles, is nothing worth.

  [1 ]Compare the following: ‘Now, and for us, it is a time to Hellenize and to praise knowing; for we have Hebraized too much and have overvalued doing. But the habits and discipline received from Hebraism remain for our race an eternal possession. And as humanity is constituted, one must never assign the second rank to-day without being ready to restore them to the first to-morrow.’ Sir William W. Hunter, Preface to Orissa.

  [1 ]Omitting the words τὸν ῥητορικὸν δίκαιον ε[Editor: illegible character]ναι and δὲ in next clause.

  [1 ]There is an untranslatable play on the name ‘Polus,’ which means ‘a colt.’

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. ix. 579, 580.

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. ii. 359.

  [1 ]Fragm. Incert. 151 (Böckh).

  [2 ]Antiope, fragm. 20 (Dindorf).

  [1 ]Cp. what is said of Gorgias by Callicles at p. 482.

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. i. 348.

  [2 ]Cp. Phaedr. 250 C.

  [3 ]An untranslateable pun,—διὰ τὸ πιθανόν τε καὶ πιστικὸν ὠνόμασε πίθον.

  [1 ]Or, ‘I am in profound earnest.’

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. iv. 436.

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. iii. 392 foll.

  [1 ]Cp. Laws vi. 752 A.

  [1 ]p. 485.

  [1 ]Cp. Republic, 9. 578 ff.

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. iii. 407 E.

  [1 ]Cp. Symp. 216: 1 Alcib. 135.

  [2 ]Reading with the majority of MSS. πράξοντες.

  [1 ]Cp. Protag. 328.

  [1 ]Il. xv. 187. foll.

  [1 ]Cp. Rep. x. 615 E.

  [1 ]Odyss. xi. 569.

• Back to Top

  11: 11. Plato’s Republic

  Read Plato’s most extended discussion of politics - “The Republic”.

  Plato, The Dialogues of Plato translated into English with Analyses and Introductions by B. Jowett, M.A. in Five Volumes. 3rd edition revised and corrected (Oxford University Press, 1892). Chapter: THE REPUBLIC.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/767/93795 on 2007-12-07

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  Oxford University Press Amen House, E.C. 4 London Edinburgh Glasgow Leipzig New York Toronto Melbourne Capetown Bombay Calcutta Madras Shanghai Humphrey Milford Publisher to the University

  THE REPUBLIC.

  INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

  Republic.Introduction.

  The Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception of the Laws, and is certainly the greatest of them. There are nearer approaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and in the Sophist; the Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions of the State are more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, the Symposium and the Protagoras are of higher excellence. But no other Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same perfection of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, or contains more of those thoughts which are new as well as old, and not of one age only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony or a greater wealth of humour or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor in any other of his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation, or to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic is the centre around which the other Dialogues may be grouped; here philosophy reaches the highest point (cp. especially in Books V, VI, VII) to which ancient thinkers ever attained. Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the moderns, was the first who conceived a method of knowledge, although neither of them always distinguished the bare outline or form from the substance of truth; and both of them had to be content with an abstraction of science which was not yet realized. He was the greatest metaphysical genius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in any other ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained. The sciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so many instruments of thought to after-ages, are based upon the analyses of Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law of contradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinction between the essence and accidents of a thing or notion, between means and ends, between causes and conditions; also the division of the mind into the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or of pleasures and desires into necessary and unnecessary—these and other great forms of thought are all of them to be found in the Republic, and were probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all logical truths, and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to lose sight, the difference between words and things, has been most strenuously insisted on by him (cp. Rep. 454 A; Polit. 261 E; Cratyl. 435, 436 ff.), although he has not always avoided the confusion of them in his own writings (e. g. Rep. 463 E). But he does not bind up truth in logical formulae,—logic is still veiled in metaphysics; and the science which he imagines to ‘contemplate all truth and all existence’ is very unlike the doctrine of the syllogism which Aristotle claims to have discovered (Soph. Elenchi, 33. 18).

  Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of a still larger design which was to have included an ideal history of Athens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The fragment of the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second only in importance to the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is said as a fact to have inspired some of the early navigators of the sixteenth century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was a history of the wars of the Athenians against the island of Atlantis, is supposed to be founded upon an unfinished poem of Solon, to which it would have stood in the same relation as the writings of the logographers to the poems of Homer. It would have told of a struggle for Liberty (cp. Tim. 25 C), intended to represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas. We may judge from the noble commencement of the Timaeus, from the fragment of the Critias itself, and from the third book of the Laws, in what manner Plato would have treated this high argument. We can only guess why the great design was abandoned; perhaps because Plato became sensible of some incongruity in a fictitious history, or because he had lost his interest in it, or because advancing years forbade the completion of it; and we may please ourselves with the fancy that had this imaginary narrative ever been finished, we should have found Plato himself sympathising with the struggle for Hellenic independence (cp. Laws, iii. 698 ff.), singing a hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making the reflection of Herodotus (v. 78) where he contemplates the growth of the Athenian empire—‘How brave a thing is freedom of speech, which has made the Athenians so far exceed every other state of Hellas in greatness!’ or, more probably, attributing the victory to the ancient good order of Athens and to the favour of Apollo and Athene (cp. Introd. to Critias).

  Again, Plato may be regarded as the ‘captain’ (ἀρχηγὀς) or leader of a goodly band of followers; for in the Republic is to be found the original of Cicero’s De Republica, of St. Augustine’s City of God, of the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, and of the numerous other imaginary States which are framed upon the same model. The extent to which Aristotle or the Aristotelian school were indebted to him in the Politics has been little recognised, and the recognition is the more necessary because it is not made by Aristotle himself. The two philosophers had more in common than they were conscious of; and probably some elements of Plato remain still undetected in Aristotle. In English philosophy too, many affinities may be traced, not only in the works of the Cambridge Platonists, but in great original writers like Berkeley or Coleridge, to Plato and his ideas. That there is a truth higher than experience, of which the mind bears witness to herself, is a conviction which in our own generation has been enthusiastically asserted, and is perhaps gaining ground. Of the Greek authors who at the Renaissance brought a new life into the world Plato has had the greatest influence. The Republic of Plato is also the first treatise upon education, of which the writings of Milton and Locke, Rousseau, Jean Paul, and Goethe are the legitimate descendants. Like Dante or Bunyan, he has a revelation of another life; like Bacon, he is profoundly impressed with the unity of knowledge; in the early Church he exercised a real influence on theology, and at the Revival of Literature on politics. Even the fragments of his words when ‘repeated at second-hand’ (Symp. 215 D) have in all ages ravished the hearts of men, who have seen reflected in them their own higher nature. He is the father of idealism in philosophy, in politics, in literature. And many of the latest conceptions of modern thinkers and statesmen, such as the unity of knowledge, the reign of law, and the equality of the sexes, have been anticipated in a dream by him.

  The argument of the Republic is the search after Justice, the nature of which is first hinted at by Cephalus, the just and blameless old man—then discussed on the basis of proverbial morality by Socrates and Polemarchus—then caricatured by Thrasymachus and partially explained by Socrates—reduced to an abstraction by Glaucon and Adeimantus, and having become invisible in the individual reappears at length in the ideal State which is constructed by Socrates. The first care of the rulers is to be education, of which an outline is drawn after the old Hellenic model, providing only for an improved religion and morality, and more simplicity in music and gymnastic, a manlier strain of poetry, and greater harmony of the individual and the State. We are thus led on to the conception of a higher State, in which ‘no man calls anything his own,’1 and in which there is neither ‘marrying nor giving in marriage,’ and ‘kings are philosophers’ and ‘philosophers are kings;’ and there is another and higher education, intellectual as well as moral and religious, of science as well as of art, and not of youth only but of the whole of life. Such a State is hardly to be realized in this world and quickly degenerates. To the perfect ideal succeeds the government of the soldier and the lover of honour, this again declining into democracy, and democracy into tyranny, in an imaginary but regular order having not much resemblance to the actual facts. When ‘the wheel has come full circle’ we do not begin again with a new period of human life; but we have passed from the best to the worst, and there we end. The subject is then changed and the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy which had been more lightly treated in the earlier books of the Republic is now resumed and fought out to a conclusion. Poetry is discovered to be an imitation thrice removed from the truth, and Homer, as well as the dramatic poets, having been condemned as an imitator, is sent into banishment along with them. And the idea of the State is supplemented by the revelation of a future life.

  The division into books, like all similar divisions1 , is probably later than the age of Plato. The natural divisions are five in number;—(1) Book I and the first half of Book II down to p. 368, which is introductory; the first book containing a refutation of the popular and sophistical notions of justice, and concluding, like some of the earlier Dialogues, without arriving at any definite result. To this is appended a restatement of the nature of justice according to common opinion, and an answer is demanded to the question—What is justice, stripped of appearances? The second division (2) includes the remainder of the second and the whole of the third and fourth books, which are mainly occupied with the construction of the first State and the first education. The third division (3) consists of the fifth, sixth, and seventh books, in which philosophy rather than justice is the subject of enquiry, and the second State is constructed on principles of communism and ruled by philosophers, and the contemplation of the idea of good takes the place of the social and political virtues. In the eighth and ninth books (4) the perversions of States and of the individuals who correspond to them are reviewed in succession; and the nature of pleasure and the principle of tyranny are further analysed in the individual man. The tenth book (5) is the conclusion of the whole, in which the relations of philosophy to poetry are finally determined, and the happiness of the citizens in this life, which has now been assured, is crowned by the vision of another.

  Or a more general division into two parts may be adopted; the first (Books I-IV) containing the description of a State framed generally in accordance with Hellenic notions of religion and morality, while in the second (Books V-X) the Hellenic State is transformed into an ideal kingdom of philosophy, of which all other governments are the perversions. These two points of view are really opposed, and the opposition is only veiled by the genius of Plato. The Republic, like the Phaedrus (see Introduction to Phaedrus), is an imperfect whole; the higher light of philosophy breaks through the regularity of the Hellenic temple, which at last fades away into the heavens (592 B). Whether this imperfection of structure arises from an enlargement of the plan; or from the imperfect reconcilement in the writer’s own mind of the struggling elements of thought which are now first brought together by him; or, perhaps, from the composition of the work at different times—are questions, like the similar question about the Iliad and the Odyssey, which are worth asking, but which cannot have a distinct answer. In the age of Plato there was no regular mode of publication, and an author would have the less scruple in altering or adding to a work which was known only to a few of his friends. There is no absurdity in supposing that he may have laid his labours aside for a time, or turned from one work to another; and such interruptions would be more likely to occur in the case of a long than of a short writing. In all attempts to determine the chronological order of the Platonic writings on internal evidence, this uncertainty about any single Dialogue being composed at one time is a disturbing element, which must be admitted to affect longer works, such as the Republic and the Laws, more than shorter ones. But, on the other hand, the seeming discrepancies of the Republic may only arise out of the discordant elements which the philosopher has attempted to unite in a single whole, perhaps without being himself able to recognise the inconsistency which is obvious to us. For there is a judgment of after ages which few great writers have ever been able to anticipate for themselves. They do not perceive the want of connexion in their own writings, or the gaps in their systems which are visible enough to those who come after them. In the beginnings of literature and philosophy, amid the first efforts of thought and language, more inconsistencies occur than now, when the paths of speculation are well worn and the meaning of words precisely defined. For consistency, too, is the growth of time; and some of the greatest creations of the human mind have been wanting in unity. Tried by this test, several of the Platonic Dialogues, according to our modern ideas, appear to be defective, but the deficiency is no proof that they were composed at different times or by different hands. And the supposition that the Republic was written uninterruptedly and by a continuous effort is in some degree confirmed by the numerous references from one part of the work to another.

  The second title, ‘Concerning Justice,’ is not the one by which the Republic is quoted, either by Aristotle or generally in antiquity, and, like the other second titles of the Platonic Dialogues, may therefore be assumed to be of later date. Morgenstern and others have asked whether the definition of justice, which is the professed aim, or the construction of the State is the principal argument of the work. The answer is, that the two blend in one, and are two faces of the same truth; for justice is the order of the State, and the State is the visible embodiment of justice under the conditions of human society. The one is the soul and the other is the body, and the Greek ideal of the State, as of the individual, is a fair mind in a fair body. In Hegelian phraseology the state is the reality of which justice is the idea. Or, described in Christian language, the kingdom of God is within, and yet developes into a Church or external kingdom; ‘the house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens,’ is reduced to the proportions of an earthly building. Or, to use a Platonic image, justice and the State are the warp and the woof which run through the whole texture. And when the constitution of the State is completed, the conception of justice is not dismissed, but reappears under the same or different names throughout the work, both as the inner law of the individual soul, and finally as the principle of rewards and punishments in another life. The virtues are based on justice, of which common honesty in buying and selling is the shadow, and justice is based on the idea of good, which is the harmony of the world, and is reflected both in the institutions of states and in motions of the heavenly bodies (cp. Tim. 47). The Timaeus, which takes up the political rather than the ethical side of the Republic, and is chiefly occupied with hypotheses concerning the outward world, yet contains many indications that the same law is supposed to reign over the State, over nature, and over man.

  Too much, however, has been made of this question both in ancient and modern times. There is a stage of criticism in which all works, whether of nature or of art, are referred to design. Now in ancient writings, and indeed in literature generally, there remains often a large element which was not comprehended in the original design. For the plan grows under the author’s hand; new thoughts occur to him in the act of writing; he has not worked out the argument to the end before he begins. The reader who seeks to find some one idea under which the whole may be conceived, must necessarily seize on the vaguest and most general. Thus Stallbaum, who is dissatisfied with the ordinary explanations of the argument of the Republic, imagines himself to have found the true argument ‘in the representation of human life in a State perfected by justice, and governed according to the idea of good.’ There may be some use in such general descriptions, but they can hardly be said to express the design of the writer. The truth is, that we may as well speak of many designs as of one; nor need anything be excluded from the plan of a great work to which the mind is naturally led by the association of ideas, and which does not interfere with the general purpose. What kind or degree of unity is to be sought after in a building, in the plastic arts, in poetry, in prose, is a problem which has to be determined relatively to the subject-matter. To Plato himself, the enquiry ‘what was the intention of the writer,’ or ‘what was the principal argument of the Republic’ would have been hardly intelligible, and therefore had better be at once dismissed (cp. the Introduction to the Phaedrus, vol. i.).

  Is not the Republic the vehicle of three or four great truths which, to Plato’s own mind, are most naturally represented in the form of the State? Just as in the Jewish prophets the reign of Messiah, or ‘the day of the Lord,’ or the suffering Servant or people of God, or the ‘Sun of righteousness with healing in his wings’ only convey, to us at least, their great spiritual ideals, so through the Greek State Plato reveals to us his own thoughts about divine perfection, which is the idea of good—like the sun in the visible world;—about human perfection, which is justice—about education beginning in youth and continuing in later years—about poets and sophists and tyrants who are the false teachers and evil rulers of mankind—about ‘the world’ which is the embodiment of them—about a kingdom which exists nowhere upon earth but is laid up in heaven to be the pattern and rule of human life. No such inspired creation is at unity with itself, any more than the clouds of heaven when the sun pierces through them. Every shade of light and dark, of truth, and of fiction which is the veil of truth, is allowable in a work of philosophical imagination. It is not all on the same plane; it easily passes from ideas to myths and fancies, from facts to figures of speech. It is not prose but poetry, at least a great part of it, and ought not to be judged by the rules of logic or the probabilities of history. The writer is not fashioning his ideas into an artistic whole; they take possession of him and are too much for him. We have no need therefore to discuss whether a State such as Plato has conceived is practicable or not, or whether the outward form or the inward life came first into the mind of the writer. For the practicability of his ideas has nothing to do with their truth (v. 472 D); and the highest thoughts to which he attains may be truly said to bear the greatest ‘marks of design’—justice more than the external frame-work of the State, the idea of good more than justice. The great science of dialectic or the organisation of ideas has no real content; but is only a type of the method or spirit in which the higher knowledge is to be pursued by the spectator of all time and all existence. It is in the fifth, sixth, and seventh books that Plato reaches the ‘summit of speculation,’ and these, although they fail to satisfy the requirements of a modern thinker, may therefore be regarded as the most important, as they are also the most original, portions of the work.

  It is not necessary to discuss at length a minor question which has been raised by Boeckh, respecting the imaginary date at which the conversation was held (the year 411 b.c. which is proposed by him will do as well as any other); for a writer of fiction, and especially a writer who, like Plato, is notoriously careless of chronology (cp. Rep. i. 336, Symp. 193 A, etc.), only aims at general probability. Whether all the persons mentioned in the Republic could ever have met at any one time is not a difficulty which would have occurred to an Athenian reading the work forty years later, or to Plato himself at the time of writing (any more than to Shakespeare respecting one of his own dramas); and need not greatly trouble us now. Yet this may be a question having no answer ‘which is still worth asking,’ because the investigation shows that we cannot argue historically from the dates in Plato; it would be useless therefore to waste time in inventing far-fetched reconcilements of them in order to avoid chronological difficulties, such, for example, as the conjecture of C. F. Hermann, that Glaucon and Adeimantus are not the brothers but the uncles of Plato (cp. Apol. 34 A), or the fancy of Stallbaum that Plato intentionally left anachronisms indicating the dates at which some of his Dialogues were written.

  The principal characters in the Republic are Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Cephalus appears in the introduction only, Polemarchus drops at the end of the first argument, and Thrasymachus is reduced to silence at the close of the first book. The main discussion is carried on by Socrates, Glaucon, and Adeimantus. Among the company are Lysias (the orator) and Euthydemus, the sons of Cephalus and brothers of Polemarchus, an unknown Charmantides—these are mute auditors; also there is Cleitophon, who once interrupts (340 A), where, as in the Dialogue which bears his name, he appears as the friend and ally of Thrasymachus.

  Cephalus, the patriarch of the house, has been appropriately engaged in offering a sacrifice. He is the pattern of an old man who has almost done with life, and is at peace with himself and with all mankind. He feels that he is drawing nearer to the world below, and seems to linger around the memory of the past. He is eager that Socrates should come to visit him, fond of the poetry of the last generation, happy in the consciousness of a well-spent life, glad at having escaped from the tyranny of youthful lusts. His love of conversation, his affection, his indifference to riches, even his garrulity, are interesting traits of character. He is not one of those who have nothing to say, because their whole mind has been absorbed in making money. Yet he acknowledges that riches have the advantage of placing men above the temptation to dishonesty or falsehood. The respectful attention shown to him by Socrates, whose love of conversation, no less than the mission imposed upon him by the Oracle, leads him to ask questions of all men, young and old alike (cp. i. 328 A), should also be noted. Who better suited to raise the question of justice than Cephalus, whose life might seem to be the expression of it? The moderation with which old age is pictured by Cephalus as a very tolerable portion of existence is characteristic, not only of him, but of Greek feeling generally, and contrasts with the exaggeration of Cicero in the De Senectute. The evening of life is described by Plato in the most expressive manner, yet with the fewest possible touches. As Cicero remarks (Ep. ad Attic. iv. 16), the aged Cephalus would have been out of place in the discussion which follows, and which he could neither have understood nor taken part in without a violation of dramatic propriety (cp. Lysimachus in the Laches, 89).

  His ‘son and heir’ Polemarchus has the frankness and impetuousness of youth; he is for detaining Socrates by force in the opening scene, and will not ‘let him off’ (v. 449 B) on the subject of women and children. Like Cephalus, he is limited in his point of view, and represents the proverbial stage of morality which has rules of life rather than principles; and he quotes Simonides (cp. Aristoph, Clouds, 1355 ff.) as his father had quoted Pindar. But after this he has no more to say; the answers which he makes are only elicited from him by the dialectic of Socrates. He has not yet experienced the influence of the Sophists like Glaucon and Adeimantus, nor is he sensible of the necessity of refuting them; he belongs to the pre-Socratic or pre-dialectical age. He is incapable of arguing, and is bewildered by Socrates to such a degree that he does not know what he is saying. He is made to admit that justice is a thief, and that the virtues follow the analogy of the arts (i. 333 E). From his brother Lysias (contra Eratosth. p. 121) we learn that he fell a victim to the Thirty Tyrants, but no allusion is here made to his fate, nor to the circumstance that Cephalus and his family were of Syracusan origin, and had migrated from Thurii to Athens.

  The ‘Chalcedonian giant,’ Thrasymachus, of whom we have already heard in the Phaedrus (267 D), is the personification of the Sophists, according to Plato’s conception of them, in some of their worst characteristics. He is vain and blustering, refusing to discourse unless he is paid, fond of making an oration, and hoping thereby to escape the inevitable Socrates; but a mere child in argument, and unable to foresee that the next ‘move’ (to use a Platonic expression) will ‘shut him up’ (vi. 487 B). He has reached the stage of framing general notions, and in this respect is in advance of Cephalus and Polemarchus. But he is incapable of defending them in a discussion, and vainly tries to cover his confusion with banter and insolence. Whether such doctrines as are attributed to him by Plato were really held either by him or by any other Sophist is uncertain; in the infancy of philosophy serious errors about morality might easily grow up—they are certainly put into the mouths of speakers in Thucydides; but we are concerned at present with Plato’s description of him, and not with the historical reality. The inequality of the contest adds greatly to the humour of the scene. The pompous and empty Sophist is utterly helpless in the hands of the great master of dialectic, who knows how to touch all the springs of vanity and weakness in him. He is greatly irritated by the irony of Socrates, but his noisy and imbecile rage only lays him more and more open to the thrusts of his assailant. His determination to cram down their throats, or put ‘bodily into their souls’ his own words, elicits a cry of horror from Socrates. The state of his temper is quite as worthy of remark as the process of the argument. Nothing is more amusing than his complete submission when he has been once thoroughly beaten. At first he seems to continue the discussion with reluctance, but soon with apparent good-will, and he even testifies his interest at a later stage by one or two occasional remarks (v. 450 A, B). When attacked by Glaucon (vi. 498 C, D) he is humorously protected by Socrates ‘as one who has never been his enemy and is now his friend.’ From Cicero and Quintilian and from Aristotle’s Rhetoric (iii. 1. 7; ii. 23. 29) we learn that the Sophist whom Plato has made so ridiculous was a man of note whose writings were preserved in later ages. The play on his name which was made by his contemporary Herodicus (Aris. Rhet. ii. 23, 29), ‘thou wast ever bold in battle,’ seems to show that the description of him is not devoid of verisimilitude.

  When Thrasymachus has been silenced, the two principal respondents, Glaucon and Adeimantus, appear on the scene: here, as in Greek tragedy (cp. Introd. to Phaedo), three actors are introduced. At first sight the two sons of Ariston may seem to wear a family likeness, like the two friends Simmias and Cebes in the Phaedo. But on a nearer examination of them the similarity vanishes, and they are seen to be distinct characters. Glaucon is the impetuous youth who can ‘just never have enough of fechting’ (cp. the character of him in Xen. Mem. iii. 6); the man of pleasure who is acquainted with the mysteries of love (v. 474 D); the ‘juvenis qui gaudet canibus,’ and who improves the breed of animals (v. 459 A); the lover of art and music (iii. 398 D, E) who has all the experiences of youthful life. He is full of quickness and penetration, piercing easily below the clumsy platitudes of Thrasymachus to the real difficulty; he turns out to the light the seamy side of human life, and yet does not lose faith in the just and true. It is Glaucon who seizes what may be termed the ludicrous relation of the philosopher to the world, to whom a state of simplicity is ‘a city of pigs,’ who is always prepared with a jest (iii. 398 C, 407 A; v. 450, 451, 468 C; vi. 509 C; ix. 586) when the argument offers him an opportunity, and who is ever ready to second the humour of Socrates and to appreciate the ridiculous, whether in the connoisseurs of music (vii. 531 A), or in the lovers of theatricals (v. 475 D), or in the fantastic behaviour of the citizens of democracy (viii. 557 foll.). His weaknesses are several times alluded to by Socrates (iii. 402 E; v. 474 D, 475 E), who, however, will not allow him to be attacked by his brother Adeimantus (viii. 548 D, E). He is a soldier, and, like Adeimantus, has been distinguished at the battle of Megara (368 A, anno 456?). . . The character of Adeimantus is deeper and graver, and the profounder objections are commonly put into his mouth. Glaucon is more demonstrative, and generally opens the game; Adeimantus pursues the argument further. Glaucon has more of the liveliness and quick sympathy of youth; Adeimantus has the maturer judgment of a grown-up man of the world. In the second book, when Glaucon insists that justice and injustice shall be considered without regard to their consequences, Adeimantus remarks that they are regarded by mankind in general only for the sake of their consequences; and in a similar vein of reflection he urges at the beginning of the fourth book that Socrates fails in making his citizens happy, and is answered that happiness is not the first but the second thing, not the direct aim but the indirect consequence of the good government of a State. In the discussion about religion and mythology, Adeimantus is the respondent (iii. 376-398), but at p. 398 C, Glaucon breaks in with a slight jest, and carries on the conversation in a lighter tone about music and gymnastic to the end of the book. It is Adeimantus again who volunteers the criticism of common sense on the Socratic method of argument (vi. 487 B), and who refuses to let Socrates pass lightly over the question of women and children (v. 449). It is Adeimantus who is the respondent in the more argumentative, as Glaucon in the lighter and more imaginative portions of the Dialogue. For example, throughout the greater part of the sixth book, the causes of the corruption of philosophy and the conception of the idea of good are discussed with Adeimantus. At p. 506 C, Glaucon resumes his place of principal respondent; but he has a difficulty in apprehending the higher education of Socrates, and makes some false hits in the course of the discussion (526 D, 527 D). Once more Adeimantus returns (viii. 548) with the allusion to his brother Glaucon whom he compares to the contentious State; in the next book (ix. 576) he is again superseded, and Glaucon continues to the end (x. 621 B).

  Thus in a succession of characters Plato represents the successive stages of morality, beginning with the Athenian gentleman of the olden time, who is followed by the practical man of that day regulating his life by proverbs and saws; to him succeeds the wild generalization of the Sophists, and lastly come the young disciples of the great teacher, who know the sophistical arguments but will not be convinced by them, and desire to go deeper into the nature of things. These too, like Cephalus, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus, are clearly distinguished from one another. Neither in the Republic, nor in any other Dialogue of Plato, is a single character repeated.

  The delineation of Socrates in the Republic is not wholly consistent. In the first book we have more of the real Socrates, such as he is depicted in the Memorabilia of Xenophon, in the earliest Dialogues of Plato, and in the Apology. He is ironical, provoking, questioning, the old enemy of the Sophists, ready to put on the mask of Silenus as well as to argue seriously. But in the sixth book his enmity towards the Sophists abates; he acknowledges that they are the representatives rather than the corrupters of the world (vi. 492 A). He also becomes more dogmatic and constructive, passing beyond the range either of the political or the speculative ideas of the real Socrates. In one passage (vi. 506 C) Plato himself seems to intimate that the time had now come for Socrates, who had passed his whole life in philosophy, to give his own opinion and not to be always repeating the notions of other men. There is no evidence that either the idea of good or the conception of a perfect state were comprehended in the Socratic teaching, though he certainly dwelt on the nature of the universal and of final causes (cp. Xen. Mem. i. 4; Phaedo 97); and a deep thinker like him, in his thirty or forty years of public teaching, could hardly have failed to touch on the nature of family relations, for which there is also some positive evidence in the Memorabilia (Mem. i. 2, 51 foll.). The Socratic method is nominally retained; and every inference is either put into the mouth of the respondent or represented as the common discovery of him and Socrates. But any one can see that this is a mere form, of which the affectation grows wearisome as the work advances. The method of enquiry has passed into a method of teaching in which by the help of interlocutors the same thesis is looked at from various points of view. The nature of the process is truly characterized by Glaucon, when he describes himself as a companion who is not good for much in an investigation, but can see what he is shown (iv. 432 C), and may, perhaps, give the answer to a question more fluently than another (v. 474 A; cp. 389 A).

  Neither can we be absolutely certain that Socrates himself taught the immortality of the soul, which is unknown to his disciple Glaucon in the Republic (x. 608 D; cp. vi. 498 D, E; Apol. 40, 41); nor is there any reason to suppose that he used myths or revelations of another world as a vehicle of instruction, or that he would have banished poetry or have denounced the Greek mythology. His favourite oath is retained, and a slight mention is made of the daemonium, or internal sign, which is alluded to by Socrates as a phenomenon peculiar to himself (vi. 496 C). A real element of Socratic teaching, which is more prominent in the Republic than in any of the other Dialogues of Plato, is the use of example and illustration (τἁ ϕορτικὰ αὐτῳ̑ προσϕέροντες, iv. 442 E): ‘Let us apply the test of common instances.’ ‘You,’ says Adeimantus, ironically, in the sixth book, ‘are so unaccustomed to speak in images.’ And this use of examples or images, though truly Socratic in origin, is enlarged by the genius of Plato into the form of an allegory or parable, which embodies in the concrete what has been already described, or is about to be described, in the abstract. Thus the figure of the cave in Book VII is a recapitulation of the divisions of knowledge in Book VI. The composite animal in Book IX is an allegory of the parts of the soul. The noble captain and the ship and the true pilot in Book VI are a figure of the relation of the people to the philosophers in the State which has been described. Other figures, such as the dog (ii. 375 A, D; iii. 404 A, 416 A; v. 451 D), or the marriage of the portionless maiden (vi. 495, 496), or the drones and wasps in the eighth and ninth books, also form links of connexion in long passages, or are used to recall previous discussions.

  Plato is most true to the character of his master when he describes him as ‘not of this world.’ And with this representation of him the ideal state and the other paradoxes of the Republic are quite in accordance, though they cannot be shown to have been speculations of Socrates. To him, as to other great teachers both philosophical and religious, when they looked upward, the world seemed to be the embodiment of error and evil. The common sense of mankind has revolted against this view, or has only partially admitted it. And even in Socrates himself the sterner judgement of the multitude at times passes into a sort of ironical pity or love. Men in general are incapable of philosophy, and are therefore at enmity with the philosopher; but their misunderstanding of him is unavoidable (vi. 494 foll.; ix. 589 D): for they have never seen him as he truly is in his own image; they are only acquainted with artificial systems possessing no native force of truth—words which admit of many applications. Their leaders have nothing to measure with, and are therefore ignorant of their own stature. But they are to be pitied or laughed at, not to be quarrelled with; they mean well with their nostrums, if they could only learn that they are cutting off a Hydra’s head (iv. 426 D, E). This moderation towards those who are in error is one of the most characteristic features of Socrates in the Republic (vi. 499-502). In all the different representations of Socrates, whether of Xenophon or Plato, and amid the differences of the earlier or later Dialogues, he always retains the character of the unwearied and disinterested seeker after truth, without which he would have ceased to be Socrates.

  Leaving the characters we may now analyse the contents of the Republic, and then proceed to consider (1) The general aspects of this Hellenic ideal of the State, (2) The modern lights in which the thoughts of Plato may be read.

  book i.

  Analysis.

  The Republic opens with a truly Greek scene—a festival in honour of the goddess Bendis which is held in the Piraeus; to this is added the promise of an equestrian torch-race in the evening. The whole work is supposed to be recited by Socrates on the day after the festival to a small party, consisting of Critias, Timaeus, Hermocrates, and another; this we learn from the first words of the Timaeus.

  Republic I.

  When the rhetorical advantage of reciting the Dialogue has been gained, the attention is not distracted by any reference to the audience; nor is the reader further reminded of the extraordinary length of the narrative. Of the numerous company, three only take any serious part in the discussion; nor are we informed whether in the evening they went to the torch-race, or talked, as in the Symposium, through the night. The manner in which the 327conversation has arisen is described as follows:—Socrates and his companion Glaucon are about to leave the festival when they are detained by a message from Polemarchus, who speedily appears accompanied by Adeimantus, the brother of Glaucon, and with playful violence compels them to remain, promising them not only 328the torch-race, but the pleasure of conversation with the young, which to Socrates is a far greater attraction. They return to the house of Cephalus, Polemarchus’ father, now in extreme old age, who is found sitting upon a cushioned seat crowned for a sacrifice. ‘You should come to me oftener, Socrates, for I am too old to go to you; and at my time of life, having lost other pleasures, I care the more for conversation.’ Socrates asks him what he thinks of 329age, to which the old man replies, that the sorrows and discontents of age are to be attributed to the tempers of men, and that age is a time of peace in which the tyranny of the passions is no longer felt. Yes, replies Socrates, but the world will say, Cephalus, that you are happy in old age because you are rich. ‘And there is something in what they say, Socrates, but not so much as they 330imagine—as Themistocles replied to the Seriphian, “Neither you, if you had been an Athenian, nor I, if I had been a Scriphian, would ever have been famous,” I might in like manner reply to you, Neither a good poor man can be happy in age, nor yet a bad rich man.’ Socrates remarks that Cephalus appears not to care about riches, a quality which he ascribes to his having inherited, not acquired them, and would like to know what he considers to be the chief advantage of them. Cephalus answers that when you are old the belief in the world below grows upon you, and 331then to have done justice and never to have been compelled to do injustice through poverty, and never to have deceived any one, are felt to be unspeakable blessings. Socrates, who is evidently preparing for an argument, next asks, What is the meaning of the word justice? To tell the truth and pay your debts? No more than this? Or must we admit exceptions? Ought I, for example, to put back into the hands of my friend, who has gone mad, the sword which I borrowed of him when he was in his right mind? ‘There must be exceptions.’ ‘And yet,’ says Polemarchus, ‘the definition which has been given has the authority of Simonides.’ Here Cephalus retires to look after the sacrifices, and bequeaths, as Socrates facetiously remarks, the possession of the argument to his heir, Polemarchus. . . . . .

  Introduction.

  The description of old age is finished, and Plato, as his manner is, has touched the key-note of the whole work in asking for the definition of justice, first suggesting the question which Glaucon afterwards pursues respecting external goods, and preparing for the concluding mythus of the world below in the slight allusion of Cephalus. The portrait of the just man is a natural frontispiece or introduction to the long discourse which follows, and may perhaps imply that in all our perplexity about the nature of justice, there is no difficulty in discerning ‘who is a just man.’ The first explanation has been supported by a saying of Simonides; and now Socrates has a mind to show that the resolution of justice into two unconnected precepts, which have no common principle, fails to satisfy the demands of dialectic.

  Analysis.

  332. . . . . He proceeds: What did Simonides mean by this saying of his? Did he mean that I was to give back arms to a madman? ‘No, not in that case, not if the parties are friends, and evil would result. He meant that you were to do what was proper, good to friends and harm to enemies.’ Every act does something to somebody; and following this analogy, Socrates asks, What is this due and proper thing which justice does, and to whom? He is answered that justice does good to friends and harm to enemies. But in what way good or harm? ‘In making alliances with the one, and going to war with the other.’ Then in time of peace what is the 333good of justice? The answer is that justice is of use in contracts, and contracts are money partnerships. Yes; but how in such partnerships is the just man of more use than any other man? ‘When you want to have money safely kept and not used.’ Then justice will be useful when money is useless. And there is another difficulty: justice, like the art of war or any other art, must be of 334opposites, good at attack as well as at defence, at stealing as well as at guarding. But then justice is a thief, though a hero notwithstanding, like Autolycus, the Homeric hero, who was ‘excellent above all men in theft and perjury’—to such a pass have you and Homer and Simonides brought us; though I do not forget that the thieving must be for the good of friends and the harm of enemies. And still there arises another question: Are friends to be interpreted 335as real or seeming; enemies as real or seeming? And are our friends to be only the good, and our enemies to be the evil? The answer is, that we must do good to our seeming and real good friends, and evil to our seeming and real evil enemies—good to the good, evil to the evil. But ought we to render evil for evil at all, when to do so will only make men more evil? Can justice produce injustice any more than the art of horsemanship can make bad horsemen, or heat produce cold? The final conclusion is, that no sage or poet ever said that the just return evil for evil; this was a maxim of some rich and mighty man, Periander, 336Perdiccas, or Ismenias the Theban (about b.c. 398-381). . . . .

  Introduction.

  Thus the first stage of aphoristic or unconscious morality is shown to be inadequate to the wants of the age; the authority of the poets is set aside, and through the winding mazes of dialectic we make an approach to the Christian precept of forgiveness of injuries. Similar words are applied by the Persian mystic poet to the Divine being when the questioning spirit is stirred within him:—‘If because I do evil, Thou punishest me by evil, what is the difference between Thee and me?’ In this both Plato and Khèyam rise above the level of many Christian (?) theologians. The first definition of justice easily passes into the second; for the simple words ‘to speak the truth and pay your debts’ is substituted the more abstract ‘to do good to your friends and harm to your enemies.’ Either of these explanations gives a sufficient rule of life for plain men, but they both fall short of the precision of philosophy. We may note in passing the antiquity of casuistry, which not only arises out of the conflict of established principles in particular cases, but also out of the effort to attain them, and is prior as well as posterior to our fundamental notions of morality. The ‘interrogation’ of moral ideas; the appeal to the authority of Homer; the conclusion that the maxim, ‘Do good to your friends and harm to your enemies,’ being erroneous, could not have been the word of any great man (cp. ii. 380 A, B), are all of them very characteristic of the Platonic Socrates.

  Analysis.

  . . . Here Thrasymachus, who has made several attempts to interrupt, but has hitherto been kept in order by the company, takes advantage of a pause and rushes into the arena, beginning, like a savage animal, with a roar. ‘Socrates,’ he says, ‘what folly is this?—Why do you agree to be vanquished by one another in a pretended argument?’ He then prohibits all the 337ordinary definitions of justice; to which Socrates replies that he cannot tell how many twelve is, if he is forbidden to say 2 × 6, or 3 × 4, or 6 × 2, or 4 × 3. At first Thrasymachus is reluctant 338to argue; but at length, with a promise of payment on the part of the company and of praise from Socrates, he is induced to open the game. ‘Listen,’ he says; ‘my answer is that might is right, justice the interest of the stronger: now praise me.’ Let me understand you first. Do you mean that because Polydamas the wrestler, who is stronger than we are, finds the eating of beef for his interest, the eating of beef is also for our interest, who are not so strong? Thrasymachus is indignant at the illustration, and in pompous words, apparently intended to restore dignity to the argument, he explains his meaning to be that the rulers make 339laws for their own interests. But suppose, says Socrates, that the ruler or stronger makes a mistake—then the interest of the stronger is not his interest. Thrasymachus is saved from this 340speedy downfall by his disciple Cleitophon, who introduces the word ‘thinks;’—not the actual interest of the ruler, but what he thinks or what seems to be his interest, is justice. The contradiction is escaped by the unmeaning evasion: for though his real and apparent interests may differ, what the ruler thinks to be his interest will always remain what he thinks to be his interest.

  Of course this was not the original assertion, nor is the new interpretation accepted by Thrasymachus himself. But Socrates is not disposed to quarrel about words, if, as he significantly insinuates, his adversary has changed his mind. In what follows Thrasymachus does in fact withdraw his admission that the ruler may make a mistake, for he affirms that the ruler as a ruler is 341infallible. Socrates is quite ready to accept the new position, which he equally turns against Thrasymachus by the help of 342the analogy of the arts. Every art or science has an interest, but this interest is to be distinguished from the accidental interest of the artist, and is only concerned with the good of the things or persons which come under the art. And justice has an interest which is the interest not of the ruler or judge, but of those who come under his sway.

  Thrasymachus is on the brink of the inevitable conclusion, 343when he makes a bold diversion. ‘Tell me, Socrates,’ he says, ‘have you a nurse?’ What a question! Why do you ask? ‘Because, if you have, she neglects you and lets you go about drivelling, and has not even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep. For you fancy that shepherds and rulers never think of their own interest, but only of their sheep or subjects, whereas the truth is that they fatten them for their use, sheep and subjects alike. And experience proves that in every relation of life the just man is the loser and the unjust the gainer, 344especially where injustice is on the grand scale, which is quite another thing from the petty rogueries of swindlers and burglars and robbers of temples. The language of men proves this–our ‘gracious’ and ‘blessed’ tyrant and the like—all which tends to show (1) that justice is the interest of the stronger; and (2) that injustice is more profitable and also stronger than justice.’

  Thrasymachus, who is better at a speech than at a close argument, having deluged the company with words, has a mind 345to escape. But the others will not let him go, and Socrates adds a humble but earnest request that he will not desert them at such a crisis of their fate. ‘And what can I do more for you?’ he says; ‘would you have me put the words bodily into your souls?’ God forbid! replies Socrates; but we want you to be consistent in the use of terms, and not to employ ‘physician’ in an exact sense, and then again ‘shepherd’ or ‘ruler’ in an inexact,—if the words are strictly taken, the ruler and the shepherd look only to the good of their people or flocks and not to their own: whereas you insist that rulers are solely actuated by love of office. ‘No doubt about it,’ replies Thrasymachus. 346Then why are they paid? Is not the reason, that their interest is not comprehended in their art, and is therefore the concern of another art, the art of pay, which is common to the arts in general, and therefore not identical with any one of them? 347Nor would any man be a ruler unless he were induced by the hope of reward or the fear of punishment;—the reward is money or honour, the punishment is the necessity of being ruled by a man worse than himself. And if a State [or Church] were composed entirely of good men, they would be affected by the last motive only; and there would be as much ‘nolo episcopari’ as there is at present of the opposite. . . .

  Introduction.

  The satire on existing governments is heightened by the simple and apparently incidental manner in which the last remark is introduced. There is a similar irony in the argument that the governors of mankind do not like being in office, and that therefore they demand pay.

  Analysis.

  . . . . . Enough of this: the other assertion of Thrasymachus is far more important—that the unjust life is more gainful than the just. 348Now, as you and I, Glaucon, are not convinced by him, we must reply to him; but if we try to compare their respective gains we shall want a judge to decide for us; we had better therefore proceed by making mutual admissions of the truth to one another.

  Thrasymachus had asserted that perfect injustice was more gainful than perfect justice, and after a little hesitation he is induced by Socrates to admit the still greater paradox that injustice 349is virtue and justice vice. Socrates praises his frankness, and assumes the attitude of one whose only wish is to understand the meaning of his opponents. At the same time he is weaving a net in which Thrasymachus is finally enclosed. The admission is elicited from him that the just man seeks to gain an advantage over the unjust only, but not over the just, while the unjust would gain an advantage over either. Socrates, in order to test this statement, employs once more the favourite analogy of the 350arts. The musician, doctor, skilled artist of any sort, does not seek to gain more than the skilled, but only more than the unskilled (that is to say, he works up to a rule, standard, law, and does not exceed it), whereas the unskilled makes random efforts at excess. Thus the skilled falls on the side of the good, and the unskilled on the side of the evil, and the just is the skilled, and the unjust is the unskilled.

  There was great difficulty in bringing Thrasymachus to the point; the day was hot and he was streaming with perspiration, and for the first time in his life he was seen to blush. But his other thesis that injustice was stronger than justice has not yet been refuted, and Socrates now proceeds to the consideration of this, which, with the assistance of Thrasymachus, he hopes to clear up; the latter is at first churlish, but in the judicious hands 351of Socrates is soon restored to good-humour: Is there not honour among thieves? Is not the strength of injustice only a remnant of justice? Is not absolute injustice absolute weakness also? 352A house that is divided against itself cannot stand; two men who quarrel detract from one another’s strength, and he who is at war with himself is the enemy of himself and the gods. Not wickedness therefore, but semi-wickedness flourishes in states,—a remnant of good is needed in order to make union in action possible,—there is no kingdom of evil in this world.

  Another question has not been answered: Is the just or the 353unjust the happier? To this we reply, that every art has an end and an excellence or virtue by which the end is accomplished. And is not the end of the soul happiness, and justice the excellence of the soul by which happiness is attained? Justice 354and happiness being thus shown to be inseparable, the question whether the just or the unjust is the happier has disappeared.

  Thrasymachus replies: ‘Let this be your entertainment, Socrates, at the festival of Bendis.’ Yes; and a very good entertainment with which your kindness has supplied me, now that you have left off scolding. And yet not a good entertainment—but that was my own fault, for I tasted of too many things. First of all the nature of justice was the subject of our enquiry, and then whether justice is virtue and wisdom, or evil and folly; and then the comparative advantages of just and unjust: and the sum of all is that I know not what justice is; how then shall I know whether the just is happy or not? . . .

  Introduction.

  Thus the sophistical fabric has been demolished, chiefly by appealing to the analogy of the arts. ‘Justice is like the arts (1) in having no external interest, and (2) in not aiming at excess, and (3) justice is to happiness what the implement of the workman is to his work.’ At this the modern reader is apt to stumble, because he forgets that Plato is writing in an age when the arts and the virtues, like the moral and intellectual faculties, were still undistinguished. Among early enquirers into the nature of human action the arts helped to fill up the void of speculation; and at first the comparison of the arts and the virtues was not perceived by them to be fallacious. They only saw the points of agreement in them and not the points of difference. Virtue, like art, must take means to an end; good manners are both an art and a virtue; character is naturally described under the image of a statue (ii. 361 D; vii. 540 C); and there are many other figures of speech which are readily transferred from art to morals. The next generation cleared up these perplexities; or at least supplied after ages with a further analysis of them. The contemporaries of Plato were in a state of transition, and had not yet fully realized the common-sense distinction of Aristotle, that ‘virtue is concerned with action, art with production’ (Nic. Eth. vi. 4), or that ‘virtue implies intention and constancy of purpose,’ whereas ‘art requires knowledge only’ (Nic. Eth. ii. 3). And yet in the absurdities which follow from some uses of the analogy (cp. i. 333 E, 334 B), there seems to be an intimation conveyed that virtue is more than art. This is implied in the reductio ad absurdum that ‘justice is a thief,’ and in the dissatisfaction which Socrates expresses at the final result.

  The expression ‘an art of pay’ (i. 346 B) which is described as ‘common to all the arts’ is not in accordance with the ordinary use of language. Nor is it employed elsewhere either by Plato or by any other Greek writer. It is suggested by the argument, and seems to extend the conception of art to doing as well as making. Another flaw or inaccuracy of language may be noted in the words (i. 335 C) ‘men who are injured are made more unjust.’ For those who are injured are not necessarily made worse, but only harmed or ill-treated.

  The second of the three arguments, ‘that the just does not aim at excess,’ has a real meaning, though wrapped up in an enigmatical form. That the good is of the nature of the finite is a peculiarly Hellenic sentiment, which may be compared with the language of those modern writers who speak of virtue as fitness, and of freedom as obedience to law. The mathematical or logical notion of limit easily passes into an ethical one, and even finds a mythological expression in the conception of envy (ϕθόνος). Ideas of measure, equality, order, unity, proportion, still linger in the writings of moralists; and the true spirit of the fine arts is better conveyed by such terms than by superlatives.

  • ‘When workmen strive to do better than well,
  • They do confound their skill in covetousness.’

  • (King John, Act iv. Sc. 2.)

  The harmony of the soul and body (iii. 402 D), and of the parts of the soul with one another (iv. 442 C), a harmony ‘fairer than that of musical notes,’ is the true Hellenic mode of conceiving the perfection of human nature.

  In what may be called the epilogue of the discussion with Thrasymachus, Plato argues that evil is not a principle of strength, but of discord and dissolution, just touching the question which has been often treated in modern times by theologians and philosophers, of the negative nature of evil (cp. on the other hand x. 610). In the last argument we trace the germ of the Aristotelian doctrine of an end and a virtue directed towards the end, which again is suggested by the arts. The final reconcilement of justice and happiness and the identity of the individual and the State are also intimated. Socrates reassumes the character of a ‘know-nothing;’ at the same time he appears to be not wholly satisfied with the manner in which the argument has been conducted. Nothing is concluded; but the tendency of the dialectical process, here as always, is to enlarge our conception of ideas, and to widen their application to human life.

  book ii.

  Analysis.

  357Thrasymachus is pacified, but the intrepid Glaucon insists on continuing the argument. He is not satisfied with the indirect manner in which, at the end of the last book, Socrates had disposed of the question ‘Whether the just or the unjust is the happier.’ He begins by dividing goods into three classes:—first, goods desirable in themselves; secondly, goods desirable in themselves and for their results; thirdly, goods desirable for their results only. He then asks Socrates in which of the three 358classes he would place justice. In the second class, replies Socrates, among goods desirable for themselves and also for their results. ‘Then the world in general are of another mind, for they say that justice belongs to the troublesome class of goods which are desirable for their results only. Socrates answers that this is the doctrine of Thrasymachus which he rejects. Glaucon thinks that Thrasymachus was too ready to listen to the voice of the charmer, and proposes to consider the nature of justice and injustice in themselves and apart from the results and rewards of them which the world is always dinning in his ears. He will first of all speak of the nature and origin of justice; secondly, of the manner in which men view justice as a necessity and not a good; and thirdly, he will prove the reasonableness of this view.

  Republic II.

  ‘To do injustice is said to be a good; to suffer injustice an evil. As the evil is discovered by experience to be greater than the 359good, the sufferers, who cannot also be doers, make a compact that they will have neither, and this compact or mean is called justice, but is really the impossibility of doing injustice. No one would observe such a compact if he were not obliged. Let us suppose that the just and unjust have two rings, like that of Gyges 360in the well-known story, which make them invisible, and then no difference will appear in them, for every one will do evil if he can. And he who abstains will be regarded by the world as a fool for his pains. Men may praise him in public out of fear for themselves, but they will laugh at him in their hearts. (Cp. Gorgias, 483 B.)

  ‘And now let us frame an ideal of the just and unjust. Imagine the unjust man to be master of his craft, seldom making mistakes 361and easily correcting them; having gifts of money, speech, strength—the greatest villain bearing the highest character: and at his side let us place the just in his nobleness and simplicity—being, not seeming—without name or reward—clothed in his justice only—the best of men who is thought to be the worst, and let him die as he has lived. I might add (but I would rather put the rest into the mouth of the panegyrists of injustice—they will tell you) that the just man will be scourged, racked, bound, will have his eyes put out, and will at last be crucified [literally impaled]—and all this because he ought to have preferred seeming 362to being. How different is the case of the unjust who clings to appearance as the true reality! His high character makes him a ruler; he can marry where he likes, trade where he likes, help his friends and hurt his enemies; having got rich by dishonesty he can worship the gods better, and will therefore be more loved by them than the just.’

  I was thinking what to answer, when Adeimantus joined in the already unequal fray. He considered that the most important point of all had been omitted:—‘Men are taught to be just for 363the sake of rewards; parents and guardians make reputation the incentive to virtue. And other advantages are promised by them of a more solid kind, such as wealthy marriages and high offices. There are the pictures in Homer and Hesiod of fat sheep and heavy fleeces, rich corn-fields and trees toppling with fruit, which the gods provide in this life for the just. And the Orphic poets add a similar picture of another. The heroes of Musaeus and Eumolpus lie on couches at a festival, with garlands on their heads, enjoying as the meed of virtue a paradise of immortal drunkenness. Some go further, and speak of a fair posterity in the third and fourth generation. But the wicked they bury in a slough and make them carry water in a sieve: and in this life they attribute to them the infamy which Glaucon was assuming to be the lot of the just who are supposed to be unjust.

  364‘Take another kind of argument which is found both in poetry and prose:—“Virtue,” as Hesiod says, “is honourable but difficult, vice is easy and profitable.” You may often see the wicked in great prosperity and the righteous afflicted by the will of heaven. And mendicant prophets knock at rich men’s doors, promising to atone for the sins of themselves or their fathers in an easy fashion with sacrifices and festive games, or with charms and invocations to get rid of an enemy good or bad by divine help and at a small charge;—they appeal to books professing to be written by Musaeus and Orpheus, and carry away the minds of whole cities, and promise to “get souls out of purgatory;” and if we 365refuse to listen to them, no one knows what will happen to us.

  ‘When a lively-minded ingenuous youth hears all this, what will be his conclusion? “Will he,” in the language of Pindar, “make justice his high tower, or fortify himself with crooked deceit?” Justice, he reflects, without the appearance of justice, is misery and ruin; injustice has the promise of a glorious life. Appearance is master of truth and lord of happiness. To appearance then I will turn,—I will put on the show of virtue and trail behind me the fox of Archilochus. I hear some one saying that “wickedness is not easily concealed,” to which I reply that “nothing great is easy.” Union and force and rhetoric will do much; and if men say that they cannot prevail over the gods, still how do we know that there are gods? Only from the poets, who acknowledge 366that they may be appeased by sacrifices. Then why not sin and pay for indulgences out of your sin? For if the righteous are only unpunished, still they have no further reward, while the wicked may be unpunished and have the pleasure of sinning too. But what of the world below? Nay, says the argument, there are atoning powers who will set that matter right, as the poets, who are the sons of the gods, tell us; and this is confirmed by the authority of the State.

  ‘How can we resist such arguments in favour of injustice? Add good manners, and, as the wise tell us, we shall make the best of both worlds. Who that is not a miserable caitiff will refrain from smiling at the praises of justice? Even if a man knows the better part he will not be angry with others; for he knows also that more than human virtue is needed to save a man, and that he only praises justice who is incapable of injustice.

  ‘The origin of the evil is that all men from the beginning, heroes, poets, instructors of youth, have always asserted “the temporal dispensation,” the honours and profits of justice. Had 367we been taught in early youth the power of justice and injustice inherent in the soul, and unseen by any human or divine eye, we should not have needed others to be our guardians, but every one would have been the guardian of himself. This is what I want you to show, Socrates;—other men use arguments which rather tend to strengthen the position of Thrasymachus that “might is right;” but from you I expect better things. And please, as Glaucon said, to exclude reputation; let the just be thought unjust and the unjust just, and do you still prove to us the superiority of justice.’ . . .

  Introduction.

  The thesis, which for the sake of argument has been maintained by Glaucon, is the converse of that of Thrasymachus—not right is the interest of the stronger, but right is the necessity of the weaker. Starting from the same premises he carries the analysis of society a step further back;—might is still right, but the might is the weakness of the many combined against the strength of the few.

  There have been theories in modern as well as in ancient times which have a family likeness to the speculations of Glaucon; e. g. that power is the foundation of right; or that a monarch has a divine right to govern well or ill; or that virtue is self-love or the love of power; or that war is the natural state of man; or that private vices are public benefits. All such theories have a kind of plausibility from their partial agreement with experience. For human nature oscillates between good and evil, and the motives of actions and the origin of institutions may be explained to a certain extent on either hypothesis according to the character or point of view of a particular thinker. The obligation of maintaining authority under all circumstances and sometimes by rather questionable means is felt strongly and has become a sort of instinct among civilized men. The divine right of kings, or more generally of governments, is one of the forms under which this natural feeling is expressed. Nor again is there any evil which has not some accompaniment of good or pleasure; nor any good which is free from some alloy of evil; nor any noble or generous thought which may not be attended by a shadow or the ghost of a shadow of self-interest or of self-love. We know that all human actions are imperfect; but we do not therefore attribute them to the worse rather than to the better motive or principle. Such a philosophy is both foolish and false, like that opinion of the clever rogue who assumes all other men to be like himself (iii. 409 C). And theories of this sort do not represent the real nature of the State, which is based on a vague sense of right gradually corrected and enlarged by custom and law (although capable also of perversion), any more than they describe the origin of society, which is to be sought in the family and in the social and religious feelings of man. Nor do they represent the average character of individuals, which cannot be explained simply on a theory of evil, but has always a counteracting element of good. And as men become better such theories appear more and more untruthful to them, because they are more conscious of their own disinterestedness. A little experience may make a man a cynic; a great deal will bring him back to a truer and kindlier view of the mixed nature of himself and his fellow men.

  The two brothers ask Socrates to prove to them that the just is happy when they have taken from him all that in which happiness is ordinarily supposed to consist. Not that there is (1) any absurdity in the attempt to frame a notion of justice apart from circumstances. For the ideal must always be a paradox when compared with the ordinary conditions of human life. Neither the Stoical ideal nor the Christian ideal is true as a fact, but they may serve as a basis of education, and may exercise an ennobling influence. An ideal is none the worse because ‘some one has made the discovery’ that no such ideal was ever realized. (Cp. v. 472 D.) And in a few exceptional individuals who are raised above the ordinary level of humanity, the ideal of happiness may be realized in death and misery. This may be the state which the reason deliberately approves, and which the utilitarian as well as every other moralist may be bound in certain cases to prefer.

  Nor again, (2) must we forget that Plato, though he agrees generally with the view implied in the argument of the two brothers, is not expressing his own final conclusion, but rather seeking to dramatize one of the aspects of ethical truth. He is developing his idea gradually in a series of positions or situations. He is exhibiting Socrates for the first time undergoing the Socratic interrogation. Lastly, (3) the word ‘happiness’ involves some degree of confusion because associated in the language of modern philosophy with conscious pleasure or satisfaction, which was not equally present to his mind.

  Glaucon has been drawing a picture of the misery of the just and the happiness of the unjust, to which the misery of the tyrant in Book IX is the answer and parallel. And still the unjust must appear just; that is ‘the homage which vice pays to virtue.’ But now Adeimantus, taking up the hint which had been already given by Glaucon (ii. 358 C), proceeds to show that in the opinion of mankind justice is regarded only for the sake of rewards and reputation, and points out the advantage which is given to such arguments as those of Thrasymachus and Glaucon by the conventional morality of mankind. He seems to feel the difficulty of ‘justifying the ways of God to man.’ Both the brothers touch upon the question, whether the morality of actions is determined by their consequences (cp. iv. 420 foll.); and both of them go beyond the position of Socrates, that justice belongs to the class of goods not desirable for themselves only, but desirable for themselves and for their results, to which he recalls them. In their attempt to view justice as an internal principle, and in their condemnation of the poets, they anticipate him. The common life of Greece is not enough for them; they must penetrate deeper into the nature of things.

  It has been objected that justice is honesty in the sense of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but is taken by Socrates to mean all virtue. May we not more truly say that the old-fashioned notion of justice is enlarged by Socrates, and becomes equivalent to universal order or well-being, first in the State, and secondly in the individual? He has found a new answer to his old question (Protag. 329), ‘whether the virtues are one or many,’ viz. that one is the ordering principle of the three others. In seeking to establish the purely internal nature of justice, he is met by the fact that man is a social being, and he tries to harmonise the two opposite theses as well as he can. There is no more inconsistency in this than was inevitable in his age and country; there is no use in turning upon him the cross lights of modern philosophy, which, from some other point of view, would appear equally inconsistent. Plato does not give the final solution of philosophical questions for us; nor can he be judged of by our standard.

  The remainder of the Republic is developed out of the question of the sons of Ariston. Three points are deserving of remark in what immediately follows:—First, that the answer of Socrates is altogether indirect. He does not say that happiness consists in the contemplation of the idea of justice, and still less will he be tempted to affirm the Stoical paradox that the just man can be happy on the rack. But first he dwells on the difficulty of the problem and insists on restoring man to his natural condition, before he will answer the question at all. He too will frame an ideal, but his ideal comprehends not only abstract justice, but the whole relations of man. Under the fanciful illustration of the large letters he implies that he will only look for justice in society, and that from the State he will proceed to the individual. His answer in substance amounts to this,—that under favourable conditions, i. e. in the perfect State, justice and happiness will coincide, and that when justice has been once found, happiness may be left to take care of itself. That he falls into some degree of inconsistency, when in the tenth book (612 A) he claims to have got rid of the rewards and honours of justice, may be admitted; for he has left those which exist in the perfect State. And the philosopher ‘who retires under the shelter of a wall’ (vi. 496) can hardly have been esteemed happy by him, at least not in this world. Still he maintains the true attitude of moral action. Let a man do his duty first, without asking whether he will be happy or not, and happiness will be the inseparable accident which attends him. ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.’

  Secondly, it may be remarked that Plato preserves the genuine character of Greek thought in beginning with the State and in going on to the individual. First ethics, then politics—this is the order of ideas to us; the reverse is the order of history. Only after many struggles of thought does the individual assert his right as a moral being. In early ages he is not one, but one of many, the citizen of a State which is prior to him; and he has no notion of good or evil apart from the law of his country or the creed of his church. And to this type he is constantly tending to revert, whenever the influence of custom, or of party spirit, or the recollection of the past becomes too strong for him.

  Thirdly, we may observe the confusion or identification of the individual and the State, of ethics and politics, which pervades early Greek speculation, and even in modern times retains a certain degree of influence. The subtle difference between the collective and individual action of mankind seems to have escaped early thinkers, and we too are sometimes in danger of forgetting the conditions of united human action, whenever we either elevate politics into ethics, or lower ethics to the standard of politics. The good man and the good citizen only coincide in the perfect State; and this perfection cannot be attained by legislation acting upon them from without, but, if at all, by education fashioning them from within.

  Analysis.

  368. . . Socrates praises the sons of Ariston, ‘inspired offspring of the renowned hero,’ as the elegiac poet terms them; but he does not understand how they can argue so eloquently on behalf of injustice while their character shows that they are uninfluenced by their own arguments. He knows not how to answer them, although he is afraid of deserting justice in the hour of need. He therefore makes a condition, that having weak eyes he shall be allowed to read the large letters first and then go on to the smaller, that is, he must look for justice in the State first, 369and will then proceed to the individual. Accordingly he begins to construct the State.

  Society arises out of the wants of man. His first want is food; his second a house; his third a coat. The sense of these needs and the possibility of satisfying them by exchange, draw individuals together on the same spot; and this is the beginning of a State, which we take the liberty to invent, although necessity is the real inventor. There must be first a husbandman, secondly a builder, thirdly a weaver, to which may be added a cobbler. Four or five citizens at least are required to make 370a city. Now men have different natures, and one man will do one thing better than many: and business waits for no man. Hence there must be a division of labour into different employments; into wholesale and retail trade; into workers, and makers of workmen’s tools; into shepherds and husbandmen. A city which includes all this will have far exceeded the limit of four or five, and yet not be 371very large. But then again imports will be required, and imports necessitate exports, and this implies variety of produce in order to attract the taste of purchasers; also merchants and ships. In the city too we must have a market and money and retail trades; otherwise buyers and sellers will never meet, and the valuable time of the producers will be wasted in vain efforts at exchange. If we add hired servants the State will be complete. And we may guess that somewhere in the intercourse of 372the citizens with one another justice and injustice will appear.

  Here follows a rustic picture of their way of life. They spend their days in houses which they have built for themselves; they make their own clothes and produce their own corn and wine. Their principal food is meal and flour, and they drink in moderation. They live on the best of terms with each other, and take care not to have too many children. ‘But,’ said Glaucon, interposing, ‘are they not to have a relish?’ Certainly; they will have salt and olives and cheese, vegetables and fruits, and chestnuts to roast at the fire. ‘’Tis a city of pigs, Socrates.’ Why, I replied, what do you want more? ‘Only the comforts of life,—sofas and tables, also sauces and sweets.’ I see; you want not only a State, but a luxurious State; and possibly in the more complex frame we may sooner find justice and injustice. Then 373the fine arts must go to work—every conceivable instrument and ornament of luxury will be wanted. There will be dancers, painters, sculptors, musicians, cooks, barbers, tire-women, nurses, artists; swineherds and neatherds too for the animals, and physicians to cure the disorders of which luxury is the source. To feed all these superfluous mouths we shall need a part of our neighbours’ land, and they will want a part of ours. And this is the origin of war, which may be traced to the same causes 374as other political evils. Our city will now require the slight addition of a camp, and the citizen will be converted into a soldier. But then again our old doctrine of the division of labour must not be forgotten. The art of war cannot be learned in a day, and there must be a natural aptitude for military duties. There will 375be some warlike natures who have this aptitude—dogs keen of scent, swift of foot to pursue, and strong of limb to fight. And as spirit is the foundation of courage, such natures, whether of men or animals, will be full of spirit. But these spirited natures are apt to bite and devour one another; the union of gentleness to friends and fierceness against enemies appears to be an impossibility, and the guardian of a State requires both qualities. Who then can be a guardian? The image of the dog suggests 376an answer. For dogs are gentle to friends and fierce to strangers. Your dog is a philosopher who judges by the rule of knowing or not knowing; and philosophy, whether in man or beast, is the parent of gentleness. The human watchdogs must be philosophers or lovers of learning which will make them gentle. And how are they to be learned without education?

  But what shall their education be? Is any better than the old-fashioned sort which is comprehended under the name of music 377and gymnastic? Music includes literature, and literature is of two kinds, true and false. ‘What do you mean?’ he said. I mean that children hear stories before they learn gymnastics, and that the stories are either untrue, or have at most one or two grains of truth in a bushel of falsehood. Now early life is very impressible, and children ought not to learn what they will have to unlearn when they grow up; we must therefore have a censorship of nursery tales, banishing some and keeping others. Some of them are very improper, as we may see in the great instances of Homer and Hesiod, who not only tell lies but bad lies; stories 378about Uranus and Saturn, which are immoral as well as false, and which should never be spoken of to young persons, or indeed at all; or, if at all, then in a mystery, after the sacrifice, not of an Eleusinian pig, but of some unprocurable animal. Shall our youth be encouraged to beat their fathers by the example of Zeus, or our citizens be incited to quarrel by hearing or seeing representations of strife among the gods? Shall they listen to the narrative of Hephaestus binding his mother, and of Zeus sending him flying for helping her when she was beaten? Such tales may possibly have a mystical interpretation, but the young are incapable of understanding allegory. If any one asks what 379tales are to be allowed, we will answer that we are legislators and not book-makers; we only lay down the principles according to which books are to be written; to write them is the duty of others.

  And our first principle is, that God must be represented as he is; not as the author of all things, but of good only. We will not suffer the poets to say that he is the steward of good and evil, or that he has two casks full of destinies;—or that Athene and Zeus incited Pandarus to break the treaty; or that God 380caused the sufferings of Niobe, or of Pelops, or the Trojan war; or that he makes men sin when he wishes to destroy them. Either these were not the actions of the gods, or God was just, and men were the better for being punished. But that the deed was evil, and God the author, is a wicked, suicidal fiction which we will allow no one, old or young, to utter. This is our first and great principle—God is the author of good only.

  And the second principle is like unto it:—With God is no variableness or change of form. Reason teaches us this; for if we suppose a change in God, he must be changed either by another or by himself. By another?—but the best works of nature and 381art and the noblest qualities of mind are least liable to be changed by any external force. By himself?—but he cannot change for the better; he will hardly change for the worse. He remains for ever fairest and best in his own image. Therefore we refuse to listen to the poets who tell us of Here begging in the likeness of a priestess or of other deities who prowl about at night in strange disguises; all that blasphemous nonsense with which mothers fool the manhood out of their children must be suppressed. 382But some one will say that God, who is himself unchangeable, may take a form in relation to us. Why should he? For gods as well as men hate the lie in the soul, or principle of falsehood; and as for any other form of lying which is used for a purpose and is regarded as innocent in certain exceptional cases—what need have the gods of this? For they are not ignorant of antiquity like the poets, nor are they afraid of their 383enemies, nor is any madman a friend of theirs. God then is true, he is absolutely true; he changes not, he deceives not, by day or night, by word or sign. This is our second great principle—God is true. Away with the lying dream of Agamemnon in Homer, and the accusation of Thetis against Apollo in Aeschylus. . . .

  Introduction.

  In order to give clearness to his conception of the State, Plato proceeds to trace the first principles of mutual need and of division of labour in an imaginary community of four or five citizens. Gradually this community increases; the division of labour extends to countries; imports necessitate exports; a medium of exchange is required, and retailers sit in the marketplace to save the time of the producers. These are the steps by which Plato constructs the first or primitive State, introducing the elements of political economy by the way. As he is going to frame a second or civilized State, the simple naturally comes before the complex. He indulges, like Rousseau, in a picture of primitive life—an idea which has indeed often had a powerful influence on the imagination of mankind, but he does not seriously mean to say that one is better than the other (cp. Politicus, p. 272); nor can any inference be drawn from the description of the first state taken apart from the second, such as Aristotle appears to draw in the Politics, iv. 4, 12 (cp. again Politicus, 272). We should not interpret a Platonic dialogue any more than a poem or a parable in too literal or matter-of-fact a style. On the other hand, when we compare the lively fancy of Plato with the dried-up abstractions of modern treatises on philosophy, we are compelled to say with Protagoras, that the ‘mythus is more interesting’ (Protag. 320 D).

  Several interesting remarks which in modern times would have a place in a treatise on Political Economy are scattered up and down the writings of Plato: cp. especially Laws, v. 740, Population; viii. 847, Free Trade; xi. 916-7, Adulteration; 923-4, Wills and Bequests; 930, Begging; Eryxias, (though not Plato’s), Value and Demand; Republic, ii. 369 ff., Division of Labour. The last subject, and also the origin of Retail Trade, is treated with admirable lucidity in the second book of the Republic. But Plato never combined his economic ideas into a system, and never seems to have recognized that Trade is one of the great motive powers of the State and of the world. He would make retail traders only of the inferior sort of citizens (Rep. ii. 371; cp. Laws, viii. 847), though he remarks, quaintly enough (Laws, ix. 918 D), that ‘if only the best men and the best women everywhere were compelled to keep taverns for a time or to carry on retail trade, etc., then we should know how pleasant and agreeable all these things are.’

  The disappointment of Glaucon at the ‘city of pigs,’ the ludicrous description of the ministers of luxury in the more refined State, and the afterthought of the necessity of doctors, the illustration of the nature of the guardian taken from the dog, the desirableness of offering some almost unprocurable victim when impure mysteries are to be celebrated, the behaviour of Zeus to his father and of Hephaestus to his mother, are touches of humour which have also a serious meaning. In speaking of education Plato rather startles us by affirming that a child must be trained in falsehood first and in truth afterwards. Yet this is not very different from saying that children must be taught through the medium of imagination as well as reason; that their minds can only develope gradually, and that there is much which they must learn without understanding (cp. iii. 402 A). This is also the substance of Plato’s view, though he must be acknowledged to have drawn the line somewhat differently from modern ethical writers, respecting truth and falsehood. To us, economies or accommodations would not be allowable unless they were required by the human faculties or necessary for the communication of knowledge to the simple and ignorant. We should insist that the word was inseparable from the intention, and that we must not be ‘falsely true,’ i. e. speak or act falsely in support of what was right or true. But Plato would limit the use of fictions only by requiring that they should have a good moral effect, and that such a dangerous weapon as falsehood should be employed by the rulers alone and for great objects.

  A Greek in the age of Plato attached no importance to the question whether his religion was an historical fact. He was just beginning to be conscious that the past had a history; but he could see nothing beyond Homer and Hesiod. Whether their narratives were true or false did not seriously affect the political or social life of Hellas. Men only began to suspect that they were fictions when they recognised them to be immoral. And so in all religions: the consideration of their morality comes first, afterwards the truth of the documents in which they are recorded, or of the events natural or supernatural which are told of them. But in modern times, and in Protestant countries perhaps more than in Catholic, we have been too much inclined to identify the historical with the moral; and some have refused to believe in religion at all, unless a superhuman accuracy was discernible in every part of the record. The facts of an ancient or religious history are amongst the most important of all facts; but they are frequently uncertain, and we only learn the true lesson which is to be gathered from them when we place ourselves above them. These reflections tend to show that the difference between Plato and ourselves, though not unimportant, is not so great as might at first sight appear. For we should agree with him in placing the moral before the historical truth of religion; and, generally, in disregarding those errors or misstatements of fact which necessarily occur in the early stages of all religions. We know also that changes in the traditions of a country cannot be made in a day; and are therefore tolerant of many things which science and criticism would condemn.

  We note in passing that the allegorical interpretation of mythology, said to have been first introduced as early as the sixth century before Christ by Theagenes of Rhegium, was well established in the age of Plato, and here, as in the Phaedrus (229-30), though for a different reason, was rejected by him. That anachronisms whether of religion or law, when men have reached another stage of civilization, should be got rid of by fictions is in accordance with universal experience. Great is the art of interpretation; and by a natural process, which when once discovered was always going on, what could not be altered was explained away. And so without any palpable inconsistency there existed side by side two forms of religion, the tradition inherited or invented by the poets and the customary worship of the temple; on the other hand, there was the religion of the philosopher, who was dwelling in the heaven of ideas, but did not therefore refuse to offer a cock to Æsculapius, or to be seen saying his prayers at the rising of the sun. At length the antagonism between the popular and philosophical religion, never so great among the Greeks as in our own age, disappeared, and was only felt like the difference between the religion of the educated and uneducated among ourselves. The Zeus of Homer and Hesiod easily passed into the ‘royal mind’ of Plato (Philebus, 28); the giant Heracles became the knight-errant and benefactor of mankind. These and still more wonderful transformations were readily effected by the ingenuity of Stoics and neo-Platonists in the two or three centuries before and after Christ. The Greek and Roman religions were gradually permeated by the spirit of philosophy; having lost their ancient meaning, they were resolved into poetry and morality; and probably were never purer than at the time of their decay, when their influence over the world was waning.

  A singular conception which occurs towards the end of the book is the lie in the soul; this is connected with the Platonic and Socratic doctrine that involuntary ignorance is worse than voluntary. The lie in the soul is a true lie, the corruption of the highest truth, the deception of the highest part of the soul, from which he who is deceived has no power of delivering himself. For example, to represent God as false or immoral, or, according to Plato, as deluding men with appearances or as the author of evil; or again, to affirm with Protagoras that ‘knowledge is sensation,’ or that ‘being is becoming,’ or with Thrasymachus ‘that might is right,’ would have been regarded by Plato as a lie of this hateful sort. The greatest unconsciousness of the greatest untruth, e. g. if, in the language of the Gospels (John iv. 41), ‘he who was blind’ were to say ‘I see,’ is another aspect of the state of mind which Plato is describing. The lie in the soul may be further compared with the sin against the Holy Ghost (Luke xii. 10), allowing for the difference between Greek and Christian modes of speaking. To this is opposed the lie in words, which is only such a deception as may occur in a play or poem, or allegory or figure of speech, or in any sort of accommodation,—which though useless to the gods may be useful to men in certain cases. Socrates is here answering the question which he had himself raised (i. 331 C) about the propriety of deceiving a madman; and he is also contrasting the nature of God and man. For God is Truth, but mankind can only be true by appearing sometimes to be partial, or false. Reserving for another place the greater questions of religion or education, we may note further, (1) the approval of the old traditional education of Greece; (2) the preparation which Plato is making for the attack on Homer and the poets; (3) the preparation which he is also making for the use of economies in the State; (4) the contemptuous and at the same time euphemistic manner in which here as below (iii. 390) he alludes to the Chronique Scandaleuse of the gods.

  book iii.

  Analysis.Republic III.

  386There is another motive in purifying religion, which is to banish fear; for no man can be courageous who is afraid of death, or who believes the tales which are repeated by the poets concerning the world below. They must be gently requested not to abuse hell; they may be reminded that their stories are both untrue and discouraging. Nor must they be angry if we expunge obnoxious passages, such as the depressing words of Achilles—‘I would rather be a serving-man than rule over all the dead;’ and the verses which tell of the squalid mansions, the senseless shadows, the flitting soul mourning over 387lost strength and youth, the soul with a gibber going beneath the earth like smoke, or the souls of the suitors which flutter about like bats. The terrors and horrors of Cocytus and Styx, ghosts and sapless shades, and the rest of their Tartarean nomenclature, must vanish. Such tales may have their use; but they are not the proper food for soldiers. As little can we admit the sorrows and sympathies of the Homeric heroes:—Achilles, the son of Thetis, in tears, throwing ashes on his head, or pacing up and down the sea-shore in distraction; or Priam, the cousin of the gods, crying aloud, rolling in the mire. A good man is not prostrated at the loss of children or fortune. Neither is death terrible to him; and therefore lamentations over the dead should not be practised by 388men of note; they should be the concern of inferior persons only, whether women or men. Still worse is the attribution of such weakness to the gods; as when the goddesses say, ‘Alas! my travail!’ and worst of all, when the king of heaven himself laments his inability to save Hector, or sorrows over the impending doom of his dear Sarpedon. Such a character of God, if not ridiculed by our young men, is likely to be imitated by them. Nor should our citizens be given to excess of laughter—‘Such 389violent delights’ are followed by a violent re-action. The description in the Iliad of the gods shaking their sides at the clumsiness of Hephaestus will not be admitted by us. ‘Certainly not.’

  Truth should have a high place among the virtues, for falsehood, as we were saying, is useless to the gods, and only useful to men as a medicine. But this employment of falsehood must remain a privilege of state; the common man must not in return tell a lie to the ruler; any more than the patient would tell a lie to his physician, or the sailor to his captain.

  In the next place our youth must be temperate, and temperance consists in self-control and obedience to authority. That is a lesson which Homer teaches in some places: ‘The Achaeans marched on breathing prowess, in silent awe of their leaders;’—but a very different one in other places: ‘O heavy with wine, who 390hast the eyes of a dog, but the heart of a stag.’ Language of the latter kind will not impress self-control on the minds of youth. The same may be said about his praises of eating and drinking and his dread of starvation; also about the verses in which he tells of the rapturous loves of Zeus and Here, or of how Hephaestus once detained Ares and Aphrodite in a net on a similar occasion. There is a nobler strain heard in the words:—‘Endure, my soul, thou hast endured worse.’ Nor must we allow our citizens to receive bribes, or to say, ‘Gifts persuade the gods, gifts reverend kings;’ or to applaud the ignoble advice of Phoenix to Achilles that he should get money out of the Greeks before he assisted them; or the meanness of Achilles himself in taking gifts from 391Agamemnon; or his requiring a ransom for the body of Hector; or his cursing of Apollo; or his insolence to the river-god Scamander; or his dedication to the dead Patroclus of his own hair which had been already dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius; or his cruelty in dragging the body of Hector round the walls, and slaying the captives at the pyre: such a combination of meanness and cruelty in Cheiron’s pupil is inconceivable. The amatory exploits of Peirithous and Theseus are equally unworthy. Either these so-called sons of gods were not the sons of gods, or they were not such as the poets imagine them, any more than the gods themselves are the authors of evil. The youth who believes that such things are done by those who have the 392blood of heaven flowing in their veins will be too ready to imitate their example.

  Enough of gods and heroes;—what shall we say about men? What the poets and story-tellers say—that the wicked prosper and the righteous are afflicted, or that justice is another’s gain? Such misrepresentations cannot be allowed by us. But in this we are anticipating the definition of justice, and had therefore better defer the enquiry.

  The subjects of poetry have been sufficiently treated; next follows style. Now all poetry is a narrative of events past, present, or to come; and narrative is of three kinds, the simple, the imitative, and a composition of the two. An instance will 393make my meaning clear. The first scene in Homer is of the last or mixed kind, being partly description and partly dialogue. But if you throw the dialogue into the ‘oratio obliqua,’ the passage 394will run thus: The priest came and prayed Apollo that the Achaeans might take Troy and have a safe return if Agamemnon would only give him back his daughter; and the other Greeks assented, but Agamemnon was wroth, and so on—The whole then becomes descriptive, and the poet is the only speaker left; or, if you omit the narrative, the whole becomes dialogue. These are the three styles—which of them is to be admitted into our State? ‘Do you ask whether tragedy and comedy are to be admitted?’ Yes, but also something more—Is it not doubtful whether our guardians are to be imitators at all? Or rather, has not the question been already answered, for we have decided that one man 395cannot in his life play many parts, any more than he can act both tragedy and comedy, or be rhapsodist and actor at once? Human nature is coined into very small pieces, and as our guardians have their own business already, which is the care of freedom, they will have enough to do without imitating. If they imitate they should imitate, not any meanness or baseness, but the good only; for the mask which the actor wears is apt to become his face. We cannot allow men to play the parts of women, quarrelling, weeping, scolding, or boasting against the gods,—least of all when making love or in labour. They must not represent slaves, or 396bullies, or cowards, or drunkards, or madmen, or blacksmiths, or neighing horses, or bellowing bulls, or sounding rivers, or a raging sea. A good or wise man will be willing to perform good and wise actions, but he will be ashamed to play an inferior part which he has never practised; and he will prefer to employ the 397descriptive style with as little imitation as possible. The man who has no self-respect, on the contrary, will imitate anybody and anything; sounds of nature and cries of animals alike; his whole performance will be imitation of gesture and voice. Now in the descriptive style there are few changes, but in the dramatic there are a great many. Poets and musicians use either, or a compound of both, and this compound is very attractive to youth and their teachers as well as to the vulgar. But our State in which one man 398plays one part only is not adapted for complexity. And when one of these polyphonous pantomimic gentlemen offers to exhibit himself and his poetry we will show him every observance of respect, but at the same time tell him that there is no room for his kind in our State; we prefer the rough, honest poet, and will not depart from our original models (ii. 379 foll.; cp. Laws, vii. 817).

  Next as to the music. A song or ode has three parts,—the subject, the harmony, and the rhythm; of which the two last are dependent upon the first. As we banished strains of lamentation, so we may now banish the mixed Lydian harmonies, which are the harmonies of lamentation; and as our citizens are to be temperate, we may also banish convivial harmonies, such as the 399Ionian and pure Lydian. Two remain—the Dorian and Phrygian, the first for war, the second for peace; the one expressive of courage, the other of obedience or instruction or religious feeling. And as we reject varieties of harmony, we shall also reject the many-stringed, variously-shaped instruments which give utterance to them, and in particular the flute, which is more complex than any of them. The lyre and the harp may be permitted in the town, and the Pan’s-pipe in the fields. Thus we have made a purgation of music, and will now make a purgation of metres. 400These should be like the harmonies, simple and suitable to the occasion. There are four notes of the tetrachord, and there are three ratios of metre, 3/2, 2/2, 2/1, which have all their characteristics, and the feet have different characteristics as well as the rhythms. But about this you and I must ask Damon, the great musician, who speaks, if I remember rightly, of a martial measure as well as of dactylic, trochaic, and iambic rhythms, which he arranges so as to equalize the syllables with one another, assigning to each the proper quantity. We only venture to affirm the general principle that the style is to conform to the subject and the metre to the style; and that the simplicity and harmony of the soul should be reflected in them all. This principle of simplicity has to be learnt by every one in the days of his youth, and may 401be gathered anywhere, from the creative and constructive arts, as well as from the forms of plants and animals.

  Other artists as well as poets should be warned against meanness or unseemliness. Sculpture and painting equally with music must conform to the law of simplicity. He who violates it cannot be allowed to work in our city, and to corrupt the taste of our citizens. For our guardians must grow up, not amid images of deformity which will gradually poison and corrupt their souls, but in a land of health and beauty where they will drink in from every object sweet and harmonious influences. And of all these influences the greatest is the education given by music, which 402finds a way into the innermost soul and imparts to it the sense of beauty and of deformity. At first the effect is unconscious; but when reason arrives, then he who has been thus trained welcomes her as the friend whom he always knew. As in learning to read, first we acquire the elements or letters separately, and afterwards their combinations, and cannot recognize reflections of them until we know the letters themselves; in like manner we must first attain the elements or essential forms of the virtues, and then trace their combinations in life and experience. There is a music of the soul which answers to the harmony of the world; and the fairest object of a musical soul is the fair mind in the fair body. Some defect in the latter may be excused, but not in the former. 403True love is the daughter of temperance, and temperance is utterly opposed to the madness of bodily pleasure. Enough has been said of music, which makes a fair ending with love.

  Next we pass on to gymnastics; about which I would remark, that the soul is related to the body as a cause to an effect, and therefore if we educate the mind we may leave the education of the body in her charge, and need only give a general outline of the course to be pursued. In the first place the guardians must abstain from strong drink, for they should be the last persons to 404lose their wits. Whether the habits of the palaestra are suitable to them is more doubtful, for the ordinary gymnastic is a sleepy sort of thing, and if left off suddenly is apt to endanger health. But our warrior athletes must be wide-awake dogs, and must also be inured to all changes of food and climate. Hence they will require a simpler kind of gymnastic, akin to their simple music; and for their diet a rule may be found in Homer, who feeds his heroes on roast meat only, and gives them no fish although they are living at the sea-side, nor boiled meats which involve an apparatus of pots and pans; and, if I am not mistaken, he nowhere mentions sweet sauces. Sicilian cookery and Attic confections and Corinthian courtezans, which are to gymnastic what Lydian and Ionian melodies are to music, must be forbidden. 405Where gluttony and intemperance prevail the town quickly fills with doctors and pleaders; and law and medicine give themselves airs as soon as the freemen of a State take an interest in them. But what can show a more disgraceful state of education than to have to go abroad for justice because you have none of your own at home? And yet there is a worse stage of the same disease—when men have learned to take a pleasure and pride in the twists and turns of the law; not considering how much better it would be for them so to order their lives as to have no need of a nodding justice. And there is a like disgrace in employing a physician, not for the cure of wounds or epidemic disorders, but because a man has by laziness and luxury contracted diseases which were unknown in the days of Asclepius. How simple is the Homeric practice of medicine. Eurypylus after he has been wounded 406drinks a posset of Pramnian wine, which is of a heating nature; and yet the sons of Asclepius blame neither the damsel who gives him the drink, nor Patroclus who is attending on him. The truth is that this modern system of nursing diseases was introduced by Herodicus the trainer; who, being of a sickly constitution, by a compound of training and medicine tortured first himself and then a good many other people, and lived a great deal longer than he had any right. But Asclepius would not practise this art, because he knew that the citizens of a well-ordered State have no leisure to be ill, and therefore he adopted the ‘kill or cure’ method, which artisans and labourers employ. ‘They must be at their business,’ they say, ‘and have no time for coddling: if they 407recover, well; if they don’t, there is an end of them.’ Whereas the rich man is supposed to be a gentleman who can afford to be ill. Do you know a maxim of Phocylides—that ‘when a man begins to be rich’ (or, perhaps, a little sooner) ‘he should practise virtue’? But how can excessive care of health be inconsistent with an ordinary occupation, and yet consistent with that practice of virtue which Phocylides inculcates? When a student imagines that philosophy gives him a headache, he never does anything; he is always unwell. This was the reason why Asclepius and his sons practised no such art. They were acting in the interest of the public, and did not wish to preserve useless lives, or raise up a puny offspring to wretched sires. Honest diseases they honestly 408cured; and if a man was wounded, they applied the proper remedies, and then let him eat and drink what he liked. But they declined to treat intemperate and worthless subjects, even though they might have made large fortunes out of them. As to the story of Pindar, that Asclepius was slain by a thunderbolt for restoring a rich man to life, that is a lie—following our old rule we must say either that he did not take bribes, or that he was not the son of a god.

  Glaucon then asks Socrates whether the best physicians and the best judges will not be those who have had severally the greatest experience of diseases and of crimes. Socrates draws a distinction between the two professions. The physician should have had experience of disease in his own body, for he cures with his mind 409and not with his body. But the judge controls mind by mind; and therefore his mind should not be corrupted by crime. Where then is he to gain experience? How is he to be wise and also innocent? When young a good man is apt to be deceived by evil-doers, because he has no pattern of evil in himself; and therefore the judge should be of a certain age; his youth should have been innocent, and he should have acquired insight into evil not by the practice of it, but by the observation of it in others. This is the ideal of a judge; the criminal turned detective is wonderfully suspicious, but when in company with good men who have experience, he is at fault, for he foolishly imagines that every one is as bad as himself. Vice may be known of virtue, but cannot know virtue. This is the sort of medicine and this the sort of law which will prevail in our State; they will be healing 410arts to better natures; but the evil body will be left to die by the one, and the evil soul will be put to death by the other. And the need of either will be greatly diminished by good music which will give harmony to the soul, and good gymnastic which will give health to the body. Not that this division of music and gymnastic really corresponds to soul and body; for they are both equally concerned with the soul, which is tamed by the one and aroused and sustained by the other. The two together supply our guardians with their twofold nature. The passionate disposition when it has too much gymnastic is hardened and brutalized, the gentle or philosophic temper which has too much music becomes enervated. 411While a man is allowing music to pour like water through the funnel of his ears, the edge of his soul gradually wears away, and the passionate or spirited element is melted out of him. Too little spirit is easily exhausted; too much quickly passes into nervous irritability. So, again, the athlete by feeding and training has his courage doubled, but he soon grows stupid; he is like a wild beast, ready to do everything by blows and nothing by counsel or policy. There are two principles in man, reason and passion, 412and to these, not to the soul and body, the two arts of music and gymnastic correspond. He who mingles them in harmonious concord is the true musician,—he shall be the presiding genius of our State.

  The next question is, Who are to be our rulers? First, the elder must rule the younger; and the best of the elders will be the best guardians. Now they will be the best who love their subjects most, and think that they have a common interest with them in the welfare of the state. These we must select; but they must be watched at every epoch of life to see whether they have retained the same opinions and held out against force 413and enchantment. For time and persuasion and the love of pleasure may enchant a man into a change of purpose, and the force of grief and pain may compel him. And therefore our guardians must be men who have been tried by many tests, like gold in the refiner’s fire, and have been passed first through danger, then through pleasure, and at every age have come out of such trials victorious and without stain, in full command of themselves and their principles; having all their faculties in harmonious exercise for their country’s good. These shall 414receive the highest honours both in life and death. (It would perhaps be better to confine the term ‘guardians’ to this select class: the younger men may be called ‘auxiliaries.’)

  And now for one magnificent lie, in the belief of which, Oh that we could train our rulers!—at any rate let us make the attempt with the rest of the world. What I am going to tell is only a another version of the legend of Cadmus; but our unbelieving generation will be slow to accept such a story. The tale must be imparted, first to the rulers, then to the soldiers, lastly to the people. We will inform them that their youth was a dream, and that during the time when they seemed to be undergoing their education they were really being fashioned in the earth, who sent them up when they were ready; and that they must protect and cherish her whose children they are, and regard each other as brothers and sisters. ‘I do not wonder at your being ashamed to propound such a fiction.’ There is more 415behind. These brothers and sisters have different natures, and some of them God framed to rule, whom he fashioned of gold; others he made of silver, to be auxiliaries; others again to be husbandmen and craftsmen, and these were formed by him of brass and iron. But as they are all sprung from a common stock, a golden parent may have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son, and then there must be a change of rank; the son of the rich must descend, and the child of the artisan rise, in the social scale; for an oracle says ‘that the State will come to an end if governed by a man of brass or iron.’ Will our citizens ever believe all this? ‘Not in the present generation, but in the next, perhaps, Yes.’

  Now let the earthborn men go forth under the command of their rulers, and look about and pitch their camp in a high place, which will be safe against enemies from without, and likewise against insurrections from within. There let them sacrifice and 416set up their tents; for soldiers they are to be and not shopkeepers, the watchdogs and guardians of the sheep; and luxury and avarice will turn them into wolves and tyrants. Their habits and their dwellings should correspond to their education. They should have no property; their pay should only meet their expenses; and they should have common meals. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God, and this divine 417gift in their souls they must not alloy with that earthly dross which passes under the name of gold. They only of the citizens may not touch it, or be under the same roof with it, or drink from it; it is the accursed thing. Should they ever acquire houses or lands or money of their own, they will become householders and tradesmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead of helpers, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and the rest of the State, will be at hand.

  Introduction.

  The religious and ethical aspect of Plato’s education will hereafter be considered under a separate head. Some lesser points may be more conveniently noticed in this place.

  1. The constant appeal to the authority of Homer, whom, with grave irony, Plato, after the manner of his age, summons as a witness about ethics and psychology, as well as about diet and medicine; attempting to distinguish the better lesson from the worse (390), sometimes altering the text from design (388, and, perhaps, 389); more than once quoting or alluding to Homer inaccurately (391, 406), after the manner of the early logographers turning the Iliad into prose (393), and delighting to draw farfetched inferences from his words, or to make ludicrous applications of them. He does not, like Heracleitus, get into a rage with Homer and Archilochus (Heracl. Frag. 119, ed. Bywater), but uses their words and expressions as vehicles of a higher truth; not on a system like Theagenes of Rhegium or Metrodorus, or in later times the Stoics, but as fancy may dictate. And the conclusions drawn from them are sound, although the premises are fictitious. These fanciful appeals to Homer add a charm to Plato’s style, and at the same time they have the effect of a satire on the follies of Homeric interpretation. To us (and probably to himself), although they take the form of arguments, they are really figures of speech. They may be compared with modern citations from Scripture, which have often a great rhetorical power even when the original meaning of the words is entirely lost sight of. The real, like the Platonic Socrates, as we gather from the Memorabilia of Xenophon, was fond of making similar adaptations (i. 2, 58; ii. 6, 11). Great in all ages and countries, in religion as well as in law and literature, has been the art of interpretation.

  2. ‘The style is to conform to the subject and the metre to the style.’ Notwithstanding the fascination which the word ‘classical’ exercises over us, we can hardly maintain that this rule is observed in all the Greek poetry which has come down to us. We cannot deny that the thought often exceeds the power of lucid expression in Æschylus and Pindar; or that rhetoric gets the better of the thought in the Sophist-poet Euripides. Only perhaps in Sophocles is there a perfect harmony of the two; in him alone do we find a grace of language like the beauty of a Greek statue, in which there is nothing to add or to take away; at least this is true of single plays or of large portions of them. The connection in the Tragic Choruses and in the Greek lyric poets is not unfrequently a tangled thread which in an age before logic the poet was unable to draw out. Many thoughts and feelings mingled in his mind, and he had no power of disengaging or arranging them. For there is a subtle influence of logic which requires to be transferred from prose to poetry, just as the music and perfection of language are infused by poetry into prose. In all ages the poet has been a bad judge of his own meaning (Apol. 22 B); for he does not see that the word which is full of associations to his own mind is difficult and unmeaning to that of another; or that the sequence which is clear to himself is puzzling to others. There are many passages in some of our greatest modern poets which are far too obscure; in which there is no proportion between style and subject; in which any half-expressed figure, any harsh construction, any distorted collocation of words any remote sequence of ideas is admitted; and there is no voice ‘coming sweetly from nature,’ or music adding the expression of feeling to thought. As if there could be poetry without beauty, or beauty without ease and clearness. The obscurities of early Greek poets arose necessarily out of the state of language and logic which existed in their age. They are not examples to be followed by us; for the use of language ought in every generation to become clearer and clearer. Like Shakespere, they were great in spite, not in consequence, of their imperfections of expression. But there is no reason for returning to the necessary obscurity which prevailed in the infancy of literature. The English poets of the last century were certainly not obscure; and we have no excuse for losing what they had gained, or for going back to the earlier or transitional age which preceded them. The thought of our own times has not outstripped language; a want of Plato’s ‘art of measuring’ is the real cause of the disproportion between them.

  3. In the third book of the Republic a nearer approach is made to a theory of art than anywhere else in Plato. His views may be summed up as follows:—True art is not fanciful and imitative, but simple and ideal,—the expression of the highest moral energy, whether in action or repose. To live among works of plastic art which are of this noble and simple character, or to listen to such strains, is the best of influences,—the true Greek atmosphere, in which youth should be brought up. That is the way to create in them a natural good taste, which will have a feeling of truth and beauty in all things. For though the poets are to be expelled, still art is recognized as another aspect of reason—like love in the Symposium, extending over the same sphere, but confined to the preliminary education, and acting through the power of habit (vii. 522 A); and this conception of art is not limited to strains of music or the forms of plastic art, but pervades all nature and has a wide kindred in the world. The Republic of Plato, like the Athens of Pericles, has an artistic as well as a political side.

  There is hardly any mention in Plato of the creative arts; only in two or three passages does he even allude to them (cp. Rep. iv. 420; Soph. 236 A). He is not lost in rapture at the great works of Phidias, the Parthenon, the Propylea, the statues of Zeus or Athene. He would probably have regarded any abstract truth of number or figure (529 E) as higher than the greatest of them. Yet it is hard to suppose that some influence, such as he hopes to inspire in youth, did not pass into his own mind from the works of art which he saw around him. We are living upon the fragments of them, and find in a few broken stones the standard of truth and beauty. But in Plato this feeling has no expression; he nowhere says that beauty is the object of art; he seems to deny that wisdom can take an external form (Phaedrus, 250 E); he does not distinguish the fine from the mechanical arts. Whether or no, like some writers, he felt more than he expressed, it is at any rate remarkable that the greatest perfection of the fine arts should coincide with an almost entire silence about them. In one very striking passage (iv. 420) he tells us that a work of art, like the State, is a whole; and this conception of a whole and the love of the newly-born mathematical sciences may be regarded, if not as the inspiring, at any rate as the regulating principles of Greek art (cp. Xen. Mem. iii. 10. 6; and Sophist, 235, 236).

  4. Plato makes the true and subtle remark that the physician had better not be in robust health; and should have known what illness is in his own person. But the judge ought to have had no similar experience of evil; he is to be a good man who, having passed his youth in innocence, became acquainted late in life with the vices of others. And therefore, according to Plato, a judge should not be young, just as a young man according to Aristotle is not fit to be a hearer of moral philosophy. The bad, on the other hand, have a knowledge of vice, but no knowledge of virtue. It may be doubted, however, whether this train of reflection is well founded. In a remarkable passage of the Laws (xii. 950 B) it is acknowledged that the evil may form a correct estimate of the good. The union of gentleness and courage in Book ii. at first seemed to be a paradox, yet was afterwards ascertained to be a truth. And Plato might also have found that the intuition of evil may be consistent with the abhorrence of it (cp. infra, ix. 582). There is a directness of aim in virtue which gives an insight into vice. And the knowledge of character is in some degree a natural sense independent of any special experience of good or evil.

  5. One of the most remarkable conceptions of Plato, because un-Greek and also very different from anything which existed at all in his age of the world, is the transposition of ranks. In the Spartan state there had been enfranchisement of Helots and degradation of citizens under special circumstances. And in the ancient Greek aristocracies, merit was certainly recognized as one of the elements on which government was based. The founders of states were supposed to be their benefactors, who were raised by their great actions above the ordinary level of humanity; at a later period, the services of warriors and legislators were held to entitle them and their descendants to the privileges of citizenship and to the first rank in the state. And although the existence of an ideal aristocracy is slenderly proven from the remains of early Greek history, and we have a difficulty in ascribing such a character, however the idea may be defined, to any actual Hellenic state—or indeed to any state which has ever existed in the world—still the rule of the best was certainly the aspiration of philosophers, who probably accommodated a good deal their views of primitive history to their own notions of good government. Plato further insists on applying to the guardians of his state a series of tests by which all those who fell short of a fixed standard were either removed from the governing body, or not admitted to it; and this ‘academic’ discipline did to a certain extent prevail in Greek states, especially in Sparta. He also indicates that the system of caste, which existed in a great part of the ancient, and is by no means extinct in the modern European world, should be set aside from time to time in favour of merit. He is aware how deeply the greater part of mankind resent any interference with the order of society, and therefore he proposes his novel idea in the form of what he himself calls a ‘monstrous fiction.’ (Compare the ceremony of preparation for the two ‘great waves’ in Book v.) Two principles are indicated by him: first, that there is a distinction of ranks dependent on circumstances prior to the individual: second, that this distinction is and ought to be broken through by personal qualities. He adapts mythology like the Homeric poems to the wants of the state, making ‘the Phoenician tale’ the vehicle of his ideas. Every Greek state had a myth respecting its own origin; the Platonic republic may also have a tale of earthborn men. The gravity and verisimilitude with which the tale is told, and the analogy of Greek tradition, are a sufficient verification of the ‘monstrous falsehood.’ Ancient poetry had spoken of a gold and silver and brass and iron age succeeding one another, but Plato supposes these differences in the natures of men to exist together in a single state. Mythology supplies a figure under which the lesson may be taught (as Protagoras says, ‘the myth is more interesting’), and also enables Plato to touch lightly on new principles without going into details. In this passage he shadows forth a general truth, but he does not tell us by what steps the transposition of ranks is to be effected. Indeed throughout the Republic he allows the lower ranks to fade into the distance. We do not know whether they are to carry arms, and whether in the fifth book they are or are not included in the communistic regulations respecting property and marriage. Nor is there any use in arguing strictly either from a few chance words, or from the silence of Plato, or in drawing inferences which were beyond his vision. Aristotle, in his criticism on the position of the lower classes, does not perceive that the poetical creation is ‘like the air, invulnerable,’ and cannot be penetrated by the shafts of his logic (Pol. 2, 5, 18 foll.).

  6. Two paradoxes which strike the modern reader as in the highest degree fanciful and ideal, and which suggest to him many reflections, are to be found in the third book of the Republic: first, the great power of music, so much beyond any influence which is experienced by us in modern times, when the art or science has been far more developed, and has found the secret of harmony, as well as of melody: secondly, the indefinite and almost absolute control which the soul is supposed to exercise over the body.

  In the first we suspect some degree of exaggeration, such as we may also observe among certain masters of the art, not unknown to us, at the present day. With this natural enthusiasm, which is felt by a few only, there seems to mingle in Plato a sort of Pythagorean reverence for numbers and numerical proportion to which Aristotle is a stranger. Intervals of sound and number are to him sacred things which have a law of their own, not dependent on the variations of sense. They rise above sense, and become a connecting link with the world of ideas. But it is evident that Plato is describing what to him appears to be also a fact. The power of a simple and characteristic melody on the impressible mind of the Greek is more than we can easily appreciate. The effect of national airs may bear some comparison with it. And, besides all this, there is a confusion between the harmony of musical notes and the harmony of soul and body, which is so potently inspired by them.

  The second paradox leads up to some curious and interesting questions—How far can the mind control the body? Is the relation between them one of mutual antagonism or of mutual harmony? Are they two or one, and is either of them the cause of the other? May we not at times drop the opposition between them, and the mode of describing them, which is so familiar to us, and yet hardly conveys any precise meaning, and try to view this composite creature, man, in a more simple manner? Must we not at any rate admit that there is in human nature a higher and a lower principle, divided by no distinct line, which at times break asunder and take up arms against one another? Or again, they are reconciled and move together, either unconsciously in the ordinary work of life, or consciously in the pursuit of some noble aim, to be attained not without an effort, and for which every thought and nerve are strained. And then the body becomes the good friend or ally, or servant or instrument of the mind. And the mind has often a wonderful and almost superhuman power of banishing disease and weakness and calling out a hidden strength. Reason and the desires, the intellect and the senses are brought into harmony and obedience so as to form a single human being. They are ever parting, ever meeting; and the identity or diversity of their tendencies or operations is for the most part unnoticed by us. When the mind touches the body through the appetites, we acknowledge the responsibility of the one to the other. There is a tendency in us which says ‘Drink.’ There is another which says, ‘Do not drink; it is not good for you.’ And we all of us know which is the rightful superior. We are also responsible for our health, although into this sphere there enter some elements of necessity which may be beyond our control. Still even in the management of health, care and thought, continued over many years, may make us almost free agents, if we do not exact too much of ourselves, and if we acknowledge that all human freedom is limited by the laws of nature and of mind.

  We are disappointed to find that Plato, in the general condemnation which he passes on the practice of medicine prevailing in his own day, depreciates the effects of diet. He would like to have diseases of a definite character and capable of receiving a definite treatment. He is afraid of invalidism interfering with the business of life. He does not recognize that time is the great healer both of mental and bodily disorders; and that remedies which are gradual and proceed little by little are safer than those which produce a sudden catastrophe. Neither does he see that there is no way in which the mind can more surely influence the body than by the control of eating and drinking; or any other action or occasion of human life on which the higher freedom of the will can be more simply or truly asserted.

  7. Lesser matters of style may be remarked. (1) The affected ignorance of music, which is Plato’s way of expressing that he is passing lightly over the subject. (2) The tentative manner in which here, as in the second book, he proceeds with the construction of the State. (3) The description of the State sometimes as a reality (389 D; 416 B), and then again as a work of imagination only (cp. 534 C; 592 B); these are the arts by which he sustains the reader’s interest. (4) Connecting links (e. g. 408 C with 379), or the preparation (394 D) for the entire expulsion of the poets in Book x. (5) The companion pictures of the lover of litigation and the valetudinarian (405), the satirical jest about the maxim of Phocylides (407), the manner in which the image of the gold and silver citizens is taken up into the subject (416 E), and the argument from the practice of Asclepius (407), should not escape notice.

  book iv.

  Analysis.Republic IV.

  419Adeimantus said: ‘Suppose a person to argue, Socrates, that you make your citizens miserable, and this by their own free-will; they are the lords of the city, and yet instead of having, like other men, lands and houses and money of their own, they live as mercenaries and are always mounting 420guard.’ You may add, I replied, that they receive no pay but only their food, and have no money to spend on a journey or a mistress. ‘Well, and what answer do you give?’ My answer is, that our guardians may or may not be the happiest of men,—I should not be surprised to find in the long-run that they were,—but this is not the aim of our constitution, which was designed for the good of the whole and not of any one part. If I went to a sculptor and blamed him for having painted the eye, which is the noblest feature of the face, not purple but black, he would reply: ‘The eye must be an eye, and you should look at the statue as a whole.’ ‘Now I can well imagine a fool’s paradise, in which everybody is eating and drinking, clothed in purple and fine linen, and potters lie on sofas and have their wheel at hand, that they may work a little when 421they please; and cobblers and all the other classes of a State lose their distinctive character. And a State may get on without cobblers; but when the guardians degenerate into boon companions, then the ruin is complete. Remember that we are not talking of peasants keeping holiday, but of a State in which every man is expected to do his own work. The happiness resides not in this or that class, but in the State as a whole. I have another remark to make:—A middle condition is best for artisans; they should have money enough to buy tools, and not enough to be independent of business. 422And will not the same condition be best for our citizens? If they are poor, they will be mean; if rich, luxurious and lazy; and in neither case contented. ‘But then how will our poor city be able to go to war against an enemy who has money?’ There may be a difficulty in fighting against one enemy; against two there will be none. In the first place, the contest will be carried on by trained warriors against well-to-do citizens: and is not a regular athlete an easy match for two stout opponents at least? Suppose also, that before engaging we send ambassadors to one of the two cities, saying, ‘Silver and gold we have not; do you help us and take our share of the spoil;’—who would fight against the lean, wiry dogs, when they might join with them in preying upon the fatted sheep? ‘But if many states join their resources, shall we not be in danger?’ I am amused to hear you use the word ‘state’ of any but our own State. 423They are ‘states,’ but not ‘a state’—many in one. For in every state there are two hostile nations, rich and poor, which you may set one against the other. But our State, while she remains true to her principles, will be in very deed the mightiest of Hellenic states.

  To the size of the state there is no limit but the necessity of unity; it must be neither too larger nor too small to be one. This is a matter of secondary importance, like the principle of transposition which was intimated in the parable of the earthborn men. The meaning there implied was that every man should do that for which he was fitted, and be at one with himself, and then the whole city would be united. But all these things are secondary, 424if education, which is the great matter, be duly regarded. When the wheel has once been set in motion, the speed is always increasing; and each generation improves upon the preceding, both in physical and moral qualities. The care of the governors should be directed to preserve music and gymnastic from innovation; alter the songs of a country, Damon says, and you will soon end by altering its laws. The change appears innocent at first, and begins in play; but the evil soon becomes serious, working secretly upon the characters of individuals, then upon social and commercial relations, and lastly upon the institutions 425of a state; and there is ruin and confusion everywhere. But if education remains in the established form, there will be no danger. A restorative process will be always going on; the spirit of law and order will raise up what has fallen down. Nor will any regulations be needed for the lesser matters of life—rules of deportment or fashions of dress. Like invites like for good or for evil. Education will correct deficiencies and supply the power of self-government. Far be it from us to enter into the particulars of legislation; let the guardians take care of education, and education will take care of all other things.

  But without education they may patch and mend as they please; they will make no progress, any more than a patient who thinks to cure himself by some favourite remedy and will not give up 426his luxurious mode of living. If you tell such persons that they must first alter their habits, then they grow angry; they are charming people. ‘Charming,—nay, the very reverse.’ Evidently these gentlemen are not in your good graces, nor the state which is like them. And such states there are which first ordain under penalty of death that no one shall alter the constitution, and then suffer themselves to be flattered into and out of anything; and he who indulges them and fawns upon them, is their leader and saviour. ‘Yes, the men are as bad as the states.’ But do you not admire their cleverness? ‘Nay, some of them are stupid enough to believe what the people tell them.’ And when all the world is telling a man that he is six feet high, and he has no measure, how can he believe anything else? But don’t get into a passion: to see our statesmen trying their 427nostrums, and fancying that they can cut off at a blow the Hydra-like rogueries of mankind, is as good as a play. Minute enactments are superfluous in good states, and are useless in bad ones.

  And now what remains of the work of legislation? Nothing for us: but to Apollo the god of Delphi we leave the ordering of the greatest of all things—that is to say, religion. Only our ancestral deity sitting upon the centre and navel of the earth will be trusted by us if we have any sense, in an affair of such magnitude. No foreign god shall be supreme in our realms. . . .

  Introduction.

  Here, as Socrates would say, let us ‘reflect on’ (σκοπω̂μεν) what has preceded: thus far we have spoken not of the happiness of the citizens, but only of the well-being of the State. They may be the happiest of men, but our principal aim in founding the State was not to make them happy. They were to be guardians, not holiday-makers. In this pleasant manner is presented to us the famous question both of ancient and modern philosophy, touching the relation of duty to happiness, of right to utility.

  First duty, then happiness, is the natural order of our moral ideas. The utilitarian principle is valuable as a corrective of error, and shows to us a side of ethics which is apt to be neglected. It may be admitted further that right and utility are co-extensive, and that he who makes the happiness of mankind his object has one of the highest and noblest motives of human action. But utility is not the historical basis of morality; nor the aspect in which moral and religious ideas commonly occur to the mind. The greatest happiness of all is, as we believe, the far-off result of the divine government of the universe. The greatest happiness of the individual is certainly to be found in a life of virtue and goodness. But we seem to be more assured of a law of right than we can be of a divine purpose, that ‘all mankind should be saved;’ and we infer the one from the other. And the greatest happiness of the individual may be the reverse of the greatest happiness in the ordinary sense of the term, and may be realised in a life of pain, or in a voluntary death. Further, the word ‘happiness’ has several ambiguities; it may mean either pleasure or an ideal life, happiness subjective or objective, in this world or in another, of ourselves only or of our neighbours and of all men everywhere. By the modern founder of Utilitarianism the self-regarding and disinterested motives of action are included under the same term, although they are commonly opposed by us as benevolence and self-love. The word happiness has not the definiteness or the sacredness of ‘truth’ and ‘right’; it does not equally appeal to our higher nature, and has not sunk into the conscience of mankind. It is associated too much with the comforts and conveniences of life; too little with ‘the goods of the soul which we desire for their own sake.’ In a great trial, or danger, or temptation, or in any great and heroic action, it is scarcely thought of. For these reasons ‘the greatest happiness’ principle is not the true foundation of ethics. But though not the first principle, it is the second, which is like unto it, and is often of easier application. For the larger part of human actions are neither right nor wrong, except in so far as they tend to the happiness of mankind (cp. Introd. to Gorgias and Philebus).

  The same question reappears in politics, where the useful or expedient seems to claim a larger sphere and to have a greater authority. For concerning political measures, we chiefly ask: How will they affect the happiness of mankind? Yet here too we may observe that what we term expediency is merely the law of right limited by the conditions of human society. Right and truth are the highest aims of government as well as of individuals; and we ought not to lose sight of them because we cannot directly enforce them. They appeal to the better mind of nations; and sometimes they are too much for merely temporal interests to resist. They are the watchwords which all men use in matters of public policy, as well as in their private dealings; the peace of Europe may be said to depend upon them. In the most commercial and utilitarian states of society the power of ideas remains. And all the higher class of statesmen have in them something of that idealism which Pericles is said to have gathered from the teaching of Anaxagoras. They recognise that the true leader of men must be above the motives of ambition, and that national character is of greater value than material comfort and prosperity. And this is the order of thought in Plato; first, he expects his citizens to do their duty, and then under favourable circumstances, that is to say, in a well-ordered State, their happiness is assured. That he was far from excluding the modern principle of utility in politics is sufficiently evident from other passages, in which ‘the most beneficial is affirmed to be the most honourable’ (v. 457 B), and also ‘the most sacred’ (v. 458 E).

  We may note (1) The manner in which the objection of Adeimantus here, as in ii. 357 foll., 363; vi. ad init. etc., is designed to draw out and deepen the argument of Socrates. (2) The conception of a whole as lying at the foundation both of politics and of art, in the latter supplying the only principle of criticism, which, under the various names of harmony, symmetry, measure, proportion, unity, the Greek seems to have applied to works of art. (3) The requirement that the State should be limited in size, after the traditional model of a Greek state; as in the Politics of Aristotle (vii. 4, etc.), the fact that the cities of Hellas were small is converted into a principle. (4) The humorous pictures of the lean dogs and the fatted sheep, of the light active boxer upsetting two stout gentlemen at least, of the ‘charming’ patients who are always making themselves worse; or again, the playful assumption that there is no State but our own; or the grave irony with which the statesman is excused who believes that he is six feet high because he is told so, and having nothing to measure with is to be pardoned for his ignorance—he is too amusing for us to be seriously angry with him. (5) The light and superficial manner in which religion is passed over when provision has been made for two great principles,—first, that religion shall be based on the highest conception of the gods (ii. 377 foll.), secondly, that the true national or Hellenic type shall be maintained. . . . .

  Analysis.

  Socrates proceeds: But where amid all this is justice? Son of Ariston, tell me where. Light a candle and search the city, and get your brother and the rest of our friends to help in seeking for her. ‘That won’t do,’ replied Glaucon, ‘you yourself promised to make the search and talked about the impiety of deserting justice.’ Well, I said, I will lead the way, but do you follow. My notion is, that our State being perfect will contain all the four virtues—wisdom, 428courage, temperance, justice. If we eliminate the three first, the unknown remainder will be justice.

  First then, of wisdom: the State which we have called into being will be wise because politic. And policy is one among many kinds of skill,—not the skill of the carpenter, or of the worker in metal, or of the husbandman, but the skill of him who advises about the interests of the whole State. Of such a kind is 429the skill of the guardians, who are a small class in number, far smaller than the blacksmiths; but in them is concentrated the wisdom of the State. And if this small ruling class have wisdom, then the whole State will be wise.

  Our second virtue is courage, which we have no difficulty in finding in another class—that of soldiers. Courage may be defined as a sort of salvation—the never-failing salvation of the opinions which law and education have prescribed concerning dangers. You know the way in which dyers first prepare the white ground and then lay on the dye of purple or of any other colour. Colours dyed in this way become fixed, and no soap or 430lye will ever wash them out. Now the ground is education, and the laws are the colours; and if the ground is properly laid, neither the soap of pleasure nor the lye of pain or fear will ever wash them out. This power which preserves right opinion about danger I would ask you to call ‘courage,’ adding the epithet ‘political’ or ‘civilized’ in order to distinguish it from mere animal courage and from a higher courage which may hereafter be discussed.

  Two virtues remain; temperance and justice. More than the 431preceding virtues temperance suggests the idea of harmony. Some light is thrown upon the nature of this virtue by the popular description of a man as ‘master of himself’—which has an absurd sound, because the master is also the servant. The expression really means that the better principle in a man masters the worse. There are in cities whole classes—women, slaves and the like—who correspond to the worse, and a few only to the better; and in our State the former class are held under control by the latter. Now to which of these classes does temperance belong? ‘To both of them.’ And our State if any will be the abode of temperance; and we were right in describing this virtue as a harmony which 432is diffused through the whole, making the dwellers in the city to be of one mind, and attuning the upper and middle and lower classes like the strings of an instrument, whether you suppose them to differ in wisdom, strength or wealth.

  And now we are hear the spot; let us draw in and surround the cover and watch with all our eyes, lest justice should slip away and escape. Tell me, if you see the thicket move first. ‘Nay, I would have you lead.’ Well then, offer up a prayer and follow. The way is dark and difficult; but we must push on. I begin to see a track. ‘Good news.’ Why, Glaucon, our dulness of scent is quite ludicrous! While we are straining our eyes into the distance, justice is tumbling out at our feet. We are as bad as 433people looking for a thing which they have in their hands. Have you forgotten our old principle of the division of labour, or of every man doing his own business, concerning which we spoke at the foundation of the State—what but this was justice? Is there any other virtue remaining which can compete with wisdom and temperance and courage in the scale of political virtue? For ‘every one having his own’ is the great object of government; and 434the great object of trade is that every man should do his own business. Not that there is much harm in a carpenter trying to be a cobbler, or a cobbler transforming himself into a carpenter; but great evil may arise from the cobbler leaving his last and turning into a guardian or legislator, or when a single individual is trainer, warrior, legislator, all in one. And this evil is injustice, or every man doing another’s business. I do not say that as yet we are in a condition to arrive at a final conclusion. For the definition which we believe to hold good in states has still to be tested by the individual. Having read the large letters we will 435now come back to the small. From the two together a brilliant light may be struck out. . . .

  Introduction.

  Socrates proceeds to discover the nature of justice by a method of residues. Each of the first three virtues corresponds to one of the three parts of the soul and one of the three classes in the State, although the third, temperance, has more of the nature of a harmony than the first two. If there be a fourth virtue, that can only be sought for in the relation of the three parts in the soul or classes in the State to one another. It is obvious and simple, and for that very reason has not been found out. The modern logician will be inclined to object that ideas cannot be separated like chemical substances, but that they run into one another and may be only different aspects or names of the same thing, and such in this instance appears to be the case. For the definition here given of justice is verbally the same as one of the definitions of temperance given by Socrates in the Charmides (162 A), which however is only provisional, and is afterwards rejected. And so far from justice remaining over when the other virtues are eliminated, the justice and temperance of the Republic can with difficulty be distinguished. Temperance appears to be the virtue of a part only, and one of three, whereas justice is a universal virtue of the whole soul. Yet on the other hand temperance is also described as a sort of harmony, and in this respect is akin to justice. Justice seems to differ from temperance in degree rather than in kind; whereas temperance is the harmony of discordant elements, justice is the perfect order by which all natures and classes do their own business, the right man in the right place, the division and co-operation of all the citizens. Justice, again, is a more abstract notion than the other virtues, and therefore, from Plato’s point of view, the foundation of them, to which they are referred and which in idea precedes them. The proposal to omit temperance is a mere trick of style intended to avoid monotony (cp. vii. 528).

  There is a famous question discussed in one of the earlier Dialogues of Plato (Protagoras, 329, 330; cp. Arist. Nic. Ethics, vi. 13. 6), ‘Whether the virtues are one or many?’ This receives an answer which is to the effect that there are four cardinal virtues (now for the first time brought together in ethical philosophy), and one supreme over the rest, which is not like Aristotle’s conception of universal justice, virtue relative to others, but the whole of virtue relative to the parts. To this universal conception of justice or order in the first education and in the moral nature of man, the still more universal conception of the good in the second education and in the sphere of speculative knowledge seems to succeed. Both might be equally described by the terms ‘law,’ ‘order,’ ‘harmony;’ but while the idea of good embraces ‘all time and all existence,’ the conception of justice is not extended beyond man.

  Analysis.

  . . . Socrates is now going to identify the individual and the State. But first he must prove that there are three parts of the individual soul. His argument is as follows:—Quantity makes no difference in quality. The word ‘just,’ whether applied to the individual or to the State, has the same meaning. And the term ‘justice’ implied that the same three principles in the State and in the individual were doing their own business. But are they really three or one? The question is difficult, and one which can hardly be solved by the methods which we are now using; but the truer and longer way would take up too much of our time. ‘The shorter will satisfy me.’ Well then, you would admit that the qualities of states mean the qualities of the individuals who compose them? The Scythians and Thracians are passionate, 436our own race intellectual, and the Egyptians and Phoenicians covetous, because the individual members of each have such and such a character; the difficulty is to determine whether the several principles are one or three; whether, that is to say, we reason with one part of our nature, desire with another, are angry with another, or whether the whole soul comes into play in each sort of action. This enquiry, however, requires a very exact definition of terms. The same thing in the same relation cannot be affected in two opposite ways. But there is no impossibility in a man standing still, yet moving his arms, or in a top which is fixed on one spot going round upon its axis. There is no 437necessity to mention all the possible exceptions; let us provisionally assume that opposites cannot do or be or suffer opposites in the same relation. And to the class of opposites belong assent and dissent, desire and avoidance. And one form of desire is thirst and hunger: and here arises a new point—thirst is thirst of drink, hunger is hunger of food; not of warm 438drink or of a particular kind of food, with the single exception of course that the very fact of our desiring anything implies that it is good. When relative terms have no attributes, their correlatives have no attributes; when they have attributes, their correlatives also have them. For example, the term ‘greater’ is simply relative to ‘less,’ and knowledge refers to a subject of knowledge. But on the other hand, a particular knowledge is of a particular subject. Again, every science has a distinct character, which is defined by an object; medicine, for example, is the science of 439health, although not to be confounded with health. Having cleared our ideas thus far, let us return to the original instance of thirst, which has a definite object—drink. Now the thirsty soul may feel two distinct impulses; the animal one saying ‘Drink;’ the rational one, which says ‘Do not drink.’ The two impulses are contradictory; and therefore we may assume that they spring from distinct principles in the soul. But is passion a third principle, or akin to desire? There is a story of a certain Leontius which throws some light on this question. He was coming up from the Piraeus outside the north wall, and he passed a spot where there were dead bodies lying by the executioner. He felt a longing desire to see them and also an abhorrence of them; at first he turned away 440and shut his eyes, then, suddenly tearing them open, he said,—‘Take your fill, ye wretches, of the fair sight.’ Now is there not here a third principle which is often found to come to the assistance of reason against desire, but never of desire against reason? This is passion or spirit, of the separate existence of which we may further convince ourselves by putting the following case:—When a man suffers justly, if he be of a generous nature he is not indignant at the hardships which he undergoes: but when he suffers unjustly, his indignation is his great support; hunger and thirst cannot tame him; the spirit within him must do or die, until the voice of the shepherd, that is, of reason, bidding his dog bark no more, is heard within. This shows 441that passion is the ally of reason. Is passion then the same with reason? No, for the former exists in children and brutes; and Homer affords a proof of the distinction between them when he says, ‘He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul.’

  And now, at last, we have reached firm ground, and are able to infer that the virtues of the State and of the individual are the same. For wisdom and courage and justice in the State are severally the wisdom and courage and justice in the individuals who form the State. Each of the three classes will do the work of its own class in the State, and each part in the individual soul; 442reason, the superior, and passion, the inferior, will be harmonized by the influence of music and gymnastic. The counsellor and the warrior, the head and the arm, will act together in the town of Mansoul, and keep the desires in proper subjection. The courage of the warrior is that quality which preserves a right opinion about dangers in spite of pleasures and pains. The wisdom of the counsellor is that small part of the soul which has authority and reason. The virtue of temperance is the friendship of the ruling and the subject principles, both in the State and in the individual. Of justice we have already spoken; and the notion already given of it may be confirmed by common instances. 443Will the just state or the just individual steal, lie, commit adultery, or be guilty of impiety to gods and men? ‘No.’ And is not the reason of this that the several principles, whether in the state or in the individual, do their own business? And justice is the quality which makes just men and just states. Moreover, our old division of labour, which required that there should be one man for one use, was a dream or anticipation of what was to follow; and that dream has now been realized in justice, which begins by binding together the three chords of the soul, and then acts 444harmoniously in every relation of life. And injustice, which is the insubordination and disobedience of the inferior elements in the soul, is the opposite of justice, and is inharmonious and unnatural, being to the soul what disease is to the body; for in the soul as well as in the body, good or bad actions produce good or bad habits. And virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, and vice is the disease and weakness and deformity of the soul.

  445Again the old question returns upon us: Is justice or injustice the more profitable? The question has become ridiculous. For injustice, like mortal disease, makes life not worth having. Come up with me to the hill which overhangs the city and look down upon the single form of virtue, and the infinite forms of vice, among which are four special ones, characteristic both of states and of individuals. And the state which corresponds to the single form of virtue is that which we have been describing, wherein reason rules under one of two names—monarchy and aristocracy. Thus there are five forms in all, both of states and of souls. . . .

  Introduction.

  In attempting to prove that the soul has three separate faculties, Plato takes occasion to discuss what makes difference of faculties. And the criterion which he proposes is difference in the working of the faculties. The same faculty cannot produce contradictory effects. But the path of early reasoners is beset by thorny entanglements, and he will not proceed a step without first clearing the ground. This leads him into a tiresome digression, which is intended to explain the nature of contradiction. First, the contradiction must be at the same time and in the same relation. Secondly, no extraneous word must be introduced into either of the terms in which the contradictory proposition is expressed: for example, thirst is of drink, not of warm drink. He implies, what he does not say, that if, by the advice of reason, or by the impulse of anger, a man is restrained from drinking, this proves that thirst, or desire under which thirst is included, is distinct from anger and reason. But suppose that we allow the term ‘thirst’ or ‘desire’ to be modified, and say an ‘angry thirst,’ or a ‘revengeful desire,’ then the two spheres of desire and anger overlap and become confused. This case therefore has to be excluded. And still there remains an exception to the rule in the use of the term ‘good,’ which is always implied in the object of desire. These are the discussions of an age before logic; and any one who is wearied by them should remember that they are necessary to the clearing up of ideas in the first development of the human faculties.

  The psychology of Plato extends no further than the division of the soul into the rational, irascible, and concupiscent elements, which, as far as we know, was first made by him, and has been retained by Aristotle and succeeding ethical writers. The chief difficulty in this early analysis of the mind is to define exactly the place of the irascible faculty (θυμός), which may be variously described under the terms righteous indignation, spirit, passion. It is the foundation of courage, which includes in Plato moral courage, the courage of enduring pain, and of surmounting intellectual difficulties, as well as of meeting dangers in war. Though irrational, it inclines to side with the rational: it cannot be aroused by punishment when justly inflicted: it sometimes takes the form of an enthusiasm which sustains a man in the performance of great actions. It is the ‘lion heart’ with which the reason makes a treaty (ix. 589 B). On the other hand it is negative rather than positive; it is indignant at wrong or falsehood, but does not, like Love in the Symposium and Phaedrus, aspire to the vision of Truth or Good. It is the peremptory military spirit which prevails in the government of honour. It differs from anger (ὀργή), this latter term having no accessory notion of righteous indignation. Although Aristotle has retained the word, yet we may observe that ‘passion’ (θνμὁς) has with him lost its affinity to the rational and has become indistinguishable from ‘anger’ (ὀργή). And to this vernacular use Plato himself in the Laws seems to revert (ix. 836 B), though not always (v. 731 A). By modern philosophy too, as well as in our ordinary conversation, the words anger or passion are employed almost exclusively in a bad sense; there is no connotation of a just or reasonable cause by which they are aroused. The feeling of ‘righteous indignation’ is too partial and accidental to admit of our regarding it as a separate virtue or habit. We are tempted also to doubt whether Plato is right in supposing that an offender, however justly condemned, could be expected to acknowledge the justice of his sentence; this is the spirit of a philosopher or martyr rather than of a criminal.

  We may observe (p. 444 D, E) how nearly Plato approaches Aristotle’s famous thesis, that ‘good actions produce good habits.’ The words ‘as healthy practices (ἐπιτηδεύματα) produce health, so do just practices produce justice,’ have a sound very like the Nicomachean Ethics. But we note also that an incidental remark in Plato has become a far-reaching principle in Aristotle, and an inseparable part of a great Ethical system.

  There is a difficulty in understanding what Plato meant by ‘the longer way’ (435 D; cp. infra, vi. 504): he seems to intimate some metaphysic of the future which will not be satisfied with arguing from the principle of contradiction. In the sixth and seventh books (compare Sophist and Parmenides) he has given us a sketch of such a metaphysic; but when Glaucon asks for the final revelation of the idea of good, he is put off with the declaration that he has not yet studied the preliminary sciences. How he would have filled up the sketch, or argued about such questions from a higher point of view, we can only conjecture. Perhaps he hoped to find some a priori method of developing the parts out of the whole; or he might have asked which of the ideas contains the other ideas, and possibly have stumbled on the Hegelian identity of the ‘ego’ and the ‘universal.’ Or he may have imagined that ideas might be constructed in some manner analogous to the construction of figures and numbers in the mathematical sciences. The most certain and necessary truth was to Plato the universal; and to this he was always seeking to refer all knowledge or opinion, just as in modern times we seek to rest them on the opposite pole of induction and experience. The aspirations of metaphysicians have always tended to pass beyond the limits of human thought and language: they seem to have reached a height at which they are ‘moving about in worlds unrealized,’ and their conceptions, although profoundly affecting their own minds, become invisible or unintelligible to others. We are not therefore surprized to find that Plato himself has nowhere clearly explained his doctrine of ideas; or that his school in a later generation, like his contemporaries Glaucon and Adeimantus, were unable to follow him in this region of speculation. In the Sophist, where he is refuting the scepticism which maintained either that there was no such thing as predication, or that all might be predicated of all, he arrives at the conclusion that some ideas combine with some, but not all with all. But he makes only one or two steps forward on this path; he nowhere attains to any connected system of ideas, or even to a knowledge of the most elementary relations of the sciences to one another (see infra).

  book v.

  Analysis.Republic V.

  449I was going to enumerate the four forms of vice or decline in states, when Polemarchus—he was sitting a little farther from me than Adeimantus—taking him by the coat and leaning towards him, said something in an undertone, of which I only caught the words, ‘Shall we let him off?’ ‘Certainly not,’ said Adeimantus, raising his voice, Whom, I said, are you not going to let off? ‘You,’ he said. Why? ‘Because we think that you are not dealing fairly with us in omitting women and children, of whom you have slily disposed under the general formula that friends have all things in common.’ And was I not right? ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘but there are many sorts of communism or community, and we want to know which of them is right. The company, as you have just heard, are resolved 450to have a further explanation.’ Thrasymachus said, ‘Do you think that we have come hither to dig for gold, or to hear you discourse?’ Yes, I said; but the discourse should be of a reasonable length. Glaucon added, ‘Yes, Socrates, and there is reason in spending the whole of life in such discussions; but pray, without more ado, tell us how this community is to be carried out, and how the interval between birth and education is to be filled up.’ Well, I said, the subject has several difficulties—What is possible? is the first question. What is desirable? is the second. ‘Fear not,’ he replied, ‘for you are speaking among friends.’ That, I replied, is a sorry consolation; I shall destroy 451my friends as well as myself. Not that I mind a little innocent laughter; but he who kills the truth is a murderer. ‘Then,’ said Glaucon, laughing, ‘in case you should murder us we will acquit you beforehand, and you shall be held free from the guilt of deceiving us.’

  Socrates proceeds:—The guardians of our state are to be watch-dogs, as we have already said. Now dogs are not divided into hes and shes—we do not take the masculine gender out to hunt and leave the females at home to look after their puppies. They have the same employments—the only difference between them is that the one sex is stronger and the other weaker. But if women are to have the same employments as men, they must have the same education—they must be taught music 452and gymnastics, and the art of war. I know that a great joke will be made of their riding on horseback and carrying weapons; the sight of the naked old wrinkled women showing their agility in the palæstra will certainly not be a vision of beauty, and may be expected to become a famous jest. But we must not mind the wits; there was a time when they might have laughed at our present gymnastics. All is habit: people have at last found out that the exposure is better than the concealment of the person, and now they laugh no more. Evil only should be the subject of ridicule.

  453The first question is, whether women are able either wholly or partially to share in the employments of men. And here we may be charged with inconsistency in making the proposal at all. For we started originally with the division of labour; and the diversity of employments was based on the difference of natures. But is there no difference between men and women? Nay, are they not wholly different? There was the difficulty, Glaucon, which made me unwilling to speak of family relations. However, when a man is out of his depth, whether in a pool or in an ocean, he can only swim for his life; and we must try to find a way of escape, if we can.

  454The argument is, that different natures have different uses, and the natures of men and women are said to differ. But this is only a verbal opposition. We do not consider that the difference may be purely nominal and accidental; for example, a bald man and a hairy man are opposed in a single point of view, but you cannot infer that because a bald man is a cobbler a hairy man ought not to be a cobbler. Now why is such an inference erroneous? Simply because the opposition between them is partial only, like the difference between a male physician and a female physician, not running through the whole nature, like the difference between a physician and a carpenter. And if the difference of the sexes is only that the one beget and the other bear children, this does not prove that they ought to have 455distinct educations. Admitting that women differ from men in capacity, do not men equally differ from one another? Has not nature scattered all the qualities which our citizens require indifferently up and down among the two sexes? and even in their peculiar pursuits, are not women often, though in some cases superior to men, ridiculously enough surpassed by them? Women are the same in kind as men, and have the same aptitude 456or want of aptitude for medicine or gymnastic or war, but in a less degree. One woman will be a good guardian, another not; and the good must be chosen to be the colleagues of our guardians. If however their natures are the same, the inference is that their education must also be the same; there is no longer anything unnatural or impossible in a woman learning music and gymnastic. And the education which we give them will be the very best, far superior to that of cobblers, and will train up the very best women, and nothing can be more advantageous to 457the State than this. Therefore let them strip, clothed in their chastity, and share in the toils of war and in the defence of their country; he who laughs at them is a fool for his pains.

  The first wave is past, and the argument is compelled to admit that men and women have common duties and pursuits. A second and greater wave is rolling in—community of wives and children; is this either expedient or possible? The expediency I do not doubt; I am not so sure of the possibility. ‘Nay, I think that a considerable doubt will be entertained on both points.’ I meant to have escaped the trouble of proving the first, but as you have detected the little stratagem I must even 458submit. Only allow me to feed my fancy like the solitary in his walks, with a dream of what might be, and then I will return to the question of what can be.

  In the first place our rulers will enforce the laws and make new ones where they are wanted, and their allies or ministers will obey. You, as legislator, have already selected the men; and now you shall select the women. After the selection has been made, they will dwell in common houses and have their meals in common, and will be brought together by a necessity more certain than that of mathematics. But they cannot be allowed to live in licentiousness; that is an unholy thing, which the rulers are determined to prevent. For the avoidance of this, holy marriage 459festivals will be instituted, and their holiness will be in proportion to their usefulness. And here, Glaucon, I should like to ask (as I know that you are a breeder of birds and animals), Do you not take the greatest care in the mating? ‘Certainly.’ And there is no reason to suppose that less care is required in the marriage of human beings. But then our rulers must be skilful physicians of the State, for they will often need a strong dose of falsehood in order to bring about desirable unions between their subjects. The good must be paired with the good, and the bad with the bad, and the offspring of the one must be reared, and of the other destroyed; in this way the flock will be preserved in prime 460condition. Hymeneal festivals will be celebrated at times fixed with an eye to population, and the brides and bridegrooms will meet at them; and by an ingenious system of lots the rulers will contrive that the brave and the fair come together, and that those of inferior breed are paired with inferiors—the latter will ascribe to chance what is really the invention of the rulers. And when children are born, the offspring of the brave and fair will be carried to an enclosure in a certain part of the city, and there attended by suitable nurses; the rest will be hurried away to places unknown. The mothers will be brought to the fold and will suckle the children; care however must be taken that none of them recognise their own offspring; and if necessary other nurses may also be hired. The trouble of watching and getting up at night will be transferred to attendants. ‘Then the wives of our guardians will have a fine easy time when they are having children.’ And quite right too, I said, that they should.

  The parents ought to be in the prime of life, which for a man may be reckoned at thirty years—from twenty-five, when he 461has ‘passed the point at which the speed of life is greatest,’ to fifty-five; and at twenty years for a woman—from twenty to forty. Any one above or below those ages who partakes in the hymeneals shall be guilty of impiety; also every one who forms a marriage connexion at other times without the consent of the rulers. This latter regulation applies to those who are within the specified ages, after which they may range at will, provided they avoid the prohibited degrees of parents and children, or of brothers and sisters, which last, however, are not absolutely prohibited, if a dispensation be procured. ‘But how shall we know the degrees of affinity, when all things are common?’ The answer is, that brothers and sisters are all such as are born seven or nine months after the espousals, and their parents those 462who are then espoused, and every one will have many children and every child many parents.

  Socrates proceeds: I have now to prove that this scheme is advantageous and also consistent with our entire polity. The greatest good of a State is unity; the greatest evil, discord and distraction. And there will be unity where there are no private pleasures or pains or interests—where if one member suffers all the members suffer, if one citizen is touched all are quickly sensitive; and the least hurt to the little finger of the State runs through the whole body and vibrates to the soul. For the true State, like an individual, is injured as a whole when any part 463is affected. Every State has subjects and rulers, who in a democracy are called rulers, and in other States masters: but in our State they are called saviours and allies; and the subjects who in other States are termed slaves, are by us termed nurturers and paymasters, and those who are termed comrades and colleagues in other places, are by us called fathers and brothers. And whereas in other States members of the same government regard one of their colleagues as a friend and another as an enemy, in our State no man is a stranger to another; for every citizen is connected with every other by ties of blood, and these names and this way of speaking will have a corresponding reality—brother, father, sister, mother, repeated from infancy in 464the ears of children, will not be mere words. Then again the citizens will have all things in common, and having common property they will have common pleasures and pains.

  Can there be strife and contention among those who are of one mind; or lawsuits about property when men have nothing but their bodies which they call their own; or suits about violence when every one is bound to defend himself? The 465permission to strike when insulted will be an ‘antidote’ to the knife and will prevent disturbances in the State. But no younger man will strike an elder; reverence will prevent him from laying hands on his kindred, and he will fear that the rest of the family may retaliate. Moreover, our citizens will be rid of the lesser evils of life; there will be no flattery of the rich, no sordid household cares, no borrowing and not paying. Compared with the citizens of other States, ours will be Olympic victors, and crowned with blessings greater still—they and their children having a better maintenance during life, and after death 466an honourable burial. Nor has the happiness of the individual been sacrificed to the happiness of the State (cp. iv. 419 E); our Olympic victor has not been turned into a cobbler, but he has a happiness beyond that of any cobbler. At the same time, if any conceited youth begins to dream of appropriating the State to himself, he must be reminded that ‘half is better than the whole.’ ‘I should certainly advise him to stay where he is when he has the promise of such a brave life.’

  But is such a community possible?—as among the animals, so also among men; and if possible, in what way possible? About war there is no difficulty; the principle of communism is adapted to military service. Parents will take their children to look on 467at a battle, just as potters’ boys are trained to the business by looking on at the wheel. And to the parents themselves, as to other animals, the sight of their young ones will prove a great incentive to bravery. Young warriors must learn, but they must not run into danger, although a certain degree of risk is worth incurring when the benefit is great. The young creatures should be placed under the care of experienced veterans, and they should have wings—that is to say, swift and tractable steeds on which 468they may fly away and escape. One of the first things to be done is to teach a youth to ride.

  Cowards and deserters shall be degraded to the class of husbandmen; gentlemen who allow themselves to be taken prisoners, may be presented to the enemy. But what shall be done to the hero? First of all he shall be crowned by all the youths in the army; secondly, he shall receive the right hand of fellowship; and thirdly, do you think that there is any harm in his being kissed? We have already determined that he shall have more wives than others, in order that he may have as many children as possible. And at a feast he shall have more to eat; we have the authority of Homer for honouring brave men with ‘long chines,’ which is an appropriate compliment, because meat is a very strengthening thing. Fill the bowl then, and give the best seats and meats to the brave—may they do them good! And he who dies in battle will be at once declared to be of the golden race, and will, as we believe, become one of Hesiod’s 469guardian angels. He shall be worshipped after death in the manner prescribed by the oracle; and not only he, but all other benefactors of the State who die in any other way, shall be admitted to the same honours.

  The next question is, How shall we treat our enemies? Shall Hellenes be enslaved? No; for there is too great a risk of the whole race passing under the yoke of the barbarians. Or shall the dead be despoiled? Certainly not; for that sort of thing is an excuse for skulking, and has been the ruin of many an army. There is meanness and feminine malice in making an enemy of the dead body, when the soul which was the owner has fled— like a dog who cannot reach his assailants, and quarrels with the stones which are thrown at him instead. Again, the arms of 470Hellenes should not be offered up in the temples of the Gods; they are a pollution, for they are taken from brethren. And on similar grounds there should be a limit to the devastation of Hellenic territory—the houses should not be burnt, nor more than the annual produce carried off. For war is of two kinds, civil and foreign; the first of which is properly termed ‘discord,’ and only the second ‘war;’ and war between Hellenes is in reality civil war—a quarrel in a family, which is ever to be regarded as 471unpatriotic and unnatural, and ought to be prosecuted with a view to reconciliation in a true phil-Hellenic spirit, as of those who would chasten but not utterly enslave. The war is not against a whole nation who are a friendly multitude of men, women, and children, but only against a few guilty persons; when they are punished peace will be restored. That is the way in which Hellenes should war against one another—and against barbarians, as they war against one another now.

  ‘But, my dear Socrates, you are forgetting the main question: Is such a State possible? I grant all and more than you say about the blessedness of being one family—fathers, brothers, mothers, daughters, going out to war together; but I want to 472ascertain the possibility of this ideal State.’ You are too unmerciful. The first wave and the second wave I have hardly escaped, and now you will certainly drown me with the third. When you see the towering crest of the wave, I expect you to take pity. ‘Not a whit.’

  Well, then, we were led to form our ideal polity in the search after justice, and the just man answered to the just State. Is this ideal at all the worse for being impracticable? Would the picture of a perfectly beautiful man be any the worse because no such man ever lived? Can any reality come up to the idea? Nature 473will not allow words to be fully realized; but if I am to try and realize the ideal of the State in a measure, I think that an approach may be made to the perfection of which I dream by one or two, I do not say slight, but possible changes in the present constitution of States. I would reduce them to a single one—the great wave, as I call it. Until, then, kings are philosophers, or philosophers are kings, cities will never cease from ill: no, nor the human race; nor will our ideal polity ever come into being. I know that this is a hard saying, which few will be able to receive. ‘Socrates, all the world will take off his coat and rush upon you 474with sticks and stones, and therefore I would advise you to prepare an answer.’ You got me into the scrape, I said. ‘And I was right,’ he replied; ‘however, I will stand by you as a sort of do-nothing, well-meaning ally.’ Having the help of such a champion, I will do my best to maintain my position. And first, I must explain of whom I speak and what sort of natures these are who are to be philosophers and rulers. As you are a man of pleasure, you will not have forgotten how indiscriminate lovers are in their attachments; they love all, and turn blemishes into beauties. The snub-nosed youth is said to have a winning grace; the beak of another has a royal look; the featureless are faultless; the dark are manly, the fair angels; the sickly have a new term of endearment 475invented expressly for them, which is ‘honey-pale.’ Lovers of wine and lovers of ambition also desire the objects of their affection in every form. Now here comes the point:—The philosopher too is a lover of knowledge in every form; he has an insatiable curiosity. ‘But will curiosity make a philosopher? Are the lovers of sights and sounds, who let out their ears to every chorus at the Dionysiac festivals, to be called philosophers?’ They are not true philosophers, but only an imitation. ‘Then how are we to describe the true?’

  You would acknowledge the existence of abstract ideas, such as 476justice, beauty, good, evil, which are severally one, yet in their various combinations appear to be many. Those who recognize these realities are philosophers; whereas the other class hear sounds and see colours, and understand their use in the arts, but cannot attain to the true or waking vision of absolute justice or beauty or truth; they have not the light of knowledge, but of opinion, and what they see is a dream only. Perhaps he of whom we say the last will be angry with us; can we pacify him without revealing the disorder of his mind? Suppose we say that, if he has knowledge we rejoice to hear it, but knowledge must be of something which is, as ignorance is of 477something which is not; and there is a third thing, which both is and is not, and is matter of opinion only. Opinion and knowledge, then, having distinct objects, must also be distinct faculties. And by faculties I mean powers unseen and distinguishable only by the difference in their objects, as opinion and knowledge differ, since the one is liable to err, but the other is unerring and is the mightiest of all our faculties. If being is the object of knowledge, 478and not-being of ignorance, and these are the extremes, opinion must lie between them, and may be called darker than the one and brighter than the other. This intermediate or contingent matter is and is not at the same time, and partakes both of 479existence and of non-existence. Now I would ask my good friend, who denies abstract beauty and justice, and affirms a many beautiful and a many just, whether everything he sees is not in some point of view different—the beautiful ugly, the pious impious, the just unjust? Is not the double also the half, and are not heavy and light relative terms which pass into one another? Everything is and is not, as in the old riddle—‘A man and not a man shot and did not shoot a bird and not a bird with a stone and not a stone.’ The mind cannot be fixed on either alternative; and these ambiguous, intermediate, erring, half-lighted objects, which have a disorderly movement in the region between being 480and not-being, are the proper matter of opinion, as the immutable objects are the proper matter of knowledge. And he who grovels in the world of sense, and has only this uncertain perception of things, is not a philosopher, but a lover of opinion only. . . .

  Introduction.

  The fifth book is the new beginning of the Republic, in which the community of property and of family are first maintained, and the transition is made to the kingdom of philosophers. For both of these Plato, after his manner, has been preparing in some chance words of Book IV (424 A), which fall unperceived on the reader’s mind, as they are supposed at first to have fallen on the ear of Glaucon and Adeimantus. The ‘paradoxes,’ as Morgenstern terms them, of this book of the Republic will be reserved for another place; a few remarks on the style, and some explanations of difficulties, may be briefly added.

  First, there is the image of the waves, which serves for a sort of scheme or plan of the book. The first wave, the second wave, the third and greatest wave come rolling in, and we hear the roar of them. All that can be said of the extravagance of Plato’s proposals is anticipated by himself. Nothing is more admirable than the hesitation with which he proposes the solemn text, ‘Until kings are philosophers,’ &c.; or the reaction from the sublime to the ridiculous, when Glaucon describes the manner in which the new truth will be received by mankind.

  Some defects and difficulties may be noted in the execution of the communistic plan. Nothing is told us of the application of communism to the lower classes; nor is the table of prohibited degrees capable of being made out. It is quite possible that a child born at one hymeneal festival may marry one of its own brothers or sisters, or even one of its parents, at another. Plato is afraid of incestuous unions, but at the same time he does not wish to bring before us the fact that the city would be divided into families of those born seven and nine months after each hymeneal festival. If it were worth while to argue seriously about such fancies, we might remark that while all the old affinities are abolished, the newly prohibited affinity rests not on any natural or rational principle, but only upon the accident of children having been born in the same month and year. Nor does he explain how the lots could be so manipulated by the legislature as to bring together the fairest and best. The singular expression (460 E) which is employed to describe the age of five-and-twenty may perhaps be taken from some poet.

  In the delineation of the philosopher, the illustrations of the nature of philosophy derived from love are more suited to the apprehension of Glaucon, the Athenian man of pleasure, than to modern tastes or feelings (cp. V. 474, 475). They are partly facetious, but also contain a germ of truth. That science is a whole, remains a true principle of inductive as well as of metaphysical philosophy; and the love of universal knowledge is still the characteristic of the philosopher in modern as well as in ancient times.

  At the end of the fifth book Plato introduces the figment of contingent matter, which has exercised so great an influence both on the Ethics and Theology of the modern world, and which occurs here for the first time in the history of philosophy. He did not remark that the degrees of knowledge in the subject have nothing corresponding to them in the object. With him a word must answer to an idea; and he could not conceive of an opinion which was an opinion about nothing. The influence of analogy led him to invent ‘parallels and conjugates’ and to overlook facts. To us some of his difficulties are puzzling only from their simplicity: we do not perceive that the answer to them ‘is tumbling out at our feet.’ To the mind of early thinkers, the conception of not-being was dark and mysterious (Sophist, 254 A); they did not see that this terrible apparition which threatened destruction to all knowledge was only a logical determination. The common term under which, through the accidental use of language, two entirely different ideas were included was another source of confusion. Thus through the ambiguity of δοκεɩ̂ν, ϕαίνεται, ἔοικεν, κ.τ.λ. Plato, attempting to introduce order into the first chaos of human thought, seems to have confused perception and opinion, and to have failed to distinguish the contingent from the relative. In the Theaetetus the first of these difficulties begins to clear up; in the Sophist the second; and for this, as well as for other reasons, both these dialogues are probably to be regarded as later than the Republic.

  book vi.

  Analysis.

  484Having determined that the many have no knowledge of true being, and have no clear patterns in their minds of justice, beauty, truth, and that philosophers have such patterns, we have now to ask whether they or the many shall be rulers in our State. But who can doubt that philosophers should be chosen, if 485they have the other qualities which are required in a ruler? For they are lovers of the knowledge of the eternal and of all truth; they are haters of falsehood; their meaner desires are absorbed in the interests of knowledge; they are spectators of all time and all 486existence; and in the magnificence of their contemplation the life of man is as nothing to them, nor is death fearful. Also they are of a social, gracious disposition, equally free from cowardice and arrogance. They learn and remember easily; they have harmonious, well-regulated minds; truth flows to them sweetly by 487nature. Can the god of Jealousy himself find any fault with such an assemblage of good qualities?

  Republic VI.

  Here Adeimantus interposes:—‘No man can answer you, Socrates; but every man feels that this is owing to his own deficiency in argument. He is driven from one position to another, until he has nothing more to say, just as an unskilful player at draughts is reduced to his last move by a more skilled opponent. And yet all the time he may be right. He may know, in this very instance, that those who make philosophy the business of their lives, generally turn out rogues if they are bad men, and fools if they are good. What do you say?’ I should say that he is quite right. ‘Then how is such an admission reconcileable with the doctrine that philosophers should be kings?’

  488I shall answer you in a parable which will also let you see how poor a hand I am at the invention of allegories. The relation of good men to their governments is so peculiar, that in order to defend them I must take an illustration from the world of fiction. Conceive the captain of a ship, taller by a head and shoulders than any of the crew, yet a little deaf, a little blind, and rather ignorant of the seaman’s art. The sailors want to steer, although they know nothing of the art; and they have a theory that it cannot be learned. If the helm is refused them, they drug the captain’s posset, bind him hand and foot, and take possession of the ship. He who joins in the mutiny is termed a good pilot and what not; they have no conception that the true pilot must observe the winds and the stars, and must be their master, whether they like it or not;—such an one would be called by them fool, prater, 489star-gazer. This is my parable; which I will beg you to interpret for me to those gentlemen who ask why the philosopher has such an evil name, and to explain to them that not he, but those who will not use him, are to blame for his uselessness. The philosopher should not beg of mankind to be put in authority over them. The wise man should not seek the rich, as the proverb bids, but every man, whether rich or poor, must knock at the door of the physician when he has need of him. Now the pilot is the philosopher—he whom in the parable they call star-gazer, and the mutinous sailors are the mob of politicians by whom he is rendered useless. Not that these are the worst enemies of philosophy, who is far more dishonoured by her own professing sons when they are corrupted 490by the world. Need I recall the original image of the philosopher! Did we not say of him just now, that he loved truth and hated falsehood, and that he could not rest in the multiplicity of phenomena, but was led by a sympathy in his own nature to the contemplation of the absolute? All the virtues as well as truth, who is the leader of them, took up their abode in his soul. But as you were observing, if we turn aside to view the reality, we see that the persons who were thus described, with the exception of a small and useless class, are utter rogues.

  The point which has to be considered, is the origin of this 491corruption in nature. Every one will admit that the philosopher, in our description of him, is a rare being. But what numberless causes tend to destroy these rare beings! There is no good thing which may not be a cause of evil—health, wealth, strength, rank, and the virtues themselves, when placed under unfavourable circumstances. For as in the animal or vegetable world the strongest seeds most need the accompaniment of good air and soil, so the best of human characters turn out the worst when they fall upon an unsuitable soil; whereas weak natures hardly ever do any considerable good or harm; they are not the stuff out of which 492either great criminals or great heroes are made. The philosopher follows the same analogy: he is either the best or the worst of all men. Some persons say that the Sophists are the corrupters of youth; but is not public opinion the real Sophist who is everywhere present—in those very persons, in the assembly, in the courts, in the camp, in the applauses and hisses of the theatre reechoed by the surrounding hills? Will not a young man’s heart leap amid these discordant sounds? and will any education save him from being carried away by the torrent? Nor is this all. For if he will not yield to opinion, there follows the gentle compulsion of exile or death. What principle of rival Sophists or anybody else can overcome in such an unequal contest? Characters there 493may be more than human, who are exceptions—God may save a man, but not his own strength. Further, I would have you consider that the hireling Sophist only gives back to the world their own opinions; he is the keeper of the monster, who knows how to flatter or anger him, and observes the meaning of his inarticulate grunts. Good is what pleases him, evil what he dislikes; truth and beauty are determined only by the taste of the brute. Such is the Sophist’s wisdom, and such is the condition of those who make public opinion the test of truth, whether in art or in morals. The curse is laid upon them of being and doing what it approves, and when they attempt first principles the failure is ludicrous. Think of all this and ask yourself whether the world is more likely to be a believer in the unity of the idea, or in the multiplicity of phenomena. And the world if not a believer 494in the idea cannot be a philosopher, and must therefore be a persecutor of philosophers. There is another evil:—the world does not like to lose the gifted nature, and so they flatter the young [Alcibiades] into a magnificent opinion of his own capacity; the tall, proper youth begins to expand, and is dreaming of kingdoms and empires. If at this instant a friend whispers to him, ‘Now the gods lighten thee; thou art a great fool’ and must be educated—do you think that he will listen? Or suppose a better sort of man who is attracted towards philosophy, will they not 495make Herculean efforts to spoil and corrupt him? Are we not right in saying that the love of knowledge, no less than riches, may divert him? Men of this class [Critias] often become politicians—they are the authors of great mischief in states, and sometimes also of great good. And thus philosophy is deserted by her natural protectors, and others enter in and dishonour her. Vulgar little minds see the land open and rush from the prisons of the arts into her temple. A clever mechanic having a soul coarse as his body, thinks that he will gain caste by becoming her suitor. For philosophy, even in her fallen estate, has a dignity of her own—and he, like a bald little blacksmith’s apprentice as he is, having made some money and got out of durance, washes and dresses 496himself as a bridegroom and marries his master’s daughter. What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile and bastard, devoid of truth and nature? ‘They will.’ Small, then, is the remnant of genuine philosophers; there may be a few who are citizens of small states, in which politics are not worth thinking of, or who have been detained by Theages’ bridle of ill health; for my own case of the oracular sign is almost unique, and too rare to be worth mentioning. And these few when they have tasted the pleasures of philosophy, and have taken a look at that den of thieves and place of wild beasts, which is human life, will stand aside from the storm under the shelter of a wall, and try to preserve their own innocence and to depart in peace. ‘A great work, too, will have been accomplished by them.’ Great, yes, but not the greatest; for man is a social being, and can only attain his highest development in the society which is best suited to him.

  497Enough, then, of the causes why philosophy has such an evil name. Another question is, Which of existing states is suited to her? Not one of them; at present she is like some exotic seed which degenerates in a strange soil; only in her proper state will she be shown to be of heavenly growth. ‘And is her proper state ours or some other?’ Ours in all points but one, which was left undetermined. You may remember our saying that some living mind or witness of the legislator was needed in states. But we were afraid to enter upon a subject of such difficulty, and now the question recurs and has not grown easier:—How may philosophy be safely studied? Let us bring her into the light of day, and make an end of the inquiry.

  In the first place, I say boldly that nothing can be worse than 498the present mode of study. Persons usually pick up a little philosophy in early youth, and in the intervals of business, but they never master the real difficulty, which is dialectic. Later, perhaps, they occasionally go to a lecture on philosophy. Years advance, and the sun of philosophy, unlike that of Heracleitus, sets never to rise again. This order of education should be reversed; it should begin with gymnastics in youth, and as the man strengthens, he should increase the gymnastics of his soul. Then, when active life is over, let him finally return to philosophy. ‘You are in earnest, Socrates, but the world will be equally earnest in withstanding you—no one more than Thrasymachus.’ Do not make a quarrel between Thrasymachus and me, who were never enemies and are now good friends enough. And I shall do my best to convince him and all mankind of the truth of my words, or at any rate to prepare for the future when, in another life, we may again take part in similar discussions. ‘That will be a long time hence.’ Not long in comparison with eternity. The many will probably remain incredulous, for they have never seen the natural unity of ideas, but only artificial juxtapositions; not free and generous thoughts, but tricks of controversy and quips 499of law;—a perfect man ruling in a perfect state, even a single one they have not known. And we foresaw that there was no chance of perfection either in states or individuals until a necessity was laid upon philosophers—not the rogues, but those whom we called the useless class—of holding office; or until the sons of kings were inspired with a true love of philosophy. Whether in the infinity of past time there has been, or is in some distant land, or ever will be hereafter, an ideal such as we have described, we stoutly maintain that there has been, is, and will be such a state whenever the Muse of philosophy rules. 500Will you say that the world is of another mind? O, my friend, do not revile the world! They will soon change their opinion if they are gently entreated, and are taught the true nature of the philosopher. Who can hate a man who loves him? or be jealous of one who has no jealousy? Consider, again, that the many hate not the true but the false philosophers—the pretenders who force their way in without invitation, and are always speaking of persons and not of principles, which is unlike the spirit of philosophy. For the true philosopher despises earthly strife; his eye is fixed on the eternal order in accordance with which he moulds himself into the Divine image (and not himself only, but other men), and is the creator of the virtues private as well as public. When mankind see that the happiness of states is only to be found in that image, will they be angry with us for attempting to delineate it? ‘Certainly not. But what will be the process 501of delineation?’ The artist will do nothing until he has made a tabula rasa; on this he will inscribe the constitution of a state, glancing often at the divine truth of nature, and from that deriving the godlike among men, mingling the two elements, rubbing out and painting in, until there is a perfect harmony or fusion of the divine and human. But perhaps the world will doubt the existence of such an artist. What will they doubt? That the philosopher is a lover of truth, having a nature akin to the best?—and if they admit this will they still quarrel with us for making philosophers our kings? ‘They will be less disposed to quarrel.’ 502Let us assume then that they are pacified. Still, a person may hesitate about the probability of the son of a king being a philosopher. And we do not deny that they are very liable to be corrupted; but yet surely in the course of ages there might be one exception—and one is enough. If one son of a king were a philosopher, and had obedient citizens, he might bring the ideal polity into being. Hence we conclude that our laws are not only the best, but that they are also possible, though not free from difficulty.

  I gained nothing by evading the troublesome questions which arose concerning women and children. I will be wiser now and acknowledge that we must go to the bottom of another question: What is to be the education of our guardians? It was 503agreed that they were to be lovers of their country, and were to be tested in the refiner’s fire of pleasures and pains, and those who came forth pure and remained fixed in their principles were to have honours and rewards in life and after death. But at this point, the argument put on her veil and turned into another path. I hesitated to make the assertion which I now hazard,—that our guardians must be philosophers. You remember all the contradictory elements, which met in the philosopher—how difficult to find them all in a single person! Intelligence and spirit are not often combined with steadiness; the stolid, fearless, nature is averse to intellectual toil. And yet these opposite elements are all necessary, and therefore, as we were saying before, the aspirant must be tested in pleasures and dangers; and also, as 504we must now further add, in the highest branches of knowledge. You will remember, that when we spoke of the virtues mention was made of a longer road, which you were satisfied to leave unexplored. ‘Enough seemed to have been said.’ Enough, my friend; but what is enough while anything remains wanting? Of all men the guardian must not faint in the search after truth; he must be prepared to take the longer road, or he will never reach that higher region which is above the four virtues; and of the virtues too he must not only get an outline, but a clear and distinct vision. (Strange that we should be so precise about trifles, so careless about the highest truths!) ‘And what are 505the highest?’ You to pretend unconsciousness, when you have so often heard me speak of the idea of good, about which we know so little, and without which though a man gain the world he has no profit of it! Some people imagine that the good is wisdom; but this involves a circle,—the good, they say, is wisdom, wisdom has to do with the good. According to others the good is pleasure: but then comes the absurdity that good is bad, for there are bad pleasures as well as good. Again, the good must have reality; a man may desire the appearance of virtue, but he will not desire the appearance of good. Ought our guardians then 506to be ignorant of this supreme principle, of which every man has a presentiment, and without which no man has any real knowledge of anything? ‘But, Socrates, what is this supreme principle, knowledge or pleasure, or what? You may think me troublesome, but I say that you have no business to be always repeating the doctrines of others instead of giving us your own.’ Can I say what I do not know? ‘You may offer an opinion.’ And will the blindness and crookedness of opinion content you when you might have the light and certainty of science? ‘I will only ask you to give such an explanation of the good as you have given already of temperance and justice.’ I wish that I could, but in my present mood I cannot reach to the height of the knowledge 507of the good. To the parent or principal I cannot introduce you, but to the child begotten in his image, which I may compare with the interest on the principal, I will. (Audit the account, and do not let me give you a false statement of the debt.) You remember our old distinction of the many beautiful and the one beautiful, the particular and the universal, the objects of sight and the objects of thought? Did you ever consider that the objects of sight imply a faculty of sight which is the most complex and costly of our senses, requiring not only objects of sense, but also a medium, which is light; without which the sight will not distinguish 508between colours and all will be a blank? For light is the noble bond between the perceiving faculty and the thing perceived, and the god who gives us light is the sun, who is the eye of the day, but is not to be confounded with the eye of man. This eye of the day or sun is what I call the child of the good, standing in the same relation to the visible world as the good to the intellectual. When the sun shines the eye sees, and in the intellectual world where truth is, there is sight and light. Now that which is the sun of intelligent natures, is the idea of good, the cause of knowledge and truth, yet 509other and fairer than they are, and standing in the same relation to them in which the sun stands to light. O inconceivable height of beauty, which is above knowledge and above truth! (‘You cannot surely mean pleasure,’ he said. Peace, I replied.) And this idea of good, like the sun, is also the cause of growth, and the author not of knowledge only, but of being, yet greater far than either in dignity and power. ‘That is a reach of thought more than human; but, pray, go on with the image, for I suspect that there is more behind.’ There is, I said; and bearing in mind our two suns or principles, imagine further their corresponding worlds—one of the visible, the other of the intelligible; you may assist your fancy by figuring the distinction under the image of a line divided into two unequal parts, and may again subdivide each part into two lesser segments representative of the stages of knowledge in either sphere. The lower portion of the lower or 510visible sphere will consist of shadows and reflections, and its upper and smaller portion will contain real objects in the world of nature or of art. The sphere of the intelligible will also have two divisions,—one of mathematics, in which there is no ascent but all is descent; no inquiring into premises, but only drawing of inferences. In this division the mind works with figures and numbers, the images of which are taken not from the shadows, but from the objects, although the truth of them is seen only with the mind’s eye; and they are used as hypotheses 511without being analysed. Whereas in the other division reason uses the hypotheses as stages or steps in the ascent to the idea of good, to which she fastens them, and then again descends, walking firmly in the region of ideas, and of ideas only, in her ascent as well as descent, and finally resting in them. ‘I partly understand,’ he replied; ‘you mean that the ideas of science are superior to the hypothetical, metaphorical conceptions of geometry and the other arts or sciences, whichever is to be the name of them; and the latter conceptions you refuse to make subjects of pure intellect, because they have no first principle, although when resting on a first principle, they pass into the higher sphere.’ You understand me very well, I said. And now to those four divisions of knowledge you may assign four corresponding faculties—pure intelligence to the highest sphere; active intelligence to the second; to the third, faith; to the fourth, the perception of shadows—and the clearness of the several faculties will be in the same ratio as the truth of the objects to which they are related. . . . .

  Introduction.

  Like Socrates, we may recapitulate the virtues of the philosopher. In language which seems to reach beyond the horizon of that age and country, he is described as ‘the spectator of all time and all existence.’ He has the noblest gifts of nature, and makes the highest use of them. All his desires are absorbed in the love of wisdom, which is the love of truth. None of the graces of a beautiful soul are wanting in him; neither can he fear death, or think much of human life. The ideal of modern times hardly retains the simplicity of the antique; there is not the same originality either in truth or error which characterized the Greeks. The philosopher is no longer living in the unseen, nor is he sent by an oracle to convince mankind of ignorance; nor does he regard knowledge as a system of ideas leading upwards by regular stages to the idea of good. The eagerness of the pursuit has abated; there is more division of labour and less of comprehensive reflection upon nature and human life as a whole; more of exact observation and less of anticipation and inspiration. Still, in the altered conditions of knowledge, the parallel is not wholly lost; and there may be a use in translating the conception of Plato into the language of our own age. The philosopher in modern times is one who fixes his mind on the laws of nature in their sequence and connexion, not on fragments or pictures of nature; on history, not on controversy; on the truths which are acknowledged by the few, not on the opinions of the many. He is aware of the importance of ‘classifying according to nature,’ and will try to ‘separate the limbs of science without breaking them’ (Phaedr. 265 E). There is no part of truth, whether great or small, which he will dishonour; and in the least things he will discern the greatest (Parmen. 130 C). Like the ancient philosopher he sees the world pervaded by analogies, but he can also tell ‘why in some cases a single instance is sufficient for an induction’ (Mill’s Logic, 3, 3, 3), while in other cases a thousand examples would prove nothing. He inquires into a portion of knowledge only, because the whole has grown too vast to be embraced by a single mind or life. He has a clearer conception of the divisions of science and of their relation to the mind of man than was possible to the ancients. Like Plato, he has a vision of the unity of knowledge, not as the beginning of philosophy to be attained by a study of elementary mathematics, but as the far-off result of the working of many minds in many ages. He is aware that mathematical studies are preliminary to almost every other; at the same time, he will not reduce all varieties of knowledge to the type of mathematics. He too must have a nobility of character, without which genius loses the better half of greatness. Regarding the world as a point in immensity, and each individual as a link in a never-ending chain of existence, he will not think much of his own life, or be greatly afraid of death.

  Adeimantus objects first of all to the form of the Socratic reasoning, thus showing that Plato is aware of the imperfection of his own method. He brings the accusation against himself which might be brought against him by a modern logician—that he extracts the answer because he knows how to put the question. In a long argument words are apt to change their meaning slightly, or premises may be assumed or conclusions inferred with rather too much certainty or universality; the variation at each step may be unobserved, and yet at last the divergence becomes considerable. Hence the failure of attempts to apply arithmetical or algebraic formulae to logic. The imperfection, or rather the higher and more elastic nature of language, does not allow words to have the precision of numbers or of symbols. And this quality in language impairs the force of an argument which has many steps.

  The objection, though fairly met by Socrates in this particular instance, may be regarded as implying a reflection upon the Socratic mode of reasoning. And here, as at p. 506 B, Plato seems to intimate that the time had come when the negative and interrogative method of Socrates must be superseded by a positive and constructive one, of which examples are given in some of the later dialogues. Adeimantus further argues that the ideal is wholly at variance with facts; for experience proves philosophers to be either useless or rogues. Contrary to all expectation (cp. p. 497 for a similar surprise) Socrates has no hesitation in admitting the truth of this, and explains the anomaly in an allegory, first characteristically depreciating his own inventive powers. In this allegory the people are distinguished from the professional politicians, and, as at pp. 499, 500, are spoken of in a tone of pity rather than of censure under the image of ‘the noble captain who is not very quick in his perceptions.’

  The uselessness of philosophers is explained by the circumstance that mankind will not use them. The world in all ages has been divided between contempt and fear of those who employ the power of ideas and know no other weapons. Concerning the false philosopher, Socrates argues that the best is most liable to corruption; and that the finer nature is more likely to suffer from alien conditions. We too observe that there are some kinds of excellence which spring from a peculiar delicacy of constitution; as is evidently true of the poetical and imaginative temperament, which often seems to depend on impressions, and hence can only breathe or live in a certain atmosphere. The man of genius has greater pains and greater pleasures, greater powers and greater weaknesses, and often a greater play of character than is to be found in ordinary men. He can assume the disguise of virtue or disinterestedness without having them, or veil personal enmity in the language of patriotism and philosophy,—he can say the word which all men are thinking, he has an insight which is terrible into the follies and weaknesses of his fellow-men. An Alcibiades, a Mirabeau, or a Napoleon the First, are born either to be the authors of great evils in states, or ‘of great good, when they are drawn in that direction.’

  Yet the thesis, ‘corruptio optimi pessima,’ cannot be maintained generally or without regard to the kind of excellence which is corrupted. The allen conditions which are corrupting to one nature, may be the elements of culture to another. In general a man can only receive his highest development in a congenial state or family, among friends or fellow-workers. But also he may sometimes be stirred by adverse circumstances to such a degree that he rises up against them and reforms them. And while weaker or coarser characters will extract good out of evil, say in a corrupt state of the church or of society, and live on happily, allowing the evil to remain, the finer or stronger natures may be crushed or spoiled by surrounding influences—may become misanthrope and philanthrope by turns; or in a few instances, like the founders of the monastic orders, or the Reformers, owing to some peculiarity in themselves or in their age, may break away entirely from the world and from the church, sometimes into great good, sometimes into great evil, sometimes into both. And the same holds in the lesser sphere of a convent, a school, a family.

  Plato would have us consider how easily the best natures are overpowered by public opinion, and what efforts the rest of mankind will make to get possession of them. The world, the church, their own profession, any political or party organization, are always carrying them off their legs and teaching them to apply high and holy names to their own prejudices and interests. The ‘monster’ corporation to which they belong judges right and truth to be the pleasure of the community. The individual becomes one with his order; or, if he resists, the world is too much for him, and will sooner or later be revenged on him. This is, perhaps, a one-sided but not wholly untrue picture of the maxims and practice of mankind when they ‘sit down together at an assembly,’ either in ancient or modern times.

  When the higher natures are corrupted by politics, the lower take possession of the vacant place of philosophy. This is described in one of those continuous images in which the argument, to use a Platonic expression, ‘veils herself,’ and which is dropped and reappears at intervals. The question is asked,—Why are the citizens of states so hostile to philosophy? The answer is, that they do not know her. And yet there is also a better mind of the many; they would believe if they were taught. But hitherto they have only known a conventional imitation of philosophy, words without thoughts, systems which have no life in them; a [divine] person uttering the words of beauty and freedom, the friend of man holding communion with the Eternal, and seeking to frame the state in that image, they have never known. The same double feeling respecting the mass of mankind has always existed among men. The first thought is that the people are the enemies of truth and right; the second, that this only arises out of an accidental error and confusion, and that they do not really hate those who love them, if they could be educated to know them.

  In the latter part of the sixth book, three questions have to be considered: 1st, the nature of the longer and more circuitous way, which is contrasted with the shorter and more imperfect method of Book IV; 2nd, the heavenly pattern or idea of the state; 3rd, the relation of the divisions of knowledge to one another and to the corresponding faculties of the soul.

  1. Of the higher method of knowledge in Plato we have only a glimpse. Neither here nor in the Phaedrus or Symposium, nor yet in the Philebus or Sophist, does he give any clear explanation of his meaning. He would probably have described his method as proceeding by regular steps to a system of universal knowledge, which inferred the parts from the whole rather than the whole from the parts. This ideal logic is not practised by him in the search after justice, or in the analysis of the parts of the soul; there, like Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics, he argues from experience and the common use of language. But at the end of the sixth book he conceives another and more perfect method, in which all ideas are only steps or grades or moments of thought, forming a connected whole which is self-supporting, and in which consistency is the test of truth. He does not explain to us in detail the nature of the process. Like many other thinkers both in ancient and modern times his mind seems to be filled with a vacant form which he is unable to realize. He supposes the sciences to have a natural order and connexion in an age when they can hardly be said to exist. He is hastening on to the ‘end of the intellectual world’ without even making a beginning of them.

  In modern times we hardly need to be reminded that the process of acquiring knowledge is here confused with the contemplation of absolute knowledge. In all science a priori and a posteriori truths mingle in various proportions. The a priori part is that which is derived from the most universal experience of men, or is universally accepted by them; the a posteriori is that which grows up around the more general principles and becomes imperceptibly one with them. But Plato erroneously imagines that the synthesis is separable from the analysis, and that the method of science can anticipate science. In entertaining such a vision of a priori knowledge he is sufficiently justified, or at least his meaning may be sufficiently explained by the similar attempts of Descartes, Kant, Hegel, and even of Bacon himself, in modern philosophy. Anticipations or divinations, or prophetic glimpses of truths whether concerning man or nature, seem to stand in the same relation to ancient philosophy which hypotheses bear to modern inductive science. These ‘guesses at truth’ were not made at random; they arose from a superficial impression of uniformities and first principles in nature which the genius of the Greek, contemplating the expanse of heaven and earth, seemed to recognize in the distance. Nor can we deny that in ancient times knowledge must have stood still, and the human mind been deprived of the very instruments of thought, if philosophy had been strictly confined to the results of experience.

  2. Plato supposes that when the tablet has been made blank the artist will fill in the lineaments of the ideal state. Is this a pattern laid up in heaven, or mere vacancy on which he is supposed to gaze with wondering eye? The answer is, that such ideals are framed partly by the omission of particulars, partly by imagination perfecting the form which experience supplies (Phaedo, 74). Plato represents these ideals in a figure as belonging to another world; and in modern times the idea will sometimes seem to precede, at other times to co-operate with the hand of the artist. As in science, so also in creative art, there is a synthetical as well as an analytical method. One man will have the whole in his mind before he begins; to another the processes of mind and hand will be simultaneous.

  3. There is no difficulty in seeing that Plato’s divisions of knowledge are based, first, on the fundamental antithesis of sensible and intellectual which pervades the whole pre-Socratic philosophy; in which is implied also the opposition of the permanent and transient, of the universal and particular. But the age of philosophy in which he lived seemed to require a further distinction;—numbers and figures were beginning to separate from ideas. The world could no longer regard justice as a cube, and was learning to see, though imperfectly, that the abstractions of sense were distinct from the abstractions of mind. Between the Eleatic being or essence and the shadows of phenomena, the Pythagorean principle of number found a place, and was, as Aristotle remarks, a conducting medium from one to the other. Hence Plato is led to introduce a third term which had not hitherto entered into the scheme of his philosophy. He had observed the use of mathematics in education; they were the best preparation for higher studies. The subjective relation between them further suggested an objective one; although the passage from one to the other is really imaginary (Metaph. 1, 6, 4). For metaphysical and moral philosophy has no connexion with mathematics; number and figure are the abstractions of time and space, not the expressions of purely intellectual conceptions. When divested of metaphor, a straight line or a square has no more to do with right and justice than a crooked line with vice. The figurative association was mistaken for a real one; and thus the three latter divisions of the Platonic proportion were constructed.

  There is more difficulty in comprehending how he arrived at the first term of the series, which is nowhere else mentioned, and has no reference to any other part of his system. Nor indeed does the relation of shadows to objects correspond to the relation of numbers to ideas. Probably Plato has been led by the love of analogy (cp. Timaeus, p. 32 B) to make four terms instead of three, although the objects perceived in both divisions of the lower sphere are equally objects of sense. He is also preparing the way, as his manner is, for the shadows of images at the beginning of the seventh book, and the imitation of an imitation in the tenth. The line may be regarded as reaching from unity to infinity, and is divided into two unequal parts, and subdivided into two more; each lower sphere is the multiplication of the preceding. Of the four faculties, faith in the lower division has an intermediate position (cp. for the use of the word faith or belief, πίστις, Timaeus, 29 C, 37 B), contrasting equally with the vagueness of the perception of shadows (εἰκασία) and the higher certainty of understanding (διάνοια) and reason (νον̂ς).

  The difference between understanding and mind or reason (νον̂ς) is analogous to the difference between acquiring knowledge in the parts and the contemplation of the whole. True knowledge is a whole, and is at rest; consistency and universality are the tests of truth. To this self-evidencing knowledge of the whole the faculty of mind is supposed to correspond. But there is a knowledge of the understanding which is incomplete and in motion always, because unable to rest in the subordinate ideas. Those ideas are called both images and hypotheses—images because they are clothed in sense, hypotheses because they are assumptions only, until they are brought into connexion with the idea of good.

  The general meaning of the passage 508-511, so far as the thought contained in it admits of being translated into the terms of modern philosophy, may be described or explained as follows:—There is a truth, one and self-existent, to which by the help of a ladder let down from above, the human intelligence may ascend. This unity is like the sun in the heavens, the light by which all things are seen, the being by which they are created and sustained. It is the idea of good. And the steps of the ladder leading up to this highest or universal existence are the mathematical sciences, which also contain in themselves an element of the universal. These, too, we see in a new manner when we connect them with the idea of good. They then cease to be hypotheses or pictures, and become essential parts of a higher truth which is at once their first principle and their final cause.

  We cannot give any more precise meaning to this remarkable passage, but we may trace in it several rudiments or vestiges of thought which are common to us and to Plato: such as (1) the unity and correlation of the sciences, or rather of science, for in Plato’s time they were not yet parted off or distinguished; (2) the existence of a Divine Power, or life or idea or cause or reason, not yet conceived or no longer conceived as in the Timaeus and elsewhere under the form of a person; (3) the recognition of the hypothetical and conditional character of the mathematical sciences, and in a measure of every science when isolated from the rest; (4) the conviction of a truth which is invisible, and of a law, though hardly a law of nature, which permeates the intellectual rather than the visible world.

  The method of Socrates is hesitating and tentative, awaiting the fuller explanation of the idea of good, and of the nature of dialectic in the seventh book. The imperfect intelligence of Glaucon, and the reluctance of Socrates to make a beginning, mark the difficulty of the subject. The allusion to Theages’ bridle, and to the internal oracle, or demonic sign, of Socrates, which here, as always in Plato, is only prohibitory; the remark that the salvation of any remnant of good in the present evil state of the world is due to God only; the reference to a future state of existence, 498 D, which is unknown to Glaucon in the tenth book, 608 D, and in which the discussions of Socrates and his disciples would be resumed; the surprise in the answers at 487 E and 497 B; the fanciful irony of Socrates, where he pretends that he can only describe the strange position of the philosopher in a figure of speech; the original observation that the Sophists, after all, are only the representatives and not the leaders of public opinion; the picture of the philosopher standing aside in the shower of sleet under a wall; the figure of ‘the great beast’ followed by the expression of good-will towards the common people who would not have rejected the philosopher if they had known him; the ‘right noble thought’ that the highest truths demand the greatest exactness; the hesitation of Socrates in returning once more to his well-worn theme of the idea of good; the ludicrous earnestness of Glaucon; the comparison of philosophy to a deserted maiden who marries beneath her—are some of the most interesting characteristics of the sixth book.

  Yet a few more words may be added, on the old theme, which was so oft discussed in the Socratic circle, of which we, like Glaucon and Adeimantus, would fain, if possible, have a clearer notion. Like them, we are dissatisfied when we are told that the idea of good can only be revealed to a student of the mathematical sciences, and we are inclined to think that neither we nor they could have been led along that path to any satisfactory goal. For we have learned that differences of quantity cannot pass into differences of quality, and that the mathematical sciences can never rise above themselves into the sphere of our higher thoughts, although they may sometimes furnish symbols and expressions of them, and may train the mind in habits of abstraction and self-concentration. The illusion which was natural to an ancient philosopher has ceased to be an illusion to us. But if the process by which we are supposed to arrive at the idea of good be really imaginary, may not the idea itself be also a mere abstraction? We remark, first, that in all ages, and especially in primitive philosophy, words such as being, essence, unity, good, have exerted an extraordinary influence over the minds of men. The meagreness or negativeness of their content has been in an inverse ratio to their power. They have become the forms under which all things were comprehended. There was a need or instinct in the human soul which they satisfied; they were not ideas, but gods, and to this new mythology the men of a later generation began to attach the powers and associations of the elder deities.

  The idea of good is one of those sacred words or forms of thought, which were beginning to take the place of the old mythology. It meant unity, in which all time and all existence were gathered up. It was the truth of all things, and also the light in which they shone forth, and became evident to intelligences human and divine. It was the cause of all things, the power by which they were brought into being. It was the universal reason divested of a human personality. It was the life as well as the light of the world, all knowledge and all power were comprehended in it. The way to it was through the mathematical sciences, and these too were dependent on it. To ask whether God was the maker of it, or made by it, would be like asking whether God could be conceived apart from goodness, or goodness apart from God. The God of the Timaeus is not really at variance with the idea of good; they are aspects of the same, differing only as the personal from the impersonal, or the masculine from the neuter, the one being the expression or language of mythology, the other of philosophy.

  This, or something like this, is the meaning of the idea of good as conceived by Plato. Ideas of number, order, harmony, development may also be said to enter into it. The paraphrase which has just been given of it goes beyond the actual words of Plato. We have perhaps arrived at the stage of philosophy which enables us to understand what he is aiming at, better than he did himself. We are beginning to realize what he saw darkly and at a distance. But if he could have been told that this, or some conception of the same kind, but higher than this, was the truth at which he was aiming, and the need which he sought to supply, he would gladly have recognized that more was contained in his own thoughts than he himself knew. As his words are few and his manner reticent and tentative, so must the style of his interpreter be. We should not approach his meaning more nearly by attempting to define it further. In translating him into the language of modern thought, we might insensibly lose the spirit of ancient philosophy. It is remarkable that although Plato speaks of the idea of good as the first principle of truth and being, it is nowhere mentioned in his writings except in this passage. Nor did it retain any hold upon the minds of his disciples in a later generation; it was probably unintelligible to them. Nor does the mention of it in Aristotle appear to have any reference to this or any other passage in his extant writings.

  book vii.

  Analysis.Republic VII.

  514And now I will describe in a figure the enlightenment or unenlightenment of our nature:—Imagine human beings living in an underground den which is open towards the light; they have been there from childhood, having their necks and legs chained, and can only see into the den. At a distance there is a fire, and between the fire and the prisoners a raised way, and a low wall is built along the way, like the screen over which marionette players show their 515puppets. Behind the wall appear moving figures, who hold in their hands various works of art, and among them images of men and animals, wood and stone, and some of the passers-by are talking and others silent. ‘A strange parable,’ he said, ‘and strange captives.’ They are ourselves, I replied; and they see only the shadows of the images which the fire throws on the wall of the den; to these they give names, and if we add an echo which returns from the wall, the voices of the passengers will seem to proceed from the shadows. Suppose now that you suddenly turn them round and make them look with pain and grief to themselves at the real images; will they believe them to be real? Will not their eyes be dazzled, and will they not try to get away from the light to something which they are able to behold without 516blinking? And suppose further, that they are dragged up a steep and rugged ascent into the presence of the sun himself, will not their sight be darkened with the excess of light? Some time will pass before they get the habit of perceiving at all; and at first they will be able to perceive only shadows and reflections in the water; then they will recognize the moon and the stars, and will at length behold the sun in his own proper place as he is. Last of all they will conclude:—This is he who gives us the year and the seasons, and is the author of all that we see. How will they rejoice in passing from darkness to light! How worthless to them will seem the honours and glories of the den! But now imagine further, that they descend into their old habitations;—in that underground dwelling they will not see as well as their 517fellows, and will not be able to compete with them in the measurement of the shadows on the wall; there will be many jokes about the man who went on a visit to the sun and lost his eyes, and if they find anybody trying to set free and enlighten one of their number, they will put him to death, if they can catch him. Now the cave or den is the world of sight, the fire is the sun, the way upwards is the way to knowledge, and in the world of knowledge the idea of good is last seen and with difficulty, but when seen is inferred to be the author of good and right—parent of the lord of light in this world, and of truth and understanding in the other. He who attains to the beatific vision is always going upwards; he is unwilling to descend into political assemblies and courts of law; for his eyes are apt to blink at the images or shadows of images which they behold in them—he cannot enter into the ideas of those who have never in their lives understood the 518relation of the shadow to the substance. But blindness is of two kinds, and may be caused either by passing out of darkness into light or out of light into darkness, and a man of sense will distinguish between them, and will not laugh equally at both of them, but the blindness which arises from fulness of light he will deem blessed, and pity the other; or if he laugh at the puzzled soul looking at the sun, he will have more reason to laugh than the inhabitants of the den at those who descend from above. There is a further lesson taught by this parable of ours. Some persons fancy that instruction is like giving eyes to the blind, but we say that the faculty of sight was always there, and that the soul only requires to be turned round towards the light. And this is conversion; other virtues are almost like bodily habits, and may be acquired in the same manner, but intelligence has a diviner life, and is indestructible, turning either to good 519or evil according to the direction given. Did you never observe how the mind of a clever rogue peers out of his eyes, and the more clearly he sees, the more evil he does? Now if you take such an one, and cut away from him those leaden weights of pleasure and desire which bind his soul to earth, his intelligence will be turned round, and he will behold the truth as clearly as he now discerns his meaner ends. And have we not decided that our rulers must neither be so uneducated as to have no fixed rule of life, nor so over-educated as to be unwilling to leave their paradise for the business of the world? We must choose out therefore the natures who are most likely to ascend to the light and knowledge of the good; but we must not allow them to remain in the region of light; they must be forced down again among the captives in the den to partake of their labours and honours. ‘Will they not think this a hardship?’ You should remember that our purpose in framing the State was not that our citizens should do what they like, but that they should serve 520the State for the common good of all. May we not fairly say to our philosopher,—Friend, we do you no wrong; for in other States philosophy grows wild, and a wild plant owes nothing to the gardener, but you have been trained by us to be the rulers and kings of our hive, and therefore we must insist on your descending into the den. You must, each of you, take your turn, and become able to use your eyes in the dark, and with a little practice you will see far better than those who quarrel about the shadows, whose knowledge is a dream only, whilst yours is a waking reality. It may be that the saint or philosopher who is best fitted, may also be the least inclined to rule, but necessity is laid upon him, and he must no longer live in the heaven of 521ideas. And this will be the salvation of the State. For those who rule must not be those who are desirous to rule; and, if you can offer to our citizens a better life than that of rulers generally is, there will be a chance that the rich, not only in this world’s goods, but in virtue and wisdom, may bear rule. And the only life which is better than the life of political ambition is that of philosophy, which is also the best preparation for the government of a State.

  Then now comes the question,—How shall we create our rulers; what way is there from darkness to light? The change is effected by philosophy; it is not the turning over of an oyster-shell, but the conversion of a soul from night to day, from becoming to being. And what training will draw the soul upwards? Our former education had two branches, gymnastic, which was occupied with the body, and music, the sister art, which infused a 522natural harmony into mind and literature; but neither of these sciences gave any promise of doing what we want. Nothing remains to us but that universal or primary science of which all the arts and sciences are partakers, I mean number or calculation. ‘Very true.’ Including the art of war? ‘Yes, certainly.’ Then there is something ludicrous about Palamedes in the tragedy, coming in and saying that he had invented number, and had counted the ranks and set them in order. For if Agamemnon could not count his feet (and without number how could he?) he must have been a pretty sort of general indeed. No man should be a soldier who cannot count, and indeed he is hardly to be called a man. But I am not speaking of these practical applications 523of arithmetic, for number, in my view, is rather to be regarded as a conductor to thought and being. I will explain what I mean by the last expression:—Things sensible are of two kinds; the one class invite or stimulate the mind, while in the other the mind acquiesces. Now the stimulating class are the things which suggest contrast and relation. For example, suppose that I hold up to the eyes three fingers—a fore finger, a middle finger, a little finger—the sight equally recognizes all three fingers, but without number cannot further distinguish them. Or again, suppose two objects to be relatively great and small, these ideas of greatness and smallness are supplied not by the sense, 524but by the mind. And the perception of their contrast or relation quickens and sets in motion the mind, which is puzzled by the confused intimations of sense, and has recourse to number in order to find out whether the things indicated are one or more than one. Number replies that they are two and not one, and are to be distinguished from one another. Again, the sight beholds great and small, but only in a confused chaos, and not until they are distinguished does the question arise of their respective natures; we are thus led on to the distinction between the visible and intelligible. That was what I meant when I spoke of stimulants to the intellect; I was thinking of the contradictions which arise in perception. The idea of unity, for example, like that of a finger, does not arouse thought unless involving some conception 525of plurality; but when the one is also the opposite of one, the contradiction gives rise to reflection; an example of this is afforded by any object of sight. All number has also an elevating effect; it raises the mind out of the foam and flux of generation to the contemplation of being, having lesser military and retail uses also. The retail use is not required by us; but as our guardian is to be a soldier as well as a philosopher, the military one may be retained. And to our higher purpose no science can be better adapted; but it must be pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, not of a shopkeeper. It is concerned, not with visible objects, but with abstract truth; for numbers are pure abstractions—the true arithmetician indignantly denies that his unit is capable of division. 526When you divide, he insists that you are only multiplying; his ‘one’ is not material or resolvable into fractions, but an unvarying and absolute equality; and this proves the purely intellectual character of his study. Note also the great power which arithmetic has of sharpening the wits; no other discipline is equally severe, or an equal test of general ability, or equally improving to a stupid person.

  Let our second branch of education be geometry. ‘I can easily see,’ replied Glaucon, ‘that the skill of the general will be doubled by his knowledge of geometry.’ That is a small matter; the use of geometry, to which I refer, is the assistance given by it in the contemplation of the idea of good, and the compelling the mind to look at true being, and not at generation only. Yet the present mode of pursuing these studies, as any one who is the least of a mathematician is aware, is mean and ridiculous; they are made to look downwards to the arts, and not upwards to eternal existence. 527The geometer is always talking of squaring, subtending, apposing, as if he had in view action; whereas knowledge is the real object of the study. It should elevate the soul, and create the mind of philosophy; it should raise up what has fallen down, not to speak of lesser uses in war and military tactics, and in the improvement of the faculties.

  Shall we propose, as a third branch of our education, astronomy? ‘Very good,’ replied Glaucon; ‘the knowledge of the heavens is necessary at once for husbandry, navigation, military tactics.’ I like your way of giving useful reasons for everything in order to make friends of the world. And there is a difficulty in proving to mankind that education is not only useful information but a purification of the eye of the soul, which is better than the bodily 528eye, for by this alone is truth seen. Now, will you appeal to mankind in general or to the philosopher? or would you prefer to look to yourself only? ‘Every man is his own best friend.’ Then take a step backward, for we are out of order, and insert the third dimension which is of solids, after the second which is of planes, and then you may proceed to solids in motion. But solid geometry is not popular and has not the patronage of the State, nor is the use of it fully recognized; the difficulty is great, and the votaries of the study are conceited and impatient. Still the charm of the pursuit wins upon men, and, if government would lend a little assistance, there might be great progress made. ‘Very true,’ replied Glaucon; ‘but do I understand you now to begin with plane geometry, and to place next geometry of solids, and thirdly, astronomy, or the motion of solids?’ Yes, I said; my hastiness has only hindered us.

  ‘Very good, and now let us proceed to astronomy, about which 529I am willing to speak in your lofty strain. No one can fail to see that the contemplation of the heavens draws the soul upwards.’ I am an exception, then; astronomy as studied at present appears to me to draw the soul not upwards, but downwards. Star-gazing is just looking up at the ceiling—no better; a man may lie on his back on land or on water—he may look up or look down, but there is no science in that. The vision of knowledge of which I speak is seen not with the eyes, but with the mind. All the magnificence of the heavens is but the embroidery of a copy which falls far short of the divine Original, and teaches nothing about the absolute harmonies or motions of things. Their beauty is like the beauty of figures drawn by the hand of Daedalus or any other 530great artist, which may be used for illustration, but no mathematician would seek to obtain from them true conceptions of equality or numerical relations. How ridiculous then to look for these in the map of the heavens, in which the imperfection of matter comes in everywhere as a disturbing element, marring the symmetry of day and night, of months and years, of the sun and stars in their courses. Only by problems can we place astronomy on a truly scientific basis. Let the heavens alone, and exert the intellect.

  Still, mathematics admit of other applications, as the Pythagoreans say, and we agree. There is a sister science of harmonical motion, adapted to the ear as astronomy is to the eye, and there may be other applications also. Let us inquire of the Pythagoreans about them, not forgetting that we have an aim higher than theirs, which is the relation of these sciences to the idea of good. The error which pervades astronomy also pervades 531harmonics. The musicians put their ears in the place of their minds. ‘Yes,’ replied Glaucon, ‘I like to see them laying their ears alongside of their neighbours’ faces—some saying, “That’s a new note,” others declaring that the two notes are the same.’ Yes, I said; but you mean the empirics who are always twisting and torturing the strings of the lyre, and quarrelling about the tempers of the strings; I am referring rather to the Pythagorean harmonists, who are almost equally in error. For they investigate only the numbers of the consonances which are heard, and ascend no higher,—of the true numerical harmony which is unheard, and is only to be found in problems, they have not even a conception. ‘That last,’ he said, ‘must be a marvellous thing.’ A thing, I replied, which is only useful if pursued with a view to the good.

  All these sciences are the prelude of the strain, and are profitable if they are regarded in their natural relations to one another. ‘I dare say, Socrates,’ said Glaucon; ‘but such a study will be an endless business.’ What study do you mean—of the prelude, or what? For all these things are only the prelude, and you surely do not suppose that a mere mathematician is also a dialectician? 532‘Certainly not. I have hardly ever known a mathematician who could reason.’ And yet, Glaucon, is not true reasoning that hymn of dialectic which is the music of the intellectual world, and which was by us compared to the effort of sight, when from beholding the shadows on the wall we arrived at last at the images which gave the shadows? Even so the dialectical faculty withdrawing from sense arrives by the pure intellect at the contemplation of the idea of good, and never rests but at the very end of the intellectual world. And the royal road out of the cave into the light, and the blinking of the eyes at the sun and turning to contemplate the shadows of reality, not the shadows of an image only—this progress and gradual acquisition of a new faculty of sight by the help of the mathematical sciences, is the elevation of the soul to the contemplation of the highest ideal of being.

  ‘So far, I agree with you. But now, leaving the prelude, let us proceed to the hymn. What, then, is the nature of dialectic, and 533what are the paths which lead thither?’ Dear Glaucon, you cannot follow me here. There can be no revelation of the absolute truth to one who has not been disciplined in the previous sciences. But that there is a science of absolute truth, which is attained in some way very different from those now practised, I am confident. For all other arts or sciences are relative to human needs and opinions; and the mathematical sciences are but a dream or hypothesis of true being, and never analyse their own principles. Dialectic alone rises to the principle which is above hypotheses, converting and gently leading the eye of the soul out of the barbarous slough of ignorance into the light of the upper world, with the help of the sciences which we have been describing—sciences, as they are often termed, although they require some other name, implying greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than science, and this in our previous sketch was understanding. And so we get four names—two for intellect, and two for opinion,—reason or mind, understanding, faith, perception 534of shadows—which make a proportion—being: becoming:: intellect: opinion—and science: belief:: understanding: perception of shadows. Dialectic may be further described as that science which defines and explains the essence or being of each nature, which distinguishes and abstracts the good, and is ready to do battle against all opponents in the cause of good. To him who is not a dialectician life is but a sleepy dream; and many a man is in his grave before he is well waked up. And would you have the future rulers of your ideal State intelligent beings, or stupid as posts? ‘Certainly not the latter.’ Then you must train them in dialectic, which will teach them to ask and answer questions, and is the coping-stone of the sciences.

  535I dare say that you have not forgotten how our rulers were chosen; and the process of selection may be carried a step further:—As before, they must be constant and valiant, good-looking, and of noble manners, but now they must also have natural ability which education will improve; that is to say, they must be quick at learning, capable of mental toil, retentive, solid, diligent natures, who combine intellectual with moral virtues; not lame and one-sided, diligent in bodily exercise and indolent in mind, or conversely; not a maimed soul, which hates falsehood 536and yet unintentionally is always wallowing in the mire of ignorance; not a bastard or feeble person, but sound in wind and limb, and in perfect condition for the great gymnastic trial of the mind. Justice herself can find no fault with natures such as these; and they will be the saviours of our State; disciples of another sort would only make philosophy more ridiculous than she is at present. Forgive my enthusiasm; I am becoming excited; but when I see her trampled under foot, I am angry at the authors of her disgrace. ‘I did not notice that you were more excited than you ought to have been.’ But I felt that I was. Now do not let us forget another point in the selection of our disciples—that they must be young and not old. For Solon is mistaken in saying that an old man can be always learning: youth is the time of study, and here we must remember that the mind is free and dainty, and, unlike the body, must not be made to work against the grain. 537Learning should be at first a sort of play, in which the natural bent is detected. As in training them for war, the young dogs should at first only taste blood; but when the necessary gymnastics are over which during two or three years divide life between sleep and bodily exercise, then the education of the soul will become a more serious matter. At twenty years of age, a selection must be made of the more promising disciples, with whom a new epoch of education will begin. The sciences which they have hitherto learned in fragments will now be brought into relation with each other and with true being; for the power of combining them is the test of speculative and dialectical ability. And afterwards at thirty a further selection shall be made of those who are able to withdraw from the world of sense into the abstraction of ideas. But at this point, judging from present experience, there is a danger that dialectic may be the source of many evils. The danger may be illustrated by a parallel case:—Imagine a person who has been brought up in wealth and luxury amid a crowd of flatterers, and who is suddenly informed that he is a supposititious 538son. He has hitherto honoured his reputed parents and disregarded the flatterers, and now he does the reverse. This is just what happens with a man’s principles. There are certain doctrines which he learnt at home and which exercised a parental authority over him. Presently he finds that imputations are cast upon them; a troublesome querist comes and asks, ‘What is the just and good?’ or proves that virtue is vice and vice virtue, and his mind becomes unsettled, and he ceases to love, honour, and 539obey them as he has hitherto done. He is seduced into the life of pleasure, and becomes a lawless person and a rogue. The case of such speculators is very pitiable, and, in order that our thirty years’ old pupils may not require this pity, let us take every possible care that young persons do not study philosophy too early. For a young man is a sort of puppy who only plays with an argument; and is reasoned into and out of his opinions every day; he soon begins to believe nothing, and brings himself and philosophy into discredit. A man of thirty does not run on in this way; he will argue and not merely contradict, and adds new honour to philosophy by the sobriety of his conduct. What time shall we allow for this second gymnastic training of the soul?—say, twice the time required for the gymnastics of the body; six, or perhaps five years, to commence at thirty, and then for fifteen years let the student go down into the den, and command armies, 540and gain experience of life. At fifty let him return to the end of all things, and have his eyes uplifted to the idea of good, and order his life after that pattern; if necessary, taking his turn at the helm of State, and training up others to be his successors. When his time comes he shall depart in peace to the islands of the blest. He shall be honoured with sacrifices, and receive such worship as the Pythian oracle approves.

  ‘You are a statuary, Socrates, and have made a perfect image of our governors.’ Yes, and of our governesses, for the women will share in all things with the men. And you will admit that our State is not a mere aspiration, but may really come into being when there shall arise philosopher-kings, one or more, who will despise earthly vanities, and will be the servants of 541justice only. ‘And how will they begin their work?’ Their first act will be to send away into the country all those who are more than ten years of age, and to proceed with those who are left. . . .

  Introduction.

  At the commencement of the sixth book, Plato anticipated his explanation of the relation of the philosopher to the world in an allegory, in this, as in other passages, following the order which he prescribes in education, and proceeding from the concrete to the abstract. At the commencement of Book VII, under the figure of a cave having an opening towards a fire and a way upwards to the true light, he returns to view the divisions of knowledge, exhibiting familiarly, as in a picture, the result which had been hardly won by a great effort of thought in the previous discussion; at the same time casting a glance onward at the dialectical process, which is represented by the way leading from darkness to light. The shadows, the images, the reflection of the sun and stars in the water, the stars and sun themselves, severally correspond,—the first, to the realm of fancy and poetry,—the second, to the world of sense,—the third, to the abstractions or universals of sense, of which the mathematical sciences furnish the type,—the fourth and last to the same abstractions, when seen in the unity of the idea, from which they derive a new meaning and power. The true dialectical process begins with the contemplation of the real stars, and not mere reflections of them, and ends with the recognition of the sun, or idea of good, as the parent not only of light but of warmth and growth. To the divisions of knowledge the stages of education partly answer:—first, there is the early education of childhood and youth in the fancies of the poets, and in the laws and customs of the State;—then there is the training of the body to be a warrior athlete, and a good servant of the mind;—and thirdly, after an interval follows the education of later life, which begins with mathematics and proceeds to philosophy in general.

  There seem to be two great aims in the philosophy of Plato,—first, to realize abstractions; secondly, to connect them. According to him, the true education is that which draws men from becoming to being, and to a comprehensive survey of all being. He desires to develop in the human mind the faculty of seeing the universal in all things; until at last the particulars of sense drop away and the universal alone remains. He then seeks to combine the universals which he has disengaged from sense, not perceiving that the correlation of them has no other basis but the common use of language. He never understands that abstractions, as Hegel says, are ‘mere abstractions’—of use when employed in the arrangement of facts, but adding nothing to the sum of knowledge when pursued apart from them, or with reference to an imaginary idea of good. Still the exercise of the faculty of abstraction apart from facts has enlarged the mind, and played a great part in the education of the human race. Plato appreciated the value of this faculty, and saw that it might be quickened by the study of number and relation. All things in which there is opposition or proportion are suggestive of reflection. The mere impression of sense evokes no power of thought or of mind, but when sensible objects ask to be compared and distinguished, then philosophy begins. The science of arithmetic first suggests such distinctions. There follow in order the other sciences of plain and solid geometry, and of solids in motion, one branch of which is astronomy or the harmony of the spheres,—to this is appended the sister science of the harmony of sounds. Plato seems also to hint at the possibility of other applications of arithmetical or mathematical proportions, such as we employ in chemistry and natural philosophy, such as the Pythagoreans and even Aristotle make use of in Ethics and Politics, e. g. his distinction between arithmetical and geometrical proportion in the Ethics (Book V), or between numerical and proportional equality in the Politics (iii. 8, iv. 12, &c.).

  The modern mathematician will readily sympathise with Plato’s delight in the properties of pure mathematics. He will not be disinclined to say with him:—Let alone the heavens, and study the beauties of number and figure in themselves. He too will be apt to depreciate their application to the arts. He will observe that Plato has a conception of geometry, in which figures are to be dispensed with; thus in a distant and shadowy way seeming to anticipate the possibility of working geometrical problems by a more general mode of analysis. He will remark with interest on the backward state of solid geometry, which, alas! was not encouraged by the aid of the State in the age of Plato; and he will recognize the grasp of Plato’s mind in his ability to conceive of one science of solids in motion including the earth as well as the heavens,—not forgetting to notice the intimation to which allusion has been already made, that besides astronomy and harmonics the science of solids in motion may have other applications. Still more will he be struck with the comprehensiveness of view which led Plato, at a time when these sciences hardly existed, to say that they must be studied in relation to one another, and to the idea of good, or common principle of truth and being. But he will also see (and perhaps without surprise) that in that stage of physical and mathematical knowledge, Plato has fallen into the error of supposing that he can construct the heavens a priori by mathematical problems, and determine the principles of harmony irrespective of the adaptation of sounds to the human ear. The illusion was a natural one in that age and country. The simplicity and certainty of astronomy and harmonics seemed to contrast with the variation and complexity of the world of sense; hence the circumstance that there was some elementary basis of fact, some measurement of distance or time or vibrations on which they must ultimately rest, was overlooked by him. The modern predecessors of Newton fell into errors equally great; and Plato can hardly be said to have been very far wrong, or may even claim a sort of prophetic insight into the subject, when we consider that the greater part of astronomy at the present day consists of abstract dynamics, by the help of which most astronomical discoveries have been made.

  The metaphysical philosopher from his point of view recognizes mathematics as an instrument of education,—which strengthens the power of attention, developes the sense of order and the faculty of construction, and enables the mind to grasp under simple formulae the quantitative differences of physical phenomena. But while acknowledging their value in education, he sees also that they have no connexion with our higher moral and intellectual ideas. In the attempt which Plato makes to connect them, we easily trace the influences of ancient Pythagorean notions. There is no reason to suppose that he is speaking of the ideal numbers at p. 525 E; but he is describing numbers which are pure abstractions, to which he assigns a real and separate existence, which, as ‘the teachers of the art’ (meaning probably the Pythagoreans) would have affirmed, repel all attempts at subdivision, and in which unity and every other number are conceived of as absolute. The truth and certainty of numbers, when thus disengaged from phenomena, gave them a kind of sacredness in the eyes of an ancient philosopher. Nor is it easy to say how far ideas of order and fixedness may have had a moral and elevating influence on the minds of men, ‘who,’ in the words of the Timaeus, ‘might learn to regulate their erring lives according to them’ (47 C). It is worthy of remark that the old Pythagorean ethical symbols still exist as figures of speech among ourselves. And those who in modern times see the world pervaded by universal law, may also see an anticipation of this last word of modern philosophy in the Platonic idea of good, which is the source and measure of all things, and yet only an abstraction. (Cp. Philebus, sub fin.)

  Two passages seem to require more particular explanations. First, that which relates to the analysis of vision. The difficulty in this passage may be explained, like many others, from differences in the modes of conception prevailing among ancient and modern thinkers. To us, the perceptions of sense are inseparable from the act of the mind which accompanies them. The consciousness of form, colour, distance, is indistinguishable from the simple sensation, which is the medium of them. Whereas to Plato sense is the Heraclitean flux of sense, not the vision of objects in the order in which they actually present themselves to the experienced sight, but as they may be imagined to appear confused and blurred to the half-awakened eye of the infant. The first action of the mind is aroused by the attempt to set in order this chaos, and the reason is required to frame distinct conceptions under which the confused impressions of sense may be arranged. Hence arises the question, ‘What is great, what is small?’ and thus begins the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.

  The second difficulty relates to Plato’s conception of harmonics. Three classes of harmonists are distinguished by him:—first, the Pythagoreans, whom he proposes to consult as in the previous discussion on music he was to consult Damon—they are acknowledged to be masters in the art, but are altogether deficient in the knowledge of its higher import and relation to the good; secondly, the mere empirics, whom Glaucon appears to confuse with them, and whom both he and Socrates ludicrously describe as experimenting by mere auscultation on the intervals of sounds. Both of these fall short in different degrees of the Platonic idea of harmony, which must be studied in a purely abstract way, first by the method of problems, and secondly as a part of universal knowledge in relation to the idea of good.

  The allegory has a political as well as a philosophical meaning. The den or cave represents the narrow sphere of politics or law (cp. the description of the philosopher and lawyer in the Theaetetus, 172-176), and the light of the eternal ideas is supposed to exercise a disturbing influence on the minds of those who return to this lower world. In other words, their principles are too wide for practical application; they are looking far away into the past and future, when their business is with the present. The ideal is not easily reduced to the conditions of actual life, and may often be at variance with them. And at first, those who return are unable to compete with the inhabitants of the den in the measurement of the shadows, and are derided and persecuted by them; but after a while they see the things below in far truer proportions than those who have never ascended into the upper world. The difference between the politician turned into a philosopher and the philosopher turned into a politician, is symbolized by the two kinds of disordered eyesight, the one which is experienced by the captive who is transferred from darkness to day, the other, of the heavenly messenger who voluntarily for the good of his fellow-men descends into the den. In what way the brighter light is to dawn on the inhabitants of the lower world, or how the idea of good is to become the guiding principle of politics, is left unexplained by Plato. Like the nature and divisions of dialectic, of which Glaucon impatiently demands to be informed, perhaps he would have said that the explanation could not be given except to a disciple of the previous sciences. (Compare Symposium 210 A.)

  Many illustrations of this part of the Republic may be found in modern Politics and in daily life. For among ourselves, too, there have been two sorts of Politicians or Statesmen, whose eyesight has become disordered in two different ways. First, there have been great men who, in the language of Burke, ‘have been too much given to general maxims,’ who, like J. S. Mill or Burke himself, have been theorists or philosophers before they were politicians, or who, having been students of history, have allowed some great historical parallel, such as the English Revolution of 1688, or possibly Athenian democracy or Roman Imperialism, to be the medium through which they viewed contemporary events. Or perhaps the long projecting shadow of some existing institution may have darkened their vision. The Church of the future, the Commonwealth of the future, the Society of the future, have so absorbed their minds, that they are unable to see in their true proportions the Politics of to-day. They have been intoxicated with great ideas, such as liberty, or equality, or the greatest happiness of the greatest number, or the brotherhood of humanity, and they no longer care to consider how these ideas must be limited in practice or harmonized with the conditions of human life. They are full of light, but the light to them has become only a sort of luminous mist or blindness. Almost every one has known some enthusiastic half-educated person, who sees everything at false distances, and in erroneous proportions.

  With this disorder of eyesight may be contrasted another—of those who see not far into the distance, but what is near only; who have been engaged all their lives in a trade or a profession; who are limited to a set or sect of their own. Men of this kind have no universal except their own interests or the interests of their class, no principle but the opinion of persons like themselves, no knowledge of affairs beyond what they pick up in the streets or at their club. Suppose them to be sent into a larger world, to undertake some higher calling, from being tradesmen to turn generals or politicians, from being school-masters to become philosophers:—or imagine them on a sudden to receive an inward light which reveals to them for the first time in their lives a higher idea of God and the existence of a spiritual world, by this sudden conversion or change is not their daily life likely to be upset; and on the other hand will not many of their old prejudices and narrownesses still adhere to them long after they have begun to take a more comprehensive view of human things? From familiar examples like these we may learn what Plato meant by the eyesight which is liable to two kinds of disorders.

  Nor have we any difficulty in drawing a parallel between the young Athenian in the fifth century before Christ who became unsettled by new ideas, and the student of a modern University who has been the subject of a similar ‘aufklärung.’ We too observe that when young men begin to criticise customary beliefs, or to analyse the constitution of human nature, they are apt to lose hold of solid principle ([Editor: illegible character]παν τὸ βέβαιον αὐτω̂ν ἐξοἱχεται). They are like trees which have been frequently transplanted. The earth about them is loose, and they have no roots reaching far into the soil. They ‘light upon every flower,’ following their own wayward wills, or because the wind blows them. They catch opinions, as diseases are caught—when they are in the air. Borne hither and thither, ‘they speedily fall into beliefs’ the opposite of those in which they were brought up. They hardly retain the distinction of right and wrong; they seem to think one thing as good as another. They suppose themselves to be searching after truth when they are playing the game of ‘follow my leader.’ They fall in love ‘at first sight’ with paradoxes respecting morality, some fancy about art, some novelty or eccentricity in religion, and like lovers they are so absorbed for a time in their new notion that they can think of nothing else. The resolution of some philosophical or theological question seems to them more interesting and important than any substantial knowledge of literature or science or even than a good life. Like the youth in the Philebus, they are ready to discourse to any one about a new philosophy. They are generally the disciples of some eminent professor or sophist, whom they rather imitate than understand. They may be counted happy if in later years they retain some of the simple truths which they acquired in early education, and which they may, perhaps, find to be worth all the rest. Such is the picture which Plato draws and which we only reproduce, partly in his own words, of the dangers which beset youth in times of transition, when old opinions are fading away and the new are not yet firmly established. Their condition is ingeniously compared by him to that of a supposititious son, who has made the discovery that his reputed parents are not his real ones, and, in consequence, they have lost their authority over him.

  The distinction between the mathematician and the dialectician is also noticeable. Plato is very well aware that the faculty of the mathematician is quite distinct from the higher philosophical sense which recognizes and combines first principles (531 E). The contempt which he expresses at p. 533 for distinctions of words, the danger of involuntary falsehood, the apology which Socrates makes for his earnestness of speech, are highly characteristic of the Platonic style and mode of thought. The quaint notion that if Palamedes was the inventor of number Agamemnon could not have counted his feet; the art by which we are made to believe that this State of ours is not a dream only; the gravity with which the first step is taken in the actual creation of the State, namely, the sending out of the city all who had arrived at ten years of age, in order to expedite the business of education by a generation, are also truly Platonic. (For the last, compare the passage at the end of the third book (415 D), in which he expects the lie about the earthborn men to be believed in the second generation.)

  book viii.

  Analysis.Republic VIII.

  543And so we have arrived at the conclusion, that in the perfect State wives and children are to be in common; and the education and pursuits of men and women, both in war and peace, are to be common, and kings are to be philosophers and warriors, and the soldiers of the State are to live together, having all things in common; and they are to be warrior athletes, receiving no pay but only their food, from the other citizens. Now let us return to the point at which we digressed. ‘That is easily done,’ he replied: ‘You were speaking of the State which you had constructed, and of the individual who answered to this, 544both of whom you affirmed to be good; and you said that of inferior States there were four forms and four individuals corresponding to them, which although deficient in various degrees, were all of them worth inspecting with a view to determining the relative happiness or misery of the best or worst man. Then Polemarchus and Adeimantus interrupted you, and this led to another argument,—and so here we are.’ Suppose that we put ourselves again in the same position, and do you repeat your question. ‘I should like to know of what constitutions you were speaking?’ Besides the perfect State there are only four of any note in Hellas:—first, the famous Lacedaemonian or Cretan commonwealth; secondly, oligarchy, a State full of evils; thirdly, democracy, which follows next in order; fourthly, tyranny, which is the disease or death of all government. Now, States are not made of ‘oak and rock,’ but of flesh and blood; and therefore as there are five States there must be five human natures in individuals, which correspond to them. And first, there is the 545ambitious nature, which answers to the Lacedaemonian State; secondly, the oligarchical nature; thirdly, the democratical; and fourthly, the tyrannical. This last will have to be compared with the perfectly just, which is the fifth, that we may know which is the happier, and then we shall be able to determine whether the argument of Thrasymachus or our own is the more convincing. And as before we began with the State and went on to the individual, so now, beginning with timocracy, let us go on to the timocratical man, and then proceed to the other forms of government, and the individuals who answer to them.

  But how did timocracy arise out of the perfect State? Plainly, like all changes of government, from division in the rulers. But whence came division? ‘Sing, heavenly Muses,’ as Homer says;—let them condescend to answer us, as if we were children, to whom they put on a solemn face in jest. ‘And what will they 546say?’ They will say that human things are fated to decay, and even the perfect State will not escape from this law of destiny, when ‘the wheel comes full circle’ in a period short or long. Plants or animals have times of fertility and sterility, which the intelligence of rulers because alloyed by sense will not enable them to ascertain, and children will be born out of season. For whereas divine creations are in a perfect cycle or number, the human creation is in a number which declines from perfection, and has four terms and three intervals of numbers, increasing, waning, assimilating, dissimilating, and yet perfectly commensurate with each other. The base of the number with a fourth added (or which is 3 : 4), multiplied by five and cubed, gives two harmonies:—The first a square number, which is a hundred times the base (or a hundred times a hundred); the second, an oblong, being a hundred squares of the rational diameter of a figure the side of which is five, subtracting one from each square or two perfect squares from all, and adding a hundred cubes of three. This entire number is geometrical and contains the rule or law of generation. When this law is neglected marriages will be unpropitious; the inferior offspring who are then born will in time become the rulers; the State will decline, and education fall into decay; gymnastic will be preferred to music, and the gold and 547silver and brass and iron will form a chaotic mass—thus division will arise. Such is the Muses’ answer to our question. ‘And a true answer, of course:—but what more have they to say?’ They say that the two races, the iron and brass, and the silver and gold, will draw the State different ways;—the one will take to trade and moneymaking, and the others, having the true riches and not caring for money, will resist them: the contest will end in a compromise; they will agree to have private property, and will enslave their fellow-citizens who were once their friends and nurturers. But they will retain their warlike character, and will be chiefly occupied in fighting and exercising rule. Thus arises timocracy, which is intermediate between aristocracy and oligarchy.

  The new form of government resembles the ideal in obedience to rulers and contempt for trade, in having common meals, and in devotion to warlike and gymnastic exercises. But corruption has crept into philosophy, and simplicity of character, which was once 548her note, is now looked for only in the military class. Arts of war begin to prevail over arts of peace; the ruler is no longer a philosopher; as in oligarchies, there springs up among them an extravagant love of gain—get another man’s and save your own, is their principle; and they have dark places in which they hoard their gold and silver, for the use of their women and others; they take their pleasures by stealth, like boys who are running away from their father—the law; and their education is not inspired by the Muse, but imposed by the strong arm of power. The leading characteristic of this State is party spirit and ambition.

  And what manner of man answers to such a State? ‘In love of contention,’ replied Adeimantus, ‘he will be like our friend Glaucon.’ In that respect, perhaps, but not in others. He 549is self-asserting and ill-educated, yet fond of literature, although not himself a speaker,—fierce with slaves, but obedient to rulers, a lover of power and honour, which he hopes to gain by deeds of arms,—fond, too, of gymnastics and of hunting. As he advances in years he grows avaricious, for he has lost philosophy, which is the only saviour and guardian of men. His origin is as follows:—His father is a good man dwelling in an ill-ordered State, who has retired from politics in order that he may lead a quiet life. His mother is angry at her loss of precedence among other women; she is disgusted at her husband’s selfishness, and she expatiates to her son on the unmanliness and indolence of his father. The old family servant takes up the tale, and says to the youth:—‘When you grow up you must be 550more of a man than your father.’ All the world are agreed that he who minds his own business is an idiot, while a busybody is highly honoured and esteemed. The young man compares this spirit with his father’s words and ways, and as he is naturally well disposed, although he has suffered from evil influences, he rests at a middle point and becomes ambitious and a lover of honour.

  And now let us set another city over against another man. The next form of government is oligarchy, in which the rule is of the rich only; nor is it difficult to see how such a State arises. The decline begins with the possession of gold and silver; illegal modes of expenditure are invented; one draws another on, and the multitude are infected; riches outweigh virtue; 551lovers of money take the place of lovers of honour; misers of politicians; and, in time, political privileges are confined by law to the rich, who do not shrink from violence in order to effect their purposes.

  Thus much of the origin,—let us next consider the evils of oligarchy. Would a man who wanted to be safe on a voyage take a bad pilot because he was rich, or refuse a good one because he was poor? And does not the analogy apply still more to the State? And there are yet greater evils: two nations are struggling together in one—the rich and the poor; and the rich dare not put arms into the hands of the poor, and are unwilling to pay for defenders out of their own money. And have we not 552already condemned that State in which the same persons are warriors as well as shopkeepers? The greatest evil of all is that a man may sell his property and have no place in the State; while there is one class which has enormous wealth, the other is entirely destitute. But observe that these destitutes had not really any more of the governing nature in them when they were rich than now that they are poor; they were miserable spend-thrifts always. They are the drones of the hive; only whereas the actual drone is unprovided by nature with a sting, the two-legged things whom we call drones are some of them without stings and some of them have dreadful stings; in other words, there are paupers and there are rogues. These are never far apart; and in oligarchical cities, where nearly everybody is a pauper who is not a ruler, you will find abundance of both. And this evil state of society originates in bad education and bad government.

  553Like State, like man,—the change in the latter begins with the representative of timocracy; he walks at first in the ways of his father, who may have been a statesman, or general, perhaps; and presently he sees him ‘fallen from his high estate,’ the victim of informers, dying in prison or exile, or by the hand of the executioner. The lesson which he thus receives, makes him cautious; he leaves politics, represses his pride, and saves pence. Avarice is enthroned as his bosom’s lord, and assumes the style of the Great King; the rational and spirited elements sit humbly on the ground at either side, the one immersed in calculation, the other absorbed in the admiration of wealth. The love of honour turns to love of money; the conversion is instantaneous. The 554man is mean, saving, toiling, the slave of one passion which is the master of the rest: Is he not the very image of the State? He has had no education, or he would never have allowed the blind god of riches to lead the dance within him. And being uneducated he will have many slavish desires, some beggarly, some knavish, breeding in his soul. If he is the trustee of an orphan, and has the power to defraud, he will soon prove that he is not without the will, and that his passions are only restrained by fear and not by reason. Hence he leads a divided existence; 555in which the better desires mostly prevail. But when he is contending for prizes and other distinctions, he is afraid to incur a loss which is to be repaid only by barren honour; in time of war he fights with a small part of his resources, and usually keeps his money and loses the victory.

  Next comes democracy and the democratic man, out of oligarchy and the oligarchical man. Insatiable avarice is the ruling passion of an oligarchy; and they encourage expensive habits in order that they may gain by the ruin of extravagant youth. Thus men of family often lose their property or rights of citizenship; but they remain in the city, full of hatred against the new owners of their estates and ripe for revolution. The usurer with stooping walk pretends not to see them; he passes by, and leaves his sting—that is, his money—in some other victim: and many a man has to pay the parent or principal sum multiplied into a 556family of children, and is reduced into a state of dronage by him. The only way of diminishing the evil is either to limit a man in his use of his property, or to insist that he shall lend at his own risk. But the ruling class do not want remedies; they care only for money, and are as careless of virtue as the poorest of the citizens. Now there are occasions on which the governors and the governed meet together,—at festivals, on a journey, voyaging or fighting. The sturdy pauper finds that in the hour of danger he is not despised; he sees the rich man puffing and panting, and draws the conclusion which he privately imparts to his companions,—‘that our people are not good for much;’ and as a sickly frame is made ill by a mere touch from without, or sometimes without external impulse is ready to fall to pieces of itself, so from the least cause, or with none at all, the city falls ill and 557fights a battle for life or death. And democracy comes into power when the poor are the victors, killing some and exiling some, and giving equal shares in the government to all the rest.

  The manner of life in such a State is that of democrats; there is freedom and plainness of speech, and every man does what is right in his own eyes, and has his own way of life. Hence arise the most various developments of character; the State is like a piece of embroidery of which the colours and figures are the manners of men, and there are many who, like women and children, prefer this variety to real beauty and excellence. The State is not one but many, like a bazaar at which you can buy anything. The great charm is, that you may do as you like; you may govern if you like, let it alone if you like; go to war 558and make peace if you feel disposed, and all quite irrespective of anybody else. When you condemn men to death they remain alive all the same; a gentleman is desired to go into exile, and he stalks about the streets like a hero; and nobody sees him or cares for him. Observe, too, how grandly Democracy sets her foot upon all our fine theories of education,—how little she cares for the training of her statesmen! The only qualification which she demands is the profession of patriotism. Such is democracy;—a pleasing, lawless, various sort of government, distributing equality to equals and unequals alike.

  Let us now inspect the individual democrat; and first, as in the case of the State, we will trace his antecedents. He is the son of a miserly oligarch, and has been taught by him to restrain the love of unnecessary pleasures. Perhaps I ought to explain 559this latter term:—Necessary pleasures are those which are good, and which we cannot do without; unnecessary pleasures are those which do no good, and of which the desire might be eradicated by early training. For example, the pleasures of eating and drinking are necessary and healthy, up to a certain point; beyond that point they are alike hurtful to body and mind, and the excess may be avoided. When in excess, they may be rightly called expensive pleasures, in opposition to the useful ones. And the drone, as we called him, is the slave of these unnecessary pleasures and desires, whereas the miserly oligarch is subject only to the necessary.

  The oligarch changes into the democrat in the following manner:—The youth who has had a miserly bringing up, gets a taste of the drone’s honey; he meets with wild companions, who introduce him to every new pleasure. As in the State, so in the individual, there are allies on both sides, temptations from without and passions from within; there is reason also and external influences of parents and friends in alliance with the 560oligarchical principle; and the two factions are in violent conflict with one another. Sometimes the party of order prevails, but then again new desires and new disorders arise, and the whole mob of passions gets possession of the Acropolis, that is to say, the soul, which they find void and unguarded by true words and works. Falsehoods and illusions ascend to take their place; the prodigal goes back into the country of the Lotophagi or drones, and openly dwells there. And if any offer of alliance or parley of individual elders comes from home, the false spirits shut the gates of the castle and permit no one to enter,—there is a battle, and they gain the victory; and straightway making alliance with the desires, they banish modesty, which they call folly, and send temperance over the border. When the house has been swept and garnished, they dress up the exiled vices, and, crowning them with garlands, bring them back under new names. Insolence they call good breeding, anarchy freedom, waste magnificence, 561impudence courage. Such is the process by which the youth passes from the necessary pleasures to the unnecessary. After a while he divides his time impartially between them; and perhaps, when he gets older and the violence of passion has abated, he restores some of the exiles and lives in a sort of equilibrium, indulging first one pleasure and then another; and if reason comes and tells him that some pleasures are good and honourable, and others bad and vile, he shakes his head and says that he can make no distinction between them. Thus he lives in the fancy of the hour; sometimes he takes to drink, and then he turns abstainer; he practises in the gymnasium or he does nothing at all; then again he would be a philosopher or a politician; or again, he would be a warrior or a man of business; he is

  ‘Every thing by starts and nothing long.’

  562There remains still the finest and fairest of all men and all States—tyranny and the tyrant. Tyranny springs from democracy much as democracy springs from oligarchy. Both arise from excess; the one from excess of wealth, the other from excess of freedom. ‘The great natural good of life,’ says the democrat, ‘is freedom.’ And this exclusive love of freedom and regardlessness of everything else, is the cause of the change from democracy to tyranny. The State demands the strong wine of freedom, and unless her rulers give her a plentiful draught, punishes and insults them; equality and fraternity of governors and governed is the approved principle. Anarchy is the law, not of the State only, but of private houses, and extends 563even to the animals. Father and son, citizen and foreigner, teacher and pupil, old and young, are all on a level; fathers and teachers fear their sons and pupils, and the wisdom of the young man is a match for the elder, and the old imitate the jaunty manners of the young because they are afraid of being thought morose. Slaves are on a level with their masters and mistresses, and there is no difference between men and women. Nay, the very animals in a democratic State have a freedom which is unknown in other places. The she-dogs are as good as their she-mistresses, and horses and asses march along with dignity and run their noses against anybody who comes in their way. ‘That has often been my experience.’ At last the citizens become so sensitive that they cannot endure the yoke of laws, written or unwritten; they would have no man call himself their master. Such is the glorious beginning of things out of which tyranny springs. ‘Glorious, indeed; but what is to follow?’ The ruin of oligarchy 564is the ruin of democracy; for there is a law of contraries; the excess of freedom passes into the excess of slavery, and the greater the freedom the greater the slavery. You will remember that in the oligarchy were found two classes—rogues and paupers, whom we compared to drones with and without stings. These two classes are to the State what phlegm and bile are to the human body; and the State-physician, or legislator, must get rid of them, just as the bee-master keeps the drones out of the hive. Now in a democracy, too, there are drones, but they are more numerous and more dangerous than in the oligarchy; there they are inert and unpractised, here they are full of life and animation; and the keener sort speak and act, while the others buzz about the bema and prevent their opponents from being heard. And there is another class in democratic States, of respectable, thriving individuals, who can be squeezed when 565the drones have need of their possessions; there is moreover a third class, who are the labourers and the artisans, and they make up the mass of the people. When the people meet, they are omnipotent, but they cannot be brought together unless they are attracted by a little honey; and the rich are made to supply the honey, of which the demagogues keep the greater part themselves, giving a taste only to the mob. Their victims attempt to resist; they are driven mad by the stings of the drones, and so become downright oligarchs in self-defence. Then follow informations and convictions for treason. The people have some protector whom they nurse into greatness, and from this root the tree of tyranny springs. The nature of the change is indicated in the old fable of the temple of Zeus Lycaeus, which tells how he who tastes human flesh mixed up with the flesh of other victims will turn into a wolf. Even so the protector, who tastes human blood, and slays some and exiles others with or without law, who hints at abolition of 566debts and division of lands, must either perish or become a wolf—that is, a tyrant. Perhaps he is driven out, but he soon comes back from exile; and then if his enemies cannot get rid of him by lawful means, they plot his assassination. Thereupon the friend of the people makes his well-known request to them for a body-guard, which they readily grant, thinking only of his danger and not of their own. Now let the rich man make to himself wings, for he will never run away again if he does not do so then. And the Great Protector, having crushed all his rivals, stands proudly erect in the chariot of State, a full-blown tyrant: Let us enquire into the nature of his happiness.

  In the early days of his tyranny he smiles and beams upon everybody; he is not a ‘dominus,’ no, not he: he has only come to put an end to debt and the monopoly of land. Having got rid 567of foreign enemies, he makes himself necessary to the State by always going to war. He is thus enabled to depress the poor by heavy taxes, and so keep them at work; and he can get rid of bolder spirits by handing them over to the enemy. Then comes unpopularity; some of his old associates have the courage to oppose him. The consequence is, that he has to make a purgation of the State; but, unlike the physician who purges away the bad, he must get rid of the high-spirited, the wise and the wealthy; for he has no choice between death and a life of shame and dishonour. And the more hated he is, the more he will require trusty guards; but how will he obtain them? ‘They will come flocking like birds—for pay.’ Will he not rather obtain them on the spot? He will take the slaves from their owners 568and make them his body-guard; these are his trusted friends, who admire and look up to him. Are not the tragic poets wise who magnify and exalt the tyrant, and say that he is wise by association with the wise? And are not their praises of tyranny alone a sufficient reason why we should exclude them from our State? They may go to other cities, and gather the mob about them with fine words, and change commonwealths into tyrannies and democracies, receiving honours and rewards for their services; but the higher they and their friends ascend constitution hill, the more their honour will fail and become ‘too asthmatic to mount.’ To return to the tyrant—How will he support that rare army of his? First, by robbing the temples of their treasures, which will enable him to lighten the taxes; then he will take all his father’s property, and spend it on his companions, male or female. Now his father is the demus, and if the demus gets 569angry, and says that a great hulking son ought not to be a burden on his parents, and bids him and his riotous crew begone, then will the parent know what a monster he has been nurturing, and that the son whom he would fain expel is too strong for him. ‘You do not mean to say that he will beat his father?’ Yes, he will, after having taken away his arms. ‘Then he is a parricide and a cruel, unnatural son.’ And the people have jumped from the fear of slavery into slavery, out of the smoke into the fire. Thus liberty, when out of all order and reason, passes into the worst form of servitude. . . .

  Introduction.

  In the previous books Plato has described the ideal State; now he returns to the perverted or declining forms, on which he had lightly touched at the end of Book iv. These he describes in a succession of parallels between the individuals and the States, tracing the origin of either in the State or individual which has preceded them. He begins by asking the point at which he digressed; and is thus led shortly to recapitulate the substance of the three former books, which also contain a parallel of the philosopher and the State.

  Of the first decline he gives no intelligible account; he would not have liked to admit the most probable causes of the fall of his ideal State, which to us would appear to be the impracticability of communism or the natural antagonism of the ruling and subject classes. He throws a veil of mystery over the origin of the decline, which he attributes to ignorance of the law of population. Of this law the famous geometrical figure or number is the expression. Like the ancients in general, he had no idea of the gradual perfectibility of man or of the education of the human race. His ideal was not to be attained in the course of ages, but was to spring in full armour from the head of the legislator. When good laws had been given, he thought only of the manner in which they were likely to be corrupted, or of how they might be filled up in detail or restored in accordance with their original spirit. He appears not to have reflected upon the full meaning of his own words, ‘In the brief space of human life, nothing great can be accomplished’ (x. 608 B); or again, as he afterwards says in the Laws (iii. 676), ‘Infinite time is the maker of cities.’ The order of constitutions which is adopted by him represents an order of thought rather than a succession of time, and may be considered as the first attempt to frame a philosophy of history.

  The first of these declining States is timocracy, or the government of soldiers and lovers of honour, which answers to the Spartan State; this is a government of force, in which education is not inspired by the Muses, but imposed by the law, and in which all the finer elements of organization have disappeared. The philosopher himself has lost the love of truth, and the soldier, who is of a simpler and honester nature, rules in his stead. The individual who answers to timocracy has some noticeable qualities. He is described as ill educated, but, like the Spartan, a lover of literature; and although he is a harsh master to his servants he has no natural superiority over them. His character is based upon a reaction against the circumstances of his father, who in a troubled city has retired from politics; and his mother, who is dissatisfied at her own position, is always urging him towards the life of political ambition. Such a character may have had this origin, and indeed Livy attributes the Licinian laws to a feminine jealousy of a similar kind (vii. 34). But there is obviously no connection between the manner in which the timocratic State springs out of the ideal, and the mere accident by which the timocratic man is the son of a retired statesman.

  The two next stages in the decline of constitutions have even less historical foundation. For there is no trace in Greek history of a polity like the Spartan or Cretan passing into an oligarchy of wealth, or of the oligarchy of wealth passing into a democracy. The order of history appears to be different; first, in the Homeric times there is the royal or patriarchal form of government, which a century or two later was succeeded by an oligarchy of birth rather than of wealth, and in which wealth was only the accident of the hereditary possession of land and power. Sometimes this oligarchical government gave way to a government based upon a qualification of property, which, according to Aristotle’s mode of using words, would have been called a timocracy; and this in some cities, as at Athens, became the conducting medium to democracy. But such was not the necessary order of succession in States; nor, indeed, can any order be discerned in the endless fluctuation of Greek history (like the tides in the Euripus), except, perhaps, in the almost uniform tendency from monarchy to aristocracy in the earliest times. At first sight there appears to be a similar inversion in the last step of the Platonic succession; for tyranny, instead of being the natural end of democracy, in early Greek history appears rather as a stage leading to democracy; the reign of Peisistratus and his sons is an episode which comes between the legislation of Solon and the constitution of Cleisthenes; and some secret cause common to them all seems to have led the greater part of Hellas at her first appearance in the dawn of history, e. g. Athens, Argos, Corinth, Sicyon, and nearly every State with the exception of Sparta, through a similar stage of tyranny which ended either in oligarchy or democracy. But then we must remember that Plato is describing rather the contemporary governments of the Sicilian States, which alternated between democracy and tyranny, than the ancient history of Athens or Corinth.

  The portrait of the tyrant himself is just such as the later Greek delighted to draw of Phalaris and Dionysius, in which, as in the lives of mediaeval saints or mythic heroes, the conduct and actions of one were attributed to another in order to fill up the outline. There was no enormity which the Greek was not ready to believe of them; the tyrant was the negation of government and law; his assassination was glorious; there was no crime, however unnatural, which might not with probability be attributed to him. In this, Plato was only following the common thought of his countrymen, which he embellished and exaggerated with all the power of his genius. There is no need to suppose that he drew from life; or that his knowledge of tyrants is derived from a personal acquaintance with Dionysius. The manner in which he speaks of them would rather tend to render doubtful his ever having ‘consorted’ with them, or entertained the schemes, which are attributed to him in the Epistles, of regenerating Sicily by their help.

  Plato in a hyperbolical and serio-comic vein exaggerates the follies of democracy which he also sees reflected in social life. To him democracy is a state of individualism or dissolution; in which every one is doing what is right in his own eyes. Of a people animated by a common spirit of liberty, rising as one man to repel the Persian host, which is the leading idea of democracy in Herodotus and Thucydides, he never seems to think. But if he is not a believer in liberty, still less is he a lover of tyranny. His deeper and more serious condemnation is reserved for the tyrant, who is the ideal of wickedness and also of weakness, and who in his utter helplessness and suspiciousness is leading an almost impossible existence, without that remnant of good which, in Plato’s opinion, was required to give power to evil (Book i. p. 352). This ideal of wickedness living in helpless misery, is the reverse of that other portrait of perfect injustice ruling in happiness and splendour, which first of all Thrasymachus, and afterwards the sons of Ariston had drawn, and is also the reverse of the king whose rule of life is the good of his subjects.

  Each of these governments and individuals has a corresponding ethical gradation: the ideal State is under the rule of reason, not extinguishing but harmonizing the passions, and training them in virtue; in the timocracy and the timocratic man the constitution, whether of the State or of the individual, is based, first, upon courage, and secondly, upon the love of honour; this latter virtue, which is hardly to be esteemed a virtue, has superseded all the rest. In the second stage of decline the virtues have altogether disappeared, and the love of gain has succeeded to them; in the third stage, or democracy, the various passions are allowed to have free play, and the virtues and vices are impartially cultivated. But this freedom, which leads to many curious extravagances of character, is in reality only a state of weakness and dissipation. At last, one monster passion takes possession of the whole nature of man—this is tyranny. In all of them excess—the excess first of wealth and then of freedom, is the element of decay.

  The eighth book of the Republic abounds in pictures of life and fanciful allusions; the use of metaphorical language is carried to a greater extent than anywhere else in Plato. We may remark, (1), the description of the two nations in one, which become more and more divided in the Greek Republics, as in feudal times, and perhaps also in our own; (2), the notion of democracy expressed in a sort of Pythagorean formula as equality among unequals; (3), the free and easy ways of men and animals, which are characteristic of liberty, as foreign mercenaries and universal mistrust are of the tyrant; (4), the proposal that mere debts should not be recoverable by law is a speculation which has often been entertained by reformers of the law in modern times, and is in harmony with the tendencies of modern legislation. Debt and land were the two great difficulties of the ancient lawgiver: in modern times we may be said to have almost, if not quite, solved the first of these difficulties, but hardly the second.

  Still more remarkable are the corresponding portraits of individuals: there is the family picture of the father and mother and the old servant of the timocratical man, and the outward respectability and inherent meanness of the oligarchical; the uncontrolled licence and freedom of the democrat, in which the young Alcibiades seems to be depicted, doing right or wrong as he pleases, and who at last, like the prodigal, goes into a far country (note here the play of language by which the democratic man is himself represented under the image of a State having a citadel and receiving embassies); and there is the wild-beast nature, which breaks loose in his successor. The hit about the tyrant being a parricide; the representation of the tyrant’s life as an obscene dream; the rhetorical surprise of a more miserable than the most miserable of men in Book ix; the hint to the poets that if they are the friends of tyrants there is no place for them in a constitutional State, and that they are too clever not to see the propriety of their own expulsion; the continuous image of the drones who are of two kinds, swelling at last into the monster drone having wings (see infra, Book ix),—are among Plato’s happiest touches.

  There remains to be considered the great difficulty of this book of the Republic, the so-called number of the State. This is a puzzle almost as great as the Number of the Beast in the Book of Revelation, and though apparently known to Aristotle, is referred to by Cicero as a proverb of obscurity (Ep. ad Att. vii. 13, 5). And some have imagined that there is no answer to the puzzle, and that Plato has been practising upon his readers. But such a deception as this is inconsistent with the manner in which Aristotle speaks of the number (Pol. v. 12, § 7), and would have been ridiculous to any reader of the Republic who was acquainted with Greek mathematics. As little reason is there for supposing that Plato intentionally used obscure expressions; the obscurity arises from our want of familiarity with the subject. On the other hand, Plato himself indicates that he is not altogether serious, and in describing his number as a solemn jest of the Muses, he appears to imply some degree of satire on the symbolical use of number. (Cp. Cratylus, passim; Protag. 342 ff.)

  Our hope of understanding the passage depends principally on an accurate study of the words themselves; on which a faint light is thrown by the parallel passage in the ninth book. Another help is the allusion in Aristotle, who makes the important remark that the latter part of the passage (from [Editor: illegible character]ν ἐπἰτριτος πυθμἡν, κ.τ.λ.) describes a solid figure1 . Some further clue may be gathered from the appearance of the Pythagorean triangle, which is denoted by the numbers 3, 4, 5, and in which, as in every right-angled triangle, the squares of the two lesser sides equal the square of the hypotenuse (3² + 4⁹ = 5², or 9 + 16 = 25).

  Plato begins by speaking of a perfect or cyclical number (cp. Tim. 39 D), i. e. a number in which the sum of the divisors equals the whole; this is the divine or perfect number in which all lesser cycles or revolutions are complete. He also speaks of a human or imperfect number, having four terms and three intervals of numbers which are related to one another in certain proportions; these he converts into figures, and finds in them when they have been raised to the third power certain elements of number, which give two ‘harmonies,’ the one square, the other oblong; but he does not say that the square number answers to the divine, or the oblong number to the human cycle; nor is any intimation given that the first or divine number represents the period of the world, the second the period of the state, or of the human race as Zeller supposes; nor is the divine number afterwards mentioned (cp. Arist.). The second is the number of generations or births, and presides over them in the same mysterious manner in which the stars preside over them, or in which, according to the Pythagoreans, opportunity, justice, marriage, are represented by some number of figure. This is probably the number 216.

  The explanation given in the text supposes the two harmonies to make up the number 8000. This explanation derives a certain plausibility from the circumstance that 8000 is the ancient number of the Spartan citizens (Herod. vii. 34), and would be what Plato might have called ‘a number which nearly concerns the population of a city’ (588 A); the mysterious disappearance of the Spartan population may possibly have suggested to him the first cause of his decline of States. The lesser or square ‘harmony,’ of 400, might be a symbol of the guardians,—the larger or oblong ‘harmony,’ of the people, and the numbers 3, 4, 5 might refer respectively to the three orders in the State or parts of the soul, the four virtues, the five forms of government. The harmony of the musical scale, which is elsewhere used as a symbol of the harmony of the state (Rep. iv. 443 D), is also indicated. For the numbers 3, 4, 5, which represent the sides of the Pythagorean triangle, also denote the intervals of the scale.

  The terms used in the statement of the problem may be explained as follows. NA A perfect number (τέλειος ἀριθμός), as already stated, is one which is equal to the sum of its divisors. Thus 6, which is the first perfect or cyclical number, = 1 + 2 + 3. The words [Editor: illegible character]ροι, ‘terms’ or ‘notes,’ and ἀποστάσεις, ‘intervals,’ are applicable to music as well as to number and figure. Πρώτῳ is the ‘base’ on which the whole calculation depends, or the ‘lowest term’ from which it can be worked out. The words δυνἁμεναί τε καὶ δυναστευόμεναι have been variously translated—‘squared and cubed’ (Donaldson), ‘equalling and equalled in power’ (Weber), ‘by involution and evolution,’ i. e. by raising the power and extracting the root (as in the translation). Numbers are called ‘like and unlike’ (όμοιον̂ντές τε καὶ ἀνομοιον̂ντες) when the factors or the sides of the planes and cubes which they represent are or are not in the same ratio: e. g. 8 and 27 = 2³ and 3³; and conversely. ‘Waxing’ (α[Editor: illegible character]ξοντες) numbers, called also ‘increasing’ (ὑπερτελε[Editor: illegible character]ς), are those which are exceeded by the sum of their divisors: e. g. 12 and 18 are less than 16 and 21. ‘Waning’ (ϕθἱνοντες) numbers, called also ‘decreasing’ (ἐλλιπε[Editor: illegible character]ς), are those which exceed the sum of their divisors: e. g. 8 and 27 exceed 7 and 13. The words translated ‘commensurable and agreeable to one another’ (προσήγορα καὶ [Editor: illegible character]ητά) seem to be different ways of describing the same relation, with more or less precision. They are equivalent to ‘expressible in terms having the same relation to one another,’ like the series 8, 12, 18, 27, each of which numbers is in the relation of 1½ to the preceding. The ‘base,’ or ‘fundamental number, which has ⅓ added to it’ (1⅓) = ⅓ or a musical fourth. Ἀρμον[Editor: illegible character]α is a ‘proportion’ of numbers as of musical notes, applied either to the parts or factors of a single number or to the relation of one number to another. The first harmony is a ‘square’ number ([Editor: illegible character]σην ἰσάκις); the second harmony is an ‘oblong’ number (προμήκη), i. e. a number representing a figure of which the opposite sides only are equal. Ἀριθμοἰ ὰπὸ διαμέτρων = ‘numbers squared from’ or ‘upon diameters’; ῥητω̂ν = ‘rational,’ i. e. omitting fractions, ἀῤῥήτων, ‘irrational,’ i. e. including fractions; e. g. 49 is a square of the rational diameter of a figure the side of which = 5 : 50, of an irrational diameter of the same. NA For several of the explanations here given and for a good deal besides I am indebted to an excellent article on the Platonic Number by Dr. Donaldson (Proc. of the Philol. Society, vol. i. p. 81 ff.).

  The conclusions which he draws from these data are summed up by him as follows. Having assumed that the number of the perfect or divine cycle is the number of the world, and the number of the imperfect cycle the number of the state, he proceeds: ‘The period of the world is defined by the perfect number 6, that of the state by the cube of that number or 216, which is the product of the last pair of terms in the Platonic Tetractys1 ; and if we take this as the basis of our computation, we shall have two cube numbers (αὐξήσεις δυνἀμεναἰ τε καὶ δυναστευόμεναι), viz. 8 and 27; and the mean proportionals between these, viz. 12 and 18, will furnish three intervals and four terms, and these terms and intervals stand related to one another in the sesqui-altera ratio, i. e. each term is to the preceding as 3/2. Now if we remember that the number 216 = 8 × 27 = 3³ + 4³ + 5³, and that 3² + 4² = 5², we must admit that this number implies the numbers 3, 4, 5, to which musicians attach so much importance. And if we combine the ratio 4/3 with the number 5, or multiply the ratios of the sides by the hypotenuse, we shall by first squaring and then cubing obtain two expressions, which denote the ratio of the two last pairs of terms in the Platonic Tetractys, the former multiplied by the square, the latter by the cube of the number 10, the sum of the first four digits which constitute the Platonic Tetractys.’ NA The two ἁρμονίαι he elsewhere explains as follows: ‘The first ἀρμονία is [Editor: illegible character]σην ὶσάκις [Editor: illegible character]κατὸν τοσαυτάάις, in other words (4/3 × 5)² = 100 × 2²/3². The second ἁρμον[Editor: illegible character]α, a cube of the same root, is described as 100 multiplied (α) by the rational diameter of 5 diminished by unity, i. e., as shown above, 48: (β) by two incommensurable diameters, i. e. the two first irrationals, or 2 and 3: and (γ) by the cube of 3, or 27. Thus we have (48 + 5 + 27) 100 = 1000 × 2³. This second harmony is to be the cube of the number of which the former harmony is the square, and therefore must be divided by the cube of 3. In other words, the whole expression will be: (1), for the first harmony, 400/9: (2), for the second harmony, 8000/27.’

  The reasons which have inclined me to agree with Dr. Donaldson and also with Schleiermacher in supposing that 216 is the Platonic number of births are: (1) that it coincides with the description of the number given in the first part of the passage (ἐν [Editor: illegible character] πρώτῳ . . . ἀπέϕηναν): (2) that the number 216 with its permutations would have been familiar to a Greek mathematician, though unfamiliar to us: (3) that 216 is the cube of 6, and also the sum of 3³, 4⁵, 5⁵, the numbers 3, 4, 5 representing the Pythagorean triangle, of which the sides when squared equal the square of the hypotenuse (3² + 4² = 5²): (4) that it is also the period of the Pythagorean Metempsychosis: (5) the three ultimate terms or bases (3, 4, 5) of which 216 is composed answer to the third, fourth, fifth in the musical scale: (6) that the number 216 is the product of the cubes of 2 and 3, which are the two last terms in the Platonic Tetractys: (7) that the Pythagorean triangle is said by Plutarch (de Is. et Osir., 373 E), Proclus (super prima Eucl. iv. p. 111), and Quintilian (de Musica iii. p. 152) to be contained in this passage, so that the tradition of the school seems to point in the same direction: (8) that the Pythagorean triangle is called also the figure of marriage (γαμήλιον διάγραμμα).

  But though agreeing with Dr. Donaldson thus far, I see no reason for supposing, as he does, that the first or perfect number is the world, the human or imperfect number the state; nor has he given any proof that the second harmony is a cube. Nor do I think that ἀῤῥήτων δὲ δνεɩ̂ν can mean ‘two incommensurables,’ which he arbitrarily assumes to be 2 and 3, but rather, as the preceding clause implies, δυεɩ̂ν ἀριθμοɩ̂ν ἀπὸ ἀ[Editor: illegible character][Editor: illegible character]ήτων αιαμέτρων πεμπ[Editor: illegible character]δος, i. e. two square numbers based upon irrational diameters of a figure the side of which is 5 = 50 × 2.

  The greatest objection to the translation is the sense given to the words ἑπίτριτος πυθμήν κ.τ.λ., ‘a base of three with a third added to it, multiplied by 5.’ In this somewhat forced manner Plato introduces once more the numbers of the Pythagorean triangle. But the coincidences in the numbers which follow are in favour of the explanation. The first harmony of 400, as has been already remarked, probably represents the rulers; the second and oblong harmony of 7600, the people.

  And here we take leave of the difficulty. The discovery of the riddle would be useless, and would throw no light on ancient mathematics. The point of interest is that Plato should have used such a symbol, and that so much of the Pythagorean spirit should have prevailed in him. His general meaning is that divine creation is perfect, and is represented or presided over by a perfect or cyclical number; human generation is imperfect, and represented or presided over by an imperfect number or series of numbers. The number 5040, which is the number of the citizens in the Laws, is expressly based by him on utilitarian grounds, namely, the convenience of the number for division; it is also made up of the first seven digits multiplied by one another. The contrast of the perfect and imperfect number may have been easily suggested by the corrections of the cycle, which were made first by Meton and secondly by Callippus; (the latter is said to have been a pupil of Plato). Of the degree of importance or of exactness to be attributed to the problem, the number of the tyrant in Book ix. (729 = 365 × 2), and the slight correction of the error in the number 5040 ÷ 12 (Laws, 771 C), may furnish a criterion. There is nothing surprising in the circumstance that those who were secking for order in nature and had found order in number, should have imagined one to give law to the other. Plato believes in a power of number far beyond what he could see realized in the world around him, and he knows the great influence which ‘the little matter of 1, 2, 3’ (vii. 522 C) exercises upon education. He may even be thought to have a prophetic anticipation of the discoveries of Quetelet and others, that numbers depend upon numbers; e. g.—in population, the numbers of births and the respective numbers of children born of either sex, on the respective ages of parents, i. e. on other numbers.

  book ix.

  Analysis.Republic IX.

  571Last of all comes the tyrannical man, about whom we have to enquire, Whence is he, and how does he live—in happiness or in misery? There is, however, a previous question of the nature and number of the appetites, which I should like to consider first. Some of them are unlawful, and yet admit of being chastened and weakened in various degrees by the power of reason and law. ‘What appetites do you mean?’ I mean those which are awake when the reasoning powers are asleep, which get up and walk about naked without any self-respect or shame; and there is no conceivable folly or crime, however cruel or unnatural, of which, in imagination, they may not be guilty. ‘True,’ he said; ‘very true.’ But when a man’s pulse beats temperately; and he has supped on a feast of reason and come to a knowledge of himself 572before going to rest, and has satisfied his desires just enough to prevent their perturbing his reason, which remains clear and luminous, and when he is free from quarrel and heat,—the visions which he has on his bed are least irregular and abnormal. Even in good men there is such an irregular wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep.

  To return:—You remember what was said of the democrat; that he was the son of a miserly father, who encouraged the saving desires and repressed the ornamental and expensive ones; presently the youth got into fine company, and began to entertain a dislike to his father’s narrow ways; and being a better man than the corrupters of his youth, he came to a mean, and led a life, not of lawless or slavish passion, but of regular and successive indulgence. Now imagine that the youth has become a father, and has a son who is exposed to the same temptations, and has companions who lead him into every sort of iniquity, and parents and friends 573who try to keep him right. The counsellors of evil find that their only chance of retaining him is to implant in his soul a monster drone, or love; while other desires buzz around him and mystify him with sweet sounds and scents, this monster love takes possession of him, and puts an end to every true or modest thought or wish. Love, like drunkenness and madness, is a tyranny; and the tyrannical man, whether made by nature or habit, is just a drinking, lusting, furious sort of animal.

  And how does such an one live? ‘Nay, that you must tell me.’ Well then, I fancy that he will live amid revelries and harlotries, and love will be the lord and master of the house. Many desires require much money, and so he spends all that he has and borrows more; and when he has nothing the young ravens are 574still in the nest in which they were hatched, crying for food. Love urges them on; and they must be gratified by force or fraud, or if not, they become painful and troublesome; and as the new pleasures succeed the old ones, so will the son take possession of the goods of his parents; if they show signs of refusing, he will defraud and deceive them; and if they openly resist, what then? ‘I can only say, that I should not much like to be in their place.’ But, O heavens, Adeimantus, to think that for some new-fangled and unnecessary love he will give up his old father and mother, best and dearest of friends, or enslave them to the fancies of the hour! Truly a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father and mother! When there is no more to be got out of them, he turns burglar or pickpocket, or robs a temple. Love overmasters the thoughts of his youth, and he becomes in sober reality the monster that he 575was sometimes in sleep. He waxes strong in all violence and lawlessness; and is ready for any deed of daring that will supply the wants of his rabble-rout. In a well-ordered State there are only a few such, and these in time of war go out and become the mercenaries of a tyrant. But in time of peace they stay at home and do mischief; they are the thieves, footpads, cut-purses, man-stealers of the community; or if they are able to speak, they turn false-witnesses and informers. ‘No small catalogue of crimes truly, even if the perpetrators are few.’ Yes, I said; but small and great are relative terms, and no crimes which are committed by them approach those of the tyrant, whom this class, growing strong and numerous, create out of themselves. If the people yield, well and good; but, if they resist, then, as before he beat his father and mother, so now he beats his fatherland and motherland, and places his mercenaries over them. Such men in their early days live with flatterers, and they themselves flatter 576others, in order to gain their ends; but they soon discard their followers when they have no longer any need of them; they are always either masters or servants,—the joys of friendship are unknown to them. And they are utterly treacherous and unjust, if the nature of justice be at all understood by us. They realize our dream; and he who is the most of a tyrant by nature, and leads the life of a tyrant for the longest time, will be the worst of them, and being the worst of them, will also be the most miserable.

  Like man, like State,—the tyrannical man will answer to tyranny, which is the extreme opposite of the royal State; for one is the best and the other the worst. But which is the happier? Great and terrible as the tyrant may appear enthroned amid his satellites, let us not be afraid to go in and ask; and the answer is, that the monarchical is the happiest, and the tyrannical the most 577miserable of States. And may we not ask the same question about the men themselves, requesting some one to look into them who is able to penetrate the inner nature of man, and will not be panic-struck by the vain pomp of tyranny? I will suppose that he is one who has lived with him, and has seen him in family life, or perhaps in the hour of trouble and danger.

  Assuming that we ourselves are the impartial judge for whom we seek, let us begin by comparing the individual and State, and ask first of all, whether the State is likely to be free or enslaved—Will there not be a little freedom and a great deal of slavery? And the freedom is of the bad, and the slavery of the good; and this applies to the man as well as to the State; for his soul is full of meanness and slavery, and the better part is enslaved to the worse. He cannot do what he would, and his mind is full of confusion; 578he is the very reverse of a freeman. The State will be poor and full of misery and sorrow; and the man’s soul will also be poor and full of sorrows, and he will be the most miserable of men. No, not the most miserable, for there is yet a more miserable. ‘Who is that?’ The tyrannical man who has the misfortune also to become a public tyrant. ‘There I suspect that you are right.’ Say rather, ‘I am sure;’ conjecture is out of place in an enquiry of this nature. He is like a wealthy owner of slaves, only he has more of them than any private individual. You will say, ‘The owners of slaves are not generally in any fear of them.’ But why? Because the whole city is in a league which protects the individual. Suppose however that one of these owners and his household is carried off by a god into a wilderness, where there are no freemen to help him—will he not be in an agony of terror?—will 579he not be compelled to flatter his slaves and to promise them many things sore against his will? And suppose the same god who carried him off were to surround him with neighbours who declare that no man ought to have slaves, and that the owners of them should be punished with death. ‘Still worse and worse! He will be in the midst of his enemies.’ And is not our tyrant such a captive soul, who is tormented by a swarm of passions which he cannot indulge; living indoors always like a woman, and jealous of those who can go out and see the world?

  Having so many evils, will not the most miserable of men be still more miserable in a public station? Master of others when he is not master of himself; like a sick man who is compelled to be an athlete; the meanest of slaves and the most abject of flatterers; wanting all things, and never able to satisfy his desires; always in fear and distraction, like the State of which he is the representative. 580His jealous, hateful, faithless temper grows worse with command; he is more and more faithless, envious, unrighteous,—the most wretched of men, a misery to himself and to others. And so let us have a final trial and proclamation; need we hire a herald, or shall I proclaim the result? ‘Make the proclamation yourself.’ The son of Ariston (the best) is of opinion that the best and justest of men is also the happiest, and that this is he who is the most royal master of himself; and that the unjust man is he who is the greatest tyrant of himself and of his State. And I add further—‘seen or unseen by gods or men.’

  This is our first proof. The second is derived from the three kinds of pleasure, which answer to the three elements of the soul—reason, 581passion, desire; under which last is comprehended avarice as well as sensual appetite, while passion includes ambition, party-feeling, love of reputation. Reason, again, is solely directed to the attainment of truth, and careless of money and reputation. In accordance with the difference of men’s natures, one of these three principles is in the ascendant, and they have their several pleasures corresponding to them. Interrogate now the three natures, and each one will be found praising his own pleasures and depreciating those of others. The money-maker will contrast the vanity of knowledge with the solid advantages of wealth. The ambitious man will despise knowledge which brings no honour; whereas the philosopher will regard only the fruition of truth, and will call other pleasures necessary rather than good. 582Now, how shall we decide between them? Is there any better criterion than experience and knowledge? And which of the three has the truest knowledge and the widest experience? The experience of youth makes the philosopher acquainted with the two kinds of desire, but the avaricious and the ambitious man never taste the pleasures of truth and wisdom. Honour he has equally with them; they are ‘judged of him,’ but he is ‘not judged of them,’ for they never attain to the knowledge of true being. And his instrument is reason, whereas their standard is only wealth and honour; and if by reason we are to judge, his good will be the truest. And so we arrive at the result that the pleasure of the rational part of the soul, and a life passed in such pleasure is the 583pleasantest. He who has a right to judge judges thus. Next comes the life of ambition, and, in the third place, that of money-making.

  Twice has the just man overthrown the unjust—once more, as in an Olympian contest, first offering up a prayer to the saviour Zeus, let him try a fall. A wise man whispers to me that the pleasures of the wise are true and pure; all others are a shadow only. Let us examine this: is not pleasure opposed to pain, and is there not a mean state which is neither? When a man is sick, nothing is more pleasant to him than health. But this he never found out while he was well. In pain he desires only to cease from pain; on the other hand, when he is in an ecstasy of pleasure, rest is painful to him. Thus rest or cessation is both pleasure and pain. But can that which is neither become both? Again, pleasure and pain 584are motions, and the absence of them is rest; but if so, how can the absence of either of them be the other? Thus we are led to infer that the contradiction is an appearance only, and witchery of the senses. And these are not the only pleasures, for there are others which have no preceding pains. Pure pleasure then is not the absence of pain, nor pure pain the absence of pleasure; although most of the pleasures which reach the mind through the body are reliefs of pain, and have not only their reactions when they depart, but their anticipations before they come. They can be best described in a simile. There is in nature an upper, lower, and middle region, and he who passes from the lower to the middle imagines that he is going up and is already in the upper world; and if he were taken back again would think, and truly think, that he was descending. All this arises out of his ignorance of the true upper, middle, and lower regions. And a like confusion happens with pleasure and pain, and with many other things. 585The man who compares grey with black, calls grey white; and the man who compares absence of pain with pain, calls the absence of pain pleasure. Again, hunger and thirst are inanitions of the body, ignorance and folly of the soul; and food is the satisfaction of the one, knowledge of the other. Now which is the purer satisfaction—that of eating and drinking, or that of knowledge? Consider the matter thus: The satisfaction of that which has more existence is truer than of that which has less. The invariable and immortal has a more real existence than the variable and mortal, and has a corresponding measure of knowledge and truth. The soul, again, has more existence and truth and knowledge than the body, and is therefore more really satisfied and has a more 586natural pleasure. Those who feast only on earthly food, are always going at random up to the middle and down again; but they never pass into the true upper world, or have a taste of true pleasure. They are like fatted beasts, full of gluttony and sensuality, and ready to kill one another by reason of their insatiable lust; for they are not filled with true being, and their vessel is leaky (cp. Gorgias, 243 A, foll.). Their pleasures are mere shadows of pleasure, mixed with pain, coloured and intensified by contrast, and therefore intensely desired; and men go fighting about them, as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow of Helen at Troy, because they know not the truth.

  The same may be said of the passionate element:—the desires of the ambitious soul, as well as of the covetous, have an inferior satisfaction. Only when under the guidance of reason do either of 587the other principles do their own business or attain the pleasure which is natural to them. When not attaining, they compel the other parts of the soul to pursue a shadow of pleasure which is not theirs. And the more distant they are from philosophy and reason, the more distant they will be from law and order, and the more illusive will be their pleasures. The desires of love and tyranny are the farthest from law, and those of the king are nearest to it. There is one genuine pleasure, and two spurious ones: the tyrant goes beyond even the latter; he has run away altogether from law and reason. Nor can the measure of his inferiority be told, except in a figure. The tyrant is the third removed from the oligarch, and has therefore, not a shadow of his pleasure, but the shadow of a shadow only. The oligarch, again, is thrice removed from the king, and thus we get the formula 3 × 3, which is the number of a surface, representing the shadow which is the tyrant’s pleasure, and if you like to cube this ‘number of the beast,’ you will find that the measure of the difference amounts to 729; the king is 729 times more happy than the tyrant. And this extraordinary number is nearly equal to the number of days and nights in a year (365 × 2 = 730); and 588is therefore concerned with human life. This is the interval between a good and bad man in happiness only: what must be the difference between them in comeliness of life and virtue!

  Perhaps you may remember some one saying at the beginning of our discussion that the unjust man was profited if he had the reputation of justice. Now that we know the nature of justice and injustice, let us make an image of the soul, which will personify his words. First of all, fashion a multitudinous beast, having a ring of heads of all manner of animals, tame and wild, and able to produce and change them at pleasure. Suppose now another form of a lion, and another of a man; the second smaller than the first, the third than the second; join them together and cover them with a human skin, in which they are completely concealed. When this has been done, let us tell 589the supporter of injustice that he is feeding up the beasts and starving the man. The maintainer of justice, on the other hand, is trying to strengthen the man; he is nourishing the gentle principle within him, and making an alliance with the lion heart, in order that he may be able to keep down the many-headed hydra, and bring all into unity with each other and with themselves. Thus in every point of view, whether in relation to pleasure, honour, or advantage, the just man is right, and the unjust wrong.

  But now, let us reason with the unjust, who is not intentionally in error. Is not the noble that which subjects the beast to the man, or rather to the God in man; the ignoble, that which subjects the man to the beast? And if so, who would receive gold on condition that he was to degrade the noblest part of himself under the worst?—who would sell his son or daughter into the hands of brutal and evil men, for any amount of money? And will he sell his own fairer and diviner part without any compunction 590to the most godless and foul? Would he not be worse than Eriphyle, who sold her husband’s life for a necklace? And intemperance is the letting loose of the multiform monster, and pride and sullenness are the growth and increase of the lion and serpent element, while luxury and effeminacy are caused by a too great relaxation of spirit. Flattery and meanness again arise when the spirited element is subjected to avarice, and the lion is habituated to become a monkey. The real disgrace of handicraft arts is, that those who are engaged in them have to flatter, instead of mastering their desires; therefore we say that they should be placed under the control of the better principle in another because they have none in themselves; not, as Thrasymachus imagined, to the injury of the subjects, but for their good. And our intention in educating the young, is to 591give them self-control; the law desires to nurse up in them a higher principle, and when they have acquired this, they may go their ways.

  ‘What, then, shall a man profit, if he gain the whole world’ and become more and more wicked? Or what shall he profit by escaping discovery, if the concealment of evil prevents the cure? If he had been punished, the brute within him would have been silenced, and the gentler element liberated; and he would have united temperance, justice, and wisdom in his soul—a union better far than any combination of bodily gifts. The man of understanding will honour knowledge above all; in the next place he will keep under his body, not only for the sake of health and strength, but in order to attain the most perfect harmony of body and soul. In the acquisition of riches, too, he will aim at order and harmony; he will not desire to heap up wealth without measure, but he will fear that the increase of wealth will disturb the constitution of his own soul. For the same 592reason he will only accept such honours as will make him a better man; any others he will decline. ‘In that case,’ said he, ‘he will never be a politician.’ Yes, but he will, in his own city; though probably not in his native country, unless by some divine accident. ‘You mean that he will be a citizen of the ideal city, which has no place upon earth.’ But in heaven, I replied, there is a pattern of such a city, and he who wishes may order his life after that image. Whether such a state is or ever will be matters not; he will act according to that pattern and no other. . . . .

  Introduction.

  The most noticeable points in the 9th Book of the Republic are:—(1) the account of pleasure; (2) the number of the interval which divides the king from the tyrant; (3) the pattern which is in heaven.

  1. Plato’s account of pleasure is remarkable for moderation, and in this respect contrasts with the later Platonists and the views which are attributed to them by Aristotle. He is not, like the Cynics, opposed to all pleasure, but rather desires that the several parts of the soul shall have their natural satisfaction; he even agrees with the Epicureans in describing pleasure as something more than the absence of pain. This is proved by the circumstance that there are pleasures which have no antecedent pains (as he also remarks in the Philebus), such as the pleasures of smell, and also the pleasures of hope and anticipation. In the previous book (pp. 558, 559) he had made the distinction between necessary and unnecessary pleasure, which is repeated by Aristotle, and he now observes that there are a further class of ‘wild beast’ pleasures, corresponding to Aristotle’s θηριότης. He dwells upon the relative and unreal character of sensual pleasures and the illusion which arises out of the contrast of pleasure and pain, pointing out the superiority of the pleasures of reason, which are at rest, over the fleeting pleasures of sense and emotion. The pre-eminence of royal pleasure is shown by the fact that reason is able to form a judgment of the lower pleasures, while the two lower parts of the soul are incapable of judging the pleasures of reason. Thus, in his treatment of pleasure, as in many other subjects, the philosophy of Plato is ‘sawn up into quantities’ by Aristotle; the analysis which was originally made by him became in the next generation the foundation of further technical distinctions. Both in Plato and Aristotle we note the illusion under which the ancients fell of regarding the transience of pleasure as a proof of its unreality, and of confounding the permanence of the intellectual pleasures with the unchangeableness of the knowledge from which they are derived. Neither do we like to admit that the pleasures of knowledge, though more elevating, are not more lasting than other pleasures, and are almost equally dependent on the accidents of our bodily state (cp. Introd. to Philebus).

  2. The number of the interval which separates the king from the tyrant, and royal from tyrannical pleasures, is 729, the cube of 9, which Plato characteristically designates as a number concerned with human life, because nearly equivalent to the number of days and nights in the year. He is desirous of proclaiming that the interval between them is immeasurable, and invents a formula to give expression to his idea. Those who spoke of justice as a cube, of virtue as an art of measuring (Prot. 357 A), saw no inappropriateness in conceiving the soul under the figure of a line, or the pleasure of the tyrant as separated from the pleasure of the king by the numerical interval of 729. And in modern times we sometimes use metaphorically what Plato employed as a philosophical formula. ‘It is not easy to estimate the loss of the tyrant, except perhaps in this way,’ says Plato. So we might say, that although the life of a good man is not to be compared to that of a bad man, yet you may measure the difference between them by valuing one minute of the one at an hour of the other (‘One day in thy courts is better than a thousand’), or you might say that ‘there is an infinite difference.’ But this is not so much as saying, in homely phrase, ‘They are a thousand miles asunder.’ And accordingly Plato finds the natural vehicle of his thoughts in a progression of numbers; this arithmetical formula he draws out with the utmost seriousness, and both here and in the number of generation seems to find an additional proof of the truth of his speculation in forming the number into a geometrical figure; just as persons in our own day are apt to fancy that a statement is verified when it has been only thrown into an abstract form. In speaking of the number 729 as proper to human life, he probably intended to intimate that one year of the tyrannical = 12 hours of the royal life.

  The simple observation that the comparison of two similar solids is effected by the comparison of the cubes of their sides, is the mathematical groundwork of this fanciful expression. There is some difficulty in explaining the steps by which the number 729 is obtained; the oligarch is removed in the third degree from the royal and aristocratical, and the tyrant in the third degree from the oligarchical; but we have to arrange the terms as the sides of a square and to count the oligarch twice over, thus reckoning them not as = 5 but as = 9. The square of 9 is passed lightly over as only a step towards the cube.

  3. Towards the close of the Republic, Plato seems to be more and more convinced of the ideal character of his own speculations. At the end of the 9th Book the pattern which is in heaven takes the place of the city of philosophers on earth. The vision which has received form and substance at his hands, is now discovered to be at a distance. And yet this distant kingdom is also the rule of man’s life (Bk. vii. 540 E). (‘Say not lo! here, or lo! there, for the kingdom of God is within you.’) Thus a note is struck which prepares for the revelation of a future life in the following Book. But the future life is present still; the ideal of politics is to be realized in the individual.

  book x.

  Analysis.Republic X.

  595Many things pleased me in the order of our State, but there was nothing which I liked better than the regulation about poetry. The division of the soul throws a new light on our exclusion of imitation. I do not mind telling you in confidence that all poetry is an outrage on the understanding, unless the hearers have that balm of knowledge which heals error. I have loved Homer ever since I was a boy, and even now he appears to me to be the great master of tragic poetry. But much as I love the man, I love truth more, and therefore I must speak out: and first of all, will you explain what is imitation, for really I do not understand? ‘How likely then that I 596should understand!’ That might very well be, for the duller often sees better than the keener eye. ‘True, but in your presence I can hardly venture to say what I think.’ Then suppose that we begin in our old fashion, with the doctrine of universals. Let us assume the existence of beds and tables. There is one idea of a bed, or of a table, which the maker of each had in his mind when making them; he did not make the ideas of beds and tables, but he made beds and tables according to the ideas. And is there not a maker of the works of all workmen, who makes not only vessels but plants and animals, himself, the earth and heaven, and things in heaven and under the earth? He makes the Gods also. ‘He must be a wizard indeed!’ But do you not see that there is a sense in which you could do the same? You have only to take a mirror, and catch the reflection of the sun, and the earth, or anything else—there now you have made them. ‘Yes, but only in appearance.’ Exactly so; and the painter is such a creator as you are with the mirror, and he is even more unreal than the carpenter; although neither 597the carpenter nor any other artist can be supposed to make the absolute bed. ‘Not if philosophers may be believed.’ Nor need we wonder that his bed has but an imperfect relation to the truth. Reflect:—Here are three beds; one in nature, which is made by God; another, which is made by the carpenter; and the third, by the painter. God only made one, nor could he have made more than one; for if there had been two, there would always have been a third—more absolute and abstract than either, under which they would have been included. We may therefore conceive God to be the natural maker of the bed, and in a lower sense the carpenter is also the maker; but the painter is rather the imitator of what the other two make; he has to do with a creation which is thrice removed from reality. And the tragic poet is an imitator, and, like every other imitator, is thrice removed from the king and from the truth. The painter 598imitates not the original bed, but the bed made by the carpenter. And this, without being really different, appears to be different, and has many points of view, of which only one is caught by the painter, who represents everything because he represents a piece of everything, and that piece an image. And he can paint any other artist, although he knows nothing of their arts; and this with sufficient skill to deceive children or simple people. Suppose now that somebody came to us and told us, how he had met a man who knew all that everybody knows, and better than anybody:—should we not infer him to be a simpleton who, having no discernment of truth and falsehood, had met with a wizard or enchanter, whom he fancied to be all-wise? And when we hear persons saying that Homer and the tragedians know all the arts and all the virtues, must we not infer that they are 599under a similar delusion? they do not see that the poets are imitators, and that their creations are only imitations. ‘Very true.’ But if a person could create as well as imitate, he would rather leave some permanent work and not an imitation only; he would rather be the receiver than the giver of praise? ‘Yes, for then he would have more honour and advantage.’

  Let us now interrogate Homer and the poets. Friend Homer, say I to him, I am not going to ask you about medicine, or any art to which your poems incidentally refer, but about their main subjects—war, military tactics, politics. If you are only twice and not thrice removed from the truth—not an imitator or an image-maker, please to inform us what good you have ever done to mankind? Is there any city which professes to have received laws from you, as Sicily and Italy have from Charondas, 600Sparta from Lycurgus, Athens from Solon? Or was any war ever carried on by your counsels? or is any invention attributed to you, as there is to Thales and Anacharsis? Or is there any Homeric way of life, such as the Pythagorean was, in which you instructed men, and which is called after you? ‘No, indeed; and Creophylus [Flesh-child] was even more unfortunate in his breeding than he was in his name, if, as tradition says, Homer in his lifetime was allowed by him and his other friends to starve.’ Yes, but could this ever have happened if Homer had really been the educator of Hellas? Would he not have had many devoted followers? If Protagoras and Prodicus can persuade their contemporaries that no one can manage house or State without them, is it likely that Homer and Hesiod would have been allowed to go about as beggars—I mean if they had really been able to do the world any good?—would not men have compelled them to stay where they were, or have followed them about in order to get education? But they did not; and therefore we may infer that Homer and all the poets are only 601imitators, who do but imitate the appearances of things. For as a painter by a knowledge of figure and colour can paint a cobbler without any practice in cobbling, so the poet can delineate any art in the colours of language, and give harmony and rhythm to the cobbler and also to the general; and you know how mere narration, when deprived of the ornaments of metre, is like a face which has lost the beauty of youth and never had any other. Once more, the imitator has no knowledge of reality, but only of appearance. The painter paints, and the artificer makes a bridle and reins, but neither understands the use of them—the knowledge of this is confined to the horseman; and so of other things. Thus we have three arts: one of use, another of invention, a third of imitation; and the user furnishes the rule to the two others. The flute-player will know the good and bad flute, and the maker will put faith in him; but 602the imitator will neither know nor have faith—neither science nor true opinion can be ascribed to him. Imitation, then, is devoid of knowledge, being only a kind of play or sport, and the tragic and epic poets are imitators in the highest degree.

  And now let us enquire, what is the faculty in man which answers to imitation. Allow me to explain my meaning: Objects are differently seen when in the water and when out of the water, when near and when at a distance; and the painter or juggler makes use of this variation to impose upon us. And the art of measuring and weighing and calculating comes in to save our bewildered minds from the power of appearance; for, 603as we were saying, two contrary opinions of the same about the same and at the same time, cannot both of them be true. But which of them is true is determined by the art of calculation; and this is allied to the better faculty in the soul, as the arts of imitation are to the worse. And the same holds of the ear as well as of the eye, of poetry as well as painting. The imitation is of actions voluntary or involuntary, in which there is an expectation of a good or bad result, and present experience of pleasure and pain. But is a man in harmony with himself when he is the subject of these conflicting influences? Is there not rather a contradiction in him? Let me further ask, whether 604he is more likely to control sorrow when he is alone or when he is in company. ‘In the latter case.’ Feeling would lead him to indulge his sorrow, but reason and law control him and enjoin patience; since he cannot know whether his affliction is good or evil, and no human thing is of any great consequence, while sorrow is certainly a hindrance to good counsel. For when we stumble, we should not, like children, make an uproar; we should take the measures which reason prescribes, not raising a lament, but finding a cure. And the better part of us is ready to follow reason, while the irrational principle is full of sorrow and distraction at the recollection of our troubles. Unfortunately, however, this latter furnishes the chief materials of the imitative arts. Whereas reason is ever in repose and cannot easily be displayed, especially to a mixed 605multitude who have no experience of her. Thus the poet is like the painter in two ways: first he paints an inferior degree of truth, and secondly, he is concerned with an inferior part of the soul. He indulges the feelings, while he enfeebles the reason; and we refuse to allow him to have authority over the mind of man; for he has no measure of greater and less, and is a maker of images and very far gone from truth.

  But we have not yet mentioned the heaviest count in the indictment—the power which poetry has of injuriously exciting the feelings. When we hear some passage in which a hero laments his sufferings at tedious length, you know that we sympathize with him and praise the poet; and yet in our own sorrows such an exhibition of feeling is regarded as effeminate and unmanly (cp. Ion, 535 E). Now, ought a man to feel pleasure in seeing another do what he hates and abominates in himself? 606Is he not giving way to a sentiment which in his own case he would control?—he is off his guard because the sorrow is another’s; and he thinks that he may indulge his feelings without disgrace, and will be the gainer by the pleasure. But the inevitable consequence is that he who begins by weeping at the sorrows of others, will end by weeping at his own. The same is true of comedy,—you may often laugh at buffoonery which you would be ashamed to utter, and the love of coarse merriment on the stage will at last turn you into a buffoon at home. Poetry feeds and waters the passions and desires; she lets them rule instead of ruling them. And therefore, when we hear the encomiasts of Homer affirming that he is the educator 607of Hellas, and that all life should be regulated by his precepts, we may allow the excellence of their intentions, and agree with them in thinking Homer a great poet and tragedian. But we shall continue to prohibit all poetry which goes beyond hymns to the Gods and praises of famous men. Not pleasure and pain, but law and reason shall rule in our State.

  These are our grounds for expelling poetry; but lest she should charge us with discourtesy, let us also make an apology to her. We will remind her that there is an ancient quarrel between poetry and philosophy, of which there are many traces in the writings of the poets, such as the saying of ‘the she-dog, yelping at her mistress,’ and ‘the philosophers who are ready to circumvent Zeus,’ and ‘the philosophers who are paupers.’ Nevertheless we bear her no ill-will, and will gladly allow her to return upon condition that she makes a defence of herself in verse; and her supporters who are not poets may speak in prose. We confess her charms; but if she cannot show that she is useful as well as delightful, like rational lovers, we must renounce our love, though endeared to us by early associations. 608Having come to years of discretion, we know that poetry is not truth, and that a man should be careful how he introduces her to that state or constitution which he himself is; for there is a mighty issue at stake—no less than the good or evil of a human soul. And it is not worth while to forsake justice and virtue for the attractions of poetry, any more than for the sake of honour or wealth. ‘I agree with you.’

  And yet the rewards of virtue are greater far than I have described. ‘And can we conceive things greater still?’ Not, perhaps, in this brief span of life: but should an immortal being care about anything short of eternity? ‘I do not understand what you mean?’ Do you not know that the soul is immortal? ‘Surely you are not prepared to prove that?’ Indeed I am. ‘Then let me hear this argument, of which you make so light.’

  609You would admit that everything has an element of good and of evil. In all things there is an inherent corruption; and if this cannot destroy them, nothing else will. The soul too has her own corrupting principles, which are injustice, intemperance, cowardice, and the like. But none of these destroy the soul in the same sense that disease destroys the body. The soul may be full of all iniquities, but is not, by reason of them, brought any nearer to death. Nothing which was not destroyed from within ever perished by external affection of evil. The body, which 610is one thing, cannot be destroyed by food, which is another, unless the badness of the food is communicated to the body. Neither can the soul, which is one thing, be corrupted by the body, which is another, unless she herself is infected. And as no bodily evil can infect the soul, neither can any bodily evil, whether disease or violence, or any other destroy the soul, unless it can be shown to render her unholy and unjust. But no one will ever prove that the souls of men become more unjust when they die. If a person has the audacity to say the contrary, the answer is—Then why do criminals require the hand of the executioner, and not die of themselves? ‘Truly,’ he said, ‘injustice would not be very terrible if it brought a cessation of evil; but I rather believe that the injustice which murders others may tend to quicken and stimulate the life of the unjust.’ You are quite right. If sin which is her own natural and inherent evil cannot destroy the soul, hardly will anything else 611destroy her. But the soul which cannot be destroyed either by internal or external evil must be immortal and everlasting. And if this be true, souls will always exist in the same number. They cannot diminish, because they cannot be destroyed; nor yet increase, for the increase of the immortal must come from something mortal, and so all would end in immortality. Neither is the soul variable and diverse; for that which is immortal must be of the fairest and simplest composition. If we would conceive her truly, and so behold justice and injustice in their own nature, she must be viewed by the light of reason pure as at birth, or as she is reflected in philosophy when holding converse with the divine and immortal and eternal. In her present condition we see her only like the sea-god Glaucus, bruised and 612maimed in the sea which is the world, and covered with shells and stones which are incrusted upon her from the entertainments of earth.

  Thus far, as the argument required, we have said nothing of the rewards and honours which the poets attribute to justice; we have contented ourselves with showing that justice in herself is best for the soul in herself, even if a man should put on a Gyges’ ring and have the helmet of Hades too. And now you shall repay me what you borrowed; and I will enumerate the rewards of justice in life and after death. I granted, for the sake of argument, as you will remember, that evil might perhaps escape the knowledge of Gods and men, although this was really impossible. And since I have shown that justice has reality, you must grant me also that she has the palm of appearance. In the first place, the just man is known to the 613Gods, and he is therefore the friend of the Gods, and he will receive at their hands every good, always excepting such evil as is the necessary consequence of former sins. All things end in good to him, either in life or after death, even what appears to be evil; for the Gods have a care of him who desires to be in their likeness. And what shall we say of men? Is not honesty the best policy? The clever rogue makes a great start at first, but breaks down before he reaches the goal, and slinks away in dishonour; whereas the true runner perseveres to the end, and receives the prize. And you must allow me to repeat all the blessings which you attributed to the fortunate unjust—they bear rule in the city, they marry and give in marriage to whom they will; and the evils which you attributed to the unfortunate just, do really fall in the end on the unjust, although, as you implied, their sufferings are better veiled in silence.

  614But all the blessings of this present life are as nothing when compared with those which await good men after death. ‘I should like to hear about them.’ Come, then, and I will tell you the story of Er, the son of Armenius, a valiant man. He was supposed to have died in battle, but ten days afterwards his body was found untouched by corruption and sent home for burial. On the twelfth day he was placed on the funeral pyre and there he came to life again, and told what he had seen in the world below. He said that his soul went with a great company to a place, in which there were two chasms near together in the earth beneath, and two corresponding chasms in the heaven above. And there were judges sitting in the intermediate space, bidding the just ascend by the heavenly way on the right hand, having the seal of their judgment set upon them before, while the unjust, having the seal behind, were bidden to descend by the way on the left hand. Him they told to look and listen, as he was to be their messenger to men from the world below. And he beheld and saw the souls departing after judgment at either chasm; some who came from earth, were worn and travel-stained; others, who came from heaven, were clean and bright. They seemed glad to meet and rest awhile in the meadow; here they discoursed with 615one another of what they had seen in the other world. Those who came from earth wept at the remembrance of their sorrows, but the spirits from above spoke of glorious sights and heavenly bliss. He said that for every evil deed they were punished tenfold—now the journey was of a thousand years’ duration, because the life of man was reckoned as a hundred years—and the rewards of virtue were in the same proportion. He added something hardly worth repeating about infants dying almost as soon as they were born. Of parricides and other murderers he had tortures still more terrible to narrate. He was present when one of the spirits asked—Where is Ardiaeus the Great? (This Ardiaeus was a cruel tyrant, who had murdered his father, and his elder brother, a thousand years before.) Another spirit answered, ‘He comes not hither, and will never come. And I myself,’ he added, ‘actually saw this terrible sight. At the entrance of the chasm, as we were about to reascend, Ardiaeus appeared, and some other sinners—most of whom had been tyrants, but not all—and just as they fancied that they were returning to life, the chasm 616gave a roar, and then wild, fiery-looking men who knew the meaning of the sound, seized him and several others, and bound them hand and foot and threw them down, and dragged them along at the side of the road, lacerating them and carding them like wool, and explaining to the passers-by, that they were going to be cast into hell.’ The greatest terror of the pilgrims ascending was lest they should hear the voice, and when there was silence one by one they passed up with joy. To these sufferings there were corresponding delights.

  On the eighth day the souls of the pilgrims resumed their journey, and in four days came to a spot whence they looked down upon a line of light, in colour like a rainbow, only brighter and clearer. One day more brought them to the place, and they saw that this was the column of light which binds together the whole universe. The ends of the column were fastened to heaven, and from them hung the distaff of Necessity, on which all the heavenly bodies turned—the hook and spindle were of adamant, and the whorl of a mixed substance. The whorl was in form like a number of boxes fitting into one another with their edges turned upwards, making together a single whorl which was pierced by the spindle. The outermost had the rim broadest, and the inner whorls were smaller and smaller, and had their rims narrower. The largest (the fixed stars) was spangled—the seventh (the sun) was brightest—the eighth (the moon) shone by 617the light of the seventh—the second and fifth (Saturn and Mercury) were most like one another and yellower than the eighth—the third (Jupiter) had the whitest light—the fourth (Mars) was red—the sixth (Venus) was in whiteness second. The whole had one motion, but while this was revolving in one direction the seven inner circles were moving in the opposite, with various degrees of swiftness and slowness. The spindle turned on the knees of Necessity, and a Siren stood hymning upon each circle, while Lachesis, Clotho, and Atropos, the daughters of Necessity, sat on thrones at equal intervals, singing of past, present, and future, responsive to the music of the Sirens; Clotho from time to time guiding the outer circle with a touch of her right hand; Atropos with her left hand touching and guiding the inner circles; Lachesis in turn putting forth her hand from time to time to guide both of them. On their arrival the pilgrims went to Lachesis, and there was an interpreter who arranged them, and taking from her knees lots, and samples of lives, got up into a pulpit and said: ‘Mortal souls, hear the words of Lachesis, the daughter of Necessity. A new period of mortal life has begun, and you may choose what divinity you please; the responsibility of choosing 618is with you—God is blameless.’ After speaking thus, he cast the lots among them and each one took up the lot which fell near him. He then placed on the ground before them the samples of lives, many more than the souls present; and there were all sorts of lives, of men and of animals. There were tyrannies ending in misery and exile, and lives of men and women famous for their different qualities; and also mixed lives, made up of wealth and poverty, sickness and health. Here, Glaucon, is the great risk of human life, and therefore the whole of education should be directed to the acquisition of such a knowledge as will teach a man to refuse the evil and choose the good. He should know all the combinations which occur in life—of beauty with poverty or with wealth,—of knowledge with external goods,—and at last choose with reference to the nature of the soul, regarding that only as the better life which makes men better, and leaving the rest. And 619a man must take with him an iron sense of truth and right into the world below, that there too he may remain undazzled by wealth or the allurements of evil, and be determined to avoid the extremes and choose the mean. For this, as the messenger reported the interpreter to have said, is the true happiness of man; and any one, as he proclaimed, may, if he choose with understanding, have a good lot, even though he come last. ‘Let not the first be careless in his choice, nor the last despair.’ He spoke; and when he had spoken, he who had drawn the first lot chose a tyranny: he did not see that he was fated to devour his own children—and when he discovered his mistake, he wept and beat his breast, blaming chance and the Gods and anybody rather than himself. He was one of those who had come from heaven, and in his previous life had been a citizen of a well-ordered State, but he had only habit and no philosophy. Like many another, he made a bad choice, because he had no experience of life; whereas those who came from earth and had seen trouble were not in such a hurry to choose. But if a man had followed philosophy while upon earth, and had been moderately fortunate in his lot, he might not only be happy here, but his pilgrimage both from and to this world would be smooth and heavenly. Nothing was more curious than the spectacle of the choice, at once sad and laughable and wonderful; most of the souls only seeking to avoid their own 620condition in a previous life. He saw the soul of Orpheus changing into a swan because he would not be born of a woman; there was Thamyras becoming a nightingale; musical birds, like the swan, choosing to be men; the twentieth soul, which was that of Ajax, preferring the life of a lion to that of a man, in remembrance of the injustice which was done to him in the judgment of the arms; and Agamemnon, from a like enmity to human nature, passing into an eagle. About the middle was the soul of Atalanta choosing the honours of an athlete, and next to her Epeus taking the nature of a workwoman; among the last was Thersites, who was changing himself into a monkey. Thither, the last of all, came Odysseus, and sought the lot of a private man, which lay neglected and despised, and when he found it he went away rejoicing, and said that if he had been first instead of last, his choice would have been the same. Men, too, were seen passing into animals, and wild and tame animals changing into one another.

  When all the souls had chosen they went to Lachesis, who sent with each of them their genius or attendant to fulfil their lot. He first of all brought them under the hand of Clotho, and drew them within the revolution of the spindle impelled by her hand; from her they were carried to Atropos, who made the threads irreversible; 621whence, without turning round, they passed beneath the throne of Necessity; and when they had all passed, they moved on in scorching heat to the plain of Forgetfulness and rested at evening by the river Unmindful, whose water could not be retained in any vessel; of this they had all to drink a certain quantity—some of them drank more than was required, and he who drank forgot all things. Er himself was prevented from drinking. When they had gone to rest, about the middle of the night there were thunderstorms and earthquakes, and suddenly they were all driven divers ways, shooting like stars to their birth. Concerning his return to the body, he only knew that awaking suddenly in the morning he found himself lying on the pyre.

  Thus, Glaucon, the tale has been saved, and will be our salvation, if we believe that the soul is immortal, and hold fast to the heavenly way of Justice and Knowledge. So shall we pass undefiled over the river of Forgetfulness, and be dear to ourselves and to the Gods, and have a crown of reward and happiness both in this world and also in the millennial pilgrimage of the other.

  Introduction.

  The Tenth Book of the Republic of Plato falls into two divisions: first, resuming an old thread which has been interrupted, Socrates assails the poets, who, now that the nature of the soul has been analyzed, are seen to be very far gone from the truth; and secondly, having shown the reality of the happiness of the just, he demands that appearance shall be restored to him, and then proceeds to prove the immortality of the soul. The argument, as in the Phaedo and Gorgias, is supplemented by the vision of a future life.

  Why Plato, who was himself a poet, and whose dialogues are poems and dramas, should have been hostile to the poets as a class, and especially to the dramatic poets; why he should not have seen that truth may be embodied in verse as well as in prose, and that there are some indefinable lights and shadows of human life which can only be expressed in poetry—some elements of imagination which always entwine with reason; why he should have supposed epic verse to be inseparably associated with the impurities of the old Hellenic mythology; why he should try Homer and Hesiod by the unfair and prosaic test of utility,—are questions which have always been debated amongst students of Plato. Though unable to give a complete answer to them, we may show—first, that his views arose naturally out of the circumstances of his age; and secondly, we may elicit the truth as well as the error which is contained in them.

  He is the enemy of the poets because poetry was declining in his own lifetime, and a theatrocracy, as he says in the Laws (iii. 701 A), had taken the place of an intellectual aristocracy. Euripides exhibited the last phase of the tragic drama, and in him Plato saw the friend and apologist of tyrants, and the Sophist of tragedy. The old comedy was almost extinct; the new had not yet arisen. Dramatic and lyric poetry, like every other branch of Greek literature, was falling under the power of rhetoric. There was no ‘second or third’ to Æschylus and Sophocles in the generation which followed them. Aristophanes, in one of his later comedies (Frogs, 89 foll.), speaks of ‘thousands of tragedy-making prattlers,’ whose attempts at poetry he compares to the chirping of swallows; ‘their garrulity went far beyond Euripides,’—‘they appeared once upon the stage, and there was an end of them.’ To a man of genius who had a real appreciation of the godlike Æschylus and the noble and gentle Sophocles, though disagreeing with some parts of their ‘theology’ (Rep. ii. 380), these ‘minor poets’ must have been contemptible and intolerable. There is no feeling stronger in the dialogues of Plato than a sense of the decline and decay both in literature and in politics which marked his own age. Nor can he have been expected to look with favour on the licence of Aristophanes, now at the end of his career, who had begun by satirizing Socrates in the Clouds, and in a similar spirit forty years afterwards had satirized the founders of ideal commonwealths in his Eccleziazusae, or Female Parliament (cp. x. 606 C, and Laws ii. 658 ff.; 817).

  There were other reasons for the antagonism of Plato to poetry. The profession of an actor was regarded by him as a degradation of human nature, for ‘one man in his life’ cannot ‘play many parts;’ the characters which the actor performs seem to destroy his own character, and to leave nothing which can be truly called himself. Neither can any man live his life and act it. The actor is the slave of his art, not the master of it. Taking this view Plato is more decided in his expulsion of the dramatic than of the epic poets, though he must have known that the Greek tragedians afforded noble lessons and examples of virtue and patriotism, to which nothing in Homer can be compared. But great dramatic or even great rhetorical power is hardly consistent with firmness or strength of mind, and dramatic talent is often incidentally associated with a weak or dissolute character.

  In the Tenth Book Plato introduces a new series of objections. First, he says that the poet or painter is an imitator, and in the third degree removed from the truth. His creations are not tested by rule and measure; they are only appearances. In modern times we should say that art is not merely imitation, but rather the expression of the ideal in forms of sense. Even adopting the humble image of Plato, from which his argument derives a colour, we should maintain that the artist may ennoble the bed which he paints by the folds of the drapery, or by the feeling of home which he introduces; and there have been modern painters who have imparted such an ideal interest to a blacksmith’s or a carpenter’s shop. The eye or mind which feels as well as sees can give dignity and pathos to a ruined mill, or a straw-built shed [Rembrandt], to the hull of a vessel ‘going to its last home’ [Turner]. Still more would this apply to the greatest works of art, which seem to be the visible embodiment of the divine. Had Plato been asked whether the Zeus or Athene of Pheidias was the imitation of an imitation only, would he not have been compelled to admit that something more was to be found in them than in the form of any mortal; and that the rule of proportion to which they conformed was ‘higher far than any geometry or arithmetic could express?’ (Statesman, 257 A.)

  Again, Plato objects to the imitative arts that they express the emotional rather than the rational part of human nature. He does not admit Aristotle’s theory, that tragedy or other serious imitations are a purgation of the passions by pity and fear; to him they appear only to afford the opportunity of indulging them. Yet we must acknowledge that we may sometimes cure disordered emotions by giving expression to them; and that they often gain strength when pent up within our own breast. It is not every indulgence of the feelings which is to be condemned. For there may be a gratification of the higher as well as of the lower—thoughts which are too deep or too sad to be expressed by ourselves, may find an utterance in the words of poets. Every one would acknowledge that there have been times when they were consoled and elevated by beautiful music or by the sublimity of architecture or by the peacefulness of nature. Plato has himself admitted, in the earlier part of the Republic, that the arts might have the effect of harmonizing as well as of enervating the mind; but in the Tenth Book he regards them through a Stoic or Puritan medium. He asks only ‘What good have they done?’ and is not satisfied with the reply, that ‘They have given innocent pleasure to mankind.’

  He tells us that he rejoices in the banishment of the poets, since he has found by the analysis of the soul that they are concerned with the inferior faculties. He means to say that the higher faculties have to do with universals, the lower with particulars of sense. The poets are on a level with their own age, but not on a level with Socrates and Plato; and he was well aware that Homer and Hesiod could not be made a rule of life by any process of legitimate interpretation; his ironical use of them is in fact a denial of their authority; he saw, too, that the poets were not critics—as he says in the Apology, ‘Any one was a better interpreter of their writings than they were themselves’ (22 C). He himself ceased to be a poet when he became a disciple of Socrates; though, as he tells us of Solon, ‘he might have been one of the greatest of them, if he had not been deterred by other pursuits’ (Tim. 21 C). Thus from many points of view there is an antagonism between Plato and the poets, which was foreshadowed to him in the old quarrel between philosophy and poetry. The poets, as he says in the Protagoras (316 E), were the Sophists of their day; and his dislike of the one class is reflected on the other. He regards them both as the enemies of reasoning and abstraction, though in the case of Euripides more with reference to his immoral sentiments about tyrants and the like. For Plato is the prophet who ‘came into the world to convince men’—first of the fallibility of sense and opinion, and secondly of the reality of abstract ideas. Whatever strangeness there may be in modern times in opposing philosophy to poetry, which to us seem to have so many elements in common, the strangeness will disappear if we conceive of poetry as allied to sense, and of philosophy as equivalent to thought and abstraction. Unfortunately the very word ‘idea,’ which to Plato is expressive of the most real of all things, is associated in our minds with an element of subjectiveness and unreality. We may note also how he differs from Aristotle who declares poetry to be truer than history, for the opposite reason, because it is concerned with universals, not like history, with particulars (Poet. c. 9, 3).

  The things which are seen are opposed in Scripture to the things which are unseen—they are equally opposed in Plato to universals and ideas. To him all particulars appear to be floating about in a world of sense; they have a taint of error or even of evil. There is no difficulty in seeing that this is an illusion; for there is no more error or variation in an individual man, horse, bed, etc., than in the class man, horse, bed, etc.; nor is the truth which is displayed in individual instances less certain than that which is conveyed through the medium of ideas. But Plato, who is deeply impressed with the real importance of universals as instruments of thought, attributes to them an essential truth which is imaginary and unreal; for universals may be often false and particulars true. Had he attained to any clear conception of the individual, which is the synthesis of the universal and the particular; or had he been able to distinguish between opinion and sensation, which the ambiguity of the words δόξα, ϕαίνεσθαι, εἰκὸς and the like, tended to confuse, he would not have denied truth to the particulars of sense.

  But the poets are also the representatives of falsehood and feigning in all departments of life and knowledge, like the sophists and rhetoricians of the Gorgias and Phaedrus; they are the false priests, false prophets, lying spirits, enchanters of the world. There is another count put into the indictment against them by Plato, that they are the friends of the tyrant, and bask in the sunshine of his patronage. Despotism in all ages has had an apparatus of false ideas and false teachers at its service—in the history of Modern Europe as well as of Greece and Rome. For no government of men depends solely upon force; without some corruption of literature and morals—some appeal to the imagination of the masses—some pretence to the favour of heaven—some element of good giving power to evil (cp. i. 352), tyranny, even for a short time, cannot be maintained. The Greek tyrants were not insensible to the importance of awakening in their cause a Pseudo-Hellenic feeling; they were proud of successes at the Olympic games; they were not devoid of the love of literature and art. Plato is thinking in the first instance of Greek poets who had graced the courts of Dionysius or Archelaus: and the old spirit of freedom is roused within him at their prostitution of the Tragic Muse in the praises of tyranny. But his prophetic eye extends beyond them to the false teachers of other ages who are the creatures of the government under which they live. He compares the corruption of his contemporaries with the idea of a perfect society, and gathers up into one mass of evil the evils and errors of mankind; to him they are personified in the rhetoricians, sophists, poets, rulers who deceive and govern the world.

  A further objection which Plato makes to poetry and the imitative arts is that they excite the emotions. Here the modern reader will be disposed to introduce a distinction which appears to have escaped him. For the emotions are neither bad nor good in themselves, and are not most likely to be controlled by the attempt to eradicate them, but by the moderate indulgence of them. And the vocation of art is to present thought in the form of feeling, to enlist the feelings on the side of reason, to inspire even for a moment courage or resignation; perhaps to suggest a sense of infinity and eternity in a way which mere language is incapable of attaining. True, the same power which in the purer age of art embodies gods and heroes only, may be made to express the voluptuous image of a Corinthian courtezan. But this only shows that art, like other outward things, may be turned to good and also to evil, and is not more closely connected with the higher than with the lower part of the soul. All imitative art is subject to certain limitations, and therefore necessarily partakes of the nature of a compromise. Something of ideal truth is sacrificed for the sake of the representation, and something in the exactness of the representation is sacrificed to the ideal. Still, works of art have a permanent element; they idealize and detain the passing thought, and are the intermediates between sense and ideas.

  In the present stage of the human mind, poetry and other forms of fiction may certainly be regarded as a good. But we can also imagine the existence of an age in which a severer conception of truth has either banished or transformed them. At any rate we must admit that they hold a different place at different periods of the world’s history. In the infancy of mankind, poetry, with the exception of proverbs, is the whole of literature, and the only instrument of intellectual culture; in modern times she is the shadow or echo of her former self, and appears to have a precarious existence. Milton in his day doubted whether an epic poem was any longer possible. At the same time we must remember, that what Plato would have called the charms of poetry have been partly transferred to prose; he himself (Statesman 304) admits rhetoric to be the handmaiden of Politics, and proposes to find in the strain of law (Laws vii. 811) a substitute for the old poets. Among ourselves the creative power seems often to be growing weaker, and scientific fact to be more engrossing and overpowering to the mind than formerly. The illusion of the feelings commonly called love, has hitherto been the inspiring influence of modern poetry and romance, and has exercised a humanizing if not a strengthening influence on the world. But may not the stimulus which love has given to fancy be some day exhausted? The modern English novel which is the most popular of all forms of reading is not more than a century or two old: will the tale of love a hundred years hence, after so many thousand variations of the same theme, be still received with unabated interest?

  Art cannot claim to be on a level with philosophy or religion, and may often corrupt them. It is possible to conceive a mental state in which all artistic representations are regarded as a false and imperfect expression, either of the religious ideal or of the philosophical ideal. The fairest forms may be revolting in certain moods of mind, as is proved by the fact that the Mahometans, and many sects of Christians, have renounced the use of pictures and images. The beginning of a great religion, whether Christian or Gentile, has not been ‘wood or stone,’ but a spirit moving in the hearts of men. The disciples have met in a large upper room or in ‘holes and caves of the earth’; in the second or third generation, they have had mosques, temples, churches, monasteries. And the revival or reform of religions, like the first revelation of them, has come from within and has generally disregarded external ceremonies and accompaniments.

  But poetry and art may also be the expression of the highest truth and the purest sentiment. Plato himself seems to waver between two opposite views—when, as in the third Book, he insists that youth should be brought up amid wholesome imagery; and again in Book x, when he banishes the poets from his Republic. Admitting that the arts, which some of us almost deify, have fallen short of their higher aim, we must admit on the other hand that to banish imagination wholly would be suicidal as well as impossible. For nature too is a form of art; and a breath of the fresh air or a single glance at the varying landscape would in an instant revive and reillumine the extinguished spark of poetry in the human breast. In the lower stages of civilization imagination more than reason distinguishes man from the animals; and to banish art would be to banish thought, to banish language, to banish the expression of all truth. No religion is wholly devoid of external forms; even the Mahometan who renounces the use of pictures and images has a temple in which he worships the Most High, as solemn and beautiful as any Greek or Christian building. Feeling too and thought are not really opposed; for he who thinks must feel before he can execute. And the highest thoughts, when they become familiarized to us, are always tending to pass into the form of feeling.

  Plato does not seriously intend to expel poets from life and society. But he feels strongly the unreality of their writings; he is protesting against the degeneracy of poetry in his own day as we might protest against the want of serious purpose in modern fiction, against the unseemliness or extravagance of some of our poets or novelists, against the time-serving of preachers or public writers, against the regardlessness of truth which to the eye of the philosopher seems to characterize the greater part of the world. For we too have reason to complain that our poets and novelists ‘paint inferior truth’ and ‘are concerned with the inferior part of the soul’; that the readers of them become what they read and are injuriously affected by them. And we look in vain for that healthy atmosphere of which Plato speaks,—‘the beauty which meets the sense like a breeze and imperceptibly draws the soul, even in childhood, into harmony with the beauty of reason.’

  For there might be a poetry which would be the hymn of divine perfection, the harmony of goodness and truth among men: a strain which should renew the youth of the world, and bring back the ages in which the poet was man’s only teacher and best friend,—which would find materials in the living present as well as in the romance of the past, and might subdue to the fairest forms of speech and verse the intractable materials of modern civilization,—which might elicit the simple principles, or, as Plato would have called them, the essential forms, of truth and justice out of the variety of opinion and the complexity of modern society,—which would preserve all the good of each generation and leave the bad unsung,—which should be based not on vain longings or faint imaginings, but on a clear insight into the nature of man. Then the tale of love might begin again in poetry or prose, two in one, united in the pursuit of knowledge, or the service of God and man; and feelings of love might still be the incentive to great thoughts and heroic deeds as in the days of Dante or Petrarch; and many types of manly and womanly beauty might appear among us, rising above the ordinary level of humanity, and many lives which were like poems (Laws vii. 817 B), be not only written, but lived by us. A few such strains have been heard among men in the tragedies of Æschylus and Sophocles, whom Plato quotes, not, as Homer is quoted by him, in irony, but with deep and serious approval,—in the poetry of Milton and Wordsworth, and in passages of other English poets,—first and above all in the Hebrew prophets and psalmists. Shakespeare has taught us how great men should speak and act; he has drawn characters of a wonderful purity and depth; he has ennobled the human mind, but, like Homer (Rep. x. 599 foll.), he ‘has left no way of life.’ The next greatest poet of modern times, Goethe, is concerned with ‘a lower degree of truth’; he paints the world as a stage on which ‘all the men and women are merely players’; he cultivates life as an art, but he furnishes no ideals of truth and action. The poet may rebel against any attempt to set limits to his fancy; and he may argue truly that moralizing in verse is not poetry. Possibly, like Mephistopheles in Faust, he may retaliate on his adversaries. But the philosopher will still be justified in asking, ‘How may the heavenly gift of poesy be devoted to the good of mankind?’

  Returning to Plato, we may observe that a similar mixture of truth and error appears in other parts of the argument. He is aware of the absurdity of mankind framing their whole lives according to Homer; just as in the Phaedrus he intimates the absurdity of interpreting mythology upon rational principles; both these were the modern tendencies of his own age, which he deservedly ridicules. On the other hand, his argument that Homer, if he had been able to teach mankind anything worth knowing, would not have been allowed by them to go about begging as a rhapsodist, is both false and contrary to the spirit of Plato (cp. Rep. vi. 489 A foll.). It may be compared with those other paradoxes of the Gorgias, that ‘No statesman was ever unjustly put to death by the city of which he was the head’; and that ‘No Sophist was ever defrauded by his pupils’ (Gorg. 519 foll.). . . . . .

  The argument for immortality seems to rest on the absolute dualism of soul and body. Admitting the existence of the soul, we know of no force which is able to put an end to her. Vice is her own proper evil; and if she cannot be destroyed by that, she cannot be destroyed by any other. Yet Plato has acknowledged that the soul may be so overgrown by the incrustations of earth as to lose her original form; and in the Timaeus he recognizes more strongly than in the Republic the influence which the body has over the mind, denying even the voluntariness of human actions, on the ground that they proceed from physical states (Tim. 86, 87). In the Republic, as elsewhere, he wavers between the original soul which has to be restored, and the character which is developed by training and education. . . . . .

  The vision of another world is ascribed to Er, the son of Armenius, who is said by Clement of Alexandria to have been Zoroaster. The tale has certainly an oriental character, and may be compared with the pilgrimages of the soul in the Zend Avesta (cp. Haug, Avesta, p. 197). But no trace of acquaintance with Zoroaster is found elsewhere in Plato’s writings, and there is no reason for giving him the name of Er the Pamphylian. The philosophy of Heracleitus cannot be shown to be borrowed from Zoroaster, and still less the myths of Plato.

  The local arrangement of the vision is less distinct than that of the Phaedrus and Phaedo. Astronomy is mingled with symbolism and mythology; the great sphere of heaven is represented under the symbol of a cylinder or box, containing the seven orbits of the planets and the fixed stars; this is suspended from an axis or spindle which turns on the knees of Necessity; the revolutions of the seven orbits contained in the cylinder are guided by the fates, and their harmonious motion produces the music of the spheres. Through the innermost or eighth of these, which is the moon, is passed the spindle; but it is doubtful whether this is the continuation of the column of light, from which the pilgrims contemplate the heavens; the words of Plato imply that they are connected, but not the same. The column itself is clearly not of adamant. The spindle (which is of adamant) is fastened to the ends of the chains which extend to the middle of the column of light—this column is said to hold together the heaven; but whether it hangs from the spindle, or is at right angles to it, is not explained. The cylinder containing the orbits of the stars is almost as much a symbol as the figure of Necessity turning the spindle;—for the outer-most rim is the sphere of the fixed stars, and nothing is said about the intervals of space which divide the paths of the stars in the heavens. The description is both a picture and an orrery, and therefore is necessarily inconsistent with itself. The column of light is not the Milky Way—which is neither straight, nor like a rainbow—but the imaginary axis of the earth. This is compared to the rainbow in respect not of form but of colour, and not to the undergirders of a trireme, but to the straight rope running from prow to stern in which the undergirders meet.

  The orrery or picture of the heavens given in the Republic differs in its mode of representation from the circles of the same and of the other in the Timaeus. In both the fixed stars are distinguished from the planets, and they move in orbits without them, although in an opposite direction: in the Republic as in the Timaeus (40 B) they are all moving round the axis of the world. But we are not certain that in the former they are moving round the earth. No distinct mention is made in the Republic of the circles of the same and other; although both in the Timaeus and in the Republic the motion of the fixed stars is supposed to coincide with the motion of the whole. The relative thickness of the rims is perhaps designed to express the relative distances of the planets. Plato probably intended to represent the earth, from which Er and his companions are viewing the heavens, as stationary in place; but whether or not herself revolving, unless this is implied in the revolution of the axis, is uncertain (cp. Timaeus). The spectator may be supposed to look at the heavenly bodies, either from above or below. The earth is a sort of earth and heaven in one, like the heaven of the Phaedrus, on the back of which the spectator goes out to take a peep at the stars and is borne round in the revolution. There is no distinction between the equator and the ecliptic. But Plato is no doubt led to imagine that the planets have an opposite motion to that of the fixed stars, in order to account for their appearances in the heavens. In the description of the meadow, and the retribution of the good and evil after death, there are traces of Homer.

  The description of the axis as a spindle, and of the heavenly bodies as forming a whole, partly arises out of the attempt to connect the motions of the heavenly bodies with the mythological image of the web, or weaving of the Fates. The giving of the lots, the weaving of them, and the making of them irreversible, which are ascribed to the three Fates—Lachesis, Clotho, Atropos, are obviously derived from their names. The element of chance in human life is indicated by the order of the lots. But chance, however adverse, may be overcome by the wisdom of man, if he knows how to choose aright; there is a worse enemy to man than chance; this enemy is himself. He who was moderately fortunate in the number of the lot—even the very last comer—might have a good life if he chose with wisdom. And as Plato does not like to make an assertion which is unproven, he more than confirms this statement a few sentences afterwards by the example of Odysseus, who chose last. But the virtue which is founded on habit is not sufficient to enable a man to choose; he must add to virtue knowledge, if he is to act rightly when placed in new circumstances. The routine of good actions and good habits is an inferior sort of goodness; and, as Coleridge says, ‘Common sense is intolerable which is not based on metaphysics,’ so Plato would have said, ‘Habit is worthless which is not based upon philosophy.’

  The freedom of the will to refuse the evil and to choose the good is distinctly asserted. ‘Virtue is free, and as a man honours or dishonours her he will have more or less of her.’ The life of man is ‘rounded’ by necessity; there are circumstances prior to birth which affect him (cp. Pol. 273 B). But within the walls of necessity there is an open space in which he is his own master, and can study for himself the effects which the variously compounded gifts of nature or fortune have upon the soul, and act accordingly. All men cannot have the first choice in everything. But the lot of all men is good enough, if they choose wisely and will live diligently.

  The verisimilitude which is given to the pilgrimage of a thousand years, by the intimation that Ardiaeus had lived a thousand years before; the coincidence of Er coming to life on the twelfth day after he was supposed to have been dead with the seven days which the pilgrims passed in the meadow, and the four days during which they journeyed to the column of light; the precision with which the soul is mentioned who chose the twentieth lot; the passing remarks that there was no definite character among the souls, and that the souls which had chosen ill blamed any one rather than themselves; or that some of the souls drank more than was necessary of the waters of Forgetfulness, while Er himself was hindered from drinking; the desire of Odysseus to rest at last, unlike the conception of him in Dante and Tennyson; the feigned ignorance of how Er returned to the body, when the other souls went shooting like stars to their birth,—add greatly to the probability of the narrative. They are such touches of nature as the art of Defoe might have introduced when he wished to win credibility for marvels and apparitions.

  There still remain to be considered some points which have been intentionally reserved to the end: (I) the Janus-like character of the Republic, which presents two faces—one an Hellenic state, the other a kingdom of philosophers. Connected with the latter of the two aspects are (II) the paradoxes of the Republic, as they have been termed by Morgenstern: (α) the community of property; (β) of families; (γ) the rule of philosophers; (δ) the analogy of the individual and the State, which, like some other analogies in the Republic, is carried too far. We may then proceed to consider (III) the subject of education as conceived by Plato, bringing together in a general view the education of youth and the education of after-life; (IV) we may note further some essential differences between ancient and modern politics which are suggested by the Republic; (V) we may compare the Politicus and the Laws; (VI) we may observe the influence exercised by Plato on his imitators; and (VII) take occasion to consider the nature and value of political, and (VIII) of religious ideals.

  I. Plato expressly says that he is intending to found an Hellenic State (Book v. 470 E). Many of his regulations are characteristically Spartan; such as the prohibition of gold and silver, the common meals of the men, the military training of the youth, the gymnastic exercises of the women. The life of Sparta was the life of a camp (Laws ii. 666 E), enforced even more rigidly in time of peace than in war; the citizens of Sparta, like Plato’s, were forbidden to trade—they were to be soldiers and not shopkeepers. Nowhere else in Greece was the individual so completely subjected to the State; the time when he was to marry, the education of his children, the clothes which he was to wear, the food which he was to eat, were all prescribed by law. Some of the best enactments in the Republic, such as the reverence to be paid to parents and elders, and some of the worst, such as the exposure of deformed children, are borrowed from the practice of Sparta. The encouragement of friendships between men and youths, or of men with one another, as affording incentives to bravery, is also Spartan; in Sparta too a nearer approach was made than in any other Greek State to equality of the sexes, and to community of property; and while there was probably less of licentiousness in the sense of immorality, the tie of marriage was regarded more lightly than in the rest of Greece. The ‘suprema lex’ was the preservation of the family, and the interest of the State. The coarse strength of a military government was not favourable to purity and refinement; and the excessive strictness of some regulations seems to have produced a reaction. Of all Hellenes the Spartans were most accessible to bribery; several of the greatest of them might be described in the words of Plato as having a ‘fierce secret longing after gold and silver.’ Though not in the strict sense communists, the principle of communism was maintained among them in their division of lands, in their common meals, in their slaves, and in the free use of one another’s goods. Marriage was a public institution: and the women were educated by the State, and sang and danced in public with the men.

  Many traditions were preserved at Sparta of the severity with which the magistrates had maintained the primitive rule of music and poetry; as in the Republic of Plato, the new-fangled poet was to be expelled. Hymns to the Gods, which are the only kind of music admitted into the ideal State, were the only kind which was permitted at Sparta. The Spartans, though an unpoetical race, were nevertheless lovers of poetry; they had been stirred by the Elegiac strains of Tyrtaeus, they had crowded around Hippias to hear his recitals of Homer; but in this they resembled the citizens of the timocratic rather than of the ideal State (548 E). The council of elder men also corresponds to the Spartan gerousia; and the freedom with which they are permitted to judge about matters of detail agrees with what we are told of that institution. Once more, the military rule of not spoiling the dead or offering arms at the temples; the moderation in the pursuit of enemies; the importance attached to the physical well-being of the citizens; the use of warfare for the sake of defence rather than of aggression—are features probably suggested by the spirit and practice of Sparta.

  To the Spartan type the ideal State reverts in the first decline; and the character of the individual timocrat is borrowed from the Spartan citizen. The love of Lacedaemon not only affected Plato and Xenophon, but was shared by many undistinguished Athenians; there they seemed to find a principle which was wanting in their own democracy. The εὐκοσμία of the Spartans attracted them, that is to say, not the goodness of their laws, but the spirit of order and loyalty which prevailed. Fascinated by the idea, citizens of Athens would imitate the Lacedaemonians in their dress and manners; they were known to the contemporaries of Plato as ‘the persons who had their ears bruised,’ like the Roundheads of the Commonwealth. The love of another church or country when seen at a distance only, the longing for an imaginary simplicity in civilized times, the fond desire of a past which never has been, or of a future which never will be,—these are aspirations of the human mind which are often felt among ourselves. Such feelings meet with a response in the Republic of Plato.

  But there are other features of the Platonic Republic, as, for example, the literary and philosophical education, and the grace and beauty of life, which are the reverse of Spartan. Plato wishes to give his citizens a taste of Athenian freedom as well as of Lacedaemonian discipline. His individual genius is purely Athenian, although in theory he is a lover of Sparta; and he is something more than either—he has also a true Hellenic feeling. He is desirous of humanizing the wars of Hellenes against one another; he acknowledges that the Delphian God is the grand hereditary interpreter of all Hellas. The spirit of harmony and the Dorian mode are to prevail, and the whole State is to have an external beauty which is the reflex of the harmony within. But he has not yet found out the truth which he afterwards enunciated in the Laws (i. 628 D)—that he was a better legislator who made men to be of one mind, than he who trained them for war. The citizens, as in other Hellenic States, democratic as well as aristocratic, are really an upper class; for, although no mention is made of slaves, the lower classes are allowed to fade away into the distance, and are represented in the individual by the passions. Plato has no idea either of a social State in which all classes are harmonized, or of a federation of Hellas or the world in which different nations or States have a place. His city is equipped for war rather than for peace, and this would seem to be justified by the ordinary condition of Hellenic States. The myth of the earth-born men is an embodiment of the orthodox tradition of Hellas, and the allusion to the four ages of the world is also sanctioned by the authority of Hesiod and the poets. Thus we see that the Republic is partly founded on the ideal of the old Greek polis, partly on the actual circumstances of Hellas in that age. Plato, like the old painters, retains the traditional form, and like them he has also a vision of a city in the clouds.

  There is yet another thread which is interwoven in the texture of the work; for the Republic is not only a Dorian State, but a Pythagorean league. The ‘way of life’ which was connected with the name of Pythagoras, like the Catholic monastic orders, showed the power which the mind of an individual might exercise over his contemporaries, and may have naturally suggested to Plato the possibility of reviving such ‘mediaeval institutions.’ The Pythagoreans, like Plato, enforced a rule of life and a moral and intellectual training. The influence ascribed to music, which to us seems exaggerated, is also a Pythagorean feature; it is not to be regarded as representing the real influence of music in the Greek world. More nearly than any other government of Hellas, the Pythagorean league of three hundred was an aristocracy of virtue. For once in the history of mankind the philosophy of order or κόσμος, expressing and consequently enlisting on its side the combined endeavours of the better part of the people, obtained the management of public affairs and held possession of it for a considerable time (until about b. c. 500). Probably only in States prepared by Dorian institutions would such a league have been possible. The rulers, like Plato’s ϕύλακες, were required to submit to a severe training in order to prepare the way for the education of the other members of the community. Long after the dissolution of the Order, eminent Pythagoreans, such as Archytas of Tarentum, retained their political influence over the cities of Magna Græcia. There was much here that was suggestive to the kindred spirit of Plato, who had doubtless meditated deeply on the ‘way of life of Pythagoras’ (Rep. x. 600 B) and his followers. Slight traces of Pythagoreanism are to be found in the mystical number of the State, in the number which expresses the interval between the king and the tyrant, in the doctrine of transmigration, in the music of the spheres, as well as in the great though secondary importance ascribed to mathematics in education.

  But as in his philosophy, so also in the form of his State, he goes far beyond the old Pythagoreans. He attempts a task really impossible, which is to unite the past of Greek history with the future of philosophy, analogous to that other impossibility, which has often been the dream of Christendom, the attempt to unite the past history of Europe with the kingdom of Christ. Nothing actually existing in the world at all resembles Plato’s ideal State; nor does he himself imagine that such a State is possible. This he repeats again and again; e. g. in the Republic (ix. sub fin.), or in the Laws (Book v. 739), where, casting a glance back on the Republic, he admits that the perfect state of communism and philosophy was impossible in his own age, though still to be retained as a pattern. The same doubt is implied in the earnestness with which he argues in the Republic (v. 472 D) that ideals are none the worse because they cannot be realized in fact, and in the chorus of laughter, which like a breaking wave will, as he anticipates, greet the mention of his proposals; though like other writers of fiction, he uses all his art to give reality to his inventions. When asked how the ideal polity can come into being, he answers ironically, ‘When one son of a king becomes a philosopher’; he designates the fiction of the earth-born men as ‘a noble lie’; and when the structure is finally complete, he fairly tells you that his Republic is a vision only, which in some sense may have reality, but not in the vulgar one of a reign of philosophers upon earth. It has been said that Plato flies as well as walks, but this falls short of the truth; for he flies and walks at the same time, and is in the air and on firm ground in successive instants.

  Niebuhr has asked a trifling question, which may be briefly noticed in this place—Was Plato a good citizen? If by this is meant, Was he loyal to Athenian institutions?—he can hardly be said to be the friend of democracy: but neither is he the friend of any other existing form of government; all of them he regarded as ‘states of faction’ (Laws viii. 832 C); none attained to his ideal of a voluntary rule over voluntary subjects, which seems indeed more nearly to describe democracy than any other; and the worst of them is tyranny. The truth is, that the question has hardly any meaning when applied to a great philosopher whose writings are not meant for a particular age and country, but for all time and all mankind. The decline of Athenian politics was probably the motive which led Plato to frame an ideal State, and the Republic may be regarded as reflecting the departing glory of Hellas. As well might we complain of St. Augustine, whose great work ‘The City of God’ originated in a similar motive, for not being loyal to the Roman Empire. Even a nearer parallel might be afforded by the first Christians, who cannot fairly be charged with being bad citizens because, though ‘subject to the higher powers,’ they were looking forward to a city which is in heaven.

  II. The idea of the perfect State is full of paradox when judged of according to the ordinary notions of mankind. The paradoxes of one age have been said to become the commonplaces of the next; but the paradoxes of Plato are at least as paradoxical to us as they were to his contemporaries. The modern world has either sneered at them as absurd, or denounced them as unnatural and immoral; men have been pleased to find in Aristotle’s criticisms of them the anticipation of their own good sense. The wealthy and cultivated classes have disliked and also dreaded them; they have pointed with satisfaction to the failure of efforts to realize them in practice. Yet since they are the thoughts of one of the greatest of human intelligences, and of one who has done most to elevate morality and religion, they seem to deserve a better treatment at our hands. We may have to address the public, as Plato does poetry, and assure them that we mean no harm to existing institutions. There are serious errors which have a side of truth and which therefore may fairly demand a careful consideration: there are truths mixed with error of which we may indeed say, ‘The half is better than the whole.’ Yet ‘the half’ may be an important contribution to the study of human nature.

  (α) The first paradox is the community of goods, which is mentioned slightly at the end of the third Book, and seemingly, as Aristotle observes, is confined to the guardians; at least no mention is made of the other classes. But the omission is not of any real significance, and probably arises out of the plan of the work, which prevents the writer from entering into details.

  Aristotle censures the community of property much in the spirit of modern political economy, as tending to repress industry, and as doing away with the spirit of benevolence. Modern writers almost refuse to consider the subject, which is supposed to have been long ago settled by the common opinion of mankind. But it must be remembered that the sacredness of property is a notion far more fixed in modern than in ancient times. The world has grown older, and is therefore more conservative. Primitive society offered many examples of land held in common, either by a tribe or by a township, and such may probably have been the original form of landed tenure. Ancient legislators had invented various modes of dividing and preserving the divisions of land among the citizens; according to Aristotle there were nations who held the land in common and divided the produce, and there were others who divided the land and stored the produce in common. The evils of debt and the inequality of property were far greater in ancient than in modern times, and the accidents to which property was subject from war, or revolution, or taxation, or other legislative interference, were also greater. All these circumstances gave property a less fixed and sacred character. The early Christians are believed to have held their property in common, and the principle is sanctioned by the words of Christ himself, and has been maintained as a counsel of perfection in almost all ages of the Church. Nor have there been wanting instances of modern enthusiasts who have made a religion of communism; in every age of religious excitement notions like Wycliffe’s ‘inheritance of grace’ have tended to prevail. A like spirit, but fiercer and more violent, has appeared in politics. ‘The preparation of the Gospel of peace’ soon becomes the red flag of Republicanism.

  We can hardly judge what effect Plato’s views would have upon his own contemporaries; they would perhaps have seemed to them only an exaggeration of the Spartan commonwealth. Even modern writers would acknowledge that the right of private property is based on expediency, and may be interfered with in a variety of ways for the public good. Any other mode of vesting property which was found to be more advantageous, would in time acquire the same basis of right; ‘the most useful,’ in Plato’s words, ‘would be the most sacred.’ The lawyers and ecclesiastics of former ages would have spoken of property as a sacred institution. But they only meant by such language to oppose the greatest amount of resistance to any invasion of the rights of individuals and of the Church.

  When we consider the question, without any fear of immediate application to practice, in the spirit of Plato’s Republic, are we quite sure that the received notions of property are the best? Is the distribution of wealth which is customary in civilized countries the most favourable that can be conceived for the education and development of the mass of mankind? Can ‘the spectator of all time and all existence’ be quite convinced that one or two thousand years hence, great changes will not have taken place in the rights of property, or even that the very notion of property, beyond what is necessary for personal maintenance, may not have disappeared? This was a distinction familiar to Aristotle, though likely to be laughed at among ourselves. Such a change would not be greater than some other changes through which the world has passed in the transition from ancient to modern society, for example, the emancipation of the serfs in Russia, or the abolition of slavery in America and the West Indies; and not so great as the difference which separates the Eastern village community from the Western world. To accomplish such a revolution in the course of a few centuries, would imply a rate of progress not more rapid than has actually taken place during the last fifty or sixty years. The kingdom of Japan underwent more change in five or six years than Europe in five or six hundred. Many opinions and beliefs which have been cherished among ourselves quite as strongly as the sacredness of property have passed away; and the most untenable propositions respecting the right of bequests or entail have been maintained with as much fervour as the most moderate. Some one will be heard to ask whether a state of society can be final in which the interests of thousands are perilled on the life or character of a single person. And many will indulge the hope that our present condition may, after all, be only transitional, and may conduct to a higher, in which property, besides ministering to the enjoyment of the few, may also furnish the means of the highest culture to all, and will be a greater benefit to the public generally, and also more under the control of public authority. There may come a time when the saying, ‘Have I not a right to do what I will with my own?’ will appear to be a barbarous relic of individualism;—when the possession of a part may be a greater blessing to cach and all than the possession of the whole is now to any one.

  Such reflections appear visionary to the eye of the practical statesman, but they are within the range of possibility to the philosopher. He can imagine that in some distant age or clime, and through the influence of some individual, the notion of common property may or might have sunk as deep into the heart of a race, and have become as fixed to them, as private property is to ourselves. He knows that this latter institution is not more than four or five thousand years old: may not the end revert to the beginning? In our own age even Utopias affect the spirit of legislation, and an abstract idea may exercise a great influence on practical politics.

  The objections that would be generally urged against Plato’s community of property, are the old ones of Aristotle, that motives for exertion would be taken away, and that disputes would arise when each was dependent upon all. Every man would produce as little and consume as much as he liked. The experience of civilized nations has hitherto been adverse to Socialism. The effort is too great for human nature; men try to live in common, but the personal feeling is always breaking in. On the other hand it may be doubted whether our present notions of property are not conventional, for they differ in different countries and in different states of society. We boast of an individualism which is not freedom, but rather an artificial result of the industrial state of modern Europe. The individual is nominally free, but he is also powerless in a world bound hand and foot in the chains of economic necessity. Even if we cannot expect the mass of mankind to become disinterested, at any rate we observe in them a power of organization which fifty years ago would never have been suspected. The same forces which have revolutionized the political system of Europe, may effect a similar change in the social and industrial relations of mankind. And if we suppose the influence of some good as well as neutral motives working in the community, there will be no absurdity in expecting that the mass of mankind having power, and becoming enlightened about the higher possibilities of human life, when they learn how much more is attainable for all than is at present the possession of a favoured few, may pursue the common interest with an intelligence and persistency which mankind have hitherto never seen.

  Now that the world has once been set in motion, and is no longer held fast under the tyranny of custom and ignorance; now that criticism has pierced the veil of tradition and the past no longer overpowers the present,—the progress of civilization may be expected to be far greater and swifter than heretofore. Even at our present rate of speed the point at which we may arrive in two or three generations is beyond the power of imagination to foresee. There are forces in the world which work, not in an arithmetical, but in a geometrical ratio of increase. Education, to use the expression of Plato, moves like a wheel with an evermultiplying rapidity. Nor can we say how great may be its influence, when it becomes universal,—when it has been inherited by many generations,—when it is freed from the trammels of superstition and rightly adapted to the wants and capacities of different classes of men and women. Neither do we know how much more the co-operation of minds or of hands may be capable of accomplishing, whether in labour or in study. The resources of the natural sciences are not half-developed as yet; the soil of the earth, instead of growing more barren, may become many times more fertile than hitherto; the uses of machinery far greater, and also more minute than at present. New secrets of physiology may be revealed, deeply affecting human nature in its innermost recesses. The standard of health may be raised and the lives of men prolonged by sanitary and medical knowledge. There may be peace, there may be leisure, there may be innocent refreshments of many kinds. The ever-increasing power of locomotion may join the extremes of earth. There may be mysterious workings of the human mind, such as occur only at great crises of history. The East and the West may meet together, and all nations may contribute their thoughts and their experience to the common stock of humanity. Many other elements enter into a speculation of this kind. But it is better to make an end of them. For such reflections appear to the majority far-fetched, and to men of science, commonplace.

  (β) Neither to the mind of Plato nor of Aristotle did the doctrine of community of property present at all the same difficulty, or appear to be the same violation of the common Hellenic sentiment, as the community of wives and children. This paradox he prefaces by another proposal, that the occupations of men and women shall be the same, and that to this end they shall have a common training and education. Male and female animals have the same pursuits—why not also the two sexes of man?

  But have we not here fallen into a contradiction? for we were saying that different natures should have different pursuits. How then can men and women have the same? And is not the proposal inconsistent with our notion of the division of labour?—These objections are no sooner raised than answered; for, according to Plato, there is no organic difference between men and women, but only the accidental one that men beget and women bear children. Following the analogy of the other animals, he contends that all natural gifts are scattered about indifferently among both sexes, though there may be a superiority of degree on the part of the men. The objection on the score of decency to their taking part in the same gymnastic exercises, is met by Plato’s assertion that the existing feeling is a matter of habit.

  That Plato should have emancipated himself from the ideas of his own country and from the example of the East, shows a wonderful independence of mind. He is conscious that women are half the human race, in some respects the more important half (Laws vi. 781 B); and for the sake both of men and women he desires to raise the woman to a higher level of existence. He brings, not sentiment, but philosophy to bear upon a question which both in ancient and modern times has been chiefly regarded in the light of custom or feeling. The Greeks had noble conceptions of womanhood in the goddesses Athene and Artemis, and in the heroines Antigone and Andromache. But these ideals had no counterpart in actual life. The Athenian woman was in no way the equal of her husband; she was not the entertainer of his guests or the mistress of his house, but only his housekeeper and the mother of his children. She took no part in military or political matters; nor is there any instance in the later ages of Greece of a woman becoming famous in literature. ‘Hers is the greatest glory who has the least renown among men,’ is the historian’s conception of feminine excellence. A very different ideal of womanhood is held up by Plato to the world; she is to be the companion of the man, and to share with him in the toils of war and in the cares of government. She is to be similarly trained both in bodily and mental exercises. She is to lose as far as possible the incidents of maternity and the characteristics of the female sex.

  The modern antagonist of the equality of the sexes would argue that the differences between men and women are not confined to the single point urged by Plato; that sensibility, gentleness, grace, are the qualities of women, while energy, strength, higher intelligence, are to be looked for in men. And the criticism is just: the differences affect the whole nature, and are not, as Plato supposes, confined to a single point. But neither can we say how far these differences are due to education and the opinions of mankind, or physically inherited from the habits and opinions of former generations. Women have been always taught, not exactly that they are slaves, but that they are in an inferior position, which is also supposed to have compensating advantages; and to this position they have conformed. It is also true that the physical form may easily change in the course of generations through the mode of life; and the weakness or delicacy, which was once a matter of opinion, may become a physical fact. The characteristics of sex vary greatly in different countries and ranks of society, and at different ages in the same individuals. Plato may have been right in denying that there was any ultimate difference in the sexes of man other than that which exists in animals, because all other differences may be conceived to disappear in other states of society, or under different circumstances of life and training.

  The first wave having been passed, we proceed to the second—community of wives and children. ‘Is it possible? Is it desirable?’ For, as Glaucon intimates, and as we far more strongly insist, ‘Great doubts may be entertained about both these points.’ Any free discussion of the question is impossible, and mankind are perhaps right in not allowing the ultimate bases of social life to be examined. Few of us can safely enquire into the things which nature hides, any more than we can dissect our own bodies. Still, the manner in which Plato arrived at his conclusions should be considered. For here, as Mr. Grote has remarked, is a wonderful thing, that one of the wisest and best of men should have entertained ideas of morality which are wholly at variance with our own. And if we would do Plato justice, we must examine carefully the character of his proposals. First, we may observe that the relations of the sexes supposed by him are the reverse of licentious: he seems rather to aim at an impossible strictness. Secondly, he conceives the family to be the natural enemy of the state; and he entertains the serious hope that an universal brotherhood may take the place of private interests—an aspiration which, although not justified by experience, has possessed many noble minds. On the other hand, there is no sentiment or imagination in the connections which men and women are supposed by him to form; human beings return to the level of the animals, neither exalting to heaven, nor yet abusing the natural instincts. All that world of poetry and fancy which the passion of love has called forth in modern literature and romance would have been banished by Plato. The arrangements of marriage in the Republic are directed to one object—the improvement of the race. In successive generations a great development both of bodily and mental qualities might be possible. The analogy of animals tends to show that mankind can within certain limits receive a change of nature. And as in animals we should commonly choose the best for breeding, and destroy the others, so there must be a selection made of the human beings whose lives are worthy to be preserved.

  We start back horrified from this Platonic ideal, in the belief, first, that the higher feelings of humanity are far too strong to be crushed out; secondly, that if the plan could be carried into execution we should be poorly recompensed by improvements in the breed for the loss of the best things in life. The greatest regard for the weakest and meanest of human beings—the infant, the criminal, the insane, the idiot, truly seems to us one of the noblest results of Christianity. We have learned, though as yet imperfectly, that the individual man has an endless value in the sight of God, and that we honour Him when we honour the darkened and disfigured image of Him (cp. Laws xi. 931 A). This is the lesson which Christ taught in a parable when He said, ‘Their angels do always behold the face of My Father which is in heaven.’ Such lessons are only partially realized in any age; they were foreign to the age of Plato, as they have very different degrees of strength in different countries or ages of the Christian world. To the Greek the family was a religious and customary institution binding the members together by a tie inferior in strength to that of friendship, and having a less solemn and sacred sound than that of country. The relationship which existed on the lower level of custom, Plato imagined that he was raising to the higher level of nature and reason; while from the modern and Christian point of view we regard him as sanctioning murder and destroying the first principles of morality.

  The great error in these and similar speculations is that the difference between man and the animals is forgotten in them. The human being is regarded with the eye of a dog- or bird-fancier (v. 459 A), or at best of a slave-owner; the higher or human qualities are left out. The breeder of animals aims chiefly at size or speed or strength; in a few cases at courage or temper; most often the fitness of the animal for food is the great desideratum. But mankind are not bred to be eaten, nor yet for their superiority in fighting or in running or in drawing carts. Neither does the improvement of the human race consist merely in the increase of the bones and flesh, but in the growth and enlightenment of the mind. Hence there must be ‘a marriage of true minds’ as well as of bodies, of imagination and reason as well as of lusts and instincts. Men and women without feeling or imagination are justly called brutes; yet Plato takes away these qualities and puts nothing in their place, not even the desire of a noble offspring, since parents are not to know their own children. The most important transaction of social life, he who is the idealist philosopher converts into the most brutal. For the pair are to have no relation to one another, except at the hymeneal festival; their children are not theirs, but the state’s; nor is any tie of affection to unite them. Yet here the analogy of the animals might have saved Plato from a gigantic error, if he had ‘not lost sight of his own illustration’ (ii. 375 D). For the ‘nobler sort of birds and beasts’ (v. 459 A) nourish and protect their offspring and are faithful to one another.

  An eminent physiologist thinks it worth while ‘to try and place life on a physical basis.’ But should not life rest on the moral rather than upon the physical? The higher comes first, then the lower; first the human and rational, afterwards the animal. Yet they are not absolutely divided; and in times of sickness or moments of self-indulgence they seem to be only different aspects of a common human nature which includes them both. Neither is the moral the limit of the physical, but the expansion and enlargement of it,—the highest form which the physical is capable of receiving. As Plato would say, the body does not take care of the body, and still less of the mind, but the mind takes care of both. In all human action not that which is common to man and the animals is the characteristic element, but that which distinguishes him from them. Even if we admit the physical basis, and resolve all virtue into health of body—‘la façon que notre sang circule,’ still on merely physical grounds we must come back to ideas. Mind and reason and duty and conscience, under these or other names, are always reappearing. There cannot be health of body without health of mind; nor health of mind without the sense of duty and the love of truth (cp. Charm. 156 D, E).

  That the greatest of ancient philosophers should in his regulations about marriage have fallen into the error of separating body and mind, does indeed appear surprising. Yet the wonder is not so much that Plato should have entertained ideas of morality which to our own age are revolting, but that he should have contradicted himself to an extent which is hardly credible, falling in an instant from the heaven of idealism into the crudest animalism. Rejoicing in the newly found gift of reflection, he appears to have thought out a subject about which he had better have followed the enlightened feeling of his own age. The general sentiment of Hellas was opposed to his monstrous fancy. The old poets, and in later time the tragedians, showed no want of respect for the family, on which much of their religion was based. But the example of Sparta, and perhaps in some degree the tendency to defy public opinion, seems to have misled him. He will make one family out of all the families of the state. He will select the finest specimens of men and women and breed from these only.

  Yet because the illusion is always returning (for the animal part of human nature will from time to time assert itself in the disguise of philosophy as well as of poetry), and also because any departure from established morality, even where this is not intended, is apt to be unsettling, it may be worth while to draw out a little more at length the objections to the Platonic marriage. In the first place, history shows that wherever polygamy has been largely allowed the race has deteriorated. One man to one woman is the law of God and nature. Nearly all the civilized peoples of the world at some period before the age of written records, have become monogamists; and the step when once taken has never been retraced. The exceptions occurring among Brahmins or Mahometans or the ancient Persians, are of that sort which may be said to prove the rule. The connexions formed between superior and inferior races hardly ever produce a noble offspring, because they are licentious; and because the children in such cases usually despise the mother and are neglected by the father who is ashamed of them. Barbarous nations when they are introduced by Europeans to vice die out; polygamist peoples either import and adopt children from other countries, or dwindle in numbers, or both. Dynasties and aristocracies which have disregarded the laws of nature have decreased in numbers and degenerated in stature; ‘mariages de convenance’ leave their enfeebling stamp on the offspring of them (cp. King Lear, Act i. Sc. 2). The marriage of near relations, or the marrying in and in of the same family tends constantly to weakness or idiocy in the children, sometimes assuming the form as they grow older of passionate licentiousness. The common prostitute rarely has any offspring. By such unmistakable evidence is the authority of morality asscrted in the relations of the sexes: and so many more elements enter into this ‘mystery’ than are dreamed of by Plato and some other philosophers.

  Recent enquirers have indeed arrived at the conclusion that among primitive tribes there existed a community of wives as of property, and that the captive taken by the spear was the only wife or slave whom any man was permitted to call his own. The partial existence of such customs among some of the lower races of man, and the survival of peculiar ceremonies in the marriages of some civilized nations, are thought to furnish a proof of similar institutions having been once universal. There can be no question that the study of anthropology has considerably changed our views respecting the first appearance of man upon the earth. We know more about the aborigines of the world than formerly, but our increasing knowledge shows above all things how little we know. With all the helps which written monuments afford, we do but faintly realize the condition of man two thousand or three thousand years ago. Of what his condition was when removed to a distance 200,000 or 300,000 years, when the majority of mankind were lower and nearer the animals than any tribe now existing upon the earth, we cannot even entertain conjecture. Plato (Laws iii. 676 foll.) and Aristotle (Metaph. xi. 8, §§ 19, 20) may have been more right than we imagine in supposing that some forms of civilization were discovered and lost several times over. If we cannot argue that all barbarism is a degraded civilization, neither can we set any limits to the depth of degradation to which the human race may sink through war, disease, or isolation. And if we are to draw inferences about the origin of marriage from the practice of barbarous nations, we should also consider the remoter analogy of the animals. Many birds and animals, especially the carnivorous, have only one mate, and the love and care of offspring which seems to be natural is inconsistent with the primitive theory of marriage. If we go back to an imaginary state in which men were almost animals and the companions of them, we have as much right to argue from what is animal to what is human as from the barbarous to the civilized man. The record of animal life on the globe is fragmentary,—the connecting links are wanting and cannot be supplied; the record of social life is still more fragmentary and precarious. Even if we admit that our first ancestors had no such institution as marriage, still the stages by which men passed from outer barbarism to the comparative civilization of China, Assyria, and Greece, or even of the ancient Germans, are wholly unknown to us.

  Such speculations are apt to be unsettling, because they seem to show that an institution which was thought to be a revelation from heaven, is only the growth of history and experience. We ask what is the origin of marriage, and we are told that like the right of property, after many wars and contests, it has gradually arisen out of the selfishness of barbarians. We stand face to face with human nature in its primitive nakedness. We are compelled to accept, not the highest, but the lowest account of the origin of human society. But on the other hand we may truly say that every step in human progress has been in the same direction, and that in the course of ages the idea of marriage and of the family has been more and more defined and consecrated. The civilized East is immeasurably in advance of any savage tribes; the Greeks and Romans have improved upon the East; the Christian nations have been stricter in their views of the marriage relation than any of the ancients. In this as in so many other things, instead of looking back with regret to the past, we should look forward with hope to the future. We must consecrate that which we believe to be the most holy, and that ‘which is the most holy will be the most useful.’ There is more reason for maintaining the sacredness of the marriage tie, when we see the benefit of it, than when we only felt a vague religious horror about the violation of it. But in all times of transition, when established beliefs are being undermined, there is a danger that in the passage from the old to the new we may insensibly let go the moral principle, finding an excuse for listening to the voice of passion in the uncertainty of knowledge, or the fluctuations of opinion. And there are many persons in our own day who, enlightened by the study of anthropology, and fascinated by what is new and strange, some using the language of fear, others of hope, are inclined to believe that a time will come when through the self-assertion of women, or the rebellious spirit of children, by the analysis of human relations, or by the force of outward circumstances, the ties of family life may be broken or greatly relaxed. They point to societies in America and elsewhere which tend to show that the destruction of the family need not necessarily involve the overthrow of all morality. Whatever we may think of such speculations, we can hardly deny that they have been more rife in this generation than in any other; and whither they are tending, who can predict?

  To the doubts and queries raised by these ‘social reformers’ respecting the relation of the sexes and the moral nature of man, there is a sufficient answer, if any is needed. The difference between them and us is really one of fact. They are speaking of man as they wish or fancy him to be, but we are speaking of him as he is. They isolate the animal part of his nature; we regard him as a creature having many sides, or aspects, moving between good and evil, striving to rise above himself and to become ‘a little lower than the angels.’ We also, to use a Platonic formula, are not ignorant of the dissatisfactions and incompatibilities of family life, of the meannesses of trade, of the flatteries of one class of society by another, of the impediments which the family throws in the way of lofty aims and aspirations. But we are conscious that there are evils and dangers in the background greater still, which are not appreciated, because they are either concealed or suppressed. What a condition of man would that be, in which human passions were controlled by no authority, divine or human, in which there was no shame or decency, no higher affection overcoming or sanctifying the natural instincts, but simply a rule of health! Is it for this that we are asked to throw away the civilization which is the growth of ages?

  For strength and health are not the only qualities to be desired; there are the more important considerations of mind and character and soul. We know how human nature may be degraded; we do not know how by artificial means any improvement in the breed can be effected. The problem is a complex one, for if we go back only four steps (and these at least enter into the composition of a child), there are commonly thirty progenitors to be taken into account. Many curious facts, rarely admitting of proof, are told us respecting the inheritance of disease or character from a remote ancestor. We can trace the physical resemblances of parents and children in the same family—

  ‘Sic oculos, sic ille manus, sic ora ferebat’;

  but scarcely less often the differences which distinguish children both from their parents and from one another. We are told of similar mental peculiarities running in families, and again of a tendency, as in the animals, to revert to a common or original stock. But we have a difficulty in distinguishing what is a true inheritance of genius or other qualities, and what is mere imitation or the result of similar circumstances. Great men and great women have rarely had great fathers and mothers. Nothing that we know of in the circumstances of their birth or lineage will explain their appearance. Of the English poets of the last and two preceding centuries scarcely a descendant remains,—none have ever been distinguished. So deeply has nature hidden her secret, and so ridiculous is the fancy which has been entertained by some that we might in time by suitable marriage arrangements or, as Plato would have said, ‘by an ingenious system of lots,’ produce a Shakespeare or a Milton. Even supposing that we could breed men having the tenacity of bulldogs, or, like the Spartans, ‘lacking the wit to run away in battle,’ would the world be any the better? Many of the noblest specimens of the human race have been among the weakest physically. Tyrtaeus or Aesop, or our own Newton, would have been exposed at Sparta; and some of the fairest and strongest men and women have been among the wickedest and worst. Not by the Platonic device of uniting the strong and fair with the strong and fair, regardless of sentiment and morality, nor yet by his other device of combining dissimilar natures (Statesman 310 A), have mankind gradually passed from the brutality and licentiousness of primitive marriage to marriage Christian and civilized.

  Few persons would deny that we bring into the world an inheritance of mental and physical qualities derived first from our parents, or through them from some remoter ancestor, secondly from our race, thirdly from the general condition of mankind into which we are born. Nothing is commoner than the remark, that ‘So and so is like his father or his uncle’; and an aged person may not unfrequently note a resemblance in a youth to a long-forgotten ancestor, observing that ‘Nature sometimes skips a generation.’ It may be true also, that if we knew more about our ancestors, these similarities would be even more striking to us. Admitting the facts which are thus described in a popular way, we may however remark that there is no method of difference by which they can be defined or estimated, and that they constitute only a small part of each individual. The doctrine of heredity may seem to take out of our hands the conduct of our own lives, but it is the idea, not the fact, which is really terrible to us. For what we have received from our ancestors is only a fraction of what we are, or may become. The knowledge that drunkenness or insanity has been prevalent in a family may be the best safeguard against their recurrence in a future generation. The parent will be most awake to the vices or diseases in his child of which he is most sensible within himself. The whole of life may be directed to their prevention or cure. The traces of consumption may become fainter, or be wholly effaced: the inherent tendency to vice or crime may be eradicated. And so heredity, from being a curse, may become a blessing. We acknowledge that in the matter of our birth, as in our nature generally, there are previous circumstances which affect us. But upon this platform of circumstances or within this wall of necessity, we have still the power of creating a life for ourselves by the informing energy of the human will.

  There is another aspect of the marriage question to which Plato is a stranger. All the children born in his state are foundlings. It never occurred to him that the greater part of them, according to universal experience, would have perished. For children can only be brought up in families. There is a subtle sympathy between the mother and the child which cannot be supplied by other mothers, or by ‘strong nurses one or more’ (Laws vii. 789 E). If Plato’s ‘pen’ was as fatal as the Crèches of Paris, or the foundling hospital of Dublin, more than nine-tenths of his children would have perished. There would have been no need to expose or put out of the way the weaklier children, for they would have died of themselves. So emphatically does nature protest against the destruction of the family.

  What Plato had heard or seen of Sparta was applied by him in a mistaken way to his ideal commonwealth. He probably observed that both the Spartan men and women were superior in form and strength to the other Greeks; and this superiority he was disposed to attribute to the laws and customs relating to marriage. He did not consider that the desire of a noble offspring was a passion among the Spartans, or that their physical superiority was to be attributed chiefly, not to their marriage customs, but to their temperance and training. He did not reflect that Sparta was great, not in consequence of the relaxation of morality, but in spite of it, by virtue of a political principle stronger far than existed in any other Grecian state. Least of all did he observe that Sparta did not really produce the finest specimens of the Greek race. The genius, the political inspiration of Athens, the love of liberty—all that has made Greece famous with posterity, were wanting among the Spartans. They had no Themistocles, or Pericles, or Aeschylus, or Sophocles, or Socrates, or Plato. The individual was not allowed to appear above the state; the laws were fixed, and he had no business to alter or reform them. Yet whence has the progress of cities and nations arisen, if not from remarkable individuals, coming into the world we know not how, and from causes over which we have no control? Something too much may have been said in modern times of the value of individuality. But we can hardly condemn too strongly a system which, instead of fostering the scattered seeds or sparks of genius and character, tends to smother and extinguish them.

  Still, while condemning Plato, we must acknowledge that neither Christianity, nor any other form of religion and society, has hitherto been able to cope with this most difficult of social problems, and that the side from which Plato regarded it is that from which we turn away. Population is the most untameable force in the political and social world. Do we not find, especially in large cities, that the greatest hindrance to the amelioration of the poor is their improvidence in marriage?—a small fault truly, if not involving endless consequences. There are whole countries too, such as India, or, nearer home, Ireland, in which a right solution of the marriage question seems to lie at the foundation of the happiness of the community. There are too many people on a given space, or they marry too early and bring into the world a sickly and half-developed offspring; or owing to the very conditions of their existence, they become emaciated and hand on a similar life to their descendants. But who can oppose the voice of prudence to the ‘mightiest passions of mankind’ (Laws viii. 835 C), especially when they have been licensed by custom and religion? In addition to the influences of education, we seem to require some new principles of right and wrong in these matters, some force of opinion, which may indeed be already heard whispering in private, but has never affected the moral sentiments of mankind in general. We unavoidably lose sight of the principle of utility, just in that action of our lives in which we have the most need of it. The influences which we can bring to bear upon this question are chiefly indirect. In a generation or two, education, emigration, improvements in agriculture and manufactures, may have provided the solution. The state physician hardly likes to probe the wound: it is beyond his art; a matter which he cannot safely let alone, but which he dare not touch:

  ‘We do but skin and film the ulcerous place.’

  When again in private life we see a whole family one by one dropping into the grave under the Ate of some inherited malady, and the parents perhaps surviving them, do our minds ever go back silently to that day twenty-five or thirty years before on which under the fairest auspices, amid the rejoicings of friends and acquaintances, a bride and bridegroom joined hands with one another? In making such a reflection we are not opposing physical considerations to moral, but moral to physical; we are seeking to make the voice of reason heard, which drives us back from the extravagance of sentimentalism on common sense. The late Dr. Combe is said by his biographer to have resisted the temptation to marriage, because he knew that he was subject to hereditary consumption. One who deserved to be called a man of genius, a friend of my youth, was in the habit of wearing a black ribbon on his wrist, in order to remind him that, being liable to outbreaks of insanity, he must not give way to the natural impulses of affection: he died unmarried in a lunatic asylum. These two little facts suggest the reflection that a very few persons have done from a sense of duty what the rest of mankind ought to have done under like circumstances, if they had allowed themselves to think of all the misery which they were about to bring into the world. If we could prevent such marriages without any violation of feeling or propriety, we clearly ought; and the prohibition in the course of time would be protected by a ‘horror naturalis’ similar to that which, in all civilized ages and countries, has prevented the marriage of near relations by blood. Mankind would have been the happier, if some things which are now allowed had from the beginning been denied to them; if the sanction of religion could have prohibited practices inimical to health; if sanitary principles could in early ages have been invested with a superstitious awe. But, living as we do far on in the world’s history, we are no longer able to stamp at once with the impress of religion a new prohibition. A free agent cannot have his fancies regulated by law; and the execution of the law would be rendered impossible, owing to the uncertainty of the cases in which marriage was to be forbidden. Who can weigh virtue, or even fortune against health, or moral and mental qualities against bodily? Who can measure probabilities against certainties? There has been some good as well as evil in the discipline of suffering; and there are diseases, such as consumption, which have exercised a refining and softening influence on the character. Youth is too inexperienced to balance such nice considerations; parents do not often think of them, or think of them too late. They are at a distance and may probably be averted; change of place, a new state of life, the interests of a home may be the cure of them. So persons vainly reason when their minds are already made up and their fortunes irrevocably linked together. Nor is there any ground for supposing that marriages are to any great extent influenced by reflections of this sort, which seem unable to make any head against the irresistible impulse of individual attachment.

  Lastly, no one can have observed the first rising flood of the passions in youth, the difficulty of regulating them, and the effects on the whole mind and nature which follow from them, the stimulus which is given to them by the imagination, without feeling that there is something unsatisfactory in our method of treating them. That the most important influence on human life should be wholly left to chance or shrouded in mystery, and instead of being disciplined or understood, should be required to conform only to an external standard of propriety—cannot be regarded by the philosopher as a safe or satisfactory condition of human things. And still those who have the charge of youth may find a way by watchfulness, by affection, by the manliness and innocence of their own lives, by occasional hints, by general admonitions which every one can apply for himself, to mitigate this terrible evil which eats out the heart of individuals and corrupts the moral sentiments of nations. In no duty towards others is there more need of reticence and self-restraint. So great is the danger lest he who would be the counsellor of another should reveal the secret prematurely, lest he should get another too much into his power, or fix the passing impression of evil by demanding the confession of it.

  Nor is Plato wrong in asserting that family attachments may interfere with higher aims. If there have been some who ‘to party gave up what was meant for mankind,’ there have certainly been others who to family gave up what was meant for mankind or for their country. The cares of children, the necessity of procuring money for their support, the flatteries of the rich by the poor, the exclusiveness of caste, the pride of birth or wealth, the tendency of family life to divert men from the pursuit of the ideal or the heroic, are as lowering in our own age as in that of Plato. And if we prefer to look at the gentle influences of home, the development of the affections, the amenities of society, the devotion of one member of a family for the good of the others, which form one side of the picture, we must not quarrel with him, or perhaps ought rather to be grateful to him, for having presented to us the reverse. Without attempting to defend Plato on grounds of morality, we may allow that there is an aspect of the world which has not unnaturally led him into error.

  We hardly appreciate the power which the idea of the State, like all other abstract ideas, exercised over the mind of Plato. To us the State seems to be built up out of the family, or sometimes to be the framework in which family and social life is contained. But to Plato in his present mood of mind the family is only a disturbing influence which, instead of filling up, tends to disarrange the higher unity of the State. No organization is needed except a political, which, regarded from another point of view, is a military one. The State is all-sufficing for the wants of man, and, like the idea of the Church in later ages, absorbs all other desires and affections. In time of war the thousand citizens are to stand like a rampart impregnable against the world or the Persian host; in time of peace the preparation for war and their duties to the State, which are also their duties to one another, take up their whole life and time. The only other interest which is allowed to them besides that of war, is the interest of philosophy. When they are too old to be soldiers they are to retire from active life and to have a second novitiate of study and contemplation. There is an element of monasticism even in Plato’s communism. If he could have done without children, he might have converted his Republic into a religious order. Neither in the Laws (v. 739 B), when the daylight of common sense breaks in upon him, does he retract his error. In the state of which he would be the founder, there is no marrying or giving in marriage: but because of the infirmity of mankind, he condescends to allow the law of nature to prevail.

  (γ) But Plato has an equal, or, in his own estimation, even greater paradox in reserve, which is summed up in the famous text, ‘Until kings are philosophers or philosophers are kings, cities will never cease from ill.’ And by philosophers he explains himself to mean those who are capable of apprehending ideas, especially the idea of good. To the attainment of this higher knowledge the second education is directed. Through a process of training which has already made them good citizens they are now to be made good legislators. We find with some surprise (not unlike the feeling which Aristotle in a well-known passage describes the hearers of Plato’s lectures as experiencing, when they went to a discourse on the idea of good, expecting to be instructed in moral truths, and received instead of them arithmetical and mathematical formulae) that Plato does not propose for his future legislators any study of finance or law or military tactics, but only of abstract mathematics, as a preparation for the still more abstract conception of good. We ask, with Aristotle, What is the use of a man knowing the idea of good, if he does not know what is good for this individual, this state, this condition of society? We cannot understand how Plato’s legislators or guardians are to be fitted for their work of statesmen by the study of the five mathematical sciences. We vainly search in Plato’s own writings for any explanation of this seeming absurdity.

  The discovery of a great metaphysical conception seems to ravish the mind with a prophetic consciousness which takes away the power of estimating its value. No metaphysical enquirer has ever fairly criticised his own speculations; in his own judgment they have been above criticism; nor has he understood that what to him seemed to be absolute truth may reappear in the next generation as a form of logic or an instrument of thought. And posterity have also sometimes equally misapprehended the real value of his speculations. They appear to them to have contributed nothing to the stock of human knowledge. The idea of good is apt to be regarded by the modern thinker as an unmeaning abstraction; but he forgets that this abstraction is waiting ready for use, and will hereafter be filled up by the divisions of knowledge. When mankind do not as yet know that the world is subject to law, the introduction of the mere conception of law or design or final cause, and the far-off anticipation of the harmony of knowledge, are great steps onward. Even the crude generalization of the unity of all things leads men to view the world with different eyes, and may easily affect their conception of human life and of politics, and also their own conduct and character (Tim. 90 A). We can imagine how a great mind like that of Pericles might derive elevation from his intercourse with Anaxagoras (Phaedr. 270 A). To be struggling towards a higher but unattainable conception is a more favourable intellectual condition than to rest satisfied in a narrow portion of ascertained fact. And the earlier, which have sometimes been the greater ideas of science, are often lost sight of at a later period. How rarely can we say of any modern enquirer in the magnificent language of Plato, that ‘He is the spectator of all time and of all existence!’

  Nor is there anything unnatural in the hasty application of these vast metaphysical conceptions to practical and political life. In the first enthusiasm of ideas men are apt to see them everywhere, and to apply them in the most remote sphere. They do not understand that the experience of ages is required to enable them to fill up ‘the intermediate axioms.’ Plato himself seems to have imagined that the truths of psychology, like those of astronomy and harmonics, would be arrived at by a process of deduction, and that the method which he has pursued in the Fourth Book, of inferring them from experience and the use of language, was imperfect and only provisional. But when, after having arrived at the idea of good, which is the end of the science of dialectic, he is asked, What is the nature, and what are the divisions of the science? he refuses to answer, as if intending by the refusal to intimate that the state of knowledge which then existed was not such as would allow the philosopher to enter into his final rest. The previous sciences must first be studied, and will, we may add, continue to be studied till the end of time, although in a sense different from any which Plato could have conceived. But we may observe, that while he is aware of the vacancy of his own ideal, he is full of enthusiasm in the contemplation of it. Looking into the orb of light, he sees nothing, but he is warmed and elevated. The Hebrew prophet believed that faith in God would enable him to govern the world; the Greek philosopher imagined that contemplation of the good would make a legislator. There is as much to be filled up in the one case as in the other, and the one mode of conception is to the Israelite what the other is to the Greek. Both find a repose in a divine perfection, which, whether in a more personal or impersonal form, exists without them and independently of them, as well as within them.

  There is no mention of the idea of good in the Timaeus, nor of the divine Creator of the world in the Republic; and we are naturally led to ask in what relation they stand to one another. Is God above or below the idea of good? Or is the Idea of Good another mode of conceiving God? The latter appears to be the truer answer. To the Greek philosopher the perfection and unity of God was a far higher conception than his personality, which he hardly found a word to express, and which to him would have seemed to be borrowed from mythology. To the Christian, on the other hand, or to the modern thinker in general, it is difficult, if not impossible, to attach reality to what he terms mere abstraction; while to Plato this very abstraction is the truest and most real of all things. Hence, from a difference in forms of thought, Plato appears to be resting on a creation of his own mind only. But if we may be allowed to paraphrase the idea of good by the words ‘intelligent principle of law and order in the universe, embracing equally man and nature,’ we begin to find a meeting-point between him and ourselves.

  The question whether the ruler or statesman should be a philosopher is one that has not lost interest in modern times. In most countries of Europe and Asia there has been some one in the course of ages who has truly united the power of command with the power of thought and reflection, as there have been also many false combinations of these qualities. Some kind of speculative power is necessary both in practical and political life; like the rhetorician in the Phaedrus, men require to have a conception of the varieties of human character, and to be raised on great occasions above the commonplaces of ordinary life. Yet the idea of the philosopher-statesman has never been popular with the mass of mankind; partly because he cannot take the world into his confidence or make them understand the motives from which he acts; and also because they are jealous of a power which they do not understand. The revolution which human nature desires to effect step by step in many ages is likely to be precipitated by him in a single year or life. They are afraid that in the pursuit of his greater aims he may disregard the common feelings of humanity. He is too apt to be looking into the distant future or back into the remote past, and unable to see actions or events which, to use an expression of Plato’s, ‘are tumbling out at his feet.’ Besides, as Plato would say, there are other corruptions of these philosophical statesmen. Either ‘the native hue of resolution is sicklled o’er with the pale cast of thought,’ and at the moment when action above all things is required he is undecided, or general principles are enunciated by him in order to cover some change of policy; or his ignorance of the world has made him more easily fall a prey to the arts of others; or in some cases he has been converted into a courtier, who enjoys the luxury of holding liberal opinions, but was never known to perform a liberal action. No wonder that mankind have been in the habit of calling statesmen of this class pedants, sophisters, doctrinaires, visionaries. For, as we may be allowed to say, a little parodying the words of Plato, ‘they have seen bad imitations of the philosopher-statesman.’ But a man in whom the power of thought and action are perfectly balanced, equal to the present, reaching forward to the future, ‘such a one,’ ruling in a constitutional state, ‘they have never seen.’

  But as the philosopher is apt to fail in the routine of political life, so the ordinary statesman is also apt to fail in extraordinary crises. When the face of the world is beginning to alter, and thunder is heard in the distance, he is still guided by his old maxims, and is the slave of his inveterate party prejudices; he cannot perceive the signs of the times; instead of looking forward he looks back; he learns nothing and forgets nothing; with ‘wise saws and modern instances’ he would stem the rising tide of revolution. He lives more and more within the circle of his own party, as the world without him becomes stronger. This seems to be the reason why the old order of things makes so poor a figure when confronted with the new, why churches can never reform, why most political changes are made blindly and convulsively. The great crises in the history of nations have often been met by an ecclesiastical positiveness, and a more obstinate reassertion of principles which have lost their hold upon a nation. The fixed ideas of a reactionary statesman may be compared to madness; they grow upon him, and he becomes possessed by them; no judgement of others is ever admitted by him to be weighed in the balance against his own.

  (δ) Plato, labouring under what, to modern readers, appears to have been a confusion of ideas, assimilates the state to the individual, and fails to distinguish Ethics from Politics. He thinks that to be most of a state which is most like one man, and in which the citizens have the greatest uniformity of character. He does not see that the analogy is partly fallacious, and that the will or character of a state or nation is really the balance or rather the surplus of individual wills, which are limited by the condition of having to act in common. The movement of a body of men can never have the pliancy or facility of a single man; the freedom of the individual, which is always limited, becomes still more straitened when transferred to a nation. The powers of action and feeling are necessarily weaker and more balanced when they are diffused through a community; whence arises the often discussed question, ‘Can a nation, like an individual, have a conscience?’ We hesitate to say that the characters of nations are nothing more than the sum of the characters of the individuals who compose them; because there may be tendencies in individuals which react upon one another. A whole nation may be wiser than any one man in it; or may be animated by some common opinion or feeling which could not equally have affected the mind of a single person, or may have been inspired by a leader of genius to perform acts more than human. Plato does not appear to have analysed the complications which arise out of the collective action of mankind. Neither is he capable of seeing that analogies, though specious as arguments, may often have no foundation in fact, or of distinguishing between what is intelligible or vividly present to the mind, and what is true. In this respect he is far below Aristotle, who is comparatively seldom imposed upon by false analogies. He cannot disentangle the arts from the virtues — at least he is always arguing from one to the other. His notion of music is transferred from harmony of sounds to harmony of life: in this he is assisted by the ambiguities of language as well as by the prevalence of Pythagorean notions. And having once assimilated the state to the individual, he imagines that he will find the succession of states paralleled in the lives of individuals.

  Still, through this fallacious medium, a real enlargement of ideas is attained. When the virtues as yet presented no distinct conception to the mind, a great advance was made by the comparison of them with the arts; for virtue is partly art, and has an outward form as well as an inward principle. The harmony of music affords a lively image of the harmonies of the world and of human life, and may be regarded as a splendid illustration which was naturally mistaken for a real analogy. In the same way the identification of ethics with politics has a tendency to give definiteness to ethics, and also to elevate and ennoble men’s notions of the aims of government and of the duties of citizens; for ethics from one point of view may be conceived as an idealized law and politics; and politics, as ethics reduced to the conditions of human society. There have been evils which have arisen out of the attempt to identify them, and this has led to the separation or antagonism of them, which has been introduced by modern political writers. But we may likewise feel that something has been lost in their separation, and that the ancient philosophers who estimated the moral and intellectual wellbeing of mankind first, and the wealth of nations and individuals second, may have a salutary influence on the speculations of modern times. Many political maxims originate in a reaction against an opposite error; and when the errors against which they were directed have passed away, they in turn become errors.

  III. Plato’s views of education are in several respects remarkable; like the rest of the Republic they are partly Greek and partly ideal, beginning with the ordinary curriculum of the Greek youth, and extending to after-life. Plato is the first writer who distinctly says that education is to comprehend the whole of life, and to be a preparation for another in which education begins again (vi. 498 D). This is the continuous thread which runs through the Republic, and which more than any other of his ideas admits of an application to modern life.

  He has long given up the notion that virtue cannot be taught; and he is disposed to modify the thesis of the Protagoras, that the virtues are one and not many. He is not unwilling to admit the sensible world into his scheme of truth. Nor does he assert in the Republic the involuntariness of vice, which is maintained by him in the Timaeus, Sophist, and Laws (cp. Protag. 345 foll., 352, 355; Apol. 25 E; Gorg. 468, 509 E). Nor do the so-called Platonic ideas recovered from a former state of existence affect his theory of mental improvement. Still we observe in him the remains of the old Socratic doctrine, that true knowledge must be elicited from within, and is to be sought for in ideas, not in particulars of sense. Education, as he says, will implant a principle of intelligence which is better than ten thousand eyes. The paradox that the virtues are one, and the kindred notion that all virtue is knowledge, are not entirely renounced; the first is seen in the supremacy given to justice over the rest; the second in the tendency to absorb the moral virtues in the intellectual, and to centre all goodness in the contemplation of the idea of good. The world of sense is still depreciated and identified with opinion, though admitted to be a shadow of the true. In the Republic he is evidently impressed with the conviction that vice arises chiefly from ignorance and may be cured by education; the multitude are hardly to be deemed responsible for what they do (v. 499 E). A faint allusion to the doctrine of reminiscence occurs in the Tenth Book (621 A); but Plato’s views of education have no more real connection with a previous state of existence than our own; he only proposes to elicit from the mind that which is there already. Education is represented by him, not as the filling of a vessel, but as the turning the eye of the soul towards the light.

  He treats first of music or literature, which he divides into true and false, and then goes on to gymnastics; of infancy in the Republic he takes no notice, though in the Laws he gives sage counsels about the nursing of children and the management of the mothers, and would have an education which is even prior to birth. But in the Republic he begins with the age at which the child is capable of receiving ideas, and boldly asserts, in language which sounds paradoxical to modern ears, that he must be taught the false before he can learn the true. The modern and ancient philosophical world are not agreed about truth and falsehood; the one identifies truth almost exclusively with fact, the other with ideas. This is the difference between ourselves and Plato, which is, however, partly a difference of words (cp. supra, p. xxxviii). For we too should admit that a child must receive many lessons which he imperfectly understands; he must be taught some things in a figure only, some too which he can hardly be expected to believe when he grows older; but we should limit the use of fiction by the necessity of the case. Plato would draw the line differently; according to him the aim of early education is not truth as a matter of fact, but truth as a matter of principle; the child is to be taught first simple religious truths, and then simple moral truths, and insensibly to learn the lesson of good manners and good taste. He would make an entire reformation of the old mythology; like Xenophanes and Heracleitus he is sensible of the deep chasm which separates his own age from Homer and Hesiod, whom he quotes and invests with an imaginary authority, but only for his own purposes. The lusts and treacheries of the gods are to be banished; the terrors of the world below are to be dispelled; the misbehaviour of the Homeric heroes is not to be a model for youth. But there is another strain heard in Homer which may teach our youth endurance; and something may be learnt in medicine from the simple practice of the Homeric age. The principles on which religion is to be based are two only: first, that God is true; secondly, that he is good. Modern and Christian writers have often fallen short of these; they can hardly be said to have gone beyond them.

  The young are to be brought up in happy surroundings, out of the way of sights or sounds which may hurt the character or vitiate the taste. They are to live in an atmosphere of health; the breeze is always to be wafting to them the impressions of truth and goodness. Could such an education be realized, or if our modern religious education could be bound up with truth and virtue and good manners and good taste, that would be the best hope of human improvement. Plato, like ourselves, is looking forward to changes in the moral and religious world, and is preparing for them. He recognizes the danger of unsettling young men’s minds by sudden changes of laws and principles, by destroying the sacredness of one set of ideas when there is nothing else to take their place. He is afraid too of the influence of the drama, on the ground that it encourages false sentiment, and therefore he would not have his children taken to the theatre; he thinks that the effect on the spectators is bad, and on the actors still worse. His idea of education is that of harmonious growth, in which are insensibly learnt the lessons of temperance and endurance, and the body and mind develope in equal proportions. The first principle which runs through all art and nature is simplicity; this also is to be the rule of human life.

  The second stage of education is gymnastic, which answers to the period of muscular growth and development. The simplicity which is enforced in music is extended to gymnastic; Plato is aware that the training of the body may be inconsistent with the training of the mind, and that bodily exercise may be easily overdone. Excessive training of the body is apt to give men a headache or to render them sleepy at a lecture on philosophy, and this they attribute not to the true cause, but to the nature of the subject. Two points are noticeable in Plato’s treatment of gymnastic:—First, that the time of training is entirely separated from the time of literary education. He seems to have thought that two things of an opposite and different nature could not be learnt at the same time. Here we can hardly agree with him; and, if we may judge by experience, the effect of spending three years between the ages of fourteen and seventeen in mere bodily exercise would be far from improving to the intellect. Secondly, he affirms that music and gymnastic are not, as common opinion is apt to imagine, intended, the one for the cultivation of the mind and the other of the body, but that they are both equally designed for the improvement of the mind. The body, in his view, is the servant of the mind; the subjection of the lower to the higher is for the advantage of both. And doubtless the mind may exercise a very great and paramount influence over the body, if exerted not at particular moments and by fits and starts, but continuously, in making preparation for the whole of life. Other Greek writers saw the mischievous tendency of Spartan discipline (Arist. Pol. viii. 4, § 1 foll.; Thuc. ii. 37, 39). But only Plato recognized the fundamental error on which the practice was based.

  The subject of gymnastic leads Plato to the sister subject of medicine, which he further illustrates by the parallel of law. The modern disbelief in medicine has led in this, as in some other departments of knowledge, to a demand for greater simplicity; physicians are becoming aware that they often make diseases ‘greater and more complicated’ by their treatment of them (Rep. iv. 426 A). In two thousand years their art has made but slender progress; what they have gained in the analysis of the parts is in a great degree lost by their feebler conception of the human frame as a whole. They have attended more to the cure of diseases than to the conditions of health; and the improvements in medicine have been more than counterbalanced by the disuse of regular training. Until lately they have hardly thought of air and water, the importance of which was well understood by the ancients; as Aristotle remarks, ‘Air and water, being the elements which we most use, have the greatest effect upon health’ (Polit, vii. 11, § 4). For ages physicians have been under the dominion of prejudices which have only recently given way; and now there are as many opinions in medicine as in theology, and an equal degree of scepticism and some want of toleration about both. Plato has several good notions about medicine; according to him, ‘the eye cannot be cured without the rest of the body, nor the body without the mind’ (Charm. 156 E). No man of sense, he says in the Timaeus, would take physic; and we heartily sympathize with him in the Laws when he declares that ‘the limbs of the rustic worn with toil will derive more benefit from warm baths than from the prescriptions of a not over wise doctor’ (vi. 761 C). But we can hardly praise him when, in obedience to the authority of Homer, he depreciates diet, or approve of the inhuman spirit in which he would get rid of invalid and useless lives by leaving them to die. He does not seem to have considered that the ‘bridle of Theages’ might be accompanied by qualities which were of far more value to the State than the health or strength of the citizens; or that the duty of taking care of the helpless might be an important element of education in a State. The physician himself (this is a delicate and subtle observation) should not be a man in robust health; he should have, in modern phraseology, a nervous temperament; he should have experience of disease in his own person, in order that his powers of observation may be quickened in the case of others.

  The perplexity of medicine is paralleled by the perplexity of law; in which, again, Plato would have men follow the golden rule of simplicity. Greater matters are to be determined by the legislator or by the oracle of Delphi, lesser matters are to be left to the temporary regulation of the citizens themselves. Plato is aware that laissez faire is an important element of government. The diseases of a State are like the heads of a hydra; they multiply when they are cut off. The true remedy for them is not extirpation but prevention. And the way to prevent them is to take care of education, and education will take care of all the rest. So in modern times men have often felt that the only political measure worth having—the only one which would produce any certain or lasting effect, was a measure of national education. And in our own more than in any previous age the necessity has been recognized of restoring the ever-increasing confusion of law to simplicity and common sense.

  When the training in music and gymnastic is completed, there follows the first stage of active and public life. But soon education is to begin again from a new point of view. In the interval between the Fourth and Seventh Books we have discussed the nature of knowledge, and have thence been led to form a higher conception of what was required of us. For true knowledge, according to Plato, is of abstractions, and has to do, not with particulars or individuals, but with universals only; not with the beauties of poetry, but with the ideas of philosophy. And the great aim of education is the cultivation of the habit of abstraction. This is to be acquired through the study of the mathematical sciences. They alone are capable of giving ideas of relation, and of arousing the dormant energies of thought.

  Mathematics in the age of Plato comprehended a very small part of that which is now included in them; but they bore a much larger proportion to the sum of human knowledge. They were the only organon of thought which the human mind at that time possessed, and the only measure by which the chaos of particulars could be reduced to rule and order. The faculty which they trained was naturally at war with the poetical or imaginative; and hence to Plato, who is everywhere seeking for abstractions and trying to get rid of the illusions of sense, nearly the whole of education is contained in them. They seemed to have an inexhaustible application, partly because their true limits were not yet understood. These Plato himself is beginning to investigate; though not aware that number and figure are mere abstractions of sense, he recognizes that the forms used by geometry are borrowed from the sensible world (vi. 510, 511). He seeks to find the ultimate ground of mathematical ideas in the idea of good, though he does not satisfactorily explain the connexion between them; and in his conception of the relation of ideas to numbers, he falls very far short of the definiteness attributed to him by Aristotle (Met. i. 8, § 24; ix. 17). But if he fails to recognize the true limits of mathematics, he also reaches a point beyond them; in his view, ideas of number become secondary to a higher conception of knowledge. The dialectician is as much above the mathematician as the mathematician is above the ordinary man (cp. vii. 526 D, 531 E). The one, the self-proving, the good which is the higher sphere of dialectic, is the perfect truth to which all things ascend, and in which they finally repose.

  This self-proving unity or idea of good is a mere vision of which no distinct explanation can be given, relative only to a particular stage in Greek philosophy. It is an abstraction under which no individuals are comprehended, a whole which has no parts (cf. Arist., Nic. Eth., i. 4). The vacancy of such a form was perceived by Aristotle, but not by Plato. Nor did he recognize that in the dialectical process are included two or more methods of investigation which are at variance with each other. He did not see that whether he took the longer or the shorter road, no advance could be made in this way. And yet such visions often have an immense effect; for although the method of science cannot anticipate science, the idea of science, not as it is, but as it will be in the future, is a great and inspiring principle. In the pursuit of knowledge we are always pressing forward to something beyond us; and as a false conception of knowledge, for example the scholastic philosophy, may lead men astray during many ages, so the true ideal, though vacant, may draw all their thoughts in a right direction. It makes a great difference whether the general expectation of knowledge, as this indefinite feeling may be termed, is based upon a sound judgment. For mankind may often entertain a true conception of what knowledge ought to be when they have but a slender experience of facts. The correlation of the sciences, the consciousness of the unity of nature, the idea of classification, the sense of proportion, the unwillingness to stop short of certainty or to confound probability with truth, are important principles of the higher education. Although Plato could tell us nothing, and perhaps knew that he could tell us nothing, of the absolute truth, he has exercised an influence on the human mind which even at the present day is not exhausted; and political and social questions may yet arise in which the thoughts of Plato may be read anew and receive a fresh meaning.

  The Idea of good is so called only in the Republic, but there are traces of it in other dialogues of Plato. It is a cause as well as an idea, and from this point of view may be compared with the creator of the Timaeus, who out of his goodness created all things. It corresponds to a certain extent with the modern conception of a law of nature, or of a final cause, or of both in one, and in this regard may be connected with the measure and symmetry of the Philebus. It is represented in the Symposium under the aspect of beauty, and is supposed to be attained there by stages of initiation, as here by regular gradations of knowledge. Viewed subjectively, it is the process or science of dialectic. This is the science which, according to the Phaedrus, is the true basis of rhetoric, which alone is able to distinguish the natures and classes of men and things; which divides a whole into the natural parts, and reunites the scattered parts into a natural or organized whole; which defines the abstract essences or universal ideas of all things, and connects them; which pierces the veil of hypotheses and reaches the final cause or first principle of all; which regards the sciences in relation to the idea of good. This ideal science is the highest process of thought, and may be described as the soul conversing with herself or holding communion with eternal truth and beauty, and in another form is the everlasting question and answer—the ceaseless interrogative of Socrates. The dialogues of Plato are themselves examples of the nature and method of dialectic. Viewed objectively, the idea of good is a power or cause which makes the world without us correspond with the world within. Yet this world without us is still a world of ideas. With Plato the investigation of nature is another department of knowledge, and in this he seeks to attain only probable conclusions (cp. Timaeus, 44 D).

  If we ask whether this science of dialectic which Plato only half explains to us is more akin to logic or to metaphysics, the answer is that in his mind the two sciences are not as yet distinguished, any more than the subjective and objective aspects of the world and of man, which German philosophy has revealed to us. Nor has he determined whether his science of dialectic is at rest or in motion, concerned with the contemplation of absolute being, or with a process of development and evolution. Modern metaphysics may be described as the science of abstractions, or as the science of the evolution of thought; modern logic, when passing beyond the bounds of mere Aristotelian forms, may be defined as the science of method. The germ of both of them is contained in the Platonic dialectic; all metaphysicians have something in common with the ideas of Plato; all logicians have derived something from the method of Plato. The nearest approach in modern philosophy to the universal science of Plato, is to be found in the Hegelian ‘succession of moments in the unity of the idea.’ Plato and Hegel alike seem to have conceived the world as the correlation of abstractions; and not impossibly they would have understood one another better than any of their commentators understand them (cp. Swift’s Voyage to Laputa, c. 81 ). There is, however, a difference between them: for whereas Hegel is thinking of all the minds of men as one mind, which developes the stages of the idea in different countries or at different times in the same country, with Plato these gradations are regarded only as an order of thought or ideas; the history of the human mind had not yet dawned upon him.

  Many criticisms may be made on Plato’s theory of education. While in some respects he unavoidably falls short of modern thinkers, in others he is in advance of them. He is opposed to the modes of education which prevailed in his own time; but he can hardly be said to have discovered new ones. He does not see that education is relative to the characters of individuals; he only desires to impress the same form of the state on the minds of all. He has no sufficient idea of the effect of literature on the formation of the mind, and greatly exaggerates that of mathematics. His aim is above all things to train the reasoning faculties; to implant in the mind the spirit and power of abstraction; to explain and define general notions, and, if possible, to connect them. No wonder that in the vacancy of actual knowledge his followers, and at times even he himself, should have fallen away from the doctrine of ideas, and have returned to that branch of knowledge in which alone the relation of the one and many can be truly seen—the science of number. In his views both of teaching and training he might be styled, in modern language, a doctrinaire; after the Spartan fashion he would have his citizens cast in one mould; he does not seem to consider that some degree of freedom, ‘a little wholesome neglect,’ is necessary to strengthen and develope the character and to give play to the individual nature. His citizens would not have acquired that knowledge which in the vision of Er is supposed to be gained by the pilgrims from their experience of evil.

  On the other hand, Plato is far in advance of modern philosophers and theologians when he teaches that education is to be continued through life and will begin again in another. He would never allow education of some kind to cease; although he was aware that the proverbial saying of Solon, ‘I grow old learning many things,’ cannot be applied literally. Himself ravished with the contemplation of the idea of good, and delighting in solid geometry (Rep. vii. 528), he has no difficulty in imagining that a lifetime might be passed happily in such pursuits. We who know how many more men of business there are in the world than real students or thinkers, are not equally sanguine. The education which he proposes for his citizens is really the ideal life of the philosopher or man of genius, interrupted, but only for a time, by practical duties,—a life not for the many, but for the few.

  Yet the thought of Plato may not be wholly incapable of application to our own times. Even if regarded as an ideal which can never be realized, it may have a great effect in elevating the characters of mankind, and raising them above the routine of their ordinary occupation or profession. It is the best form under which we can conceive the whole of life. Nevertheless the idea of Plato is not easily put into practice. For the education of after life is necessarily the education which each one gives himself. Men and women cannot be brought together in schools or colleges at forty or fifty years of age; and if they could the result would be disappointing. The destination of most men is what Plato would call ‘the Den’ for the whole of life, and with that they are content. Neither have they teachers or advisers with whom they can take counsel in riper years. There is no ‘schoolmaster abroad’ who will tell them of their faults, or inspire them with the higher sense of duty, or with the ambition of a true success in life; no Socrates who will convict them of ignorance; no Christ, or follower of Christ, who will reprove them of sin. Hence they have a difficulty in receiving the first element of improvement, which is self-knowledge. The hopes of youth no longer stir them; they rather wish to rest than to pursue high objects. A few only who have come across great men and women, or eminent teachers of religion and morality, have received a second life from them, and have lighted a candle from the fire of their genius.

  The want of energy is one of the main reasons why so few persons continue to improve in later years. They have not the will, and do not know the way. They ‘never try an experiment,’ or look up a point of interest for themselves; they make no sacrifices for the sake of knowledge; their minds, like their bodies, at a certain age become fixed. Genius has been defined as ‘the power of taking pains’; but hardly any one keeps up his interest in knowledge throughout a whole life. The troubles of a family, the business of making money, the demands of a profession destroy the elasticity of the mind. The waxen tablet of the memory which was once capable of receiving ‘true thoughts and clear impressions’ becomes hard and crowded; there is not room for the accumulations of a long life (Theaet. 194 ff.). The student, as years advance, rather makes an exchange of knowledge than adds to his stores. There is no pressing necessity to learn; the stock of Classics or History or Natural Science which was enough for a man at twenty-five is enough for him at fifty. Neither is it easy to give a definite answer to any one who asks how he is to improve. For self-education consists in a thousand things, commonplace in themselves,—in adding to what we are by nature something of what we are not; in learning to see ourselves as others see us; in judging, not by opinion, but by the evidence of facts; in seeking out the society of superior minds; in a study of the lives and writings of great men; in observation of the world and character; in receiving kindly the natural influence of different times of life; in any act or thought which is raised above the practice or opinions of mankind; in the pursuit of some new or original enquiry; in any effort of mind which calls forth some latent power.

  If any one is desirous of carrying out in detail the Platonic education of after-life, some such counsels as the following may be offered to him:—That he shall choose the branch of knowledge to which his own mind most distinctly inclines, and in which he takes the greatest delight, either one which seems to connect with his own daily employment, or, perhaps, furnishes the greatest contrast to it. He may study from the speculative side the profession or business in which he is practically engaged. He may make Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Plato, Bacon the friends and companions of his life. He may find opportunities of hearing the living voice of a great teacher. He may select for enquiry some point of history or some unexplained phenomenon of nature. An hour a day passed in such scientific or literary pursuits will furnish as many facts as the memory can retain, and will give him ‘a pleasure not to be repented of’ (Timaeus, 59 D). Only let him beware of being the slave of crotchets, or of running after a Will o’ the Wisp in his ignorance, or in his vanity of attributing to himself the gifts of a poet or assuming the air of a philosopher. He should know the limits of his own powers. Better to build up the mind by slow additions, to creep on quietly from one thing to another, to gain insensibly new powers and new interests in knowledge, than to form vast schemes which are never destined to be realized. But perhaps, as Plato would say, ‘This is part of another subject’ (Tim. 87 B); though we may also defend our digression by his example (Theaet, 72, 77).

  IV. We remark with surprise that the progress of nations or the natural growth of institutions which fill modern treatises on political philosophy seem hardly ever to have attracted the attention of Plato and Aristotle. The ancients were familiar with the mutability of human affairs; they could moralize over the ruins of cities and the fall of empires (cp. Plato, Statesman 301, 302, and Sulpicius’ Letter to Cicero, Ad Fam. iv. 5); by them fate and chance were deemed to be real powers, almost persons, and to have had a great share in political events. The wiser of them like Thucydides believed that ‘what had been would be again,’ and that a tolerable idea of the future could be gathered from the past. Also they had dreams of a Golden Age which existed once upon a time and might still exist in some unknown land, or might return again in the remote future. But the regular growth of a state enlightened by experience, progressing in knowledge, improving in the arts, of which the citizens were educated by the fulfilment of political duties, appears never to have come within the range of their hopes and aspirations. Such a state had never been seen, and therefore could not be conceived by them. Their experience (cp. Aristot. Metaph. xi. 21; Plato, Laws iii. 676-9) led them to conclude that there had been cycles of civilization in which the arts had been discovered and lost many times over, and cities had been overthrown and rebuilt again and again, and deluges and volcanoes and other natural convulsions had altered the face of the earth. Tradition told them of many destructions of mankind and of the preservation of a remnant. The world began again after a deluge and was reconstructed out of the fragments of itself. Also they were acquainted with empires of unknown antiquity, like the Egyptian or Assyrian; but they had never seen them grow, and could not imagine, any more than we can, the state of man which preceded them. They were puzzled and awestricken by the Egyptian monuments, of which the forms, as Plato says, not in a figure, but literally, were ten thousand years old (Laws ii. 656 E), and they contrasted the antiquity of Egypt with their own short memories.

  The early legends of Hellas have no real connection with the later history: they are at a distance, and the intermediate region is concealed from view; there is no road or path which leads from one to the other. At the beginning of Greek history, in the vestibule of the temple, is seen standing first of all the figure of the legislator, himself the interpreter and servant of the God. The fundamental laws which he gives are not supposed to change with time and circumstances. The salvation of the state is held rather to depend on the inviolable maintenance of them. They were sanctioned by the authority of heaven, and it was deemed impiety to alter them. The desire to maintain them unaltered seems to be the origin of what at first sight is very surprising to us—the intolerant zeal of Plato against innovators in religion or politics (cp. Laws x. 907-9); although with a happy inconsistency he is also willing that the laws of other countries should be studied and improvements in legislation privately communicated to the Nocturnal Council (Laws xii. 951, 2). The additions which were made to them in later ages in order to meet the increasing complexity of affairs were still ascribed by a fiction to the original legislator; and the words of such enactments at Athens were disputed over as if they had been the words of Solon himself. Plato hopes to preserve in a later generation the mind of the legislator; he would have his citizens remain within the lines which he has laid down for them. He would not harass them with minute regulations, and he would have allowed some changes in the laws: but not changes which would affect the fundamental institutions of the state, such for example as would convert an aristocracy into a timocracy, or a timocracy into a popular form of government.

  Passing from speculations to facts, we observe that progress has been the exception rather than the law of human history. And therefore we are not surprised to find that the idea of progress is of modern rather than of ancient date; and, like the idea of a philosophy of history, is not more than a century or two old. It seems to have arisen out of the impression left on the human mind by the growth of the Roman Empire and of the Christian Church, and to be due to the political and social improvements which they introduced into the world; and still more in our own century to the idealism of the first French Revolution and the triumph of American Independence; and in a yet greater degree to the vast material prosperity and growth of population in England and her colonies and in America. It is also to be ascribed in a measure to the greater study of the philosophy of history. The optimist temperament of some great writers has assisted the creation of it, while the opposite character has led a few to regard the future of the world as dark. The ‘spectator of all time and of all existence’ sees more of ‘the increasing purpose which through the ages ran’ than formerly: but to the inhabitant of a small state of Hellas the vision was necessarily limited like the valley in which he dwelt. There was no remote past on which his eye could rest, nor any future from which the veil was partly lifted up by the analogy of history. The narrowness of view, which to ourselves appears so singular, was to him natural, if not unavoidable.

  V. For the relation of the Republic to the Statesman and the Laws, the two other works of Plato which directly treat of politics, see the Introductions to the two latter; a few general points of comparison may be touched upon in this place.

  And first of the Laws. (1) The Republic, though probably written at intervals, yet speaking generally and judging by the indications of thought and style, may be reasonably ascribed to the middle period of Plato’s life: the Laws are certainly the work of his declining years, and some portions of them at any rate seem to have been written in extreme old age. (2) The Republic is full of hope and aspiration: the Laws bear the stamp of failure and disappointment. The one is a finished work which received the last touches of the author: the other is imperfectly executed, and apparently unfinished. The one has the grace and beauty of youth: the other has lost the poetical form, but has more of the severity and knowledge of life which is characteristic of old age. (3) The most conspicuous defect of the Laws is the failure of dramatic power, whereas the Republic is full of striking contrasts of ideas and oppositions of character. (4) The Laws may be said to have more the nature of a sermon, the Republic of a poem; the one is more religious, the other more intellectual. (5) Many theories of Plato, such as the doctrine of ideas, the government of the world by philosophers, are not found in the Laws; the immortality of the soul is first mentioned in xii. 959, 967; the person of Socrates has altogether disappeared. The community of women and children is renounced; the institution of common or public meals for women (Laws vi. 781) is for the first time introduced (Ar. Pol. ii. 6, § 5). (6) There remains in the Laws the old enmity to the poets (vii. 817), who are ironically saluted in highflown terms, and, at the same time, are peremptorily ordered out of the city, if they are not willing to submit their poems to the censorship of the magistrates (cp. Rep. iii. 398). (7) Though the work is in most respects inferior, there are a few passages in the Laws, such as v. 727 ff. (the honour due to the soul), viii. 835 ff. (the evils of licentious or unnatural love), the whole of Book x. (religion), xi. 918 ff. (the dishonesty of retail trade), and 923 ff. (bequests), which come more home to us, and contain more of what may be termed the modern element in Plato than almost anything in the Republic.

  The relation of the two works to one another is very well given:

  (i) by Aristotle in the Politics (ii. 6, §§ 1-5) from the side of the Laws:—

  ‘The same, or nearly the same, objections apply to Plato’s later work, the Laws, and therefore we had better examine briefly the constitution which is therein described. In the Republic, Socrates has definitely settled in all a few questions only; such as the community of women and children, the community of property, and the constitution of the state. The population is divided into two classes—one of husbandmen, and the other of warriors; from this latter is taken a third class of counsellors and rulers of the state. But Socrates has not determined whether the husbandmen and artists are to have a share in the government, and whether they too are to carry arms and share in military service or not. He certainly thinks that the women ought to share in the education of the guardians, and to fight by their side. The remainder of the work is filled up with digressions foreign to the main subject, and with discussions about the education of the guardians. In the Laws there is hardly anything but laws; not much is said about the constitution. This, which he had intended to make more of the ordinary type, he gradually brings round to the other or ideal form. For with the exception of the community of women and property, he supposes everything to be the same in both states; there is to be the same education; the citizens of both are to live free from servile occupations, and there are to be common meals in both. The only difference is that in the Laws the common meals are extended to women, and the warriors number about 5000, but in the Republic only 1000.’

  (ii) by Plato in the Laws (Book v. 739 B-E), from the side of the Republic:—

  ‘The first and highest form of the state and of the government and of the law is that in which there prevails most widely the ancient saying that “Friends have all things in common.” Whether there is now, or ever will be, this communion of women and children and of property, in which the private and individual is altogether banished from life, and things which are by nature private, such as eyes and ears and hands, have become common, and all men express praise and blame, and feel joy and sorrow, on the same occasions, and the laws unite the city to the utmost,—whether all this is possible or not, I say that no man, acting upon any other principle, will ever constitute a state more exalted in virtue, or truer or better than this. Such a state, whether inhabited by Gods or sons of Gods, will make them blessed who dwell therein; and therefore to this we are to look for the pattern of the state, and to cling to this, and, as far as possible, to seek for one which is like this. The state which we have now in hand, when created, will be nearest to immortality and unity in the next degree; and after that, by the grace of God, we will complete the third one. And we will begin by speaking of the nature and origin of the second.’

  The comparatively short work called the Statesman or Politicus in its style and manner is more akin to the Laws, while in its idealism it rather resembles the Republic. As far as we can judge by various indications of language and thought, it must be later than the one and of course earlier than the other. In both the Republic and Statesman a close connection is maintained between Politics and Dialectic. In the Statesman, enquiries into the principles of Method are interspersed with discussions about Politics. The comparative advantages of the rule of law and of a person are considered, and the decision given in favour of a person (Arist. Pol. iii. 15, 16). But much may be said on the other side, nor is the opposition necessary; for a person may rule by law, and law may be so applied as to be the living voice of the legislator. As in the Republic, there is a myth, describing, however, not a future, but a former existence of mankind. The question is asked, ‘Whether the state of innocence which is described in the myth, or a state like our own which possesses art and science and distinguishes good from evil, is the preferable condition of man.’ To this question of the comparative happiness of civilized and primitive life, which was so often discussed in the last century and in our own, no answer is given. The Statesman, though less perfect in style than the Republic and of far less range, may justly be regarded as one of the greatest of Plato’s dialogues.

  VI. Others as well as Plato have chosen an ideal Republic to be the vehicle of thoughts which they could not definitely express, or which went beyond their own age. The classical writing which approaches most nearly to the Republic of Plato is the ‘De Republica’ of Cicero; but neither in this nor in any other of his dialogues does he rival the art of Plato. The manners are clumsy and inferior; the hand of the rhetorician is apparent at every turn. Yet noble sentiments are constantly recurring: the true note of Roman patriotism—‘We Romans are a great people’—resounds through the whole work. Like Socrates, Cicero turns away from the phenomena of the heavens to civil and political life. He would rather not discuss the ‘two Suns’ of which all Rome was talking, when he can converse about ‘the two nations in one’ which had divided Rome ever since the days of the Gracchi. Like Socrates again, speaking in the person of Scipio, he is afraid lest he should assume too much the character of a teacher, rather than of an equal who is discussing among friends the two sides of a question. He would confine the terms King or State to the rule of reason and justice, and he will not concede that title either to a democracy or to a monarchy. But under the rule of reason and justice he is willing to include the natural superior ruling over the natural inferior, which he compares to the soul ruling over the body. He prefers a mixture of forms of government to any single one. The two portraits of the just and the unjust, which occur in the second book of the Republic, are transferred to the state—Philus, one of the interlocutors, maintaining against his will the necessity of injustice as a principle of government, while the other, Laelius, supports the opposite thesis. His views of language and number are derived from Plato; like him he denounces the drama. He also declares that if his life were to be twice as long he would have no time to read the lyric poets. The picture of democracy is translated by him word for word, though he has hardly shown himself able to ‘carry the jest’ of Plato. He converts into a stately sentence the humorous fancy about the animals, who ‘are so imbued with the spirit of democracy that they make the passers-by get out of their way’ (i. 42). His description of the tyrant is imitated from Plato, but is far inferior. The second book is historical, and claims for the Roman constitution (which is to him the ideal) a foundation of fact such as Plato probably intended to have given to the Republic in the Critias. His most remarkable imitation of Plato is the adaptation of the vision of Er, which is converted by Cicero into the ‘Somnium Scipionis’; he has ‘romanized’ the myth of the Republic, adding an argument for the immortality of the soul taken from the Phaedrus, and some other touches derived from the Phaedo and the Timaeus. Though a beautiful tale and containing splendid passages, the ‘Somnium Scipionis’ is very inferior to the vision of Er; it is only a dream, and hardly allows the reader to suppose that the writer believes in his own creation. Whether his dialogues were framed on the model of the lost dialogues of Aristotle, as he himself tells us, or of Plato, to which they bear many superficial resemblances, he is still the Roman orator; he is not conversing, but making speeches, and is never able to mould the intractable Latin to the grace and ease of the Greek Platonic dialogue. But if he is defective in form, much more is he inferior to the Greek in matter; he nowhere in his philosophical writings leaves upon our minds the impression of an original thinker.

  Plato’s Republic has been said to be a church and not a state; and such an ideal of a city in the heavens has always hovered over the Christian world, and is embodied in St. Augustine’s ‘De Civitate Dei,’ which is suggested by the decay and fall of the Roman Empire, much in the same manner in which we may imagine the Republic of Plato to have been influenced by the decline of Greek politics in the writer’s own age. The difference is that in the time of Plato the degeneracy, though certain, was gradual and insensible: whereas the taking of Rome by the Goths stirred like an earthquake the age of St. Augustine. Men were inclined to believe that the overthrow of the city was to be ascribed to the anger felt by the old Roman deities at the neglect of their worship. St. Augustine maintains the opposite thesis; he argues that the destruction of the Roman Empire is due, not to the rise of Christianity, but to the vices of Paganism. He wanders over Roman history, and over Greek philosophy and mythology, and finds everywhere crime, impiety and falsehood. He compares the worst parts of the Gentile religions with the best elements of the faith of Christ. He shows nothing of the spirit which led others of the early Christian Fathers to recognize in the writings of the Greek philosophers the power of the divine truth. He traces the parallel of the kingdom of God, that is, the history of the Jews, contained in their scriptures, and of the kingdoms of the world, which are found in gentile writers, and pursues them both into an ideal future. It need hardly be remarked that his use both of Greek and of Roman historians and of the sacred writings of the Jews is wholly uncritical. The heathen mythology, the Sybilline oracles, the myths of Plato, the dreams of Neo-Platonists are equally regarded by him as matter of fact. He must be acknowledged to be a strictly polemical or controversial writer who makes the best of everything on one side and the worst of everything on the other. He has no sympathy with the old Roman life as Plato has with Greek life, nor has he any idea of the ecclesiastical kingdom which was to arise out of the ruins of the Roman empire. He is not blind to the defects of the Christian Church, and looks forward to a time when Christian and Pagan shall be alike brought before the judgment-seat, and the true City of God shall appear. . . . The work of St. Augustine is a curious repertory of antiquarian learning and quotations, deeply penetrated with Christian ethics, but showing little power of reasoning, and a slender knowledge of the Greek literature and language. He was a great genius, and a noble character, yet hardly capable of feeling or understanding anything external to his own theology. Of all the ancient philosophers he is most attracted by Plato, though he is very slightly acquainted with his writings. He is inclined to believe that the idea of creation in the Timaeus is derived from the narrative in Genesis; and he is strangely taken with the coincidence (?) of Plato’s saying that ‘the philosopher is the lover of God,’ and the words of the Book of Exodus in which God reveals himself to Moses (Exod. iii. 14). He dwells at length on miracles performed in his own day, of which the evidence is regarded by him as irresistible. He speaks in a very interesting manner of the beauty and utility of nature and of the human frame, which he conceives to afford a foretaste of the heavenly state and of the resurrection of the body. The book is not really what to most persons the title of it would imply, and belongs to an age which has passed away. But it contains many fine passages and thoughts which are for all time.

  The short treatise de Monarchia of Dante is by far the most remarkable of mediæval ideals, and bears the impress of the great genius in whom Italy and the Middle Ages are so vividly reflected. It is the vision of an Universal Empire, which is supposed to be the natural and necessary government of the world, having a divine authority distinct from the Papacy, yet coextensive with it. It is not ‘the ghost of the dead Roman Empire sitting crowned upon the grave thereof,’ but the legitimate heir and successor of it, justified by the ancient virtues of the Romans and the beneficence of their rule. Their right to be the governors of the world is also confirmed by the testimony of miracles, and acknowledged by St. Paul when he appealed to Cæsar, and even more emphatically by Christ Himself, Who could not have made atonement for the sins of men if He had not been condemned by a divinely authorized tribunal. The necessity for the establishment of an Universal Empire is proved partly by a priori arguments such as the unity of God and the unity of the family or nation; partly by perversions of Scripture and history, by false analogies of nature, by misapplied quotations from the classics, and by odd scraps and commonplaces of logic, showing a familiar but by no means exact knowledge of Aristotle (of Plato there is none). But a more convincing argument still is the miserable state of the world, which he touchingly describes. He sees no hope of happiness or peace for mankind until all nations of the earth are comprehended in a single empire. The whole treatise shows how deeply the idea of the Roman Empire was fixed in the minds of his contemporaries. Not much argument was needed to maintain the truth of a theory which to his own contemporaries seemed so natural and congenial. He speaks, or rather preaches, from the point of view, not of the ecclesiastic, but of the layman, although, as a good Catholic, he is willing to acknowledge that in certain respects the Empire must submit to the Church. The beginning and end of all his noble reflections and of his arguments, good and bad, is the aspiration, ‘that in this little plot of earth belonging to mortal man life may pass in freedom and peace.’ So inextricably is his vision of the future bound up with the beliefs and circumstances of his own age.

  The ‘Utopia’ of Sir Thomas More is a surprising monument of his genius, and shows a reach of thought far beyond his contemporaries. The book was written by him at the age of about 34 or 35, and is full of the generous sentiments of youth. He brings the light of Plato to bear upon the miserable state of his own country. Living not long after the Wars of the Roses, and in the dregs of the Catholic Church in England, he is indignant at the corruption of the clergy, at the luxury of the nobility and gentry, at the sufferings of the poor, at the calamities caused by war. To the eye of More the whole world was in dissolution and decay; and side by side with the misery and oppression which he has described in the First Book of the Utopia, he places in the Second Book the ideal state which by the help of Plato he had constructed. The times were full of stir and intellectual interest. The distant murmur of the Reformation was beginning to be heard. To minds like More’s, Greek literature was a revelation: there had arisen an art of interpretation, and the New Testament was beginning to be understood as it had never been before, and has not often been since, in its natural sense. The life there depicted appeared to him wholly unlike that of Christian commonwealths, in which ‘he saw nothing but a certain conspiracy of rich men procuring their own commodities under the name and title of the Commonwealth.’ He thought that Christ, like Plato, ‘instituted all things common,’ for which reason, he tells us, the citizens of Utopia were the more willing to receive his doctrines1 . The community of property is a fixed idea with him, though he is aware of the arguments which may be urged on the other side1 . We wonder how in the reign of Henry VIII, though veiled in another language and published in a foreign country, such speculations could have been endured.

  He is gifted with far greater dramatic invention than any one who succeeded him, with the exception of Swift. In the art of feigning he is a worthy disciple of Plato. Like him, starting from a small portion of fact, he founds his tale with admirable skill on a few lines in the Latin narrative of the voyages of Amerigo Vespucci. He is very precise about dates and facts, and has the power of making us believe that the narrator of the tale must have been an eyewitness. We are fairly puzzled by his manner of mixing up real and imaginary persons; his boy John Clement and Peter Giles, the citizen of Antwerp, with whom he disputes about the precise words which are supposed to have been used by the (imaginary) Portuguese traveller, Raphael Hythloday. ‘I have the more cause,’ says Hythloday, ‘to fear that my words shall not be believed, for that I know how difficultly and hardly I myself would have believed another man telling the same, if I had not myself seen it with mine own eyes.’ Or again: ‘If you had been with me in Utopia, and had presently seen their fashions and laws as I did which lived there five years and more, and would never have come thence, but only to make the new land known here,’ etc. More greatly regrets that he forgot to ask Hythloday in what part of the world Utopia is situated; he ‘would have spent no small sum of money rather than it should have escaped him,’ and he begs Peter Giles to see Hythloday or write to him and obtain an answer to the question. After this we are not surprised to hear that a Professor of Divinity (perhaps ‘a late famous vicar of Croydon in Surrey,’ as the translator thinks) is desirous of being sent thither as a missionary by the High Bishop, ‘yea, and that he may himself be made Bishop of Utopia, nothing doubting that he must obtain this Bishopric with suit; and he counteth that a godly suit which proceedeth not of the desire of honour or lucre, but only of a godly zeal.’ The design may have failed through the disappearance of Hythloday, concerning whom we have ‘very uncertain news’ after his departure. There is no doubt, however, that he had told More and Giles the exact situation of the island, but unfortunately at the same moment More’s attention, as he is reminded in a letter from Giles, was drawn off by a servant, and one of the company from a cold caught on shipboard coughed so loud as to prevent Giles from hearing. And ‘the secret has perished’ with him; to this day the place of Utopia remains unknown.

  The words of Phaedrus (275 B), ‘O Socrates, you can easily invent Egyptians or anything,’ are recalled to our mind as we read this lifelike fiction. Yet the greater merit of the work is not the admirable art, but the originality of thought. More is as free as Plato from the prejudices of his age, and far more tolerant. The Utopians do not allow him who believes not in the immortality of the soul to share in the administration of the state (cp. Laws x. 908 foll.), ‘howbeit they put him to no punishment, because they be persuaded that it is in no man’s power to believe what he list’; and ‘no man is to be blamed for reasoning in support of his own religion1 .’ In the public services ‘no prayers be used, but such as every man may boldly pronounce without giving offence to any sect.’ He says significantly (p. 143), ‘There be that give worship to a man that was once of excellent virtue or of famous glory, not only as God, but also the chiefest and highest God. But the most and the wisest part, rejecting all these, believe that there is a certain godly power unknown, far above the capacity and reach of man’s wit, dispersed throughout all the world, not in bigness, but in virtue and power. Him they call the Father of all. To Him alone they attribute the beginnings, the increasings, the proceedings, the changes, and the ends of all things. Neither give they any divine honours to any other than him.’ So far was More from sharing the popular beliefs of his time. Yet at the end he reminds us that he does not in all respects agree with the customs and opinions of the Utopians which he describes. And we should let him have the benefit of this saving clause, and not rudely withdraw the veil behind which he has been pleased to conceal himself.

  Nor is he less in advance of popular opinion in his political and moral speculations. He would like to bring military glory into contempt; he would set all sorts of idle people to profitable occupation, including in the same class, priests, women, noblemen, gentlemen, and ‘sturdy and valiant beggars;’ that the labour of all may be reduced to six hours a day. His dislike of capital punishment, and plans for the reformation of offenders; his detestation of priests and lawyers1 ; his remark that ‘although every one may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves and cruel man-eaters, it is not easy to find states that are well and wisely governed,’ are curiously at variance with the notions of his age and indeed with his own life. There are many points in which he shows a modern feeling and a prophetic insight like Plato. He is a sanitary reformer; he maintains that civilized states have a right to the soil of waste countries; he is inclined to the opinion which places happiness in virtuous pleasures, but herein, as he thinks, not disagreeing from those other philosophers who define virtue to be a life according to nature. He extends the idea of happiness so as to include the happiness of others; and he argues ingeniously, ‘All men agree that we ought to make others happy; but if others, how much more ourselves!’ And still he thinks that there may be a more excellent way, but to this no man’s reason can attain unless heaven should inspire him with a higher truth. His ceremonies before marriage; his humane proposal that war should be carried on by assassinating the leaders of the enemy, may be compared to some of the paradoxes of Plato. He has a charming fancy, like the affinities of Greeks and barbarians in the Timaeus, that the Utopians learnt the language of the Greeks with the more readiness because they were originally of the same race with them. He is penetrated with the spirit of Plato, and quotes or adapts many thoughts both from the Republic and from the Timaeus. He prefers public duties to private, and is somewhat impatient of the importunity of relations. His citizens have no silver or gold of their own, but are ready enough to pay them to their mercenaries (cp. Rep. iv. 422, 423). There is nothing of which he is more contemptuous than the love of money. Gold is used for fetters of criminals, and diamonds and pearls for children’s necklaces1 .

  Like Plato he is full of satirical reflections on governments and princes; on the state of the world and of knowledge. The hero of his discourse (Hythloday) is very unwilling to become a minister of state, considering that he would lose his independence and his advice would never be heeded2 . He ridicules the new logic of his time; the Utopians could never be made to understand the doctrine of Second Intentions3 . He is very severe on the sports of the gentry; the Utopians count ‘hunting the lowest, the vilest, and the most abject part of butchery.’ He quotes the words of the Republic in which the philosopher is described ‘standing out of the way under a wall until the driving storm of sleet and rain be overpast,’ which admit of a singular application to More’s own fate; although, writing twenty years before (about the year 1514), he can hardly be supposed to have foreseen this. There is no touch of satire which strikes deeper than his quiet remark that the greater part of the precepts of Christ are more at variance with the lives of ordinary Christians than the discourse of Utopia1 .

  The ‘New Atlantis’ is only a fragment, and far inferior in merit to the ‘Utopia.’ The work is full of ingenuity, but wanting in creative fancy, and by no means impresses the reader with a sense of credibility. In some places Lord Bacon is characteristically different from Sir Thomas More, as, for example, in the external state which he attributes to the governor of Solomon’s House, whose dress he minutely describes, while to Sir Thomas More such trappings appear simply ridiculous. Yet, after this programme of dress, Bacon adds the beautiful trait, ‘that he had a look as though he pitied men.’ Several things are borrowed by him from the Timaeus; but he has injured the unity of style by adding thoughts and passages which are taken from the Hebrew Scriptures.

  The ‘City of the Sun,’ written by Campanella (1568–1639), a Dominican friar, several years after the ‘New Atlantis’ of Bacon, has many resemblances to the Republic of Plato. The citizens have wives and children in common; their marriages are of the same temporary sort, and are arranged by the magistrates from time to time. They do not, however, adopt his system of lots, but bring together the best natures, male and female, ‘according to philosophical rules.’ The infants until two years of age are brought up by their mothers in public temples; and since individuals for the most part educate their children badly, at the beginning of their third year they are committed to the care of the State, and are taught at first, not out of books, but from paintings of all kinds, which are emblazoned on the walls of the city. The city has six interior circuits of walls, and an outer wall which is the seventh. On this outer wall are painted the figures of legislators and philosophers, and on each of the interior walls the symbols or forms of some one of the sciences are delineated. The women are, for the most part, trained, like the men, in warlike and other exercises; but they have two special occupations of their own. After a battle, they and the boys soothe and relieve the wounded warriors; also they encourage them with embraces and pleasant words (cp. Plato, Rep. v. 468). Some elements of the Christian or Catholic religion are preserved among them. The life of the Apostles is greatly admired by this people because they had all things in common; and the short prayer which Jesus Christ taught men is used in their worship. It is a duty of the chief magistrates to pardon sins, and therefore the whole people make secret confession of them to the magistrates, and they to their chief, who is a sort of Rector Metaphysicus; and by this means he is well informed of all that is going on in the minds of men. After confession, absolution is granted to the citizens collectively, but no one is mentioned by name. There also exists among them a practice of perpetual prayer, performed by a succession of priests, who change every hour. Their religion is a worship of God in Trinity, that is of Wisdom, Love and Power, but without any distinction of persons. They behold in the sun the reflection of His glory; mere graven images they reject, refusing to fall under the ‘tyranny’ of idolatry.

  Many details are given about their customs of eating and drinking, about their mode of dressing, their employments, their wars. Campanella looks forward to a new mode of education, which is to be a study of nature, and not of Aristotle. He would not have his citizens waste their time in the consideration of what he calls ‘the dead signs of things.’ He remarks that he who knows one science only, does not really know that one any more than the rest, and insists strongly on the necessity of a variety of knowledge. More scholars are turned out in the City of the Sun in one year than by contemporary methods in ten or fifteen. He evidently believes, like Bacon, that henceforward natural science will play a great part in education, a hope which seems hardly to have been realized, either in our own or in any former age; at any rate the fulfilment of it has been long deferred.

  There is a good deal of ingenuity and even originality in this work, and a most enlightened spirit pervades it. But it has little or no charm of style, and falls very far short of the ‘New Atlantis’ of Bacon, and still more of the ‘Utopia’ of Sir Thomas More. It is full of inconsistencies, and though borrowed from Plato, shows but a superficial acquaintance with his writings. It is a work such as one might expect to have been written by a philosopher and man of genius who was also a friar, and who had spent twenty-seven years of his life in a prison of the Inquisition. The most interesting feature of the book, common to Plato and Sir Thomas More, is the deep feeling which is shown by the writer, of the misery and ignorance prevailing among the lower classes in his own time. Campanella takes note of Aristotle’s answer to Plato’s community of property, that in a society where all things are common, no individual would have any motive to work (Arist. Pol. ii. 5, § 6): he replies, that his citizens being happy and contented in themselves (they are required to work only four hours a day), will have greater regard for their fellows than exists among men at present. He thinks, like Plato, that if he abolishes private feelings and interests, a great public feeling will take their place.

  Other writings on ideal states, such as the ‘Oceana’ of Harrington, in which the Lord Archon, meaning Cromwell, is described, not as he was, but as he ought to have been; or the ‘Argenis’ of Barclay, which is an historical allegory of his own time, are too unlike Plato to be worth mentioning. More interesting than either of these, and far more Platonic in style and thought, is Sir John Eliot’s ‘Monarchy of Man,’ in which the prisoner of the Tower, no longer able ‘to be a politician in the land of his birth,’ turns away from politics to view ‘that other city which is within him,’ and finds on the very threshold of the grave that the secret of human happiness is the mastery of self. The change of government in the time of the English Commonwealth set men thinking about first principles, and gave rise to many works of this class. . . . The great original genius of Swift owes nothing to Plato; nor is there any trace in the conversation or in the works of Dr. Johnson of any acquaintance with his writings. He probably would have refuted Plato without reading him, in the same fashion in which he supposed himself to have refuted Bishop Berkeley’s theory of the non-existence of matter. If we except the so-called English Platonists, or rather Neo-Platonists, who never understood their master, and the writings of Coleridge, who was to some extent a kindred spirit, Plato has left no permanent impression on English literature.

  VII. Human life and conduct are affected by ideals in the same way that they are affected by the examples of eminent men. Neither the one nor the other are immediately applicable to practice, but there is a virtue flowing from them which tends to raise individuals above the common routine of society or trade, and to elevate States above the mere interests of commerce or the necessities of self-defence. Like the ideals of art they are partly framed by the omission of particulars; they require to be viewed at a certain distance, and are apt to fade away if we attempt to approach them. They gain an imaginary distinctness when embodied in a State or in a system of philosophy, but they still remain the visions of ‘a world unrealized.’ More striking and obvious to the ordinary mind are the examples of great men, who have served their own generation and are remembered in another. Even in our own family circle there may have been some one, a woman, or even a child, in whose face has shone forth a goodness more than human. The ideal then approaches nearer to us, and we fondly cling to it. The ideal of the past, whether of our own past lives or of former states of society, has a singular fascination for the minds of many. Too late we learn that such ideals cannot be recalled, though the recollection of them may have a humanizing influence on other times. But the abstractions of philosophy are to most persons cold and vacant; they give light without warmth; they are like the full moon in the heavens when there are no stars appearing. Men cannot live by thought alone; the world of sense is always breaking in upon them. They are for the most part confined to a corner of earth, and see but a little way beyond their own home or place of abode; they ‘do not lift up their eyes to the hills’; they are not awake when the dawn appears. But in Plato we have reached a height from which a man may look into the distance (Rep. iv. 445 C) and behold the future of the world and of philosophy. The ideal of the State and of the life of the philosopher; the ideal of an education continuing through life and extending equally to both sexes; the ideal of the unity and correlation of knowledge; the faith in good and immortality—are the vacant forms of light on which Plato is seeking to fix the eye of mankind.

  VIII. Two other ideals, which never appeared above the horizon in Greek Philosophy, float before the minds of men in our own day; one seen more clearly than formerly, as though each year and each generation brought us nearer to some great change; the other almost in the same degree retiring from view behind the laws of nature, as if oppressed by them, but still remaining a silent hope of we know not what hidden in the heart of man. The first ideal is the future of the human race in this world; the second the future of the individual in another. The first is the more perfect realization of our own present life; the second, the abnegation of it: the one, limited by experience, the other, transcending it. Both of them have been and are powerful motives of action; there are a few in whom they have taken the place of all earthly interests. The hope of a future for the human race at first sight seems to be the more disinterested, the hope of individual existence the more egotistical, of the two motives. But when men have learned to resolve their hope of a future either for themselves or for the world into the will of God—‘not my will but Thine,’ the difference between them falls away; and they may be allowed to make either of them the basis of their lives, according to their own individual character or temperament. There is as much faith in the willingness to work for an unseen future in this world as in another. Neither is it inconceivable that some rare nature may feel his duty to another generation, or to another century, almost as strongly as to his own, or that living always in the presence of God, he may realize another world as vividly as he does this.

  The greatest of all ideals may, or rather must be conceived by us under similitudes derived from human qualities; although sometimes, like the Jewish prophets, we may dash away these figures of speech and describe the nature of God only in negatives. These again by degrees acquire a positive meaning. It would be well, if when meditating on the higher truths either of philosophy or religion, we sometimes substituted one form of expression for another, lest through the necessities of language we should become the slaves of mere words.

  There is a third ideal, not the same, but akin to these, which has a place in the home and heart of every believer in the religion of Christ, and in which men seem to find a nearer and more familiar truth, the Divine man, the Son of Man, the Saviour of mankind, Who is the first-born and head of the whole family in heaven and earth, in Whom the Divine and human, that which is without and that which is within the range of our earthly faculties, are indissolubly united. Neither is this divine form of goodness wholly separable from the ideal of the Christian Church, which is said in the New Testament to be ‘His body,’ or at variance with those other images of good which Plato sets before us. We see Him in a figure only, and of figures of speech we select but a few, and those the simplest, to be the expression of Him. We behold Him in a picture, but He is not there. We gather up the fragments of His discourses, but neither do they represent Him as He truly was. His dwelling is neither in heaven nor earth, but in the heart of man. This is that image which Plato saw dimly in the distance, which, when existing among men, he called, in the language of Homer, ‘the likeness of God’ (Rep. vi. 501 B), the likeness of a nature which in all ages men have felt to be greater and better than themselves, and which in endless forms, whether derived from Scripture or nature, from the witness of history or from the human heart, regarded as a person or not as a person, with or without parts or passions, existing in space or not in space, is and will always continue to be to mankind the idea of Good.

  BOOK I

  PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

  Socrates,who is the narrator.

  Glaucon.

  Adelmantus.

  Polemarchus.

  Cephalus.

  Thrasymachus.

  Cleitophon.

  And others who are mute auditors.

  The scene is laid in the house of Cephalus at the Piraeus; and the whole dialogue is narrated by Socrates the day after it actually took place to Timaeus, Hermocrates, Critias, and a nameless person, who are introduced in the Timaeus.

  Republic I.Socrates, Glaucon.Meeting of Socrates and Glaucon with Polemarchus at the Bendidean festival.

  327I WENT down yesterday to the Piraeus with Glaucon the son of Ariston, that I might offer up my prayers to the goddess1 ; and also because I wanted to see in what manner they would celebrate the festival, which was a new thing. I was delighted with the procession of the inhabitants; but that of the Thracians was equally, if not more, beautiful. When we had finished our prayers and viewed the spectacle, we turned in the direction of the city; and at that instant Polemarchus the son of Cephalus chanced to catch sight of us from a distance as we were starting on our way home, and told his servant to run and bid us wait for him. The servant took hold of me by the cloak behind, and said: Polemarchus desires you to wait.

  I turned round, and asked him where his master was.

  There he is, said the youth, coming after you, if you will only wait.

  Socrates, Polemarchus, Glaucon, Adeimantus, Cephalus.

  Certainly we will, said Glaucon; and in a few minutes Polemarchus appeared, and with him Adeimantus, Glaucon’s brother, Niceratus the son of Nicias, and several others who had been at the procession.

  Polemarchus said to me: I perceive, Socrates, that you and your companion are already on your way to the city.

  You are not far wrong, I said.

  But do you see, he rejoined, how many we are?

  Of course.

  And are you stronger than all these? for if not, you will have to remain where you are.

  May there not be the alternative, I said, that we may persuade you to let us go?

  But can you persuade us, if we refuse to listen to you? he said.

  Certainly not, replied Glaucon.

  Then we are not going to listen; of that you may be assured.

  The equestrian torch-race.

  328Adeimantus added: Has no one told you of the torch-race on horseback in honour of the goddess which will take place in the evening?

  With horses! I replied: That is a novelty. Will horsemen carry torches and pass them one to another during the race?

  Yes, said Polemarchus, and not only so, but a festival will be celebrated at night, which you certainly ought to see. Let us rise soon after supper and see this festival; there will be a gathering of young men, and we will have a good talk. Stay then, and do not be perverse.

  Glaucon said: I suppose, since you insist, that we must.

  Very good, I replied.

  The gathering of friends at the house of Cephalus.

  Accordingly we went with Polemarchus to his house; and there we found his brothers Lysias and Euthydemus, and with them Thrasymachus the Chalcedonian, Charmantides the Paeanian, and Cleitophon the son of Aristonymus. There too was Cephalus the father of Polemarchus, whom I had not seen for a long time, and I thought him very much aged. He was seated on a cushioned chair, and had a garland on his head, for he had been sacrificing in the court; and there were some other chairs in the room arranged in a semicircle, upon which we sat down by him. He saluted me eagerly, and then he said:—

  Cephalus, Socrates.

  You don’t come to see me, Socrates, as often as you ought: If I were still able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should come oftener to the Piraeus. For let me tell you, that the more the pleasures of the body fade away, the greater to me is the pleasure and charm of conversation. Do not then deny my request, but make our house your resort and keep company with these young men; we are old friends, and you will be quite at home with us.

  I replied: There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult. And this is a question which I should like to ask of you who have arrived at that time which the poets call the ‘threshold of old age’—Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?

  Old age is not to blame for the troubles of old men.The excellent saying of Sophocles.

  329I will tell you, Socrates, he said, what my own feeling is. Men of my age flock together; we are birds of a feather, as the old proverb says; and at our meetings the tale of my acquaintance commonly is—I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life. Some complain of the slights which are put upon them by relations, and they will tell you sadly of how many evils their old age is the cause. But to me, Socrates, these complainers seem to blame that which is not really in fault. For if old age were the cause, I too being old, and every other old man, would have felt as they do. But this is not my own experience, nor that of others whom I have known. How well I remember the aged poet Sophocles, when in answer to the question, How does love suit with age, Sophocles, — are you still the man you were? Peace, he replied; most gladly have I escaped the thing of which you speak; I feel as if I had escaped from a mad and furious master. His words have often occurred to my mind since, and they seem as good to me now as at the time when he uttered them. For certainly old age has a great sense of calm and freedom; when the passions relax their hold, then, as Sophocles says, we are freed from the grasp not of one mad master only, but of many. The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men’s characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden.

  It is admitted that the old, if they are to be comfortable, must have a fair share of external goods; neither virtue alone nor riches alone can make an old man happy.

  I listened in admiration, and wanting to draw him out, that he might go on — Yes, Cephalus, I said; but I rather suspect that people in general are not convinced by you when you speak thus; they think that old age sits lightly upon you, not because of your happy disposition, but because you are rich, and wealth is well known to be a great comforter.

  You are right, he replied; they are not convinced: and there is something in what they say; not, however, so much as they imagine. I might answer them as Themistocles answered the Seriphian who was abusing him and saying that he was famous, not for his own merits but because he 330was an Athenian: ‘If you had been a native of my country or I of yours, neither of us would have been famous.’ And to those who are not rich and are impatient of old age, the same reply may be made; for to the good poor man old age cannot be a light burden, nor can a bad rich man ever have peace with himself.

  May I ask, Cephalus, whether your fortune was for the most part inherited or acquired by you?

  Cephalus has inherited rather than made a fortune; he is therefore indifferent to money.

  Acquired! Socrates; do you want to know how much I acquired? In the art of making money I have been midway between my father and grandfather: for my grandfather, whose name I bear, doubled and trebled the value of his patrimony, that which he inherited being much what I possess now; but my father Lysanias reduced the property below what it is at present: and I shall be satisfied if I leave to these my sons not less but a little more than I received.

  That was why I asked you the question, I replied, because I see that you are indifferent about money, which is a characteristic rather of those who have inherited their fortunes than of those who have acquired them; the makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation of their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit which is common to them and all men. And hence they are very bad company, for they can talk about nothing but the praises of wealth.

  That is true, he said.

  The advantages of wealth.

  Yes, that is very true, but may I ask another question?—What do you consider to be the greatest blessing which you have reaped from your wealth?

  The fear of death and the consciousness of sin become more vivid in old age; and to be rich frees a man from many temptations.The admirable strain of Pindar.

  One, he said, of which I could not expect easily to convince others. For let me tell you, Socrates, that when a man thinks himself to be near death, fears and cares enter into his mind which he never had before; the tales of a world below and the punishment which is exacted there of deeds done here were once a laughing matter to him, but now he is tormented with the thought that they may be true: either from the weakness of age, or because he is now drawing nearer to that other place, he has a clearer view of these things; suspicions and alarms crowd thickly upon him, and he begins to reflect and consider what wrongs he has done to others. And when he finds that the sum of his transgressions is great he will many a time like a child start up in his sleep for fear, and he is filled with dark forebodings. But 331to him who is conscious of no sin, sweet hope, as Pindar charmingly says, is the kind nurse of his age:

  ‘Hope,’ he says, ‘cherishes the soul of him who lives in justice and holiness, and is the nurse of his age and the companion of his journey;—hope which is mightiest to sway the restless soul of man.’

  How admirable are his words! And the great blessing of riches, I do not say to every man, but to a good man, is, that he has had no occasion to deceive or to defraud others, either intentionally or unintentionally; and when he departs to the world below he is not in any apprehension about offerings due to the gods or debts which he owes to men. Now to this peace of mind the possession of wealth greatly contributes; and therefore I say, that, setting one thing against another, of the many advantages which wealth has to give, to a man of sense this is in my opinion the greatest.

  Cephalus, Socrates, Polemarchus.Justice to speak truth and pay your debts.

  Well said, Cephalus, I replied; but as concerning justice, what is it?—to speak the truth and to pay your debts—no more than this? And even to this are there not exceptions? Suppose that a friend when in his right mind has deposited arms with me and he asks for them when he is not in his right mind, ought I to give them back to him? No one would say that I ought or that I should be right in doing so, any more than they would say that I ought always to speak the truth to one who is in his condition.

  You are quite right, he replied.

  But then, I said, speaking the truth and paying your debts is not a correct definition of justice.

  This is the definition of Simonides. But you ought not on all occasions to do either. What then was his meaning?

  Quite correct, Socrates, if Simonides is to be believed, said Polemarchus interposing.

  I fear, said Cephalus, that I must go now, for I have to look after the sacrifices, and I hand over the argument to Polemarchus and the company.

  Is not Polemarchus your heir? I said.

  To be sure, he answered, and went away laughing to the sacrifices.

  Tell me then, O thou heir of the argument, what did Simonides say, and according to you truly say, about justice?

  He said that the re-payment of a debt is just, and in saying so he appears to me to be right.

  I should be sorry to doubt the word of such a wise and inspired man, but his meaning, though probably clear to you, is the reverse of clear to me. For he certainly does not mean, as we were just now saying, that I ought to return a deposit of arms or of anything else to one who asks for it 332when he is not in his right senses; and yet a deposit cannot be denied to be a debt.

  True.

  Then when the person who asks me is not in his right mind I am by no means to make the return?

  Certainly not.

  When Simonides said that the repayment of a debt was justice, he did not mean to include that case?

  Certainly not; for he thinks that a friend ought always to do good to a friend and never evil.

  Socrates, Polemarchus.

  You mean that the return of a deposit of gold which is to the injury of the receiver, if the two parties are friends, is not the repayment of a debt,—that is what you would imagine him to say?

  Yes.

  And are enemies also to receive what we owe to them?

  To be sure, he said, they are to receive what we owe them, and an enemy, as I take it, owes to an enemy that which is due or proper to him—that is to say, evil.

  He may have meant to say that justice gives to friends what is good and to enemies what is evil.

  Simonides, then, after the manner of poets, would seem to have spoken darkly of the nature of justice; for he really meant to say that justice is the giving to each man what is proper to him, and this he termed a debt.

  That must have been his meaning, he said.

  By heaven! I replied; and if we asked him what due or proper thing is given by medicine, and to whom, what answer do you think that he would make to us?

  He would surely reply that medicine gives drugs and meat and drink to human bodies.

  And what due or proper thing is given by cookery, and to what?

  Seasoning to food.

  And what is that which justice gives, and to whom?

  If, Socrates, we are to be guided at all by the analogy of the preceding instances, then justice is the art which gives good to friends and evil to enemies.

  That is his meaning then?

  I think so.

  Illustrations.

  And who is best able to do good to his friends and evil to his enemies in time of sickness?

  The physician.

  Or when they are on a voyage, amid the perils of the sea?

  The pilot.

  And in what sort of actions or with a view to what result is the just man most able to do harm to his enemy and good to his friend?

  In going to war against the one and in making alliances with the other.

  But when a man is well, my dear Polemarchus, there is no need of a physician?

  No.

  And he who is not on a voyage has no need of a pilot?

  No.

  Then in time of peace justice will be of no use?

  I am very far from thinking so.

  333You think that justice may be of use in peace as well as in war?

  Yes.

  Like husbandry for the acquisition of corn?

  Yes.

  Or like shoemaking for the acquisition of shoes,—that is what you mean?

  Yes.

  And what similar use or power of acquisition has justice in time of peace?

  Justice is useful in contracts,

  In contracts, Socrates, justice is of use.

  And by contracts you mean partnerships?

  Exactly.

  But is the just man or the skilful player a more useful and better partner at a game of draughts?

  The skilful player.

  And in the laying of bricks and stones is the just man a more useful or better partner than the builder?

  Quite the reverse.

  Then in what sort of partnership is the just man a better partner than the harp-player, as in playing the harp the harp-player is certainly a better partner than the just man?

  In a money partnership.

  Yes, Polemarchus, but surely not in the use of money; for you do not want a just man to be your counsellor in the purchase or sale of a horse; a man who is knowing about horses would be better for that, would he not?

  Certainly.

  And when you want to buy a ship, the shipwright or the pilot would be better?

  True.

  especially in the safe-keeping of deposits.

  Then what is that joint use of silver or gold in which the just man is to be preferred?

  When you want a deposit to be kept safely.

  You mean when money is not wanted, but allowed to lie?

  Precisely.

  That is to say, justice is useful when money is useless?

  That is the inference.

  But not in the use of money: and if so, justice is only useful when money or anything else is useless.

  And when you want to keep a pruning-hook safe, then justice is useful to the individual and to the state; but when you want to use it, then the art of the vine-dresser?

  Clearly.

  And when you want to keep a shield or a lyre, and not to use them, you would say that justice is useful; but when you want to use them, then the art of the soldier or of the musician?

  Certainly.

  And so of all other things; justice is useful when they are useless, and useless when they are useful?

  That is the inference.

  Then justice is not good for much. But let us consider this further point: Is not he who can best strike a blow in a boxing match or in any kind of fighting best able to ward off a blow?

  Certainly.

  And he who is most skilful in preventing or escaping1 from a disease is best able to create one?

  True?

  A new point of view: Is not he who is best able to do good best able to do evil?

  And he is the best guard of a camp who is best able to 334steal a march upon the enemy?

  Certainly.

  Then he who is a good keeper of anything is also a good thief?

  That, I suppose, is to be inferred.

  Then if the just man is good at keeping money, he is good at stealing it.

  That is implied in the argument.

  Then after all the just man has turned out to be a thief. And this is a lesson which I suspect you must have learnt out of Homer; for he, speaking of Autolycus, the maternal grandfather of Odysseus, who is a favourite of his, affirms that

  He was excellent above all men in theft and perjury.

  And so, you and Homer and Simonides are agreed that justice is an art of theft; to be practised however ‘for the good of friends and for the harm of enemies,’—that was what you were saying?

  No, certainly not that, though I do not now know what I did say; but I still stand by the latter words.

  Well, there is another question: By friends and enemies do we mean those who are so really, or only in seeming?

  Justice an art of theft to be practised for the good of friends and the harm of enemies, But who are friends and enemies?

  Surely, he said, a man may be expected to love those whom he thinks good, and to hate those whom he thinks evil.

  Yes, but do not persons often err about good and evil: many who are not good seem to be so, and conversely?

  That is true.

  Then to them the good will be enemies and the evil will be their friends?

  True.

  And in that case they will be right in doing good to the evil and evil to the good?

  Clearly.

  But the good are just and would not do an injustice?

  True.

  Then according to your argument it is just to injure those who do no wrong?

  Nay, Socrates; the doctrine is immoral.

  Then I suppose that we ought to do good to the just and harm to the unjust?

  I like that better.

  Mistakes will sometimes happen.

  But see the consequences:—Many a man who is ignorant of human nature has friends who are bad friends, and in that case he ought to do harm to them; and he has good enemies whom he ought to benefit; but, if so, we shall be saying the very opposite of that which we affirmed to be the meaning of Simonides.

  Very true, he said; and I think that we had better correct an error into which we seem to have fallen in the use of the words ‘friend’ and ‘enemy.’

  What was the error, Polemarchus? I asked.

  We assumed that he is a friend who seems to be or who is thought good.

  Correction of the definition.

  And how is the error to be corrected?

  We should rather say that he is a friend who is, as well as 335seems, good; and that he who seems only, and is not good, only seems to be and is not a friend; and of an enemy the same may be said.

  To appearance we must add reality. He is a friend who ‘is’ as well as ‘seems’ good, And we should do good to our good friends and harm to our bad enemies.

  You would argue that the good are our friends and the bad our enemies?

  Yes.

  And instead of saying simply as we did at first, that it is just to do good to our friends and harm to our enemies, we should further say: It is just to do good to our friends when they are good and harm to our enemies when they are evil?

  Yes, that appears to me to be the truth.

  But ought the just to injure any one at all?

  Undoubtedly he ought to injure those who are both wicked and his enemies.

  When horses are injured, are they improved or deteriorated.

  To harm men is to injure them; and to injure them is to make them unjust. But justice cannot produce injustice.

  The latter.

  Deteriorated, that is to say, in the good qualities of horses, not of dogs?

  Yes, of horses.

  And dogs are deteriorated in the good qualities of dogs, and not of horses?

  Of course.

  And will not men who are injured be deteriorated in that which is the proper virtue of man?

  Certainly.

  And that human virtue is justice?

  To be sure.

  Then men who are injured are of necessity made unjust?

  That is the result.

  Illustrations.

  But can the musician by his art make men unmusical?

  Certainly not.

  Or the horseman by his art make them bad horsemen?

  Impossible.

  And can the just by justice make men unjust, or speaking generally, can the good by virtue make them bad?

  Assuredly not.

  Any more than heat can produce cold?

  It cannot.

  Or drought moisture?

  Clearly not.

  Nor can the good harm any one?

  Socrates, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus.

  Impossible.

  And the just is the good?

  Certainly.

  Then to injure a friend or any one else is not the act of a just man, but of the opposite, who is the unjust?

  I think that what you say is quite true, Socrates.

  Then if a man says that justice consists in the repayment of debts, and that good is the debt which a just man owes to his friends, and evil the debt which he owes to his enemies,—to say this is not wise; for it is not true, if, as has been clearly shown, the injuring of another can be in no case just.

  I agree with you, said Polemarchus.

  The saying however explained is not to be attributed to any good or wise man.

  Then you and I are prepared to take up arms against any one who attributes such a saying to Simonides or Bias or Pittacus, or any other wise man or seer?

  I am quite ready to do battle at your side, he said.

  336Shall I tell you whose I believe the saying to be?

  Whose?

  I believe that Periander or Perdiccas or Xerxes or Ismenias the Theban, or some other rich and mighty man, who had a great opinion of his own power, was the first to say that justice is ‘doing good to your friends and harm to your enemies.’

  Most true, he said.

  Yes, I said; but if this definition of justice also breaks down, what other can be offered?

  The brutality of Thrasymachus.

  Several times in the course of the discussion Thrasymachus had made an attempt to get the argument into his own hands, and had been put down by the rest of the company, who wanted to hear the end. But when Polemarchus and I had done speaking and there was a pause, he could no longer hold his peace; and, gathering himself up, he came at us like a wild beast, seeking to devour us. We were quite panic-stricken at the sight of him.

  Socrates, Thrasymachus.

  He roared out to the whole company: What folly, Socrates, has taken possession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to one another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is, you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour to yourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer; for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer. And now I will not have you say that justice is duty or advantage or profit or gain or interest, for this sort of nonsense will not do for me; I must have clearness and accuracy.

  I was panic-stricken at his words, and could not look at him without trembling. Indeed I believe that if I had not fixed my eye upon him, I should have been struck dumb: but when I saw his fury rising, I looked at him first, and was therefore able to reply to him.

  Thrasymachus, I said, with a quiver, don’t be hard upon us. Polemarchus and I may have been guilty of a little mistake in the argument, but I can assure you that the error was not intentional. If we were seeking for a piece of gold, you would not imagine that we were ‘knocking under to one another,’ and so losing our chance of finding it. And why, when we are seeking for justice, a thing more precious than many pieces of gold, do you say that we are weakly yielding to one another and not doing our utmost to get at the truth? Nay, my good friend, we are most willing and anxious to do so, but the fact is that we cannot. And if so, you people who know all things should pity us and not be angry with us.

  337How characteristic of Socrates! he replied, with a bitter laugh;—that’s your ironical style! Did I not foresee—have I not already told you, that whatever he was asked he would refuse to answer, and try irony or any other shuffle, in order that he might avoid answering?

  Socrates cannot give any answer if all true answers are excluded.Thrasymachus is assailed with his own weapons.

  You are a philosopher, Thrasymachus, I replied, and well know that if you ask a person what numbers make up twelve, taking care to prohibit him whom you ask from answering twice six, or three times four, or six times two, or four times three, ‘for this sort of nonsense will not do for me,’ — then obviously, if that is your way of putting the question, no one can answer you. But suppose that he were to retort, ‘Thrasymachus, what do you mean? If one of these numbers which you interdict be the true answer to the question, am I falsely to say some other number which is not the right one? — is that your meaning?’ — How would you answer him?

  Just as if the two cases were at all alike! he said.

  Socrates, Thrasymachus, Glaucon.

  Why should they not be? I replied; and even if they are not, but only appear to be so to the person who is asked, ought he not to say what he thinks, whether you and I forbid him or not?

  I presume then that you are going to make one of the interdicted answers?

  I dare say that I may, notwithstanding the danger, if upon reflection I approve of any of them.

  But what if I give you an answer about justice other and better, he said, than any of these? What do you deserve to have done to you?

  Done to me!—as becomes the ignorant, I must learn from the wise—that is what I deserve to have done to me.

  The Sophist demands payment for his instructions. The company are very willing to contribute.

  What, and no payment! a pleasant notion!

  I will pay when I have the money, I replied.

  But you have, Socrates, said Glaucon: and you, Thrasymachus, need be under no anxiety about money, for we will all make a contribution for Socrates.

  Yes, he replied, and then Socrates will do as he always does—refuse to answer himself, but take and pull to pieces the answer of some one else.

  Socrates knows little or nothing: how can he answer? And he is deterred by the interdict of Thrasymachus.

  Why, my good friend, I said, how can any one answer who knows, and says that he knows, just nothing; and who, even if he has some faint notions of his own, is told by a man of authority not to utter them? The natural thing is, that 338the speaker should be some one like yourself who professes to know and can tell what he knows. Will you then kindly answer, for the edification of the company and of myself?

  Glaucon and the rest of the company joined in my request, and Thrasymachus, as any one might see, was in reality eager to speak; for he thought that he had an excellent answer, and would distinguish himself. But at first he affected to insist on my answering; at length he consented to begin. Behold, he said, the wisdom of Socrates; he refuses to teach himself, and goes about learning of others, to whom he never even says Thank you.

  Socrates, Thrasymachus.

  That I learn of others, I replied, is quite true; but that I am ungrateful I wholly deny. Money I have none, and therefore I pay in praise, which is all I have; and how ready I am to praise any one who appears to me to speak well you will very soon find out when you answer; for I expect that you will answer well.

  The definition of Thrasymachus: ‘Justice is the interest of the stronger or ruler.’

  Listen, then, he said; I proclaim that justice is nothing else than the interest of the stronger. And now why do you not praise me? But of course you won’t.

  Let me first understand you, I replied. Justice, as you say, is the interest of the stronger. What, Thrasymachus, is the meaning of this? You cannot mean to say that because Polydamas, the pancratiast, is stronger than we are, and finds the eating of beef conducive to his bodily strength, that to eat beef is therefore equally for our good who are weaker than he is, and right and just for us?

  That’s abominable of you, Socrates; you take the words in the sense which is most damaging to the argument.

  Not at all, my good sir, I said; I am trying to understand them; and I wish that you would be a little clearer.

  Well, he said, have you never heard that forms of government differ; there are tyrannies, and there are democracies, and there are aristocracies?

  Yes, I know.

  And the government is the ruling power in each state?

  Certainly.

  Socrates compels Thrasymachus to explain his meaning.

  And the different forms of government make laws democratical, aristocratical, tyrannical, with a view to their several interests; and these laws, which are made by them for their own interests, are the justice which they deliver to their subjects, and him who transgresses them they punish as a breaker of the law, and unjust. And that is what I mean when I say that in all states there is the same principle of justice, which is the interest of the government; and as the 339government must be supposed to have power, the only reasonable conclusion is, that everywhere there is one principle of justice, which is the interest of the stronger.

  Now I understand you, I said; and whether you are right or not I will try to discover. But let me remark, that in defining justice you have yourself used the word ‘interest’ which you forbade me to use. It is true, however, that in your definition the words ‘of the stronger’ are added.

  A small addition, you must allow, he said.

  Socrates, Thrasymachus, Polemarchus.

  Great or small, never mind about that: we must first enquire whether what you are saying is the truth. Now we are both agreed that justice is interest of some sort, but you go on to say ‘of the stronger’; about this addition I am not so sure, and must therefore consider further.

  Proceed.

  He is dissatisfied with the explanation; for rulers may err.

  I will; and first tell me, Do you admit that it is just for subjects to obey their rulers?

  I do.

  But are the rulers of states absolutely infallible, or are they sometimes liable to err?

  To be sure, he replied, they are liable to err.

  Then in making their laws they may sometimes make them rightly, and sometimes not?

  True.

  When they make them rightly, they make them agreeably to their interest; when they are mistaken, contrary to their interest; you admit that?

  Yes.

  And the laws which they make must be obeyed by their subjects,—and that is what you call justice?

  Doubtless.

  And then the justice which makes a mistake will turn out to be the reverse of the interest of the stronger.

  Then justice, according to your argument, is not only obedience to the interest of the stronger but the reverse?

  What is that you are saying? he asked.

  I am only repeating what you are saying, I believe. But let us consider: Have we not admitted that the rulers may be mistaken about their own interest in what they command, and also that to obey them is justice? Has not that been admitted?

  Yes.

  Then you must also have acknowledged justice not to be for the interest of the stronger, when the rulers unintentionally command things to be done which are to their own injury. For if, as you say, justice is the obedience which the subject renders to their commands, in that case, O wisest of men, is there any escape from the conclusion that the weaker are commanded to do, not what is for the interest, but what is for the injury of the stronger?

  Nothing can be clearer, Socrates, said Polemarchus.

  340Yes, said Cleitophon, interposing, if you are allowed to be his witness.

  Socrates, Cleitophon, Polemarchus, Thrasymachus.

  But there is no need of any witness, said Polemarchus, for Thrasymachus himself acknowledges that rulers may sometimes command what is not for their own interest, and that for subjects to obey them is justice.

  Cleitophon tries to make a way of escape for Thrasymachus by inserting the words ‘thought to be.’

  Yes, Polemarchus,—Thrasymachus said that for subjects to do what was commanded by their rulers is just.

  Yes, Cleitophon, but he also said that justice is the interest of the stronger, and, while admitting both these propositions, he further acknowledged that the stronger may command the weaker who are his subjects to do what is not for his own interest; whence follows that justice is the injury quite as much as the interest of the stronger.

  But, said Cleitophon, he meant by the interest of the stronger what the stronger thought to be his interest,—this was what the weaker had to do; and this was affirmed by him to be justice.

  Those were not his words, rejoined Polemarchus.

  Never mind, I replied, if he now says that they are, let us accept his statement. Tell me, Thrasymachus, I said, did you mean by justice what the stronger thought to be his interest, whether really so or not?

  This evasion is repudiated by Thrasymachus;

  Certainly not, he said. Do you suppose that I call him who is mistaken the stronger at the time when he is mistaken?

  Yes, I said, my impression was that you did so, when you admitted that the ruler was not infallible but might be sometimes mistaken.

  who adopts another line of defence: ‘No artist or ruler is ever mistaken qua artist or ruler.’Socrates, Thrasymachus.

  You argue like an informer, Socrates. Do you mean, for example, that he who is mistaken about the sick is a physician in that he is mistaken? or that he who errs in arithmetic or grammar is an arithmetician or grammarian at the time when he is making the mistake, in respect of the mistake? True, we say that the physician or arithmetician or grammarian has made a mistake, but this is only a way of speaking; for the fact is that neither the grammarian nor any other person of skill ever makes a mistake in so far as he is what his name implies; they none of them err unless their skill fails them, and then they cease to be skilled artists. No artist or sage or ruler errs at the time when he is what his name implies; though he is commonly said to err, and I adopted the common mode of speaking. But to be perfectly accurate, since you are such a lover of accuracy, we should say that the ruler, in so far as he is a ruler, is unerring, and, 341being unerring, always commands that which is for his own interest; and the subject is required to execute his commands; and therefore, as I said at first and now repeat, justice is the interest of the stronger.

  Indeed, Thrasymachus, and do I really appear to you to argue like an informer?

  Certainly, he replied.

  And do you suppose that I ask these questions with any design of injuring you in the argument?

  Nay, he replied, ‘suppose’ is not the word—I know it; but you will be found out, and by sheer force of argument you will never prevail.

  I shall not make the attempt, my dear man; but to avoid any misunderstanding occurring between us in future, let me ask, in what sense do you speak of a ruler or stronger whose interest, as you were saying, he being the superior, it is just that the inferior should execute—is he a ruler in the popular or in the strict sense of the term?

  In the strictest of all senses, he said. And now cheat and play the informer if you can; I ask no quarter at your hands. But you never will be able, never.

  The essential meaning of words distinguished from their attributes.

  And do you imagine, I said, that I am such a madman as to try and cheat Thrasymachus? I might as well shave a lion.

  Why, he said, you made the attempt a minute ago, and you failed.

  Enough, I said, of these civilities. It will be better that I should ask you a question: Is the physician, taken in that strict sense of which you are speaking, a healer of the sick or a maker of money? And remember that I am now speaking of the true physician.

  A healer of the sick, he replied.

  And the pilot—that is to say, the true pilot—is he a captain of sailors or a mere sailor?

  A captain of sailors.

  The circumstance that he sails in the ship is not to be taken into account; neither is he to be called a sailor; the name pilot by which he is distinguished has nothing to do with sailing, but is significant of his skill and of his authority over the sailors.

  Very true, he said.

  Now, I said, every art has an interest?

  Certainly.

  For which the art has to consider and provide?

  Yes, that is the aim of art.

  And the interest of any art is the perfection of it—this and nothing else?

  What do you mean?

  I mean what I may illustrate negatively by the example of the body. Suppose you were to ask me whether the body is self-sufficing or has wants, I should reply: Certainly the body has wants; for the body may be ill and require to be cured, and has therefore interests to which the art of medicine ministers; and this is the origin and intention of medicine, as you will acknowledge. Am I not right?

  342Quite right, he replied.

  Art has no imperfection to be corrected, and therefore no extraneous interest.

  But is the art of medicine or any other art faulty or deficient in any quality in the same way that the eye may be deficient in sight or the ear fail of hearing, and therefore requires another art to provide for the interests of seeing and hearing—has art in itself, I say, any similar liability to fault or defect, and does every art require another supplementary art to provide for its interests, and that another and another without end? Or have the arts to look only after their own interests? Or have they no need either of themselves or of another?—having no faults or defects, they have no need to correct them, either by the exercise of their own art or of any other; they have only to consider the interest of their subject-matter. For every art remains pure and faultless while remaining true—that is to say, while perfect and unimpaired. Take the words in your precise sense, and tell me whether I am not right.

  Yes, clearly.

  Illustrations.

  Then medicine does not consider the interest of medicine, but the interest of the body?

  True, he said.

  Nor does the art of horsemanship consider the interests of the art of horsemanship, but the interests of the horse; neither do any other arts care for themselves, for they have no needs; they care only for that which is the subject of their art?

  True, he said.

  But surely, Thrasymachus, the arts are the superiors and rulers of their own subjects?

  To this he assented with a good deal of reluctance.

  Then, I said, no science or art considers or enjoins the interest of the stronger or superior, but only the interest of the subject and weaker?

  He made an attempt to contest this proposition also, but finally acquiesced.

  Then, I continued, no physician, in so far as he is a physician, considers his own good in what he prescribes, but the good of his patient; for the true physician is also a ruler having the human body as a subject, and is not a mere money-maker; that has been admitted?

  Yes.

  And the pilot likewise, in the strict sense of the term, is a ruler of sailors and not a mere sailor?

  That has been admitted.

  And such a pilot and ruler will provide and prescribe for the interest of the sailor who is under him, and not for his own or the ruler’s interest?

  He gave a reluctant ‘Yes.’

  The disinterestedness of rulers.

  Then, I said, Thrasymachus, there is no one in any rule who, in so far as he is a ruler considers or enjoins what is for his own interest, but always what is for the interest of his subject or suitable to his art; to that he looks, and that alone he considers in everything which he says and does.

  343When we had got to this point in the argument, and every one saw that the definition of justice had been completely upset, Thrasymachus, instead of replying to me, said. Tell me, Socrates, have you got a nurse?

  The impudence of Thrasymachus.

  Why do you ask such a question, I said, when you ought rather to be answering?

  Because she leaves you to snivel, and never wipes your nose: she has not even taught you to know the shepherd from the sheep.

  What makes you say that? I replied.

  Thrasymachus dilates upon the advantages of injustice,especially when pursued on a great scale.Tyranny.

  Because you fancy that the shepherd or neatherd fattens or tends the sheep or oxen with a view to their own good and not to the good of himself or his master; and you further imagine that the rulers of states, if they are true rulers, never think of their subjects as sheep, and that they are not studying their own advantage day and night. Oh, no; and so entirely astray are you in your ideas about the just and unjust as not even to know that justice and the just are in reality another’s good; that is to say, the interest of the ruler and stronger, and the loss of the subject and servant; and injustice the opposite; for the unjust is lord over the truly simple and just: he is the stronger, and his subjects do what is for his interest, and minister to his happiness, which is very far from being their own. Consider further, most foolish Socrates, that the just is always a loser in comparison with the unjust. First of all, in private contracts: wherever the unjust is the partner of the just you will find that, when the partnership is dissolved, the unjust man has always more and the just less. Secondly, in their dealings with the State: when there is an income-tax, the just man will pay more and the unjust less on the same amount of income; and when there is anything to be received the one gains nothing and the other much. Observe also what happens when they take an office; there is the just man neglecting his affairs and perhaps suffering other losses, and getting nothing out of the public, because he is just; moreover he is hated by his friends and acquaintance for refusing to serve them in unlawful ways. But all this is reversed in the case of the unjust man. I am speaking, as before, of 344injustice on a large scale in which the advantage of the unjust is most apparent; and my meaning will be most clearly seen if we turn to that highest form of injustice in which the criminal is the happiest of men, and the sufferers or those who refuse to do injustice are the most miserable—that is to say tyranny, which by fraud and force takes away the property of others, not little by little but wholesale; comprehending in one, things sacred as well as profane, private and public; for which acts of wrong, if he were detected perpetrating any one of them singly, he would be punished and incur great disgrace—they who do such wrong in particular cases are called robbers of temples, and man-stealers and burglars and swindlers and thieves. But when a man besides taking away the money of the citizens has made slaves of them, then, instead of these names of reproach, he is termed happy and blessed, not only by the citizens but by all who hear of his having achieved the consummation of injustice. For mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because they shrink from committing it. And thus, as I have shown, Socrates, injustice, when on a sufficient scale, has more strength and freedom and mastery than justice; and, as I said at first, justice is the interest of the stronger, whereas injustice is a man’s own profit and interest.

  Thrasymachus having made his speech wants to run away, but is detained by the company.

  Thrasymachus, when he had thus spoken, having, like a bath-man, deluged our ears with his words, had a mind to go away. But the company would not let him; they insisted that he should remain and defend his position; and I myself added my own humble request that he would not leave us. Thrasymachus, I said to him, excellent man, how suggestive are your remarks! And are you going to run away before you have fairly taught or learned whether they are true or not? Is the attempt to determine the way of man’s life so small a matter in your eyes—to determine how life may be passed by each one of us to the greatest advantage?

  And do I differ from you, he said, as to the importance of the enquiry?

  You appear rather, I replied, to have no care or thought about us, Thrasymachus—whether we live better or worse from not knowing what you say you know, is to you a matter 345of indifference. Prithee, friend, do not keep your knowledge to yourself; we are a large party; and any benefit which you confer upon us will be amply rewarded. For my own part I openly declare that I am not convinced, and that I do not believe injustice to be more gainful than justice, even if uncontrolled and allowed to have free play. For, granting that there may be an unjust man who is able to commit injustice either by fraud or force, still this does not convince me of the superior advantage of injustice, and there may be others who are in the same predicament with myself. Perhaps we may be wrong; if so, you in your wisdom should convince us that we are mistaken in preferring justice to injustice.

  The swagger of Thrasymachus.

  And how am I to convince you, he said, if you are not already convinced by what I have just said; what more can I do for you? Would you have me put the proof bodily into your souls?

  Heaven forbid! I said; I would only ask you to be consistent; or, if you change, change openly and let there be no deception. For I must remark, Thrasymachus, if you will recall what was previously said, that although you began by defining the true physician in an exact sense, you did not observe a like exactness when speaking of the shepherd; you thought that the shepherd as a shepherd tends the sheep not with a view to their own good, but like a mere diner or banquetter with a view to the pleasures of the table; or, again, as a trader for sale in the market, and not as a shepherd. Yet surely the art of the shepherd is concerned only with the good of his subjects; he has only to provide the best for them, since the perfection of the art is already ensured whenever all the requirements of it are satisfied. And that was what I was saying just now about the ruler. I conceived that the art of the ruler, considered as ruler, whether in a state or in private life, could only regard the good of his flock or subjects; whereas you seem to think that the rulers in states, that is to say, the true rulers, like being in authority.

  Think! Nay, I am sure of it.

  The arts have different functions and are not to be confounded with the art of payment which is common to them all.

  Then why in the case of lesser offices do men never take them willingly without payment, unless under the idea that 346they govern for the advantage not of themselves but of others? Let me ask you a question: Are not the several arts different, by reason of their each having a separate function? And, my dear illustrious friend, do say what you think, that we may make a little progress.

  Yes, that is the difference, he replied.

  And each art gives us a particular good and not merely a general one—medicine, for example, gives us health; navigation, safety at sea, and so on?

  Yes, he said.

  And the art of payment has the special function of giving pay: but we do not confuse this with other arts, any more than the art of the pilot is to be confused with the art of medicine, because the health of the pilot may be improved by a sea voyage. You would not be inclined to say, would you, that navigation is the art of medicine, at least if we are to adopt your exact use of language?

  Certainly not.

  Or because a man is in good health when he receives pay you would not say that the art of payment is medicine?

  I should not.

  Nor would you say that medicine is the art of receiving pay because a man takes fees when he is engaged in healing?

  Certainly not.

  And we have admitted, I said, that the good of each art is specially confined to the art?

  Yes.

  Then, if there be any good which all artists have in common, that is to be attributed to something of which they all have the common use?

  True, he replied.

  And when the artist is benefited by receiving pay the advantage is gained by an additional use of the art of pay, which is not the art professed by him?

  He gave a reluctant assent to this.

  Then the pay is not derived by the several artists from their respective arts. But the truth is, that while the art of medicine gives health, and the art of the builder builds a house, another art attends them which is the art of pay. The various arts may be doing their own business and benefiting that over which they preside, but would the artist receive any benefit from his art unless he were paid as well?

  I suppose not.

  But does he therefore confer no benefit when he works for nothing?

  Certainly, he confers a benefit.

  The true ruler or artist seeks, not his own advantage, but theSocrates, Glaucon.perfection of his art; and therefore he must be paid.

  Then now, Thrasymachus, there is no longer any doubt that neither arts nor governments provide for their own interests; but, as we were before saying, they rule and provide for the interests of their subjects who are the weaker and not the stronger—to their good they attend and not to the good of the superior. And this is the reason, my dear Thrasymachus, why, as I was just now saying, no one is willing to govern; because no one likes to take in hand the reformation of evils which are not his concern without remuneration. 347For, in the execution of his work, and in giving his orders to another, the true artist does not regard his own interest, but always that of his subjects; and therefore in order that rulers may be willing to rule, they must be paid in one of three modes of payment, money, or honour, or a penalty for refusing.

  Three modes of paying rulers, money, honour, and a penalty for refusing to rule.

  What do you mean, Socrates? said Glaucon. The first two modes of payment are intelligible enough, but what the penalty is I do not understand, or how a penalty can be a payment.

  You mean that you do not understand the nature of this payment which to the best men is the great inducement to rule? Of course you know that ambition and avarice are held to be, as indeed they are, a disgrace?

  Very true.

  The penalty is the evil of being ruled by an inferior.In a city composed wholly of good men there would be a great unwillingness to rule.Socrates, Glaucon, Thrasymachus.Thrasymachus maintains that the life of the unjust is better than the life of the just.

  And for this reason, I said, money and honour have no attraction for them; good men do not wish to be openly demanding payment for governing and so to get the name of hirelings, nor by secretly helping themselves out of the public revenues to get the name of thieves. And not being ambitious they do not care about honour. Wherefore necessity must be laid upon them, and they must be induced to serve from the fear of punishment. And this, as I imagine, is the reason why the forwardness to take office, instead of waiting to be compelled, has been deemed dishonourable, Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who refuses to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself. And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office, not because they would, but because they cannot help—not under the idea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves, but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit the task of ruling to any one who is better than themselves, or indeed as good. For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely of good men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contention as to obtain office is at present; then we should have plain proof that the true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his own interest, but that of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose rather to receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble of conferring one. So far am I from agreeing with Thrasymachus that justice is the interest of the stronger. This latter question need not be further discussed at present; but when Thrasymachus says that the life of the unjust is more advantageous than that of the just, his new statement appears to me to be of a far more serious character. Which of us has spoken truly? And which sort of life, Glaucon, do you prefer?

  I for my part deem the life of the just to be the more advantageous, he answered.

  348Did you hear all the advantages of the unjust which Thrasymachus was rehearsing?

  Yes, I heard him, he replied, but he has not convinced me.

  Then shall we try to find some way of convincing him, if we can, that he is saying what is not true?

  Most certainly, he replied.

  If, I said, he makes a set speech and we make another recounting all the advantages of being just, and he answers and we rejoin, there must be a numbering and measuring of the goods which are claimed on either side, and in the end we shall want judges to decide; but if we proceed in our enquiry as we lately did, by making admissions to one another, we shall unite the offices of judge and advocate in our own persons.

  Very good, he said.

  And which method do I understand you to prefer? I said.

  That which you propose.

  Well, then, Thrasymachus, I said, suppose you begin at the beginning and answer me. You say that perfect injustice is more gainful than perfect justice?

  Yes, that is what I say, and I have given you my reasons.

  And what is your view about them? Would you call one of them virtue and the other vice?

  Certainly.

  I suppose that you would call justice virtue and injustice vice?

  A paradox still more extreme,

  What a charming notion! So likely too, seeing that I affirm injustice to be profitable and justice not.

  What else then would you say?

  The opposite, he replied.

  Socrates, Thrasymachus.

  And would you call justice vice?

  No, I would rather say sublime simplicity.

  that injustice is virtue,

  Then would you call injustice malignity?

  No; I would rather say discretion.

  And do the unjust appear to you to be wise and good?

  Yes, he said; at any rate those of them who are able to be perfectly unjust, and who have the power of subduing states and nations; but perhaps you imagine me to be talking of cutpurses. Even this profession if undetected has advantages, though they are not to be compared with those of which I was just now speaking.

  I do not think that I misapprehend your meaning, Thrasymachus, I replied; but still I cannot hear without amazement that you class injustice with wisdom and virtue, and justice with the opposite.

  Certainly, I do so class them.

  Now, I said, you are on more substantial and almost unanswerable ground; for if the injustice which you were maintaining to be profitable had been admitted by you as by others to be vice and deformity, an answer might have been given to you on received principles; but now I perceive that 349you will call injustice honourable and strong, and to the unjust you will attribute all the qualities which were attributed by us before to the just, seeing that you do not hesitate to rank injustice with wisdom and virtue.

  You have guessed most infallibly, he replied.

  Then I certainly ought not to shrink from going through with the argument so long as I have reason to think that you, Thrasymachus, are speaking your real mind; for I do believe that you are now in earnest and are not amusing yourself at our expense.

  I may be in earnest or not, but what is that to you?—to refute the argument is your business.

  refuted by the analogy of the arts.

  Very true, I said; that is what I have to do: But will you be so good as answer yet one more question? Does the just man try to gain any advantage over the just?

  Far otherwise; if he did he would not be the simple amusing creature which he is.

  And would he try to go beyond just action?

  He would not.

  And how would he regard the attempt to gain an advantage over the unjust; would that be considered by him as just or unjust?

  The just tries to obtain an advantage over the unjust, but not over the just; the unjust over both just and unjust.

  He would think it just, and would try to gain the advantage; but he would not be able.

  Whether he would or would not be able, I said, is not to the point. My question is only whether the just man, while refusing to have more than another just man, would wish and claim to have more than the unjust?

  Yes, he would.

  And what of the unjust—does he claim to have more than the just man and to do more than is just?

  Of course, he said, for he claims to have more than all men.

  And the unjust man will strive and struggle to obtain more than the unjust man or action, in order that he may have more than all?

  True.

  We may put the matter thus, I said—the just does not desire more than his like but more than his unlike, whereas the unjust desires more than both his like and his unlike?

  Nothing, he said, can be better than that statement.

  And the unjust is good and wise, and the just is neither?

  Good again, he said.

  And is not the unjust like the wise and good and the just unlike them?

  Of course, he said, he who is of a certain nature, is like those who are of a certain nature; he who is not, not.

  Each of them, I said, is such as his like is?

  Certainly, he replied.

  Illustrations.

  Very good, Thrasymachus, I said; and now to take the case of the arts: you would admit that one man is a musician and another not a musician?

  Yes.

  And which is wise and which is foolish?

  Clearly the musician is wise, and he who is not a musician is foolish.

  And he is good in as far as he is wise, and bad in as far as he is foolish?

  Yes.

  And you would say the same sort of thing of the physician?

  Yes.

  And do you think, my excellent friend, that a musician when he adjusts the lyre would desire or claim to exceed or go beyond a musician in the tightening and loosening the strings?

  I do not think that he would.

  But he would claim to exceed the non-musician?

  Of course.

  350And what would you say of the physician? In prescribing meats and drinks would he wish to go beyond another physician or beyond the practice of medicine?

  He would not.

  But he would wish to go beyond the non-physician?

  Yes.

  The artist remains within the limits of his art:

  And about knowledge and ignorance in general; see whether you think that any man who has knowledge ever would wish to have the choice of saying or doing more than another man who has knowledge. Would he not rather say or do the same as his like in the same case?

  That, I suppose, can hardly be denied.

  And what of the ignorant? would he not desire to have more than either the knowing or the ignorant?

  I dare say.

  And the knowing is wise?

  Yes.

  And the wise is good?

  True.

  Then the wise and good will not desire to gain more than his like, but more than his unlike and opposite?

  I suppose so.

  Whereas the bad and ignorant will desire to gain more than both?

  Yes.

  But did we not say. Thrasymachus, that the unjust goes beyond both his like and unlike? Were not these your words?

  They were.

  and similarly the just man does

  And you also said that the just will not go beyond his like but his unlike?

  Yes.

  Then the just is like the wise and good, and the unjust like the evil and ignorant?

  That is the inference.

  not exceed the limits of other just men.

  And each of them is such as his like is?

  That was admitted.

  Then the just has turned out to be wise and good and the unjust evil and ignorant.

  Thrasymachus perspiring and even blushing.

  Thrasymachus made all these admissions, not fluently, as I repeat them, but with extreme reluctance; it was a hot summer’s day, and the perspiration poured from him in torrents; and then I saw what I had never seen before, Thrasymachus blushing. As we were now agreed that justice was virtue and wisdom, and injustice vice and ignorance, I proceeded to another point:

  Well, I said, Thrasymachus, that matter is now settled; but were we not also saying that injustice had strength; do you remember?

  Yes, I remember, he said, but do not suppose that I approve of what you are saying or have no answer; if however I were to answer, you would be quite certain to accuse me of haranguing; therefore either permit me to have my say out, or if you would rather ask, do so, and I will answer ‘Very good,’ as they say to story-telling old women, and will nod ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’

  Certainly not, I said, if contrary to your real opinion.

  Yes, he said, I will, to please you, since you will not let me speak. What else would you have?

  Nothing in the world, I said; and if you are so disposed I will ask and you shall answer.

  Proceed.

  Then I will repeat the question which I asked before, in 351order that our examination of the relative nature of justice and injustice may be carried on regularly. A statement was made that injustice is stronger and more powerful than justice, but now justice, having been identified with wisdom and virtue, is easily shown to be stronger than injustice, if injustice is ignorance; this can no longer be questioned by any one. But I want to view the matter, Thrasymachus, in a different way: You would not deny that a state may be unjust and may be unjustly attempting to enslave other states, or may have already enslaved them, and may be holding many of them in subjection?

  True, he replied; and I will add that the best and most perfectly unjust state will be most likely to do so.

  I know, I said, that such was your position; but what I would further consider is, whether this power which is possessed by the superior state can exist or be exercised without justice or only with justice.

  At this point the temper of Thrasymachus begins to improve. Cp. 5. 450 A, 6. 498 C.

  If you are right in your view, and justice is wisdom, then only with justice; but if I am right, then without justice.

  I am delighted, Thrasymachus, to see you not only nodding assent and dissent, but making answers which are quite excellent.

  That is out of civility to you, he replied.

  You are very kind, I said; and would you have the goodness also to inform me, whether you think that a state, or an army, or a band of robbers and thieves, or any other gang of evil-doers could act at all if they injured one another?

  No indeed, he said, they could not.

  But if they abstained from injuring one another, then they might act together better?

  Yes.

  And this is because injustice creates divisions and hatreds and fighting, and justice imparts harmony and friendship; is not that true, Thrasymachus?

  Perfect injustice, whether in state or individuals, is destructive to them.

  I agree, he said, because I do not wish to quarrel with you.

  How good of you, I said; but I should like to know also whether injustice, having this tendency to arouse hatred, wherever existing, among slaves or among freemen, will not make them hate one another and set them at variance and render them incapable of common action?

  Certainly.

  And even if injustice be found in two only, will they not quarrel and fight, and become enemies to one another and to the just?

  They will.

  And suppose injustice abiding in a single person, would your wisdom say that she loses or that she retains her natural power?

  Let us assume that she retains her power.

  Yet is not the power which injustice exercises of such a nature that wherever she takes up her abode, whether in a city, in an army, in a family, or in any other body, that body 352is, to begin with, rendered incapable of united action by reason of sedition and distraction; and does it not become its own enemy and at variance with all that opposes it, and with the just? Is not this the case?

  Yes, certainly.

  And is not injustice equally fatal when existing in a single person; in the first place rendering him incapable of action because he is not at unity with himself, and in the second place making him an enemy to himself and the just? Is not that true, Thrasymachus?

  Yes.

  And O my friend, I said, surely the gods are just?

  Granted that they are.

  But if so, the unjust will be the enemy of the gods, and the just will be their friend?

  Feast away in triumph, and take your fill of the argument; I will not oppose you, lest I should displease the company.

  Recapitulation.

  Well then, proceed with your answers, and let me have the remainder of my repast. For we have already shown that the just are clearly wiser and better and abler than the unjust, and that the unjust are incapable of common action; nay more, that to speak as we did of men who are evil acting at any time vigorously together, is not strictly true, for if they had been perfectly evil, they would have laid hands upon one another; but it is evident that there must have been some remnant of justice in them, which enabled them to combine; if there had not been they would have injured one another as well as their victims; they were but half-villains in their enterprises; for had they been whole villains, and utterly unjust, they would have been utterly incapable of action. That, as I believe, is the truth of the matter, and not what you said at first. But whether the just have a better and happier life than the unjust is a further question which we also proposed to consider. I think that they have, and for the reasons which I have given; but still I should like to examine further, for no light matter is at stake, nothing less than the rule of human life.

  Proceed.

  Illustrations of ends and excellences preparatory to the enquiry into the end and excellence of the soul.

  I will proceed by asking a question: Would you not say that a horse has some end?

  I should.

  And the end or use of a horse or of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

  I do not understand, he said.

  Let me explain: Can you see, except with the eye?

  Certainly not.

  Or hear, except with the ear?

  No.

  These then may be truly said to be the ends of these organs?

  They may.

  353But you can cut off a vine-branch with a dagger or with a chisel, and in many other ways?

  Of course.

  And yet not so well as with a pruning-hook made for the purpose?

  True.

  May we not say that this is the end of a pruning-hook?

  We may.

  Then now I think you will have no difficulty in understanding my meaning when I asked the question whether the end of anything would be that which could not be accomplished, or not so well accomplished, by any other thing?

  I understand your meaning, he said, and assent.

  All things which have ends have also virtues and excellences by which they fulfil those ends.

  And that to which an end is appointed has also an excellence? Need I ask again whether the eye has an end?

  It has.

  And has not the eye an excellence?

  Yes.

  And the ear has an end and an excellence also?

  True.

  And the same is true of all other things; they have each of them an end and a special excellence?

  That is so.

  Well, and can the eyes fulfil their end if they are wanting in their own proper excellence and have a defect instead?

  How can they, he said, if they are blind and cannot see?

  You mean to say, if they have lost their proper excellence, which is sight; but I have not arrived at that point yet. I would rather ask the question more generally, and only enquire whether the things which fulfil their ends fulfil them by their own proper excellence, and fail of fulfilling them by their own defect?

  Certainly, he replied.

  I might say the same of the ears; when deprived of their own proper excellence they cannot fulfil their end?

  True.

  And the same observation will apply to all other things?

  I agree.

  And the soul has a virtue and an end — the virtue justice, the end happiness.

  Well; and has not the soul an end which nothing else can fulfil? for example, to superintend and command and deliberate and the like. Are not these functions proper to the soul, and can they rightly be assigned to any other?

  To no other.

  And is not life to be reckoned among the ends of the soul?

  Assuredly, he said.

  And has not the soul an excellence also?

  Yes.

  And can she or can she not fulfil her own ends when deprived of that excellence?

  She cannot.

  Then an evil soul must necessarily be an evil ruler and superintendent, and the good soul a good ruler?

  Yes, necessarily.

  Hence justice and happiness are necessarily connected.

  And we have admitted that justice is the excellence of the soul, and injustice the defect of the soul?

  That has been admitted.

  Then the just soul and the just man will live well, and the unjust man will live ill?

  That is what your argument proves.

  354And he who lives well is blessed and happy, and he who lives ill the reverse of happy?

  Certainly.

  Then the just is happy, and the unjust miserable?

  So be it.

  But happiness and not misery is profitable.

  Of course.

  Then, my blessed Thrasymachus, injustice can never be more profitable than justice.

  Let this, Socrates, he said, be your entertainment at the Bendidea.

  Socrates is displeased with himself and with the argument.

  For which I am indebted to you, I said, now that you have grown gentle towards me and have left off scolding. Nevertheless, I have not been well entertained; but that was my own fault and not yours. As an epicure snatches a taste of every dish which is successively brought to table, he not having allowed himself time to enjoy the one before, so have I gone from one subject to another without having discovered what I sought at first, the nature of justice. I left that enquiry and turned away to consider whether justice is virtue and wisdom or evil and folly; and when there arose a further question about the comparative advantages of justice and injustice, I could not refrain from passing on to that. And the result of the whole discussion has been that I know nothing at all. For I know not what justice is, and therefore I am not likely to know whether it is or is not a virtue, nor can I say whether the just man is happy or unhappy.

  BOOK II.

  Republic II.Socrates, Glaucon.

  357With these words I was thinking that I had made an end of the discussion; but the end, in truth, proved to be only a beginning. For Glaucon, who is always the most pugnacious of men, was dissatisfied at Thrasymachus’ retirement; he wanted to have the battle out. So he said to me: Socrates, do you wish really to persuade us, or only to seem to have persuaded us, that to be just is always better than to be unjust?

  I should wish really to persuade you, I replied, if I could.

  The threefold division of goods.

  Then you certainly have not succeeded. Let me ask you now:—How would you arrange goods—are there not some which we welcome for their own sakes, and independently of their consequences, as, for example, harmless pleasures and enjoyments, which delight us at the time, although nothing follows from them?

  I agree in thinking that there is such a class, I replied.

  Is there not also a second class of goods, such as knowledge, sight, health, which are desirable not only in themselves, but also for their results?

  Certainly, I said.

  And would you not recognize a third class, such as gymnastic, and the care of the sick, and the physician’s art; also the various ways of money-making—these do us good but we regard them as disagreeable; and no one would choose them for their own sakes, but only for the sake of some reward or result which flows from them?

  There is, I said, this third class also. But why do you ask?

  Because I want to know in which of the three classes you would place justice?

  358In the highest class, I replied,—among those goods which he who would be happy desires both for their own sake and for the sake of their results.

  Then the many are of another mind; they think that justice is to be reckoned in the troublesome class, among goods which are to be pursued for the sake of rewards and of reputation, but in themselves are disagreeable and rather to be avoided.

  I know, I said, that this is their manner of thinking, and that this was the thesis which Thrasymachus was maintaining just now, when he censured justice and praised injustice. But I am too stupid to be convinced by him.

  Three heads of the argument:—1. The nature of justice: 2. Justice a necessity, but not a good: 3. The reasonableness of this notion.

  I wish, he said, that you would hear me as well as him, and then I shall see whether you and I agree. For Thrasymachus seems to me, like a snake, to have been charmed by your voice sooner than he ought to have been; but to my mind the nature of justice and injustice have not yet been made clear. Setting aside their rewards and results, I want to know what they are in themselves, and how they inwardly work in the soul. If you please, then, I will revive the argument of Thrasymachus. And first I will speak of the nature and origin of justice according to the common view of them. Secondly, I will show that all men who practise justice do so against their will, of necessity, but not as a good. And thirdly, I will argue that there is reason in this view, for the life of the unjust is after all better far than the life of the just—if what they say is true, Socrates, since I myself am not of their opinion. But still I acknowledge that I am perplexed when I hear the voices of Thrasymachus and myriads of others dinning in my ears; and, on the other hand, I have never yet heard the superiority of justice to injustice maintained by any one in a satisfactory way. I want to hear justice praised in respect of itself; then I shall be satisfied, and you are the person from whom I think that I am most likely to hear this; and therefore I will praise the unjust life to the utmost of my power, and my manner of speaking will indicate the manner in which I desire to hear you too praising justice and censuring injustice. Will you say whether you approve of my proposal?

  Indeed I do; nor can I imagine any theme about which a man of sense would oftener wish to converse.

  Glaucon.

  I am delighted, he replied, to hear you say so, and shall begin by speaking, as I proposed, of the nature and origin of justice.

  Justice a compromise between doing and suffering evil.

  They say that to do injustice is, by nature, good; to suffer injustice, evil; but that the evil is greater than the good. And so when men have both done and suffered injustice and 359have had experience of both, not being able to avoid the one and obtain the other, they think that they had better agree among themselves to have neither; hence there arise laws and mutual covenants; and that which is ordained by law is termed by them lawful and just. This they affirm to be the origin and nature of justice;—it is a mean or compromise, between the best of all, which is to do injustice and not be punished, and the worst of all, which is to suffer injustice without the power of retaliation; and justice, being at a middle point between the two, is tolerated not as a good, but as the lesser evil, and honoured by reason of the inability of men to do injustice. For no man who is worthy to be called a man would ever submit to such an agreement if he were able to resist; he would be mad if he did. Such is the received account, Socrates, of the nature and origin of justice.

  The story of Gyges.The application of the story of Gyges.

  Now that those who practise justice do so involuntarily and because they have not the power to be unjust will best appear if we imagine something of this kind: having given both to the just and the unjust power to do what they will, let us watch and see whither desire will lead them; then we shall discover in the very act the just and unjust man to be proceeding along the same road, following their interest, which all natures deem to be their good, and are only diverted into the path of justice by the force of law. The liberty which we are supposing may be most completely given to them in the form of such a power as is said to have been possessed by Gyges, the ancestor of Croesus the Lydian1 . According to the tradition, Gyges was a shepherd in the service of the kind of Lydia; there was a great storm, and an earthquake made an opening in the earth at the place where he was feeding his flock. Amazed at the sight, he descended into the opening, where, among other marvels, he beheld a hollow brazen horse, having doors, at which he stooping and looking in saw a dead body of stature, as appeared to him, more than human, and having nothing on but a gold ring; this he took from the finger of the dead and reascended. Now the shepherds met together, according to custom, that they might send their monthly report about the flocks to the king; into their assembly he came having the ring on his finger, and as he was sitting among them he chanced to turn the collet of the ring inside his hand, when instantly he became invisible to the rest of the company and they began to speak of him as if he were no longer present. 360He was astonished at this, and again touching the ring he turned the collet outwards and reappeared; he made several trials of the ring, and always with the same result—when he turned the collet inwards he became invisible, when outwards he reappeared. Whereupon he contrived to be chosen one of the messengers who were sent to the court; where as soon as he arrived he seduced the queen, and with her help conspired against the king and slew him, and took the kingdom. Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other; no man can be imagined to be of such an iron nature that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, or go into houses and lie with any one at his pleasure, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a God among men. Then the actions of the just would be as the actions of the unjust; they would both come at last to the same point. And this we may truly affirm to be a great proof that a man is just, not willingly or because he thinks that justice is any good to him individually, but of necessity, for wherever any one thinks that he can safely be unjust, there he is unjust. For all men believe in their hearts that injustice is far more profitable to the individual than justice, and he who argues as I have been supposing, will say that they are right. If you could imagine any one obtaining this power of becoming invisible, and never doing any wrong or touching what was another’s, he would be thought by the lookers-on to be a most wretched idiot, although they would praise him to one another’s faces, and keep up appearances with one another from a fear that they too might suffer injustice. Enough of this.

  The unjust to be clothed with power and reputation.The just to be unclothed of all but his virtue.

  Now, if we are to form a real judgment of the life of the just and unjust, we must isolate them; there is no other way; and how is the isolation to be effected? I answer: Let the unjust man be entirely unjust, and the just man entirely just; nothing is to be taken away from either of them, and both are to be perfectly furnished for the work of their respective lives. First let the unjust be like other distinguished masters of craft; like the skilful pilot or 361physician, who knows intuitively his own powers and keeps within their limits, and who, if he fails at any point, is able to recover himself. So let the unjust make his unjust attempts in the right way, and lie hidden if he means to be great in his injustice: (he who is found out is nobody:) for the highest reach of injustice is, to be deemed just when you are not. Therefore I say that in the perfectly unjust man we must assume the most perfect injustice; there is to be no deduction, but we must allow him, while doing the most unjust acts, to have acquired the greatest reputation for justice. If he have taken a false step he must be able to recover himself; he must be one who can speak with effect, if any of his deeds come to light, and who can force his way where force is required by his courage and strength, and command of money and friends. And at his side let us place the just man in his nobleness and simplicity, wishing as Aeschylus says, to be and not to seem good. There must be no seeming, for if he seem to be just he will be honoured and rewarded, and then we shall not know whether he is just for the sake of justice or for the sake of honours and rewards; therefore, let him be clothed in justice only, and have no other covering; and he must be imagined in a state of life the opposite of the former. Let him be the best of men, and let him be thought the worst; then he will have been put to the proof; and we shall see whether he will be affected by the fear of infamy and its consequences. And let him continue thus to the hour of death; being just and seeming to be unjust. When both have reached the uttermost extreme, the one of justice and the other of injustice, let judgment be given which of them is the happier of the two.

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  Heavens! my dear Glaucon, I said, how energetically you polish them up for the decision, first one and then the other, as if they were two statues.

  The just man will learn by each experience that he ought to seem and not to be just.

  I do my best, he said. And now that we know what they are like there is no difficulty in tracing out the sort of life which awaits either of them. This I will proceed to describe; but as you may think the description a little too coarse, I ask you to suppose, Socrates, that the words which follow are not mine.—Let me put them into the mouths of the eulogists of injustice: They will tell you that the just man who is thought unjust will be scourged, racked, bound—will have his eyes burnt out; and, at last, after suffering every kind of evil, he will be impaled: Then he will understand that he 362ought to seem only, and not to be, just; the words of Aeschylus may be more truly spoken of the unjust than of the just. For the unjust is pursuing a reality; he does not live with a view to appearances—he wants to be really unjust and not to seem only:—

  • ‘His mind has a soil deep and fertile,
  • Out of which spring his prudent counsels1 .’

  The unjust who appears just will attain every sort of prosperity.

  In the first place, he is thought just, and therefore bears rule in the city; he can marry whom he will, and give in marriage to whom he will; also he can trade and deal where he likes, and always to his own advantage, because he has no misgivings about injustice; and at every contest, whether in public or private, he gets the better of his antagonists, and gains at their expense, and is rich, and out of his gains he can benefit his friends, and harm his enemies; moreover, he can offer sacrifices, and dedicate gifts to the gods abundantly and magnificently, and can honour the gods or any man whom he wants to honour in a far better style than the just, and therefore he is likely to be dearer than they are to the gods. And thus, Socrates, gods and men are said to unite in making the life of the unjust better than the life of the just.

  I was going to say something in answer to Glaucon, when Adeimantus, his brother, interposed: Socrates, he said, you do not suppose that there is nothing more to be urged?

  Adeimantus, Socrates.

  Why, what else is there? I answered.

  The strongest point of all has not been even mentioned, he replied.

  Well, then, according to the proverb, ‘Let brother help brother’—if he fails in any part do you assist him; although I must confess that Glaucon has already said quite enough to lay me in the dust, and take from me the power of helping justice.

  Adeimantus takes up the argument. Justice is praised and injustice blamed, but only out of regard to their concequences.

  Nonsense, he replied. But let me add something more: There is another side to Glaucon’s argument about the praise and censure of justice and injustice, which is equally required in order to bring out what I believe to be his meaning. Parents and tutors are always telling their sons and their 363wards that they are to be just; but why? not for the sake of justice, but for the sake of character and reputation; in the hope of obtaining for him who is reputed just some of those offices, marriages, and the like which Glaucon has enumerated among the advantages accruing to the unjust from the reputation of justice. More, however, is made of appearances by this class of persons than by the others; for they throw in the good opinion of the gods, and will tell you of a shower of benefits which the heavens, as they say, rain upon the pious; and this accords with the testimony of the noble Hesiod and Homer, the first of whom says, that the gods make the oaks of the just—

  • ‘To bear acorns at their summit, and bees in the middle;
  • And the sheep are bowed down with the weight of their fleeces1 ,’

  and many other blessings of a like kind are provided for them. And Homer has a very similar strain; for he speaks of one whose fame is—

  • ‘As the fame of some blameless king who, like a god,
  • Maintains justice; to whom the black earth brings forth
  • Wheat and barley, whose trees are bowed with fruit,
  • And his sheep never fail to bear, and the sea gives him fish2 .’

  The rewards andAdeimantus.punishments of another life.

  Still grander are the gifts of heaven which Musaeus and his son3 vouchsafe to the just; they take them down into the world below, where they have the saints lying on couches at a feast, everlastingly drunk, crowned with garlands; their idea seems to be that an immortality of drunkenness is the highest meed of virtue. Some extend their rewards yet further; the posterity, as they say, of the faithful and just shall survive to the third and fourth generation. This is the style in which they praise justice. But about the wicked there is another strain; they bury them in a slough in Hades, and make them carry water in a sieve; also while they are yet living they bring them to infamy, and inflict upon them the punishments which Glaucon described as the portion of the just who are reputed to be unjust; nothing else does their invention supply. Such is their manner of praising the one and censuring the other.

  Men are always repeating that virtue is painful and vice pleasant.

  Once more, Socrates, I will ask you to consider another way of speaking about justice and injustice, which is not confined 364to the poets, but is found in prose writers. The universal voice of mankind is always declaring that justice and virtue are honourable, but grievous and toilsome; and that the pleasures of vice and injustice are easy of attainment, and are only censured by law and opinion. They say also that honesty is for the most part less profitable than dishonesty; and they are quite ready to call wicked men happy, and to honour them both in public and private when they are rich or in any other way influential, while they despise and overlook those who may be weak and poor, even though acknowledging them to be better than the others. But most extraordinary of all is their mode of speaking about virtue and the gods: they say that the gods apportion calamity and misery to many good men, and good and happiness to the wicked. And mendicant prophets go to rich men’s doors and persuade them that they have a power committed to them by the gods of making an atonement for a man’s own or his ancestor’s sins by sacrifices or charms, with rejoicings and feasts; and they promise to harm an enemy, whether just or unjust, at a small cost; with magic arts and incantations binding heaven, as they say, to execute their will. And the poets are the authorities to whom they appeal, now smoothing the path of vice with the words of Hesiod:—

  ‘Vice may be had in abundance without trouble; the way is smooth and her dwelling-place is near. But before virtue the gods have set toil1 ,’

  and a tedious and uphill road: then citing Homer as a witness that the gods may be influenced by men; for he also says:—

  ‘The gods, too, may be turned from their purpose; and men pray to them and avert their wrath by sacrifices and soothing entreaties, and by libations and the odour of fat, when they have sinned and transgressed2 .’

  They are taught that sins may be easily expiated.

  And they produce a host of books written by Musaeus and Orpheus, who were children of the Moon and the Muses—that is what they say—according to which they perform their ritual, and persuade not only individuals, but whole cities, that expiations and atonements for sin may be made by sacrifices and amusements which fill a vacant hour, and are equally at the service of the living and the dead; the latter 365sort they call mysteries, and they redeem us from the pains of hell, but if we neglect them no one knows what awaits us.

  The effects of all this upon the youthful mind.

  He proceeded: And now when the young hear all this said about virtue and vice, and the way in which gods and men regard them, how are their minds likely to be affected, my dear Socrates,—those of them, I mean, who are quickwitted, and, like bees on the wing, light on every flower, and from all that they hear are prone to draw conclusions as to what manner of persons they should be and in what way they should walk if they would make the best of life? Probably the youth will say to himself in the words of Pindar—

  ‘Can I by justice or by crooked ways of deceit ascend a loftier tower which may be a fortress to me all my days?’

  The existence of the gods is only known to us through the poets, who likewise assure us that they may be bribed and that they are very ready to forgive.

  For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought just, profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand are unmistakeable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, as philosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself. I will describe around me a picture and shadow of virtue to be the vestibule and exterior of my house; behind I will trail the subtle and crafty fox, as Archilochus, greatest of sages, recommends. But I hear some one exclaiming that the concealment of wickedness is often difficult; to which I answer, Nothing great is easy. Nevertheless, the argument indicates this, if we would be happy, to be the path along which we should proceed. With a view to concealment we will establish secret brotherhoods and political clubs. And there are professors of rhetoric who teach the art of persuading courts and assemblies; and so, partly by persuasion and partly by force, I shall make unlawful gains and not be punished. Still I hear a voice saying that the gods cannot be deceived, neither can they be compelled. But what if there are no gods? or, suppose them to have no care of human things—why in either case should we mind about concealment? And even if there are gods, and they do care about us, yet we know of them only from tradition and the genealogies of the poets; and these are the very persons who say that they may be influenced and turned by ‘sacrifices and soothing entreaties and by offerings.’ Let us be consistent then, and believe both or neither. If the poets speak truly, why then we had 366better be unjust, and offer of the fruits of injustice; for if we are just, although we may escape the vengeance of heaven, we shall lose the gains of injustice; but, if we are unjust, we shall keep the gains, and by our sinning and praying, and praying and sinning, the gods will be propitiated, and we shall not be punished. ‘But there is a world below in which either we or our posterity will suffer for our unjust deeds.’ Yes, my friend, will be the reflection, but there are mysteries and atoning deities, and these have great power. That is what mighty cities declare; and the children of the gods, who were their poets and prophets, bear a like testimony.

  All this, even if not absolutely true, affords great excuse for doing wrong.

  On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather than the worst injustice? when, if we only unite the latter with a deceitful regard to appearances, we shall fare to our mind both with gods and men, in life and after death, as the most numerous and the highest authorities tell us. Knowing all this, Socrates, how can a man who has any superiority of mind or person or rank or wealth, be willing to honour justice; or indeed to refrain from laughing when he hears justice praised? And even if there should be some one who is able to disprove the truth of my words, and who is satisfied that justice is best, still he is not angry with the unjust, but is very ready to forgive them, because he also knows that men are not just of their own free will: unless, peradventure, there be some one whom the divinity within him may have inspired with a hatred of injustice, or who has attained knowledge of the truth — but no other man. He only blames injustice who, owing to cowardice or age or some weakness, has not the power of being unjust. And this is proved by the fact that when he obtains the power, he immediately becomes unjust as far as he can be.

  Men should be taught that justice is in itself the greatest good and injustice the greatest evil.Adeimantus, Socrates.

  The cause of all this, Socrates, was indicated by us at the beginning of the argument, when my brother and I told you how astonished we were to find that of all the professing panegyrists of justice—beginning with the ancient heroes of whom any memorial has been preserved to us, and ending with the men of our own time—no one has ever blamed injustice or praised justice except with a view to the glories, honours, and benefits which flow from them. No one has ever adequately described either in verse or prose the true essential nature of either of them abiding in the soul, and invisible to any human or divine eye; or shown that of all the things of a man’s soul which he has within him, justice is 367the greatest good, and injustice the greatest evil. Had this been the universal strain, had you sought to persuade us of this from our youth upwards, we should not have been on the watch to keep one another from doing wrong, but every one would have been his own watchman, because afraid, if he did wrong, of harbouring in himself the greatest of evils. I dare say that Thrasymachus and others would seriously hold the language which I have been merely repeating, and words even stronger than these about justice and injustice, grossly, as I conceive, perverting their true nature. But I speak in this vehement manner, as I must frankly confess to you, because I want to hear from you the opposite side; and I would ask you to show not only the superiority which justice has over injustice, but what effect they have on the possessor of them which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil to him. And please, as Glaucon requested of you, to exclude reputations; for unless you take away from each of them his true reputation and add on the false, we shall say that you do not praise justice, but the appearance of it; we shall think that you are only exhorting us to keep injustice dark, and that you really agree with Thrasymachus in thinking that justice is another’s good and the interest of the stronger, and that injustice is a man’s own profit and interest, though injurious to the weaker. Now as you have admitted that justice is one of that highest class of goods which are desired indeed for their results, but in a far greater degree for their own sakes—like sight or hearing or knowledge or health, or any other real and natural and not merely conventional good—I would ask you in your praise of justice to regard one point only; I mean the essential good and evil which justice and injustice work in the possessors of them. Let others praise justice and censure injustice, magnifying the rewards and honours of the one and abusing the other; that is a manner of arguing which, coming from them, I am ready to tolerate, but from you who have spent your whole life in the consideration of this question, unless I hear the contrary from your own lips, I expect something better. And therefore, I say, not only prove to us that justice is better than injustice, but show what they either of them do to the possessor of them, which makes the one to be a good and the other an evil, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

  I had always admired the genius of Glaucon and Adeimantus, but on hearing these words I was quite delighted, 368and said: Sons of an illustrious father, that was not a bad beginning of the Elegiac verses which the admirer of Glaucon made in honour of you after you had distinguished yourselves at the battle of Megara:—

  ‘Sons of Ariston,’ he sang, ‘divine offspring of an illustrious hero.’

  Glaucon and Adeimantus able to argue so well, but unconvinced by their own arguments.Socrates, Adeimantus.

  The epithet is very appropriate, for there is something truly divine in being able to argue as you have done for the superiority of injustice, and remaining unconvinced by your own arguments. And I do believe that you are not convinced—this I infer from your general character, for had I judged only from your speeches I should have mistrusted you. But now, the greater my confidence in you, the greater is my difficulty in knowing what to say. For I am in a strait between two; on the one hand I feel that I am unequal to the task; and my inability is brought home to me by the fact that you were not satisfied with the answer which I made to Thrasymachus, proving, as I thought, the superiority which justice has over injustice. And yet I cannot refuse to help, while breath and speech remain to me; I am afraid that there would be an impiety in being present when justice is evil spoken of and not lifting up a hand in her defence. And therefore I had best give such help as I can.

  The large letters.

  Glaucon and the rest entreated me by all means not to let the question drop, but to proceed in the investigation. They wanted to arrive at the truth, first, about the nature of justice and injustice, and secondly, about their relative advantages. I told them, what I really thought, that the enquiry would be of a serious nature, and would require very good eyes. Seeing then, I said, that we are no great wits, I think that we had better adopt a method which I may illustrate thus; suppose that a short-sighted person had been asked by some one to read small letters from a distance; and it occurred to some one else that they might be found in another place which was larger and in which the letters were larger—if they were the same and he could read the larger letters first, and then proceed to the lesser—this would have been thought a rare piece of good fortune.

  Very true, said Adeimantus; but how does the illustration apply to our enquiry?

  I will tell you, I replied; justice, which is the subject of our enquiry, is, as you know, sometimes spoken of as the virtue of an individual, and sometimes as the virtue of a State.

  True, he replied.

  And is not a State larger than an individual?

  It is.

  Justice to be seen in the State more easily than in the individual.

  Then in the larger the quantity of justice is likely to be larger and more easily discernible. I propose therefore that we enquire into the nature of justice and injustice, first as 369they appear in the State, and secondly in the individual, proceeding from the greater to the lesser and comparing them.

  That, he said, is an excellent proposal.

  And if we imagine the State in process of creation, we shall see the justice and injustice of the State in process of creation also.

  I dare say.

  When the State is completed there may be a hope that the object of our search will be more easily discovered.

  Yes, far more easily.

  But ought we to attempt to construct one? I said; for to do so, as I am inclined to think, will be a very serious task. Reflect therefore.

  I have reflected, said Adeimantus, and am anxious that you should proceed.

  The State arises out of the wants of men.

  A State, I said, arises, as I conceive, out of the needs of mankind; no one is self-sufficing, but all of us have many wants. Can any other origin of a State be imagined?

  There can be no other.

  Then, as we have many wants, and many persons are needed to supply them, one takes a helper for one purpose and another for another; and when these partners and helpers are gathered together in one habitation the body of inhabitants is termed a State.

  True, he said.

  And they exchange with one another, and one gives, and another receives, under the idea that the exchange will be for their good.

  Very true.

  Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention.

  Of course, he replied.

  The four or five greater needs of life, and the four or five kinds of citizens who correspond to them.

  Now the first and greatest of necessities is food, which is the condition of life and existence.

  Certainly.

  The second is a dwelling, and the third clothing and the like.

  True.

  And now let us see how our city will be able to supply this great demand: We may suppose that one man is a husbandman, another a builder, some one else a weaver—shall we add to them a shoemaker, or perhaps some other purveyor to our bodily wants?

  Quite right.

  The barest notion of a State must include four or five men.

  Clearly.

  The division of labour.

  And how will they proceed? Will each bring the result of his labours into a common stock?—the individual husbandman, for example, producing for four, and labouring four times as long and as much as he need in the provision of food with which he supplies others as well as himself; or will he have nothing to do with others and not be at the trouble of producing for them, but provide for himself alone 370a fourth of the food in a fourth of the time, and in the remaining three fourths of his time be employed in making a house or a coat or a pair of shoes, having no partnership with others, but supplying himself all his own wants?

  Adeimantus thought that he should aim at producing food only and not at producing everything.

  Probably, I replied, that would be the better way; and when I hear you say this, I am myself reminded that we are not all alike; there are diversities of natures among us which are adapted to different occupations.

  Very true.

  And will you have a work better done when the workman has many occupations, or when he has only one?

  When he has only one.

  Further, there can be no doubt that a work is spoilt when not done at the right time?

  No doubt.

  For business is not disposed to wait until the doer of the business is at leisure; but the doer must follow up what he is doing, and make the business his first object.

  He must.

  And if so, we must infer that all things are produced more plentifully and easily and of a better quality when one man does one thing which is natural to him and does it at the right time, and leaves other things.

  The first citizens are:—1. a husbandman,

  Undoubtedly.

  Then more than four citizens will be required; for the husbandman will not make his own plough or mattock, or other implements of agriculture, if they are to be good for anything. Neither will the builder make his tools—and he too needs many; and in like manner the weaver and shoemaker.

  True.

  2. a builder. 3. a weaver, 4. a shoemaker. To these must be added:—5. a carpenter, 6. a smith, etc., 7. merchants, 8. retailers.

  Then carpenters, and smiths, and many other artisans, will be sharers in our little State, which is already beginning to grow?

  True.

  Yet even if we add neatherds, shepherds, and other herdsmen, in order that our husbandmen may have oxen to plough with, and builders as well as husbandmen may have draught cattle, and curriers and weavers fleeces and hides,—still our State will not be very large.

  That is true; yet neither will it be a very small State which contains all these.

  Then, again, there is the situation of the city—to find a place where nothing need be imported is wellnigh impossible.

  Impossible.

  Then there must be another class of citizens who will bring the required supply from another city?

  There must.

  371But if the trader goes empty-handed, having nothing which they require who would supply his need, he will come back empty-handed.

  That is certain.

  And therefore what they produce at home must be not only enough for themselves, but such both in quantity and quality as to accommodate those from whom their wants are supplied.

  Very true.

  Then more husbandmen and more artisans will be required?

  They will.

  Not to mention the importers and exporters, who are called merchants?

  Yes.

  Then we shall want merchants?

  We shall.

  And if merchandise is to be carried over the sea, skilful sailors will also be needed, and in considerable numbers?

  Yes, in considerable numbers.

  Then, again, within the city, how will they exchange their productions? To secure such an exchange was, as you will remember, one of our principal objects when we formed them into a society and constituted a State.

  Clearly they will buy and sell.

  Then they will need a market-place, and a money-token for purposes of exchange.

  Certainly.

  The origin of retail trade.

  Suppose now that a husbandman, or an artisan, brings some production to market, and he comes at a time when there is no one to exchange with him,—is he to leave his calling and sit idle in the market-place?

  Not at all; he will find people there who, seeing the want, undertake the office of salesmen. In well-ordered states they are commonly those who are the weakest in bodily strength, and therefore of little use for any other purpose; their duty is to be in the market, and to give money in exchange for goods to those who desire to sell and to take money from those who desire to buy.

  This want, then, creates a class of retail-traders in our State. Is not ‘retailer’ the term which is applied to those who sit in the market-place engaged in buying and selling, while those who wander from one city to another are called merchants?

  Yes, he said.

  And there is another class of servants, who are intellectually hardly on the level of companionship; still they have plenty of bodily strength for labour, which accordingly they sell, and are called, if I do not mistake, hirelings, hire being the name which is given to the price of their labour.

  True.

  Then hirelings will help to make up our population?

  Yes.

  And now, Adeimantus, is our State matured and perfected?

  I think so.

  Where, then, is justice, and where is injustice, and in what part of the State did they spring up?

  372Probably in the dealings of these citizens with one another. I cannot imagine that they are more likely to be found any where else.

  I dare say that you are right in your suggestion, I said; we had better think the matter out, and not shrink from the enquiry.

  Socrates, Glaucon.A picture of primitive life.

  Let us then consider, first of all, what will be their way of life, now that we have thus established them. Will they not produce corn, and wine, and clothes, and shoes, and build houses for themselves? And when they are housed, they will work, in summer, commonly, stripped and barefoot, but in winter substantially clothed and shod. They will feed on barley-meal and flour of wheat, baking and kneading them, making noble cakes and loaves; these they will serve up on a mat of reeds or on clean leaves, themselves reclining the while upon beds strewn with yew or myrtle And they and their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made, wearing garlands on their heads, and hymning the praises of the gods, in happy converse with one another. And they will take care that their families do not exceed their means; having an eye to poverty or war.

  But, said Glaucon, interposing, you have not given them a relish to their meal.

  True, I replied, I had forgotten; of course they must have a relish—salt, and olives, and cheese, and they will boil roots and herbs such as country people prepare; for a dessert we shall give them figs, and peas, and beans; and they will roast myrtle-berries and acorns at the fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may be expected to live in peace and health to a good old age, and bequeath a similar life to their children after them.

  Yes, Socrates, he said, and if you were providing for a city of pigs, how else would you feed the beasts?

  But what would you have, Glaucon? I replied.

  Why, he said, you should give them the ordinary conveniences of life. People who are to be comfortable are accustomed to lie on sofas, and dine off tables, and they should have sauces and sweets in the modern style.

  A luxurious State must be called into existence,

  Yes, I said, now I understand: the question which you would have me consider is, not only how a State, but how a luxurious State is created; and possibly there is no harm in this for in such a State we shall be more likely to see how justice and injustice originate. In my opinion the true and healthy constitution of the State is the one which I have described. But if you wish also to see a State at fever-heat, I have no objection. For I suspect that many will not be 373satisfied with the simpler way of life. They will be for adding sofas, and tables, and other furniture; also dainties, and perfumes, and incense, and courtesans, and cakes, all these not of one sort only, but in every variety; we must go beyond the necessaries of which I was at first speaking, such as houses, and clothes, and shoes: the arts of the painter and the embroiderer will have to be set in motion, and gold and ivory and all sorts of materials must be procured.

  True, he said.

  and in this many new callings will be required.

  Then we must enlarge our borders; for the original healthy State is no longer sufficient. Now will the city have to fill and swell with a multitude of callings which are not required by any natural want; such as the whole tribe of hunters and actors, of whom one large class have to do with forms and colours; another will be the votaries of music—poets and their attendant train of rhapsodists, players, dancers, contractors; also makers of divers kinds of articles, including women’s dresses. And we shall want more servants. Will not tutors be also in request, and nurses wet and dry, tirewomen and barbers, as well as confectioners and cooks; and swineherds, too, who were not needed and therefore had no place in the former edition of our State, but are needed now? They must not be forgotten: and there will be animals of many other kinds, if people eat them.

  Certainly.

  And living in this way we shall have much greater need of physicians than before?

  Much greater.

  And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants will be too small now, and not enough?

  Quite true.

  The territory of our State must be enlarged; and hence will arise war between us and our neighbours.

  Then a slice of our neighbours’ land will be wanted by us for pasture and tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves, they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?

  That, Socrates, will be inevitable.

  And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?

  Most certainly, he replied.

  Then, without determining as yet whether war does good or harm, thus much we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived from causes which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States, private as well as public.

  Undoubtedly.

  And our State must once more enlarge; and this time the enlargement will be nothing short of a whole army, which 374will have to go out and fight with the invaders for all that we have, as well as for the things and persons whom we were describing above.

  Why? he said; are they not capable of defending themselves?

  War is an art, and as no art can be pursued with success unless a man’s whole attention is devoted to it, a soldier cannot be allowed to exercise any calling but his own.

  No, I said; not if we were right in the principle which was acknowledged by all of us when we were framing the State: the principle, as you will remember, was that one man cannot practise many arts with success.

  Very true, he said.

  But is not war an art?

  Certainly.

  And an art requiring as much attention as shoemaking?

  Quite true.

  The warrior’s art requires a long apprenticeship and many natural gifts.

  And the shoemaker was not allowed by us to be a husbandman, or a weaver, or a builder—in order that we might have our shoes well made; but to him and to every other worker was assigned one work for which he was by nature fitted, and at that he was to continue working all his life long and at no other; he was not to let opportunities slip, and then he would become a good workman. Now nothing can be more important than that the work of a soldier should be well done. But is war an art so easily acquired that a man may be a warrior who is also a husbandman, or shoemaker, or other artisan; although no one in the world would be a good dice or draught player who merely took up the game as a recreation, and had not from his earliest years devoted himself to this and nothing else? No tools will make a man a skilled workman, or master of defence, nor be of any use to him who has not learned how to handle them, and has never bestowed any attention upon them. How then will he who takes up a shield or other implement of war become a good fighter all in a day, whether with heavy-armed or any other kind of troops?

  Yes, he said, the tools which would teach men their own use would be beyond price.

  And the higher the duties of the guardian, I said, the more time, and skill, and art, and application will be needed by him?

  No doubt, he replied.

  Will he not also require natural aptitude for his calling?

  Certainly.

  The selection of guardians.

  Then it will be our duty to select, if we can, natures which are fitted for the task of guarding the city?

  It will.

  And the selection will be no easy matter, I said; but we must be brave and do our best.

  We must.

  375Is not the noble youth very like a well-bred dog in respect of guarding and watching?

  What do you mean?

  I mean that both of them ought to be quick to see, and swift to overtake the enemy when they see him; and strong too if, when they have caught him, they have to fight with him.

  All these qualities, he replied, will certainly be required by them.

  Well, and your guardian must be brave if he is to fight well?

  Certainly.

  And is he likely to be brave who has no spirit, whether horse or dog or any other animal? Have you never observed how invincible and unconquerable is spirit and how the presence of it makes the soul of any creature to be absolutely fearless and indomitable?

  I have.

  Then now we have a clear notion of the bodily qualities which are required in the guardian.

  True.

  And also of the mental ones; his soul is to be full of spirit?

  Yes.

  But are not these spirited natures apt to be savage with one another, and with everybody else?

  A difficulty by no means easy to overcome, he replied.

  Whereas, I said, they ought to be dangerous to their enemies, and gentle to their friends; if not, they will destroy themselves without waiting for their enemies to destroy them.

  True, he said.

  What is to be done then? I said; how shall we find a gentle nature which has also a great spirit, for the one is the contradiction of the other?

  True.

  The guardian must unite the opposite qualities of gentleness and spirit.

  He will not be a good guardian who is wanting in either of these two qualities; and yet the combination of them appears to be impossible; and hence we must infer that to be a good guardian is impossible.

  I am afraid that what you say is true, he replied.

  Here feeling perplexed I began to think over what had preceded.—My friend, I said, no wonder that we are in a perplexity; for we have lost sight of the image which we had before us.

  What do you mean? he said.

  I mean to say that there do exist natures gifted with those opposite qualities.

  And where do you find them?

  Such a combination may be observed in the dog.

  Many animals, I replied, furnish examples of them; our friend the dog is a very good one: you know that well-bred dogs are perfectly gentle to their familiars and acquaintances, and the reverse to strangers.

  Yes, I know.

  Then there is nothing impossible or out of the order of nature in our finding a guardian who has a similar combination of qualities?

  Certainly not.

  Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature, need to have the qualities of a philosopher?

  I do not apprehend your meaning.

  376The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen in the dog, and is remarkable in the animal.

  What trait?

  The dog distinguishes

  Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance, he welcomes him, although the one has never done him any harm, nor the other any good. Did this never strike you as curious?

  Socrates, Glaucon, Adeimantus.

  The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognise the truth of your remark.

  friend and enemy by the criterion of knowing and not knowing:

  And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming;—your dog is a true philosopher.

  Why?

  Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy only by the criterion of knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines what he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?

  Most assuredly.

  whereby he is shown to be a philosopher.

  And is not the love of learning the love of wisdom, which is philosophy?

  They are the same, he replied.

  And may we not say confidently of man also, that he who is likely to be gentle to his friends and acquaintances, must by nature be a lover of wisdom and knowledge?

  That we may safely affirm.

  Then he who is to be a really good and noble guardian of the State will require to unite in himself philosophy and spirit and swiftness and strength?

  Undoubtedly.

  How are our citizens to be reared and educated?

  Then we have found the desired natures; and now that we have found them, how are they to be reared and educated? Is not this an enquiry which may be expected to throw light on the greater enquiry which is our final end—How do justice and injustice grow up in States? for we do not want either to omit what is to the point or to draw out the argument to an inconvenient length.

  Adeimantus thought that the enquiry would be of great service to us.

  Then, I said, my dear friend, the task must not be given up, even if somewhat long.

  Certainly not.

  Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in story-telling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes.

  By all means.

  And what shall be their education? Can we find a better than the traditional sort?—and this has two divisions, gymnastic for the body, and music for the soul.

  Socrates, Adeimantus.

  True.

  Education divided into gymnastic for the body and music for the soul. Music includes literature, which may be true or false.

  Shall we begin education with music, and go on to gymnastic afterwards?

  By all means.

  And when you speak of music, do you include literature or not?

  I do.

  And literature may be either true or false?

  Yes.

  377And the young should be trained in both kinds, and we begin with the false?

  I do not understand your meaning, he said.

  You know, I said, that we begin by telling children stories which, though not wholly destitute of truth, are in the main fictitious; and these stories are told them when they are not of an age to learn gymnastics.

  Very true.

  That was my meaning when I said that we must teach music before gymnastics.

  Quite right, he said.

  The beginning the most important part of education.

  You know also that the beginning is the most important part of any work, especially in the case of a young and tender thing; for that is the time at which the character is being formed and the desired impression is more readily taken.

  Quite true.

  And shall we just carelessly allow children to hear any casual tales which may be devised by casual persons, and to receive into their minds ideas for the most part the very opposite of those which we should wish them to have when they are grown up?

  We cannot.

  Works of fiction to be placed under a censorship.

  Then the first thing will be to establish a censorship of the writers of fiction, and let the censors receive any tale of fiction which is good, and reject the bad; and we will desire mothers and nurses to tell their children the authorised ones only. Let them fashion the mind with such tales, even more fondly than they mould the body with their hands; but most of those which are now in use must be discarded.

  Of what tales are you speaking? he said.

  You may find a model of the lesser in the greater, I said; for they are necessarily of the same type, and there is the same spirit in both of them.

  Very likely, he replied; but I do not as yet know what you would term the greater.

  Homer and Hesiod are tellers of bad lies, that is to say, they give false representations of the gods.

  Those, I said, which are narrated by Homer and Hesiod, and the rest of the poets, who have ever been the great story-tellers of mankind.

  But which stories do you mean, he said; and what fault do you find with them?

  A fault which is most serious, I said; the fault of telling a lie, and, what is more, a bad lie.

  But when is this fault committed?

  Whenever an erroneous representation is made of the nature of gods and heroes,—as when a painter paints a portrait not having the shadow of a likeness to the original.

  Yes, he said, that sort of thing is certainly very blameable; but what are the stories which you mean?

  First of all, I said, there was that greatest of all lies in high places, which the poet told about Uranus, and which was a bad lie too,—I mean what Hesiod says that Uranus did, and 378how Cronus retaliated on him1 . The doings of Cronus, and the sufferings which in turn his son inflicted upon him, even if they were true, ought certainly not to be lightly told to young and thoughtless persons; if possible, they had better be buried in silence. But if there is an absolute necessity for their mention, a chosen few might hear them in a mystery, and they should sacrifice not a common [Eleusinian] pig, but some huge and unprocurable victim; and then the number of the hearers will be very few indeed.

  Why, yes, said he, those stories are extremely objectionable.

  which have a bad effect on the minds of youth.

  Yes, Adeimantus, they are stories not to be repeated in our State; the young man should not be told that in committing the worst of crimes he is far from doing anything outrageous; and that even if he chastises his father when he does wrong, in whatever manner, he will only be following the example of the first and greatest among the gods.

  I entirely agree with you, he said; in my opinion those stories are quite unfit to be repeated.

  The stories about the quarrels of the gods and their evil behaviour to one another are untrue.And allegorical interpretations of them are not understood by the young.

  Neither, if we mean our future guardians to regard the habit of quarrelling among themselves as of all things the basest, should any word be said to them of the wars in heaven, and of the plots and fightings of the gods against one another, for they are not true. No, we shall never mention the battles of the giants, or let them be embroidered on garments; and we shall be silent about the innumerable other quarrels of gods and heroes with their friends and relatives. If they would only believe us we would tell them that quarrelling is unholy, and that never up to this time has there been any quarrel between citizens; this is what old men and old women should begin by telling children; and when they grow up, the poets also should be told to compose for them in a similar spirit1 . But the narrative of Hephaestus binding Here his mother, or how on another occasion Zeus sent him flying for taking her part when she was being beaten, and all the battles of the gods in Homer—these tales must not be admitted into our State, whether they are supposed to have an allegorical meaning or not. For a young person cannot judge what is allegorical and what is literal; anything that he receives into his mind at that age is likely to become indelible and unalterable; and therefore it is most important that the tales which the young first hear should be models of virtuous thoughts.

  There you are right, he replied; but if any one asks where are such models to be found and of what tales are you speaking—how shall we answer him?

  379I said to him, You and I, Adeimantus, at this moment are not poets, but founders of a State: now the founders of a State ought to know the general forms in which poets should cast their tales, and the limits which must be observed by them, but to make the tales is not their business.

  Very true, he said; but what are these forms of theology which you mean?

  God is to be represented as he truly is.

  Something of this kind, I replied:—God is always to be represented as he truly is, whatever be the sort of poetry, epic, lyric or tragic, in which the representation is given.

  Right.

  And is he not truly good? and must he not be represented as such?

  Certainly.

  And no good thing is hurtful?

  No, indeed.

  And that which is not hurtful hurts not?

  Certainly not.

  And that which hurts not does no evil?

  No.

  And can that which does no evil be a cause of evil?

  Impossible.

  And the good is advantageous?

  Yes.

  And therefore the cause of well-being?

  Yes.

  It follows therefore that the good is not the cause of all things, but of the good only?

  Assuredly.

  God, if he be good, is the author of good only.

  Then God, if he be good, is not the author of all things, as the many assert, but he is the cause of a few things only, and not of most things that occur to men. For few are the goods of human life, and many are the evils, and the good is to be attributed to God alone; of the evils the causes are to be sought elsewhere, and not in him.

  That appears to me to be most true, he said.

  The fictions of the poets.

  Then we must not listen to Homer or to any other poet who is guilty of the folly of saying that two casks

  ‘Lie at the threshold of Zeus, full of lots, one of good, the other of evil lots1 ,’

  and that he to whom Zeus gives a mixture of the two

  ‘Sometimes meets with evil fortune, at other times with good;’

  but that he to whom is given the cup of unmingled ill,

  ‘Him wild hunger drives o’er the beauteous earth.’

  And again—

  ‘Zeus, who is the dispenser of good and evil to us.’

  And if any one asserts that the violation of oaths and treaties, which was really the work of Pandarus1 , was brought about by Athene and Zeus, or that the strife and contention of the gods was instigated by Themis and Zeus2 , he shall not have our approval; neither will we allow our young men to hear the words of Aeschylus, that

  380‘God plants guilt among men when he desires utterly to destroy a house.’

  Only that evil which is of the nature of punishment to be attributed to God.

  And if a poet writes of the sufferings of Niobe—the subject of the tragedy in which these iambic verses occur—or of the house of Pelops, or of the Trojan war or on any similar theme, either we must not permit him to say that these are the works of God, or if they are of God, he must devise some explanation of them such as we are seeking: he must say that God did what was just and right, and they were the better for being punished; but that those who are punished are miserable, and that God is the author of their misery—the poet is not to be permitted to say; though he may say that the wicked are miserable because they require to be punished, and are benefited by receiving punishment from God; but that God being good is the author of evil to any one is to be strenuously denied, and not to be said or sung or heard in verse or prose by any one whether old or young in any well-ordered commonwealth. Such a fiction is suicidal, ruinous, impious.

  I agree with you, he replied, and am ready to give my assent to the law.

  Let this then be one of our rules and principles concerning the gods, to which our poets and reciters will be expected to conform,—that God is not the author of all things, but of good only.

  That will do, he said.

  And what do you think of a second principle? Shall I ask you whether God is a magician, and of a nature to appear insidiously now in one shape, and now in another—sometimes himself changing and passing into many forms, sometimes deceiving us with the semblance of such transformations; or is he one and the same immutably fixed in his own proper image?

  I cannot answer you, he said, without more thought.

  Well, I said; but if we suppose a change in anything, that change must be effected either by the thing itself, or by some other thing?

  Things must be changed either by another or by themselves.

  Most certainly.

  And things which are at their best are also least liable to be altered or discomposed; for example, when healthiest and strongest, the human frame is least liable to be affected by meats and drinks, and the plant which is in the fullest vigour also suffers least from winds or the heat of the sun or any similar causes.

  Of course.

  381And will not the bravest and wisest soul be least confused or deranged by any external influence?

  True.

  And the same principle, as I should suppose, applies to all composite things—furniture, houses, garments: when good and well made, they are least altered by time and circumstances.

  Very true.

  Then everything which is good, whether made by art or nature, or both, is least liable to suffer change from without?

  True.

  But surely God and the things of God are in every way perfect?

  Of course they are.

  But God cannot be changed by other; and will not be changed by himself.

  Then he can hardly be compelled by external influence to take many shapes?

  He cannot.

  But may he not change and transform himself?

  Clearly, he said, that must be the case if he is changed at all.

  And will he then change himself for the better and fairer, or for the worse and more unsightly?

  If he change at all he can only change for the worse, for we cannot suppose him to be deficient either in virtue or beauty.

  Very true, Adeimantus; but then, would any one, whether God or man, desire to make himself worse?

  Impossible.

  Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change; being, as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable, every God remains absolutely and for ever in his own form.

  That necessarily follows, he said, in my judgment.

  Then, I said, my dear friend, let none of the poets tell us that

  ‘The gods, taking the disguise of strangers from other lands, walk up and down cities in all sorts of forms1 ;’

  and let no one slander Proteus and Thetis, neither let any one, either in tragedy or in any other kind of poetry, introduce Here disguised in the likeness of a priestess asking an alms

  ‘For the life-giving daughters of Inachus the river of Argos;’

  —let us have no more lies of that sort. Neither must we have mothers under the influence of the poets scaring their children with a bad version of these myths—telling how certain gods, as they say, ‘Go about by night in the likeness of so many strangers and in divers forms;’ but let them take heed lest they make cowards of their children, and at the same time speak blasphemy against the gods.

  Heaven forbid, he said.

  But although the gods are themselves unchangeable, still by witchcraft and deception they may make us think that they appear in various forms?

  Perhaps, he replied.

  Nor will he make any false representation of himself.

  Well, but can you imagine that God will be willing to lie, whether in word or deed, or to put forth a phantom of himself?

  382I cannot say, he replied.

  Do you not know, I said, that the true lie, if such an expression may be allowed, is hated of gods and men?

  What do you mean? he said.

  I mean that no one is willingly deceived in that which is the truest and highest part of himself, or about the truest and highest matters; there, above all, he is most afraid of a lie having possession of him.

  Still, he said, I do not comprehend you.

  The reason is, I replied, that you attribute some profound meaning to my words; but I am only saying that deception, or being deceived or uninformed about the highest realities in the highest part of themselves, which is the soul, and in that part of them to have and to hold the lie, is what mankind least like;—that, I say, is what they utterly detest.

  There is nothing more hateful to them.

  And, as I was just now remarking, this ignorance in the soul of him who is deceived may be called the true lie; for the lie in words is only a kind of imitation and shadowy image of a previous affection of the soul, not pure unadulterated falsehood. Am I not right?

  Perfectly right.

  The true lie is equally hated both by gods and men; the remedial or preventive lie is comparatively innocent, but God can have no need of it.

  The true lie is hated not only by the gods, but also by men?

  Yes.

  Whereas the lie in words is in certain cases useful and not hateful; in dealing with enemies—that would be an instance; or again, when those whom we call our friends in a fit of madness or illusion are going to do some harm, then it is useful and is a sort of medicine or preventive; also in the tales of mythology, of which we were just now speaking—because we do not know the truth about ancient times, we make falsehood as much like truth as we can, and so turn it to account.

  Very true, he said.

  But can any of these reasons apply to God? Can we suppose that he is ignorant of antiquity, and therefore has recourse to invention?

  That would be ridiculous, he said.

  Then the lying poet has no place in our idea of God?

  I should say not.

  Or perhaps he may tell a lie because he is afraid of enemies?

  That is inconceivable.

  But he may have friends who are senseless or mad?

  But no mad or senseless person can be a friend of God.

  Then no motive can be imagined why God should lie?

  None whatever.

  Then the superhuman and divine is absolutely incapable of falsehood?

  Yes.

  Then is God perfectly simple and true both in word and deed1 ; he changes not; he deceives not, either by sign or word, by dream or waking vision.

  383Your thoughts, he said, are the reflection of my own.

  You agree with me then, I said, that this is the second type or form in which we should write and speak about divine things. The gods are not magicians who transform themselves, neither do they deceive mankind in any way.

  I grant that.

  Away then with the falsehoods of the poets!

  Then, although we are admirers of Homer, we do not admire the lying dream which Zeus sends to Agamemnon; neither will we praise the verses of Aeschylus in which Thetis says that Apollo at her nuptials

  ‘Was celebrating in song her fair progeny whose days were to be long, and to know no sickness. And when he had spoken of my lot as in all things blessed of heaven he raised a note of triumph and cheered my soul. And I thought that the word of Phoebus, being divine and full of prophecy, would not fail. And now he himself who uttered the strain, he who was present at the banquet, and who said this—he it is who has slain my son2 .’

  These are the kind of sentiments about the gods which will arouse our anger; and he who utters them shall be refused a chorus; neither shall we allow teachers to make use of them in the instruction of the young, meaning, as we do, that our guardians, as far as men can be, should be true worshippers of the gods and like them.

  I entirely agree, he said, in these principles, and promise to make them my laws.

  BOOK III.

  Republic III.Socrates, AdeimantusThe discouraging lessons of mythology.

  386Such then, I said, are our principles of theology—some tales are to be told, and others are not to be told to our disciples from their youth upwards, if we mean them to honour the gods and their parents, and to value friendship with one another.

  Yes; and I think that our principles are right, he said.

  But if they are to be courageous, must they not learn other lessons besides these, and lessons of such a kind as will take away the fear of death? Can any man be courageous who has the fear of death in him?

  Certainly not, he said.

  And can he be fearless of death, or will he choose death in battle rather than defeat and slavery, who believes the world below to be real and terrible?

  Impossible.

  The description of the world below in Homer.

  Then we must assume a control over the narrators of this class of tales as well as over the others, and beg them not simply to revile, but rather to commend the world below, intimating to them that their descriptions are untrue, and will do harm to our future warriors.

  That will be our duty, he said.

  Then, I said, we shall have to obliterate many obnoxious passages, beginning with the verses,

  ‘I would rather be a serf on the land of a poor and portionless man than rule over all the dead who have come to nought1 .’

  We must also expunge the verse, which tells us how Pluto feared,

  ‘Lest the mansions grim and squalid which the gods abhor should be seen both of mortals and immortals2 .’

  And again:—

  ‘O heavens! verily in the house of Hades there is soul and ghostly form but no mind at all1 !’

  Again of Tiresias:—

  ‘[To him even after death did Persephone grant mind,] that he alone should be wise; but the other souls are flitting shades2 .’

  Again:—

  ‘The soul flying from the limbs had gone to Hades, lamenting her fate, leaving manhood and youth3 .’

  Again:—

  387‘And the soul, with shrilling cry, passed like smoke beneath the earth4 .’

  And,—

  ‘As bats in hollow of mystic cavern, whenever any of them has dropped out of the string and falls from the rock, fly shrilling and cling to one another, so did they with shrilling cry hold together as they moved5 .’

  Such tales to be rejected.

  And we must beg Homer and the other poets not to be angry if we strike out these and similar passages, not because they are unpoetical, or unattractive to the popular ear, but because the greater the poetical charm of them, the less are they meet for the ears of boys and men who are meant to be free, and who should fear slavery more than death.

  Undoubtedly.

  Also we shall have to reject all the terrible and appalling names which describe the world below—Cocytus and Styx, ghosts under the earth, and sapless shades, and any similar words of which the very mention causes a shudder to pass through the inmost soul of him who hears them. I do not say that these horrible stories may not have a use of some kind; but there is a danger that the nerves of our guardians may be rendered too excitable and effeminate by them.

  There is a real danger, he said.

  Then we must have no more of them.

  True.

  Another and a nobler strain must be composed and sung by us.

  Clearly.

  And shall we proceed to get rid of the weepings and wailings of famous men?

  The effeminate and pitiful strains of famous men, and yet more of the gods, must also be banished.

  They will go with the rest.

  But shall we be right in getting rid of them? Reflect: our principle is that the good man will not consider death terrible to any other good man who is his comrade.

  Yes; that is our principle.

  And therefore he will not sorrow for his departed friend as though he had suffered anything terrible?

  He will not.

  Such an one, as we further maintain, is sufficient for himself and his own happiness, and therefore is least in need of other men.

  True, he said.

  And for this reason the loss of a son or brother, or the deprivation of fortune, is to him of all men least terrible.

  Assuredly.

  And therefore he will be least likely to lament, and will bear with the greatest equanimity any misfortune of this sort which may befall him.

  Yes, he will feel such a misfortune far less than another.

  Then we shall be right in getting rid of the lamentations of famous men, and making them over to women (and not 388even to women who are good for anything), or to men of a baser sort, that those who are being educated by us to be the defenders of their country may scorn to do the like.

  That will be very right.

  Such are the laments of Achilles, and Priam,

  Then we will once more entreat Homer and the other poets not to depict Achilles1 , who is the son of a goddess, first lying on his side, then on his back, and then on his face; then starting up and sailing in a frenzy along the shores of the barren sea; now taking the sooty ashes in both his hands2 and pouring them over his head, or weeping and wailing in the various modes which Homer has delineated. Nor should he describe Priam the kinsman of the gods as praying and beseeching,

  ‘Rolling in the dirt, calling each man loudly by his name3 .’

  Still more earnestly will we beg of him at all events not to introduce the gods lamenting and saying,

  ‘Alas! my misery! Alas! that I bore the bravest to my sorrow1 .’

  and of Zeus when he beholds the fate of Hector or Sarpedon.

  But if he must introduce the gods, at any rate let him not dare so completely to misrepresent the greatest of the gods, as to make him say—

  ‘O heavens! with my eyes verily I behold a dear friend of mine chased round and round the city, and my heart is sorrowful2 .’

  Or again:—

  ‘Woe is me that I am fated to have Sarpedon, dearest of men to me, subdued at the hands of Patroclus the son of Menoetius3 .’

  For if, my sweet Adeimantus, our youth seriously listen to such unworthy representations of the gods, instead of laughing at them as they ought, hardly will any of them deem that he himself, being but a man, can be dishonoured by similar actions; neither will he rebuke any inclination which may arise in his mind to say and do the like. And instead of having any shame or self-control, he will be always whining and lamenting on slight occasions.

  Yes, he said, that is most true.

  Yes, I replied; but that surely is what ought not to be, as the argument has just proved to us; and by that proof we must abide until it is disproved by a better.

  It ought not to be.

  Neither are the guardians to be encouraged to laugh by the example of the gods.

  Neither ought our guardians to be given to laughter. For a fit of laughter which has been indulged to excess almost always produces a violent reaction.

  So I believe.

  Then persons of worth, even if only mortal men, must not be represented as overcome by laughter, and still less must such a representation of the gods be allowed.

  389Still less of the gods, as you say, he replied.

  Then we shall not suffer such an expression to be used about the gods as that of Homer when he describes how

  ‘Inextinguishable laughter arose among the blessed gods, when they saw Hephaestus bustling about the mansion4 .’

  On your views, we must not admit them.

  On my views, if you like to father them on me; that we must not admit them is certain.

  Our youth must be truthful,

  Again, truth should be highly valued; if, as we were saying, a lie is useless to the gods, and useful only as a medicine to men, then the use of such medicines should be restricted to physicians; private individuals have no business with them.

  Clearly not, he said.

  Then if any one at all is to have the privilege of lying, the rulers of the State should be the persons; and they, in their dealings either with enemies or with their own citizens, may be allowed to lie for the public good. But nobody else should meddle with anything of the kind; and although the rulers have this privilege, for a private man to lie to them in return is to be deemed a more heinous fault than for the patient or the pupil of a gymnasium not to speak the truth about his own bodily illnesses to the physician or to the trainer, or for a sailor not to tell the captain what is happening about the ship and the rest of the crew, and how things are going with himself or his fellow sailors.

  Most true, he said.

  If, then, the ruler catches anybody beside himself lying in the State,

  ‘Any of the craftsmen, whether he be priest or physician or carpenter1 ,’

  he will punish him for introducing a practice which is equally subversive and destructive of ship or State.

  Most certainly, he said, if our idea of the State is ever carried out2 .

  and also temperate.

  In the next place our youth must be temperate?

  Certainly.

  Are not the chief elements of temperance, speaking generally, obedience to commanders and self-control in sensual pleasures?

  True.

  Then we shall approve such language as that of Diomede in Homer,

  ‘Friend, sit still and obey my word3 ,’

  and the verses which follow,

  • ‘The Greeks marched breathing prowess1 ,
  • . . . . in silent awe of their leaders2 ,’

  and other sentiments of the same kind.

  We shall.

  What of this line,

  ‘O heavy with wine, who hast the eyes of a dog and the heart of a stag3 ,’

  390and of the words which follow? Would you say that these, or any similar impertinences which private individuals are supposed to address to their rulers, whether in verse or prose, are well or ill spoken?

  They are ill spoken.

  They may very possibly afford some amusement, but they do not conduce to temperance. And therefore they are likely to do harm to our young men—you would agree with me there?

  Yes.

  The praises of eating and drinking, and the tale of the improper behaviour of Zeus and Here, are not to be repeated to the young.

  And then, again, to make the wisest of men say that nothing in his opinion is more glorious than

  ‘When the tables are full of bread and meat, and the cup-bearer carries round wine which he draws from the bowl and pours into the cups4 ;’

  is it fit or conducive to temperance for a young man to hear such words? Or the verse

  ‘The saddest of fates is to die and meet destiny from hunger5 ’?

  What would you say again to the tale of Zeus, who, while other gods and men were asleep and he the only person awake, lay devising plans, but forgot them all in a moment through his lust, and was so completely overcome at the sight of Here that he would not even go into the hut, but wanted to lie with her on the ground, declaring that he had never been in such a state of rapture before, even when they first met one another

  ‘Without the knowledge of their parents6 ;’

  or that other tale of how Hephaestus, because of similar goings on, cast a chain around Ares and Aphrodite1 ?

  Indeed, he said, I am strongly of opinion that they ought not to hear that sort of thing.

  The indecent tale of Ares and Aphrodite.The opposite strain of endurance.

  But any deeds of endurance which are done or told by famous men, these they ought to see and hear; as, for example, what is said in the verses,

  • ‘He smote his breast, and thus reproached his heart,
  • Endure, my heart; far worse hast thou endured2 !’

  Certainly, he said.

  In the next place, we must not let them be receivers of gifts or lovers of money.

  Certainly not.

  Neither must we sing to them of

  ‘Gifts persuading gods, and persuading reverend kings3 .’

  Condemnation of Achilles and Phoenix.

  Neither is Phoenix, the tutor of Achilles, to be approved or deemed to have given his pupil good counsel when he told him that he should take the gifts of the Greeks and assist them4 ; but that without a gift he should not lay aside his anger. Neither will we believe or acknowledge Achilles himself to have been such a lover of money that he took Agamemnon’s gifts, or that when he had received payment he restored the dead body of Hector, but that without payment he was unwilling to do so5 .

  391Undoubtedly, he said, these are not sentiments which can be approved.

  Loving Homer as I do6 , I hardly like to say that in attributing these feelings to Achilles, or in believing that they are truly attributed to him, he is guilty of downright impiety. As little can I believe the narrative of his insolence to Apollo, where he says,

  ‘Thou hast wronged me, O far-darter, most abominable of deities. Verily I would be even with thee, if I had only the power7 ;’

  The impious behaviour of Achilles to Apollo and the river-gods; his cruelty.

  or his insubordination to the river-god8 , on whose divinity he is ready to lay hands; or his offering to the dead Patroclus of his own hair1 , which had been previously dedicated to the other river-god Spercheius, and that he actually performed this vow; or that he dragged Hector round the tomb of Patroclus2 , and slaughtered the captives at the pyre3 ; of all this I cannot believe that he was guilty, any more than I can allow our citizens to believe that he, the wise Cheiron’s pupil, the son of a goddess and of Peleus who was the gentlest of men and third in descent from Zeus, was so disordered in his wits as to be at one time the slave of two seemingly inconsistent passions, meanness, not untainted by avarice, combined with overweening contempt of gods and men.

  You are quite right, he replied.

  The tale of Theseus and Peirithous.

  And let us equally refuse to believe, or allow to be repeated, the tale of Theseus son of Poseidon, or of Peirithous son of Zeus, going forth as they did to perpetrate a horrid rape; or of any other hero or son of a god daring to do such impious and dreadful things as they falsely ascribe to them in our day: and let us further compel the poets to declare either that these acts were not done by them, or that they were not the sons of gods;—both in the same breath they shall not be permitted to affirm. We will not have them trying to persuade our youth that the gods are the authors of evil, and that heroes are no better than men—sentiments which, as we were saying, are neither pious nor true, for we have already proved that evil cannot come from the gods.

  Assuredly not.

  The bad effect of these mythological tales upon the young.

  And further they are likely to have a bad effect on those who hear them; for everybody will begin to excuse his own vices when he is convinced that similar wickednesses are always being perpetrated by—

  ‘The kindred of the gods, the relatives of Zeus, whose ancestral altar, the altar of Zeus, is aloft in air on the peak of Ida,’

  and who have

  ‘the blood of deities yet flowing in their veins4 .’

  And therefore let us put an end to such tales, lest they 392engender laxity of morals among the young.

  By all means, he replied.

  But now that we are determining what classes of subjects are or are not to be spoken of, let us see whether any have been omitted by us. The manner in which gods and demigods and heroes and the world below should be treated has been already laid down.

  Very true.

  Misstatements of the poets about men.

  And what shall we say about men? That is clearly the remaining portion of our subject.

  Clearly so.

  But we are not in a condition to answer this question at present, my friend.

  Why not?

  Because, if I am not mistaken, we shall have to say that about men poets and story-tellers are guilty of making the gravest misstatements when they tell us that wicked men are often happy, and the good miserable; and that injustice is profitable when undetected, but that justice is a man’s own loss and another’s gain—these things we shall forbid them to utter, and command them to sing and say the opposite.

  To be sure we shall, he replied.

  But if you admit that I am right in this, then I shall maintain that you have implied the principle for which we have been all along contending.

  I grant the truth of your inference.

  That such things are or are not to be said about men is a question which we cannot determine until we have discovered what justice is, and how naturally advantageous to the possessor, whether he seem to be just or not.

  Most true, he said.

  Enough of the subjects of poetry: let us now speak of the style; and when this has been considered, both matter and manner will have been completely treated.

  I do not understand what you mean, said Adeimantus.

  Then I must make you understand; and perhaps I may be more intelligible if I put the matter in this way. You are aware, I suppose, that all mythology and poetry is a narration of events, either past, present, or to come?

  Certainly, he replied.

  And narration may be either simple narration, or imitation, or a union of the two?

  That again, he said, I do not quite understand.

  Analysis of the dramatic element in Epic poetry.

  I fear that I must be a ridiculous teacher when I have so much difficulty in making myself apprehended. Like a bad speaker, therefore, I will not take the whole of the subject, but will break a piece off in illustration of my meaning. You know the first lines of the Iliad, in which the poet says that 393Chryses prayed Agamemnon to release his daughter, and that Agamemnon flew into a passion with him; whereupon Chryses, failing of his object, invoked the anger of the God against the Achaeans. Now as far as these lines,

  ‘And he prayed all the Greeks, but especially the two sons of Atreus, the chiefs of the people,’

  the poet is speaking in his own person; he never leads us to suppose that he is any one else. But in what follows he takes the person of Chryses, and then he does all that he can to make us believe that the speaker is not Homer, but the aged priest himself. And in this double form he has cast the entire narrative of the events which occurred at Troy and in Ithaca and throughout the Odyssey.

  Yes.

  And a narrative it remains both in the speeches which the poet recites from time to time and in the intermediate passages?

  Quite true.

  Epic poetry has an element of imitation in the speeches; the rest is simple narrative.

  But when the poet speaks in the person of another, may we not say that he assimilates his style to that of the person who, as he informs you, is going to speak?

  Certainly.

  And this assimiliation of himself to another, either by the use of voice or gesture, is the imitation of the person whose character he assumes?

  Of course.

  Then in this case the narrative of the poet may be said to proceed by way of imitation?

  Illustrations from the beginning of the Iliad.

  Very true.

  Or, if the poet everywhere appears and never conceals himself, then again the imitation is dropped, and his poetry becomes simple narration. However, in order that I may make my meaning quite clear, and that you may no more say, ‘I don’t understand,’ I will show how the change might be effected. If Homer had said, ‘The priest came, having his daughter’s ransom in his hands, supplicating the Achaeans, and above all the kings;’ and then if, instead of speaking in the person of Chryses, he had continued in his own person, the words would have been, not imitation, but simple narration. The passage would have run as follows (I am no poet, and therefore I drop the metre), ‘The priest came and prayed the gods on behalf of the Greeks that they might capture Troy and return safely home, but begged that they would give him back his daughter, and take the ransom which he brought, and respect the God. Thus he spoke, and the other Greeks revered the priest and assented. But Agamemnon was wroth, and bade him depart and not come again, lest the staff and chaplets of the God should be of no avail to him—the daughter of Chryses should not be released, he said—she should grow old with him in Argos. And then he told him to go away and not to provoke him, if he intended to get home unscathed. And the old man went away in 394fear and silence, and, when he had left the camp, he called upon Apollo by his many names, reminding him of everything which he had done pleasing to him, whether in building his temples, or in offering sacrifice, and praying that his good deeds might be returned to him, and that the Achaeans might expiate his tears by the arrows of the god,’—and so on. In this way the whole becomes simple narrative.

  I understand, he said.

  Tragedy and Comedy are wholly imitative; dithyrambic and some other kinds of poetry are devoid of imitation. Epic poetry is a combination of the two.

  Or you may suppose the opposite case—that the intermediate passages are omitted, and the dialogue only left.

  That also, he said, I understand; you mean, for example, as in tragedy.

  You have conceived my meaning perfectly; and if I mistake not, what you failed to apprehend before is now made clear to you, that poetry and mythology are, in some cases, wholly imitative—instances of this are supplied by tragedy and comedy; there is likewise the opposite style, in which the poet is the only speaker—of this the dithyramb affords the best example; and the combination of both is found in epic, and in several other styles of poetry. Do I take you with me?

  Yes, he said; I see now what you meant.

  I will ask you to remember also what I began by saying, that we had done with the subject and might proceed to the style.

  Yes, I remember.

  In saying this, I intended to imply that we must come to an understanding about the mimetic art,—whether the poets, in narrating their stories, are to be allowed by us to imitate, and if so, whether in whole or in part, and if the latter, in what parts; or should all imitation be prohibited?

  You mean, I suspect, to ask whether tragedy and comedy shall be admitted into our State?

  A hint about Homer (cp. infra, bk. x.)

  Yes, I said; but there may be more than this in question: I really do not know as yet, but whither the argument may blow, thither we go.

  And go we will, he said.

  Our guardians ought not to be imitators, for one man can only do one thing well;

  Then, Adeimantus, let me ask you whether our guardians ought to be imitators; or rather, has not this question been decided by the rule already laid down that one man can only do one thing well, and not many; and that if he attempt many, he will altogether fail of gaining much reputation in any?

  Certainly.

  And this is equally true of imitation; no one man can imitate many things as well as he would imitate a single one?

  He cannot.

  395Then the same person will hardly be able to play a serious part in life, and at the same time to be an imitator and imitate many other parts as well; for even when two species of imitation are nearly allied, the same persons cannot succeed in both, as, for example, the writers of tragedy and comedy—did you not just now call them imitations?

  Yes, I did; and you are right in thinking that the same persons cannot succeed in both.

  Any more than they can be rhapsodists and actors at once?

  True.

  Neither are comic and tragic actors the same; yet all these things are but imitations.

  They are so.

  And human nature, Adeimantus, appears to have been coined into yet smaller pieces, and to be as incapable of imitating many things well, as of performing well the actions of which the imitations are copies.

  Quite true, he replied.

  he cannot even imitate many things.

  If then we adhere to our original notion and bear in mind that our guardians, setting aside every other business, are to dedicate themselves wholly to the maintenance of freedom in the State, making this their craft, and engaging in no work which does not bear on this end, they ought not to practise or imitate anything else; if they imitate at all, they should imitate from youth upward only those characters which are suitable to their profession—the courageous, temperate, holy, free, and the like; but they should not depict or be skilful at imitating any kind of illiberality or baseness, lest from imitation they should come to be what they imitate. Did you never observe how imitations, beginning in early youth and continuing far into life, at length grow into habits and become a second nature, affecting body, voice, and mind?

  Yes, certainly, he said.

  Imitations which are of the degrading sort.

  Then, I said, we will not allow those for whom we profess a care and of whom we say that they ought to be good men, to imitate a woman, whether young or old, quarrelling with her husband, or striving and vaunting against the gods in conceit of her happiness, or when she is in affliction, or sorrow, or weeping; and certainly not one who is in sickness, love, or labour.

  Very right, he said.

  Neither must they represent slaves, male or female, performing the offices of slaves?

  They must not.

  And surely not bad men, whether cowards or any others, who do the reverse of what we have just been prescribing, who scold or mock or revile one another in drink or out of drink, or who in any other manner sin against themselves and their neighbours in word or deed, as the manner of such 396is. Neither should they be trained to imitate the action or speech of men or women who are mad or bad; for madness, like vice, is to be known but not to be practised or imitated.

  Very true, he replied.

  Neither may they imitate smiths or other artificers, or oarsmen, or boatswains, or the like?

  How can they, he said, when they are not allowed to apply their minds to the callings of any of these?

  Nor may they imitate the neighing of horses, the bellowing of bulls, the murmur of rivers and roll of the ocean, thunder, and all that sort of thing?

  Nay, he said, if madness be forbidden, neither may they copy the behaviour of madmen.

  You mean, I said, if I understand you aright, that there is one sort of narrative style which may be employed by a truly good man when he has anything to say, and that another sort will be used by a man of an opposite character and education.

  And which are these two sorts? he asked.

  Imitations which may be encouraged.

  Suppose, I answered, that a just and good man in the course of a narration comes on some saying or action of another good man,—I should imagine that he will like to personate him, and will not be ashamed of this sort of imitation: he will be most ready to play the part of the good man when he is acting firmly and wisely; in a less degree when he is overtaken by illness or love or drink, or has met with any other disaster. But when he comes to a character which is unworthy of him, he will not make a study of that; he will disdain such a person, and will assume his likeness, if at all, for a moment only when he is performing some good action; at other times he will be ashamed to play a part which he has never practised, nor will he like to fashion and frame himself after the baser models; he feels the employment of such an art, unless in jest, to be beneath him, and his mind revolts at it.

  So I should expect, he replied.

  Then he will adopt a mode of narration such as we have illustrated out of Homer, that is to say, his style will be both imitative and narrative; but there will be very little of the former, and a great deal of the latter. Do you agree?

  Certainly, he said; that is the model which such a speaker 397must necessarily take.

  Imitations which are to be prohibited.

  But there is another sort of character who will narrate anything, and, the worse he is, the more unscrupulous he will be; nothing will be too bad for him: and he will be ready to imitate anything, not as a joke, but in right good earnest, and before a large company. As I was just now saying, he will attempt to represent the roll of thunder, the noise of wind and hail, or the creaking of wheels, and pulleys, and the various sounds of flutes, pipes, trumpets, and all sorts of instruments: he will bark like a dog, bleat like a sheep, or crow like a cock; his entire art will consist in imitation of voice and gesture, and there will be very little narration.

  That, he said, will be his mode of speaking.

  These, then, are the two kinds of style?

  Yes.

  Two kinds of style—the one simple, the other multiplex. There is also a third which is a combination of the two.

  And you would agree with me in saying that one of them is simple and has but slight changes; and if the harmony and rhythm are also chosen for their simplicity, the result is that the speaker, if he speaks correctly, is always pretty much the same in style, and he will keep within the limits of a single harmony (for the changes are not great), and in like manner he will make use of nearly the same rhythm?

  That is quite true, he said.

  Whereas the other requires all sorts of harmonies and all sorts of rhythms, if the music and the style are to correspond, because the style has all sorts of changes.

  That is also perfectly true, he replied.

  And do not the two styles, or the mixture of the two, comprehend all poetry, and every form of expression in words? No one can say anything except in one or other of them or in both together.

  They include all, he said.

  The simple style alone is to be admitted in the State; the attractions of the mixed style are acknowledged, but it appears to be excluded.

  And shall we receive into our State all the three styles, or one only of the two unmixed styles? or would you include the mixed?

  I should prefer only to admit the pure imitator of virtue.

  Yes, I said, Adeimantus; but the mixed style is also very charming: and indeed the pantomimic, which is the opposite of the one chosen by you, is the most popular style with children and their attendants, and with the world in general.

  I do not deny it.

  But I suppose you would argue that such a style is unsuitable to our State, in which human nature is not twofold or manifold, for one man plays one part only?

  Yes; quite unsuitable.

  Socrates, Adeimantus, Glaucon.

  And this is the reason why in our State, and in our State only, we shall find a shoemaker to be a shoemaker and not a pilot also, and a husbandman to be a husbandman and not a dicast also, and a soldier a soldier and not a trader also, and the same throughout?

  True, he said.

  The pantomimic artist is to receive great honours, but he is to be sent out of the country.

  398And therefore when any one of these pantomimic gentlemen, who are so clever that they can imitate anything, comes to us, and makes a proposal to exhibit himself and his poetry, we will fall down and worship him as a sweet and holy and wonderful being; but we must also inform him that in our State such as he are not permitted to exist; the law will not allow them. And so when we have anointed him with myrrh, and set a garland of wool upon his head, we shall send him away to another city. For we mean to employ for our souls’ health the rougher and severer poet or story-teller, who will imitate the style of the virtuous only, and will follow those models which we prescribed at first when we began the education of our soldiers.

  We certainly will, he said, if we have the power.

  Then now, my friend, I said, that part of music or literary education which relates to the story or myth may be considered to be finished; for the matter and manner have both been discussed.

  I think so too, he said.

  Next in order will follow melody and song.

  That is obvious.

  Every one can see already what we ought to say about them, if we are to be consistent with ourselves.

  I fear, said Glaucon, laughing, that the word ‘every one’ hardly includes me, for I cannot at the moment say what they should be; though I may guess.

  At any rate you can tell that a song or ode has three parts—the words, the melody, and the rhythm; that degree of knowledge I may presuppose?

  Yes, he said; so much as that you may.

  And as for the words, there will surely be no difference between words which are and which are not set to music; both will conform to the same laws, and these have been already determined by us?

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  Yes.

  Melody and rhythm.

  And the melody and rhythm will depend upon the words?

  Certainly.

  We were saying, when we spoke of the subject-matter, that we had no need of lamentation and strains of sorrow?

  True.

  And which are the harmonies expressive of sorrow? You are musical, and can tell me.

  The harmonies which you mean are the mixed or tenor Lydian, and the full-toned or bass Lydian, and such like.

  These then, I said, must be banished; even to women who have a character to maintain they are of no use, and much less to men.

  Certainly.

  In the next place, drunkenness and softness and indolence are utterly unbecoming the character of our guardians.

  Utterly unbecoming.

  The relaxed melodies or harmonies are the Ionian and the Lydian. These are to be banished.

  And which are the soft or drinking harmonies?

  399The Ionian, he replied, and the Lydian; they are termed ‘relaxed.’

  Well, and are these of any military use?

  Quite the reverse, he replied; and if so the Dorian and the Phrygian are the only ones which you have left.

  I answered: Of the harmonies I know nothing, but I want to have one warlike, to sound the note or accent which a brave man utters in the hour of danger and stern resolve, or when his cause is failing, and he is going to wounds or death or is overtaken by some other evil, and at every such crisis meets the blows of fortune with firm step and a determination to endure; and another to be used by him in times of peace and freedom of action, when there is no pressure of necessity, and he is seeking to persuade God by prayer, or man by instruction and admonition, or on the other hand, when he is expressing his willingness to yield to persuasion or entreaty or admonition, and which represents him when by prudent conduct he has attained his end, not carried away by his success, but acting moderately and wisely under the circumstances, and acquiescing in the event. These two harmonies I ask you to leave; the strain of necessity and the strain of freedom, the strain of the unfortunate and the strain of the fortunate, the strain of courage, and the strain of temperance; these, I say, leave.

  And these, he replied, are the Dorian and Phrygian harmonies of which I was just now speaking.

  The Dorian and Phrygian are to be retained.

  Then, I said, if these and these only are to be used in our songs and melodies, we shall not want multiplicity of notes or a panharmonic scale?

  I suppose not.

  Then we shall not maintain the artificers of lyres with three corners and complex scales, or the makers of any other many-stringed curiously-harmonised instruments?

  Certainly not.

  Musical instruments—which are to be rejected and which allowed?

  But what do you say to flute-makers and flute-players? Would you admit them into our State when you reflect that in this composite use of harmony the flute is worse than all the stringed instruments put together; even the panharmonic music is only an imitation of the flute?

  Clearly not.

  There remain then only the lyre and the harp for use in the city, and the shepherds may have a pipe in the country.

  That is surely the conclusion to be drawn from the argument.

  The preferring of Apollo and his instruments to Marsyas and his instruments is not at all strange, I said.

  Not at all, he replied.

  And so, by the dog of Egypt, we have been unconsciously purging the State, which not long ago we termed luxurious.

  And we have done wisely, he replied.

  Then let us now finish the purgation, I said. Next in order to harmonies, rhythms will naturally follow, and they should be subject to the same rules, for we ought not to seek out complex systems of metre, or metres of every kind, but rather to discover what rhythms are the expressions of a courageous 400and harmonious life; and when we have found them, we shall adapt the foot and the melody to words having a like spirit, not the words to the foot and melody. To say what these rhythms are will be your duty—you must teach me them, as you have already taught me the harmonies.

  Three kinds of rhythm as there are four notes of the tetrachord.

  But, indeed, he replied, I cannot tell you. I only know that there are some three principles of rhythm out of which metrical systems are framed, just as in sounds there are four notes1 out of which all the harmonies are composed; that is an observation which I have made. But of what sort of lives they are severally the imitations I am unable to say.

  Then, I said, we must take Damon into our counsels; and he will tell us what rhythms are expressive of meanness, or insolence, or fury, or other unworthiness, and what are to be reserved for the expression of opposite feelings. And I think that I have an indistinct recollection of his mentioning a complex Cretic rhythm; also a dactylic or heroic, and he arranged them in some manner which I do not quite understand, making the rhythms equal in the rise and fall of the foot, long and short alternating; and, unless I am mistaken, he spoke of an iambic as well as of a trochaic rhythm, and assigned to them short and long quantities2 . Also in some cases he appeared to praise or censure the movement of the foot quite as much as the rhythm; or perhaps a combination of the two; for I am not certain what he meant. These matters, however, as I was saying, had better be referred to Damon himself, for the analysis of the subject would be difficult, you know?

  Rather so, I should say.

  But there is no difficulty in seeing that grace or the absence of grace is an effect of good or bad rhythm.

  None at all.

  Rhythm and harmony follow style, and style is the expression of the soul.

  And also that good and bad rhythm naturally assimilate to a good and bad style; and that harmony and discord in like manner follow style; for our principle is that rhythm and harmony are regulated by the words, and not the words by them.

  Just so, he said, they should follow the words.

  And will not the words and the character of the style depend on the temper of the soul?

  Yes.

  And everything else on the style?

  Yes.

  Simplicity the great first principle;

  Then beauty of style and harmony and grace and good rhythm depend on simplicity,—I mean the true simplicity of a rightly and nobly ordered mind and character, not that other simplicity which is only an euphemism for folly?

  Very true, he replied.

  And if our youth are to do their work in life, must they not make these graces and harmonies their perpetual aim?

  They must.

  and a principle which is widely spread in nature and art.

  401And surely the art of the painter and every other creative and constructive art are full of them,—weaving, embroidery, architecture, and every kind of manufacture; also nature, animal and vegetable,—in all of them there is grace or the absence of grace. And ugliness and discord and inharmonious motion are nearly allied to ill words and ill nature, as grace and harmony are the twin sisters of goodness and virtue and bear their likeness.

  That is quite true, he said.

  Our citizens must grow up to manhood amidst impressions of grace and beauty only; all ugliness and vice must be excluded.

  But shall our superintendence go no further, and are the poets only to be required by us to express the image of the good in their works, on pain, if they do anything else, of expulsion from our State? Or is the same control to be extended to other artists, and are they also to be prohibited from exhibiting the opposite forms of vice and intemperance and meanness and indecency in sculpture and building and the other creative arts; and is he who cannot conform to this rule of ours to be prevented from practising his art in our State, lest the taste of our citizens be corrupted by him? We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason.

  There can be no nobler training than that, he replied.

  The power of imparting grace is possessed by harmony.

  And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, 402and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar.

  Yes, he said, I quite agree with you in thinking that our youth should be trained in music and on the grounds which you mention.

  Just as in learning to read, I said, we were satisfied when we knew the letters of the alphabet, which are very few, in all their recurring sizes and combinations; not slighting them as unimportant whether they occupy a space large or small, but everywhere eager to make them out; and not thinking ourselves perfect in the art of reading until we recognise them wherever they are found1 :

  True—

  Or, as we recognise the reflection of letters in the water, or in a mirror, only when we know the letters themselves; the same art and study giving us the knowledge of both:

  Exactly—

  The true musician must know the essential forms of virtue and vice.

  Even so, as I maintain, neither we nor our guardians, whom we have to educate, can ever become musical until we and they know the essential forms of temperance, courage, liberality, magnificence, and their kindred, as well as the contrary forms, in all their combinations, and can recognise them and their images wherever they are found, not slighting them either in small things or great, but believing them all to be within the sphere of one art and study.

  Most assuredly.

  The harmony of soul and body the fairest of sights.

  And when a beautiful soul harmonizes with a beautiful form, and the two are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye to see it?

  The fairest indeed.

  And the fairest is also the loveliest?

  That may be assumed.

  And the man who has the spirit of harmony will be most in love with the loveliest; but he will not love him who is of an inharmonious soul?

  The true lover will not mind defects of the person.

  That is true, he replied, if the deficiency be in his soul; but if there be any merely bodily defect in another he will be patient of it, and will love all the same.

  I perceive, I said, that you have or have had experiences of this sort, and I agree. But let me ask you another question: Has excess of pleasure any affinity to temperance?

  How can that be? he replied; pleasure deprives a man of the use of his faculties quite as much as pain.

  Or any affinity to virtue in general?

  403None whatever.

  Any affinity to wantonness and intemperance?

  Yes, the greatest.

  And is there any greater or keener pleasure than that of sensual love?

  No, nor a madder.

  True love is temperate and harmonious.

  Whereas true love is a love of beauty and order—temperate and harmonious?

  Quite true, he said.

  Then no intemperance or madness should be allowed to approach true love?

  Certainly not.

  True love is free from sensuality and coarseness.

  Then mad or intemperate pleasure must never be allowed to come near the lover and his beloved; neither of them can have any part in it if their love is of the right sort?

  No, indeed, Socrates, it must never come near them.

  Then I suppose that in the city which we are founding you would make a law to the effect that a friend should use no other familiarity to his love than a father would use to his son, and then only for a noble purpose, and he must first have the other’s consent; and this rule is to limit him in all his intercourse, and he is never to be seen going further, or, if he exceeds, he is to be deemed guilty of coarseness and bad taste.

  I quite agree, he said.

  Thus much of music, which makes a fair ending; for what should be the end of music if not the love of beauty?

  I agree, he said.

  Gymnastic.

  After music comes gymnastic, in which our youth are next to be trained.

  Certainly.

  Gymnastic as well as music should begin in early years; the training in it should be careful and should continue through life. Now my belief is,—and this is a matter upon which I should like to have your opinion in confirmation of my own, but my own belief is,—not that the good body by any bodily excellence improves the soul, but, on the contrary, that the good soul, by her own excellence, improves the body as far as this may be possible. What do you say?

  Yes, I agree.

  The body to be entrusted to the mind.

  Then, to the mind when adequately trained, we shall be right in handing over the more particular care of the body; and in order to avoid prolixity we will now only give the general outlines of the subject.

  Very good.

  That they must abstain from intoxication has been already remarked by us; for of all persons a guardian should be the last to get drunk and not know where in the world he is.

  Yes, he said; that a guardian should require another guardian to take care of him is ridiculous indeed.

  But next, what shall we say of their food; for the men are in training for the great contest of all—are they not?

  Yes, he said.

  404And will the habit of body of our ordinary athletes be suited to them?

  Why not?

  The usual training of athletes too gross and sleepy.

  I am afraid, I said, that a habit of body such as they have is but a sleepy sort of thing, and rather perilous to health. Do you not observe that these athletes sleep away their lives, and are liable to most dangerous illnesses if they depart, in ever so slight a degree, from their customary regimen?

  Yes, I do.

  Then, I said, a finer sort of training will be required for our warrior athletes, who are to be like wakeful dogs, and to see and hear with the utmost keenness; amid the many changes of water and also of food, of summer heat and winter cold, which they will have to endure when on a campaign, they must not be liable to break down in health.

  That is my view.

  The really excellent gymnastic is twin sister of that simple music which we were just now describing.

  How so?

  Military gymnastic.

  Why, I conceive that there is a gymnastic which, like our music, is simple and good; and especially the military gymnastic.

  What do you mean?

  My meaning may be learned from Homer; he, you know, feeds his heroes at their feasts, when they are campaigning, on soldiers’ fare; they have no fish, although they are on the shores of the Hellespont, and they are not allowed boiled meats but only roast, which is the food most convenient for soldiers, requiring only that they should light a fire, and not involving the trouble of carrying about pots and pans.

  True.

  And I can hardly be mistaken in saying that sweet sauces are nowhere mentioned in Homer. In proscribing them, however, he is not singular; all professional athletes are well aware that a man who is to be in good condition should take nothing of the kind.

  Yes, he said; and knowing this, they are quite right in not taking them.

  Syracusan dinners and Corinthian courtezans are prohibited.

  Then you would not approve of Syracusan dinners, and the refinements of Sicilian cookery?

  I think not.

  Nor, if a man is to be in condition, would you allow him to have a Corinthian girl as his fair friend?

  Certainly not.

  Neither would you approve of the delicacies, as they are thought, of Athenian confectionary?

  Certainly not.

  The luxurious style of living may be justly compared to the panharmonic strain of music.

  All such feeding and living may be rightly compared by us to melody and song composed in the panharmonic style, and in all the rhythms.

  Exactly.

  There complexity engendered licence, and here disease; whereas simplicity in music was the parent of temperance in the soul; and simplicity in gymnastic of health in the body.

  Most true, he said.

  405But when intemperance and diseases multiply in a State, halls of justice and medicine are always being opened; and the arts of the doctor and the lawyer give themselves airs, finding how keen is the interest which not only the slaves but the freemen of a city take about them.

  Of course.

  Every man should be his own doctor and lawyer.

  And yet what greater proof can there be of a bad and disgraceful state of education than this, that not only artisans and the meaner sort of people need the skill of first-rate physicians and judges, but also those who would profess to have had a liberal education? Is it not disgraceful, and a great sign of the want of good-breeding, that a man should have to go abroad for his law and physic because he has none of his own at home, and must therefore surrender himself into the hands of other men whom he makes lords and judges over him?

  Of all things, he said, the most disgraceful.

  Bad as it is to go to law, it is still worse to be a lover of litigation.

  Would you say ‘most,’ I replied, when you consider that there is a further stage of the evil in which a man is not only a life-long litigant, passing all his days in the courts, either as plaintiff or defendant, but is actually led by his bad taste to pride himself on his litigiousness; he imagines that he is a master in dishonesty; able to take every crooked turn, and wriggle into and out of every hole, bending like a withy and getting out of the way of justice: and all for what?—in order to gain small points not worth mentioning, he not knowing that so to order his life as to be able to do without a napping judge is a far higher and nobler sort of thing. Is not that still more disgraceful?

  Yes, he said, that is still more disgraceful.

  Bad also to require the help of medicine.

  Well, I said, and to require the help of medicine, not when a wound has to be cured, or on occasion of an epidemic, but just because, by indolence and a habit of life such as we have been describing, men fill themselves with waters and winds, as if their bodies were a marsh, compelling the ingenious sons of Asclepius to find more names for diseases, such as flatulence and catarrh; is not this, too, a disgrace?

  Yes, he said, they do certainly give very strange and newfangled names to diseases.

  In the time of Asclepius and of Homer the practice of medicine was very simple.

  Yes, I said, and I do not believe that there were any such diseases in the days of Asclepius; and this I infer from the circumstance that the hero Eurypylus, after he has been wounded in Homer, drinks a posset of Pramnian wine well 406besprinkled with barley-meal and grated cheese, which are certainly inflammatory, and yet the sons of Asclepius who were at the Trojan war do not blame the damsel who gives him the drink, or rebuke Patroclus, who is treating his case.

  Well, he said, that was surely an extraordinary drink to be given to a person in his condition.

  The nursing of disease began with Herodicus.

  Not so extraordinary, I replied, if you bear in mind that in former days, as is commonly said, before the time of Herodicus, the guild of Asclepius did not practise our present system of medicine, which may be said to educate diseases. But Herodicus, being a trainer, and himself of a sickly constitution, by a combination of training and doctoring found out a way of torturing first and chiefly himself, and secondly the rest of the world.

  How was that? he said.

  By the invention of lingering death; for he had a mortal disease which he perpetually tended, and as recovery was out of the question, he passed his entire life as a valetudinarian; he could do nothing but attend upon himself, and he was in constant torment whenever he departed in anything from his usual regimen, and so dying hard, by the help of science he struggled on to old age.

  A rare reward of his skill!

  Yes, I said; a reward which a man might fairly expect who never understood that, if Asclepius did not instruct his descendants in valetudinarian arts, the omission arose, not from ignorance or inexperience of such a branch of medicine, but because he knew that in all well-ordered states every individual has an occupation to which he must attend, and has therefore no leisure to spend in continually being ill. This we remark in the case of the artisan, but, ludicrously enough, do not apply the same rule to people of the richer sort.

  How do you mean? he said.

  The working-man has no time for tedious remedies.

  I mean this: When a carpenter is ill he asks the physician for a rough and ready cure; an emetic or a purge or a cautery or the knife,—these are his remedies. And if some one prescribes for him a course of dietetics, and tells him that he must swathe and swaddle his head, and all that sort of thing, he replies at once that he has no time to be ill, and that he sees no good in a life which is spent in nursing his disease to the neglect of his customary employment; and therefore bidding good-bye to this sort of physician, he resumes his ordinary habits, and either gets well and lives and does his business, or, if his constitution fails, he dies and has no more trouble.

  Yes, he said, and a man in his condition of life ought to use the art of medicine thus far only.

  407Has he not, I said, an occupation; and what profit would there be in his life if he were deprived of his occupation?

  Quite true, he said.

  But with the rich man this is otherwise; of him we do not say that he has any specially appointed work which he must perform, if he would live.

  He is generally supposed to have nothing to do.

  Then you never heard of the saying of Phocylides, that as soon as a man has a livelihood he should practise virtue?

  Nay, he said, I think that he had better begin somewhat sooner.

  The slow cure equally an impediment to the mechanical arts, to the practice of virtue,

  Let us not have a dispute with him about this, I said; but rather ask ourselves: Is the practice of virtue obligatory on the rich man, or can he live without it? And if obligatory on him, then let us raise a further question, whether this dieting of disorders, which is an impediment to the application of the mind in carpentering and the mechanical arts, does not equally stand in the way of the sentiment of Phocylides?

  Of that, he replied, there can be no doubt; such excessive care of the body, when carried beyond the rules of gymnastic, is most inimical to the practice of virtue.

  and to any kind of study or thought.

  1 Yes, indeed, I replied, and equally incompatible with the management of a house, an army, or an office of state; and, what is most important of all, irreconcileable with any kind of study or thought or self-reflection—there is a constant suspicion that headache and giddiness are to be ascribed to philosophy, and hence all practising or making trial of virtue in the higher sense is absolutely stopped; for a man is always fancying that he is being made ill, and is in constant anxiety about the state of his body.

  Yes, likely enough.

  Asclepius would not cure diseased constitutions because they were of no use to the State.

  And therefore our politic Asclepius may be supposed to have exhibited the power of his art only to persons who, being generally of healthy constitution and habits of life, had a definite ailment; such as these he cured by purges and operations, and bade them live as usual, herein consulting the interests of the State; but bodies which disease had penetrated through and through he would not have attempted to cure by gradual processes of evacuation and infusion: he did not want to lengthen out good-for-nothing lives, or to have weak fathers begetting weaker sons;—if a man was not able to live in the ordinary way he had no business to cure him; for such a cure would have been of no use either to himself, or to the State.

  Then, he said, you regard Asclepius as a statesman.

  The case of Menelaus, who was attended by the sons of Asclepius.

  Clearly; and his character is further illustrated by his sons. 408Note that they were heroes in the days of old and practised the medicines of which I am speaking at the siege of Troy: You will remember how, when Pandarus wounded Menelaus, they

  ‘Sucked the blood out of the wound, and sprinkled soothing remedies2 ,’

  but they never prescribed what the patient was afterwards to eat or drink in the case of Menelaus, any more than in the case of Eurypylus; the remedies, as they conceived, were enough to heal any man who before he was wounded was healthy and regular in his habits; and even though he did happen to drink a posset of Pramnian wine, he might get well all the same. But they would have nothing to do with unhealthy and intemperate subjects, whose lives were of no use either to themselves or others; the art of medicine was not designed for their good, and though they were as rich as Midas, the sons of Asclepius would have declined to attend them.

  The offence of Asclepius.

  They were very acute persons, those sons of Asclepius.

  Naturally so, I replied. Nevertheless, the tragedians and Pindar disobeying our behests, although they acknowledge that Asclepius was the son of Apollo, say also that he was bribed into healing a rich man who was at the point of death, and for this reason he was struck by lightning. But we, in accordance with the principle already affirmed by us, will not believe them when they tell us both;—if he was the son of a god, we maintain that he was not avaricious; or, if he was avaricious, he was not the son of a god.

  All that, Socrates, is excellent; but I should like to put a question to you: Ought there not to be good physicians in a State, and are not the best those who have treated the greatest number of constitutions good and bad? and are not the best judges in like manner those who are acquainted with all sorts of moral natures?

  Yes, I said, I too would have good judges and good physicians. But do you know whom I think good?

  Will you tell me?

  I will, if I can. Let me however note that in the same question you join two things which are not the same.

  How so? he asked.

  The physician should have experience of illness in his own person;

  Why, I said, you join physicians and judges. Now the most skilful physicians are those who, from their youth upwards, have combined with the knowledge of their art the greatest experience of disease; they had better not be robust in health, and should have had all manner of diseases in their own persons. For the body, as I conceive, is not the instrument with which they cure the body; in that case we could not allow them ever to be or to have been sickly; but they cure the body with the mind, and the mind which has become and is sick can cure nothing.

  That is very true, he said.

  on the other hand, the judge should not learn to know evil by the practice of it, but by long observation of evil in others.

  409But with the judge it is otherwise; since he governs mind by mind; he ought not therefore to have been trained among vicious minds, and to have associated with them from youth upwards, and to have gone through the whole calendar of crime, only in order that he may quickly infer the crimes of others as he might their bodily diseases from his own self-consciousness; the honourable mind which is to form a healthy judgment should have had no experience or contamination of evil habits when young. And this is the reason why in youth good men often appear to be simple, and are easily practised upon by the dishonest, because they have no examples of what evil is in their own souls.

  Yes, he said, they are far too apt to be deceived.

  Therefore, I said, the judge should not be young; he should have learned to know evil, not from his own soul, but from late and long observation of the nature of evil in others: knowledge should be his guide, not personal experience.

  Yes, he said, that is the ideal of a judge.

  Such a knowledge of human nature far better and truer than that of the adept in crime.

  Yes, I replied, and he will be a good man (which is my answer to your question); for he is good who has a good soul. But the cunning and suspicious nature of which we spoke,—he who has committed many crimes, and fancies himself to be a master in wickedness, when he is amongst his fellows, is wonderful in the precautions which he takes, because he judges of them by himself: but when he gets into the company of men of virtue, who have the experience of age, he appears to be a fool again, owing to his unseasonable suspicions; he cannot recognise an honest man, because he has no pattern of honesty in himself; at the same time, as the bad are more numerous than the good, and he meets with them oftener, he thinks himself, and is by others thought to be, rather wise than foolish.

  Most true, he said.

  Then the good and wise judge whom we are seeking is not this man, but the other; for vice cannot know virtue too, but a virtuous nature, educated by time, will acquire a knowledge both of virtue and vice: the virtuous, and not the vicious man has wisdom—in my opinion.

  And in mine also.

  This is the sort of medicine, and this is the sort of law, which you will sanction in your state. They will minister to 410better natures, giving health both of soul and of body; but those who are diseased in their bodies they will leave to die, and the corrupt and incurable souls they will put an end to themselves.

  That is clearly the best thing both for the patients and for the State.

  And thus our youth, having been educated only in that simple music which, as we said, inspires temperance, will be reluctant to go to law.

  Clearly.

  And the musician, who, keeping to the same track, is content to practise the simple gymnastic, will have nothing to do with medicine unless in some extreme case.

  That I quite believe.

  The very exercises and toils which he undergoes are intended to stimulate the spirited element of his nature, and not to increase his strength; he will not, like common athletes, use exercise and regimen to develope his muscles.

  Very right, he said.

  Music and gymnastic are equally designed for the improvement of the mind.

  Neither are the two arts of music and gymnastic really designed, as is often supposed, the one for the training of the soul, the other for the training of the body.

  What then is the real object of them?

  I believe, I said, that the teachers of both have in view chiefly the improvement of the soul.

  How can that be? he asked.

  Did you never observe, I said, the effect on the mind itself of exclusive devotion to gymnastic, or the opposite effect of an exclusive devotion to music?

  In what way shown? he said.

  The mere athlete must be softened, and the philosophic nature prevented from becoming too soft.

  The one producing a temper of hardness and ferocity, the other of softness and effeminacy, I replied.

  Yes, he said, I am quite aware that the mere athlete becomes too much of a savage, and that the mere musician is melted and softened beyond what is good for him.

  Yet surely, I said, this ferocity only comes from spirit, which, if rightly educated, would give courage, but, if too much intensified, is liable to become hard and brutal.

  That I quite think.

  On the other hand the philosopher will have the quality of gentleness. And this also, when too much indulged, will turn to softness, but, if educated rightly, will be gentle and moderate.

  True.

  And in our opinion the guardians ought to have both these qualities?

  Assuredly.

  And both should be in harmony?

  Beyond question.

  411And the harmonious soul is both temperate and courageous?

  Yes.

  And the inharmonious is cowardly and boorish?

  Very true.

  Music, if carried too far, renders the weaker nature effeminate, the stronger irritable.

  And, when a man allows music to play upon him and to pour into his soul through the funnel of his ears those sweet and soft and melancholy airs of which we were just now speaking, and his whole life is passed in warbling and the delights of song; in the first stage of the process the passion or spirit which is in him is tempered like iron, and made useful, instead of brittle and useless. But, if he carries on the softening and soothing process, in the next stage he begins to melt and waste, until he has wasted away his spirit and cut out the sinews of his soul; and he becomes a feeble warrior.

  Very true.

  If the element of spirit is naturally weak in him the change is speedily accomplished, but if he have a good deal, then the power of music weakening the spirit renders him excitable; —on the least provocation he flames up at once, and is speedily extinguished; instead of having spirit he grows irritable and passionate and is quite impracticable.

  Exactly.

  And in like manner the well-fed athlete, if he have no education,

  And so in gymnastics, if a man takes violent exercise and is a great feeder, and the reverse of a great student of music and philosophy, at first the high condition of his body fills him with pride and spirit, and he becomes twice the man that he was.

  Certainly.

  degenerates into a wild beast,

  And what happens? if he do nothing else, and holds no converse with the Muses, does not even that intelligence which there may be in him, having no taste of any sort of learning or enquiry or thought or culture, grow feeble and dull and blind, his mind never waking up or receiving nourishment, and his senses not being purged of their mists?

  True, he said.

  And he ends by becoming a hater of philosophy, uncivilized, never using the weapon of persuasion,—he is like a wild beast, all violence and fierceness, and knows no other way of dealing; and he lives in all ignorance and evil conditions, and has no sense of propriety and grace.

  That is quite true, he said.

  And as there are two principles of human nature, one the spirited and the other the philosophical, some God, as I should say, has given mankind two arts answering to them (and only indirectly to the soul and body), in order that these 412two principles (like the strings of an instrument) may be relaxed or drawn tighter until they are duly harmonized.

  That appears to be the intention.

  Music to be mingled with gymnastic, and both attempered to the individual soul.

  And he who mingles music with gymnastic in the fairest proportions, and best attempers them to the soul, may be rightly called the true musician and harmonist in a far higher sense than the tuner of the strings.

  You are quite right, Socrates.

  And such a presiding genius will be always required in our State if the government is to last.

  Yes, he will be absolutely necessary.

  Enough of principles of education: who are to be our rulers?

  Such, then, are our principles of nurture and education: Where would be the use of going into further details about the dances of our citizens, or about their hunting and coursing, their gymnastic and equestrian contests? For these all follow the general principle, and having found that, we shall have no difficulty in discovering them.

  I dare say that there will be no difficulty.

  Very good, I said; then what is the next question? Must we not ask who are to be rulers and who subjects?

  Certainly.

  There can be no doubt that the elder must rule the younger.

  Clearly.

  And that the best of these must rule.

  That is also clear.

  The elder must rule and the younger serve.

  Now, are not the best husbandmen those who are most devoted to husbandry?

  Yes.

  And as we are to have the best of guardians for our city, must they not be those who have most the character of guardians?

  Yes.

  And to this end they ought to be wise and efficient, and to have a special care of the State?

  True.

  Those are to be appointed rulers who have been tested in all the stages of their life;

  And a man will be most likely to care about that which he loves?

  To be sure.

  And he will be most likely to love that which he regards as having the same interests with himself, and that of which the good or evil fortune is supposed by him at any time most to affect his own?

  Very true, he replied.

  Then there must be a selection. Let us note among the guardians those who in their whole life show the greatest eagerness to do what is for the good of their country, and the greatest repugnance to do what is against her interests.

  Those are the right men.

  And they will have to be watched at every age, in order that we may see whether they preserve their resolution, and never, under the influence either of force or enchantment, forget or cast off their sense of duty to the State.

  How cast off? he said.

  I will explain to you, I replied. A resolution may go out of a man’s mind either with his will or against his will; with 413his will when he gets rid of a falsehood and learns better, against his will whenever he is deprived of a truth.

  I understand, he said, the willing loss of a resolution; the meaning of the unwilling I have yet to learn.

  Why, I said, do you not see that men are unwillingly deprived of good, and willingly of evil? Is not to have lost the truth an evil, and to possess the truth a good? and you would agree that to conceive things as they are is to possess the truth?

  Yes, he replied; I agree with you in thinking that mankind are deprived of truth against their will.

  And is not this involuntary deprivation caused either by theft, or force, or enchantment?

  Still, he replied, I do not understand you.

  and who are unchanged by the influence either of pleasure, or of fear,

  I fear that I must have been talking darkly, like the tragedians. I only mean that some men are changed by persuasion and that others forget; argument steals away the hearts of one class, and time of the other; and this I call theft. Now you understand me?

  Yes.

  Those again who are forced, are those whom the violence of some pain or grief compels to change their opinion.

  I understand, he said, and you are quite right.

  or of enchantments.

  And you would also acknowledge that the enchanted are those who change their minds either under the softer influence of pleasure, or the sterner influence of fear?

  Yes, he said; everything that deceives may be said to enchant.

  Therefore, as I was just now saying, we must enquire who are the best guardians of their own conviction that what they think the interest of the State is to be the rule of their lives. We must watch them from their youth upwards, and make them perform actions in which they are most likely to forget or to be deceived, and he who remembers and is not deceived is to be selected, and he who fails in the trial is to be rejected. That will be the way?

  Yes.

  And there should also be toils and pains and conflicts prescribed for them, in which they will be made to give further proof of the same qualities.

  Very right, he replied.

  If they stand the test they are to be honoured in life and after death.

  And then, I said, we must try them with enchantments—that is the third sort of test—and see what will be their behaviour: like those who take colts amid noise and tumult to see if they are of a timid nature, so must we take our youth amid terrors of some kind, and again pass them into pleasures, and prove them more thoroughly than gold is proved in the furnace, that we may discover whether they are armed against all enchantments, and of a noble bearing always, good guardians of themselves and of the music which they have learned, and retaining under all circumstances a rhythmical and harmonious nature, such as will be most serviceable to the individual and to the State. And he who at every age, as boy and youth and in mature life, has come out of the trial victorious and pure, shall be appointed 414a ruler and guardian of the State; he shall be honoured in life and death, and shall receive sepulture and other memorials of honour, the greatest that we have to give. But him who fails, we must reject. I am inclined to think that this is the sort of way in which our rulers and guardians should be chosen and appointed. I speak generally, and not with any pretension to exactness.

  And, speaking generally, I agree with you, he said.

  The title of guardians to be reserved for the elders, the young men to be called auxiliaries.

  And perhaps the word ‘guardian’ in the fullest sense ought to be applied to this higher class only who preserve us against foreign enemies and maintain peace among our citizens at home, that the one may not have the will, or the others the power, to harm us. The young men whom we before called guardians may be more properly designated auxiliaries and supporters of the principles of the rulers.

  I agree with you, he said.

  How then may we devise one of those needful falsehoods of which we lately spoke—just one royal lie which may deceive the rulers, if that be possible, and at any rate the rest of the city?

  What sort of lie? he said.

  The Phoenician tale.

  Nothing new, I replied; only an old Phoenician1 tale of what has often occurred before now in other places, (as the poets say, and have made the world believe,) though not in our time, and I do not know whether such an event could ever happen again, or could now even be made probable, if it did.

  How your words seem to hesitate on your lips!

  You will not wonder, I replied, at my hesitation when you have heard.

  Speak, he said, and fear not.

  The citizens to be told that they are really autochthonous, sent up out of the earth,

  Well then, I will speak, although I really know not how to look you in the face, or in what words to utter the audacious fiction, which I propose to communicate gradually, first to the rulers, then to the soldiers, and lastly to the people. They are to be told that their youth was a dream, and the education and training which they received from us, an appearance only; in reality during all that time they were being formed and fed in the womb of the earth, where they themselves and their arms and appurtenances were manufactured; when they were completed, the earth, their mother, sent them up; and so, their country being their mother and also their nurse, they are bound to advise for her good, and to defend her against attacks, and her citizens they are to regard as children of the earth and their own brothers.

  You had good reason, he said, to be ashamed of the lie which you were going to tell.

  and composed of metals of various quality.The noble quality to rise in the State, the ignoble to descend.

  415True, I replied, but there is more coming; I have only told you half. Citizens, we shall say to them in our tale, you are brothers, yet God has framed you differently. Some of you have the power of command, and in the composition of these he has mingled gold, wherefore also they have the greatest honour; others he has made of silver, to be auxiliaries; others again who are to be husbandmen and craftsmen he has composed of brass and iron; and the species will generally be preserved in the children. But as all are of the same original stock, a golden parent will sometimes have a silver son, or a silver parent a golden son. And God proclaims as a first principle to the rulers, and above all else, that there is nothing which they should so anxiously guard, or of which they are to be such good guardians, as of the purity of the race. They should observe what elements mingle in their offspring; for if the son of a golden or silver parent has an admixture of brass and iron, then nature orders a transposition of ranks, and the eye of the ruler must not be pitiful towards the child because he has to descend in the scale and become a husbandman or artisan, just as there may be sons of artisans who having an admixture of gold or silver in them are raised to honour, and become guardians or auxiliaries. For an oracle says that when a man of brass or iron guards the State, it will be destroyed. Such is the tale; is there any possibility of making our citizens believe in it?

  Is such a fiction credible?—Yes, in a future generation; not in the present.

  Not in the present generation, he replied; there is no way of accomplishing this; but their sons may be made to believe in the tale, and their sons’ sons, and posterity after them.

  The selection of a site for the warriors’ camp.

  I see the difficulty, I replied; yet the fostering of such a belief will make them care more for the city and for one another. Enough, however, of the fiction, which may now fly abroad upon the wings of rumour, while we arm our earth-born heroes, and lead them forth under the command of their rulers. Let them look round and select a spot whence they can best suppress insurrection, if any prove refractory within, and also defend themselves against enemies, who like wolves may come down on the fold from without; there let them encamp, and when they have encamped, let them sacrifice to the proper Gods and prepare their dwellings.

  Just so, he said.

  And their dwellings must be such as will shield them against the cold of winter and the heat of summer.

  I suppose that you mean houses, he replied.

  Yes, I said; but they must be the houses of soldiers, and not of shop-keepers.

  What is the difference? he said.

  The warriors must be humanized by education.

  416That I will endeavour to explain, I replied. To keep watch-dogs, who, from want of discipline or hunger, or some evil habit or other, would turn upon the sheep and worry them, and behave not like dogs but wolves, would be a foul and monstrous thing in a shepherd?

  Truly monstrous, he said.

  And therefore every care must be taken that our auxiliaries, being stronger than our citizens, may not grow to be too much for them and become savage tyrants instead of friends and allies?

  Yes, great care should be taken.

  And would not a really good education furnish the best safeguard?

  But they are well-educated already, he replied.

  I cannot be so confident, my dear Glaucon, I said; I am much more certain that they ought to be, and that true education, whatever that may be, will have the greatest tendency to civilize and humanize them in their relations to one another, and to those who are under their protection.

  Very true, he replied.

  And not only their education, but their habitations, and all that belongs to them, should be such as will neither impair their virtue as guardians, nor tempt them to prey upon the other citizens. Any man of sense must acknowledge that.

  He must.

  Their way of life will be that of a camp.They must have no homes or property of their own.

  Then now let us consider what will be their way of life, if they are to realize our idea of them. In the first place, none of them should have any property of his own beyond what is absolutely necessary; neither should they have a private house or store closed against any one who has a mind to enter; their provisions should be only such as are required by trained warriors, who are men of temperance and courage; they should agree to receive from the citizens a fixed rate of pay, enough to meet the expenses of the year and no more; and they will go to mess and live together like soldiers in a camp. Gold and silver we will tell them that they have from God; the diviner metal is within them, and they have therefore no need of the dross which is current among men, and ought not to pollute the divine 417by any such earthly admixture; for that commoner metal has been the source of many unholy deeds, but their own is undefiled. And they alone of all the citizens may not touch or handle silver or gold, or be under the same roof with them, or wear them, or drink from them. And this will be their salvation, and they will be the saviours of the State. But should they ever acquire homes or lands or moneys of their own, they will become housekeepers and husbandmen instead of guardians, enemies and tyrants instead of allies of the other citizens; hating and being hated, plotting and being plotted against, they will pass their whole life in much greater terror of internal than of external enemies, and the hour of ruin, both to themselves and to the rest of the State, will be at hand. For all which reasons may we not say that thus shall our State be ordered, and that these shall be the regulations appointed by us for our guardians concerning their houses and all other matters?

  Yes, said Glaucon.

  BOOK IV.

  Republic IV.Adeimantus, Socrates.An objection that Socrates has made his citizens poor and miserable:

  419Here Adeimantus interposed a question: How would you answer, Socrates, said he, if a person were to say that you are making1 these people miserable, and that they are the cause of their own unhappiness; the city in fact belongs to them, but they are none the better for it; whereas other men acquire lands, and build large and handsome houses, and have everything handsome about them, offering sacrifices to the gods on their own account, and practising hospitality; moreover, as you were saying just now, they have gold and silver, and all that is usual among the favourites of fortune; but our poor citizens are no better than mercenaries who are quartered in the city and are always mounting guard?

  and worst of all, adds Socrates, they have no money.

  420Yes, I said; and you may add that they are only fed, and not paid in addition to their food, like other men; and therefore they cannot, if they would, take a journey of pleasure; they have no money to spend on a mistress or any other luxurious fancy, which, as the world goes, is thought to be happiness; and many other accusations of the same nature might be added.

  But, said he, let us suppose all this to be included in the charge.

  You mean to ask, I said, what will be our answer?

  Yes.

  Yet very likely they may be the happiest of mankind.The State, like a statue, must be judged of as a whole.The guardians must be guardians, not boon companions.

  If we proceed along the old path, my belief, I said, is that we shall find the answer. And our answer will be that, even as they are, our guardians may very likely be the happiest of men; but that our aim in founding the State was not the disproportionate happiness of any one class, but the greatest happiness of the whole; we thought that in a State which is ordered with a view to the good of the whole we should be most likely to find justice, and in the ill-ordered State injustice: and, having found them, we might then decide which of the two is the happier. At present, I take it, we are fashioning the happy State, not piecemeal, or with a view of making a few happy citizens, but as a whole; and by-and-by we will proceed to view the opposite kind of State. Suppose that we were painting a statue, and some one came up to us and said, Why do you not put the most beautiful colours on the most beautiful parts of the body—the eyes ought to be purple, but you have made them black—to him we might fairly answer, Sir, you would not surely have us beautify the eyes to such a degree that they are no longer eyes; consider rather whether, by giving this and the other features their due proportion, we make the whole beautiful. And so I say to you, do not compel us to assign to the guardians a sort of happiness which will make them anything but guardians; for we too can clothe our husbandmen in royal apparel, and set crowns of gold on their heads, and bid them till the ground as much as they like, and no more. Our potters also might be allowed to repose on couches, and feast by the fireside, passing round the winecup, while their wheel is conveniently at hand, and working at pottery only as much as they like; in this way we might make every class happy—and then, as you imagine, the whole State would be happy. But do not put this idea into our heads; for, 421if we listen to you, the husbandman will be no longer a husbandman, the potter will cease to be a potter, and no one will have the character of any distinct class in the State. Now this is not of much consequence where the corruption of society, and pretension to be what you are not, is confined to cobblers; but when the guardians of the laws and of the government are only seeming and not real guardians, then see how they turn the State upside down; and on the other hand they alone have the power of giving order and happiness to the State. We mean our guardians to be true saviours and not the destroyers of the State, whereas our opponent is thinking of peasants at a festival, who are enjoying a life of revelry, not of citizens who are doing their duty to the State. But, if so, we mean different things, and he is speaking of something which is not a State. And therefore we must consider whether in appointing our guardians we would look to their greatest happiness individually, or whether this principle of happiness does not rather reside in the State as a whole. But if the latter be the truth, then the guardians and auxiliaries, and all others equally with them, must be compelled or induced to do their own work in the best way. And thus the whole State will grow up in a noble order, and the several classes will receive the proportion of happiness which nature assigns to them.

  I think that you are quite right.

  I wonder whether you will agree with another remark which occurs to me.

  What may that be?

  There seem to be two causes of the deterioration of the arts.

  What are they?

  Wealth, I said, and poverty.

  How do they act?

  When an artisan grows rich, he becomes careless: if he is very poor, he has no money to buy tools with. The city should be neither poor nor rich.

  The process is as follows: When a potter becomes rich, will he, think you, any longer take the same pains with his art?

  Certainly not.

  He will grow more and more indolent and careless?

  Very true.

  And the result will be that he becomes a worse potter?

  Yes; he greatly deteriorates.

  But, on the other hand, if he has no money, and cannot provide himself with tools or instruments, he will not work equally well himself, nor will he teach his sons or apprentices to work equally well.

  Certainly not.

  Then, under the influence either of poverty or of wealth, workmen and their work are equally liable to degenerate?

  That is evident.

  Here, then, is a discovery of new evils, I said, against which the guardians will have to watch, or they will creep into the city unobserved.

  What evils?

  422Wealth, I said, and poverty; the one is the parent of luxury and indolence, and the other of meanness and viciousness, and both of discontent.

  Socrates, Adeimantus.But how, being poor, can she contend against a wealthy enemy?

  That is very true, he replied; but still I should like to know, Socrates, how our city will be able to go to war, especially against an enemy who is rich and powerful, if deprived of the sinews of war.

  There would certainly be a difficulty, I replied, in going to war with one such enemy; but there is no difficulty where there are two of them.

  How so? he asked.

  Our wiry soldiers will be more than a match for their fat neighbours.

  In the first place, I said, if we have to fight, our side will be trained warriors fighting against an army of rich men.

  That is true, he said.

  And do you not suppose, Adeimantus, that a single boxer who was perfect in his art would easily be a match for two stout and well-to-do gentlemen who were not boxers?

  Hardly, if they came upon him at once.

  What, not, I said, if he were able to run away and then turn and strike at the one who first came up? And supposing he were to do this several times under the heat of a scorching sun, might he not, being an expert, overturn more than one stout personage?

  Certainly, he said, there would be nothing wonderful in that.

  And yet rich men probably have a greater superiority in the science and practise of boxing than they have in military qualities.

  Likely enough.

  Then we may assume that our athletes will be able to fight with two or three times their own number?

  I agree with you, for I think you right.

  And they will have allies who will readily join on condition of receiving the spoil.

  And suppose that, before engaging, our citizens send an embassy to one of the two cities, telling them what is the truth: Silver and gold we neither have nor are permitted to have, but you may; do you therefore come and help us in war, and take the spoils of the other city: Who, on hearing these words, would choose to fight against lean wiry dogs, rather than, with the dogs on their side, against fat and tender sheep?

  That is not likely; and yet there might be a danger to the poor State if the wealth of many States were to be gathered into one.

  But how simple of you to use the term State at all of any but our own!

  Why so?

  But many cities will conspire? No: they are divided in themselves.Many states are contained in one

  You ought to speak of other States in the plural number; not one of them is a city, but many cities, as they say in the game. For indeed any city, however small, is in fact divided into two, one the city of the poor, the other of the rich; these 423are at war with one another; and in either there are many smaller divisions, and you would be altogether beside the mark if you treated them all as a single State. But if you deal with them as many, and give the wealth or power or persons of the one to the others, you will always have a great many friends and not many enemies. And your State, while the wise order which has now been prescribed continues to prevail in her, will be the greatest of States, I do not mean to say in reputation or appearance, but in deed and truth, though she number not more than a thousand defenders. A single State which is her equal you will hardly find, either among Hellenes or barbarians, though many that appear to be as great and many times greater.

  That is most true, he said.

  The limit to the size of the State the possibility of unity.

  And what, I said, will be the best limit for our rulers to fix when they are considering the size of the State and the amount of territory which they are to include, and beyond which they will not go?

  What limit would you propose?

  I would allow the State to increase so far as is consistent with unity; that, I think, is the proper limit.

  Very good, he said.

  Here then, I said, is another order which will have to be conveyed to our guardians: Let our city be accounted neither large nor small, but one and self-sufficing.

  And surely, said he, this is not a very severe order which we impose upon them.

  The duty of adjusting the citizens to the rank forwhich nature intended them.

  And the other, said I, of which we were speaking before is lighter still,—I mean the duty of degrading the offspring of the guardians when inferior, and of elevating into the rank of guardians the offspring of the lower classes, when naturally superior. The intention was, that, in the case of the citizens generally, each individual should be put to the use for which nature intended him, one to one work, and then every man would do his own business, and be one and not many; and so the whole city would be one and not many.

  Yes, he said; that is not so difficult.

  The regulations which we are prescribing, my good Adeimantus, are not, as might be supposed, a number of great principles, but trifles all, if care be taken, as the saying is, of the one great thing,—a thing, however, which I would rather call, not, great, but sufficient for our purpose.

  What may that be? he asked.

  Education, I said, and nurture: If our citizens are well educated, and grow into sensible men, they will easily see their way through all these, as well as other matters which I omit; such, for example, as marriage, the possession of 424women and the procreation of children, which will all follow the general principle that friends have all things in common, as the proverb says.

  That will be the best way of settling them.

  Good education has a cumulative force and affects the breed.

  Also, I said, the State, if once started well, moves with accumulating force like a wheel. For good nurture and education implant good constitutions, and these good constitutions taking root in a good education improve more and more, and this improvement affects the breed in man as in other animals.

  Very possibly, he said.

  No innovations to be made either in music or gymnastic.

  Then to sum up: This is the point to which, above all, the attention of our rulers should be directed,—that music and gymnastic be preserved in their original form, and no innovation made. They must do their utmost to maintain them intact. And when any one says that mankind most regard

  ‘The newest song which the singers have1 ,’

  Damon.

  they will be afraid that he may be praising, not new songs, but a new kind of song; and this ought not to be praised, or conceived to be the meaning of the poet; for any musical innovation is full of danger to the whole State, and ought to be prohibited. So Damon tells me, and I can quite believe him;—he says that when modes of music change, the fundamental laws of the State always change with them.

  Yes, said Adelmantus; and you may add my suffrage to Damon’s and your own.

  Then, I said, our guardians must lay the foundations of their fortress in music?

  Yes, he said; the lawlessness of which you speak too easily steals in.

  Yes, I replied, in the form of amusement; and at first sight it appears harmless.

  The spirit of lawlessness, beginning in music, gradually pervades the whole of life.

  Why, yes, he said, and there is no harm; were it not that little by little this spirit of licence, finding a home, imperceptibly penetrates into manners and customs; whence, issuing with greater force, it invades contracts between man and man, and from contracts goes on to laws and constitutions, in utter recklessness, ending at last, Socrates, by an overthrow of all rights, private as well as public.

  Is that true? I said.

  That is my belief, he replied.

  Then, as I was saying, our youth should be trained from the first in a stricter system, for if amusements become lawless, 425and the youths themselves become lawless, they can never grow up into well-conducted and virtuous citizens.

  Very true, he said.

  The habit of order the basis of education.

  And when they have made a good beginning in play, and by the help of music have gained the habit of good order, then this habit of order, in a manner how unlike the lawless play of the others! will accompany them in all their actions and be a principle of growth to them, and if there be any fallen places in the State will raise them up again.

  Very true, he said.

  If the citizens have the root of the matter in them, they will supply the details for themselves.

  Thus educated, they will invent for themselves any lesser rules which their predecessors have altogether neglected.

  What do you mean?

  I mean such things as these:—when the young are to be silent before their elders; how they are to show respect to them by standing and making them sit; what honour is due to parents; what garments or shoes are to be worn; the mode of dressing the hair; deportment and manners in general. You would agree with me?

  Yes.

  But there is, I think, small wisdom in legislating about such matters,—I doubt if it is ever done; nor are any precise written enactments about them likely to be lasting.

  Impossible.

  It would seem, Adeimantus, that the direction in which education starts a man, will determine his future life. Does not like always attract like?

  To be sure.

  Until some one rare and grand result is reached which may be good, and may be the reverse of good?

  That is not to be denied.

  And for this reason, I said, I shall not attempt to legislate further about them.

  Naturally enough, he replied.

  The mere routine of administration may be omitted by us.

  Well, and about the business of the agora, and the ordinary dealings between man and man, or again about agreements with artisans; about insult and injury, or the commencement of actions, and the appointment of juries, what would you say? there may also arise questions about any impositions and exactions of market and harbour dues which may be required, and in general about the regulations of markets, police, harbours, and the like. But, oh heavens! shall we condescend to legislate on any of these particulars?

  I think, he said, that there is no need to impose laws about them on good men; what regulations are necessary they will find out soon enough for themselves.

  Yes, I said, my friend, if God will only preserve to them the laws which we have given them.

  And without divine help, said Adeimantus, they will go on for ever making and mending their laws and their lives in the hope of attaining perfection.

  Illustration of reformers of the law taken from invalids who are always doctoring themselves, but will

  You would compare them, I said, to those invalids who, having no self-restraint, will not leave off their habits of intemperance?

  Exactly.

  426Yes, I said; and what a delightful life they lead! they are always doctoring and increasing and complicating their disorders, and always fancying that they will be cured by any nostrum which anybody advises them to try.

  Such cases are very common, he said, with invalids of this sort.

  never listen to the truth.

  Yes, I replied; and the charming thing is that they deem him their worst enemy who tells them the truth, which is simply that, unless they give up eating and drinking and wenching and idling, neither drug nor cautery nor spell nor amulet nor any other remedy will avail.

  Charming! he replied. I see nothing charming in going into a passion with a man who tells you what is right.

  These gentlemen, I said, do not seem to be in your good graces.

  Assuredly not.

  Nor would you praise the behaviour of States which act like the men whom I was just now describing. For are there not ill-ordered States in which the citizens are forbidden under pain of death to alter the constitution; and yet he who most sweetly courts those who live under this régime and indulges them and fawns upon them and is skilful in anticipating and gratifying their humours is held to be a great and good statesman—do not these States resemble the persons whom I was describing?

  Yes, he said; the States are as bad as the men; and I am very far from praising them.

  But do you not admire, I said, the coolness and dexterity of these ready ministers of political corruption?

  Demagogues trying their hands at legislation may be excused for their ignorance of the world.

  Yes, he said, I do; but not of all of them, for there are some whom the applause of the multitude has deluded into the belief that they are really statesmen, and these are not much to be admired.

  What do you mean? I said; you should have more feeling for them. When a man cannot measure, and a great many others who cannot measure declare that he is four cubits high, can he help believing what they say?

  Nay, he said, certainly not in that case.

  Well, then, do not be angry with them; for are they not as good as a play, trying their hand at paltry reforms such as I was describing; they are always fancying that by legislation they will make an end of frauds in contracts, and the other rascalities which I was mentioning, not knowing that they are in reality cutting off the heads of a hydra?

  427Yes, he said; that is just what they are doing.

  Socrates, Adeimantus, Glaucon.

  I conceive, I said, that the true legislator will not trouble himself with this class of enactments whether concerning laws or the constitution either in an ill-ordered or in a well-ordered State; for in the former they are quite useless, and in the latter there will be no difficulty in devising them; and many of them will naturally flow out of our previous regulations.

  What, then, he said, is still remaining to us of the work of legislation?

  Nothing to us, I replied; but to Apollo, the god of Delphi, there remains the ordering of the greatest and noblest and chiefest things of all.

  Which are they? he said.

  Religion to be left to the God of Delphi.

  The institution of temples and sacrifices, and the entire service of gods, demigods, and heroes; also the ordering of the repositories of the dead, and the rites which have to be observed by him who would propitiate the inhabitants of the world below. These are matters of which we are ignorant ourselves, and as founders of a city we should be unwise in trusting them to any interpreter but our ancestral deity. He is the god who sits in the centre, on the navel of the earth, and he is the interpreter of religion to all mankind.

  You are right, and we will do as you propose.

  But where, amid all this, is justice? son of Ariston, tell me where. Now that our city has been made habitable, light a candle and search, and get your brother and Polemarchus and the rest of our friends to help, and let us see where in it we can discover justice and where injustice, and in what they differ from one another, and which of them the man who would be happy should have for his portion, whether seen or unseen by gods and men.

  Nonsense, said Glaucon: did you not promise to search yourself, saying that for you not to help justice in her need would be an impiety?

  I do not deny that I said so; and as you remind me, I will be as good as my word; but you must join.

  We will, he replied.

  Well, then, I hope to make the discovery in this way: I mean to begin with the assumption that our State, if rightly ordered, is perfect.

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  That is most certain.

  And being perfect, is therefore wise and valiant and temperate and just.

  That is likewise clear.

  And whichever of these qualities we find in the State, the one which is not found will be the residue?

  428Very good.

  If there were four things, and we were searching for one of them, wherever it might be, the one sought for might be known to us from the first, and there would be no further trouble; or we might know the other three first, and then the fourth would clearly be the one left.

  Very true, he said.

  And is not a similar method to be pursued about the virtues, which are also four in number?

  Clearly.

  The place of the virtues in the State: (1) The wisdom of the statesman advises, not about particular arts or pursuits,

  First among the virtues found in the State, wisdom comes into view, and in this I detect a certain peculiarity.

  What is that?

  The State which we have been describing is said to be wise as being good in counsel?

  Very true.

  And good counsel is clearly a kind of knowledge, for not by ignorance, but by knowledge, do men counsel well?

  Clearly.

  And the kinds of knowledge in a State are many and diverse?

  Of course.

  There is the knowledge of the carpenter; but is that the sort of knowledge which gives a city the title of wise and good in counsel?

  Certainly not; that would only give a city the reputation of skill in carpentering.

  Then a city is not to be called wise because possessing a knowledge which counsels for the best about wooden implements?

  Certainly not.

  Nor by reason of a knowledge which advises about brazen pots, he said, nor as possessing any other similar knowledge?

  Not by reason of any of them, he said.

  Nor yet by reason of a knowledge which cultivates the earth; that would give the city the name of agricultural?

  Yes.

  but about the whole State.

  Well, I said, and is there any knowledge in our recently-founded State among any of the citizens which advises, not about any particular thing in the State, but about the whole, and considers how a State can best deal with itself and with other States?

  There certainly is.

  And what is this knowledge, and among whom is it found? I asked.

  It is the knowledge of the guardians, he replied, and is found among those whom we were just now describing as perfect guardians.

  And what is the name which the city derives from the possession of this sort of knowledge?

  The name of good in counsel and truly wise.

  The statesmen or guardians are the smallest of all classes in the State.

  And will there be in our city more of these true guardians or more smiths?

  The smiths, he replied, will be far more numerous.

  Will not the guardians be the smallest of all the classes who receive a name from the profession of some kind of knowledge?

  Much the smallest.

  And so by reason of the smallest part or class, and of the knowledge which resides in this presiding and ruling part of itself, the whole State, being thus constituted according 429to nature, will be wise; and this, which has the only knowledge worthy to be called wisdom, has been ordained by nature to be of all classes the least.

  Most true.

  Thus, then, I said, the nature and place in the State of one of the four virtues has somehow or other been discovered.

  And, in my humble opinion, very satisfactorily discovered, he replied.

  Again, I said, there is no difficulty in seeing the nature of courage, and in what part that quality resides which gives the name of courageous to the State.

  How do you mean?

  (2) The courage which makes the city courageous is found chiefly in the soldier.

  Why, I said, every one who calls any State courageous or cowardly, will be thinking of the part which fights and goes out to war on the State’s behalf.

  No one, he replied, would ever think of any other.

  The rest of the citizens may be courageous or may be cowardly, but their courage or cowardice will not, as I conceive, have the effect of making the city either the one or the other.

  Certainly not.

  It is the quality which preserves right opinion about things to be feared and not to be feared.

  The city will be courageous in virtue of a portion of herself which preserves under all circumstances that opinion about the nature of things to be feared and not to be feared in which our legislator educated them; and this is what you term courage.

  I should like to hear what you are saying once more, for I do not think that I perfectly understand you.

  I mean that courage is a kind of salvation.

  Salvation of what?

  Of the opinion respecting things to be feared, what they are and of what nature, which the law implants through education; and I mean by the words ‘under all circumstances’ to intimate that in pleasure or in pain, or under the influence of desire or fear, a man preserves, and does not lose this opinion. Shall I give you an illustration?

  If you please.

  Illustration from the art of dyeing.

  You know, I said, that dyers, when they want to dye wool for making the true sea-purple, begin by selecting their white colour first; this they prepare and dress with much care and pains, in order that the white ground may take the purple hue in full perfection. The dyeing then proceeds; and whatever is dyed in this manner becomes a fast colour, and no washing either with lyes or without them can take away the bloom. But, when the ground has not been duly prepared, you will have noticed how poor is the look either of purple or of any other colour.

  Yes, he said; I know that they have a washed-out and ridiculous appearance.

  Our soldiers must take the dye of the laws.

  Then now, I said, you will understand what our object was 430in selecting our soldiers, and educating them in music and gymnastic; we were contriving influences which would prepare them to take the dye of the laws in perfection, and the colour of their opinion about dangers and of every other opinion was to be indelibly fixed by their nurture and training, not to be washed away by such potent lyes as pleasure—mightier agent far in washing the soul than any soda or lye; or by sorrow, fear, and desire, the mightiest of all other solvents. And this sort of universal saving power of true opinion in conformity with law about real and false dangers I call and maintain to be courage, unless you disagree.

  But I agree, he replied; for I suppose that you mean to exclude mere uninstructed courage, such as that of a wild beast or of a slave—this, in your opinion, is not the courage which the law ordains, and ought to have another name.

  Most certainly.

  Then I may infer courage to be such as you describe?

  Why, yes, said I, you may, and if you add the words ‘of a citizen,’ you will not be far wrong;—hereafter, if you like, we will carry the examination further, but at present we are seeking not for courage but justice; and for the purpose of our enquiry we have said enough.

  You are right, he replied.

  Two other virtues, temperance and justice, which must be considered in their proper order.

  Two virtues remain to be discovered in the State—first, temperance, and then justice which is the end of our search.

  Very true.

  Now, can we find justice without troubling ourselves about temperance?

  I do not know how that can be accomplished, he said, nor do I desire that justice should be brought to light and temperance lost sight of; and therefore I wish that you would do me the favour of considering temperance first.

  Certainly, I replied, I should not be justified in refusing your request.

  Then consider, he said.

  Yes, I replied; I will; and as far as I can at present see, the virtue of temperance has more of the nature of harmony and symphony than the preceding.

  How so? he asked.

  Temperance, I replied, is the ordering or controlling of certain pleasures and desires; this is curiously enough implied in the saying of ‘a man being his own master;’ and other traces of the same notion may be found in language.

  No doubt, he said.

  The temperate is master of himself, but the same person, when intemperate, is also the slave of himself.

  There is something ridiculous in the expression ‘master of 431himself;’ for the master is also the servant and the servant the master; and in all these modes of speaking the same person is denoted.

  Certainly.

  The meaning is, I believe, that in the human soul there is a better and also a worse principle; and when the better has the worse under control, then a man is said to be master of himself; and this is a term of praise: but when, owing to evil education or association, the better principle, which is also the smaller, is overwhelmed by the greater mass of the worse—in this case he is blamed and is called the slave of self and unprincipled.

  Yes, there is reason in that.

  And now, I said, look at our newly-created State, and there you will find one of these two conditions realized; for the State, as you will acknowledge, may be justly called master of itself, if the words ‘temperance’ and ‘self-mastery’ truly express the rule of the better part over the worse.

  Yes, he said, I see that what you say is true.

  Let me further note that the manifold and complex pleasures and desires and pains are generally found in children and women and servants, and in the freemen so called who are of the lowest and more numerous class.

  Certainly, he said.

  Whereas the simple and moderate desires which follow reason, and are under the guidance of mind and true opinion, are to be found only in a few, and those the best born and best educated.

  Very true.

  The State which has the passions and desires of the many controlled

  These two, as you may perceive, have a place in our State; and the meaner desires of the many are held down by the virtuous desires and wisdom of the few.

  That I perceive, he said.

  Then if there be any city which may be described as master of its own pleasures and desires, and master of itself, ours may claim such a designation?

  Certainly, he replied.

  It may also be called temperate, and for the same reasons?

  by the few may be rightly called temperate.

  Yes.

  And if there be any State in which rulers and subjects will be agreed as to the question who are to rule, that again will be our State?

  Undoubtedly.

  And the citizens being thus agreed among themselves, in which class will temperance be found—in the rulers or in the subjects?

  In both, as I should imagine, he replied.

  Do you observe that we were not far wrong in our guess that temperance was a sort of harmony?

  Why so?

  Temperance resides in the whole State.

  Why, because temperance is unlike courage and wisdom, each of which resides in a part only, the one making the 432State wise and the other valiant; not so temperance, which extends to the whole, and runs through all the notes of the scale, and produces a harmony of the weaker and the stronger and the middle class, whether you suppose them to be stronger or weaker in wisdom or power or numbers or wealth, or anything else. Most truly then may we deem temperance to be the agreement of the naturally superior and inferior, as to the right to rule of either, both in states and individuals.

  I entirely agree with you.

  And so, I said, we may consider three out of the four virtues to have been discovered in our State. The last of those qualities which make a state virtuous must be justice, if we only knew what that was.

  The inference is obvious.

  Justice is not far off.

  The time then has arrived, Glaucon, when, like huntsmen, we should surround the cover, and look sharp that justice does not steal away, and pass out of sight and escape us; for beyond a doubt she is somewhere in this country: watch therefore and strive to catch a sight of her, and if you see her first, let me know.

  Would that I could! but you should regard me rather as a follower who has just eyes enough to see what you show him—that is about as much as I am good for.

  Offer up a prayer with me and follow.

  I will, but you must show me the way.

  Here is no path, I said, and the wood is dark and perplexing; still we must push on.

  Let us push on.

  Here I saw something: Halloo! I said, I begin to perceive a track, and I believe that the quarry will not escape.

  Good news, he said.

  Truly, I said, we are stupid fellows.

  Why so?

  Why, my good sir, at the beginning of our enquiry, ages ago, there was justice tumbling out at our feet, and we never saw her; nothing could be more ridiculous. Like people who go about looking for what they have in their hands—that was the way with us—we looked not at what we were seeking, but at what was far off in the distance; and therefore, I suppose, we missed her.

  What do you mean?

  I mean to say that in reality for a long time past we have been talking of justice, and have failed to recognise her.

  I grow impatient at the length of your exordium.

  We had already found her when we spoke of one man doing one thing only.

  433Well then, tell me, I said, whether I am right or not: You remember the original principle which we were always laying down at the foundation of the State, that one man should practise one thing only, the thing to which his nature was best adapted;—now justice is this principle or a part of it.

  Yes, we often said that one man should do one thing only.

  Further, we affirmed that justice was doing one’s own business, and not being a busybody; we said so again and again, and many others have said the same to us.

  Yes, we said so.

  Then to do one’s own business in a certain way may be assumed to be justice. Can you tell me whence I derive this inference?

  I cannot, but I should like to be told.

  From another point of view Justice

  Because I think that this is the only virtue which remains in the State when the other virtues of temperance and courage and wisdom are abstracted; and, that this is the ultimate cause and condition of the existence of all of them, and while remaining in them is also their preservative; and we were saying that if the three were discovered by us, justice would be the fourth or remaining one.

  is the residue of the three others.

  That follows of necessity.

  If we are asked to determine which of these four qualities by its presence contributes most to the excellence of the State, whether the agreement of rulers and subjects, or the preservation in the soldiers of the opinion which the law ordains about the true nature of dangers, or wisdom and watchfulness in the rulers, or whether this other which I am mentioning, and which is found in children and women, slave and freeman, artisan, ruler, subject,—the quality, I mean, of every one doing his own work, and not being a busybody, would claim the palm—the question is not so easily answered.

  Certainly, he replied, there would be a difficulty in saying which.

  Then the power of each individual in the State to do his own work appears to compete with the other political virtues, wisdom, temperance, courage.

  Yes, he said.

  And the virtue which enters into this competition is justice?

  Exactly.

  Our idea is confirmed by the administration of justice in lawsuits. No man is to have what is not his own.

  Let us look at the question from another point of view: Are not the rulers in a State those to whom you would entrust the office of determining suits at law?

  Certainly.

  And are suits decided on any other ground but that a man may neither take what is another’s, nor be deprived of what is his own?

  Yes; that is their principle.

  Which is a just principle?

  Yes.

  Then on this view also justice will be admitted to be the having and doing what is a man’s own, and belongs to him?

  434Very true.

  Illustration: Classes,

  Think, now, and say whether you agree with me or not. Suppose a carpenter to be doing the business of a cobbler, or a cobbler of a carpenter; and suppose them to exchange their implements or their duties, or the same person to be doing the work of both, or whatever be the change; do you think that any great harm would result to the State?

  like individuals, should not meddle with one another’s occupations.

  Not much.

  But when the cobbler or any other man whom nature designed to be a trader, having his heart lifted up by wealth or strength or the number of his followers, or any like advantage, attempts to force his way into the class of warriors, or a warrior into that of legislators and guardians, for which he is unfitted, and either to take the implements or the duties of the other; or when one man is trader, legislator, and warrior all in one, then I think you will agree with me in saying that this interchange and this meddling of one with another is the ruin of the State.

  Most true.

  Seeing then, I said, that there are three distinct classes, any meddling of one with another, or the change of one into another, is the greatest harm to the State, and may be most justly termed evil-doing?

  Precisely.

  And the greatest degree of evil-doing to one’s own city would be termed by you injustice?

  Certainly.

  This then is injustice; and on the other hand when the trader, the auxiliary, and the guardian each do their own business, that is justice, and will make the city just.

  I agree with you.

  From the larger example of the State we will now return to the individual.

  We will not, I said, be over-positive as yet; but if, on trial, this conception of justice be verified in the individual as well as in the State, there will be no longer any room for doubt; if it be not verified, we must have a fresh enquiry. First let us complete the old investigation, which we began, as you remember, under the impression that, if we could previously examine justice on the larger scale, there would be less difficulty in discerning her in the individual. That larger example appeared to be the State, and accordingly we constructed as good a one as we could, knowing well that in the good State justice would be found. Let the discovery which we made be now applied to the individual—if they agree, we shall be satisfied; or, if there be a difference in the individual, we will come back to the State and have another 435trial of the theory. The friction of the two when rubbed together may possibly strike a light in which justice will shine forth, and the vision which is then revealed we will fix in our souls.

  That will be in regular course; let us do as you say.

  I proceeded to ask: When two things, a greater and less, are called by the same name, are they like or unlike in so far as they are called the same?

  Like, he replied.

  The just man then, if we regard the idea of justice only, will be like the just State?

  He will.

  And a State was thought by us to be just when the three classes in the State severally did their own business; and also thought to be temperate and valiant and wise by reason of certain other affections and qualities of these same classes?

  True, he said.

  And so of the individual; we may assume that he has the same three principles in his own soul which are found in the State; and he may be rightly described in the same terms, because he is affected in the same manner?

  Certainly, he said.

  How can we decide whether or no the soul has three distinct principles?

  Once more then, O my friend, we have alighted upon an easy question—whether the soul has these three principles or not?

  An easy question! Nay, rather, Socrates, the proverb holds that hard is the good.

  Our method is inadequate, and for a better and longer one we have not at present time.

  Very true, I said; and I do not think that the method which we are employing is at all adequate to the accurate solution of this question; the true method is another and a longer one. Still we may arrive at a solution not below the level of the previous enquiry.

  May we not be satisfied with that? he said;—under the circumstances, I am quite content.

  I too, I replied, shall be extremely well satisfied.

  Then faint not in pursuing the speculation, he said.

  Must we not acknowledge, I said, that in each of us there are the same principles and habits which there are in the State; and that from the individual they pass into the State?—how else can they come there? Take the quality of passion or spirit;—it would be ridiculous to imagine that this quality, when found in States, is not derived from the individuals who are supposed to possess it, e. g. the Thracians, Scythians, and in general the northern nations; and the same may be said of the love of knowledge, which is the special characteristic of our part of the world, or of the 436love of money, which may, with equal truth, be attributed to the Phoenicians and Egyptians.

  Exactly so, he said.

  There is no difficulty in understanding this.

  None whatever.

  A digression in which an attempt is made to attain logical clearness.

  But the question is not quite so easy when we proceed to ask whether these principles are three or one; whether, that is to say, we learn with one part of our nature, are angry with another, and with a third part desire the satisfaction of our natural appetites; or whether the whole soul comes into play in each sort of action—to determine that is the difficulty.

  Yes, he said; there lies the difficulty.

  Then let us now try and determine whether they are the same or different.

  How can we? he asked.

  The criterion of truth: Nothing can be and not be at the same time in the same relation.

  I replied as follows: The same thing clearly cannot act or be acted upon in the same part or in relation to the same thing at the same time, in contrary ways; and therefore whenever this contradiction occurs in things apparently the same, we know that they are really not the same, but different.

  Good.

  For example, I said, can the same thing be at rest and in motion at the same time in the same part?

  Impossible.

  Still, I said, let us have a more precise statement of terms, lest we should hereafter fall out by the way. Imagine the case of a man who is standing and also moving his hands and his head, and suppose a person to say that one and the same person is in motion and at rest at the same moment —to such a mode of speech we should object, and should rather say that one part of him is in motion while another is at rest.

  Very true.

  Anticipation of objections to this ‘law of thought.’

  And suppose the objector to refine still further, and to draw the nice distinction that not only parts of tops, but whole tops, when they spin round with their pegs fixed on the spot, are at rest and in motion at the same time (and he may say the same of anything which revolves in the same spot), his objection would not be admitted by us, because in such cases things are not at rest and in motion in the same parts of themselves; we should rather say that they have both an axis and a circumference; and that the axis stands still, for there is no deviation from the perpendicular; and that the circumference goes round. But if, while revolving, the axis inclines either to the right or left, forwards or backwards, then in no point of view can they be at rest.

  That is the correct mode of describing them, he replied.

  Then none of these objections will confuse us, or incline us to believe that the same thing at the same time, in the 437same part or in relation to the same thing, can act or be acted upon in contrary ways.

  Certainly not, according to my way of thinking.

  Yet, I said, that we may not be compelled to examine all such objections, and prove at length that they are untrue, let us assume their absurdity, and go forward on the understanding that hereafter, if this assumption turn out to be untrue, all the consequences which follow shall be withdrawn.

  Yes, he said, that will be the best way.

  Likes and dislikes exist in many forms.

  Well, I said, would you not allow that assent and dissent, desire and aversion, attraction and repulsion, are all of them opposites, whether they are regarded as active or passive (for that makes no difference in the fact of their opposition)?

  Yes, he said, they are opposites.

  Well, I said, and hunger and thirst, and the desires in general, and again willing and wishing,—all these you would refer to the classes already mentioned. You would say—would you not?—that the soul of him who desires is seeking after the object of his desire; or that he is drawing to himself the thing which he wishes to possess: or again, when a person wants anything to be given him, his mind, longing for the realization of his desire, intimates his wish to have it by a nod of assent, as if he had been asked a question?

  Very true.

  And what would you say of unwillingness and dislike and the absence of desire; should not these be referred to the opposite class of repulsion and rejection?

  Certainly.

  Admitting this to be true of desire generally, let us suppose a particular class of desires, and out of these we will select hunger and thirst, as they are termed, which are the most obvious of them?

  Let us take that class, he said.

  The object of one is food, and of the other drink?

  Yes.

  There may be simple thirst or qualified thirst, having respectively a simple or a qualified object.

  And here comes the point: is not thirst the desire which the soul has of drink, and of drink only; not of drink qualified by anything else; for example, warm or cold, or much or little, or, in a word, drink of any particular sort: but if the thirst be accompanied by heat, then the desire is of cold drink; or, if accompanied by cold, then of warm drink; or, if the thirst be excessive, then the drink which is desired will be excessive; or, if not great, the quantity of drink will also be small: but thirst pure and simple will desire drink pure and simple, which is the natural satisfaction of thirst, as food is of hunger?

  Yes, he said; the simple desire is, as you say, in every case of the simple object, and the qualified desire of the qualified object.

  Exception: The term good expresses, not a particular, but an universal relation.

  438But here a confusion may arise; and I should wish to guard against an opponent starting up and saying that no man desires drink only, but good drink, or food only, but good food; for good is the universal object of desire, and thirst being a desire, will necessarily be thirst after good drink; and the same is true of every other desire.

  Yes, he replied, the opponent might have something to say.

  Nevertheless I should still maintain, that of relatives some have a quality attached to either term of the relation; others are simple and have their correlatives simple.

  I do not know what you mean.

  Illustration of the argument from the use of language about correlative terms.

  Well, you know of course that the greater is relative to the less?

  Certainly.

  And the much greater to the much less?

  Yes.

  And the sometime greater to the sometime less, and the greater that is to be to the less that is to be?

  Certainly, he said.

  And so of more and less, and of other correlative terms, such as the double and the half, or again, the heavier and the lighter, the swifter and the slower; and of hot and cold, and of any other relatives; — is not this true of all of them?

  Yes.

  And does not the same principle hold in the sciences? The object of science is knowledge (assuming that to be the true definition), but the object of a particular science is a particular kind of knowledge; I mean, for example, that the science of house-building is a kind of knowledge which is defined and distinguished from other kinds and is therefore termed architecture.

  Certainly.

  Because it has a particular quality which no other has?

  Yes.

  And it has this particular quality because it has an object of a particular kind; and this is true of the other arts and sciences?

  Yes.

  Recapitulation.Anticipation of a possible confusion.

  Now, then, if I have made myself clear, you will understand my original meaning in what I said about relatives. My meaning was, that if one term of a relation is taken alone, the other is taken alone; if one term is qualified, the other is also qualified. I do not mean to say that relatives may not be disparate, or that the science of health is healthy, or of disease necessarily diseased, or that the sciences of good and evil are therefore good and evil; but only that, when the term science is no longer used absolutely, but has a qualified object which in this case is the nature of health and disease, it becomes defined, and is hence called not merely science, but the science of medicine.

  I quite understand, and I think as you do.

  439Would you not say that thirst is one of these essentially relative terms, having clearly a relation—

  Yes, thirst is relative to drink.

  And a certain kind of thirst is relative to a certain kind of drink; but thirst taken alone is neither of much nor little, nor of good nor bad, nor of any particular kind of drink, but of drink only?

  Certainly.

  Then the soul of the thirsty one, in so far as he is thirsty, desires only drink; for this he yearns and tries to obtain it?

  That is plain.

  The law of contradiction.

  And if you suppose something which pulls a thirsty soul away from drink, that must be different from the thirsty principle which draws him like a beast to drink; for, as we were saying, the same thing cannot at the same time with the same part of itself act in contrary ways about the same.

  Impossible.

  No more than you can say that the hands of the archer push and pull the bow at the same time, but what you say is that one hand pushes and the other pulls.

  Exactly so, he replied.

  And might a man be thirsty, and yet unwilling to drink?

  Yes, he said, it constantly happens.

  And in such a case what is one to say? Would you not say that there was something in the soul bidding a man to drink, and something else forbidding him, which is other and stronger than the principle which bids him?

  I should say so.

  The opposition of desire and reason.

  And the forbidding principle is derived from reason, and that which bids and attracts proceeds from passion and disease?

  Clearly.

  Then we may fairly assume that they are two, and that they differ from one another; the one with which a man reasons, we may call the rational principle of the soul, the other, with which he loves and hungers and thirsts and feels the flutterings of any other desire, may be termed the irrational or appetitive, the ally of sundry pleasures and satisfactions?

  Yes, he said, we may fairly assume them to be different.

  Then let us finally determine that there are two principles existing in the soul. And what of passion, or spirit? Is it a third, or akin to one of the preceding?

  I should be inclined to say—akin to desire.

  The third principle of spirit or passion illustrated by an example.

  Well, I said, there is a story which I remember to have heard, and in which I put faith. The story is, that Leontius, the son of Aglaion, coming up one day from the Piraeus, under the north wall on the outside, observed some dead bodies lying on the ground at the place of execution. He felt a desire to see them, and also a dread and abhorrence of them; 440for a time he struggled and covered his eyes, but at length the desire got the better of him; and forcing them open, he ran up to the dead bodies, saying, Look, ye wretches, take your fill of the fair sight.

  I have heard the story myself, he said.

  The moral of the tale is, that anger at times goes to war with desire, as though they were two distinct things.

  Yes; that is the meaning, he said.

  Passion never takes part with desire against reason.

  And are there not many other cases in which we observe that when a man’s desires violently prevail over his reason, he reviles himself, and is angry at the violence within him, and that in this struggle, which is like the struggle of factions in a State, his spirit is on the side of his reason;—but for the passionate or spirited element to take part with the desires when reason decides that she should not be opposed1 , is a sort of thing which I believe that you never observed occurring in yourself, nor, as I should imagine, in any one else?

  Certainly not.

  Righteous indignation never felt by a person of noble character when he deservedly suffers.

  Suppose that a man thinks he has done a wrong to another, the nobler he is the less able is he to feel indignant at any suffering, such as hunger, or cold, or any other pain which the injured person may inflict upon him—these he deems to be just, and, as I say, his anger refuses to be excited by them.

  True, he said.

  But when he thinks that he is the sufferer of the wrong, then he boils and chafes, and is on the side of what he believes to be justice; and because he suffers hunger or cold or other pain he is only the more determined to persevere and conquer. His noble spirit will not be quelled until he either slays or is slain; or until he hears the voice of the shepherd, that is, reason, bidding his dog bark no more.

  The illustration is perfect, he replied; and in our State, as we were saying, the auxiliaries were to be dogs, and to hear the voice of the rulers, who are their shepherds.

  I perceive, I said, that you quite understand me; there is, however, a further point which I wish you to consider.

  What point?

  You remember that passion or spirit appeared at first sight to be a kind of desire, but now we should say quite the contrary; for in the conflict of the soul spirit is arrayed on the side of the rational principle.

  Most assuredly.

  Not two, but three principles in the soul, as in the State.

  But a further question arises: Is passion different from reason also, or only a kind of reason; in which latter case, instead of three principles in the soul, there will only be two, 441the rational and the concupiscent; or rather, as the State was composed of three classes, traders, auxiliaries, counsellors, so may there not be in the individual soul a third element which is passion or spirit, and when not corrupted by bad education is the natural auxiliary of reason?

  Yes, he said, there must be a third.

  Yes, I replied, if passion, which has already been shown to be different from desire, turn out also to be different from reason.

  But that is easily proved:—We may observe even in young children that they are full of spirit almost as soon as they are born, whereas some of them never seem to attain to the use of reason, and most of them late enough.

  Appeal to Homer.

  Excellent, I said, and you may see passion equally in brute animals, which is a further proof of the truth of what you are saying. And we may once more appeal to the words of Homer, which have been already quoted by us,

  ‘He smote his breast, and thus rebuked his soul1 ;’

  for in this verse Homer has clearly supposed the power which reasons about the better and worse to be different from the unreasoning anger which is rebuked by it.

  Very true, he said.

  The conclusion that the same three principles exist both in the State and in the individual applied to each of them.

  And so, after much tossing, we have reached land, and are fairly agreed that the same principles which exist in the State exist also in the individual, and that they are three in number.

  Exactly.

  Must we not then infer that the individual is wise in the same way, and in virtue of the same quality which makes the State wise?

  Certainly.

  Also that the same quality which constitutes courage in the State constitutes courage in the individual, and that both the State and the individual bear the same relation to all the other virtues?

  Assuredly.

  And the individual will be acknowledged by us to be just in the same way in which the State is just?

  That follows of course.

  We cannot but remember that the justice of the State consisted in each of the three classes doing the work of its own class?

  We are not very likely to have forgotten, he said.

  We must recollect that the individual in whom the several qualities of his nature do their own work will be just, and will do his own work?

  Yes, he said, we must remember that too.

  And ought not the rational principle, which is wise, and has the care of the whole soul, to rule, and the passionate or spirited principle to be the subject and ally?

  Certainly.

  Music and gymnastic will harmonize passion and reason. These two combined will control desire,

  And, as we were saying, the united influence of music and gymnastic will bring them into accord, nerving and sustaining the reason with noble words and lessons, and moderating 442and soothing and civilizing the wildness of passion by harmony and rhythm?

  Quite true, he said.

  And these two, thus nurtured and educated, and having learned truly to know their own functions, will rule1 over the concupiscent, which in each of us is the largest part of the soul and by nature most insatiable of gain; over this they will keep guard, lest, waxing great and strong with the fulness of bodily pleasures, as they are termed, the concupiscent soul, no longer confined to her own sphere, should attempt to enslave and rule those who are not her natural-born subjects, and overturn the whole life of man?

  Very true, he said.

  and will be the best defenders both of body and soul.

  Both together will they not be the best defenders of the whole soul and the whole body against attacks from without; the one counselling, and the other fighting under his leader, and courageously executing his commands and counsels?

  True.

  The courageous.

  And he is to be deemed courageous whose spirit retains in pleasure and in pain the commands of reason about what he ought or ought not to fear?

  Right, he replied.

  The wise.

  And him we call wise who has in him that little part which rules, and which proclaims these commands; that part too being supposed to have a knowledge of what is for the interest of each of the three parts and of the whole?

  Assuredly.

  The temperate.

  And would you not say that he is temperate who has these same elements in friendly harmony, in whom the one ruling principle of reason, and the two subject ones of spirit and desire are equally agreed that reason ought to rule, and do not rebel?

  Certainly, he said, that is the true account of temperance whether in the State or individual.

  The just.

  And surely, I said, we have explained again and again how and by virtue of what quality a man will be just.

  That is very certain.

  And is justice dimmer in the individual, and is her form different, or is she the same which we found her to be in the State?

  There is no difference in my opinion, he said.

  Because, if any doubt is still lingering in our minds, a few commonplace instances will satisfy us of the truth of what I am saying.

  The nature of justice illustrated by commonplace instances.

  What sort of instances do you mean?

  If the case is put to us, must we not admit that the just 443State, or the man who is trained in the principles of such a State, will be less likely than the unjust to make away with a deposit of gold or silver? Would any one deny this?

  No one, he replied.

  Will the just man or citizen ever be guilty of sacrilege or theft, or treachery either to his friends or to his country?

  Never.

  Neither will he ever break faith where there have been oaths or agreements?

  Impossible.

  No one will be less likely to commit adultery, or to dishonour his father and mother, or to fail in his religious duties?

  No one.

  And the reason is that each part of him is doing its own business, whether in ruling or being ruled?

  Exactly so.

  Are you satisfied then that the quality which makes such men and such states is justice or do you hope to discover some other?

  Not I, indeed.

  We have realized the hope entertained in the first construction of the State.

  Then our dream has been realized; and the suspicion which we entertained at the beginning of our work of construction, that some divine power must have conducted us to a primary form of justice, has now been verified?

  Yes, certainly.

  And the division of labour which required the carpenter and the shoemaker and the rest of the citizens to be doing each his own business, and not another’s, was a shadow of justice, and for that reason it was of use?

  Clearly.

  The three principles harmonize in one.The harmony of human life.

  But in reality justice was such as we were describing, being concerned however, not with the outward man, but with the inward, which is the true self and concernment of man: for the just man does not permit the several elements within him to interfere with one another, or any of them to do the work of others,—he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master and his own law, and at peace with himself; and when he has bound together the three principles within him, which may be compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, and the intermediate intervals—when he has bound all these together, and is no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and perfectly adjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affair of politics or private business; always thinking and calling that which preserves and co-operates with this harmonious condition, just and good action, and the knowledge which presides over it, wisdom, and that which at any 444time impairs this condition, he will call unjust action, and the opinion which presides over it ignorance.

  You have said the exact truth, Socrates.

  Very good; and if we were to affirm that we had discovered the just man and the just State, and the nature of justice in each of them, we should not be telling a falsehood?

  Most certainly not.

  May we say so, then?

  Let us say so.

  And now, I said, injustice has to be considered.

  Clearly.

  Injustice the opposite of justice.

  Must not injustice be a strife which arises among the three principles—a meddlesomeness, and interference, and rising up of a part of the soul against the whole, an assertion of unlawful authority, which is made by a rebellious subject against a true prince, of whom he is the natural vassal,—what is all this confusion and delusion but injustice, and intemperance and cowardice and ignorance, and every form of vice?

  Exactly so.

  And if the nature of justice and injustice be known, then the meaning of acting unjustly and being unjust, or, again, of acting justly, will also be perfectly clear?

  What do you mean? he said.

  Why, I said, they are like disease and health; being in the soul just what disease and health are in the body.

  How so? he said.

  Why, I said, that which is healthy causes health, and that which is unhealthy causes disease.

  Yes.

  Analogy of body and soul.

  And just actions cause justice, and unjust actions cause injustice?

  Health: disease: : justice: injustice.

  That is certain.

  And the creation of health is the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the body; and the creation of disease is the production of a state of things at variance with this natural order?

  True.

  And is not the creation of justice the institution of a natural order and government of one by another in the parts of the soul, and the creation of injustice the production of a state of things at variance with the natural order?

  Exactly so, he said.

  Then virtue is the health and beauty and well-being of the soul, and vice the disease and weakness and deformity of the same?

  True.

  And do not good practices lead to virtue, and evil practices to vice?

  Assuredly.

  The old question, whether the just or the unjust is the happier, has become ridiculous.

  445Still our old question of the comparative advantage of justice and injustice has not been answered: Which is the more profitable, to be just and act justly and practise virtue, whether seen or unseen of gods and men, or to be unjust and act unjustly, if only unpunished and unreformed?

  In my judgment, Socrates, the question has now become ridiculous. We know that, when the bodily constitution is gone, life is no longer endurable, though pampered with all kinds of meats and drinks, and having all wealth and all power; and shall we be told that when the very essence of the vital principle is undermined and corrupted, life is still worth having to a man, if only he be allowed to do whatever he likes with the single exception that he is not to acquire justice and virtue, or to escape from injustice and vice; assuming them both to be such as we have described?

  Yes, I said, the question is, as you say, ridiculous. Still, as we are near the spot at which we may see the truth in the clearest manner with our own eyes, let us not faint by the way.

  Certainly not, he replied.

  Come up hither, I said, and behold the various forms of vice, those of them, I mean, which are worth looking at.

  I am following you, he replied: proceed.

  I said, The argument seems to have reached a height from which, as from some tower of speculation, a man may look down and see that virtue is one, but that the forms of vice are innumerable; there being four special ones which are deserving of note.

  What do you mean? he said.

  As many forms of the soul as of the State.

  I mean, I replied, that there appear to be as many forms of the soul as there are distinct forms of the State.

  How many?

  There are five of the State, and five of the soul, I said.

  What are they?

  The first, I said, is that which we have been describing, and which may be said to have two names, monarchy and aristocracy, accordingly as rule is exercised by one distinguished man or by many.

  True, he replied.

  But I regard the two names as describing one form only; for whether the government is in the hands of one or many, if the governors have been trained in the manner which we have supposed, the fundamental laws of the State will be maintained.

  That is true, he replied.

  BOOK V.

  Republic V.Socrates, Glaucon, Adeimantus.The community of women and children.

  449Such is the good and true City or State, and the good and true man is of the same pattern; and if this is right every other is wrong; and the evil is one which affects not only the ordering of the State, but also the regulation of the individual soul, and is exhibited in four forms.

  What are they? he said.

  I was proceeding to tell the order in which the four evil forms appeared to me to succeed one another, when Polemarchus, who was sitting a little way off, just beyond Adeimantus, began to whisper to him: stretching forth his hand, he took hold of the upper part of his coat by the shoulder, and drew him towards him, leaning forward himself so as to be quite close and saying something in his ear, of which I only caught the words, ‘Shall we let him off, or what shall we do?’

  Certainly not, said Adeimantus, raising his voice.

  Who is it, I said, whom you are refusing to let off?

  You, he said.

  I repeated1 , Why am I especially not to be let off?

  The saying ‘Friends have all things in common’ is an insufficient solution of the problem.

  Why, he said, we think that you are lazy, and mean to cheat us out of a whole chapter which is a very important part of the story; and you fancy that we shall not notice your airy way of proceeding; as if it were self-evident to everybody, that in the matter of women and children ‘friends have all things in common.’

  And was I not right, Adeimantus?

  Socrates, Adeimantus, Glaucon, Thrasymachus.

  Yes, he said; but what is right in this particular case, like everything else, requires to be explained; for community may be of many kinds. Please, therefore, to say what sort of community you mean. We have been long expecting that you would tell us something about the family life of your citizens—how they will bring children into the world, and rear them when they have arrived, and, in general, what is the nature of this community of women and children—for we are of opinion that the right or wrong management of such matters will have a great and paramount influence on the State for good or for evil. And now, since the question is still undetermined, and you are taking in hand another State, we have resolved, as you heard, not 450to let you go until you give an account of all this.

  To that resolution, said Glaucon, you may regard me as saying Agreed.

  And without more ado, said Thrasymachus, you may consider us all to be equally agreed.

  The feigned surprise of Socrates.

  I said, You know not what you are doing in thus assailing me: What an argument are you raising about the State! Just as I thought that I had finished, and was only too glad that I had laid this question to sleep, and was reflecting how fortunate I was in your acceptance of what I then said, you ask me to begin again at the very foundation, ignorant of what a hornet’s nest of words you are stirring. Now I foresaw this gathering trouble, and avoided it.

  The good-humour of Thrasymachus.

  For what purpose do you conceive that we have come here, said Thrasymachus, — to look for gold, or to hear discourse?

  Yes, but discourse should have a limit.

  Yes, Socrates, said Glaucon, and the whole of life is the only limit which wise men assign to the hearing of such discourses. But never mind about us; take heart yourself and answer the question in your own way: What sort of community of women and children is this which is to prevail among our guardians? and how shall we manage the period between birth and education, which seems to require the greatest care? Tell us how these things will be.

  Yes, my simple friend, but the answer is the reverse of easy; many more doubts arise about this than about our previous conclusions. For the practicability of what is said may be doubted; and looked at in another point of view, whether the scheme, if ever so practicable, would be for the best, is also doubtful. Hence I feel a reluctance to approach the subject, lest our aspiration, my dear friend, should turn out to be a dream only.

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  Fear not, he replied, for your audience will not be hard upon you; they are not sceptical or hostile.

  I said: My good friend, I suppose that you mean to encourage me by these words.

  Yes, he said.

  A friendly audience is more dangerous than a hostile one.

  Then let me tell you that you are doing just the reverse; the encouragement which you offer would have been all very well had I myself believed that I knew what I was talking about: to declare the truth about matters of high interest which a man honours and loves among wise men who love him need occasion no fear or faltering in his mind; but to carry on an argument when you are yourself only a hesitating 451enquirer, which is my condition, is a dangerous and slippery thing; and the danger is not that I shall be laughed at (of which the fear would be childish), but that I shall miss the truth where I have most need to be sure of my footing, and drag my friends after me in my fall. And I pray Nemesis not to visit upon me the words which I am going to utter. For I do indeed believe that to be an involuntary homicide is a less crime than to be a deceiver about beauty or goodness or justice in the matter of laws1 . And that is a risk which I would rather run among enemies than among friends, and therefore you do well to encourage me2 .

  Glaucon laughed and said: Well then, Socrates, in case you and your argument do us any serious injury you shall be acquitted beforehand of the homicide, and shall not be held to be a deceiver; take courage then and speak.

  Well, I said, the law says that when a man is acquitted he is free from guilt, and what holds at law may hold in argument.

  Then why should you mind?

  Well, I replied, I suppose that I must retrace my steps and say what I perhaps ought to have said before in the proper place. The part of the men has been played out, and now properly enough comes the turn of the women. Of them I will proceed to speak, and the more readily since I am invited by you.

  For men born and educated like our citizens, the only way, in my opinion, of arriving at a right conclusion about the possession and use of women and children is to follow the path on which we originally started, when we said that the men were to be the guardians and watchdogs of the herd.

  True.

  Let us further suppose the birth and education of our women to be subject to similar or nearly similar regulations; then we shall see whether the result accords with our design.

  What do you mean?

  No distinction among the animals such as is made between men and women.

  What I mean may be put into the form of a question, I said: Are dogs divided into hes and shes, or do they both share equally in hunting and in keeping watch and in the other duties of dogs? or do we entrust to the males the entire and exclusive care of the flocks, while we leave the females at home, under the idea that the bearing and suckling their puppies is labour enough for them?

  No, he said, they share alike; the only difference between them is that the males are stronger and the females weaker.

  But can you use different animals for the same purpose, unless they are bred and fed in the same way?

  You cannot.

  Then, if women are to have the same duties as men, they 452must have the same nurture and education?

  Yes.

  The education which was assigned to the men was music and gymnastic.

  Yes.

  Women must be taught music, gymnastic, and military exercises equally with men.

  Then women must be taught music and gymnastic and also the art of war, which they must practise like the men?

  That is the inference, I suppose.

  I should rather expect, I said, that several of our proposals, if they are carried out, being unusual, may appear ridiculous.

  No doubt of it.

  Yes, and the most ridiculous thing of all will be the sight of women naked in the palaestra, exercising with the men, especially when they are no longer young; they certainly will not be a vision of beauty, any more than the enthusiastic old men who in spite of wrinkles and ugliness continue to frequent the gymnasia.

  Yes, indeed, he said: according to present notions the proposal would be thought ridiculous.

  But then, I said, as we have determined to speak our minds, we must not fear the jests of the wits which will be directed against this sort of innovation; how they will talk of women’s attainments both in music and gymnastic, and above all about their wearing armour and riding upon horseback!

  Very true, he replied.

  Convention should not be permitted to stand in the way of a higher good.

  Yet having begun we must go forward to the rough places of the law; at the same time begging of these gentlemen for once in their life to be serious. Not long ago, as we shall remind them, the Hellenes were of the opinion, which is still generally received among the barbarians, that the sight of a naked man was ridiculous and improper; and when first the Cretans and then the Lacedaemonians introduced the custom, the wits of that day might equally have ridiculed the innovation.

  No doubt.

  But when experience showed that to let all things be uncovered was far better than to cover them up, and the ludicrous effect to the outward eye vanished before the better principle which reason asserted, then the man was perceived to be a fool who directs the shafts of his ridicule at any other sight but that of folly and vice, or seriously inclines to weigh the beautiful by any other standard but that of the good1 .

  Very true, he replied.

  First, then, whether the question is to be put in jest or in 453earnest, let us come to an understanding about the nature of woman: Is she capable of sharing either wholly or partially in the actions of men, or not at all? And is the art of war one of those arts in which she can or can not share? That will be the best way of commencing the enquiry, and will probably lead to the fairest conclusion.

  That will be much the best way.

  Shall we take the other side first and begin by arguing against ourselves; in this manner the adversary’s position will not be undefended.

  Why not? he said.

  Objection: We were saying that every one should do his own work: Have not women and men severally a work of their own?

  Then let us put a speech into the mouths of our opponents. They will say: ‘Socrates and Glaucon, no adversary need convict you, for you yourselves, at the first foundation of the State, admitted the principle that everybody was to do the one work suited to his own nature.’ And certainly, if I am not mistaken, such an admission was made by us. ‘And do not the natures of men and women differ very much indeed?’ And we shall reply: Of course they do. Then we shall be asked, ‘Whether the tasks assigned to men and to women should not be different, and such as are agreeable to their different natures?’ Certainly they should. ‘But if so, have you not fallen into a serious inconsistency in saying that men and women, whose natures are so entirely different, ought to perform the same actions?’—What defence will you make for us, my good Sir, against any one who offers these objections?

  That is not an easy question to answer when asked suddenly; and I shall and I do beg of you to draw out the case on our side.

  These are the objections, Glaucon, and there are many others of a like kind, which I foresaw long ago; they made me afraid and reluctant to take in hand any law about the possession and nurture of women and children.

  By Zeus, he said, the problem to be solved is anything but easy.

  Why yes, I said, but the fact is that when a man is out of his depth, whether he has fallen into a little swimming bath or into mid ocean, he has to swim all the same.

  Very true.

  And must not we swim and try to reach the shore: we will hope that Arion’s dolphin or some other miraculous help may save us?

  I suppose so, he said.

  Well then, let us see if any way of escape can be found. We acknowledged—did we not? that different natures ought to have different pursuits, and that men’s and women’s natures are different. And now what are we saying?—that different natures ought to have the same pursuits,—this is the inconsistency which is charged upon us.

  Precisely.

  454Verily, Glaucon, I said, glorious is the power of the art of contradiction!

  Why do you say so?

  The seeming inconsistency arises out of a verbal opposition.

  Because I think that many a man falls into the practice against his will. When he thinks that he is reasoning he is really disputing, just because he cannot define and divide, and so know that of which he is speaking; and he will pursue a merely verbal opposition in the spirit of contention and not of fair discussion.

  Yes, he replied, such is very often the case; but what has that to do with us and our argument?

  A great deal; for there is certainly a danger of our getting unintentionally into a verbal opposition.

  In what way?

  When we assigned to different natures different pursuits, we meant only those differences of nature which affected the pursuits.

  Why we valiantly and pugnaciously insist upon the verbal truth, that different natures ought to have different pursuits, but we never considered at all what was the meaning of sameness or difference of nature, or why we distinguished them when we assigned different pursuits to different natures and the same to the same natures.

  Why, no, he said, that was never considered by us.

  I said: Suppose that by way of illustration we were to ask the question whether there is not an opposition in nature between bald men and hairy men; and if this is admitted by us, then, if bald men are cobblers, we should forbid the hairy men to be cobblers, and conversely?

  That would be a jest, he said.

  Yes, I said, a jest; and why? because we never meant when we constructed the State, that the opposition of natures should extend to every difference, but only to those differences which affected the pursuit in which the individual is engaged; we should have argued, for example, that a physician and one who is in mind a physician1 may be said to have the same nature.

  True.

  Whereas the physician and the carpenter have different natures?

  Certainly.

  And if, I said, the male and female sex appear to differ in their fitness for any art or pursuit, we should say that such pursuit or art ought to be assigned to one or the other of them; but if the difference consists only in women bearing and men begetting children, this does not amount to a proof that a woman differs from a man in respect of the sort of education she should receive; and we shall therefore continue to maintain that our guardians and their wives ought to have the same pursuits.

  Very true, he said.

  Next, we shall ask our opponent how, in reference to any 455of the pursuits or arts of civic life, the nature of a woman differs from that of a man?

  That will be quite fair.

  And perhaps he, like yourself, will reply that to give a sufficient answer on the instant is not easy; but after a little reflection there is no difficulty.

  Yes, perhaps.

  Suppose then that we invite him to accompany us in the argument, and then we may hope to show him that there is nothing peculiar in the constitution of women which would affect them in the administration of the State.

  By all means.

  The same natural gifts are found in both sexes, but they are possessed in a higher degree by men than women.

  Let us say to him: Come now, and we will ask you a question:—when you spoke of a nature gifted or not gifted in any respect, did you mean to say that one man will acquire a thing easily, another with difficulty; a little learning will lead the one to discover a great deal; whereas the other, after much study and application, no sooner learns than he forgets; or again, did you mean, that the one has a body which is a good servant to his mind, while the body of the other is a hindrance to him?—would not these be the sort of differences which distinguish the man gifted by nature from the one who is ungifted?

  No one will deny that.

  And can you mention any pursuit of mankind in which the male sex has not all these gifts and qualities in a higher degree than the female? Need I waste time in speaking of the art of weaving, and the management of pancakes and preserves, in which womankind does really appear to be great, and in which for her to be beaten by a man is of all things the most absurd?

  You are quite right, he replied, in maintaining the general inferiority of the female sex: although many women are in many things superior to many men, yet on the whole what you say is true.

  And if so, my friend, I said, there is no special faculty of administration in a state which a woman has because she is a woman, or which a man has by virtue of his sex, but the gifts of nature are alike diffused in both; all the pursuits of men are the pursuits of women also, but in all of them a woman is inferior to a man.

  Very true.

  Men and women are to be governed by the same laws and to have the same pursuits.

  Then are we to impose all our enactments on men and none of them on women?

  That will never do.

  456One woman has a gift of healing, another not; one is a musician, and another has no music in her nature?

  Very true.

  And one woman has a turn for gymnastic and military exercises, and another is unwarlike and hates gymnastics?

  Certainly.

  And one woman is a philosopher, and another is an enemy of philosophy; one has spirit, and another is without spirit?

  That is also true.

  Then one woman will have the temper of a guardian, and another not. Was not the selection of the male guardians determined by differences of this sort?

  Yes.

  Men and women alike possess the qualities which make a guardian; they differ only in their comparative strength or weakness.

  Obviously.

  And those women who have such qualities are to be selected as the companions and colleagues of men who have similar qualities and whom they resemble in capacity and in character?

  Very true.

  And ought not the same natures to have the same pursuits?

  They ought.

  Then, as we were saying before, there is nothing unnatural in assigning music and gymnastic to the wives of the guardians—to that point we come round again.

  Certainly not.

  The law which we then enacted was agreeable to nature, and therefore not an impossibility or mere aspiration; and the contrary practice, which prevails at present, is in reality a violation of nature.

  That appears to be true.

  We had to consider, first, whether our proposals were possible, and secondly whether they were the most beneficial?

  Yes.

  And the possibility has been acknowledged?

  Yes.

  The very great benefit has next to be established?

  Quite so.

  There are different degrees of goodness both in women and in men.

  You will admit that the same education which makes a man a good guardian will make a woman a good guardian; for their original nature is the same?

  Yes.

  I should like to ask you a question.

  What is it?

  Would you say that all men are equal in excellence, or is one man better than another?

  The latter.

  And in the commonwealth which we were founding do you conceive the guardians who have been brought up on our model system to be more perfect men, or the cobblers whose education has been cobbling?

  What a ridiculous question!

  You have answered me, I replied: Well, and may we not further say that our guardians are the best of our citizens?

  By far the best.

  And will not their wives be the best women?

  Yes, by far the best.

  And can there be anything better for the interests of the State than that the men and women of a State should be as good as possible?

  There can be nothing better.

  457And this is what the arts of music and gymnastic, when present in such manner as we have described, will accomplish?

  Certainly.

  Then we have made an enactment not only possible but in the highest degree beneficial to the State?

  True.

  Then let the wives of our guardians strip, for their virtue will be their robe, and let them share in the toils of war and the defence of their country; only in the distribution of labours the lighter are to be assigned to the women, who are the weaker natures, but in other respects their duties are to be the same. And as for the man who laughs at naked women exercising their bodies from the best of motives, in his laughter he is plucking

  ‘A fruit of unripe wisdom,’

  The noble saying.

  and he himself is ignorant of what he is laughing at, or what he is about;—for that is, and ever will be, the best of sayings, That the useful is the noble and the hurtful is the base.

  Very true.

  Here, then, is one difficulty in our law about women, which we may say that we have now escaped; the wave has not swallowed us up alive for enacting that the guardians of either sex should have all their pursuits in common; to the utility and also to the possibility of this arrangement the consistency of the argument with itself bears witness.

  Yes, that was a mighty wave which you have escaped.

  The second and greater wave.

  Yes, I said, but a greater is coming; you will not think much of this when you see the next.

  Go on; let me see.

  The law, I said, which is the sequel of this and of all that has preceded, is to the following effect,—‘that the wives of our guardians are to be common, and their children are to be common, and no parent is to know his own child, nor any child his parent.’

  Yes, he said, that is a much greater wave than the other; and the possibility as well as the utility of such a law are far more questionable.

  I do not think, I said, that there can be any dispute about the very great utility of having wives and children in common; the possibility is quite another matter, and will be very much disputed.

  I think that a good many doubts may be raised about both.

  The utility and possibility of a community of wives and children.

  You imply that the two questions must be combined, I replied. Now I meant that you should admit the utility; and in this way, as I thought, I should escape from one of them, and then there would remain only the possibility.

  But that little attempt is detected, and therefore you will please to give a defence of both.

  The utility to be considered first, the possibility afterwards.

  Well, I said, I submit to my fate. Yet grant me a little 458favour: let me feast my mind with the dream as day dreamers are in the habit of feasting themselves when they are walking alone; for before they have discovered any means of effecting their wishes—that is a matter which never troubles them—they would rather not tire themselves by thinking about possibilities; but assuming that what they desire is already granted to them, they proceed with their plan, and delight in detailing what they mean to do when their wish has come true—that is a way which they have of not doing much good to a capacity which was never good for much. Now I myself am beginning to lose heart, and I should like, with your permission, to pass over the question of possibility at present. Assuming therefore the possibility of the proposal, I shall now proceed to enquire how the rulers will carry out these arrangements, and I shall demonstrate that our plan, if executed, will be of the greatest benefit to the State and to the guardians. First of all, then, if you have no objection, I will endeavour with your help to consider the advantages of the measure; and hereafter the question of possibility.

  I have no objection; proceed.

  First, I think that if our rulers and their auxiliaries are to be worthy of the name which they bear, there must be willingness to obey in the one and the power of command in the other; the guardians must themselves obey the laws, and they must also imitate the spirit of them in any details which are entrusted to their care.

  That is right, he said.

  The legislator will select guardians male and female, who will

  You, I said, who are their legislator, having selected the men, will now select the women and give them to them;—they must be as far as possible of like natures with them; and they must live in common houses and meet at common meals. None of them will have anything specially his or her own; they will be together, and will be brought up together, and will associate at gymnastic exercises. And so they will be drawn by a necessity of their natures to have intercourse with each other—necessity is not too strong a word, I think?

  meet at common meals and exercises, and will be drawn to one another by an irresistible necessity.

  Yes, he said;—necessity, not geometrical, but another sort of necessity which lovers know, and which is far more convincing and constraining to the mass of mankind.

  True, I said; and this, Glaucon, like all the rest, must proceed after an orderly fashion; in a city of the blessed, licentiousness is an unholy thing which the rulers will forbid.

  Yes, he said, and it ought not to be permitted.

  Then clearly the next thing will be to make matrimony sacred in the highest degree, and what is most beneficial will be deemed sacred?

  459Exactly.

  The breeding of human beings, as of animals, to be from the best and from those who are of a ripe age.

  And how can marriages be made most beneficial?—that is a question which I put to you, because I see in your house dogs for hunting, and of the nobler sort of birds not a few. Now, I beseech you, do tell me, have you ever attended to their pairing and breeding?

  In what particulars?

  Why, in the first place, although they are all of a good sort, are not some better than others?

  True.

  And do you breed from them all indifferently, or do you take care to breed from the best only?

  From the best.

  And do you take the oldest or the youngest, or only those of ripe age?

  I choose only those of ripe age.

  And if care was not taken in the breeding, your dogs and birds would greatly deteriorate?

  Certainly.

  And the same of horses and of animals in general?

  Undoubtedly.

  Good heavens! my dear friend, I said, what consummate skill will our rulers need if the same principle holds of the human species!

  Certainly, the same principle holds; but why does this involve any particular skill?

  Useful lies ‘very honest knaveries.’

  Because, I said, our rulers will often have to practise upon the body corporate with medicines. Now you know that when patients do not require medicines, but have only to be put under a regimen, the inferior sort of practitioner is deemed to be good enough; but when medicine has to be given, then the doctor should be more of a man.

  That is quite true, he said; but to what are you alluding?

  I mean, I replied, that our rulers will find a considerable dose of falsehood and deceit necessary for the good of their subjects: we were saying that the use of all these things regarded as medicines might be of advantage.

  And we were very right.

  And this lawful use of them seems likely to be often needed in the regulations of marriages and births.

  How so?

  Arrangements for the improvement of the breed;

  Why, I said, the principle has been already laid down that the best of either sex should be united with the best as often, and the inferior with the inferior, as seldom as possible; and that they should rear the offspring of the one sort of union, but not of the other, if the flock is to be maintained in first-rate condition. Now these goings on must be a secret which the rulers only know, or there will be a further danger of our herd, as the guardians may be termed, breaking out into rebellion.

  Very true.

  and for the regulation of population.

  Had we not better appoint certain festivals at which we will bring together the brides and bridegrooms, and sacrifices will 460be offered and suitable hymeneal songs composed by our poets: the number of weddings is a matter which must be left to the discretion of the rulers, whose aim will be to preserve the average of population? There are many other things which they will have to consider, such as the effects of wars and diseases and any similar agencies, in order as far as this is possible to prevent the State from becoming either too large or too small.

  Certainly, he replied.

  Pairing by lot.

  We shall have to invent some ingenious kind of lots which the less worthy may draw on each occasion of our bringing them together, and then they will accuse their own ill-luck and not the rulers.

  To be sure, he said.

  The brave deserve the fair.

  And I think that our braver and better youth, besides their other honours and rewards, might have greater facilities of intercourse with women given them; their bravery will be a reason, and such fathers ought to have as many sons as possible.

  True.

  And the proper officers, whether male or female or both, for offices are to be held by women as well as by men—

  Yes—

  What is to be done with the children?

  The proper officers will take the offspring of the good parents to the pen or fold, and there they will deposit them with certain nurses who dwell in a separate quarter; but the offspring of the inferior, or of the better when they chance to be deformed, will be put away in some mysterious, unknown place, as they should be.

  Yes, he said, that must be done if the breed of the guardians is to be kept pure.

  They will provide for their nurture, and will bring the mothers to the fold when they are full of milk, taking the greatest possible care that no mother recognises her own child; and other wet-nurses may be engaged if more are required. Care will also be taken that the process of suckling shall not be protracted too long; and the mothers will have no getting up at night or other trouble, but will hand over all this sort of thing to the nurses and attendants.

  You suppose the wives of our guardians to have a fine easy time of it when they are having children.

  Why, said I, and so they ought. Let us, however, proceed with our scheme. We were saying that the parents should be in the prime of life?

  Very true.

  And what is the prime of life? May it not be defined as a period of about twenty years in a woman’s life, and thirty in a man’s?

  Which years do you mean to include?

  A woman to bear children from

  A woman, I said, at twenty years of age may begin to bear children to the State, and continue to bear them until forty; a man may begin at five-and-twenty, when he has passed the point at which the pulse of life beats quickest, and continue to beget children until he be fifty-five.

  461Certainly, he said, both in men and women those years are the prime of physical as well as of intellectual vigour.

  twenty to forty; a man to beget them from twenty-five to fifty-five.

  Any one above or below the prescribed ages who takes part in the public hymeneals shall be said to have done an unholy and unrighteous thing; the child of which he is the father, if it steals into life, will have been conceived under auspices very unlike the sacrifices and prayers, which at each hymeneal priestesses and priests and the whole city will offer, that the new generation may be better and more useful than their good and useful parents, whereas his child will be the offspring of darkness and strange lust.

  Very true, he replied.

  And the same law will apply to any one of those within the prescribed age who forms a connection with any woman in the prime of life without the sanction of the rulers; for we shall say that he is raising up a bastard to the State, uncertified and unconsecrated.

  Very true, he replied.

  After the prescribed age has been passed, more licence is allowed: but all who were born after certain hymeneal festivals at which their parents or grandparents came together must be kept separate.

  This applies, however, only to those who are within the specified age: after that we allow them to range at will, except that a man may not marry his daughter or his daughter’s daughter, or his mother or his mother’s mother; and women, on the other hand, are prohibited from marrying their sons or fathers, or son’s son or father’s father, and so on in either direction. And we grant all this, accompanying the permission with strict orders to prevent any embryo which may come into being from seeing the light; and if any force a way to the birth, the parents must understand that the offspring of such an union cannot be maintained, and arrange accordingly.

  That also, he said, is a reasonable proposition. But how will they know who are fathers and daughters, and so on?

  They will never know. The way will be this:—dating from the day of the hymeneal, the bridegroom who was then married will call all the male children who are born in the seventh and the tenth month afterwards his sons, and the female children his daughters, and they will call him father, and he will call their children his grandchildren, and they will call the elder generation grandfathers and grandmothers. All who were begotten at the time when their fathers and mothers came together will be called their brothers and sisters, and these, as I was saying, will be forbidden to intermarry. This, however, is not to be understood as an absolute prohibition of the marriage of brothers and sisters; if the lot favours them, and they receive the sanction of the Pythian oracle, the law will allow them.

  Quite right, he replied.

  Such is the scheme, Glaucon, according to which the guardians of our State are to have their wives and families in common. And now you would have the argument show that this community is consistent with the rest of our polity, and also that nothing can be better—would you not?

  462Yes, certainly.

  Shall we try to find a common basis by asking of ourselves what ought to be the chief aim of the legislator in making laws and in the organization of a State,—what is the greatest good, and what is the greatest evil, and then consider whether our previous description has the stamp of the good or of the evil?

  By all means.

  The greatest good of States, unity; the greatest evil, discord. The one the result of public, the other of private feelings.

  Can there be any greater evil than discord and distraction and plurality where unity ought to reign? or any greater good than the bond of unity?

  There cannot.

  And there is unity where there is community of pleasures and pains—where all the citizens are glad or grieved on the same occasions of joy and sorrow?

  No doubt.

  Yes; and where there is no common but only private feeling a State is disorganized—when you have one half of the world triumphing and the other plunged in grief at the same events happening to the city or the citizens?

  Certainly.

  Such differences commonly originate in a disagreement about the use of the terms ‘mine’ and ‘not mine,’ ‘his’ and ‘not his.’

  Exactly so.

  And is not that the best-ordered State in which the greatest number of persons apply the terms ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’ in the same way to the same thing?

  Quite true.

  The State like a living being which feels altogether when hurt in any part.

  Or that again which most nearly approaches to the condition of the individual—as in the body, when but a finger of one of us is hurt, the whole frame, drawn towards the soul as a centre and forming one kingdom under the ruling power therein, feels the hurt and sympathizes all together with the part affected, and we say that the man has a pain in his finger; and the same expression is used about any other part of the body, which has a sensation of pain at suffering or of pleasure at the alleviation of suffering.

  Very true, he replied; and I agree with you that in the best-ordered State there is the nearest approach to this common feeling which you describe.

  Then when any one of the citizens experiences any good or evil, the whole State will make his case their own, and will either rejoice or sorrow with him?

  Yes, he said, that is what will happen in a well-ordered State.

  How different are the terms which are applied to the rulers in other States and in our own!

  It will now be time, I said, for us to return to our State and see whether this or some other form is most in accordance with these fundamental principles.

  Very good.

  463Our State like every other has rulers and subjects?

  True.

  All of whom will call one another citizens?

  Of course.

  But is there not another name which people give to their rulers in other States?

  Generally they call them masters, but in democratic States they simply call them rulers.

  And in our State what other name besides that of citizens do the people give the rulers?

  They are called saviours and helpers, he replied.

  And what do the rulers call the people?

  Their maintainers and foster-fathers.

  And what do they call them in other States?

  Slaves.

  And what do the rulers call one another in other States?

  Fellow-rulers.

  And what in ours?

  Fellow-guardians.

  Did you ever know an example in any other State of a ruler who would speak of one of his colleagues as his friend and of another as not being his friend?

  Yes, very often.

  And the friend he regards and describes as one in whom he has an interest, and the other as a stranger in whom he has no interest?

  Exactly.

  But would any of your guardians think or speak of any other guardian as a stranger?

  Certainly he would not; for every one whom they meet will be regarded by them either as a brother or sister, or father or mother, or son or daughter, or as the child or parent of those who are thus connected with him.

  The State one family.

  Capital, I said; but let me ask you once more: Shall they be a family in name only; or shall they in all their actions be true to the name? For example, in the use of the word ‘father,’ would the care of a father be implied and the filial reverence and duty and obedience to him which the law commands; and is the violator of these duties to be regarded as an impious and unrighteous person who is not likely to receive much good either at the hands of God or of man? Are these to be or not to be the strains which the children will hear repeated in their ears by all the citizens about those who are intimated to them to be their parents and the rest of their kinsfolk?

  Using the same terms, they will have the same modes of thinking and acting, and this is to be attributed mainly to the community of women and children.

  These, he said, and none other; for what can be more ridiculous than for them to utter the names of family ties with the lips only and not to act in the spirit of them?

  Then in our city the language of harmony and concord will be more often heard than in any other. As I was describing before, when any one is well or ill, the universal word will be ‘with me it is well’ or ‘it is ill.’

  464Most true.

  And agreeably to this mode of thinking and speaking, were we not saying that they will have their pleasures and pains in common?

  Yes, and so they will.

  And they will have a common interest in the same thing which they will alike call ‘my own,’ and having this common interest they will have a common feeling of pleasure and pain?

  Yes, far more so than in other States.

  And the reason of this, over and above the general constitution of the State, will be that the guardians will have a community of women and children?

  That will be the chief reason.

  And this unity of feeling we admitted to be the greatest good, as was implied in our own comparison of a well-ordered State to the relation of the body and the members, when affected by pleasure or pain?

  That we acknowledged, and very rightly.

  Then the community of wives and children among our citizens is clearly the source of the greatest good to the State?

  Certainly.

  And this agrees with the other principle which we were affirming,—that the guardians were not to have houses or lands or any other property; their pay was to be their food, which they were to receive from the other citizens, and they were to have no private expenses; for we intended them to preserve their true character of guardians.

  Right, he replied.

  There will be no private interests among them, and therefore no lawsuits or trials for assault or violence to elders.

  Both the community of property and the community of families, as I am saying, tend to make them more truly guardians; they will not tear the city in pieces by differing about ‘mine’ and ‘not mine;’ each man dragging any acquisition which he has made into a separate house of his own, where he has a separate wife and children and private pleasures and pains; but all will be affected as far as may be by the same pleasures and pains because they are all of one opinion about what is near and dear to them, and therefore they all tend towards a common end.

  Certainly, he replied.

  And as they have nothing but their persons which they can call their own, suits and complaints will have no existence among them; they will be delivered from all those quarrels of which money or children or relations are the occasion.

  Of course they will.

  Neither will trials for assault or insult ever be likely to occur among them. For that equals should defend themselves against equals we shall maintain to be honourable 465and right; we shall make the protection of the person a matter of necessity.

  That is good, he said.

  Yes; and there is a further good in the law; viz. that if a man has a quarrel with another he will satisfy his resentment then and there, and not proceed to more dangerous lengths.

  Certainly.

  To the elder shall be assigned the duty of ruling and chastising the younger.

  Clearly.

  Nor can there be a doubt that the younger will not strike or do any other violence to an elder, unless the magistrates command him; nor will he slight him in any way. For there are two guardians, shame and fear, mighty to prevent him: shame, which makes men refrain from laying hands on those who are to them in the relation of parents; fear, that the injured one will be succoured by the others who are his brothers, sons, fathers.

  That is true, he replied.

  Then in every way the laws will help the citizens to keep the peace with one another?

  Yes, there will be no want of peace.

  From how many other evils will our citizens be delivered!

  And as the guardians will never quarrel among themselves there will be no danger of the rest of the city being divided either against them or against one another.

  None whatever.

  I hardly like even to mention the little meannesses of which they will be rid, for they are beneath notice: such, for example, as the flattery of the rich by the poor, and all the pains and pangs which men experience in bringing up a family, and in finding money to buy necessaries for their household, borrowing and then repudiating, getting how they can, and giving the money into the hands of women and slaves to keep—the many evils of so many kinds which people suffer in this way are mean enough and obvious enough, and not worth speaking of.

  Yes, he said, a man has no need of eyes in order to perceive that.

  And from all these evils they will be delivered, and their life will be blessed as the life of Olympic victors and yet more blessed.

  How so?

  The Olympic victor, I said, is deemed happy in receiving a part only of the blessedness which is secured to our citizens, who have won a more glorious victory and have a more complete maintenance at the public cost. For the victory which they have won is the salvation of the whole State; and the crown with which they and their children are crowned is the fulness of all that life needs; they receive rewards from the hands of their country while living, and after death have an honourable burial.

  Yes, he said, and glorious rewards they are.

  Answer to the charge of Adeimantus that we made our citizens unhappy for their own good.

  Do you remember, I said, how in the course of the previous 466discussion1 some one who shall be nameless accused us of making our guardians unhappy—they had nothing and might have possessed all things—to whom we replied that, if an occasion offered, we might perhaps hereafter consider this question, but that, as at present advised, we would make our guardians truly guardians, and that we were fashioning the State with a view to the greatest happiness, not of any particular class, but of the whole?

  Yes, I remember.

  Their life not to be compared with that of citizens in ordinary States.

  And what do you say, now that the life of our protectors is made out to be far better and nobler than that of Olympic victors—is the life of shoemakers, or any other artisans, or of husbandmen, to be compared with it?

  Certainly not.

  He who seeks to be more than a guardian is naught.

  At the same time I ought here to repeat what I have said elsewhere, that if any of our guardians shall try to be happy in such a manner that he will cease to be a guardian, and is not content with this safe and harmonious life, which, in our judgment, is of all lives the best, but infatuated by some youthful conceit of happiness which gets up into his head shall seek to appropriate the whole state to himself, then he will have to learn how wisely Hesiod spoke, when he said, ‘half is more than the whole.’

  If he were to consult me, I should say to him: Stay where you are, when you have the offer of such a life.

  The common way of life includes common education, common children, common services and duties of men and women.

  You agree then, I said, that men and women are to have a common way of life such as we have described—common education, common children; and they are to watch over the citizens in common whether abiding in the city or going out to war; they are to keep watch together, and to hunt together like dogs; and always and in all things, as far as they are able, women are to share with the men? And in so doing they will do what is best, and will not violate, but preserve the natural relation of the sexes.

  I agree with you, he replied.

  The enquiry, I said, has yet to be made, whether such a community will be found possible—as among other animals, so also among men—and if possible, in what way possible?

  You have anticipated the question which I was about to suggest.

  There is no difficulty, I said, in seeing how war will be carried on by them.

  How?

  The children to accompany their parents on military expeditions;

  Why, of course they will go on expeditions together; and will take with them any of their children who are strong enough, that, after the manner of the artisan’s child, they may look on at the work which they will have to do when 467they are grown up; and besides looking on they will have to help and be of use in war, and to wait upon their fathers and mothers. Did you never observe in the arts how the potters’ boys look on and help, long before they touch the wheel?

  Yes, I have.

  And shall potters be more careful in educating their children and in giving them the opportunity of seeing and practising their duties than our guardians will be?

  The idea is ridiculous, he said.

  There is also the effect on the parents, with whom, as with other animals, the presence of their young ones will be the greatest incentive to valour.

  That is quite true, Socrates; and yet if they are defeated, which may often happen in war, how great the danger is! the children will be lost as well as their parents, and the State will never recover.

  True, I said; but would you never allow them to run any risk?

  I am far from saying that.

  Well, but if they are ever to run a risk should they not do so on some occasion when, if they escape disaster, they will be the better for it?

  Clearly.

  but care must be taken that they do not run any serious risk.

  Whether the future soldiers do or do not see war in the days of their youth is a very important matter, for the sake of which some risk may fairly be incurred.

  Yes, very important.

  This then must be our first step,—to make our children spectators of war; but we must also contrive that they shall be secured against danger; then all will be well.

  True.

  Their parents may be supposed not to be blind to the risks of war, but to know, as far as human foresight can, what expeditions are safe and what dangerous?

  That may be assumed.

  And they will take them on the safe expeditions and be cautious about the dangerous ones?

  True.

  And they will place them under the command of experienced veterans who will be their leaders and teachers?

  Very properly.

  Still, the dangers of war cannot be always foreseen; there is a good deal of chance about them?

  True.

  Then against such chances the children must be at once furnished with wings, in order that in the hour of need they may fly away and escape.

  What do you mean? he said.

  I mean that we must mount them on horses in their earliest youth, and when they have learnt to ride, take them on horseback to see war: the horses must not be spirited and warlike, but the most tractable and yet the swiftest that can be had. In this way they will get an excellent view of what is hereafter 468to be their own business; and if there is danger they have only to follow their elder leaders and escape.

  I believe that you are right, he said.

  The coward is to be degraded into a lower rank.

  Next, as to war; what are to be the relations of your soldiers to one another and to their enemies? I should be inclined to propose that the soldier who leaves his rank or throws away his arms, or is guilty of any other act of cowardice, should be degraded into the rank of a husbandman or artisan. What do you think?

  By all means, I should say.

  And he who allows himself to be taken prisoner may as well be made a present of to his enemies; he is their lawful prey, and let them do what they like with him.

  Certainly.

  The hero to receive honour from his comrades and favour from his beloved,

  But the hero who has distinguished himself, what shall be done to him? In the first place, he shall receive honour in the army from his youthful comrades; every one of them in succession shall crown him. What do you say?

  I approve.

  And what do you say to his receiving the right hand of fellowship?

  To that too, I agree.

  But you will hardly agree to my next proposal.

  What is your proposal?

  That he should kiss and be kissed by them.

  Most certainly, and I should be disposed to go further, and say: Let no one whom he has a mind to kiss refuse to be kissed by him while the expedition lasts. So that if there be a lover in the army, whether his love be youth or maiden, he may be more eager to win the prize of valour.

  Capital, I said. That the brave man is to have more wives than others has been already determined: and he is to have first choices in such matters more than others, in order that he may have as many children as possible?

  Agreed.

  and to have precedence, and a larger share of meats and drinks;

  Again, there is another manner in which, according to Homer, brave youths should be honoured; for he tells how Ajax1 , after he had distinguished himself in battle, was rewarded with long chines, which seems to be a compliment appropriate to a hero in the flower of his age, being not only a tribute of honour but also a very strengthening thing.

  Most true, he said.

  Then in this, I said, Homer shall be our teacher; and we too, at sacrifices and on the like occasions, will honour the brave according to the measure of their valour, whether men or women, with hymns and those other distinctions which we were mentioning; also with

  ‘seats of precedence, and meats and full cups1 ;’

  and in honouring them, we shall be at the same time training them.

  That, he replied, is excellent.

  Yes, I said; and when a man dies gloriously in war shall we not say, in the first place, that he is of the golden race?

  To be sure.

  also to be worshipped after death.

  Nay, have we not the authority of Hesiod for affirming that when they are dead

  469‘They are holy angels upon the earth, authors of good, averters of evil, the guardians of speech-gifted men’?2

  Yes; and we accept his authority.

  We must learn of the god how we are to order the sepulture of divine and heroic personages, and what is to be their special distinction; and we must do as he bids?

  By all means.

  And in ages to come we will reverence them and kneel before their sepulchres as at the graves of heroes. And not only they but any who are deemed pre-eminently good, whether they die from age, or in any other way, shall be admitted to the same honours.

  That is very right, he said.

  Behaviour to enemies.

  Next, how shall our soldiers treat their enemies? What about this?

  In what respect do you mean?

  First of all, in regard to slavery? Do you think it right that Hellenes should enslave Hellenic States, or allow others to enslave them, if they can help? Should not their custom be to spare them, considering the danger which there is that the whole race may one day fall under the yoke of the barbarians?

  To spare them is infinitely better.

  Then no Hellene should be owned by them as a slave; that is a rule which they will observe and advise the other Hellenes to observe.

  No Hellene shall be made a slave.

  Certainly, he said; they will in this way be united against the barbarians and will keep their hands off one another.

  Next as to the slain; ought the conquerors, I said, to take anything but their armour? Does not the practice of despoiling an enemy afford an excuse for not facing the battle? Cowards skulk about the dead, pretending that they are fulfilling a duty, and many an army before now has been lost from this love of plunder.

  Very true.

  Those who fall in battle are not to be despoiled.

  And is there not illiberality and avarice in robbing a corpse, and also a degree of meanness and womanishness in making an enemy of the dead body when the real enemy has flown away and left only his fighting gear behind him,—is not this rather like a dog who cannot get at his assailant, quarrelling with the stones which strike him instead?

  Very like a dog, he said.

  Then we must abstain from spoiling the dead or hindering their burial?

  Yes, he replied, we most certainly must.

  The arms of Hellenes are not to be offered at temples;

  Neither shall we offer up arms at the temples of the gods, 470least of all the arms of Hellenes, if we care to maintain good feeling with other Hellenes; and, indeed, we have reason to fear that the offering of spoils taken from kinsmen may be a pollution unless commanded by the god himself?

  Very true.

  Again, as to the devastation of Hellenic territory or the burning of houses, what is to be the practice?

  May I have the pleasure, he said, of hearing your opinion?

  Both should be forbidden, in my judgment; I would take the annual produce and no more. Shall I tell you why?

  Pray do.

  nor Hellenic territory devastated.

  Why, you see, there is a difference in the names ‘discord’ and ‘war,’ and I imagine that there is also a difference in their natures; the one is expressive of what is internal and domestic, the other of what is external and foreign; and the first of the two is termed discord, and only the second, war.

  That is a very proper distinction, he replied.

  And may I not observe with equal propriety that the Hellenic race is all united together by ties of blood and friendship, and alien and strange to the barbarians?

  Very good, he said.

  Hellenic warfare is only a kind of discord not intended to be lasting.

  And therefore when Hellenes fight with barbarians and barbarians with Hellenes, they will be described by us as being at war when they fight, and by nature enemies, and this kind of antagonism should be called war; but when Hellenes fight with one another we shall say that Hellas is then in a state of disorder and discord, they being by nature friends; and such enmity is to be called discord.

  I agree.

  Consider then, I said, when that which we have acknowledged to be discord occurs, and a city is divided, if both parties destroy the lands and burn the houses of one another, how wicked does the strife appear! No true lover of his country would bring himself to tear in pieces his own nurse and mother: There might be reason in the conqueror depriving the conquered of their harvest, but still they would have the idea of peace in their hearts and would not mean to go on fighting for ever.

  Yes, he said, that is a better temper than the other.

  And will not the city, which you are founding, be an Hellenic city?

  It ought to be, he replied.

  Then will not the citizens be good and civilized?

  Yes, very civilized.

  The lover of his own city will also be a lover of Hellas.

  And will they not be lovers of Hellas, and think of Hellas as their own land, and share in the common temples?

  Most certainly.

  And any difference which arises among them will be 471regarded by them as discord only—a quarrel among friends, which is not to be called a war?

  Certainly not.

  Then they will quarrel as those who intend some day to be reconciled?

  Certainly.

  They will use friendly correction, but will not enslave or destroy their opponents; they will be correctors, not enemies?

  Just so.

  Hellenes should deal mildly with Hellenes; and with barbarians as Hellenes now deal with one another.

  And as they are Hellenes themselves they will not devastate Hellas, nor will they burn houses, nor ever suppose that the whole population of a city—men, women, and children—are equally their enemies, for they know that the guilt of war is always confined to a few persons and that the many are their friends. And for all these reasons they will be unwilling to waste their lands and rase their houses; their enmity to them will only last until the many innocent sufferers have compelled the guilty few to give satisfaction?

  I agree, he said, that our citizens should thus deal with their Hellenic enemies; and with barbarians as the Hellenes now deal with one another.

  Then let us enact this law also for our guardians:—that they are neither to devastate the lands of Hellenes nor to burn their houses.

  Agreed; and we may agree also in thinking that these, like all our previous enactments, are very good.

  The complaint of Glaucon respecting the hesitation of Socrates.

  But still I must say, Socrates, that if you are allowed to go on in this way you will entirely forget the other question which at the commencement of this discussion you thrust aside:—Is such an order of things possible, and how, if at all? For I am quite ready to acknowledge that the plan which you propose, if only feasible, would do all sorts of good to the State. I will add, what you have omitted, that your citizens will be the bravest of warriors, and will never leave their ranks, for they will all know one another, and each will call the other father, brother, son; and if you suppose the women to join their armies, whether in the same rank or in the rear, either as a terror to the enemy, or as auxiliaries in case of need, I know that they will then be absolutely invincible; and there are many domestic advantages which might also be mentioned and which I also fully acknowledge: but, as I admit all these advantages and as many more as you please, if only this State of yours were to come into existence, we need say no more about them; assuming then the existence of the State, let us now turn to the question of possibility and ways and means—the rest may be left.

  Socrates excuses himself and makes one or two remarks preparatory to a final effort.

  472If I loiter1 for a moment, you instantly make a raid upon me, I said, and have no mercy; I have hardly escaped the first and second waves, and you seem not to be aware that you are now bringing upon me the third, which is the greatest and heaviest. When you have seen and heard the third wave, I think you will be more considerate and will acknowledge that some fear and hesitation was natural respecting a proposal so extraordinary as that which I have now to state and investigate.

  The more appeals of this sort which you make, he said, the more determined are we that you shall tell us how such a State is possible: speak out and at once.

  Let me begin by reminding you that we found our way hither in the search after justice and injustice.

  True, he replied; but what of that?

  I was only going to ask whether, if we have discovered them, we are to require that the just man should in nothing fail of absolute justice; or may we be satisfied with an approximation, and the attainment in him of a higher degree of justice than is to be found in other men?

  The approximation will be enough.

  (1) The ideal is a standard only which can never be perfectly realized;

  We were enquiring into the nature of absolute justice and into the character of the perfectly just, and into injustice and the perfectly unjust, that we might have an ideal. We were to look at these in order that we might judge of our own happiness and unhappiness according to the standard which they exhibited and the degree in which we resembled them, but not with any view of showing that they could exist in fact.

  True, he said.

  Would a painter be any the worse because, after having delineated with consummate art an ideal of a perfectly beautiful man, he was unable to show that any such man could ever have existed?

  He would be none the worse.

  Well, and were we not creating an ideal of a perfect State?

  To be sure.

  And is our theory a worse theory because we are unable to prove the possibility of a city being ordered in the manner described?

  Surely not, he replied.

  (2) but is none the worse for this.

  That is the truth, I said. But if, at your request, I am to try and show how and under what conditions the possibility is highest, I must ask you, having this in view, to repeat your former admissions.

  What admissions?

  473I want to know whether ideals are ever fully realized in language? Does not the word express more than the fact, and must not the actual, whatever a man may think, always, in the nature of things, fall short of the truth? What do you say?

  I agree.

  Then you must not insist on my proving that the actual State will in every respect coincide with the ideal: if we are only able to discover how a city may be governed nearly as we proposed, you will admit that we have discovered the possibility which you demand; and will be contented. I am sure that I should be contented—will not you?

  Yes, I will.

  (3) Although the ideal cannot be realized, one or two changes, or rather a single change, might revolutionize a State.

  Let me next endeavour to show what is that fault in States which is the cause of their present maladministration, and what is the least change which will enable a State to pass into the truer form; and let the change, if possible, be of one thing only, or, if not, of two; at any rate, let the changes be as few and slight as possible.

  Certainly, he replied.

  I think, I said, that there might be a reform of the State if only one change were made, which is not a slight or easy though still a possible one.

  What is it? he said.

  Socrates goes forth to meet the wave.

  Now then, I said, I go to meet that which I liken to the greatest of the waves; yet shall the word be spoken, even though the wave break and drown me in laughter and dishonour; and do you mark my words.

  Proceed.

  ‘Cities will never cease from ill until they are governed by philosophers.’

  I said: Until philosophers are kings, or the kings and princes of this world have the spirit and power of philosophy, and political greatness and wisdom meet in one, and those commoner natures who pursue either to the exclusion of the other are compelled to stand aside, cities will never have rest from their evils,—no, nor the human race, as I believe,—and then only will this our State have a possibility of life and behold the light of day. Such was the thought, my dear Glaucon, which I would fain have uttered if it had not seemed too extravagant; for to be convinced that in no other State can there be happiness private or public is indeed a hard thing.

  What will the world say to this?

  Socrates, what do you mean? I would have you consider that the word which you have uttered is one at which numerous persons, and very respectable persons too, in a 474figure pulling off their coats all in a moment, and seizing any weapon that comes to hand, will run at you might and main, before you know where you are, intending to do heaven knows what; and if you don’t prepare an answer, and put yourself in motion, you will be ‘pared by their fine wits,’ and no mistake.

  You got me into the scrape, I said.

  And I was quite right; however, I will do all I can to get you out of it; but I can only give you good-will and good advice, and, perhaps, I may be able to fit answers to your questions better than another—that is all. And now, having such an auxiliary, you must do your best to show the unbelievers that you are right.

  But who is a philosopher?

  I ought to try, I said, since you offer me such invaluable assistance. And I think that, if there is to be a chance of our escaping, we must explain to them whom we mean when we say that philosophers are to rule in the State; then we shall be able to defend ourselves: There will be discovered to be some natures who ought to study philosophy and to be leaders in the State; and others who are not born to be philosophers, and are meant to be followers rather than leaders.

  Then now for a definition, he said.

  Follow me, I said, and I hope that I may in some way or other be able to give you a satisfactory explanation.

  Proceed.

  Parallel of the lover.

  I dare say that you remember, and therefore I need not remind you, that a lover, if he is worthy of the name, ought to show his love, not to some one part of that which he loves, but to the whole.

  I really do not understand, and therefore beg of you to assist my memory.

  The lover of the fair loves them all;

  Another person, I said, might fairly reply as you do; but a man of pleasure like yourself ought to know that all who are in the flower of youth do somehow or other raise a pang or emotion in a lover’s breast, and are thought by him to be worthy of his affectionate regards. Is not this a way which you have with the fair: one has a snub nose, and you praise his charming face; the hook-nose of another has, you say, a royal look; while he who is neither snub nor hooked has the grace of regularity: the dark visage is manly, the fair are children of the gods; and as to the sweet ‘honey pale,’ as they are called, what is the very name but the invention of a lover who talks in diminutives, and is not averse to paleness if appearing on the cheek of youth? In a word, there is no 475excuse which you will not make, and nothing which you will not say, in order not to lose a single flower that blooms in the spring-time of youth.

  If you make me an authority in matters of love, for the sake of the argument, I assent.

  the lover of wines all wines;

  And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking any wine.

  Very good.

  the lover of honour all honour;

  And the same is true of ambitious men; if they cannot command an army, they are willing to command a file; and if they cannot be honoured by really great and important persons, they are glad to be honoured by lesser and meaner people,—but honour of some kind they must have.

  Exactly.

  Once more let me ask: Does he who desires any class of goods, desire the whole class or a part only?

  The whole.

  the philosopher, or lover of wisdom, all knowledge.

  And may we not say of the philosopher that he is a lover, not of a part of wisdom only, but of the whole?

  Yes, of the whole.

  And he who dislikes learning, especially in youth, when he has no power of judging what is good and what is not, such an one we maintain not to be a philosopher or a lover of knowledge, just as he who refuses his food is not hungry, and may be said to have a bad appetite and not a good one?

  Very true, he said.

  Whereas he who has a taste for every sort of knowledge and who is curious to learn and is never satisfied, may be justly termed a philosopher? Am I not right?

  Under knowledge, however, are not to be included sights and sounds, or under the lovers of knowledge, musical amateurs and the like.

  Glaucon said: If curiosity makes a philosopher, you will find many a strange being will have a title to the name. All the lovers of sights have a delight in learning, and must therefore be included. Musical amateurs, too, are a folk strangely out of place among philosophers, for they are the last persons in the world who would come to anything like a philosophical discussion, if they could help, while they run about at the Dionysiac festivals as if they had let out their ears to hear every chorus; whether the performance is in town or country—that makes no difference—they are there. Now are we to maintain that all these and any who have similar tastes, as well as the professors of quite minor arts, are philosophers?

  Certainly not, I replied; they are only an imitation.

  He said: Who then are the true philosophers?

  Those, I said, who are lovers of the vision of truth.

  That is also good, he said; but I should like to know what you mean?

  To another, I replied, I might have a difficulty in explaining; but I am sure that you will admit a proposition which I am about to make.

  What is the proposition?

  That since beauty is the opposite of ugliness, they are two?

  Certainly.

  476And inasmuch as they are two, each of them is one?

  True again.

  And of just and unjust, good and evil, and of every other class, the same remark holds: taken singly, each of them is one; but from the various combinations of them with actions and things and with one another, they are seen in all sorts of lights and appear many?

  Very true.

  And this is the distinction which I draw between the sight-loving, art-loving, practical class and those of whom I am speaking, and who are alone worthy of the name of philosophers.

  How do you distinguish them? he said.

  The lovers of sounds and sights, I replied, are, as I conceive, fond of fine tones and colours and forms and all the artificial products that are made out of them, but their mind is incapable of seeing or loving absolute beauty.

  True, he replied.

  Few are they who are able to attain to the sight of this.

  Very true.

  And he who, having a sense of beautiful things has no sense of absolute beauty, or who, if another lead him to a knowledge of that beauty is unable to follow—of such an one I ask, Is he awake or in a dream only? Reflect: is not the dreamer, sleeping or waking, one who likens dissimilar things, who puts the copy in the place of the real object?

  I should certainly say that such an one was dreaming.

  True knowledge is the ability to distinguish between the one and many, between the idea and the objects which partake of the idea.

  But take the case of the other, who recognises the existence of absolute beauty and is able to distinguish the idea from the objects which participate in the idea, neither putting the objects in the place of the idea nor the idea in the place of the objects—is he a dreamer, or is he awake?

  He is wide awake.

  And may we not say that the mind of the one who knows has knowledge, and that the mind of the other, who opines only, has opinion?

  Certainly.

  But suppose that the latter should quarrel with us and dispute our statement, can we administer any soothing cordial or advice to him, without revealing to him that there is sad disorder in his wits?

  We must certainly offer him some good advice, he replied.

  Come, then, and let us think of something to say to him. Shall we begin by assuring him that he is welcome to any knowledge which he may have, and that we are rejoiced at his having it? But we should like to ask him a question: Does he who has knowledge know something or nothing? (You must answer for him.)

  I answer that he knows something.

  Something that is or is not?

  Something that is; for how can that which is not ever be known?

  There is an intermediate between being and not being, and a corresponding intermediate between ignorance and knowledge. This intermediate is a faculty termed opinion.

  477And are we assured, after looking at the matter from many points of view, that absolute being is or may be absolutely known, but that the utterly non-existent is utterly unknown?

  Nothing can be more certain.

  Good. But if there be anything which is of such a nature as to be and not to be, that will have a place intermediate between pure being and the absolute negation of being?

  Yes, between them.

  And, as knowledge corresponded to being and ignorance of necessity to not-being, for that intermediate between being and not-being there has to be discovered a corresponding intermediate between ignorance and knowledge, if there be such?

  Certainly.

  Do we admit the existence of opinion?

  Undoubtedly.

  As being the same with knowledge, or another faculty?

  Another faculty.

  Then opinion and knowledge have to do with different kinds of matter corresponding to this difference of faculties?

  Yes.

  And knowledge is relative to being and knows being. But before I proceed further I will make a division.

  What division?

  I will begin by placing faculties in a class by themselves: they are powers in us, and in all other things, by which we do as we do. Sight and hearing, for example, I should call faculties. Have I clearly explained the class which I mean?

  Yes, I quite understand.

  Then let me tell you my view about them. I do not see them, and therefore the distinctions of figure, colour, and the like, which enable me to discern the differences of some things, do not apply to them. In speaking of a faculty I think only of its sphere and its result; and that which has the same sphere and the same result I call the same faculty, but that which has another sphere and another result I call different. Would that be your way of speaking?

  Yes.

  And will you be so very good as to answer one more question? Would you say that knowledge is a faculty, or in what class would you place it?

  Certainly knowledge is a faculty, and the mightiest of all faculties.

  And is opinion also a faculty?

  Certainly, he said; for opinion is that with which we are able to form an opinion.

  And yet you were acknowledging a little while ago that knowledge is not the same as opinion?

  Opinion differs from knowledge because the one errs and the other is unerring.

  478Why, yes, he said: how can any reasonable being ever identify that which is infallible with that which errs?

  An excellent answer, proving, I said, that we are quite conscious of a distinction between them.

  Yes.

  Then knowledge and opinion having distinct powers have also distinct spheres or subject-matters?

  That is certain.

  Being is the sphere or subject-matter of knowledge, and knowledge is to know the nature of being?

  Yes.

  And opinion is to have an opinion?

  Yes.

  And do we know what we opine? or is the subject-matter of opinion the same as the subject-matter of knowledge?

  Nay, he replied, that has been already disproven; if difference in faculty implies difference in the sphere or subject-matter, and if, as we were saying, opinion and knowledge are distinct faculties, then the sphere of knowledge and of opinion cannot be the same.

  Then if being is the subject-matter of knowledge, something else must be the subject-matter of opinion?

  Yes, something else.

  It also differs from ignorance, which is concerned with nothing.

  Well then, is not-being the subject-matter of opinion? or, rather, how can there be an opinion at all about not-being? Reflect: when a man has an opinion, has he not an opinion about something? Can he have an opinion which is an opinion about nothing?

  Impossible.

  He who has an opinion has an opinion about some one thing?

  Yes.

  And not-being is not one thing but, properly speaking, nothing?

  True.

  Of not-being, ignorance was assumed to be the necessary correlative; of being, knowledge?

  True, he said.

  Then opinion is not concerned either with being or with not-being?

  Not with either.

  And can therefore neither be ignorance nor knowledge?

  That seems to be true.

  Its place is not to be sought without or beyond knowledge or ignorance, but between them.

  But is opinion to be sought without and beyond either of them, in a greater clearness than knowledge, or in a greater darkness than ignorance?

  In neither.

  Then I suppose that opinion appears to you to be darker than knowledge, but lighter than ignorance?

  Both; and in no small degree.

  And also to be within and between them?

  Yes.

  Then you would infer that opinion is intermediate?

  No question.

  But were we not saying before, that if anything appeared to be of a sort which is and is not at the same time, that sort of thing would appear also to lie in the interval between pure being and absolute not-being; and that the corresponding faculty is neither knowledge nor ignorance, but will be found in the interval between them?

  True.

  And in that interval there has now been discovered something which we call opinion?

  There has.

  Then what remains to be discovered is the object which partakes equally of the nature of being and not-being, and cannot rightly be termed either, pure and simple; this unknown term, when discovered, we may truly call the subject of opinion, and assign each to their proper faculty,—the extremes to the faculties of the extremes and the mean to the faculty of the mean.

  True.

  The absoluteness of the one and the relativeness of the many.

  479This being premised, I would ask the gentleman who is of opinion that there is no absolute or unchangeable idea of beauty—in whose opinion the beautiful is the manifold—he, I say, your lover of beautiful sights, who cannot bear to be told that the beautiful is one, and the just is one, or that anything is one—to him I would appeal, saying, Will you be so very kind, sir, as to tell us whether, of all these beautiful things, there is one which will not be found ugly; or of the just, which will not be found unjust; or of the holy, which will not also be unholy?

  No, he replied; the beautiful will in some point of view be found ugly; and the same is true of the rest.

  And may not the many which are doubles be also halves?—doubles, that is, of one thing, and halves of another?

  Quite true.

  And things great and small, heavy and light, as they are termed, will not be denoted by these any more than by the opposite names?

  True; both these and the opposite names will always attach to all of them.

  And can any one of those many things which are called by particular names be said to be this rather than not to be this?

  He replied: They are like the punning riddles which are asked at feasts or the children’s puzzle about the eunuch aiming at the bat, with what he hit him, as they say in the puzzle, and upon what the bat was sitting. The individual objects of which I am speaking are also a riddle, and have a double sense: nor can you fix them in your mind, either as being or not-being, or both, or neither.

  Then what will you do with them? I said. Can they have a better place than between being and not-being? For they are clearly not in greater darkness or negation than not-being, or more full of light and existence than being.

  That is quite true, he said.

  Thus then we seem to have discovered that the many ideas which the multitude entertain about the beautiful and about all other things are tossing about in some region which is half-way between pure being and pure not-being?

  We have.

  Yes; and we had before agreed that anything of this kind which we might find was to be described as matter of opinion, and not as matter of knowledge; being the intermediate flux which is caught and detained by the intermediate faculty.

  Quite true.

  Opinion is the knowledge, not of the absolute, but of the many.

  Then those who see the many beautiful, and who yet neither see absolute beauty, nor can follow any guide who points the way thither; who see the many just, and not absolute justice, and the like,—such persons may be said to have opinion but not knowledge?

  That is certain.

  But those who see the absolute and eternal and immutable may be said to know, and not to have opinion only?

  Neither can that be denied.

  The one love and embrace the subjects of knowledge, the other those of opinion? The latter are the same, as I dare 480say you will remember, who listened to sweet sounds and gazed upon fair colours, but would not tolerate the existence of absolute beauty.

  Yes, I remember.

  Shall we then be guilty of any impropriety in calling them lovers of opinion rather than lovers of wisdom, and will they be very angry with us for thus describing them?

  I shall tell them not to be angry; no man should be angry at what is true.

  But those who love the truth in each thing are to be called lovers of wisdom and not lovers of opinion.

  Assuredly.

  BOOK VI.

  Republic VI.Socrates, Glaucom.

  484And thus, Glaucon, after the argument has gone a weary way, the true and the false philosophers have at length appeared in view.

  I do not think, he said, that the way could have been shortened.

  If we had time, we might have a nearer view of the true and false philosopher.

  I suppose not, I said; and yet I believe that we might have had a better view of both of them if the discussion could have been confined to this one subject and if there were not many other questions awaiting us, which he who desires to see in what respect the life of the just differs from that of the unjust must consider.

  And what is the next question? he asked.

  Surely, I said, the one which follows next in order. Inasmuch as philosophers only are able to grasp the eternal and unchangeable, and those who wander in the region of the many and variable are not philosophers, I must ask you which of the two classes should be the rulers of our State?

  And how can we rightly answer that question?

  Which of them shall be our guardians?

  Whichever of the two are best able to guard the laws and institutions of our State—let them be our guardians.

  Very good.

  A question hardly to be asked.

  Neither, I said, can there be any question that the guardian who is to keep anything should have eyes rather than no eyes?

  There can be no question of that.

  And are not those who are verily and indeed wanting in the knowledge of the true being of each thing, and who have in their souls no clear pattern, and are unable as with a painter’s eye to look at the absolute truth and to that original to repair, and having perfect vision of the other world to order the laws about beauty, goodness, justice in this, if not already ordered, and to guard and preserve the order of them—are not such persons, I ask, simply blind?

  Truly, he replied, they are much in that condition.

  And shall they be our guardians when there are others who, besides being their equals in experience and falling short of them in no particular of virtue, also know the very truth of each thing?

  There can be no reason, he said, for rejecting those who 485have this greatest of all great qualities; they must always have the first place unless they fail in some other respect.

  Suppose then, I said, that we determine how far they can unite this and the other excellences.

  By all means.

  The philosopher is a lover of truth and of all true being.

  In the first place, as we began by observing, the nature of the philosopher has to be ascertained. We must come to an understanding about him, and, when we have done so, then, if I am not mistaken, we shall also acknowledge that such an union of qualities is possible, and that those in whom they are united, and those only, should be rulers in the State.

  What do you mean?

  Let us suppose that philosophical minds always love knowledge of a sort which shows them the eternal nature not varying from generation and corruption.

  Agreed.

  And further, I said, let us agree that they are lovers of all true being; there is no part whether greater or less, or more or less honourable, which they are willing to renounce; as we said before of the lover and the man of ambition.

  True.

  And if they are to be what we were describing, is there not another quality which they should also possess?

  What quality?

  Truthfulness: they will never intentionally receive into their mind falsehood, which is their detestation, and they will love the truth.

  Yes, that may be safely affirmed of them.

  ‘May be,’ my friend, I replied, is not the word; say rather, ‘must be affirmed:’ for he whose nature is amorous of anything cannot help loving all that belongs or is akin to the object of his affections.

  Right, he said.

  And is there anything more akin to wisdom than truth?

  How can there be?

  Can the same nature be a lover of wisdom and a lover of falsehood?

  Never.

  The true lover of learning then must from his earliest youth, as far as in him lies, desire all truth?

  Assuredly.

  But then again, as we know by experience, he whose desires are strong in one direction will have them weaker in others; they will be like a stream which has been drawn off into another channel.

  True.

  He will be absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and therefore temperate and the reverse of covetous or mean.

  He whose desires are drawn towards knowledge in every form will be absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and will hardly feel bodily pleasure—I mean, if he be a true philosopher and not a sham one.

  That is most certain.

  Such an one is sure to be temperate and the reverse of covetous; for the motives which make another man desirous of having and spending, have no place in his character.

  Very true.

  486Another criterion of the philosophical nature has also to be considered.

  What is that?

  There should be no secret corner of illiberality; nothing can be more antagonistic than meanness to a soul which is ever longing after the whole of things both divine and human.

  Most true, he replied.

  In the magnificence of his contemplations he will not think much of human life.

  Then how can he who has magnificence of mind and is the spectator of all time and all existence, think much of human life?

  He cannot.

  Or can such an one account death fearful?

  No indeed.

  Then the cowardly and mean nature has no part in true philosophy?

  Certainly not.

  Or again: can he who is harmoniously constituted, who is not covetous or mean, or a boaster, or a coward—can he, I say, ever be unjust or hard in his dealings?

  Impossible.

  He will be of a gentle, sociable, harmonious nature; a lover of learning, having a good memory and moving spontaneously in the world of being.

  Then you will soon observe whether a man is just and gentle, or rude and unsociable; these are the signs which distinguish even in youth the philosophical nature from the unphilosophical.

  True.

  There is another point which should be remarked.

  What point?

  Whether he has or has not a pleasure in learning; for no one will love that which gives him pain, and in which after much toil he makes little progress.

  Certainly not.

  And again, if he is forgetful and retains nothing of what he learns, will he not be an empty vessel?

  That is certain.

  Labouring in vain, he must end in hating himself and his fruitless occupation?

  Yes.

  Then a soul which forgets cannot be ranked among genuine philosophic natures; we must insist that the philosopher should have a good memory?

  Certainly.

  And once more, the inharmonious and unseemly nature can only tend to disproportion?

  Undoubtedly.

  And do you consider truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion?

  To proportion.

  Then, besides other qualities, we must try to find a naturally well-proportioned and gracious mind, which will move spontaneously towards the true being of everything.

  Certainly.

  Well, and do not all these qualities, which we have been enumerating, go together, and are they not, in a manner, necessary to a soul, which is to have a full and perfect participation of being?

  487They are absolutely necessary, he replied.

  Socrates, Glaucon, Adeimantus.Conclusion: What a blameless study then is philosophy!

  And must not that be a blameless study which he only can pursue who has the gift of a good memory, and is quick to learn,—noble, gracious, the friend of truth, justice, courage, temperance, who are his kindred?

  The god of jealousy himself, he said, could find no fault with such a study.

  And to men like him, I said, when perfected by years and education, and to these only you will entrust the State.

  Nay, says Adeimantus, you can prove anything, but your hearers are unconvinced all the same.Common opinion declares philosophers to be either rogues or useless.

  Here Adeimantus interposed and said: To these statements, Socrates, no one can offer a reply; but when you talk in this way, a strange feeling passes over the minds of your hearers: They fancy that they are led astray a little at each step in the argument, owing to their own want of skill in asking and answering questions; these littles accumulate, and at the end of the discussion they are found to have sustained a mighty overthrow and all their former notions appear to be turned upside down. And as unskilful players of draughts are at last shut up by their more skilful adversaries and have no piece to move, so they too find themselves shut up at last; for they have nothing to say in this new game of which words are the counters; and yet all the time they are in the right. The observation is suggested to me by what is now occurring. For any one of us might say, that although in words he is not able to meet you at each step of the argument, he sees as a fact that the votaries of philosophy, when they carry on the study, not only in youth as a part of education, but as the pursuit of their maturer years, most of them become strange monsters, not to say utter rogues, and that those who may be considered the best of them are made useless to the world by the very study which you extol.

  Well, and do you think that those who say so are wrong?

  I cannot tell, he replied; but I should like to know what is your opinion.

  Socrates, instead of denying this statement, admits the truth of it.

  Hear my answer; I am of opinion that they are quite right.

  Then how can you be justified in saying that cities will not cease from evil until philosophers rule in them, when philosophers are acknowledged by us to be of no use to them?

  You ask a question, I said, to which a reply can only be given in a parable.

  Yes, Socrates; and that is a way of speaking to which you are not at all accustomed, I suppose.

  Socrates, Adeimantus.A parable.The noble captain whose senses are rather dull (the people in their better mind); the mutinous crew (the mob of politicians); and the pilot (the true philosopher).

  I perceive, I said, that you are vastly amused at having plunged me into such a hopeless discussion; but now hear 488the parable, and then you will be still more amused at the meagreness of my imagination: for the manner in which the best men are treated in their own States is so grievous that no single thing on earth is comparable to it; and therefore, if I am to plead their cause, I must have recourse to fiction, and put together a figure made up of many things, like the fabulous unions of goats and stags which are found in pictures. Imagine then a fleet or a ship in which there is a captain who is taller and stronger than any of the crew, but he is a little deaf and has a similar infirmity in sight, and his knowledge of navigation is not much better. The sailors are quarrelling with one another about the steering—every one is of opinion that he has a right to steer, though he has never learned the art of navigation and cannot tell who taught him or when he learned, and will further assert that it cannot be taught, and they are ready to cut in pieces any one who says the contrary. They throng about the captain, begging and praying him to commit the helm to them; and if at any time they do not prevail, but others are preferred to them, they kill the others or throw them overboard, and having first chained up the noble captain’s senses with drink or some narcotic drug, they mutiny and take possession of the ship and make free with the stores; thus, eating and drinking, they proceed on their voyage in such manner as might be expected of them. Him who is their partisan and cleverly aids them in their plot for getting the ship out of the captain’s hands into their own whether by force or persuasion, they compliment with the name of sailor, pilot, able seaman, and abuse the other sort of man, whom they call a good-for-nothing; but that the true pilot must pay attention to the year and seasons and sky and stars and winds, and whatever else belongs to his art, if he intends to be really qualified for the command of a ship, and that he must and will be the steerer, whether other people like or not—the possibility of this union of authority with the steerer’s art has never seriously entered into their thoughts or been made part 489of their calling1 . Now in vessels which are in a state of mutiny and by sailors who are mutineers, how will the true pilot be regarded? Will he not be called by them a prater, a star-gazer, a good-for-nothing?

  Of course, said Adeimantus.

  The interpretation.

  Then you will hardly need, I said, to hear the interpretation of the figure, which describes the true philosopher in his relation to the State; for you understand already.

  Certainly.

  Then suppose you now take this parable to the gentleman who is surprised at finding that philosophers have no honour in their cities; explain it to him and try to convince him that their having honour would be far more extraordinary.

  I will.

  The uselessness of philosophers arises out of the unwillingness of mankind to make use of them.

  Say to him, that, in deeming the best votaries of philosophy to be useless to the rest of the world, he is right; but also tell him to attribute their uselessness to the fault of those who will not use them, and not to themselves. The pilot should not humbly beg the sailors to be commanded by him—that is not the order of nature; neither are ‘the wise to go to the doors of the rich’—the ingenious author of this saying told a lie—but the truth is, that, when a man is ill, whether he be rich or poor, to the physician he must go, and he who wants to be governed, to him who is able to govern. The ruler who is good for anything ought not to beg his subjects to be ruled by him; although the present governors of mankind are of a different stamp; they may be justly compared to the mutinous sailors, and the true helmsmen to those who are called by them good-for-nothings and stargazers.

  Precisely so, he said.

  The real enemies of philosophy her professing followers.

  For these reasons, and among men like these, philosophy, the noblest pursuit of all, is not likely to be much esteemed by those of the opposite faction; not that the greatest and most lasting injury is done to her by her opponents, but by her own professing followers, the same of whom you suppose the accuser to say, that the greater number of them are arrant rogues, and the best are useless; in which opinion I agreed.

  Yes.

  And the reason why the good are useless has now been explained?

  True.

  The corruption of philosophy due to many causes.

  Then shall we proceed to show that the corruption of the majority is also unavoidable, and that this is not to be laid to the charge of philosophy any more than the other?

  By all means.

  And let us ask and answer in turn, first going back to the 490description of the gentle and noble nature. Truth, as you will remember, was his leader, whom he followed always and in all things; failing in this, he was an impostor, and had no part or lot in true philosophy.

  Yes, that was said.

  Well, and is not this one quality, to mention no others, greatly at variance with present notions of him?

  Certainly, he said.

  But before considering this, let us re-enumerate the qualities of the philosopher:

  And have we not a right to say in his defence, that the true lover of knowledge is always striving after being—that is his nature; he will not rest in the multiplicity of individuals which is an appearance only, but will go on—the keen edge will not be blunted, nor the force of his desire abate until he have attained the knowledge of the true nature of every essence by a sympathetic and kindred power in the soul, and by that power drawing near and mingling and becoming incorporate with very being, having begotten mind and truth, he will have knowledge and will live and grow truly, and then, and not till then, will he cease from his travail.

  Nothing, he said, can be more just than such a description of him.

  his love of essence, of truth, of justice, besides his other virtues and natural gifts.

  And will the love of a lie be any part of a philosopher’s nature? Will he not utterly hate a lie?

  He will.

  And when truth is the captain, we cannot suspect any evil of the band which he leads?

  Impossible.

  Justice and health of mind will be of the company, and temperance will follow after?

  True, he replied.

  Neither is there any reason why I should again set in array the philosopher’s virtues, as you will doubtless remember that courage, magnificence, apprehension, memory, were his natural gifts. And you objected that, although no one could deny what I then said, still, if you leave words and look at facts, the persons who are thus described are some of them manifestly useless, and the greater number utterly depraved; we were then led to enquire into the grounds of these accusations, and have now arrived at the point of asking why are the majority bad, which question of necessity brought us back to the examination and definition of the true philosopher.

  Exactly.

  The reasons why philosophical natures so easily deteriorate.

  And we have next to consider the corruptions of the philosophic nature, why so many are spoiled and so few escape spoiling—I am speaking of those who were said to be useless 491but not wicked—and, when we have done with them, we will speak of the imitators of philosophy, what manner of men are they who aspire after a profession which is above them and of which they are unworthy, and then, by their manifold inconsistencies, bring upon philosophy, and upon all philosophers, that universal reprobation of which we speak.

  What are these corruptions? he said.

  (1) There are but a few of them;

  I will see if I can explain them to you. Every one will admit that a nature having in perfection all the qualities which we required in a philosopher, is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men.

  Rare indeed.

  And what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare natures!

  What causes?

  (2) and they may be distracted from philosophy by their own virtues;

  In the first place there are their own virtues, their courage, temperance, and the rest of them, every one of which praiseworthy qualities (and this is a most singular circumstance) destroys and distracts from philosophy the soul which is the possessor of them.

  That is very singular, he replied.

  Then there are all the ordinary goods of life—beauty, wealth, strength, rank and great connections in the State—you understand the sort of things—these also have a corrupting and distracting effect.

  and also, (3), by the ordinary goods of life.

  I understand; but I should like to know more precisely what you mean about them.

  Grasp the truth as a whole, I said, and in the right way; you will then have no difficulty in apprehending the preceding remarks, and they will no longer appear strange to you.

  And how am I to do so? he asked.

  Why, I said, we know that all germs or seeds, whether vegetable or animal, when they fail to meet with proper nutriment or climate or soil, in proportion to their vigour, are all the more sensitive to the want of a suitable environment, for evil is a greater enemy to what is good than to what is not.

  Very true.

  (4) The finer natures more liable to injury than the inferior.

  There is reason in supposing that the finest natures, when under alien conditions, receive more injury than the inferior, because the contrast is greater.

  Certainly.

  And may we not say, Adeimantus, that the most gifted minds, when they are ill-educated, become pre-eminently bad? Do not great crimes and the spirit of pure evil spring out of a fulness of nature ruined by education rather than from any inferiority, whereas weak natures are scarcely capable of any very great good or very great evil?

  There I think that you are right.

  (5) They are not corrupted by private sophists, but compelled by the opinion of the world meeting in the assembly or in some other place of resort.

  492And our philosopher follows the same analogy—he is like a plant which, having proper nurture, must necessarily grow and mature into all virtue, but, if sown and planted in an alien soil, becomes the most noxious of all weeds, unless he be preserved by some divine power. Do you really think, as people so often say, that our youth are corrupted by Sophists, or that private teachers of the art corrupt them in any degree worth speaking of? Are not the public who say these things the greatest of all Sophists? And do they not educate to perfection young and old, men and women alike, and fashion them after their own hearts?

  When is this accomplished? he said.

  When they meet together, and the world sits down at an assembly, or in a court of law, or a theatre, or a camp, or in any other popular resort, and there is a great uproar, and they praise some things which are being said or done, and blame other things, equally exaggerating both, shouting and clapping their hands, and the echo of the rocks and the place in which they are assembled redoubles the sound of the praise or blame—at such a time will not a young man’s heart, as they say, leap within him? Will any private training enable him to stand firm against the overwhelming flood of popular opinion? or will he be carried away by the stream? Will he not have the notions of good and evil which the public in general have—he will do as they do, and as they are, such will he be?

  Yes, Socrates; necessity will compel him.

  (6) The other compulsion of violence and death.

  And yet, I said, there is a still greater necessity, which has not been mentioned.

  What is that?

  The gentle force of attainder or confiscation or death, which, as you are aware, these new Sophists and educators, who are the public, apply when their words are powerless.

  Indeed they do; and in right good earnest.

  Now what opinion of any other Sophist, or of any private person, can be expected to overcome in such an unequal contest?

  None, he replied.

  They must be saved, if at all, by the power of God.

  No, indeed, I said, even to make the attempt is a great piece of folly; there neither is, nor has been, nor is ever likely to be, any different type of character 1 which has had no other training in virtue but that which is supplied by public opinion 1 —I speak, my friend, of human virtue only; what is more than human, as the proverb says, is not included: for I would not have you ignorant that, in the present evil state of governments, whatever is saved and comes to good is saved 493by the power of God, as we may truly say.

  I quite assent, he replied.

  Then let me crave your assent also to a further observation.

  What are you going to say?

  The great brute; his behaviour and temper (the people looked at from their worse side).

  Why, that all those mercenary individuals, whom the many call Sophists and whom they deem to be their adversaries, do, in fact, teach nothing but the opinion of the many, that is to say, the opinions of their assemblies; and this is their wisdom. I might compare them to a man who should study the tempers and desires of a mighty strong beast who is fed by him—he would learn how to approach and handle him, also at what times and from what causes he is dangerous or the reverse, and what is the meaning of his several cries, and by what sounds, when another utters them, he is soothed or infuriated; and you may suppose further, that when, by continually attending upon him, he has become perfect in all this, he calls his knowledge wisdom, and makes of it a system or art, which he proceeds to teach, although he has no real notion of what he means by the principles or passions of which he is speaking, but calls this honourable and that dishonourable, or good or evil, or just or unjust, all in accordance with the tastes and tempers of the great brute. Good he pronounces to be that in which the beast delights and evil to be that which he dislikes; and he can give no other account of them except that the just and noble are the necessary, having never himself seen, and having no power of explaining to others the nature of either, or the difference between them, which is immense. By heaven, would not such an one be a rare educator?

  Indeed he would.

  He who associates with the people will conform to their tastes and will produce only what pleases them.

  And in what way does he who thinks that wisdom is the discernment of the tempers and tastes of the motley multitude, whether in painting or music, or, finally, in politics, differ from him whom I have been describing? For when a man consorts with the many, and exhibits to them his poem or other work of art or the service which he has done the State, making them his judges 1 when he is not obliged, the so-called necessity of Diomede will oblige him to produce whatever they praise. And yet the reasons are utterly ludicrous which they give in confirmation of their own notions about the honourable and good. Did you ever hear any of them which were not?

  No, nor am I likely to hear.

  You recognise the truth of what I have been saying? Then let me ask you to consider further whether the world will ever be induced to believe in the existence of absolute beauty 494rather than of the many beautiful, or of the absolute in each kind rather than of the many in each kind?

  Certainly not.

  Then the world cannot possibly be a philosopher?

  Impossible.

  And therefore philosophers must inevitably fall under the censure of the world?

  They must.

  And of individuals who consort with the mob and seek to please them?

  That is evident.

  Then, do you see any way in which the philosopher can be preserved in his calling to the end? and remember what we were saying of him, that he was to have quickness and memory and courage and magnificence—these were admitted by us to be the true philosopher’s gifts.

  Yes.

  The youth who has great bodily and mental gifts will be flattered from his childhood,

  Will not such an one from his early childhood be in all things first among all, especially if his bodily endowments are like his mental ones?

  Certainly, he said.

  And his friends and fellow-citizens will want to use him as he gets older for their own purposes?

  No question.

  Falling at his feet, they will make requests to him and do him honour and flatter him, because they want to get into their hands now, the power which he will one day possess.

  That often happens, he said.

  And what will a man such as he is be likely to do under such circumstances, especially if he be a citizen of a great city, rich and noble, and a tall proper youth? Will he not be full of boundless aspirations, and fancy himself able to manage the affairs of Hellenes and of barbarians, and having got such notions into his head will he not dilate and elevate himself in the fulness of vain pomp and senseless pride?

  To be sure he will.

  and being incapable of having

  Now, when he is in this state of mind, if some one gently comes to him and tells him that he is a fool and must get understanding, which can only be got by slaving for it, do you think that, under such adverse circumstances, he will be easily induced to listen?

  Far otherwise.

  reason, will be easily drawn away from philosophy.

  And even if there be some one who through inherent goodness or natural reasonableness has had his eyes opened a little and is humbled and taken captive by philosophy, how will his friends behave when they think that they are likely to lose the advantage which they were hoping to reap from his companionship? Will they not do and say anything to prevent him from yielding to his better nature and to render his teacher powerless, using to this end private intrigues as well as public prosecutions?

  495There can be no doubt of it.

  And how can one who is thus circumstanced ever become a philosopher?

  Impossible.

  The very qualities which make a man a philosopher may also divert him from philosophy.

  Then were we not right in saying that even the very qualities which make a man a philosopher may, if he be illeducated, divert him from philosophy, no less than riches and their accompaniments and the other so-called goods of life?

  We were quite right.

  Great natures alone are capable, either of great good, or great evil.

  Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failure which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to the best of all pursuits; they are natures which we maintain to be rare at any time; this being the class out of which come the men who are the authors of the greatest evil to States and individuals; and also of the greatest good when the tide carries them in that direction; but a small man never was the doer of any great thing either to individuals or to States.

  That is most true, he said.

  And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete: for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy persons, seeing that she has no kinsmen to be her protectors, enter in and dishonour her; and fasten upon her the reproaches which, as you say, her reprovers utter, who affirm of her votaries that some are good for nothing, and that the greater number deserve the severest punishment.

  That is certainly what people say.

  The attractiveness of philosophy to the vulgar.

  Yes; and what else would you expect, I said, when you think of the puny creatures who, seeing this land open to them—a land well stocked with fair names and showy titles—like prisoners running out of prison into a sanctuary, take a leap out of their trades into philosophy; those who do so being probably the cleverest hands at their own miserable crafts? For, although philosophy be in this evil case, still there remains a dignity about her which is not to be found in the arts. And many are thus attracted by her whose natures are imperfect and whose souls are maimed and disfigured by their meannesses, as their bodies are by their trades and crafts. Is not this unavoidable?

  Yes.

  Are they not exactly like a bald little tinker who has just got out of durance and come into a fortune; he takes a bath and puts on a new coat, and is decked out as a bridegroom going to marry his master’s daughter, who is left poor and desolate?

  496A most exact parallel.

  What will be the issue of such marriages? Will they not be vile and bastard?

  There can be no question of it.

  The mésalliance of philosophy.

  And when persons who are unworthy of education approach philosophy and make an alliance with her who is in a rank above them, what sort of ideas and opinions are likely to be generated? 1 Will they not be sophisms captivating to the ear1 , having nothing in them genuine, or worthy of or akin to true wisdom?

  No doubt, he said.

  Few are the worthy disciples:and these are unable to resist the madness of the world;they therefore in order to escape the storm take shelter behind a wall and live their own life.

  Then, Adeimantus, I said, the worthy disciples of philosophy will be but a small remnant: perchance some noble and well-educated person, detained by exile in her service, who in the absence of corrupting influences remains devoted to her; or some lofty soul born in a mean city, the politics of which he contemns and neglects; and there may be a gifted few who leave the arts, which they justly despise, and come to her;—or peradventure there are some who are restrained by our friend Theages’ bridle; for everything in the life of Theages conspired to divert him from philosophy; but ill-health kept him away from politics. My own case of the internal sign is hardly worth mentioning, for rarely, if ever, has such a monitor been given to any other man. Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed a possession philosophy is, and have also seen enough of the madness of the multitude; and they know that no politician is honest, nor is there any champion of justice at whose side they may fight and be saved. Such an one may be compared to a man who has fallen among wild beasts—he will not join in the wickedness of his fellows, but neither is he able singly to resist all their fierce natures, and therefore seeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his friends, and reflecting that he would have to throw away his life without doing any good either to himself or others, he holds his peace, and goes his own way. He is like one who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the driving wind hurries along, retires under the shelter of a wall; and seeing the rest of mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own life and be pure from evil or unrighteousness, and depart in peace and good-will, with bright hopes.

  Yes, he said, and he will have done a great work before he departs.

  A great work—yes; but not the greatest, unless he find 497a State suitable to him; for in a State which is suitable to him, he will have a larger growth and be the saviour of his country, as well as of himself.

  The causes why philosophy is in such an evil name have now been sufficiently explained: the injustice of the charges against her has been shown—is there anything more which you wish to say?

  Nothing more on that subject, he replied; but I should like to know which of the governments now existing is in your opinion the one adapted to her.

  No existing State suited to philosophy.

  Not any of them, I said; and that is precisely the accusation which I bring against them—not one of them is worthy of the philosophic nature, and hence that nature is warped and estranged;—as the exotic seed which is sown in a foreign land becomes denaturalized, and is wont to be overpowered and to lose itself in the new soil, even so this growth of philosophy, instead of persisting, degenerates and receives another character. But if philosophy ever finds in the State that perfection which she herself is, then will be seen that she is in truth divine, and that all other things, whether natures of men or institutions, are but human;—and now, I know, that you are going to ask, What that State is:

  No, he said; there you are wrong, for I was going to ask another question—whether it is the State of which we are the founders and inventors, or some other?

  Even our own State requires the addition of the living authority.

  Yes, I replied, ours in most respects; but you may remember my saying before, that some living authority would always be required in the State having the same idea of the constitution which guided you when as legislator you were laying down the laws.

  That was said, he replied.

  Yes, but not in a satisfactory manner; you frightened us by interposing objections, which certainly showed that the discussion would be long and difficult; and what still remains is the reverse of easy.

  What is there remaining?

  The question how the study of philosophy may be so ordered as not to be the ruin of the State: All great attempts are attended with risk; ‘hard is the good,’ as men say.

  Still, he said, let the point be cleared up, and the enquiry will then be complete.

  I shall not be hindered, I said, by any want of will, but, if at all, by a want of power: my zeal you may see for yourselves; and please to remark in what I am about to say how boldly and unhesitatingly I declare that States should pursue philosophy, not as they do now, but in a different spirit.

  In what manner?

  The superficial study of philosophy which exists in the present day.

  498At present, I said, the students of philosophy are quite young; beginning when they are hardly past childhood, they devote only the time saved from moneymaking and housekeeping to such pursuits; and even those of them who are reputed to have most of the philosophic spirit, when they come within sight of the great difficulty of the subject, I mean dialectic, take themselves off. In after life when invited by some one else, they may, perhaps, go and hear a lecture, and about this they make much ado, for philosophy is not considered by them to be their proper business: at last, when they grow old, in most cases they are extinguished more truly than Heracleitus’ sun, inasmuch as they never light up again1 .

  But what ought to be their course?

  Just the opposite. In childhood and youth their study, and what philosophy they learn, should be suited to their tender years: during this period while they are growing up towards manhood, the chief and special care should be given to their bodies that they may have them to use in the service of philosophy; as life advances and the intellect begins to mature, let them increase the gymnastics of the soul; but when the strength of our citizens fails and is past civil and military duties, then let them range at will and engage in no serious labour, as we intend them to live happily here, and to crown this life with a similar happiness in another.

  Thrasymachus once more.

  How truly in earnest you are, Socrates! he said; I am sure of that; and yet most of your hearers, if I am not mistaken, are likely to be still more earnest in their opposition to you, and will never be convinced; Thrasymachus least of all.

  Do not make a quarrel, I said, between Thrasymachus and me, who have recently become friends, although, indeed, we were never enemies; for I shall go on striving to the utmost until I either convert him and other men, or do something which may profit them against the day when they live again, and hold the like discourse in another state of existence.

  You are speaking of a time which is not very near.

  The people hate philosophy because they have only known bad and conventional imitations of it.

  Rather, I replied, of a time which is as nothing in comparison with eternity. Nevertheless, I do not wonder that the many refuse to believe; for they have never seen that of which we are now speaking realized; they have seen only a conventional imitation of philosophy, consisting of words artificially brought together, not like these of ours having a natural unity. But a human being who in word and work is perfectly moulded, as far as he can be, into the proportion and likeness of virtue—such a man ruling in a city which bears the same image, they have never yet seen, neither one nor many of them—do you think that they ever did?

  No indeed.

  No, my friend, and they have seldom, if ever, heard free and noble sentiments; such as men utter when they are earnestly and by every means in their power seeking after truth for the sake of knowledge, while they look coldly on the subtleties of controversy, of which the end is opinion and strife, whether they meet with them in the courts of law or in society.

  They are strangers, he said, to the words of which you speak.

  And this was what we foresaw, and this was the reason why truth forced us to admit, not without fear and hesitation, that neither cities nor States nor individuals will ever attain perfection until the small class of philosophers whom we termed useless but not corrupt are providentially compelled, whether they will or not, to take care of the State, and until a like necessity be laid on the State to obey them1 ; or until kings, or if not kings, the sons of kings or princes, are divinely inspired with a true love of true philosophy. That either or both of these alternatives are impossible, I see no reason to affirm: if they were so, we might indeed be justly ridiculed as dreamers and visionaries. Am I not right?

  Quite right.

  Somewhere, at some time, there may have been or may be a philosopher who is also the ruler of a State.

  If then, in the countless ages of the past, or at the present hour in some foreign clime which is far away and beyond our ken, the perfected philosopher is or has been or hereafter shall be compelled by a superior power to have the charge of the State, we are ready to assert to the death, that this our constitution has been, and is—yea, and will be whenever the Muse of Philosophy is queen. There is no impossibility in all this; that there is a difficulty, we acknowledge ourselves.

  My opinion agrees with yours, he said.

  But do you mean to say that this is not the opinion of the multitude?

  I should imagine not, he replied.

  O my friend, I said, do not attack the multitude: they will change their minds, if, not in an aggressive spirit, but gently and with the view of soothing them and removing their dislike of over-education, you show them your philosophers as they really are and describe as you were just now doing 500their character and profession, and then mankind will see that he of whom you are speaking is not such as they supposed—if they view him in this new light, they will surely change their notion of him, and answer in another strain1 . Who can be at enmity with one who loves them, who that is himself gentle and free from envy will be jealous of one in whom there is no jealousy? Nay, let me answer for you, that in a few this harsh temper may be found but not in the majority of mankind.

  I quite agree with you, he said.

  The feeling against philosophy is really a feeling against pretended philosophers who are always talking about persons.

  And do you not also think, as I do, that the harsh feeling which the many entertain towards philosophy originates in the pretenders, who rush in uninvited, and are always abusing them, and finding fault with them, who make persons instead of things the theme of their conversation? and nothing can be more unbecoming in philosophers than this.

  It is most unbecoming.

  The true philosopher, who has his eye fixed upon immutable principles, will fashion States after the heavenly image.

  For he, Adeimantus, whose mind is fixed upon true being, has surely no time to look down upon the affairs of earth, or to be filled with malice and envy, contending against men; his eye is ever directed towards things fixed and immutable, which he sees neither injuring nor injured by one another, but all in order moving according to reason; these he imitates, and to these he will, as far as he can, conform himself. Can a man help imitating that with which he holds reverential converse?

  Impossible.

  And the philosopher holding converse with the divine order, becomes orderly and divine, as far as the nature of man allows; but like every one else, he will suffer from detraction.

  Of course.

  And if a necessity be laid upon him of fashioning, not only himself, but human nature generally, whether in States or individuals, into that which he beholds elsewhere, will he, think you, be an unskilful artificer of justice, temperance, and every civil virtue?

  Anything but unskilful.

  And if the world perceives that what we are saying about him is the truth, will they be angry with philosophy? Will they disbelieve us, when we tell them that no State can be happy which is not designed by artists who imitate the heavenly pattern?

  They will not be angry if they understand, he said. But 501how will they draw out the plan of which you are speaking?

  He will begin with a ‘tabula rasa’ and there inscribe his laws.

  They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will lie the difference between them and every other legislator,—they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a clean surface.

  They will be very right, he said.

  Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the constitution?

  No doubt.

  And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the image of a man; and this they will conceive according to that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form and likeness of God.

  Very true, he said.

  And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, until they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways of God?

  Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture.

  The enemies of philosophy, when they hear the truth, are gradually propitiated,

  And now, I said, are we beginning to persuade those whom you described as rushing at us with might and main, that the painter of constitutions is such an one as we were praising; at whom they were so very indignant because to his hands we committed the State; and are they growing a little calmer at what they have just heard?

  Much calmer, if there is any sense in them.

  Why, where can they still find any ground for objection? Will they doubt that the philosopher is a lover of truth and being?

  They would not be so unreasonable.

  Or that his nature, being such as we have delineated, is akin to the highest good?

  Neither can they doubt this.

  But again, will they tell us that such a nature, placed under favourable circumstances, will not be perfectly good and wise if any ever was? Or will they prefer those whom we have rejected?

  Surely not.

  Then will they still be angry at our saying, that, until philosophers bear rule, States and individuals will have no rest from evil, nor will this our imaginary State ever be realized?

  I think that they will be less angry.

  and at length become quite gentle.

  Shall we assume that they are not only less angry but 502quite gentle, and that they have been converted and for very shame, if for no other reason, cannot refuse to come to terms?

  By all means, he said.

  There may have been one son of a king a philosopher who has remained uncorrupted and has a State obedient to his will.

  Then let us suppose that the reconciliation has been effected. Will any one deny the other point, that there may be sons of kings or princes who are by nature philosophers?

  Surely no man, he said.

  And when they have come into being will any one say that they must of necessity be destroyed; that they can hardly be saved is not denied even by us; but that in the whole course of ages no single one of them can escape—who will venture to affirm this?

  Who indeed!

  But, said I, one is enough; let there be one man who has a city obedient to his will, and he might bring into existence the ideal polity about which the world is so incredulous.

  Yes, one is enough.

  The ruler may impose the laws and institutions which we have been describing, and the citizens may possibly be willing to obey them?

  Certainly.

  And that others should approve, of what we approve, is no miracle or impossibility?

  I think not.

  But we have sufficiently shown, in what has preceded, that all this, if only possible, is assuredly for the best.

  We have.

  Our constitution then is not unattainable.

  And now we say not only that our laws, if they could be enacted, would be for the best, but also that the enactment of them, though difficult, is not impossible.

  Very good.

  And so with pain and toil we have reached the end of one subject, but more remains to be discussed;—how and by what studies and pursuits will the saviours of the constitution be created, and at what ages are they to apply themselves to their several studies?

  Certainly.

  Recapitulation.

  I omitted the troublesome business of the possession of women, and the procreation of children, and the appointment of the rulers, because I knew that the perfect State would be eyed with jealousy and was difficult of attainment; but that piece of cleverness was not of much service to me, for I had to discuss them all the same. The women and children are now disposed of, but the other question of the rulers must be investigated from the very beginning. We were saying, as you will remember, that they were to be lovers of their 503country, tried by the test of pleasures and pains, and neither in hardships, nor in dangers, nor at any other critical moment were to lose their patriotism—he was to be rejected who failed, but he who always came forth pure, like gold tried in the refiner’s fire, was to be made a ruler, and to receive honours and rewards in life and after death. This was the sort of thing which was being said, and then the argument turned aside and veiled her face; not liking to stir the question which has now arisen.

  I perfectly remember, he said.

  Yes, my friend, I said, and I then shrank from hazarding the bold word; but now let me dare to say—that the perfect guardian must be a philosopher.

  Yes, he said, let that be affirmed.

  The guardian must be a philosopher, and a philosopher must be a person of rare gifts.

  And do not suppose that there will be many of them; for the gifts which were deemed by us to be essential rarely grow together; they are mostly found in shreds and patches.

  What do you mean? he said.

  The contrast of the quick and solid temperaments.

  You are aware, I replied, that quick intelligence, memory, sagacity, cleverness, and similar qualities, do not often grow together, and that persons who possess them and are at the same time high-spirited and magnanimous are not so constituted by nature as to live orderly and in a peaceful and settled manner; they are driven any way by their impulses, and all solid principle goes out of them.

  Very true, he said.

  On the other hand, those steadfast natures which can better be depended upon, which in a battle are impregnable to fear and immovable, are equally immovable when there is anything to be learned; they are always in a torpid state, and are apt to yawn and go to sleep over any intellectual toil.

  Quite true.

  They must be united.

  And yet we were saying that both qualities were necessary in those to whom the higher education is to be imparted, and who are to share in any office or command.

  Certainly, he said.

  And will they be a class which is rarely found?

  Yes, indeed.

  He who is to hold command must be tested in many kinds of knowledge.

  Then the aspirant must not only be tested in those labours and dangers and pleasures which we mentioned before, but there is another kind of probation which we did not mention—he must be exercised also in many kinds of knowledge, to see whether the soul will be able to endure the highest of all, 504or will faint under them, as in any other studies and exercises.

  Yes, he said, you are quite right in testing him. But what do you mean by the highest of all knowledge?

  You may remember, I said, that we divided the soul into three parts; and distinguished the several natures of justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom?

  Indeed, he said, if I had forgotten, I should not deserve to hear more.

  And do you remember the word of caution which preceded the discussion of them1 ?

  To what do you refer?

  The shorter exposition of education, which has been already given, inadequate.

  We were saying, if I am not mistaken, that he who wanted to see them in their perfect beauty must take a longer and more circuitous way, at the end of which they would appear; but that we could add on a popular exposition of them on a level with the discussion which had preceded. And you replied that such an exposition would be enough for you, and so the enquiry was continued in what to me seemed to be a very inaccurate manner; whether you were satisfied or not, it is for you to say.

  Yes, he said, I thought and the others thought that you gave us a fair measure of truth.

  But, my friend, I said, a measure of such things which in any degree falls short of the whole truth is not fair measure; for nothing imperfect is the measure of anything, although persons are too apt to be contented and think that they need search no further.

  Not an uncommon case when people are indolent.

  Yes, I said; and there cannot be any worse fault in a guardian of the State and of the laws.

  True.

  The guardian must take the longer road of the higher learning,

  The guardian then, I said, must be required to take the longer circuit, and toil at learning as well as at gymnastics, or he will never reach the highest knowledge of all which, as we were just now saying, is his proper calling.

  What, he said, is there a knowledge still higher than this—higher than justice and the other virtues?

  Yes, I said, there is. And of the virtues too we must behold not the outline merely, as at present—nothing short of the most finished picture should satisfy us. When little things are elaborated with an infinity of pains, in order that they may appear in their full beauty and utmost clearness, how ridiculous that we should not think the highest truths worthy of attaining the highest accuracy!

  A right noble thought2 ; but do you suppose that we shall refrain from asking you what is this highest knowledge?

  which leads upwards at last to the idea of good.

  Nay, I said, ask if you will; but I am certain that you have heard the answer many times, and now you either do not understand me or, as I rather think, you are disposed to be 505troublesome; for you have often been told that the idea of good is the highest knowledge, and that all other things become useful and advantageous only by their use of this. You can hardly be ignorant that of this I was about to speak, concerning which, as you have often heard me say, we know so little; and, without which, any other knowledge or possession of any kind will profit us nothing. Do you think that the possession of all other things is of any value if we do not possess the good? or the knowledge of all other things if we have no knowledge of beauty and goodness?

  Assuredly not.

  But what is the good? Some say pleasure, others knowledge, which they absurdly explain to mean knowledge of the good.

  You are further aware that most people affirm pleasure to be the good, but the finer sort of wits say it is knowledge?

  Yes.

  And you are aware too that the latter cannot explain what they mean by knowledge, but are obliged after all to say knowledge of the good?

  How ridiculous!

  Yes, I said, that they should begin by reproaching us with our ignorance of the good, and then presume our knowledge of it—for the good they define to be knowledge of the good, just as if we understood them when they use the term ‘good’—this is of course ridiculous.

  Most true, he said.

  And those who make pleasure their good are in equal perplexity; for they are compelled to admit that there are bad pleasures as well as good.

  Certainly.

  And therefore to acknowledge that bad and good are the same?

  True.

  There can be no doubt about the numerous difficulties in which this question is involved.

  There can be none.

  Further, do we not see that many are willing to do or to have or to seem to be what is just and honourable without the reality; but no one is satisfied with the appearance of good—the reality is what they seek; in the case of the good, appearance is despised by every one.

  Very true, he said.

  Every man pursues the good, but without knowing the nature of it.

  Of this then, which every soul of man pursues and makes the end of all his actions, having a presentiment that there is such an end, and yet hesitating because neither knowing the 506nature nor having the same assurance of this as of other things, and therefore losing whatever good there is in other things, — of a principle such and so great as this ought the best men in our State, to whom everything is entrusted, to be in the darkness of ignorance?

  Certainly not, he said.

  I am sure, I said, that he who does not know how the beautiful and the just are likewise good will be but a sorry guardian of them; and I suspect that no one who is ignorant of the good will have a true knowledge of them.

  That, he said, is a shrewd suspicion of yours.

  And if we only have a guardian who has this knowledge our State will be perfectly ordered?

  The guardian ought to know these things.

  Of course, he replied; but I wish that you would tell me whether you conceive this supreme principle of the good to be knowledge or pleasure, or different from either?

  Aye, I said, I knew all along that a fastidious gentleman1 like you would not be contented with the thoughts of other people about these matters.

  True, Socrates; but I must say that one who like you has passed a lifetime in the study of philosophy should not be always repeating the opinions of others, and never telling his own.

  Well, but has any one a right to say positively what he does not know?

  Not, he said, with the assurance of positive certainty; he has no right to do that: but he may say what he thinks, as a matter of opinion.

  And do you not know, I said, that all mere opinions are bad, and the best of them blind? You would not deny that those who have any true notion without intelligence are only like blind men who feel their way along the road?

  Socrates, Adeimantus, Glaucon.

  Very true.

  And do you wish to behold what is blind and crooked and base, when others will tell you of brightness and beauty?

  Still, I must implore you, Socrates, said Glaucon, not to turn away just as you are reaching the goal; if you will only give such an explanation of the good as you have already given of justice and temperance and the other virtues, we shall be satisfied.

  We can only attain to the things of mind through the things of sense. The ‘child’ of the good.

  Yes, my friend, and I shall be at least equally satisfied, but I cannot help fearing that I shall fail, and that my indiscreet zeal will bring ridicule upon me. No, sweet sirs, let us not at present ask what is the actual nature of the good, for to reach what is now in my thoughts would be an effort too great for me. But of the child of the good who is likest him, I would fain speak, if I could be sure that you wished to hear—otherwise, not.

  By all means, he said, tell us about the child, and you shall remain in our debt for the account of the parent.

  507I do indeed wish, I replied, that I could pay, and you receive, the account of the parent, and not, as now, of the offspring only; take, however, this latter by way of interest1 , and at the same time have a care that I do not render a false account, although I have no intention of deceiving you.

  Yes, we will take all the care that we can: proceed.

  Yes, I said, but I must first come to an understanding with you, and remind you of what I have mentioned in the course of this discussion, and at many other times.

  What?

  The old story, that there is a many beautiful and a many good, and so of other things which we describe and define; to all of them the term ‘many’ is applied.

  True, he said.

  And there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and of other things to which the term ‘many’ is applied there is an absolute; for they may be brought under a single idea, which is called the essence of each.

  Very true.

  The many, as we say, are seen but not known, and the ideas are known but not seen.

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  Exactly.

  And what is the organ with which we see the visible things?

  The sight, he said.

  And with the hearing, I said, we hear, and with the other senses perceive the other objects of sense?

  True.

  Sight the most complex of the senses,

  But have you remarked that sight is by far the most costly and complex piece of workmanship which the artificer of the senses ever contrived?

  No, I never have, he said.

  Then reflect: has the ear or voice need of any third or additional nature in order that the one may be able to hear and the other to be heard?

  Nothing of the sort.

  No, indeed, I replied; and the same is true of most, if not all, the other senses—you would not say that any of them requires such an addition?

  Certainly not.

  But you see that without the addition of some other nature there is no seeing or being seen?

  How do you mean?

  and, unlike the other senses, requires the addition of a third nature before it can be used. This third nature is light.

  Sight being, as I conceive, in the eyes, and he who has eyes wanting to see; colour being also present in them, still unless there be a third nature specially adapted to the purpose, the owner of the eyes will see nothing and the colours will be invisible.

  Of what nature are you speaking?

  Of that which you term light, I replied.

  True, he said.

  508Noble, then, is the bond which links together sight and visibility, and great beyond other bonds by no small difference of nature; for light is their bond, and light is no ignoble thing?

  Nay, he said, the reverse of ignoble.

  And which, I said, of the gods in heaven would you say was the lord of this element? Whose is that light which makes the eye to see perfectly and the visible to appear?

  You mean the sun, as you and all mankind say.

  May not the relation of sight to this deity be described as follows?

  How?

  Neither sight nor the eye in which sight resides is the sun?

  No.

  The eye like the sun, but not the same with it.

  Yet of all the organs of sense the eye is the most like the sun?

  By far the most like.

  And the power which the eye possesses is a sort of effluence which is dispensed from the sun?

  Exactly.

  Then the sun is not sight, but the author of sight who is recognised by sight?

  True, he said.

  And this is he whom I call the child of the good, whom the good begat in his own likeness, to be in the visible world, in relation to sight and the things of sight, what the good is in the intellectual world in relation to mind and the things of mind:

  Will you be a little more explicit? he said.

  Why, you know, I said, that the eyes, when a person directs them towards objects on which the light of day is no longer shining, but the moon and stars only, see dimly, and are nearly blind; they seem to have no clearness of vision in them?

  Very true.

  Visible objects are to be seen only when the sun shines upon them; truth is only known when illuminated by the idea of good.

  But when they are directed towards objects on which the sun shines, they see clearly and there is sight in them?

  Certainly.

  And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands, and is radiant with intelligence; but when turned towards the twilight of becoming and perishing, then she has opinion only, and goes blinking about, and is first of one opinion and then of another, and seems to have no intelligence?

  Just so.

  The idea of good higher than science or truth (the objective than the subjective).

  Now, that which imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of science1 , and of truth in so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both truth and knowledge, you will be right in esteeming this other nature as more 509beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honour yet higher.

  What a wonder of beauty that must be, he said, which is the author of science and truth, and yet surpasses them in beauty; for you surely cannot mean to say that pleasure is the good?

  God forbid, I replied; but may I ask you to consider the image in another point of view?

  In what point of view?

  You would say, would you not, that the sun is not only the author of visibility in all visible things, but of generation and nourishment and growth, though he himself is not generation?

  Certainly.

  As the sun is the cause of generation, so the good is the cause of being and essence.

  In like manner the good may be said to be not only the author of knowledge to all things known, but of their being and essence, and yet the good is not essence, but far exceeds essence in dignity and power.

  Glaucon said, with a ludicrous earnestness: By the light of heaven, how amazing!

  Yes, I said, and the exaggeration may be set down to you; for you made me utter my fancies.

  And pray continue to utter them; at any rate let us hear if there is anything more to be said about the similitude of the sun.

  Yes, I said, there is a great deal more.

  Then omit nothing, however slight.

  I will do my best, I said; but I should think that a great deal will have to be omitted.

  I hope not, he said.

  You have to imagine, then, that there are two ruling powers, and that one of them is set over the intellectual world, the other over the visible. I do not say heaven, lest you should fancy that I am playing upon the name (οὐρανός, ὁρατός). May I suppose that you have this distinction of the visible and intelligible fixed in your mind?

  I have.

  The two spheres of sight and knowledge are represented by a line which is divided into two unequal parts.

  Now take a line which has been cut into two unequal1 parts, and divide each of them again in the same proportion, and suppose the two main divisions to answer, one to the visible and the other to the intelligible, and then compare the subdivisions in respect of their clearness and want of clearness, and you will find that the first section in the 510sphere of the visible consists of images. And by images I mean, in the first place, shadows, and in the second place, reflections in water and in solid, smooth and polished bodies and the like: Do you understand?

  Yes, I understand.

  Imagine, now, the other section, of which this is only the resemblance, to include the animals which we see, and everthing that grows or is made.

  Very good.

  Would you not admit that both the sections of this division have different degrees of truth, and that the copy is to the original as the sphere of opinion is to the sphere of knowledge?

  Most undoubtedly.

  Next proceed to consider the manner in which the sphere of the intellectual is to be divided.

  In what manner?

  Images and hypotheses.

  Thus:—There are two subdivisions, in the lower of which the soul uses the figures given by the former division as images; the enquiry can only be hypothetical, and instead of going upwards to a principle descends to the other end; in the higher of the two, the soul passes out of hypotheses, and goes up to a principle which is above hypotheses, making no use of images2 as in the former case, but proceeding only in and through the ideas themselves.

  I do not quite understand your meaning, he said.

  The hypotheses of mathematics.

  Then I will try again; you will understand me better when I have made some preliminary remarks. You are aware that students of geometry, arithmetic, and the kindred sciences assume the odd and the even and the figures and three kinds of angles and the like in their several branches of science; these are their hypotheses, which they and every body are supposed to know, and therefore they do not deign to give any account of them either to themselves or others; but they begin with them, and go on until they arrive at last, and in a consistent manner, at their conclusion?

  Yes, he said, I know.

  In both spheres hypotheses are used, in the lower taking the form of images, but in the higher the soul ascends above hypotheses to the idea of good.

  And do you not know also that although they make use of the visible forms and reason about them, they are thinking not of these, but of the ideals which they resemble; not of the figures which they draw, but of the absolute square and the absolute diameter, and so on—the forms which they draw or make, and which have shadows and reflections in water of their own, are converted by them into images, but they are really seeking to behold the things themselves, which can only be seen with the eye of the mind?

  511That is true.

  And of this kind I spoke as the intelligible, although in the search after it the soul is compelled to use hypotheses; not ascending to a first principle, because she is unable to rise above the region of hypothesis, but employing the objects of which the shadows below are resemblances in their turn as images, they having in relation to the shadows and reflections of them a greater distinctness, and therefore a higher value.

  I understand, he said, that you are speaking of the province of geometry and the sister arts.

  Dialectic by the help of hypotheses rises above hypotheses.

  And when I speak of the other division of the intelligible, you will understand me to speak of that other sort of knowledge which reason herself attains by the power of dialectic, using the hypotheses not as first principles, but only as hypotheses—that is to say, as steps and points of departure into a world which is above hypotheses, in order that she may soar beyond them to the first principle of the whole; and clinging to this and then to that which depends on this, by successive steps she descends again without the aid of any sensible object, from ideas, through ideas, and in ideas she ends.

  Return to psychology.

  I understand you, he replied; not perfectly, for you seem to me to be describing a task which is really tremendous; but, at any rate, I understand you to say that knowledge and being, which the science of dialectic contemplates, are clearer than the notions of the arts, as they are termed, which proceed from hypotheses only: these are also contemplated by the understanding, and not by the senses: yet, because they start from hypotheses and do not ascend to a principle, those who contemplate them appear to you not to exercise the higher reason upon them, although when a first principle is added to them they are cognizable by the higher reason. And the habit which is concerned with geometry and the cognate sciences I suppose that you would term understanding and not reason, as being intermediate between opinion and reason.

  Four faculties: Reason, understanding, faith, perception of shadows.

  You have quite conceived my meaning, I said; and now, corresponding to these four divisions, let there be four faculties in the soul—reason answering to the highest, understanding to the second, faith (or conviction) to the third, and perception of shadows to the last—and let there be a scale of them, and let us suppose that the several faculties have clearness in the same degree that their objects have truth.

  I understand, he replied, and give my assent, and accept your arrangement.

  BOOK VII.

  The den, the prisoners; the light at a distance;

  514And now, I said, let me show in a figure how far our nature is enlightened or unenlightened:—Behold! human beings living in an underground den, which has a mouth open towards the light and reaching all along the den; here they have been from their childhood, and have their legs and necks chained so that they cannot move, and can only see before them, being prevented by the chains from turning round their heads. Above and behind them a fire is blazing at a distance, 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 in front of them, over which they show the puppets.

  I see.

  the low wall, and the moving figures of which the shadows are seen on the opposite wall of the den.

  And do you see, I said, men passing along the wall carrying all sorts of vessels, and statues and figures of animals 515made of wood and stone and various materials, which appear over the wall? Some of them are talking, others silent.

  You have shown me a strange image, 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 only see the shadows?

  Yes, he said.

  And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them1 ?

  Very true.

  The prisoners would mistake the shadows for realities.

  And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?

  No question, he replied.

  To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images.

  That is certain.

  And when released, they would still persist in maintaining the superior truth of the shadows.

  And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error. At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards 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 conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision,—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 perplexed? 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 straight 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 in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him?

  True, he said.

  When dragged upwards, they would be dazzled by excess of light.

  And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he is forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be 516pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities.

  Not all in a moment, he said.

  He will require to grow 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; then he will gaze upon the light of the moon and the stars and the spangled heaven; and he will see the sky and the stars by night better than the sun or the light of the sun by day?

  Certainly.

  At length they will see the sun and understand his nature.

  Last of all he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is.

  Certainly.

  He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season 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?

  Clearly, he said, he would first see the sun and then reason about him.

  They would then pity their old companions of the den.

  And when he remembered his old habitation, and the wisdom of the den and his fellow-prisoners, do you not suppose that he would felicitate himself on the change, and pity them?

  Certainly, he would.

  And if they were in the habit of conferring honours among themselves on those who were quickest to observe the passing shadows and to remark which of them went before, and which followed after, and which were together; and who were therefore best able to draw conclusions as to the future, do you think that he would care for such honours and glories, or envy the possessors of them? Would he not say with Homer,

  ‘Better to be the poor servant of a poor master,’

  and to endure anything, rather than think as they do and live after their manner?

  Yes, he said, I think that he would rather suffer anything than entertain these false notions and live in this miserable manner.

  Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness?

  To be sure, he said.

  But when they returned to the den they would see much worse than those who had never left it.

  And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never 517moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable), would he not be ridiculous? Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death.

  No question, he said.

  The prison is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun.

  This entire allegory, I said, you may now append, dear Glaucon, to the previous argument; the prison-house is the world of sight, the light of the fire is the sun, and you will not misapprehend me if you interpret the journey upwards to be the ascent of the soul into the intellectual world according to my poor belief, which, at your desire, I have expressed—whether rightly or wrongly God 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 also inferred to be the universal author of all things beautiful and right, parent of light and of the lord of light in this visible world, and the immediate source of reason and truth in the intellectual; and that this is the power upon which he who would act rationally either in public or private life must have his eye fixed.

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

  Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted.

  Yes, very natural.

  Nothing extraordinary in the philosopher being unable to see in the dark.

  And is there anything surprising in one who passes from divine contemplations to the evil state of man, misbehaving himself in a ridiculous manner; if, while his eyes are blinking and before he has become accustomed to the surrounding darkness, he is compelled to fight in courts of law, or in other places, about the images or the shadows of images of justice, and is endeavouring to meet the conceptions of those who have never yet seen absolute justice?

  Anything but surprising, he replied.

  The eyes may be blinded in two ways, by excess or by defect of light.

  518Any 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 any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man 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 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 him who returns from above out of the light into the den.

  That, he said, is a very just distinction.

  The conversion of the soul is the turning round the eye from darkness to light.

  But then, if I am right, certain professors of education must be wrong when they say that they can put a knowledge into the soul which was not there before, like sight into blind eyes.

  They undoubtedly say this, he replied.

  Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good.

  Very true.

  And must there not be some art which will effect conversion in the easiest and quickest manner; not implanting the faculty of sight, for that exists already, but has been turned in the wrong direction, and is looking away from the truth?

  Yes, he said, such an art may be presumed.

  The virtue of wisdom has a divine power which may be turned either towards good or towards evil.

  And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the virtue of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other 519hand, 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 eye-sight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness?

  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 those sensual pleasures, such as eating and drinking, which, like leaden weights, were attached to them at their birth, and which drag them down and turn the vision of their souls upon the things that are below—if, I say, they had been released from these impediments and turned in the opposite direction, the very same faculty in them would have seen the truth as keenly as they see what their eyes are turned to now.

  Very likely.

  Neither the uneducated nor the overeducated will be good servants of the State.

  Yes, I said; and there is another thing which is likely, or rather a necessary inference from what has preceded, 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 all 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 dwelling apart 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 we have already shown to be the greatest of all—they must continue to ascend until they arrive at the good; but when they have ascended and seen enough we must not allow them to do as they do now.

  What do you mean?

  Men should ascend to the upper world, but they should also return to the lower.

  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 labours and honours, whether they are worth having or not.

  But is not this unjust? he said; ought we to give them a worse life, when they might have a better?

  You have again forgotten, my friend, I said, the intention of the legislator, who 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 the State, 520and therefore benefactors of one another; to this end he created them, not to please themselves, but to be his instruments in binding up the State.

  True, he said, I had forgotten.

  The duties of philosophers.Their obligations to their country will induce them to take part in her government.

  Observe, Glaucon, that there will be no injustice in compelling our philosophers to have a care and providence of others; we shall explain to them that in other States, men of their class are not obliged to share in the toils of politics: and this is reasonable, for they grow up at their own sweet will, and the government would rather not have them. Being self-taught, they cannot be expected to show any gratitude for a culture which they have never received. But we have brought you into the world to be rulers of the hive, kings of yourselves and of the other citizens, and have educated you far better and more perfectly than they have been educated, and you are better able to share in the double duty. Wherefore each of you, when his turn comes, must go down to the general underground abode, and get the habit of seeing in the dark. When you have acquired the habit, you will see ten thousand times better than the inhabitants of the den, and you will know what the several images are, and what they represent, because you have seen the beautiful and just and good in their truth. And thus our State, which is also yours, will be a reality, and not a dream only, and will be administered in a spirit unlike that of other States, in which men fight with one another about shadows only and are distracted in the struggle for power, which in their eyes is a great good. Whereas the truth is that the State in which the rulers are most reluctant to govern is always the best and most quietly governed, and the State in which they are most eager, the worst.

  Quite true, he replied.

  And will our pupils, when they hear this, refuse to take their turn at the toils of State, when they are allowed to spend the greater part of their time with one another in the heavenly light?

  They will be willing but not anxious to rule.

  Impossible, he answered; for they are just men, and the commands which we impose upon them are just; there can be no doubt that every one of them will take office as a stern necessity, and not after the fashion of our present rulers of State.

  The statesman must be provided with a better life than that of a ruler; and then he will not covet office.

  Yes, my friend, I said; and there lies the point. You 521must contrive for your future rulers another and a better life than that of a ruler, and then you may have a well-ordered State; for only in the State which offers this, will they rule who are truly rich, not in silver and gold, but in virtue and wisdom, which are the true blessings of life. Whereas if they go to the administration of public affairs, poor and hungering after their own private advantage, thinking that hence they are to snatch the chief good, order there can never be; for they will be fighting about office, and the civil and domestic broils which thus arise will be the ruin of the rulers themselves and of the whole State.

  Most true, he replied.

  And the only life which looks down upon the life of political ambition is that of true philosophy. Do you know of any other?

  Indeed, I do not, he said.

  And those who govern ought not to be lovers of the task? For, if they are, there will be rival lovers, and they will fight.

  No question.

  Who then are those whom we shall compel to be guardians? Surely they will be the men who are wisest about affairs of State, and by whom the State is best administered, and who at the same time have other honours and another and a better life than that of politics?

  They are the men, and I will choose them, he replied.

  And now shall we consider in what way such guardians will be produced, and how they are to be brought from darkness to light,—as some are said to have ascended from the world below to the gods?

  By all means, he replied.

  The training of the guardians.

  The process, I said, is not the turning over of an oyster-shell1 , but the turning round of a soul passing from a day which is little better than night to the true day of being, that is, the ascent from below2 , which we affirm to be true philosophy?

  Quite so.

  What knowledge will draw the soul upwards?

  And should we not enquire what sort of knowledge has the power of effecting such a change?

  Certainly.

  What sort of knowledge is there which would draw the soul from becoming to being? And another consideration has just occurred to me: You will remember that our young men are to be warrior athletes?

  Yes, that was said.

  Then this new kind of knowledge must have an additional quality?

  What quality?

  Usefulness in war.

  Yes, if possible.

  Recapitulation.

  There were two parts in our former scheme of education, were there not?

  The first education had two parts, music and gymnastic.

  Just so.

  There was gymnastic which presided over the growth and decay of the body, and may therefore be regarded as having to do with generation and corruption?

  True.

  522Then that is not the knowledge which we are seeking to discover?

  No.

  But what do you say of music, what also entered to a certain extent into our former scheme?

  Music, he said, as you will remember, was the counterpart of gymnastic, and trained the guardians by the influences of habit, by harmony making them harmonious, by rhythm rhythmical, but not giving them science; and the words, whether fabulous or possibly true, had kindred elements of rhythm and harmony in them. But in music there was nothing which tended to that good which you are now seeking.

  You are most accurate, I said, in your recollection; in music there certainly was nothing of the kind. But what branch of knowledge is there, my dear Glaucon, which is of the desired nature; since all the useful arts were reckoned mean by us?

  Undoubtedly; and yet if music and gymnastic are excluded, and the arts are also excluded, what remains?

  Well, I said, there may be nothing left of our special subjects; and then we shall have to take something which is not special, but of universal application.

  What may that be?

  There remains for the second education, arithmetic;

  A something which all arts and sciences and intelligences use in common, and which every one first has to learn among the elements of education.

  What is that?

  The little matter of distinguishing one, two, and three—in a word, number and calculation:—do not all arts and sciences necessarily partake of them?

  Yes.

  Then the art of war partakes of them?

  To be sure.

  Then Palamedes, whenever he appears in tragedy, proves Agamemnon ridiculously unfit to be a general. Did you never remark how he declares that he had invented number, and had numbered the ships and set in array the ranks of the army at Troy; which implies that they had never been numbered before, and Agamemnon must be supposed literally to have been incapable of counting his own feet—how could he if he was ignorant of number? And if that is true, what sort of general must he have been?

  I should say a very strange one, if this was as you say.

  Can we deny that a warrior should have a knowledge of arithmetic?

  Certainly he should, if he is to have the smallest understanding of military tactics, or indeed, I should rather say, if he is to be a man at all.

  I should like to know whether you have the same notion which I have of this study?

  What is your notion?

  that being a study which leads naturally to reflection, for

  It appears to me to be a study of the kind which we are 523seeking, and which leads naturally to reflection, but never to have been rightly used; for the true use of it is simply to draw the soul towards being.

  Will you explain your meaning? he said.

  I will try, I said; and I wish you would share the enquiry with me, and say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ when I attempt to distinguish in my own mind what branches of knowledge have this attracting power, in order that we may have clearer proof that arithmetic is, as I suspect, one of them.

  Explain, he said.

  reflection is aroused by contradictory impressions of sense.

  I mean to say that objects of sense are of two kinds; some of them do not invite thought because the sense is an adequate judge of them; while in the case of other objects sense is so untrustworthy that further enquiry is imperatively demanded.

  You are clearly referring, he said, to the manner in which the senses are imposed upon by distance, and by painting in light and shade.

  No, I said, that is not at all my meaning.

  Then what is your meaning?

  When speaking of uninviting objects, I mean those which do not pass from one sensation to the opposite; inviting objects are those which do; in this latter case the sense coming upon the object, whether at a distance or near, gives no more vivid idea of anything in particular than of its opposite. An illustration will make my meaning clearer:—here are three fingers—a little finger, a second finger, and a middle finger.

  Very good.

  You may suppose that they are seen quite close: And here comes the point.

  What is it?

  No difficulty in simple perception.

  Each of them equally appears a finger, whether seen in the middle or at the extremity, whether white or black, or thick or thin—it makes no difference; a finger is a finger all the same. In these cases a man is not compelled to ask of thought the question what is a finger? for the sight never intimates to the mind that a finger is other than a finger.

  True.

  And therefore, I said, as we might expect, there is nothing here which invites or excites intelligence.

  There is not, he said.

  But the same senses at the same time give different impressions which are at first indistinct and have to be distinguished by the mind.

  But is this equally true of the greatness and smallness of the fingers? Can sight adequately perceive them? and is no difference made by the circumstance that one of the fingers is in the middle and another at the extremity? And in like manner does the touch adequately perceive the qualities of thickness or thinness, of softness or hardness? And so of the other senses; do they give perfect intimations of such 524matters? Is not their mode of operation on this wise—the sense which is concerned with the quality of hardness is necessarily concerned also with the quality of softness, and only intimates to the soul that the same thing is felt to be both hard and soft?

  You are quite right, he said.

  And must not the soul be perplexed at this intimation which the sense gives of a hard which is also soft? What, again, is the meaning of light and heavy, if that which is light is also heavy, and that which is heavy, light?

  Yes, he said, these intimations which the soul receives are very curious and require to be explained.

  The aid of numbers is invoked in order to remove the confusion.

  Yes, I said, and in these perplexities the soul naturally summons to her aid calculation and intelligence, that she may see whether the several objects announced to her are one or two.

  True.

  And if they turn out to be two, is not each of them one and different?

  Certainly.

  And if each is one, and both are two, she will conceive the two as in a state of division, for if they were undivided they could only be conceived of as one?

  True.

  The eye certainly did see both small and great, but only in a confused manner; they were not distinguished.

  Yes.

  The chaos then begins to be defined.

  Whereas the thinking mind, intending to light up the chaos, was compelled to reverse the process, and look at small and great as separate and not confused.

  Very true.

  Was not this the beginning of the enquiry ‘What is great?’ and ‘What is small?’

  Exactly so.

  The parting of the visible and intelligible.

  And thus arose the distinction of the visible and the intelligible.

  Most true.

  This was what I meant when I spoke of impressions which invited the intellect, or the reverse—those which are simultaneous with opposite impressions, invite thought; those which are not simultaneous do not.

  I understand, he said, and agree with you.

  And to which class do unity and number belong?

  I do not know, he replied.

  Thought is aroused by the contradiction of the one and many.

  Think a little and you will see that what has preceded will supply the answer; for if simple unity could be adequately perceived by the sight or by any other sense, then, as we were saying in the case of the finger, there would be nothing to attract towards being; but when there is some contradiction always present, and one is the reverse of one and involves the conception of plurality, then thought begins to be aroused within us, and the soul perplexed and wanting to arrive at a decision asks ‘What is absolute unity?’ This is 525the way in which the study of the one has a power of drawing and converting the mind to the contemplation of true being.

  And surely, he said, this occurs notably in the case of one; for we see the same thing to be both one and infinite in multitude?

  Yes, I said; and this being true of one must be equally true of all number?

  Certainly.

  And all arithmetic and calculation have to do with number?

  Yes.

  And they appear to lead the mind towards truth?

  Yes, in a very remarkable manner.

  Arithmetic has a practical and also a philosophical use, the latter the higher.

  Then this is knowledge of the kind for which we are seeking, having a double use, military and philosophical; for the man of war must learn the art of number or he will not know how to array his troops, and the philosopher also, because he has to rise out of the sea of change and lay hold of true being, and therefore he must be an arithmetician.

  That is true.

  And our guardian is both warrior and philosopher?

  Certainly.

  Then this is a kind of knowledge which legislation may fitly prescribe; and we must endeavour to persuade those who are to be the principal men of our State to go and learn arithmetic, not as amateurs, but they must carry on the study until they see the nature of numbers with the mind only; nor again, like merchants or retail-traders, with a view to buying or selling, but for the sake of their military use, and of the soul herself; and because this will be the easiest way for her to pass from becoming to truth and being.

  That is excellent, he said.

  Yes, I said, and now having spoken of it, I must add how charming the science is! and in how many ways it conduces to our desired end, if pursued in the spirit of a philosopher, and not of a shopkeeper!

  How do you mean?

  The higher arithmetic is concerned, not with visible or tangible objects, but with abstract numbers.

  I mean, as I was saying, that arithmetic has a very great and elevating effect, compelling the soul to reason about abstract number, and rebelling against the introduction of visible or tangible objects into the argument. You know how steadily the masters of the art repel and ridicule any one who attempts to divide absolute unity when he is calculating, and if you divide, they multiply1 , taking care that one shall continue one and not become lost in fractions.

  That is very true.

  526Now, suppose a person were to say to them: O my friends, what are these wonderful numbers about which you are reasoning, in which, as you say, there is a unity such as you demand, and each unit is equal, invariable, indivisible,—what would they answer?

  They would answer, as I should conceive, that they were speaking of those numbers which can only be realized in thought.

  Then you see that this knowledge may be truly called necessary, necessitating as it clearly does the use of the pure intelligence in the attainment of pure truth?

  Yes; that is a marked characteristic of it.

  The arithmetician is naturally quick, and the study of arithmetic gives him still greater quickness.

  And have you further observed, that those who have a natural talent for calculation are generally quick at every other kind of knowledge; and even the dull, if they have had an arithmetical training, although they may derive no other advantage from it, always become much quicker than they would otherwise have been.

  Very true, he said.

  And indeed, you will not easily find a more difficult study, and not many as difficult.

  You will not.

  And, for all these reasons, arithmetic is a kind of knowledge in which the best natures should be trained, and which must not be given up.

  I agree.

  Let this then be made one of our subjects of education. And next, shall we enquire whether the kindred science also concerns us?

  You mean geometry?

  Exactly so.

  Geometry has practical applications;

  Clearly, he said, we are concerned with that part of geometry which relates to war; for in pitching a camp, or taking up a position, or closing or extending the lines of an army, or any other military manœuvre, whether in actual battle or on a march, it will make all the difference whether a general is or is not a geometrician.

  these however are trifling in comparison with that greater part of the science which tends towards the good,

  Yes, I said, but for that purpose a very little of either geometry or calculation will be enough; the question relates rather to the greater and more advanced part of geometry—whether that tends in any degree to make more easy the vision of the idea of good; and thither, as I was saying, all things tend which compel the soul to turn her gaze towards that place, where is the full perfection of being, which she ought, by all means, to behold.

  True, he said.

  Then if geometry compels us to view being, it concerns us; if becoming only, it does not concern us?

  527Yes, that is what we assert.

  Yet anybody who has the least acquaintance with geometry will not deny that such a conception of the science is in flat contradiction to the ordinary language of geometricians.

  How so?

  They have in view practice only, and are always speaking, in a narrow and ridiculous manner, of squaring and extending and applying and the like—they confuse the necessities of geometry with those of daily life; whereas knowledge is the real object of the whole science.

  Certainly, he said.

  Then must not a further admission be made?

  What admission?

  and is concerned with the eternal.

  That the knowledge at which geometry aims is knowledge of the eternal, and not of aught perishing and transient.

  That, he replied, may be readily allowed, and is true.

  Then, my noble friend, geometry will draw the soul towards truth, and create the spirit of philosophy, and raise up that which is now unhappily allowed to fall down.

  Nothing will be more likely to have such an effect.

  Then nothing should be more sternly laid down than that the inhabitants of your fair city should by all means learn geometry. Moreover the science has indirect effects, which are not small.

  Of what kind? he said.

  There are the military advantages of which you spoke, I said; and in all departments of knowledge, as experience proves, any one who has studied geometry is infinitely quicker of apprehension than one who has not.

  Yes indeed, he said, there is an infinite difference between them.

  Then shall we propose this as a second branch of knowledge which our youth will study?

  Let us do so, he replied.

  And suppose we make astronomy the third—what do you say?

  Astronomy, like the previous sciences, is at first praised by Glaucon for its practical uses.

  I am strongly inclined to it, he said; the observation of the seasons and of months and years is as essential to the general as it is to the farmer or sailor.

  I am amused, I said, at your fear of the world, which makes you guard against the appearance of insisting upon useless studies; and I quite admit the difficulty of believing that in every man there is an eye of the soul which, when by other pursuits lost and dimmed, is by these purified and re-illumined; and is more precious far than ten thousand bodily eyes, for by it alone is truth seen. Now there are two classes of persons: one class of those who will agree with you and will take your words as a revelation; another class 528to whom they will be utterly unmeaning, and who will naturally deem them to be idle tales, for they see no sort of profit which is to be obtained from them. And therefore you had better decide at once with which of the two you are proposing to argue. You will very likely say with neither, and that your chief aim in carrying on the argument is your own improvement; at the same time you do not grudge to others any benefit which they may receive.

  I think that I should prefer to carry on the argument mainly on my own behalf.

  Correction of the order.

  Then take a step backward, for we have gone wrong in the order of the sciences.

  What was the mistake? he said.

  After plane geometry, I said, we proceeded at once to solids in revolution, instead of taking solids in themselves; whereas after the second dimension the third, which is concerned with cubes and dimensions of depth, ought to have followed.

  That is true, Socrates; but so little seems to be known as yet about these subjects.

  The pitiable condition of solid geometry.

  Why, yes, I said, and for two reasons:—in the first place, no government patronises them; this leads to a want of energy in the pursuit of them, and they are difficult; in the second place, students cannot learn them unless they have a director. But then a director can hardly be found, and even if he could, as matters now stand, the students, who are very conceited, would not attend to him. That, however, would be otherwise if the whole State became the director of these studies and gave honour to them; then disciples would want to come, and there would be continuous and earnest search, and discoveries would be made; since even now, disregarded as they are by the world, and maimed of their fair proportions, and although none of their votaries can tell the use of them, still these studies force their way by their natural charm, and very likely, if they had the help of the State, they would some day emerge into light.

  Yes, he said, there is a remarkable charm in them. But I do not clearly understand the change in the order. First you began with a geometry of plane surfaces?

  Yes, I said.

  And you placed astronomy next, and then you made a step backward?

  The motion of solids.

  Yes, and I have delayed you by my hurry; the ludicrous state of solid geometry, which, in natural order, should have followed, made me pass over this branch and go on to astronomy, or motion of solids.

  True, he said.

  Then assuming that the science now omitted would come into existence if encouraged by the State, let us go on to astronomy, which will be fourth.

  Glaucon grows sentimental about astronomy.

  The right order, he replied. And now, Socrates, as you rebuked the vulgar manner in which I praised astronomy 529before, my praise shall be given in your own spirit. For every one, as I think, must see that astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this world to another.

  Every one but myself, I said; to every one else this may be clear, but not to me.

  And what then would you say?

  I should rather say that those who elevate astronomy into philosophy appear to me to make us look downwards and not upwards.

  What do you mean? he asked.

  He is rebuked by Socrates,

  You, I replied, have in your mind a truly sublime conception of our knowledge of the things above. And I dare say that if a person were to throw his head back and study the fretted ceiling, you would still think that his mind was the percipient, and not his eyes. And you are very likely right, and I may be a simpleton: but, in my opinion, that knowledge only which is of being and of the unseen can make the soul look upwards, and whether a man gapes at the heavens or blinks on the ground, seeking to learn some particular of sense, I would deny that he can learn, for nothing of that sort is matter of science; his soul is looking downwards, not upwards, whether his way to knowledge is by water or by land, whether he floats, or only lies on his back.

  who explains that the higher astronomy is an abstract science.

  I acknowledge, he said, the justice of your rebuke. Still, I should like to ascertain how astronomy can be learned in any manner more conducive to that knowledge of which we are speaking?

  I will tell you, I said: The starry heaven which we behold is wrought upon a visible ground, and therefore, although the fairest and most perfect of visible things, must necessarily be deemed inferior far to the true motions of absolute swiftness and absolute slowness, which are relative to each other, and carry with them that which is contained in them, in the true number and in every true figure. Now, these are to be apprehended by reason and intelligence, but not by sight.

  True, he replied.

  The spangled heavens should be used as a pattern and with a view to that higher knowledge; their beauty is like the beauty of figures or pictures excellently wrought by the hand of Daedalus, or some other great artist, which we may chance to behold; any geometrician who saw them would appreciate the exquisiteness of their workmanship, but he would never dream of thinking that in them he could find the true equal or the true double, or the truth of any 530other proportion.

  No, he replied, such an idea would be ridiculous.

  And will not a true astronomer have the same feeling when he looks at the movements of the stars? Will he not think that heaven and the things in heaven are framed by the Creator of them in the most perfect manner? But he will never imagine that the proportions of night and day, or of both to the month, or of the month to the year, or of the stars to these and to one another, and any other things that are material and visible can also be eternal and subject to no deviation—that would be absurd; and it is equally absurd to take so much pains in investigating their exact truth.

  I quite agree, though I never thought of this before.

  The real knowledge of astronomy or geometry is to be attained by the use of abstractions.

  Then, I said, in astronomy, as in geometry, we should employ problems, and let the heavens alone if we would approach the subject in the right way and so make the natural gift of reason to be of any real use.

  That, he said, is a work infinitely beyond our present astronomers.

  Yes, I said; and there are many other things which must also have a similar extension given to them, if our legislation is to be of any value. But can you tell me of any other suitable study?

  No, he said, not without thinking.

  Motion, I said, has many forms, and not one only; two of them are obvious enough even to wits no better than ours; and there are others, as I imagine, which may be left to wiser persons.

  But where are the two?

  There is a second, I said, which is the counterpart of the one already named.

  And what may that be?

  What astronomy is to the eye, harmonics are to the ear.

  The second, I said, would seem relatively to the ears to be what the first is to the eyes; for I conceive that as the eyes are designed to look up at the stars, so are the ears to hear harmonious motions; and these are sister sciences—as the Pythagoreans say, and we, Glaucon, agree with them?

  Yes, he replied.

  But this, I said, is a laborious study, and therefore we had better go and learn of them; and they will tell us whether there are any other applications of these sciences. At the same time, we must not lose sight of our own higher object.

  What is that?

  They must be studied with a view to the good and not after the fashion of the empirics or even of the Pythagoreans.

  There is a perfection which all knowledge ought to reach, and which our pupils ought also to attain, and not to fall short of, as I was saying that they did in astronomy. For 531in the science of harmony, as you probably know, the same thing happens. The teachers of harmony compare the sounds and consonances which are heard only, and their labour, like that of the astronomers, is in vain.

  Yes, by heaven! he said; and ’tis as good as a play to hear them talking about their condensed notes, as they call them; they put their ears close alongside of the strings like persons catching a sound from their neighbour’s wall1 —one set of them declaring that they distinguish an intermediate note and have found the least interval which should be the unit of measurement; the others insisting that the two sounds have passed into the same—either party setting their ears before their understanding.

  You mean, I said, those gentlemen who tease and torture the strings and rack them on the pegs of the instrument: I might carry on the metaphor and speak after their manner of the blows which the plectrum gives, and make accusations against the strings, both of backwardness and forwardness to sound; but this would be tedious, and therefore I will only say that these are not the men, and that I am referring to the Pythagoreans, of whom I was just now proposing to enquire about harmony. For they too are in error, like the astronomers; they investigate the numbers of the harmonies which are heard, but they never attain to problems—that is to say, they never reach the natural harmonies of number, or reflect why some numbers are harmonious and others not.

  That, he said, is a thing of more than mortal knowledge.

  A thing, I replied, which I would rather call useful; that is, if sought after with a view to the beautiful and good; but if pursued in any other spirit, useless.

  Very true, he said.

  All these studies must be correlated with one another.

  Now, when all these studies reach the point of intercommunion and connection with one another, and come to be considered in their mutual affinities, then, I think, but not till then, will the pursuit of them have a value for our objects; otherwise there is no profit in them.

  I suspect so; but you are speaking, Socrates, of a vast work.

  What do you mean? I said; the prelude or what? Do you not know that all this is but the prelude to the actual strain which we have to learn? For you surely would not regard the skilled mathematician as a dialectician?

  Want of reasoning power in mathematicians.

  Assuredly not, he said; I have hardly ever known a mathematician who was capable of reasoning.

  But do you imagine that men who are unable to give 532and take a reason will have the knowledge which we require of them?

  Neither can this be supposed.

  Dialectic proceeds by reason only, without any help of sense.

  And so, Glaucon, I said, we have at last arrived at the hymn of dialectic. This is that strain which is of the intellect only, but which the faculty of sight will nevertheless be found to imitate; for sight, as you may remember, was imagined by us after a while to behold the real animals and stars, and last of all the sun himself. And so with dialectic; when a person starts on the discovery of the absolute by the light of reason only, and without any assistance of sense, and perseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the perception of the absolute good, he at last finds himself at the end of the intellectual world, as in the case of sight at the end of the visible.

  Exactly, he said.

  Then this is the progress which you call dialectic?

  True.

  The gradual acquirement of dialectic by the pursuit of the arts anticipated in the allegory of the den.

  But the release of the prisoners from chains, and their translation from the shadows to the images and to the light, and the ascent from the underground den to the sun, while in his presence they are vainly trying to look on animals and plants and the light of the sun, but are able to perceive even with their weak eyes the images1 in the water [which are divine], and are the shadows of true existence (not shadows of images cast by a light of fire, which compared with the sun is only an image)—this power of elevating the highest principle in the soul to the contemplation of that which is best in existence, with which we may compare the raising of that faculty which is the very light of the body to the sight of that which is brightest in the material and visible world—this power is given, as I was saying, by all that study and pursuit of the arts which has been described.

  I agree in what you are saying, he replied, which may be hard to believe, yet, from another point of view, is harder still to deny. This however is not a theme to be treated of in passing only, but will have to be discussed again and again. And so, whether our conclusion be true or false, let us assume all this, and proceed at once from the prelude or preamble to the chief strain1 , and describe that in like manner. Say, then, what is the nature and what are the divisions of dialectic, and what are the paths which lead thither; for these paths will also lead to our final rest.

  The nature of dialectic can only be revealed to those who have been students of the preliminary sciences,

  533Dear Glaucon, I said, you will not be able to follow me here, though I would do my best, and you should behold not an image only but the absolute truth, according to my notion. Whether what I told you would or would not have been a reality I cannot venture to say; but you would have seen something like reality; of that I am confident.

  Doubtless, he replied.

  But I must also remind you, that the power of dialectic alone can reveal this, and only to one who is a disciple of the previous sciences.

  Of that assertion you may be as confident as of the last.

  And assuredly no one will argue that there is any other method of comprehending by any regular process all true existence or of ascertaining what each thing is in its own nature; for the arts in general are concerned with the desires or opinions of men, or are cultivated with a view to production and construction, or for the preservation of such productions and constructions; and as to the mathematical sciences which, as we were saying, have some apprehension of true being—geometry and the like—they only dream about being, but never can they behold the waking reality so long as they leave the hypotheses which they use unexamined, and are unable to give an account of them. For when a man knows not his own first principle, and when the conclusion and intermediate steps are also constructed out of he knows not what, how can he imagine that such a fabric of convention can ever become science?

  Impossible, he said.

  which are her handmaids.

  Then dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the first principle and is the only science which does away with hypotheses in order to make her ground secure; the eye of the soul, which is literally buried in an outlandish slough, is by her gentle aid lifted upwards; and she uses as handmaids and helpers in the work of conversion, the sciences which we have been discussing. Custom terms them sciences, but they ought to have some other name, implying greater clearness than opinion and less clearness than science: and this, in our previous sketch, was called understanding. But why should we dispute about names when we have realities of such importance to consider?

  Why indeed, he said, when any name will do which expresses the thought of the mind with clearness?

  Two divisions of the mind, intellect and opinion, each having two subdivisions.

  At any rate, we are satisfied, as before, to have four divisions; two for intellect and two for opinion, and to call the first division science, the second understanding, the third belief, and the fourth perception of shadows, opinion 534being concerned with becoming, and intellect with being; and so to make a proportion:—

  As being is to becoming, so is pure intellect to opinion.

  And as intellect is to opinion, so is science to belief, and understanding to the perception of shadows.

  But let us defer the further correlation and subdivision of the subjects of opinion and of intellect, for it will be a long enquiry, many times longer than this has been.

  As far as I understand, he said, I agree.

  And do you also agree, I said, in describing the dialectician as one who attains a conception of the essence of each thing? And he who does not possess and is therefore unable to impart this conception, in whatever degree he fails, may in that degree also be said to fail in intelligence? Will you admit so much?

  Yes, he said; how can I deny it?

  No truth which does not rest on the idea of good

  And you would say the same of the conception of the good? Until the person is able to abstract and define rationally the idea of good, and unless he can run the gauntlet of all objections, and is ready to disprove them, not by appeals to opinion, but to absolute truth, never faltering at any step of the argument—unless he can do all this, you would say that he knows neither the idea of good nor any other good; he apprehends only a shadow, if anything at all, which is given by opinion and not by science;—dreaming and slumbering in this life, before he is well awake here, he arrives at the world below, and has his final quietus.

  In all that I should most certainly agree with you.

  And surely you would not have the children of your ideal State, whom you are nurturing and educating—if the ideal ever becomes a reality—you would not allow the future rulers to be like posts1 , having no reason in them, and yet to be set in authority over the highest matters?

  Certainly not.

  Then you will make a law that they shall have such an education as will enable them to attain the greatest skill in asking and answering questions?

  Yes, he said, you and I together will make it.

  ought to have a high place.

  Dialectic, then, as you will agree, is the coping-stone of the sciences, and is set over them; no other science can be placed higher—the nature of knowledge can no further go?

  I agree, he said.

  535But to whom we are to assign these studies, and in what way they are to be assigned, are questions which remain to be considered.

  Yes, clearly.

  You remember, I said, how the rulers were chosen before?

  Certainly, he said.

  The natural gifts which are required in the dialectician: a towardly understanding; a good memory;

  The same natures must still be chosen, and the preference again given to the surest and the bravest, and, if possible, to the fairest; and, having noble and generous tempers, they should also have the natural gifts which will facilitate their education.

  And what are these?

  Such gifts as keenness and ready powers of acquisition; for the mind more often faints from the severity of study than from the severity of gymnastics: the toil is more entirely the mind’s own, and is not shared with the body.

  Very true, he replied.

  strength of character;

  Further, he of whom we are in search should have a good memory, and be an unwearied solid man who is a lover of labour in any line; or he will never be able to endure the great amount of bodily exercise and to go through all the intellectual discipline and study which we require of him.

  Certainly, he said; he must have natural gifts.

  The mistake at present is, that those who study philosophy have no vocation, and this, as I was before saying, is the reason why she has fallen into disrepute: her true sons should take her by the hand and not bastards.

  What do you mean?

  industry;

  In the first place, her votary should not have a lame or halting industry—I mean, that he should not be half industrious and half idle: as, for example, when a man is a lover of gymnastic and hunting, and all other bodily exercises, but a hater rather than a lover of the labour of learning or listening or enquiring. Or the occupation to which he devotes himself may be of an opposite kind, and he may have the other sort of lameness.

  Certainly, he said.

  love of truth;

  And as to truth, I said, is not a soul equally to be deemed halt and lame which hates voluntary falsehood and is extremely indignant at herself and others when they tell lies, but is patient of involuntary falsehood, and does not mind wallowing like a swinish beast in the mire of ignorance, and has no shame at being detected?

  To be sure.

  the moral virtues.

  536And, again, in respect of temperance, courage, magnificence, and every other virtue, should we not carefully distinguish between the true son and the bastard? for where there is no discernment of such qualities states and individuals unconsciously err; and the state makes a ruler, and the individual a friend, of one who, being defective in some part of virtue, is in a figure lame or a bastard.

  That is very true, he said.

  All these things, then, will have to be carefully considered by us; and if only those whom we introduce to this vast system of education and training are sound in body and mind, justice herself will have nothing to say against us, and we shall be the saviours of the constitution and of the State; but, if our pupils are men of another stamp, the reverse will happen, and we shall pour a still greater flood of ridicule on philosophy than she has to endure at present.

  That would not be creditable.

  Socrates plays a little with himself and his subject.

  Certainly not, I said; and yet perhaps, in thus turning jest into earnest I am equally ridiculous.

  In what respect?

  I had forgotten, I said, that we were not serious, and spoke with too much excitement. For when I saw philosophy so undeservedly trampled under foot of men I could not help feeling a sort of indignation at the authors of her disgrace: and my anger made me too vehement.

  For the study of dialectic the young must be selected.

  Indeed! I was listening, and did not think so.

  But I, who am the speaker, felt that I was. And now let me remind you that, although in our former selection we chose old men, we must not do so in this. Solon was under a delusion when he said that a man when he grows old may learn many things—for he can no more learn much than he can run much; youth is the time for any extraordinary toil.

  Of course.

  The preliminary studies should be commenced in childhood, but never forced.

  And, therefore, calculation and geometry and all the other elements of instruction, which are a preparation for dialectic, should be presented to the mind in childhood; not, however, under any notion of forcing our system of education.

  Why not?

  Because a freeman ought not to be a slave in the acquisition of knowledge of any kind. Bodily exercise, when compulsory, does no harm to the body; but knowledge which is acquired under compulsion obtains no hold on the mind.

  Very true.

  Then, my good friend, I said, do not use compulsion, but 537let early education be a sort of amusement; you will then be better able to find out the natural bent.

  That is a very rational notion, he said.

  Do you remember that the children, too, were to be taken to see the battle on horseback; and that if there were no danger they were to be brought close up and, like young hounds, have a taste of blood given them?

  Yes, I remember.

  The same practice may be followed, I said, in all these things—labours, lessons, dangers—and he who is most at home in all of them ought to be enrolled in a select number.

  At what age?

  The necessary gymnastics must be completed first.

  At the age when the necessary gymnastics are over: the period whether of two or three years which passes in this sort of training is useless for any other purpose; for sleep and exercise are unpropitious to learning; and the trial of who is first in gymnastic exercises is one of the most important tests to which our youth are subjected.

  Certainly, he replied.

  At twenty years of age the disciples will begin to be taught the correlation of the sciences.

  After that time those who are selected from the class of twenty years old will be promoted to higher honour, and the sciences which they learned without any order in their early education will now be brought together, and they will be able to see the natural relationship of them to one another and to true being.

  Yes, he said, that is the only kind of knowledge which takes lasting root.

  Yes, I said; and the capacity for such knowledge is the great criterion of dialectical talent: the comprehensive mind is always the dialectical.

  I agree with you, he said.

  At thirty the most promising will be placed in a select class.

  These, I said, are the points which you must consider; and those who have most of this comprehension, and who are most steadfast in their learning, and in their military and other appointed duties, when they have arrived at the age of thirty will have to be chosen by you out of the select class, and elevated to higher honour; and you will have to prove them by the help of dialectic, in order to learn which of them is able to give up the use of sight and the other senses, and in company with truth to attain absolute being: And here, my friend, great caution is required.

  The growth of scepticism

  Why great caution?

  Do you not remark, I said, how great is the evil which dialectic has introduced?

  What evil? he said.

  The students of the art are filled with lawlessness.

  Quite true, he said.

  Do you think that there is anything so very unnatural or inexcusable in their case? or will you make allowance for them?

  In what way make allowance?

  in the minds of the young illustrated by the case of a supposititious son,

  I want you, I said, by way of parallel, to imagine a supposititious son who is brought up in great wealth; he 538is one of a great and numerous family, and has many flatterers. When he grows up to manhood, he learns that his alleged are not his real parents; but who the real are he is unable to discover. Can you guess how he will be likely to behave towards his flatterers and his supposed parents, first of all during the period when he is ignorant of the false relation, and then again when he knows? Or shall I guess for you?

  If you please.

  who ceases to honour his father when he discovers that he is not his father.

  Then I should say, that while he is ignorant of the truth he will be likely to honour his father and his mother and his supposed relations more than the flatterers; he will be less inclined to neglect them when in need, or to do or say anything against them; and he will be less willing to disobey them in any important matter.

  He will.

  But when he has made the discovery, I should imagine that he would diminish his honour and regard for them, and would become more devoted to the flatterers; their influence over him would greatly increase; he would now live after their ways, and openly associate with them, and, unless he were of an unusually good disposition, he would trouble himself no more about his supposed parents or other relations.

  Well, all that is very probable. But how is the image applicable to the disciples of philosophy?

  In this way: you know that there are certain principles about justice and honour, which were taught us in childhood, and under their parental authority we have been brought up, obeying and honouring them.

  That is true.

  There are also opposite maxims and habits of pleasure which flatter and attract the soul, but do not influence those of us who have any sense of right, and they continue to obey and honour the maxims of their fathers.

  True.

  So men who begin to analyse the first principles of morality cease to respect them.

  Now, when a man is in this state, and the questioning spirit asks what is fair or honourable, and he answers as the legislator has taught him, and then arguments many and diverse refute his words, until he is driven into believing that nothing is honourable any more than dishonourable, or just and good any more than the reverse, and so of all the notions which he most valued, do you think that he will still honour and obey them as before?

  Impossible.

  And when he ceases to think them honourable and natural 539as heretofore, and he fails to discover the true, can he be expected to pursue any life other than that which flatters his desires?

  He cannot.

  And from being a keeper of the law he is converted into a breaker of it?

  Unquestionably.

  Now all this is very natural in students of philosophy such as I have described, and also, as I was just now saying, most excusable.

  Yes, he said; and, I may add, pitiable.

  Therefore, that your feelings may not be moved to pity about our citizens who are now thirty years of age, every care must be taken in introducing them to dialectic.

  Certainly.

  Young men are fond of pulling truth to pieces and thus bring disgrace upon themselves and upon philosophy.

  There is a danger lest they should taste the dear delight too early; for youngsters, as you may have observed, when they first get the taste in their mouths, argue for amusement, and are always contradicting and refuting others in imitation of those who refute them; like puppy-dogs, they rejoice in pulling and tearing at all who come near them.

  Yes, he said, there is nothing which they like better.

  And when they have made many conquests and received defeats at the hands of many, they violently and speedily get into a way of not believing anything which they believed before, and hence, not only they, but philosophy and all that relates to it is apt to have a bad name with the rest of the world.

  Too true, he said.

  The dialectician and the eristic.

  But when a man begins to get older, he will no longer be guilty of such insanity; he will imitate the dialectician who is seeking for truth, and not the eristic, who is contradicting for the sake of amusement; and the greater moderation of his character will increase instead of diminishing the honour of the pursuit.

  Very true, he said.

  And did we not make special provision for this, when we said that the disciples of philosophy were to be orderly and steadfast, not, as now, any chance aspirant or intruder?

  Very true.

  Suppose, I said, the study of philosophy to take the place of gymnastics and to be continued diligently and earnestly and exclusively for twice the number of years which were passed in bodily exercise—will that be enough?

  The study of philosophy to continue for five years; 30-35.

  Would you say six or four years? he asked.

  Say five years, I replied; at the end of the time they must be sent down again into the den and compelled to hold any military or other office which young men are qualified to hold: in this way they will get their experience of life, and there will be an opportunity of trying whether, when they are drawn all manner of ways by temptation, they will stand firm or flinch.

  540And how long is this stage of their lives to last?

  During fifteen years, 35-50, they are to hold office.At the end of that time they are to live chiefly in the contemplation of the good, but occasionally to return to politics.

  Fifteen years, I answered; and when they have reached fifty years of age, then let those who still survive and have distinguished themselves in every action of their lives and in every branch of knowledge come at last to their consummation: the time has now arrived at which they must raise the eye of the soul to the universal light which lightens all things, and behold the absolute good; for that is the pattern according to which they are to order the State and the lives of individuals, and the remainder of their own lives also; making philosophy their chief pursuit, but, when their turn comes, toiling also at politics and ruling for the public good, not as though they were performing some heroic action, but simply as a matter of duty; and when they have brought up in each generation others like themselves and left them in their place to be governors of the State, then they will depart to the Islands of the Blest and dwell there; and the city will give them public memorials and sacrifices and honour them, if the Pythian oracle consent, as demigods, but if not, as in any case blessed and divine.

  You are a sculptor, Socrates, and have made statues of our governors faultless in beauty.

  Yes, I said, Glaucon, and of our governesses too; for you must not suppose that what I have been saying applies to men only and not to women as far as their natures can go.

  There you are right, he said, since we have made them to share in all things like the men.

  Well, I said, and you would agree (would you not?) that what has been said about the State and the government is not a mere dream, and although difficult not impossible, but only possible in the way which has been supposed; that is to say, when the true philosopher kings are born in a State, one or more of them, despising the honours of this present world which they deem mean and worthless, esteeming above all things right and the honour that springs from right, and regarding justice as the greatest and most necessary of all things, whose ministers they are, and whose principles will be exalted by them when they set in order their own city?

  How will they proceed?

  Practical measures for the speedy foundation of the State.

  They will begin by sending out into the country all the inhabitants of the city who are more than ten years old, and will take possession of their children, who will be unaffected by the habits of their parents; these they will train in their own habits and laws, I mean in the laws which we have given them: and in this way the State and constitution of which we were speaking will soonest and most easily attain happiness, and the nation which has such a constitution will gain most.

  Yes, that will be the best way. And I think, Socrates, that you have very well described how, if ever, such a constitution might come into being.

  Enough then of the perfect State, and of the man who bears its image—there is no difficulty in seeing how we shall describe him.

  There is no difficulty, he replied; and I agree with you in thinking that nothing more need be said.

  BOOK VIII.

  Republic VIII.Recapitulation of Book V.

  543And so, Glaucon, we have arrived at the conclusion that in the perfect State wives and children are to be in common; and that all education and the pursuits of war and peace are also to be common, and the best philosophers and the bravest warriors are to be their kings?

  That, replied Glaucon, has been acknowledged.

  Yes, I said; and we have further acknowledged that the governors, when appointed themselves, will take their soldiers and place them in houses such as we were describing, which are common to all, and contain nothing private, or individual; and about their property, you remember what we agreed?

  Yes, I remember that no one was to have any of the ordinary possessions of mankind; they were to be warrior athletes and guardians, receiving from the other citizens, in lieu of annual payment, only their maintenance, and they were to take care of themselves and of the whole State.

  True, I said; and now that this division of our task is concluded, let us find the point at which we digressed, that we may return into the old path.

  Return to the end of Book IV.

  There is no difficulty in returning; you implied, then as now, that you had finished the description of the State: you said that such a State was good, and that the man was good who answered to it, although, as now appears, you had more 544excellent things to relate both of State and man. And you said further, that if this was the true form, then the others were false; and of the false forms, you said, as I remember, that there were four principal ones, and that their defects, and the defects of the individuals corresponding to them, were worth examining. When we had seen all the individuals, and finally agreed as to who was the best and who was the worst of them, we were to consider whether the best was not also the happiest, and the worst the most miserable. I asked you what were the four forms of government of which you spoke, and then Polemarchus and Adeimantus put in their word; and you began again, and have found your way to the point at which we have now arrived.

  Your recollection, I said, is most exact.

  Then, like a wrestler, he replied, you must put yourself again in the same position; and let me ask the same questions, and do you give me the same answer which you were about to give me then.

  Yes, if I can, I will, I said.

  I shall particularly wish to hear what were the four constitutions of which you were speaking.

  Four imperfect constitutions, the Cretan or Spartan, Oligarchy, Democracy, Tyranny.

  That question, I said, is easily answered: the four governments of which I spoke, so far as they have distinct names, are, first, those of Crete and Sparta, which are generally applauded; what is termed oligarchy comes next; this is not equally approved, and is a form of government which teems with evils: thirdly, democracy, which naturally follows oligarchy, although very different: and lastly comes tyranny, great and famous, which differs from them all, and is the fourth and worst disorder of a State. I do not know, do you? of any other constitution which can be said to have a distinct character. There are lordships and principalities which are bought and sold, and some other intermediate forms of government. But these are nondescripts and may be found equally among Hellenes and among barbarians.

  Yes, he replied, we certainly hear of many curious forms of government which exist among them.

  States are like men, because they are made up of men.

  Do you know, I said, that governments vary as the dispositions of men vary, and that there must be as many of the one as there are of the other? For we cannot suppose that States are made of ‘oak and rock,’ and not out of the human natures which are in them, and which in a figure turn the scale and draw other things after them?

  Yes, he said, the States are as the men are; they grow out of human characters.

  Then if the constitutions of States are five, the dispositions of individual minds will also be five?

  Certainly.

  Him who answers to aristocracy, and whom we rightly 545call just and good, we have already described.

  We have.

  Then let us now proceed to describe the inferior sort of natures, being the contentious and ambitious, who answer to the Spartan polity; also the oligarchical, democratical, and tyrannical. Let us place the most just by the side of the most unjust, and when we see them we shall be able to compare the relative happiness or unhappiness of him who leads a life of pure justice or pure injustice. The enquiry will then be completed. And we shall know whether we ought to pursue injustice, as Thrasymachus advises, or in accordance with the conclusions of the argument to prefer justice.

  Certainly, he replied, we must do as you say.

  The State and the individual.

  Shall we follow our old plan, which we adopted with a view to clearness, of taking the State first and then proceeding to the individual, and begin with the government of honour?—I know of no name for such a government other than timocracy, or perhaps timarchy. We will compare with this the like character in the individual; and, after that, consider oligarchy and the oligarchical man; and then again we will turn our attention to democracy and the democratical man; and lastly, we will go and view the city of tyranny, and once more take a look into the tyrant’s soul, and try to arrive at a satisfactory decision.

  That way of viewing and judging of the matter will be very suitable.

  How timocracy arises out of aristocracy.

  First, then, I said, let us enquire how timocracy (the government of honour) arises out of aristocracy (the government of the best). Clearly, all political changes originate in divisions of the actual governing power; a government which is united, however small, cannot be moved.

  Very true, he said.

  In what way, then, will our city be moved, and in what manner will the two classes of auxiliaries and rulers disagree among themselves or with one another? Shall we, after the manner of Homer, pray the Muses to tell us ‘how discord first arose’? Shall we imagine them in solemn mockery, to play and jest with us as if we were children, and to address us in a lofty tragic vein, making believe to be in earnest?

  How would they address us?

  The intelligence which is alloyed with sense will not know how to regulate births and deaths in accordance with the number which controls them.

  546After this manner:—A city which is thus constituted can hardly be shaken; but, seeing that everything which has a beginning has also an end, even a constitution such as yours will not last for ever, but will in time be dissolved. And this is the dissolution:—In plants that grow in the earth, as well as in animals that move on the earth’s surface, fertility and sterility of soul and body occur when the circumferences of the circles of each are completed, which in short-lived existences pass over a short space, and in long-lived ones over a long space. But to the knowledge of human fecundity and sterility all the wisdom and education of your rulers will not attain; the laws which regulate them will not be discovered by an intelligence which is alloyed with sense, but will escape them, and they will bring children into the world when they ought not. Now that which is of divine birth has a period which is contained in a perfect number,1 but the period of human birth is comprehended in a number in which first increments by involution and evolution [or squared and cubed] obtaining three intervals and four terms of like and unlike, waxing and waning numbers, make all the terms commensurable and agreeable to one another.2 The base of these (3) with a third added (4) when combined with five (20) and raised to the third power furnishes two harmonies; the first a square which is a hundred times as great (400 = 4 × 100),3 and the other a figure having one side equal to the former, but oblong,4 consisting of a hundred numbers squared upon rational diameters of a square (i. e. omitting fractions), the side of which is five (7 × 7 = 49 × 100 = 4900), each of them being less by one (than the perfect square which includes the fractions, sc. 50) or less by1 two perfect squares of irrational diameters (of a square the side of which is five = 50 + 50 = 100); and a hundred cubes of three (27 × 100 = 2700 + 4900 + 400 = 8000). Now this number represents a geometrical figure which has control over the good and evil of births. For when your guardians are ignorant of the law of births, and unite bride and bridegroom out of season, the children will not be goodly or fortunate. And though only the best of them will be appointed by their predecessors, still they will be unworthy to hold their fathers’ places, and when they come into power as guardians, they will soon be found to fail in taking care of us, the Muses, first by undervaluing music; which neglect will soon extend to gymnastic; and hence the young men of your State will be less cultivated. In the succeeding generation rulers will be appointed who have lost the guardian power of testing the metal of your different races, which, like Hesiod’s, are of gold and silver 547and brass and iron. And so iron will be mingled with silver, and brass with gold, and hence there will arise dissimilarity and inequality and irregularity, which always and in all places are causes of hatred and war. This the Muses affirm to be the stock from which discord has sprung, wherever arising; and this is their answer to us.

  Yes, and we may assume that they answer truly.

  Why, yes, I said, of course they answer truly; how can the Muses speak falsely?

  And what do the Muses say next?

  Then discord arose and individual took the place of common property.

  When discord arose, then the two races were drawn different ways: the iron and brass fell to acquiring money and land and houses and gold and silver; but the gold and silver races, not wanting money but having the true riches in their own nature, inclined towards virtue and the ancient order of things. There was a battle between them, and at last they agreed to distribute their land and houses among individual owners; and they enslaved their friends and maintainers, whom they had formerly protected in the condition of freemen, and made of them subjects and servants; and they themselves were engaged in war and in keeping a watch against them.

  I believe that you have rightly conceived the origin of the change.

  And the new government which thus arises will be of a form intermediate between oligarchy and aristocracy?

  Very true.

  Such will be the change, and after the change has been made, how will they proceed? Clearly, the new State, being in a mean between oligarchy and the perfect State, will partly follow one and partly the other, and will also have some peculiarities.

  True, he said.

  In the honour given to rulers, in the abstinence of the warrior class from agriculture, handicrafts, and trade in general, in the institution of common meals, and in the attention paid to gymnastics and military training—in all these respects this State will resemble the former.

  True.

  Timocracy will retain the military and reject the philosophical character of the perfect State.

  But in the fear of admitting philosophers to power, because they are no longer to be had simple and earnest, but are made up of mixed elements; and in turning from them to passionate and less complex characters, who are by nature 548fitted for war rather than peace; and in the value set by them upon military stratagems and contrivances, and in the waging of everlasting wars—this State will be for the most part peculiar.

  Yes.

  The soldier class miserly and covetous.

  Yes, I said; and men of this stamp will be covetous of money, like those who live in oligarchies; they will have a fierce secret longing after gold and silver, which they will hoard in dark places, having magazines and treasuries of their own for the deposit and concealment of them; also castles which are just nests for their eggs, and in which they will spend large sums on their wives, or on any others whom they please.

  That is most true, he said.

  Socrates, Glaucon, Adeimantus.

  And they are miserly because they have no means of openly acquiring the money which they prize; they will spend that which is another man’s on the gratification of their desires, stealing their pleasures and running away like children from the law, their father: they have been schooled not by gentle influences but by force, for they have neglected her who is the true Muse, the companion of reason and philosophy, and have honoured gymnastic more than music.

  Undoubtedly, he said, the form of government which you describe is a mixture of good and evil.

  The spirit of ambition predominates in such States.

  Why, there is a mixture, I said; but one thing, and one thing only, is predominantly seen, — the spirit of contention and ambition; and these are due to the prevalence of the passionate or spirited element.

  Assuredly, he said.

  Such is the origin and such the character of this State, which has been described in outline only; the more perfect execution was not required, for a sketch is enough to show the type of the most perfectly just and most perfectly unjust; and to go through all the States and all the characters of men, omitting none of them, would be an interminable labour.

  Very true, he replied.

  The timocratic man, uncultured, but fond of culture, ambitious, contentious, rough with slaves, and courteous to freemen; a soldier, athlete, hunter; a despiser of riches while young, fond of them when he grows old.

  Now what man answers to this form of government—how did he come into being, and what is he like?

  I think, said Adeimantus, that in the spirit of contention which characterises him, he is not unlike our friend Glaucon.

  Perhaps, I said, he may be like him in that one point; but there are other respects in which he is very different.

  In what respects?

  He should have more of self-assertion and be less cultivated, and yet a friend of culture; and he should be a good 549listener, but no speaker. Such a person is apt to be rough with slaves, unlike the educated man, who is too proud for that; and he will also be courteous to freemen, and remarkably obedient to authority; he is a lover of power and a lover of honour; claiming to be a ruler, not because he is eloquent, or on any ground of that sort, but because he is a soldier and has performed feats of arms; he is also a lover of gymnastic exercises and of the chase.

  Yes, that is the type of character which answers to timocracy.

  Socrates, Adeimantus.

  Such an one will despise riches only when he is young; but as he gets older he will be more and more attracted to them, because he has a piece of the avaricious nature in him, and is not single-minded towards virtue, having lost his best guardian.

  Who was that? said Adeimantus.

  Philosophy, I said, tempered with music, who comes and takes up her abode in a man, and is the only saviour of his virtue throughout life.

  Good, he said.

  Such, I said, is the timocratical youth, and he is like the timocratical State.

  Exactly.

  His origin is as follows:—He is often the young son of a brave father, who dwells in an ill-governed city, of which he declines the honours and offices, and will not go to law, or exert himself in any way, but is ready to waive his rights in order that he may escape trouble.

  And how does the son come into being?

  The timocratic man often originates in a reaction against his father’s character, which is encouraged by his mother,

  The character of the son begins to develope when he hears his mother complaining that her husband has no place in the government, of which the consequence is that she has no precedence among other women. Further, when she sees her husband not very eager about money, and instead of battling and railing in the law courts or assembly, taking whatever happens to him quietly; and when she observes that his thoughts always centre in himself, while he treats her with very considerable indifference, she is annoyed, and says to her son that his father is only half a man and far too easy-going: adding all the other complaints about her own ill-treatment which women are so fond of rehearsing.

  Yes, said Adeimantus, they give us plenty of them, and their complaints are so like themselves.

  and by the old servants of the household.

  And you know, I said, that the old servants also, who are supposed to be attached to the family, from time to time talk privately in the same strain to the son; and if they see any one who owes money to his father, or is wronging him in any way, and he fails to prosecute them, they tell the youth that 550when he grows up he must retaliate upon people of this sort, and be more of a man than his father. He has only to walk abroad and he hears and sees the same sort of thing: those who do their own business in the city are called simpletons, and held in no esteem, while the busy-bodies are honoured and applauded. The result is that the young man, hearing and seeing all these things—hearing, too, the words of his father, and having a nearer view of his way of life, and making comparisons of him and others—is drawn opposite ways: while his father is watering and nourishing the rational principle in his soul, the others are encouraging the passionate and appetitive; and he being not originally of a bad nature, but having kept bad company, is at last brought by their joint influence to a middle point, and gives up the kingdom which is within him to the middle principle of contentiousness and passion, and becomes arrogant and ambitious.

  You seem to me to have described his origin perfectly.

  Then we have now, I said, the second form of government and the second type of character?

  We have.

  Next, let us look at another man who, as Aeschylus says,

  ‘Is set over against another State;’

  or rather, as our plan requires, begin with the State.

  By all means.

  Oligarchy

  I believe that oligarchy follows next in order.

  And what manner of government do you term oligarchy?

  A government resting on a valuation of property, in which the rich have power and the poor man is deprived of it.

  I understand, he replied.

  Ought I not to begin by describing how the change from timocracy to oligarchy arises?

  Yes.

  Well, I said, no eyes are required in order to see how the one passes into the other.

  How?

  arises out of increased accumulation and increased expenditure among the citizens.

  The accumulation of gold in the treasury of private individuals is the ruin of timocracy; they invent illegal modes of expenditure; for what do they or their wives care about the law?

  Yes, indeed.

  And then one, seeing another grow rich, seeks to rival him, and thus the great mass of the citizens become lovers of money.

  Likely enough.

  As riches increase, virtue decreases: the one is honoured, the other despised; the one cultivated, the other neglected.

  And so they grow richer and richer, and the more they think of making a fortune the less they think of virtue; for when riches and virtue are placed together in the scales of the balance, the one always rises as the other falls.

  True.

  551And in proportion as riches and rich men are honoured in the State, virtue and the virtuous are dishonoured.

  Clearly.

  And what is honoured is cultivated, and that which has no honour is neglected.

  That is obvious.

  And so at last, instead of loving contention and glory, men become lovers of trade and money; they honour and look up to the rich man, and make a ruler of him, and dishonour the poor man.

  They do so.

  In an oligarchy a money qualification is established.

  They next proceed to make a law which fixes a sum of money as the qualification of citizenship; the sum is higher in one place and lower in another, as the oligarchy is more or less exclusive; and they allow no one whose property falls below the amount fixed to have any share in the government. These changes in the constitution they effect by force of arms, if intimidation has not already done their work.

  Very true.

  And this, speaking generally, is the way in which oligarchy is established.

  Yes, he said; but what are the characteristics of this form of government, and what are the defects of which we were speaking1 ?

  A ruler is elected because he is rich: Who would elect a pilot on this principle?

  First of all, I said, consider the nature of the qualification. Just think what would happen if pilots were to be chosen according to their property, and a poor man were refused permission to steer, even though he were a better pilot?

  You mean that they would shipwreck?

  Yes; and is not this true of the government of anything2 ?

  I should imagine so.

  Except a city?—or would you include a city?

  Nay, he said, the case of a city is the strongest of all, inasmuch as the rule of a city is the greatest and most difficult of all.

  This, then, will be the first great defect of oligarchy?

  Clearly.

  And here is another defect which is quite as bad.

  What defect?

  The extreme division of classes in such a State.

  The inevitable division: such a State is not one, but two States, the one of poor, the other of rich men; and they are living on the same spot and always conspiring against one another.

  That, surely, is at least as bad.

  They dare not go to war.

  Another discreditable feature is, that, for a like reason, they are incapable of carrying on any war. Either they arm the multitude, and then they are more afraid of them than of the enemy; or, if they do not call them out in the hour of battle, they are oligarchs indeed, few to fight as they are few to rule. And at the same time their fondness for money makes them unwilling to pay taxes.

  How discreditable!

  And, as we said before, under such a constitution the 552same persons have too many callings—they are husbandmen, tradesmen, warriors, all in one. Does that look well?

  Anything but well.

  There is another evil which is, perhaps, the greatest of all, and to which this State first begins to be liable.

  What evil?

  The ruined man, who has no occupation, once a spendthrift, now a pauper, still exists in the State.

  A man may sell all that he has, and another may acquire his property; yet after the sale he may dwell in the city of which he is no longer a part, being neither trader, nor artisan, nor horseman, nor hoplite, but only a poor, helpless creature.

  Yes, that is an evil which also first begins in this State.

  The evil is certainly not prevented there; for oligarchies have both the extremes of great wealth and utter poverty.

  True.

  But think again: In his wealthy days, while he was spending his money, was a man of this sort a whit more good to the State for the purposes of citizenship? Or did he only seem to be a member of the ruling body, although in truth he was neither ruler nor subject, but just a spendthrift?

  As you say, he seemed to be a ruler, but was only a spendthrift.

  May we not say that this is the drone in the house who is like the drone in the honeycomb, and that the one is the plague of the city as the other is of the hive?

  Just so, Socrates.

  And God has made the flying drones, Adeimantus, all without stings, whereas of the walking drones he has made some without stings but others have dreadful stings; of the stingless class are those who in their old age end as paupers; of the stingers come all the criminal class, as they are termed.

  Most true, he said.

  Where there are paupers, there are thieves

  Clearly then, whenever you see paupers in a State, somewhere in that neighbourhood there are hidden away thieves and cut-purses and robbers of temples, and all sorts of malefactors.

  Clearly.

  Well, I said, and in oligarchical States do you not find paupers?

  Yes, he said; nearly everybody is a pauper who is not a ruler.

  and other criminals.

  And may we be so bold as to affirm that there are also many criminals to be found in them, rogues who have stings, and whom the authorities are careful to restrain by force?

  Certainly, we may be so bold.

  The existence of such persons is to be attributed to want of education, ill-training, and an evil constitution of the State?

  True.

  Such, then, is the form and such are the evils of oligarchy; and there may be many other evils.

  Very likely.

  553Then oligarchy, or the form of government in which the rulers are elected for their wealth, may now be dismissed. Let us next proceed to consider the nature and origin of the individual who answers to this State.

  By all means.

  Does not the timocratical man change into the oligarchical on this wise?

  The ruin of the timocratical man gives birth to the oligarchical.

  How?

  A time arrives when the representative of timocracy has a son: at first he begins by emulating his father and walking in his footsteps, but presently he sees him of a sudden foundering against the State as upon a sunken reef, and he and all that he has is lost; he may have been a general or some other high officer who is brought to trial under a prejudice raised by informers, and either put to death, or exiled, or deprived of the privileges of a citizen, and all his property taken from him.

  Nothing more likely.

  His son begins life a ruined man and takes to money-making.

  And the son has seen and known all this—he is a ruined man, and his fear has taught him to knock ambition and passion headforemost from his bosom’s throne; humbled by poverty he takes to money-making and by mean and miserly savings and hard work gets a fortune together. Is not such an one likely to seat the concupiscent and covetous element on the vacant throne and to suffer it to play the great king within him, girt with tiara and chain and scimitar?

  Most true, he replied.

  And when he has made reason and spirit sit down on the ground obediently on either side of their sovereign, and taught them to know their place, he compels the one to think only of how lesser sums may be turned into larger ones, and will not allow the other to worship and admire anything but riches and rich men, or to be ambitious of anything so much as the acquisition of wealth and the means of acquiring it.

  Of all changes, he said, there is none so speedy or so sure as the conversion of the ambitious youth into the avaricious one.

  And the avaricious, I said, is the oligarchical youth?

  The oligarchical man and State resemble one another in their estimation of wealth:

  Yes, he said; at any rate the individual out of whom he came is like the State out of which oligarchy came.

  Let us then consider whether there is any likeness between them.

  554Very good.

  First, then, they resemble one another in the value which they set upon wealth?

  Certainly.

  In their toiling and saving ways, in their want of cultivation.

  Also in their penurious, laborious character; the individual only satisfies his necessary appetites, and confines his expenditure to them; his other desires he subdues, under the idea that they are unprofitable.

  True.

  He is a shabby fellow, who saves something out of everything and makes a purse for himself; and this is the sort of man whom the vulgar applaud. Is he not a true image of the State which he represents?

  He appears to me to be so; at any rate money is highly valued by him as well as by the State.

  You see that he is not a man of cultivation, I said.

  I imagine not, he said; had he been educated he would never have made a blind god director of his chorus, or given him chief honour1 .

  Excellent! I said. Yet consider: Must we not further admit that owing to this want of cultivation there will be found in him dronelike desires as of pauper and rogue, which are forcibly kept down by his general habit of life?

  True.

  Do you know where you will have to look if you want to discover his rogueries?

  Where must I look?

  The oligarchical man keeps up a fair outside, but he has only an enforced virtue and will cheat when he can.

  You should see him where he has some great opportunity of acting dishonestly, as in the guardianship of an orphan.

  Aye.

  It will be clear enough then that in his ordinary dealings which give him a reputation for honesty he coerces his bad passions by an enforced virtue; not making them see that they are wrong, or taming them by reason, but by necessity and fear constraining them, and because he trembles for his possessions.

  To be sure.

  Yes, indeed, my dear friend, but you will find that the natural desires of the drone commonly exist in him all the same whenever he has to spend what is not his own.

  Yes, and they will be strong in him too.

  The man, then, will be at war with himself; he will be two men, and not one; but, in general, his better desires will be found to prevail over his inferior ones.

  True.

  For these reasons such an one will be more respectable than most people; yet the true virtue of a unanimous and harmonious soul will flee far away and never come near him.

  I should expect so.

  His meanness in a contest; he saves his money and loses the prize.

  555And surely, the miser individually will be an ignoble competitor in a State for any prize of victory, or other object of honourable ambition; he will not spend his money in the contest for glory; so afraid is he of awakening his expensive appetites and inviting them to help and join in the struggle; in true oligarchical fashion he fights with a small part only of his resources, and the result commonly is that he loses the prize and saves his money.

  Very true.

  Can we any longer doubt, then, that the miser and money-maker answers to the oligarchical State?

  There can be no doubt.

  Democracy arises out of the extravagance and indebtedness of men of family and position,

  Next comes democracy; of this the origin and nature have still to be considered by us; and then we will enquire into the ways of the democratic man, and bring him up for judgment.

  That, he said, is our method.

  Well, I said, and how does the change from oligarchy into democracy arise? Is it not on this wise?—The good at which such a State aims is to become as rich as possible, a desire which is insatiable?

  What then?

  The rulers, being aware that their power rests upon their wealth, refuse to curtail by law the extravagance of the spendthrift youth because they gain by their ruin; they take interest from them and buy up their estates and thus increase their own wealth and importance?

  To be sure.

  There can be no doubt that the love of wealth and the spirit of moderation cannot exist together in citizens of the same state to any considerable extent; one or the other will be disregarded.

  That is tolerably clear.

  And in oligarchical States, from the general spread of carelessness and extravagance, men of good family have often been reduced to beggary?

  Yes, often.

  who remain in the city, and form a dangerous class ready to head a revolution.

  And still they remain in the city; there they are, ready to sting and fully armed, and some of them owe money, some have forfeited their citizenship; a third class are in both predicaments; and they hate and conspire against those who have got their property, and against everybody else, and are eager for revolution.

  That is true.

  On the other hand, the men of business, stooping as they walk, and pretending not even to see those whom they have already ruined, insert their sting—that is, their money—into some one else who is not on his guard against them, and recover the parent sum many times over multiplied into a family of children: and so they make drone and pauper to abound in the State.

  556Yes, he said, there are plenty of them—that is certain.

  Two remedies: (1) restrictions on the free use of property;

  The evil blazes up like a fire; and they will not extinguish it, either by restricting a man’s use of his own property, or by another remedy:

  What other?

  (2) contracts to be made at a man’s own risk.

  One which is the next best, and has the advantage of compelling the citizens to look to their characters:—Let there be a general rule that every one shall enter into voluntary contracts at his own risk, and there will be less of this scandalous money-making, and the evils of which we were speaking will be greatly lessened in the State.

  Yes, they will be greatly lessened.

  At present the governors, induced by the motives which I have named, treat their subjects badly; while they and their adherents, especially the young men of the governing class, are habituated to lead a life of luxury and idleness both of body and mind; they do nothing, and are incapable of resisting either pleasure or pain.

  Very true.

  They themselves care only for making money, and are as indifferent as the pauper to the cultivation of virtue.

  Yes, quite as indifferent.

  The subjects discover the weakness of their rulers.

  Such is the state of affairs which prevails among them. And often rulers and their subjects may come in one another’s way, whether on a journey or on some other occasion of meeting, on a pilgrimage or a march, as fellow-soldiers or fellow-sailors; aye and they may observe the behaviour of each other in the very moment of danger—for where danger is, there is no fear that the poor will be despised by the rich—and very likely the wiry sunburnt poor man may be placed in battle at the side of a wealthy one who has never spoilt his complexion and has plenty of superfluous flesh—when he sees such an one puffing and at his wits’-end, how can he avoid drawing the conclusion that men like him are only rich because no one has the courage to despoil them? And when they meet in private will not people be saying to one another ‘Our warriors are not good for much’?

  Yes, he said, I am quite aware that this is their way of talking.

  A slight cause, internal or external, may produce revolution.

  And, as in a body which is diseased the addition of a touch from without may bring on illness, and sometimes even when there is no external provocation a commotion may arise within—in the same way wherever there is weakness in the State there is also likely to be illness, of which the occasion may be very slight, the one party introducing from without their oligarchical, the other their democratical allies, and then the State falls sick, and is at war with herself; and may 557be at times distracted, even when there is no external cause.

  Yes, surely.

  Such is the origin and nature of democracy.

  And then democracy comes into being after the poor have conquered their opponents, slaughtering some and banishing some, while to the remainder they give an equal share of freedom and power; and this is the form of government in which the magistrates are commonly elected by lot.

  Yes, he said, that is the nature of democracy, whether the revolution has been effected by arms, or whether fear has caused the opposite party to withdraw.

  And now what is their manner of life, and what sort of a government have they? for as the government is, such will be the man.

  Clearly, he said.

  In the first place, are they not free; and is not the city full of freedom and frankness—a man may say and do what he likes?

  ’Tis said so, he replied.

  Democracy allows a man to do as he likes, and therefore contains the greatest variety of characters and constitutions.

  And where freedom is, the individual is clearly able to order for himself his own life as he pleases?

  Clearly.

  Then in this kind of State there will be the greatest variety of human natures?

  There will.

  This, then, seems likely to be the fairest of States, being like an embroidered robe which is spangled with every sort of flower1 . And just as women and children think a variety of colours to be of all things most charming, so there are many men to whom this State, which is spangled with the manners and characters of mankind, will appear to be the fairest of States.

  Yes.

  Yes, my good Sir, and there will be no better in which to look for a government.

  Why?

  Because of the liberty which reigns there—they have a complete assortment of constitutions; and he who has a mind to establish a State, as we have been doing, must go to a democracy as he would to a bazaar at which they sell them, and pick out the one that suits him; then, when he has made his choice, he may found his State.

  He will be sure to have patterns enough.

  The law falls into abeyance.

  And there being no necessity, I said, for you to govern in this State, even if you have the capacity, or to be governed, unless you like, or to go to war when the rest go to war, or to be at peace when others are at peace, unless you are so disposed—there being no necessity also, because some law forbids you to hold office or be a dicast, that you should not hold office or be a dicast, if you have a fancy—is not 558this a way of life which for the moment is supremely delightful?

  For the moment, yes.

  And is not their humanity to the condemned1 in some cases quite charming? Have you not observed how, in a democracy, many persons, although they have been sentenced to death or exile, just stay where they are and walk about the world—the gentleman parades like a hero, and nobody sees or cares?

  Yes, he replied, many and many a one.

  All principles of order and good taste are trampled under foot by democracy.

  See too, I said, the forgiving spirit of democracy, and the ‘don’t care’ about trifles, and the disregard which she shows of all the fine principles which we solemnly laid down at the foundation of the city—as when we said that, except in the case of some rarely gifted nature, there never will be a good man who has not from his childhood been used to play amid things of beauty and make of them a joy and a study—how grandly does she trample all these fine notions of ours under her feet, never giving a thought to the pursuits which make a statesman, and promoting to honour any one who professes to be the people’s friend.

  Yes, she is of a noble spirit.

  These and other kindred characteristics are proper to democracy, which is a charming form of government, full of variety and disorder, and dispensing a sort of equality to equals and unequals alike.

  We know her well.

  Consider now, I said, what manner of man the individual is, or rather consider, as in the case of the State, how he comes into being.

  Very good, he said.

  Is not this the way—he is the son of the miserly and oligarchical father who has trained him in his own habits?

  Exactly.

  Which are the necessary and which the unnecessary pleasures?

  And, like his father, he keeps under by force the pleasures which are of the spending and not of the getting sort, being those which are called unnecessary?

  Obviously.

  Would you like, for the sake of clearness, to distinguish which are the necessary and which are the unnecessary pleasures?

  I should.

  Necessary desires cannot be got rid of,

  Are not necessary pleasures those of which we cannot get rid, and of which the satisfaction is a benefit to us? And they are rightly called so, because we are framed by nature to desire both what is beneficial and what is necessary, and cannot help it.

  559True.

  We are not wrong therefore in calling them necessary?

  We are not.

  And the desires of which a man may get rid, if he takes pains from his youth upwards—of which the presence, moreover, does no good, and in some cases the reverse of good—shall we not be right in saying that all these are unnecessary?

  Yes, certainly.

  Suppose we select an example of either kind, in order that we may have a general notion of them?

  Very good.

  Will not the desire of eating, that is, of simple food and condiments, in so far as they are required for health and strength, be of the necessary class?

  That is what I should suppose.

  The pleasure of eating is necessary in two ways; it does us good and it is essential to the continuance of life?

  Yes.

  but may be indulged to excess.

  But the condiments are only necessary in so far as they are good for health?

  Certainly.

  Illustration taken from eating and drinking.

  And the desire which goes beyond this, of more delicate food, or other luxuries, which might generally be got rid of, if controlled and trained in youth, and is hurtful to the body, and hurtful to the soul in the pursuit of wisdom and virtue, may be rightly called unnecessary?

  Very true.

  May we not say that these desires spend, and that the others make money because they conduce to production?

  Certainly.

  And of the pleasures of love, and all other pleasures, the same holds good?

  True.

  And the drone of whom we spoke was he who was surfeited in pleasures and desires of this sort, and was the slave of the unnecessary desires, whereas he who was subject to the necessary only was miserly and oligarchical?

  Very true.

  Again, let us see how the democratical man grows out of the oligarchical: the following, as I suspect, is commonly the process.

  What is the process?

  The young oligarch is led away by his wild associates.

  When a young man who has been brought up as we were just now describing, in a vulgar and miserly way, has tasted drones’ honey and has come to associate with fierce and crafty natures who are able to provide for him all sorts of refinements and varieties of pleasure—then, as you may imagine, the change will begin of the oligarchical principle within him into the democratical?

  Inevitably.

  There are allies to either part of his nature.

  And as in the city like was helping like, and the change was effected by an alliance from without assisting one division of the citizens, so too the young man is changed by a class of desires coming from without to assist the desires within him, that which is akin and alike again helping that which is akin and alike?

  Certainly.

  And if there be any ally which aids the oligarchical principle within him, whether the influence of a father or of kindred, advising or rebuking him, then there arises in his 560soul a faction and an opposite faction, and he goes to war with himself.

  It must be so.

  And there are times when the democratical principle gives way to the oligarchical, and some of his desires die, and others are banished; a spirit of reverence enters into the young man’s soul and order is restored.

  Yes, he said, that sometimes happens.

  And then, again, after the old desires have been driven out, fresh ones spring up, which are akin to them, and because he their father does not know how to educate them, wax fierce and numerous.

  Yes, he said, that is apt to be the way.

  They draw him to his old associates, and holding secret intercourse with them, breed and multiply in him.

  Very true.

  At length they seize upon the citadel of the young man’s soul, which they perceive to be void of all accomplishments and fair pursuits and true words, which make their abode in the minds of men who are dear to the gods, and are their best guardians and sentinels.

  None better.

  False and boastful conceits and phrases mount upwards and take their place.

  They are certain to do so.

  The progress of the oligarchic young man told in an allegory.

  And so the young man returns into the country of the lotus-eaters, and takes up his dwelling there in the face of all men; and if any help be sent by his friends to the oligarchical part of him, the aforesaid vain conceits shut the gate of the king’s fastness; and they will neither allow the embassy itself to enter, nor if private advisers offer the fatherly counsel of the aged will they listen to them or receive them. There is a battle and they gain the day, and then modesty, which they call silliness, is ignominiously thrust into exile by them, and temperance, which they nickname unmanliness, is trampled in the mire and cast forth; they persuade men that moderation and orderly expenditure are vulgarity and meanness, and so, by the help of a rabble of evil appetites, they drive them beyond the border.

  Yes, with a will.

  And when they have emptied and swept clean the soul of him who is now in their power and who is being initiated by them in great mysteries, the next thing is to bring back to their house insolence and anarchy and waste and impudence in bright array having garlands on their heads, and a great company with them, hymning their praises and calling 561them by sweet names; insolence they term breeding, and anarchy liberty, and waste magnificence, and impudence courage. And so the young man passes out of his original nature, which was trained in the school of necessity, into the freedom and libertinism of useless and unnecessary pleasures.

  Yes, he said, the change in him is visible enough.

  He becomes a rake; buthe also sometimes stops short in his career and gives way to pleasures good and bad indifferently.

  After this he lives on, spending his money and labour and time on unnecessary pleasures quite as much as on necessary ones; but if he be fortunate, and is not too much disordered in his wits, when years have elapsed, and the heyday of passion is over—supposing that he then re-admits into the city some part of the exiled virtues, and does not wholly give himself up to their successors—in that case he balances his pleasures and lives in a sort of equilibrium, putting the government of himself into the hands of the one which comes first and wins the turn; and when he has had enough of that, then into the hands of another; he despises none of them but encourages them all equally.

  Very true, he said.

  He rejects all advice,

  Neither does he receive or let pass into the fortress any true word of advice; if any one says to him that some pleasures are the satisfactions of good and noble desires, and others of evil desires, and that he ought to use and honour some and chastise and master the others—whenever this is repeated to him he shakes his head and says that they are all alike, and that one is as good as another.

  Yes, he said; that is the way with him.

  passing his life in the alternation from one extreme to another.

  Yes, I said, he lives from day to day indulging the appetite of the hour; and sometimes he is lapped in drink and strains of the flute; then he becomes a water-drinker, and tries to get thin; then he takes a turn at gymnastics; sometimes idling and neglecting everything, then once more living the life of a philosopher; often he is busy with politics, and starts to his feet and says and does whatever comes into his head; and, if he is emulous of any one who is a warrior, off he is in that direction, or of men of business, once more in that. His life has neither law nor order; and this distracted existence he terms joy and bliss and freedom; and so he goes on.

  Yes, he replied, he is all liberty and equality.

  He is ‘not one, but all mankind’s epitome.’

  Yes, I said; his life is motley and manifold and an epitome of the lives of many;—he answers to the State which we described as fair and spangled. And many a man and many a woman will take him for their pattern, and many a constitution and many an example of manners is contained in him.

  Just so.

  562Let him then be set over against democracy; he may truly be called the democratic man.

  Let that be his place, he said.

  Last of all comes the most beautiful of all, man and State alike, tyranny and the tyrant; these we have now to consider.

  Tyranny and the tyrant.

  Quite true, he said.

  Say then, my friend, In what manner does tyranny arise?—that it has a democratic origin is evident.

  Clearly.

  And does not tyranny spring from democracy in the same manner as democracy from oligarchy—I mean, after a sort?

  How?

  The insatiable desire of wealth creates a demand for democracy, the insatiable desire of freedom creates a demand for tyranny.

  The good which oligarchy proposed to itself and the means by which it was maintained was excess of wealth — am I not right?

  Yes.

  And the insatiable desire of wealth and the neglect of all other things for the sake of money-getting was also the ruin of oligarchy?

  True.

  And democracy has her own good, of which the insatiable desire brings her to dissolution?

  What good?

  Freedom, I replied; which, as they tell you in a democracy, is the glory of the State—and that therefore in a democracy alone will the freeman of nature deign to dwell.

  Yes; the saying is in every body’s mouth.

  I was going to observe, that the insatiable desire of this and the neglect of other things introduces the change in democracy, which occasions a demand for tyranny.

  How so?

  When a democracy which is thirsting for freedom has evil cup-bearers presiding over the feast, and has drunk too deeply of the strong wine of freedom, then, unless her rulers are very amenable and give a plentiful draught, she calls them to account and punishes them, and says that they are cursed oligarchs.

  Yes, he replied, a very common occurrence.

  Freedom in the end means anarchy.

  Yes, I said; and loyal citizens are insultingly termed by her slaves who hug their chains and men of naught; she would have subjects who are like rulers, and rulers who are like subjects: these are men after her own heart, whom she praises and honours both in private and public. Now, in such a State, can liberty have any limit?

  Certainly not.

  By degrees the anarchy finds a way into private houses, and ends by getting among the animals and infecting them.

  How do you mean?

  I mean that the father grows accustomed to descend to the level of his sons and to fear them, and the son is on a level with his father, he having no respect or reverence for either of his parents; and this is his freedom, and the metic is equal with the citizen and the citizen with the metic, and the 563stranger is quite as good as either.

  Yes, he said, that is the way.

  The inversion of all social relations.

  And these are not the only evils, I said—there are several lesser ones: In such a state of society the master fears and flatters his scholars, and the scholars despise their masters and tutors; young and old are all alike; and the young man is on a level with the old, and is ready to compete with him in word or deed; and old men condescend to the young and are full of pleasantry and gaiety; they are loth to be thought morose and authoritative, and therefore they adopt the manners of the young.

  Quite true, he said.

  The last extreme of popular liberty is when the slave bought with money, whether male or female, is just as free as his or her purchaser; nor must I forget to tell of the liberty and equality of the two sexes in relation to each other.

  Why not, as Aeschylus says, utter the word which rises to our lips?

  Freedom among the animals.

  That is what I am doing, I replied; and I must add that no one who does not know would believe, how much greater is the liberty which the animals who are under the dominion of man have in a democracy than in any other State: for truly, the she-dogs, as the proverb says, are as good as their she-mistresses, and the horses and asses have a way of marching along with all the rights and dignities of freemen; and they will run at any body who comes in their way if he does not leave the road clear for them: and all things are just ready to burst with liberty.

  When I take a country walk, he said, I often experience what you describe. You and I have dreamed the same thing.

  No law, no authority.

  And above all, I said, and as the result of all, see how sensitive the citizens become; they chafe impatiently at the least touch of authority, and at length, as you know, they cease to care even for the laws, written or unwritten; they will have no one over them.

  Yes, he said, I know it too well.

  Such, my friend, I said, is the fair and glorious beginning out of which springs tyranny.

  Glorious indeed, he said. But what is the next step?

  The ruin of oligarchy is the ruin of democracy; the same disease magnified and intensified by liberty overmasters democracy—the truth being that the excessive increase 564of anything often causes a reaction in the opposite direction; and this is the case not only in the seasons and in vegetable and animal life, but above all in forms of government.

  True.

  The excess of liberty, whether in States or individuals, seems only to pass into excess of slavery.

  Yes, the natural order.

  And so tyranny naturally arises out of democracy, and the most aggravated form of tyranny and slavery out of the most extreme form of liberty?

  As we might expect.

  The common evil of oligarchy and democracy is the class of idle spend-thrifts.

  That, however, was not, as I believe, your question—you rather desired to know what is that disorder which is generated alike in oligarchy and democracy, and is the ruin of both?

  Just so, he replied.

  Well, I said, I meant to refer to the class of idle spend-thrifts, of whom the more courageous are the leaders and the more timid the followers, the same whom we were comparing to drones, some stingless, and others having stings.

  A very just comparison.

  Illustration.

  These two classes are the plagues of every city in which they are generated, being what phlegm and bile are to the body. And the good physician and lawgiver of the State ought, like the wise bee-master, to keep them at a distance and prevent, if possible, their ever coming in; and if they have anyhow found a way in, then he should have them and their cells cut out as speedily as possible.

  Yes, by all means, he said.

  Altogether three classes in a democracy.

  Then, in order that we may see clearly what we are doing, let us imagine democracy to be divided, as indeed it is, into three classes; for in the first place freedom creates rather more drones in the democratic than there were in the oligarchical State.

  That is true.

  And in the democracy they are certainly more intensified.

  How so?

  (1) The drones or spend-thrifts who are more numerous and active than in the oligarchy.

  Because in the oligarchical State they are disqualified and driven from office, and therefore they cannot train or gather strength; whereas in a democracy they are almost the entire ruling power, and while the keener sort speak and act, the rest keep buzzing about the bema and do not suffer a word to be said on the other side; hence in democracies almost everything is managed by the drones.

  Very true, he said.

  Then there is another class which is always being severed from the mass.

  What is that?

  (2) The orderly or wealthy class who are fed upon by the drones.

  They are the orderly class, which in a nation of traders is sure to be the richest.

  Naturally so.

  They are the most squeezable persons and yield the largest amount of honey to the drones.

  Why, he said, there is little to be squeezed out of people who have little.

  And this is called the wealthy class, and the drones feed upon them.

  565That is pretty much the case, he said.

  (3) The working class who also get a share.

  The people are a third class, consisting of those who work with their own hands; they are not politicians, and have not much to live upon. This, when assembled, is the largest and most powerful class in a democracy.

  True, he said; but then the multitude is seldom willing to congregate unless they get a little honey.

  And do they not share? I said. Do not their leaders deprive the rich of their estates and distribute them among the people; at the same time taking care to reserve the larger part for themselves?

  Why, yes, he said, to that extent the people do share.

  The well-to-do have to defend themselves against the people.

  And the persons whose property is taken from them are compelled to defend themselves before the people as they best can?

  What else can they do?

  And then, although they may have no desire of change, the others charge them with plotting against the people and being friends of oligarchy?

  True.

  And the end is that when they see the people, not of their own accord, but through ignorance, and because they are deceived by informers, seeking to do them wrong, then at last they are forced to become oligarchs in reality; they do not wish to be, but the sting of the drones torments them and breeds revolution in them.

  That is exactly the truth.

  Then come impeachments and judgments and trials of one another.

  True.

  The people have a protector who, when once he tastes blood, is converted into a tyrant.

  The people have always some champion whom they set over them and nurse into greatness.

  Yes, that is their way.

  This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears above ground he is a protector.

  Yes, that is quite clear.

  How then does a protector begin to change into a tyrant? Clearly when he does what the man is said to do in the tale of the Arcadian temple of Lycaean Zeus.

  What tale?

  The tale is that he who has tasted the entrails of a single human victim minced up with the entrails of other victims is destined to become a wolf. Did you never hear it?

  O yes.

  And the protector of the people is like him; having a mob entirely at his disposal, he is not restrained from shedding the blood of kinsmen; by the favourite method of false accusation he brings them into court and murders them, making the life of man to disappear, and with unholy tongue and lips tasting the blood of his fellow citizens; some he kills and others he banishes, at the same time hinting at the abolition of debts and partition of lands: and after this, what 566will be his destiny? Must he not either perish at the hands of his enemies, or from being a man become a wolf—that is, a tyrant?

  Inevitably.

  This, I said, is he who begins to make a party against the rich?

  The same.

  After a time he is driven out, but comes back a full-blown tyrant.

  After a while he is driven out, but comes back, in spite of his enemies, a tyrant full grown.

  That is clear.

  And if they are unable to expel him, or to get him condemned to death by a public accusation, they conspire to assassinate him.

  Yes, he said, that is their usual way.

  The body-guard.

  Then comes the famous request for a body-guard, which is the device of all those who have got thus far in their tyrannical career—‘Let not the people’s friend,’ as they say, ‘be lost to them.’

  Exactly.

  The people readily assent; all their fears are for him—they have none for themselves.

  Very true.

  And when a man who is wealthy and is also accused of being an enemy of the people sees this, then, my friend, as the oracle said to Croesus,

  ‘By pebbly Hermus’ shore he flees and rests not, and is not ashamed to be a coward1 .’

  And quite right too, said he, for if he were, he would never be ashamed again.

  But if he is caught he dies.

  Of course.

  The protector standing up in the chariot of State.

  And he, the protector of whom we spoke, is to be seen, not ‘larding the plain’ with his bulk, but himself the overthrower of many, standing up in the chariot of State with the reins in his hand, no longer protector, but tyrant absolute.

  No doubt, he said.

  And now let us consider the happiness of the man, and also of the State in which a creature like him is generated.

  Yes, he said, let us consider that.

  At first, in the early days of his power, he is full of smiles, and he salutes every one whom he meets;—he to be called a tyrant, who is making promises in public and also in private! liberating debtors, and distributing land to the people and his followers, and wanting to be so kind and good to every one!

  Of course, he said.

  He stirs up wars, and impoverishes his subjects by the imposition of taxes.

  But when he has disposed of foreign enemies by conquest 567or treaty, and there is nothing to fear from them, then he is always stirring up some war or other, in order that the people may require a leader.

  To be sure.

  Has he not also another object, which is that they may be impoverished by payment of taxes, and thus compelled to devote themselves to their daily wants and therefore less likely to conspire against him?

  Clearly.

  And if any of them are suspected by him of having notions of freedom, and of resistance to his authority, he will have a good pretext for destroying them by placing them at the mercy of the enemy; and for all these reasons the tyrant must be always getting up a war.

  He must.

  Now he begins to grow unpopular.

  A necessary result.

  Then some of those who joined in setting him up, and who are in power, speak their minds to him and to one another, and the more courageous of them cast in his teeth what is being done.

  Yes, that may be expected.

  He gets rid of his bravest and boldest followers.

  And the tyrant, if he means to rule, must get rid of them; he cannot stop while he has a friend or an enemy who is good for anything.

  He cannot.

  And therefore he must look about him and see who is valiant, who is high-minded, who is wise, who is wealthy; happy man, he is the enemy of them all, and must seek occasion against them whether he will or no, until he has made a purgation of the State.

  Yes, he said, and a rare purgation.

  His purgation of the State.

  Yes, I said, not the sort of purgation which the physicians make of the body; for they take away the worse and leave the better part, but he does the reverse.

  If he is to rule, I suppose that he cannot help himself.

  What a blessed alternative, I said:—to be compelled to dwell only with the many bad, and to be by them hated, or not to live at all!

  Yes, that is the alternative.

  And the more detestable his actions are to the citizens the more satellites and the greater devotion in them will he require?

  Certainly.

  And who are the devoted band, and where will he procure them?

  They will flock to him, he said, of their own accord, if he pays them.

  More drones.

  By the dog! I said, here are more drones, of every sort and from every land.

  Yes, he said, there are.

  But will he not desire to get them on the spot?

  How do you mean?

  He will rob the citizens of their slaves; he will then set them free and enrol them in his body-guard.

  To be sure, he said; and he will be able to trust them best of all.

  He puts to death his friends and lives with the slaves whom he has enfranchised.

  What a blessed creature, I said, must this tyrant be; he 568has put to death the others and has these for his trusted friends.

  Yes, he said; they are quite of his sort.

  Yes, I said, and these are the new citizens whom he has called into existence, who admire him and are his companions, while the good hate and avoid him.

  Of course.

  Euripides and the tragedians

  Verily, then, tragedy is a wise thing and Euripides a great tragedian.

  Why so?

  Why, because he is the author of the pregnant saying,

  ‘Tyrants are wise by living with the wise;’

  praise tyranny, which is an excellent reason for expelling them from our State.

  and he clearly meant to say that they are the wise whom the tyrant makes his companions.

  Yes, he said, and he also praises tyranny as godlike; and many other things of the same kind are said by him and by the other poets.

  And therefore, I said, the tragic poets being wise men will forgive us and any others who live after our manner if we do not receive them into our State, because they are the eulogists of tyranny.

  Yes, he said, those who have the wit will doubtless forgive us.

  But they will continue to go to other cities and attract mobs, and hire voices fair and loud and persuasive, and draw the cities over to tyrannies and democracies.

  Very true.

  Moreover, they are paid for this and receive honour—the greatest honour, as might be expected, from tyrants, and the next greatest from democracies; but the higher they ascend our constitution hill, the more their reputation fails, and seems unable from shortness of breath to proceed further.

  True.

  But we are wandering from the subject: Let us therefore return and enquire how the tyrant will maintain that fair and numerous and various and ever-changing army of his.

  The tyrant seizes the treasures in the temples, and when these fail feeds upon the people.

  If, he said, there are sacred treasures in the city, he will confiscate and spend them; and in so far as the fortunes of attainted persons may suffice, he will be able to diminish the taxes which he would otherwise have to impose upon the people.

  And when these fail?

  Why, clearly, he said, then he and his boon companions, whether male or female, will be maintained out of his father’s estate.

  You mean to say that the people, from whom he has derived his being, will maintain him and his companions?

  Yes, he said; they cannot help themselves.

  They rebel, and then he beats his own parent, i. e. the people.

  But what if the people fly into a passion, and aver that a grown-up son ought not to be supported by his father, but 569that the father should be supported by the son? The father did not bring him into being, or settle him in life, in order that when his son became a man he should himself be the servant of his own servants and should support him and his rabble of slaves and companions; but that his son should protect him, and that by his help he might be emancipated from the government of the rich and aristocratic, as they are termed. And so he bids him and his companions depart, just as any other father might drive out of the house a riotous son and his undesirable associates.

  By heaven, he said, then the parent will discover what a monster he has been fostering in his bosom; and, when he wants to drive him out, he will find that he is weak and his son strong.

  Why, you do not mean to say that the tyrant will use violence? What! beat his father if he opposes him?

  Yes, he will, having first disarmed him.

  Then he is a parricide, and a cruel guardian of an aged parent; and this is real tyranny, about which there can be no longer a mistake: as the saying is, the people who would escape the smoke which is the slavery of freemen, has fallen into the fire which is the tyranny of slaves. Thus liberty, getting out of all order and reason, passes into the harshest and bitterest form of slavery.

  True, he said.

  Very well; and may we not rightly say that we have sufficiently discussed the nature of tyranny, and the manner of the transition from democracy to tyranny?

  Yes, quite enough, he said.

  BOOK IX.

  Republic IX.

  571Last of all comes the tyrannical man; about whom we have once more to ask, how is he formed out of the democratical? and how does he live, in happiness or in misery?

  Yes, he said, he is the only one remaining.

  There is, however, I said, a previous question which remains unanswered.

  What question?

  A digression having a purpose.

  I do not think that we have adequately determined the nature and number of the appetites, and until this is accomplished the enquiry will always be confused.

  Well, he said, it is not too late to supply the omission.

  The wild beast latent in man peers forth in sleep.

  Very true, I said; and observe the point which I want to understand: Certain of the unnecessary pleasures and appetites I conceive to be unlawful; every one appears to have them, but in some persons they are controlled by the laws and by reason, and the better desires prevail over them—either they are wholly banished or they become few and weak; while in the case of others they are stronger, and there are more of them.

  Which appetites do you mean?

  I mean those which are awake when the reasoning and human and ruling power is asleep; then the wild beast within us, gorged with meat or drink, starts up and having shaken off sleep, goes forth to satisfy his desires; and there is no conceivable folly or crime — not excepting incest or any other unnatural union, or parricide, or the eating of forbidden food—which at such a time, when he has parted company with all shame and sense, a man may not be ready to commit.

  Most true, he said.

  The contrast of the temperateman whose passions are under the control of reason.

  But when a man’s pulse is healthy and temperate, and when before going to sleep he has awakened his rational powers, and fed them on noble thoughts and enquiries, collecting himself in meditation; after having first indulged his appetites neither too much nor too little, but just enough to lay them to sleep, and prevent them and their enjoyments 572and pains from interfering with the higher principle—which he leaves in the solitude of pure abstraction, free to contemplate and aspire to the knowledge of the unknown, whether in past, present, or future: when again he has allayed the passionate element, if he has a quarrel against any one—I say, when, after pacifying the two irrational principles, he rouses up the third, which is reason, before he takes his rest, then, as you know, he attains truth most nearly, and is least likely to be the sport of fantastic and lawless visions.

  I quite agree.

  In saying this I have been running into a digression; but the point which I desire to note is that in all of us, even in good men, there is a lawless wild-beast nature, which peers out in sleep. Pray, consider whether I am right, and you agree with me.

  Yes, I agree.

  Recapitulation.

  And now remember the character which we attributed to the democratic man. He was supposed from his youth upwards to have been trained under a miserly parent, who encouraged the saving appetites in him, but discountenanced the unnecessary, which aim only at amusement and ornament?

  True.

  And then he got into the company of a more refined, licentious sort of people, and taking to all their wanton ways rushed into the opposite extreme from an abhorrence of his father’s meanness. At last, being a better man than his corruptors, he was drawn in both directions until he halted midway and led a life, not of vulgar and slavish passion, but of what he deemed moderate indulgence in various pleasures. After this manner the democrat was generated out of the oligarch?

  Yes, he said; that was our view of him, and is so still.

  And now, I said, years will have passed away, and you must conceive this man, such as he is, to have a son, who is brought up in his father’s principles.

  I can imagine him.

  Then you must further imagine the same thing to happen to the son which has already happened to the father:—he is drawn into a perfectly lawless life, which by his seducers is termed perfect liberty; and his father and friends take part with his moderate desires, and the opposite party assist the opposite ones. As soon as these dire magicians and 573tyrant-makers find that they are losing their hold on him, they contrive to implant in him a master passion, to be lord over his idle and spendthrift lusts—a sort of monstrous winged drone—that is the only image which will adequately describe him.

  Yes, he said, that is the only adequate image of him.

  And when his other lusts, amid clouds of incense and perfumes and garlands and wines, and all the pleasures of a dissolute life, now let loose, come buzzing around him, nourishing to the utmost the sting of desire which they implant in his drone-like nature, then at last this lord of the soul, having Madness for the captain of his guard, breaks out into a frenzy; and if he finds in himself any good opinions or appetites in process of formation1 , and there is in him any sense of shame remaining, to these better principles he puts an end, and casts them forth until he has purged away temperance and brought in madness to the full.

  The tyrannical man is made up of lusts and appetites. Love, drink, madness are but different forms of tyranny.

  Yes, he said, that is the way in which the tyrannical man is generated.

  And is not this the reason why of old love has been called a tyrant?

  I should not wonder.

  Further, I said, has not a drunken man also the spirit of a tyrant?

  He has.

  And you know that a man who is deranged and not right in his mind, will fancy that he is able to rule, not only over men, but also over the gods?

  That he will.

  And the tyrannical man in the true sense of the word comes into being when, either under the influence of nature, or habit, or both, he becomes drunken, lustful, passionate? O my friend, is not that so?

  Assuredly.

  Such is the man and such is his origin. And next, how does he live?

  Suppose, as people facetiously say, you were to tell me.

  I imagine, I said, at the next step in his progress, that there will be feasts and carousals and revellings and courtezans, and all that sort of thing; Love is the lord of the house within him, and orders all the concerns of his soul.

  That is certain.

  Yes; and every day and every night desires grow up many and formidable, and their demands are many.

  They are indeed, he said.

  His revenues, if he has any, are soon spent.

  True.

  Then comes debt and the cutting down of his property.

  Of course.

  His desires become greater and his means less.

  When he has nothing left, must not his desires, crowding in the nest like young ravens, be crying aloud for food; and 574he, goaded on by them, and especially by love himself, who is in a manner the captain of them, is in a frenzy, and would fain discover whom he can defraud or despoil of his property, in order that he may gratify them?

  Yes, that is sure to be the case.

  He must have money, no matter how, if he is to escape horrid pains and pangs.

  He must.

  He will rob his father and mother.

  And as in himself there was a succession of pleasures, and the new got the better of the old and took away their rights, so he being younger will claim to have more than his father and his mother, and if he has spent his own share of the property, he will take a slice of theirs.

  No doubt he will.

  And if his parents will not give way, then he will try first of all to cheat and deceive them.

  Very true.

  And if he fails, then he will use force and plunder them.

  Yes, probably.

  And if the old man and woman fight for their own, what then, my friend? Will the creature feel any compunction at tyrannizing over them?

  Nay, he said, I should not feel at all comfortable about his parents.

  He will prefer the love of a girl or a youth to his aged parents, and may even be induced to strike them.

  But, O heavens! Adeimantus, on account of some newfangled love of a harlot, who is anything but a necessary connection, can you believe that he would strike the mother who is his ancient friend and necessary to his very existence, and would place her under the authority of the other, when she is brought under the same roof with her; or that, under like circumstances, he would do the same to his withered old father, first and most indispensable of friends, for the sake of some newly-found blooming youth who is the reverse of indispensable?

  Yes, indeed, he said; I believe that he would.

  Truly, then, I said, a tyrannical son is a blessing to his father and mother.

  He is indeed, he replied.

  He turns highwayman, robs temples, loses all his early principles, and becomes in waking reality the evil dream which he had in sleep.He gathers followers about him.

  He first takes their property, and when that fails, and pleasures are beginning to swarm in the hive of his soul, then he breaks into a house, or steals the garments of some nightly wayfarer; next he proceeds to clear a temple. Meanwhile the old opinions which he had when a child, and which gave judgment about good and evil, are overthrown by those others which have just been emancipated, and are now the body-guard of love and share his empire. These in his democratic days, when he was still subject to the laws and to his father, were only let loose in the dreams of sleep. But now that he is under the dominion of Love, he becomes always and in waking reality what he was then very rarely and in a dream only; he will commit the foulest murder, or eat forbidden food, or be guilty of any other horrid act. 575Love is his tyrant, and lives lordly in him and lawlessly, and being himself a king, leads him on, as a tyrant leads a State, to the performance of any reckless deed by which he can maintain himself and the rabble of his associates, whether those whom evil communications have brought in from without, or those whom he himself has allowed to break loose within him by reason of a similar evil nature in himself. Have we not here a picture of his way of life?

  Yes, indeed, he said.

  And if there are only a few of them in the State, and the rest of the people are well disposed, they go away and become the body-guard or mercenary soldiers of some other tyrant who may probably want them for a war; and if there is no war, they stay at home and do many little pieces of mischief in the city.

  What sort of mischief?

  For example, they are the thieves, burglars, cut-purses, foot-pads, robbers of temples, man-stealers of the community; or if they are able to speak they turn informers, and bear false witness, and take bribes.

  A small catalogue of evils, even if the perpetrators of them are few in number.

  A private person can do but little harm in comparison of the tyrant.

  Yes, I said; but small and great are comparative terms, and all these things, in the misery and evil which they inflict upon a State, do not come within a thousand miles of the tyrant; when this noxious class and their followers grow numerous and become conscious of their strength, assisted by the infatuation of the people, they choose from among themselves the one who has most of the tyrant in his own soul, and him they create their tyrant.

  Yes, he said, and he will be the most fit to be a tyrant.

  If the people yield, well and good; but if they resist him, as he began by beating his own father and mother, so now, if he has the power, he beats them, and will keep his dear old fatherland or motherland, as the Cretans say, in subjection to his young retainers whom he has introduced to be their rulers and masters. This is the end of his passions and desires.

  Exactly.

  The behaviour of the tyrant to his early supporters.

  When such men are only private individuals and before they get power, this is their character; they associate entirely with their own flatterers or ready tools; or if they want anything from anybody, they in their turn are equally ready to bow down before them: they profess every sort of 576affection for them; but when they have gained their point they know them no more.

  Yes, truly.

  He is always either

  They are always either the masters or servants and never the friends of anybody; the tyrant never tastes of true freedom or friendship.

  Certainly not.

  And may we not rightly call such men treacherous?

  Socrates, Adeimantus, Glaucon.

  No question.

  master or servant, always treacherous, unjust, the waking reality of our dream, a tyrant by nature, a tyrant in fact.

  Also they are utterly unjust, if we were right in our notion of justice?

  Yes, he said, and we were perfectly right.

  Let us then sum up in a word, I said, the character of the worst man: he is the waking reality of what we dreamed.

  Most true.

  And this is he who being by nature most of a tyrant bears rule, and the longer he lives the more of a tyrant he becomes.

  That is certain, said Glaucon, taking his turn to answer.

  The wicked are also the most miserable.

  And will not he who has been shown to be the wickedest, be also the most miserable? and he who has tyrannized longest and most, most continually and truly miserable; although this may not be the opinion of men in general?

  Yes, he said, inevitably.

  Like man, like State.

  And must not the tyrannical man be like the tyrannical State, and the democratical man like the democratical State; and the same of the others?

  Certainly.

  And as State is to State in virtue and happiness, so is man in relation to man?

  To be sure.

  The opposite of the king.

  Then comparing our original city, which was under a king, and the city which is under a tyrant, how do they stand as to virtue?

  They are the opposite extremes, he said, for one is the very best and the other is the very worst.

  There can be no mistake, I said, as to which is which, and therefore I will at once enquire whether you would arrive at a similar decision about their relative happiness and misery. And here we must not allow ourselves to be panic-stricken at the apparition of the tyrant, who is only a unit and may perhaps have a few retainers about him; but let us go as we ought into every corner of the city and look all about, and then we will give our opinion.

  A fair invitation, he replied; and I see, as every one must, that a tyranny is the wretchedest form of government, and the rule of a king the happiest.

  Socrates, Glaucon.

  And in estimating the men too, may I not fairly make a 577like request, that I should have a judge whose mind can enter into and see through human nature? he must not be like a child who looks at the outside and is dazzled at the pompous aspect which the tyrannical nature assumes to the beholder, but let him be one who has a clear insight. May I suppose that the judgment is given in the hearing of us all by one who is able to judge, and has dwelt in the same place with him, and been present at his daily life and known him in his family relations, where he may be seen stripped of his tragedy attire, and again in the hour of public danger —he shall tell us about the happiness and misery of the tyrant when compared with other men?

  That again, he said, is a very fair proposal.

  Shall I assume that we ourselves are able and experienced judges and have before now met with such a person? We shall then have some one who will answer our enquiries.

  By all means.

  Let me ask you not to forget the parallel of the individual and the State; bearing this in mind, and glancing in turn from one to the other of them, will you tell me their respective conditions?

  What do you mean? he asked.

  The State is not free, but enslaved.

  Beginning with the State, I replied, would you say that a city which is governed by a tyrant is free or enslaved?

  No city, he said, can be more completely enslaved.

  And yet, as you see, there are freemen as well as masters in such a State?

  Yes, he said, I see that there are—a few; but the people, speaking generally, and the best of them are miserably degraded and enslaved.

  Like a slave, the tyrant is full of meanness, and the ruling part of him is madness.

  Then if the man is like the State, I said, must not the same rule prevail? his soul is full of meanness and vulgarity—the best elements in him are enslaved; and there is a small ruling part, which is also the worst and maddest.

  Inevitably.

  And would you say that the soul of such an one is the soul of a freeman, or of a slave?

  He has the soul of a slave, in my opinion.

  And the State which is enslaved under a tyrant is utterly incapable of acting voluntarily?

  Utterly incapable.

  The city which is subject to him is goaded by a gadfly;

  And also the soul which is under a tyrant (I am speaking of the soul taken as a whole) is least capable of doing what she desires; there is a gadfly which goads her, and she is full of trouble and remorse?

  Certainly.

  And is the city which is under a tyrant rich or poor?

  Poor.

  poor;

  578And the tyrannical soul must be always poor and insatiable?

  True.

  And must not such a State and such a man be always full of fear?

  Yes, indeed.

  full of misery.

  Is there any State in which you will find more of lamentation and sorrow and groaning and pain?

  Certainly not.

  And is there any man in whom you will find more of this sort of misery than in the tyrannical man, who is in a fury of passions and desires?

  Impossible.

  Reflecting upon these and similar evils, you held the tyrannical State to be the most miserable of States?

  And I was right, he said.

  Also the tyrannical man is most miserable.

  Certainly, I said. And when you see the same evils in the tyrannical man, what do you say of him?

  I say that he is by far the most miserable of all men.

  Yet there is a still more miserable being, the tyrannical man who is a public tyrant.

  There, I said, I think that you are beginning to go wrong.

  What do you mean?

  I do not think that he has as yet reached the utmost extreme of misery.

  Then who is more miserable?

  One of whom I am about to speak.

  Who is that?

  He who is of a tyrannical nature, and instead of leading a private life has been cursed with the further misfortune of being a public tyrant.

  From what has been said, I gather that you are right.

  Yes, I replied, but in this high argument you should be a little more certain, and should not conjecture only; for of all questions, this respecting good and evil is the greatest.

  Very true, he said.

  Let me then offer you an illustration, which may, I think, throw a light upon this subject.

  What is your illustration?

  In cities there are many great slaveowners, and they help to protect one another.

  The case of rich individuals in cities who possess many slaves: from them you may form an idea of the tyrant’s condition, for they both have slaves; the only difference is that he has more slaves.

  Yes, that is the difference.

  You know that they live securely and have nothing to apprehend from their servants?

  What should they fear?

  Nothing. But do you observe the reason of this?

  Yes; the reason is, that the whole city is leagued together for the protection of each individual.

  But suppose a slaveowner and his slaves carried off into the wilderness, what will happen then? Such is the condition of the tyrant.

  Very true, I said. But imagine one of these owners, the master say of some fifty slaves, together with his family and property and slaves, carried off by a god into the wilderness, where there are no freemen to help him—will he not be in an agony of fear lest he and his wife and children should be put to death by his slaves?

  579Yes, he said, he will be in the utmost fear.

  The time has arrived when he will be compelled to flatter divers of his slaves, and make many promises to them of freedom and other things, much against his will—he will have to cajole his own servants.

  Yes, he said, that will be the only way of saving himself.

  And suppose the same god, who carried him away, to surround him with neighbours who will not suffer one man to be the master of another, and who, if they could catch the offender, would take his life?

  He is the daintiest of all men and has to endure the hardships of a prison;

  His case will be still worse, if you suppose him to be everywhere surrounded and watched by enemies.

  And is not this the sort of prison in which the tyrant will be bound—he who being by nature such as we have described, is full of all sorts of fears and lusts? His soul is dainty and greedy, and yet alone, of all men in the city, he is never allowed to go on a journey, or to see the things which other freemen desire to see, but he lives in his hole like a woman hidden in the house, and is jealous of any other citizen who goes into foreign parts and sees anything of interest.

  Very true, he said.

  Miserable in himself, he is still more miserable if he be in a public station.

  And amid evils such as these will not he who is ill-governed in his own person—the tyrannical man, I mean—whom you just now decided to be the most miserable of all—will not he be yet more miserable when, instead of leading a private life, he is constrained by fortune to be a public tyrant? He has to be master of others when he is not master of himself: he is like a diseased or paralytic man who is compelled to pass his life, not in retirement, but fighting and combating with other men.

  Yes, he said, the similitude is most exact.

  He then leads a life worse than the worst,

  Is not his case utterly miserable? and does not the actual tyrant lead a worse life than he whose life you determined to be the worst?

  Certainly.

  in unhappiness,

  He who is the real tyrant, whatever men may think, is the real slave, and is obliged to practise the greatest adulation and servility, and to be the flatterer of the vilest of mankind. He has desires which he is utterly unable to satisfy, and has more wants than any one, and is truly poor, if you know how to inspect the whole soul of him: all his life long he is beset with fear and is full of convulsions and distractions, even as the State which he resembles: and surely the resemblance holds?

  Very true, he said.

  and in wickedness.

  580Moreover, as we were saying before, he grows worse from having power: he becomes and is of necessity more jealous, more faithless, more unjust, more friendless, more impious, than he was at first; he is the purveyor and cherisher of every sort of vice, and the consequence is that he is supremely miserable, and that he makes everybody else as miserable as himself.

  No man of any sense will dispute your words.

  The umpire decides that

  Come then, I said, and as the general umpire in theatrical contests proclaims the result, do you also decide who in your opinion is first in the scale of happiness, and who second, and in what order the others follow: there are five of them in all—they are the royal, timocratical, oligarchical, democratical, tyrannical.

  The decision will be easily given, he replied; they shall be choruses coming on the stage, and I must judge them in the order in which they enter, by the criterion of virtue and vice, happiness and misery.

  the best is the happiest and the worst is the most miserable. This is the proclamation of the son of Ariston.

  Need we hire a herald, or shall I announce, that the son of Ariston [the best] has decided that the best and justest is also the happiest, and that this is he who is the most royal man and king over himself; and that the worst and most unjust man is also the most miserable, and that this is he who being the greatest tyrant of himself is also the greatest tyrant of his State?

  Make the proclamation yourself, he said.

  And shall I add, ‘whether seen or unseen by gods and men’?

  Let the words be added.

  Then this, I said, will be our first proof; and there is another, which may also have some weight.

  What is that?

  Proof, derived from the three principles of the soul.

  The second proof is derived from the nature of the soul: seeing that the individual soul, like the State, has been divided by us into three principles, the division may, I think, furnish a new demonstration.

  Of what nature?

  It seems to me that to these three principles three pleasures correspond; also three desires and governing powers.

  How do you mean? he said.

  There is one principle with which, as we were saying, a man learns, another with which he is angry; the third, having many forms, has no special name, but is denoted by the general term appetitive, from the extraordinary strength and vehemence of the desires of eating and drinking and the other sensual appetites which are the main elements of it; 581also money-loving, because such desires are generally satisfied by the help of money.

  That is true, he said.

  (1) The appetitive:

  If we were to say that the loves and pleasures of this third part were concerned with gain, we should then be able to fall back on a single notion; and might truly and intelligibly describe this part of the soul as loving gain or money.

  I agree with you.

  Again, is not the passionate element wholly set on ruling and conquering and getting fame?

  True.

  (2) The ambitious;

  Suppose we call it the contentious or ambitious—would the term be suitable?

  Extremely suitable.

  (3) The principle of knowledge and truth.

  On the other hand, every one sees that the principle of knowledge is wholly directed to the truth, and cares less than either of the others for gain or fame.

  Far less.

  ‘Lover of wisdom,’ ‘lover of knowledge,’ are titles which we may fitly apply to that part of the soul?

  Certainly.

  One principle prevails in the souls of one class of men, another in others, as may happen?

  Yes.

  Then we may begin by assuming that there are three classes of men—lovers of wisdom, lovers of honour, lovers of gain?

  Exactly.

  And there are three kinds of pleasure, which are their several objects?

  Very true.

  Each will depreciate the others, but only the philosopher has the power to judge,

  Now, if you examine the three classes of men, and ask of them in turn which of their lives is pleasantest, each will be found praising his own and depreciating that of others: the money-maker will contrast the vanity of honour or of learning if they bring no money with the solid advantages of gold and silver?

  True, he said.

  And the lover of honour—what will be his opinion? Will he not think that the pleasure of riches is vulgar, while the pleasure of learning, if it brings no distinction, is all smoke and nonsense to him?

  Very true.

  because he alone has experience of the highest pleasures and is also acquainted with the lower.

  And are we to suppose1 , I said, that the philosopher sets any value on other pleasures in comparison with the pleasure of knowing the truth, and in that pursuit abiding, ever learning, not so far indeed from the heaven of pleasure? Does he not call the other pleasures necessary, under the idea that if there were no necessity for them, he would rather not have them?

  There can be no doubt of that, he replied.

  Since, then, the pleasures of each class and the life of each are in dispute, and the question is not which life is more or 582less honourable, or better or worse, but which is the more pleasant or painless—how shall we know who speaks truly?

  I cannot myself tell, he said.

  Well, but what ought to be the criterion? Is any better than experience and wisdom and reason?

  There cannot be a better, he said.

  Then, I said, reflect. Of the three individuals, which has the greatest experience of all the pleasures which we enumerated? Has the lover of gain, in learning the nature of essential truth, greater experience of the pleasure of knowledge than the philosopher has of the pleasure of gain?

  The philosopher, he replied, has greatly the advantage; for he has of necessity always known the taste of the other pleasures from his childhood upwards: but the lover of gain in all his experience has not of necessity tasted—or, I should rather say, even had he desired, could hardly have tasted—the sweetness of learning and knowing truth.

  Then the lover of wisdom has a great advantage over the lover of gain, for he has a double experience?

  Yes, very great.

  Again, has he greater experience of the pleasures of honour, or the lover of honour of the pleasures of wisdom?

  Nay, he said, all three are honoured in proportion as they attain their object; for the rich man and the brave man and the wise man alike have their crowd of admirers, and as they all receive honour they all have experience of the pleasures of honour; but the delight which is to be found in the knowledge of true being is known to the philosopher only.

  His experience, then, will enable him to judge better than any one?

  Far better.

  The philosopher alone having both judgment and experience,

  And he is the only one who has wisdom as well as experience?

  Certainly.

  Further, the very faculty which is the instrument of judgment is not possessed by the covetous or ambitious man, but only by the philosopher?

  What faculty?

  Reason, with whom, as we were saying, the decision ought to rest.

  Yes.

  And reasoning is peculiarly his instrument?

  Certainly.

  If wealth and gain were the criterion, then the praise or blame of the lover of gain would surely be the most trustworthy?

  Assuredly.

  Or if honour or victory or courage, in that case the judgment of the ambitious or pugnacious would be the truest?

  Clearly.

  the pleasures which he approves are the true pleasures: he places (1) the love of wisdom, (2) the love of honour, (3) and lowest the love of gain.

  But since experience and wisdom and reason are the judges—

  The only inference possible, he replied, is that pleasures which are approved by the lover of wisdom and reason are the truest.

  And so we arrive at the result, that the pleasure of the 583intelligent part of the soul is the pleasantest of the three, and that he of us in whom this is the ruling principle has the pleasantest life.

  Unquestionably, he said, the wise man speaks with authority when he approves of his own life.

  And what does the judge affirm to be the life which is next, and the pleasure which is next?

  Clearly that of the soldier and lover of honour; who is nearer to himself than the money-maker.

  Last comes the lover of gain?

  Very true, he said.

  True pleasure is not relative but absolute.

  Twice in succession, then, has the just man overthrown the unjust in this conflict; and now comes the third trial, which is dedicated to Olympian Zeus the saviour: a sage whispers in my ear that no pleasure except that of the wise is quite true and pure—all others are a shadow only; and surely this will prove the greatest and most decisive of falls?

  Yes, the greatest; but will you explain yourself?

  I will work out the subject and you shall answer my questions.

  Proceed.

  Say, then, is not pleasure opposed to pain?

  True.

  And there is a neutral state which is neither pleasure nor pain?

  There is.

  A state which is intermediate, and a sort of repose of the soul about either—that is what you mean?

  Yes.

  You remember what people say when they are sick?

  What do they say?

  That after all nothing is pleasanter than health. But then they never knew this to be the greatest of pleasures until they were ill.

  Yes, I know, he said.

  The states intermediate between pleasure and pain are termed pleasures or pains only in relation to their opposites.

  And when persons are suffering from acute pain, you must have heard them say that there is nothing pleasanter than to get rid of their pain?

  I have.

  And there are many other cases of suffering in which the mere rest and cessation of pain, and not any positive enjoyment, is extolled by them as the greatest pleasure?

  Yes, he said; at the time they are pleased and well content to be at rest.

  Again, when pleasure ceases, that sort of rest or cessation will be painful?

  Doubtless, he said.

  Then the intermediate state of rest will be pleasure and will also be pain?

  So it would seem.

  But can that which is neither become both?

  I should say not.

  And both pleasure and pain are motions of the soul, are they not?

  Yes.

  Pleasure and pain are said to be states of rest, but they are really motions.

  584But that which is neither was just now shown to be rest and not motion, and in a mean between them?

  Yes.

  How, then, can we be right in supposing that the absence of pain is pleasure, or that the absence of pleasure is pain?

  Impossible.

  This then is an appearance only and not a reality; that is to say, the rest is pleasure at the moment and in comparison of what is painful, and painful in comparison of what is pleasant; but all these representations, when tried by the test of true pleasure, are not real but a sort of imposition?

  That is the inference.

  All pleasures are not merely cessations of pains, or pains of pleasures; e. g. the pleasures of smell are not.

  Look at the other class of pleasures which have no antecedent pains and you will no longer suppose, as you perhaps may at present, that pleasure is only the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

  What are they, he said, and where shall I find them?

  There are many of them: take as an example the pleasures of smell, which are very great and have no antecedent pains; they come in a moment, and when they depart leave no pain behind them.

  Most true, he said.

  Let us not, then, be induced to believe that pure pleasure is the cessation of pain, or pain of pleasure.

  No.

  Still, the more numerous and violent pleasures which reach the soul through the body are generally of this sort—they are reliefs of pain.

  That is true.

  And the anticipations of future pleasures and pains are of a like nature?

  Yes.

  Shall I give you an illustration of them?

  Let me hear.

  You would allow, I said, that there is in nature an upper and lower and middle region?

  I should.

  Illustrations of the unreality of certain pleasures.

  And if a person were to go from the lower to the middle region, would he not imagine that he is going up; and he who is standing in the middle and sees whence he has come, would imagine that he is already in the upper region, if he has never seen the true upper world?

  To be sure, he said; how can he think otherwise?

  But if he were taken back again he would imagine, and truly imagine, that he was descending?

  No doubt.

  All that would arise out of his ignorance of the true upper and middle and lower regions?

  Yes.

  Then can you wonder that persons who are inexperienced in the truth, as they have wrong ideas about many other things, should also have wrong ideas about pleasure and pain and the intermediate state; so that when they are only being 585drawn towards the painful they feel pain and think the pain which they experience to be real, and in like manner, when drawn away from pain to the neutral or intermediate state, they firmly believe that they have reached the goal of satiety and pleasure; they, not knowing pleasure, err in contrasting pain with the absence of pain, which is like contrasting black with grey instead of white—can you wonder, I say, at this?

  No, indeed; I should be much more disposed to wonder at the opposite.

  Look at the matter thus:—Hunger, thirst, and the like, are inanitions of the bodily state?

  Yes.

  And ignorance and folly are inanitions of the soul?

  True.

  And food and wisdom are the corresponding satisfactions of either?

  Certainly.

  The intellectual more real than the sensual.

  And is the satisfaction derived from that which has less or from that which has more existence the truer?

  Clearly, from that which has more.

  What classes of things have a greater share of pure existence in your judgment—those of which food and drink and condiments and all kinds of sustenance are examples, or the class which contains true opinion and knowledge and mind and all the different kinds of virtue? Put the question in this way:—Which has a more pure being—that which is concerned with the invariable, the immortal, and the true, and is of such a nature, and is found in such natures; or that which is concerned with and found in the variable and mortal, and is itself variable and mortal?

  Far purer, he replied, is the being of that which is concerned with the invariable.

  And does the essence of the invariable partake of knowledge in the same degree as of essence?

  Yes, of knowledge in the same degree.

  And of truth in the same degree?

  Yes.

  And, conversely, that which has less of truth will also have less of essence?

  Necessarily.

  Then, in general, those kinds of things which are in the service of the body have less of truth and essence than those which are in the service of the soul?

  Far less.

  And has not the body itself less of truth and essence than the soul?

  Yes.

  What is filled with more real existence, and actually has a more real existence, is more really filled than that which is filled with less real existence and is less real?

  Of course.

  The pleasures of the sensual and also of the passionate element are unreal and mixed.

  And if there be a pleasure in being filled with that which is according to nature, that which is more really filled with more real being will more really and truly enjoy true pleasure; whereas that which participates in less real being will be less truly and surely satisfied, and will participate in an illusory and less real pleasure?

  Unquestionably.

  586Those then who know not wisdom and virtue, and are always busy with gluttony and sensuality, go down and up again as far as the mean; and in this region they move at random throughout life, but they never pass into the true upper world; thither they neither look, nor do they ever find their way, neither are they truly filled with true being, nor do they taste of pure and abiding pleasure. Like cattle, with their eyes always looking down and their heads stooping to the earth, that is, to the dining-table, they fatten and feed and breed, and, in their excessive love of these delights, they kick and butt at one another with horns and hoofs which are made of iron; and they kill one another by reason of their insatiable lust. For they fill themselves with that which is not substantial, and the part of themselves which they fill is also unsubstantial and incontinent.

  Verily, Socrates, said Glaucon, you describe the life of the many like an oracle.

  Their pleasures are mixed with pains—how can they be otherwise? For they are mere shadows and pictures of the true, and are coloured by contrast, which exaggerates both light and shade, and so they implant in the minds of fools insane desires of themselves; and they are fought about as Stesichorus says that the Greeks fought about the shadow of Helen at Troy in ignorance of the truth.

  Something of that sort must inevitably happen.

  And must not the like happen with the spirited or passionate element of the soul? Will not the passionate man who carries his passion into action, be in the like case, whether he is envious and ambitious, or violent and contentious, or angry and discontented, if he be seeking to attain honour and victory and the satisfaction of his anger without reason or sense?

  Yes, he said, the same will happen with the spirited element also.

  Both kinds of pleasures are attained in the highest degree when the desires which seek them are under the guidance of reason.

  Then may we not confidently assert that the lovers of money and honour, when they seek their pleasures under the guidance and in the company of reason and knowledge, and pursue after and win the pleasures which wisdom shows them, will also have the truest pleasures in the highest degree which is attainable to them, inasmuch as they follow truth; and they will have the pleasures which are natural to them, if that which is best for each one is also most natural to him?

  Yes, certainly; the best is the most natural.

  And when the whole soul follows the philosophical principle, and there is no division, the several parts are just, 587and do each of them their own business, and enjoy severally the best and truest pleasures of which they are capable?

  Exactly.

  But when either of the two other principles prevails, it fails in attaining its own pleasure, and compels the rest to pursue after a pleasure which is a shadow only and which is not their own?

  True.

  And the greater the interval which separates them from philosophy and reason, the more strange and illusive will be the pleasure?

  Yes.

  And is not that farthest from reason which is at the greatest distance from law and order?

  Clearly.

  And the lustful and tyrannical desires are, as we saw, at the greatest distance?

  Yes.

  And the royal and orderly desires are nearest?

  Yes.

  Then the tyrant will live at the greatest distance from true or natural pleasure, and the king at the least?

  Certainly.

  But if so, the tyrant will live most unpleasantly, and the king most pleasantly?

  Inevitably.

  The measure of the interval which separates the king from the tyrant.

  Would you know the measure of the interval which separates them?

  Will you tell me?

  There appear to be three pleasures, one genuine and two spurious: now the transgression of the tyrant reaches a point beyond the spurious; he has run away from the region of law and reason, and taken up his abode with certain slave pleasures which are his satellites, and the measure of his inferiority can only be expressed in a figure.

  How do you mean?

  I assume, I said, that the tyrant is in the third place from the oligarch; the democrat was in the middle?

  Yes.

  And if there is truth in what has preceded, he will be wedded to an image of pleasure which is thrice removed as to truth from the pleasure of the oligarch?

  He will.

  And the oligarch is third from the royal; since we count as one royal and aristocratical?

  Yes, he is third.

  Then the tyrant is removed from true pleasure by the space of a number which is three times three?

  Manifestly.

  expressed under the symbol of a cube corresponding to the number 729.

  The shadow then of tyrannical pleasure determined by the number of length will be a plane figure.

  Certainly.

  And if you raise the power and make the plane a solid, there is no difficulty in seeing how vast is the interval by which the tyrant is parted from the king.

  Yes; the arithmetician will easily do the sum.

  Or if some person begins at the other end and measures the interval by which the king is parted from the tyrant in truth of pleasure, he will find him, when the multiplication is completed, living 729 times more pleasantly, and the tyrant more painfully by this same interval.

  What a wonderful calculation! And how enormous is the 588distance which separates the just from the unjust in regard to pleasure and pain!

  which is nearly the number of days and nights in a year.

  Yet a true calculation, I said, and a number which nearly concerns human life, if human beings are concerned with days and nights and months and years1 .

  Yes, he said, human life is certainly concerned with them.

  Then if the good and just man be thus superior in pleasure to the evil and unjust, his superiority will be infinitely greater in propriety of life and in beauty and virtue?

  Immeasurably greater.

  Refutation of Thrasymachus.

  Well, I said, and now having arrived at this stage of the argument, we may revert to the words which brought us hither: Was not some one saying that injustice was a gain to the perfectly unjust who was reputed to be just?

  Yes, that was said.

  Now then, having determined the power and quality of justice and injustice, let us have a little conversation with him.

  What shall we say to him?

  Let us make an image of the soul, that he may have his own words presented before his eyes.

  Of what sort?

  The triple animal who has outwardly the image of a man.

  An ideal image of the soul, like the composite creations of ancient mythology, such as the Chimera or Scylla or Cerberus, and there are many others in which two or more different natures are said to grow into one.

  There are said to have been such unions.

  Then do you now model the form of a multitudinous, many-headed monster, having a ring of heads of all manner of beasts, tame and wild, which he is able to generate and metamorphose at will.

  You suppose marvellous powers in the artist; but, as language is more pliable than wax or any similar substance, let there be such a model as you propose.

  Suppose now that you make a second form as of a lion, and a third of a man, the second smaller than the first, and the third smaller than the second.

  That, he said, is an easier task; and I have made them as you say.

  And now join them, and let the three grow into one.

  That has been accomplished.

  Next fashion the outside of them into a single image, as of a man, so that he who is not able to look within, and sees only the outer hull, may believe the beast to be a single human creature.

  I have done so, he said.

  Will any one say that we should strengthen the monster and the lion at the expense of the man?

  And now, to him who maintains that it is profitable for the human creature to be unjust, and unprofitable to be just, let us reply that, if he be right, it is profitable for this creature to feast the multitudinous monster and strengthen the lion and 589the lion-like qualities, but to starve and weaken the man, who is consequently liable to be dragged about at the mercy of either of the other two; and he is not to attempt to familiarize or harmonize them with one another—he ought rather to suffer them to fight and bite and devour one another.

  Certainly, he said; that is what the approver of injustice says.

  To him the supporter of justice makes answer that he should ever so speak and act as to give the man within him in some way or other the most complete mastery over the entire human creature. He should watch over the manyheaded monster like a good husbandman, fostering and cultivating the gentle qualities, and preventing the wild ones from growing; he should be making the lion-heart his ally, and in common care of them all should be uniting the several parts with one another and with himself.

  Yes, he said, that is quite what the maintainer of justice will say.

  And so from every point of view, whether of pleasure, honour, or advantage, the approver of justice is right and speaks the truth, and the disapprover is wrong and false and ignorant?

  Yes, from every point of view.

  For the noble principle subjects the beast to the man, the ignoble the man to the beast.

  Come, now, and let us gently reason with the unjust, who is not intentionally in error. ‘Sweet Sir,’ we will say to him, ‘what think you of things esteemed noble and ignoble? Is not the noble that which subjects the beast to the man, or rather to the god in man; and the ignoble that which subjects the man to the beast?’ He can hardly avoid saying Yes—can he now?

  Not if he has any regard for my opinion.

  A man would not be the gainer if he sold his child: how much worse to sell his soul!

  But, if he agree so far, we may ask him to answer another question: ‘Then how would a man profit if he received gold and silver on the condition that he was to enslave the noblest part of him to the worst? Who can imagine that a man who sold his son or daughter into slavery for money, especially if he sold them into the hands of fierce and evil men, would be the gainer, however large might be the sum which he received? And will any one say that he is not a miserable 590caitiff who remorselessly sells his own divine being to that which is most godless and detestable? Eriphyle took the necklace as the price of her husband’s life, but he is taking a bribe in order to compass a worse ruin.’

  Yes, said Glaucon, far worse—I will answer for him.

  Has not the intemperate been censured of old, because in him the huge multiform monster is allowed to be too much at large?

  Clearly.

  Proofs:— (1) Men are blamed for the predominance of the lower nature,

  And men are blamed for pride and bad temper when the lion and serpent element in them disproportionately grows and gains strength?

  Yes.

  And luxury and softness are blamed, because they relax and weaken this same creature, and make a coward of him?

  Very true.

  And is not a man reproached for flattery and meanness who subordinates the spirited animal to the unruly monster, and, for the sake of money, of which he can never have enough, habituates him in the days of his youth to be trampled in the mire, and from being a lion to become a monkey?

  True, he said.

  as well as for the meanness of their employments and character:

  And why are mean employments and manual arts a reproach? Only because they imply a natural weakness of the higher principle; the individual is unable to control the creatures within him, but has to court them, and his great study is how to flatter them.

  Such appears to be the reason.

  (2) It is admitted that every one should be the servant of a divine rule, or at any rate be kept under control by an external authority:

  And therefore, being desirous of placing him under a rule like that of the best, we say that he ought to be the servant of the best, in whom the Divine rules; not, as Thrasymachus supposed, to the injury of the servant, but because every one had better be ruled by divine wisdom dwelling within him; or, if this be impossible, then by an external authority, in order that we may be all, as far as possible, under the same government, friends and equals.

  True, he said.

  (3) The care taken of children shows that we seek to establish in them a higher principle.

  And this is clearly seen to be the intention of the law, which is the ally of the whole city; and is seen also in the authority which we exercise over children, and the refusal to let them be free until we have established in them a principle 591analogous to the constitution of a state, and by cultivation of this higher element have set up in their hearts a guardian and ruler like our own, and when this is done they may go their ways.

  Yes, he said, the purpose of the law is manifest.

  From what point of view, then, and on what ground can we say that a man is profited by injustice or intemperance or other baseness, which will make him a worse man, even though he acquire money or power by his wickedness?

  From no point of view at all.

  The wise man will employ his energies in freeing and harmonizing the nobler elements of his nature and in regulating his bodily habits.

  What shall he profit, if his injustice be undetected and unpunished? He who is undetected only gets worse, whereas he who is detected and punished has the brutal part of his nature silenced and humanized; the gentler element in him is liberated, and his whole soul is perfected and ennobled by the acquirement of justice and temperance and wisdom, more than the body ever is by receiving gifts of beauty, strength and health, in proportion as the soul is more honourable than the body.

  Certainly, he said.

  To this nobler purpose the man of understanding will devote the energies of his life. And in the first place, he will honour studies which impress these qualities on his soul, and will disregard others?

  Clearly, he said.

  His first aim not health but harmony of soul.

  In the next place, he will regulate his bodily habit and training, and so far will he be from yielding to brutal and irrational pleasures, that he will regard even health as quite a secondary matter; his first object will be not that he may be fair or strong or well, unless he is likely thereby to gain temperance, but he will always desire so to attemper the body as to preserve the harmony of the soul?

  Certainly he will, if he has true music in him.

  And in the acquisition of wealth there is a principle of order and harmony which he will also observe; he will not allow himself to be dazzled by the foolish applause of the world, and heap up riches to his own infinite harm?

  Certainly not, he said.

  He will not heap up riches,

  He will look at the city which is within him, and take heed that no disorder occur in it, such as might arise either from superfluity or from want; and upon this principle he will regulate his property and gain or spend according to his means.

  Very true.

  And, for the same reason, he will gladly accept and enjoy 592such honours as he deems likely to make him a better man; but those, whether private or public, which are likely to disorder his life, he will avoid?

  and he will only accept such political honours as will not deteriorate his character.

  Then, if that is his motive, he will not be a statesman.

  By the dog of Egypt, he will! in the city which is his own he certainly will, though in the land of his birth perhaps not, unless he have a divine call.

  He has a city of his own, and the ideal pattern of this will be the law of his life.

  I understand; you mean that he will be a ruler in the city of which we are the founders, and which exists in idea only; for I do not believe that there is such an one anywhere on earth?

  In heaven, I replied, there is laid up a pattern of it, methinks, which he who desires may behold, and beholding, may set his own house in order1 . But whether such an one exists, or ever will exist in fact, is no matter; for he will live after the manner of that city, having nothing to do with any other.

  I think so, he said.

  BOOK X.

  Republic X.Socrates, Glaucon.

  595Of the many excellences which I perceive in the order of our State, there is none which upon reflection pleases me better than the rule about poetry.

  To what do you refer?

  To the rejection of imitative poetry, which certainly ought not to be received; as I see far more clearly now that the parts of the soul have been distinguished.

  What do you mean?

  Poetical imitations are ruinous to the mind of the hearer.

  Speaking in confidence, for I should not like to have my words repeated to the tragedians and the rest of the imitative tribe—but I do not mind saying to you, that all poetical imitations are ruinous to the understanding of the hearers, and that the knowledge of their true nature is the only antidote to them.

  Explain the purport of your remark.

  Well, I will tell you, although I have always from my earliest youth had an awe and love of Homer, which even now makes the words falter on my lips, for he is the great captain and teacher of the whole of that charming tragic company; but a man is not to be reverenced more than the truth, and therefore I will speak out.

  Very good, he said.

  Listen to me then, or rather, answer me.

  Put your question.

  The nature of imitation.

  Can you tell me what imitation is? for I really do not know.

  A likely thing, then, that I should know.

  596Why not? for the duller eye may often see a thing sooner than the keener.

  Very true, he said; but in your presence, even if I had any faint notion, I could not muster courage to utter it. Will you enquire yourself?

  Well then, shall we begin the enquiry in our usual manner: Whenever a number of individuals have a common name, we assume them to have also a corresponding idea or form:— do you understand me?

  I do.

  The idea is one, but the objects comprehended under it are many.

  Let us take any common instance; there are beds and tables in the world—plenty of them, are there not?

  Yes.

  But there are only two ideas or forms of them—one the idea of a bed, the other of a table.

  True.

  And the maker of either of them makes a bed or he makes a table for our use, in accordance with the idea—that is our way of speaking in this and similar instances—but no artificer makes the ideas themselves: how could he?

  Impossible.

  And there is another artist,—I should like to know what you would say of him.

  Who is he?

  The universal creator an extraordinary person. But note also that everybody is a creator in a sense. For all things may be made by the reflection of them in a mirror.

  One who is the maker of all the works of all other workmen.

  What an extraordinary man!

  Wait a little, and there will be more reason for your saying so. For this is he who is able to make not only vessels of every kind, but plants and animals, himself and all other things—the earth and heaven, and the things which are in heaven or under the earth; he makes the gods also.

  He must be a wizard and no mistake.

  Oh! you are incredulous, are you? Do you mean that there is no such maker or creator, or that in one sense there might be a maker of all these things but in another not? Do you see that there is a way in which you could make them all yourself?

  What way?

  An easy way enough; or rather, there are many ways in which the feat might be quickly and easily accomplished, none quicker than that of turning a mirror round and round—you would soon enough make the sun and the heavens, and the earth and yourself, and other animals and plants, and all the other things of which we were just now speaking, in the mirror.

  Yes, he said; but they would be appearances only.

  But this is an appearance only: and the painter too is a maker of appearances.

  Very good, I said, you are coming to the point now. And the painter too is, as I conceive, just such another—a creator of appearances, is he not?

  Of course.

  But then I suppose you will say that what he creates is untrue. And yet there is a sense in which the painter also creates a bed?

  Yes, he said, but not a real bed.

  597And what of the maker of the bed? were you not saying that he too makes, not the idea which, according to our view, is the essence of the bed, but only a particular bed?

  Yes, I did.

  Then if he does not make that which exists he cannot make true existence, but only some semblance of existence; and if any one were to say that the work of the maker of the bed, or of any other workman, has real existence, he could hardly be supposed to be speaking the truth.

  At any rate, he replied, philosophers would say that he was not speaking the truth.

  No wonder, then, that his work too is an indistinct expression of truth.

  No wonder.

  Suppose now that by the light of the examples just offered we enquire who this imitator is?

  If you please.

  Three beds and three makers of beds.

  Well then, here are three beds: one existing in nature, which is made by God, as I think that we may say—for no one else can be the maker?

  No.

  There is another which is the work of the carpenter?

  Yes.

  And the work of the painter is a third?

  Yes.

  Beds, then, are of three kinds, and there are three artists who superintend them: God, the maker of the bed, and the painter?

  Yes, there are three of them.

  God, whether from choice or from necessity, made one bed in nature and one only; two or more such ideal beds neither ever have been nor ever will be made by God.

  Why is that?

  (1) The creator. God could only make one bed; if he made two, a third would still appear behind them.

  Because even if He had made but two, a third would still appear behind them which both of them would have for their idea, and that would be the ideal bed and not the two others.

  Very true, he said.

  God knew this, and He desired to be the real maker of a real bed, not a particular maker of a particular bed, and therefore He created a bed which is essentially and by nature one only.

  So we believe.

  Shall we, then, speak of Him as the natural author or maker of the bed?

  Yes, he replied; inasmuch as by the natural process of creation He is the author of this and of all other things.

  (2) The human maker.

  And what shall we say of the carpenter—is not he also the maker of the bed?

  Yes.

  But would you call the painter a creator and maker?

  Certainly not.

  Yet if he is not the maker, what is he in relation to the bed?

  (3) The imitator, i. e. the painter or poet,

  I think, he said, that we may fairly designate him as the imitator of that which the others make.

  Good, I said; then you call him who is third in the descent from nature an imitator?

  Certainly, he said.

  And the tragic poet is an imitator, and therefore, like all other imitators, he is thrice removed from the king and from the truth?

  That appears to be so.

  Then about the imitator we are agreed. And what about 598the painter?—I would like to know whether he may be thought to imitate that which originally exists in nature, or only the creations of artists?

  The latter.

  As they are or as they appear? you have still to determine this.

  What do you mean?

  whose art is one of imitation or appearance and a long way removed from the truth.

  I mean, that you may look at a bed from different points of view, obliquely or directly or from any other point of view, and the bed will appear different, but there is no difference in reality. And the same of all things.

  Yes, he said, the difference is only apparent.

  Now let me ask you another question: Which is the art of painting designed to be — an imitation of things as they are, or as they appear — of appearance or of reality?

  Of appearance.

  Any one who does all things does only a very small part of them.

  Then the imitator, I said, is a long way off the truth, and can do all things because he lightly touches on a small part of them, and that part an image. For example: A painter will paint a cobbler, carpenter, or any other artist, though he knows nothing of their arts; and, if he is a good artist, he may deceive children or simple persons, when he shows them his picture of a carpenter from a distance, and they will fancy that they are looking at a real carpenter.

  Certainly.

  Any one who pretends to know all things is ignorant of the very nature of knowledge.

  And whenever any one informs us that he has found a man who knows all the arts, and all things else that anybody knows, and every single thing with a higher degree of accuracy than any other man—whoever tells us this, I think that we can only imagine him to be a simple creature who is likely to have been deceived by some wizard or actor whom he met, and whom he thought all-knowing, because he himself was unable to analyse the nature of knowledge and ignorance and imitation.

  Most true.

  And he who attributes such universal knowledge to the poets is similarly deceived.

  And so, when we hear persons saying that the tragedians, and Homer, who is at their head, know all the arts and all things human, virtue as well as vice, and divine things too, for that the good poet cannot compose well unless he knows his subject, and that he who has not this knowledge can never be a poet, we ought to consider whether here also there may not be a similar illusion. Perhaps they may have come across imitators and been deceived by them; they may not have remembered when they saw their works that 599these were but imitations thrice removed from the truth, and could easily be made without any knowledge of the truth, because they are appearances only and not realities? Or, after all, they may be in the right, and poets do really know the things about which they seem to the many to speak so well?

  The question, he said, should by all means be considered.

  He who could make the original would not make the image.

  Now do you suppose that if a person were able to make the original as well as the image, he would seriously devote himself to the image-making branch? Would he allow imitation to be the ruling principle of his life, as if he had nothing higher in him?

  I should say not.

  The real artist, who knew what he was imitating, would be interested in realities and not in imitations; and would desire to leave as memorials of himself works many and fair; and, instead of being the author of encomiums, he would prefer to be the theme of them.

  Yes, he said, that would be to him a source of much greater honour and profit.

  If Homer had been a legislator, or general, or inventor,

  Then, I said, we must put a question to Homer; not about medicine, or any of the arts to which his poems only incidentally refer: we are not going to ask him, or any other poet, whether he has cured patients like Asclepius, or left behind him a school of medicine such as the Asclepiads were, or whether he only talks about medicine and other arts at second-hand; but we have a right to know respecting military tactics, politics, education, which are the chiefest and noblest subjects of his poems, and we may fairly ask him about them. ‘Friend Homer,’ then we say to him, ‘if you are only in the second remove from truth in what you say of virtue, and not in the third—not an image maker or imitator—and if you are able to discern what pursuits make men better or worse in private or public life, tell us what State was ever better governed by your help? The good order of Lacedaemon is due to Lycurgus, and many other cities great and small have been similarly benefited by others; but who says that you have been a good legislator to them and have done them any good? Italy and Sicily boast of Charondas, and there is Solon who is renowned among us; but what city has anything to say about you?’ Is there any city which he might name?

  I think not, said Glaucon; not even the Homerids themselves pretend that he was a legislator.