ANCIENT METAL ENGRAVING.ANCIENT METAL ENGRAVING.ToList
ANCIENT METAL ENGRAVING.ToList
So all were gone, and Odysseus alone remained in the hall through the still hours of night. But when the morning came, the suitors again feasted at the banquet board, and many a time they reviled the beggar and Telemachus, until Penelope brought forth the bow which Iphitus, the son of Eurytus, had given to Odysseus. Then she stood before the chiefs and said, "Whoever of you can bend this bow, that man shall be my husband, and with him I will leave the home which I have loved, and which I shall still see in my dreams." But when Antinous saw it, his heart failed him, for he knew that none had ever bent the bow save Odysseus only, and he warned the suitors that it would sorely tax their strength. Then Telemachus would have made trial of the bow, but his father suffered him not. So Leiodes took it in his hand, and tried in vain to stretch it, till at last he threw it down in a rage, and said, "Penelope must find some other husband; for I am not the man." But Antinous reviled him for his faintheartedness, and made Melanthius bring fat to anoint the bow and make it supple; yet even thus they strove in vain to stretch it.
Then Odysseus went out into the courtyard, whither the cowherd and the swineherd had gone before him, and he said to them, "Friends, are ye minded to aid Odysseus if he should suddenly come to his home, or will ye take part with the men who devour his substance?" And they sware both of them that they would fight for their master to the death. Then Odysseus said, "I am that man, who after grievous woes has come back in the twentieth year to his own land; and if ye doubt, see here is the scar of the wound where the boar's tusk pierced my flesh, when I went to Parnassus in the days of my youth." Whenthey saw the scar, they threw their arms round Odysseus, and they kissed him on his head and his shoulders and wept, until he said, "Stay, friends, lest any see us and tell the suitors in the house. And now hearken to me. These men will not let me take the bow; so do thou, Eumaius, place it in my hands, and let Philoitius bar the gates of the court-yard." But within the hall Eurymachus groaned with vexation because he could not stretch the bow; and he said, "It is not that I care for Penelope, for there are many Achaian women as fair as she; but that we are all so weak in comparison of Odysseus." Then the beggar besought them that he, too, might try, and see whether the strength of his youth still remained to him, or whether his long wanderings had taken away the force of his arm. But Antinous said, "Old man, wine hath done thee harm; still it is well to drink yet more than to strive with men who are thy betters." Then said Penelope, "What dost thou fear, Antinous? Vex not thyself with the thought that the beggar will lead me away as his bride, even if he should be able to stretch the bow of Odysseus." "Nay, lady," he answered, "it is not that; but I dread lest the Achaians should say, 'The suitors could not stretch the bow, but there came a wandering beggar, who did what they strove to do in vain.'"
Then the swineherd took up the bow, but the suitors bade him lay it down again, until at last Telemachus told Eumaius to bear it to Odysseus; and as the swineherd placed it in the beggar's hands, Eurykleia shut the doors of the hall and made them fast with the tackling of a ship. Then, as Odysseus raised the bow, the thunder pealed in the heaven, and his heart rejoiced because Zeus had given him a sign of his great victory. Presently the arrow sped from the string, and Antinous lay dead upon the floor.
Then the others spake in great wrath, and said, "The vultures shall tear thy flesh this day, because thou hast slain thegreatest chief in Ithaka." But they knew not, as they spake thus, that the day of the great vengeance was come; and the voice of Odysseus was heard above the uproar, as he said, "Wretches, did ye fancy that I should never stand again in my own hall? Ye have wasted my substance, ye have sought to steal my wife from me, ye have feared neither gods nor men, and this is the day of your doom." The cheeks of the suitors turned ghastly pale through fear; but Eurymachus alone took courage and told Odysseus that Antinous only had done the mischief, because he wished to slay Telemachus and become King in Ithaka in the stead of Odysseus. "Spare, then, the rest, for they are thy people, and we will pay thee a large ransom." But Odysseus looked sternly at him, and said, "Not this house full of silver and gold shall stay my hand in the day of my great vengeance."
Then Eurymachus drew his sword and bade his comrades fight bravely for their lives; but again the clang of the bow was heard, and Eurymachus was stretched lifeless on the earth. So they fell, one after the other, until the floor of the hall was slippery with blood. But presently the arrows in the quiver of Odysseus were all spent, and laying his bow against the wall, he raised a great shield on his shoulder and placed a helmet on his head, and took two spears in his hand. Then Agelaus called to Melanthius, "Go up to the stair-door and shout to the people, that they may break into the hall and save us." But Melanthius said, "It can not be, for it is near the gate of the hall, and one man may guard it against a hundred. But I will bring you arms, for I know that Odysseus and his son have stowed them away in the inner chamber." Hastily he ran thither and brought forth shields and spears and helmets, and the heart of Odysseus failed him for fear as he saw the suitors donning their armor and brandishing the lances. "Who has done this?" he asked, and Telemachus answered, "It is my fault, my father. I left thedoor ajar, but Eumaius shall go and see whether some of the women have given this help to the suitors, or whether, as I think, it be Melanthius." So Eumaius and the cowherd placed themselves on one side of the chamber door, and when Melanthius came forth with more arms for the chieftains, they caught him, and binding him with stout cords they hoisted him up to the beams and left him dangling in the air. "Keep guard there, Melanthius, all night long in thy airy hammock, and when the golden Morning comes back from the stream of Ocean you will not fail to see her."
But in the hall the troop of suitors stood facing Odysseus and Telemachus in deadly rage, and presently Athene stood before them in the likeness of Mentor. Then all besought her help, and the suitors threatened her, and said, "Be not led astray, Mentor, by the words of Odysseus, for if you side with him, we will leave you neither house nor lands, wife nor children, when we have taken vengeance for the evil deeds of the son of Laertes." But the wrath of Athene was kindled more fiercely, and she said, "Where is thy strength, Odysseus? Many a year the Trojans fell beneath the stroke of thy sword, and by thy wisdom it was that the Achaians stormed the walls of breezy Ilion. And now dost thou stand trembling in thine own hall?" Then the form of Mentor vanished, and they saw a swallow fly away above the roof-tree. In great fear the suitors took council together, and six of them stood forth and hurled their spears at Odysseus and Telemachus. But all missed their mark except Amphimedon and Ktesippus, and these wounded Telemachus on the wrist and Eumaius on the shoulder.
But once again Athene came, and this time she held aloft her awful Ægis before the eyes of the suitors, and the hearts of all fainted for fear, so that they huddled together like cattle which have heard the lion's roar, and like cattle were they slain, and the floor of the hall was floated with blood.
So was the slaughter ended, and the house of Odysseus was hushed in a stillness more fearful than the din of battle, for the work of the great vengeance was accomplished.
But Penelope lay on her couch in a sweet slumber which Athene had sent to soothe her grief, and she heard not the footsteps of Eurykleia as she hastened joyously into the chamber. "Rise up, dear child, rise up. Thy heart's desire is come. Odysseus stands once more in his own home, the suitors are dead, and none are left to vex thee." But Penelope could not believe for joy and fear, even when Eurykleia told her of the mark of the boar's bite which Autolykus and his sons had healed. "Let us go, dear nurse," she said, "and see the bodies of the chieftains and the man who has slain them." So she went down into the hall, and sate down opposite to Odysseus, but she spake no word, and Odysseus also sat silent. And Telemachus said to his mother, "Hast thou no welcome for my father who has borne so many griefs since Zeus took him from his home twenty long years ago?"
And Penelope said, "My child, I can not speak, for my heart is as a stone within me; yet if it be indeed Odysseus, there are secret signs by which we shall know each other." But when she bade Eurykleia make ready the couch which lay outside the bridal chamber, Odysseus asked, hastily, "Who has moved the couch which I wrought with my own hands, when I made the chamber round the olive tree which stood in the courtyard? Scarcely could a mortal man move it, for it was heavy with gold and ivory and silver, and on it I spread a bull's hide gleaming with a purple dye."
Then Penelope wept for joy, as she sprang into his arms; for now she knew that it was indeed Odysseus who had come back in the twentieth year. Long time they wept in each other's arms; but the keen-eyed Athene kept back the bright and glistening horses of the morning, that the day might not return too soon.
Then the fair Eurynome anointed Odysseus, and clothed him in a royal robe; and Athene brought back all his ancient beauty as when he went forth in his youth to Ilion. So they sat together in the light of the blazing torches, and Penelope heard from Odysseus the story of his griefs and wanderings, and she told him of her own sorrows, while he was far away in Ilion avenging the wrongs and woes of Helen. But for all his deep joy and his calm peace, Odysseus knew that here was not the place of his rest.
"The time must come," he said, "when I must go to the land where there is no sea; but the seer who told me of the things that are to be, said that my last hour should be full of light, and that I should leave my people happy."
And Penelope said, "Yet we may rejoice, my husband, that the hateful chiefs are gone who darkened thy house and devoured thy substance, and that once again I hold thee in my arms. Twenty years has Zeus grudged me this deep happiness; but never has my heart swerved from thee, nor could aught stay thee from coming again to gladden my heart as in the morning of our life and joy."
Let not a death unwept, unhonor'd, beThe melancholy fate allotted me!But those who loved me living, when I dieStill fondly keep some cherish'd memory.
Let not a death unwept, unhonor'd, beThe melancholy fate allotted me!But those who loved me living, when I dieStill fondly keep some cherish'd memory.
The man that boasts of golden stores,Of grain, that loads his groaning floors,Of fields with freshening herbage green,Where bounding steeds and herds are seen,I call not happier than the swain,Whose limbs are sound, whose food is plain,Whose joys a blooming wife endears,Whose hours a smiling offspring cheers.
The man that boasts of golden stores,Of grain, that loads his groaning floors,Of fields with freshening herbage green,Where bounding steeds and herds are seen,I call not happier than the swain,Whose limbs are sound, whose food is plain,Whose joys a blooming wife endears,Whose hours a smiling offspring cheers.
Sophocles was born at Athens B.C. 495. His father, though a poor mechanic, had the discrimination as well as generosity to bestow an excellent education upon his son, whose great powers began early to unfold themselves, and to attract the notice of the first citizens of Athens. Before he had attained his twenty-fifth year he carried off the prize in a dramatic contest against his senior, Æschylus, and his subsequent career corresponded to this splendid beginning. He is said to have composed one hundred and twenty tragedies, to have gained the first prize twenty-four times, and on other occasions to have ranked second in the list of competing poets. So excellent was his conduct, so majestic his wisdom, so exquisite his poetical capacities, so rare his skill in all the fine arts, and so uninterrupted his prosperity, that the Greeks regarded him as the peculiar favorite of heaven. He lived in the first city of Greece, and throughout her best times, commanding an admiration and love amounting to reverence. He died in extreme old age, without disease and without suffering, and was mourned with such asincerity and depth of grief as were manifested at the death of no other citizen of Athens.
Scarcely more is known of the celebrated historian, Herodotus, than of the illustrious poet, Homer. He was born in Asia Minor about 484 B.C.
After being well educated he commenced that course of patient and observant travel which was to render his name illustrious as a philosophic tourist and historian. The shores of the Hellespont, Scythia, and the Euxine Sea; the Isles of the Ægæan; Syria, Egypt, Palestine, Colchis, the northern parts of Africa, Ecbatana, and even Babylon were the objects of his unwearied research. On his return from his travels, after about twenty years, he settled for some time at Samos, where he wrote the nine books of his travels in those countries.
The charm of Herodotus' writings consists in the earnestness of a man who describes countries as an eye-witness, and events as one accustomed to participate in them. The life, the raciness, the vigor of an adventurer and a wanderer, glow in every page. He has none of the defining disquisitions that are born of the closet. He paints history, rather than descants on it; he throws the colorings of a mind, unconsciously poetic, over all he describes. Now a soldier—now a priest—now a patriot—he is always a poet, if rarely a philosopher. He narrates like a witness, unlike Thucydides, who sums up like a judge. No writer ever made so beautiful an application of superstitions to truths. His very credulities have a philosophy of their own; and modern historians have acted unwisely in disdaining the occasional repetition even of his fables. For if his truths recordthe events—his fables paint the manners and the opinions of the time; and the last fill up the history, of which events are only the skeleton.
To account for his frequent use of dialogue, and his dramatic effects of narrative, we must remember the tribunal to which the work of Herodotus was subjected. Every author, unconsciously to himself, consults the tastes of those he addresses. No small coteries of scholars, no scrupulous and critical inquirers, made the ordeal Herodotus underwent. His chronicles were not dissertations to be coldly pondered over, and skeptically conned; they were read aloud at solemn festivals to listening thousands: they were to arrest the curiosity—to amuse the impatience—to stir the wonder of a lively and motley crowd. Thus the historian imbibed naturally the spirit of the tale-teller, as he was driven to embellish his history with the romantic legend—the awful superstition—the gossipy anecdote—which yet characterize the stories of the popular and oral fictionist in the bazaars of the Mussulman, or on the sea-sands of Sicily. Still it has been rightly said, that a judicious reader is not easily led astray by Herodotus in important particulars. His descriptions of localities, of manners and of customs, are singularly correct; and travelers can yet trace the vestiges of his fidelity.
Few enlightened tourists are there who can visit Egypt, Greece, and the regions of the East, without being struck by the accuracy, with the industry, with the patience of Herodotus. To record all the facts substantiated by travelers, illustrated by artists, and amplified by learned research, would be almost impossible; so abundant, so rich, has this golden mine been found, that the more its native treasures are explored, the more valuable do they appear. The oasis of Siwah, visited by Browne, Hornemann, Edmonstone, and Minutuoli; the engravings of the latter, demonstrating the co-identity of the god Ammon and the god of Thebes; the Egyptian mode of weaving, confirmed bythe drawings of Wilkinson and Minutuoli; the fountain of the sun, visited by Belzoni; one of the stelæ or pillars of Sesostris, seen by Herodotus in Syria, and recognized on the road to Beyrout with the hieroglyphic of Remeses still legible; the kneading of dough, drawn from a sculpture in Thebes, by Wilkinson; the dress of the lower classes, by the same author; the prodigies of Egyptian architecture at Edfou; Caillaud's discovery of Meroe in the depths of Æthiopia; these, and a host of brilliant evidences, center their once divergent rays in one flood of light upon the temple of genius reared by Herodotus, and display the goddess of Truth enshrined within.
The following are the main subjects of his nine books, which were named after the nine muses:—
Book I.Clio.—Transfer of the Lydian Kingdom from Gyges to Crœsus—minority of Cyrus—his overthrow of the Lydian power—rising greatness of Athens and Lacedæmon.
Book II.Euterpe.—Dissertation on Egypt—Egyptian customs, and the regal succession of that Empire.
Book III.Thalia.—Achievements of Cambyses—his total subjugation of Egypt—election of Darius Hystaspes to the Persian throne, then vacant by the assassination of Smerdis, the impostor.
Book IV.Melpomene.—Full narrative of the calamitous expeditions of the Persians against the Scythians in the reign of Darius Hystaspes.
Book V.Terpsichore.—The political progress of Lacedæmon, Athens and Corinth—view of their relative resources during the time of Darius—expulsion of Hippias from Athens.
Book VI.Erate.—Origin of the Kings of Lacedæmon—causes of Darius' hostility to Greece—first Persian invasion of Hellas—battle of Marathon.
Book VII.Polyhymnia.—Preparations and grand expedition of Xerxes into Greece—battle at Thermopylæ.
Book VIII.Urania.—Further progress of the Persian arms—Athens captured and burned—defeat of the Persians at the sea-fight of Salamis.
Book IX.Calliope.—Defeat of the Persians at Platæa—defeat at the promontory of Mycale, and their complete retreat within their own territories.
The following are the peculiarities of the crocodile: During the winter months they eat nothing; they are four-footed, and live indifferently on land or in the water. The female lays and hatches her eggs ashore, passing the greater portion of the day on dry land, but at night retiring to the river, the water of which is warmer than the night-air and the dew. Of all known animals this is the one which from the smallest size grows to be the greatest, for the egg of the crocodile is but little bigger than that of the goose, and the young crocodile is in proportion to the egg, yet when it is full grown, the animal measures frequently seventeen cubits, and even more. It has the eyes of a pig, teeth large and tusk-like, of a size proportioned to its frame; unlike any other animal, it is without a tongue; it can not move its under-jaw, and in this respect, too, it is singular, being the only animal in the world which moves the upper-jaw but not the under. It has strong claws and a scaly skin, impenetrable upon the back. In the water it is blind, but on land it is very keen of sight. As it lives chiefly in the river, it has the inside of its mouth constantly covered with leeches, hence it happens that, while all the other birds and beasts avoid it, with the trochilus it lives at peace, since it owes much to that bird, for the crocodile, when he leaves the water and comes out upon the land, is in the habitof lying with his mouth wide open, facing the western breeze; at such times the trochilus goes into his mouth and devours the leeches. This benefits the crocodile, who is pleased, and takes care not to hurt the trochilus.
The crocodile is esteemed sacred by some of the Egyptians, by others he is treated as an enemy. Those who live near Thebes, and those who dwell around Lake Mœris, regard them with especial veneration. In each of these places they keep one crocodile in particular, who is taught to be tame and tractable. They adorn his ears with ear-rings of molten stone or gold, and put bracelets on his fore-paws, giving him daily a set portion of bread, with a certain number of victims; and, after having thus treated him with the greatest possible attention while alive, they embalm him when he dies and bury him in a sacred repository. The people of Elephantine, on the other hand, are so far from considering these animals as sacred that they even eat their flesh.
The modes of catching the crocodile are many and various. I shall only describe the one which seems to me most worthy of mention. They bait a hook with a chine of pork and let the meat be carried out into the middle of the stream, while the hunter upon the bank holds a living pig, which he belabors. The crocodile hears its cries and, making for the sound, encounters the pork, which he instantly swallows down. The men on the shore haul, and when they have got him to land, the first thing the hunter does is to plaster his eyes with mud. This once accomplished, the animal is dispatched with ease, otherwise he gives great trouble.
The other Persians were silent, for all feared to raise their voice against the plan proposed to them. But Artabanus, the son of Hystaspes, and uncle of Xerxes, trusting to his relationship, was bold to speak: "O King," he said, "it is impossible, if no more than one opinion is uttered, to make choice of the best; a man is forced then to follow whatever advice may have been given him, but if opposite speeches are delivered, then choice can be exercised. In like manner pure gold is not recognized by itself, but when we test it along with baser ore, we perceive which is the better. I counseled thy father, Darius, who was my own brother, not to attack the Scyths, a race of people who had no town in their own land. He thought, however, to subdue those wandering tribes, and would not listen to me, but marched an army against them, and ere he returned home lost many of his bravest warriors. Thou art about, O King, to attack a people far superior to the Scyths, a people distinguished above others both by land and sea. 'Tis fit, therefore, that I should tell thee what danger thou incurrest hereby. Thou sayest that thou wilt bridge the Hellespont, and lead thy troops through Europe against Greece.
"Now, suppose some disaster befall thee by land or sea, or by both. It may be even so, for the men are reputed valiant. Indeed one may measure their prowess from what they have already done; for when Datis and Artaphernes led their huge army against Attica, the Athenians singly defeated them. But grant they are not successful on both elements. Still, if they man their ships, and, defeating us by sea, sail to the Hellespont, and there destroy our bridge—that, sire, were a fearful hazard. And here 'tis not by my own mother wit alone that I conjecturewhat will happen, but I remember how narrowly we escaped disaster once, when thy father, after throwing bridges over the Thracian Bosphorus and the Ister, marched against the Scythians, and they tried every sort of prayer to induce the Ionians, who had charge of the bridge over the Ister, to break the passage. On that day, if Histiæus, the King of Miletus, had sided with the other princes, and not set himself to oppose their views, the empire of the Persians would have come to naught. Surely a dreadful thing is this even to hear said, that the King's fortunes depended wholly on one man.
"Think, then, no more of incurring so great a danger when no need presses, but follow the advice I tender. Break up this meeting, and when thou hast well considered the matter with thyself, and settled what thou wilt do, declare to us thy resolve. I know not of aught in the world that so profits a man as taking good counsel with himself; for even if things fall out against one's hopes, still one has counseled well, though fortune has made the counsel of no effect: whereas, if a man counsels ill and luck follows, he has gotten a windfall, but his counsel is none the less silly. Seest thou how God with His lightning smites alway the bigger animals, and will not suffer them to wax insolent, while those of lesser bulk chafe Him not? How likewise His bolts fall ever on the highest houses and the tallest trees? So plainly does He love to bring down everything that exalts itself. Thus oft-times a mighty host is discomfitted by a few men, when God in His jealousy sends fear or storm from heaven, and they perish in a way unworthy of them. For God allows no one to have high thoughts but Himself. Again, hurry always brings about disasters, from which huge sufferings are wont to arise; but in delay lie many advantages, not apparent (it may be) at first sight, but such as in the course of time are seen of all. Such, then, is my counsel to thee, O King.
"And thou, Mardonius, son of Gobryas, forbear to speakfoolishly concerning the Greeks, who are men that ought not to be lightly esteemed by us. For while thou revilest the Greeks, thou dost encourage the King to lead his own troops against them; and this, as it seems to me, is what thou art specially striving to accomplish. Heaven send thou succeed not to thy wish! For slander is of all evils the most terrible. In it two men do wrong, and one man has wrong done to him. The slanderer does wrong, forasmuch as he abuses a man behind his back; and the hearer, forasmuch as he believes what he has not searched into thoroughly. The man slandered in his absence suffers wrong at the hands of both; for one brings against him a false charge, and the other thinks him an evil-doer. If, however, it must needs be that we go to war with this people, at least allow the King to abide at home in Persia. Then let thee and me both stake our children on the issue, and do thou choose out thy men, and taking with thee whatever number of troops thou likest, lead forth our armies to battle. If things go well for the King, as thou sayest they will, let me and my children be put to death; but if they fall out as I prophesy, let thy children suffer, and thou, too, if thou shalt come back alive. But shouldst thou refuse this wager, and still resolve to march an army against Greece, sure I am that some of those whom thou leavest behind thee will one day receive the sad tidings that Mardonius has brought a great disaster upon the Persian people, and lies a prey to dogs and birds somewhere in the land of the Athenians, or else in that of the Lacedæmonians; unless, indeed, thou shalt have perished sooner by the way, experiencing in thy own person the might of those men on whom thou wouldst fain induce the King to make war."
Socrates was born at Athens about the middle or latter part of April, 469 B.C. He commanded more admiration and reverence than any other individual of ancient or modern times. By his ability and purity he emerged from a barbaric sophistry into the purest form of religion that was ever invented by man, it was nearer like that of Christ than was ever reached by mortal before. The object of his entire philosophy was the attainment of correct ideas concerning moral and religious obligations.
Although Socrates was the son of a sculptor of limited means, he was educated according to the manner of the times. Music and poetry and gymnastic exercises formed the principal part of the education of an Athenian youth, and in these Socrates was instructed.
Through the influence of Crito, a wealthy Athenian who subsequently became an intimate friend and disciple of our philosopher, he was induced to rise into a higher sphere. He then began the study of physics, mathematics, astronomy, natural philosophy, etc.
Socrates, however, was unable to obtain any satisfactory knowledge from the philosophers and teachers of his time. Dissatisfied with the pretended wisdom of the Cosmologists and Sophists he entirely abandoned all speculative subjects and devoted his entire attention to human affairs, and his earnestness as a social reformer brought upon him increasing odium from the "Conservatives" of the day, as well as from that still larger class whose feelings of malice and revenge towards those who expose their follies and their vices, their wicked private customs and public institutions, can never be appeased but with the deathof their victim. Accordingly, prejudice, unpopularity and hate finally prevailed, and two charges were brought against him, one of not believing in the national deities and the other of corrupting the youth. That he did not believe in the idols that mostof his contemporaries worshiped, is true; but that he corrupted the youth was as absurd as false, for all his teachings tended ever to purify them, and lead them in the paths of virtue and truth. He defended himself, and his defense is a perfect whole, neither more nor less than what it ought to have been. Proudly conscious of his innocence, he sought not to move the pity of his judges, for he cared not for acquittal, and "exhibited that union of humility and high-mindedness which is observable in none, perhaps, with the exception of St. Paul." His speech availed not, and he was condemned to drink the hemlock. He continued in prison thirty days before the sentence was executed, and to this interval we are indebted for that sublime conversation on the immortality of the soul which Plato has embodied in his Phædo.
SOCRATES DRINKING THE POISON.SOCRATES DRINKING THE POISON (From ancient Wall Painting.)ToList
SOCRATES DRINKING THE POISON (From ancient Wall Painting.)ToList
At length the fatal day arrived, when he had reached his full three score years and ten. Refusing all means of escape to which his friends continually and importunely urged him, he took the poisoned cup from the hands of the boy who brought it to him in his prison-chamber, drank it off calmly amid the tears and sobs of surrounding friends, walked about till the draught had begun to take effect upon his system, and then laid himself down upon his bed, and soon breathed his last. Such was the life and such the death of this great man. It has been felt as the greatest of all human examples, not only by his own countrymen, but by the whole civilized world.
We will now relate the manner in which Socrates discoursed with Aristodemus, surnamedthe Little, concerning the Deity. For, observing that he neither prayed nor sacrificed to the godsnor yet consulted any oracle, but, on the contrary, ridiculed and laughed at those who did, he said to him:
"Tell me, Aristodemus, is there any man whom you admire on account of his merit?"
Aristodemus having answered, "Many."—"Name some of them, I pray you."
"I admire," said Aristodemus, "Homer for his epic poetry, Melanippides for his dithyrambics, Sophocles for tragedy, Polycletes for statuary, and Xeuxis for painting."
"But which seems to you most worthy of admiration, Aristodemus—the artist who forms images void of motion and intelligence, or one who hath the skill to produce animals that are endued, not only with activity, but understanding."
"Thelatter, there can be no doubt," replied Aristodemus, "provided the production was not the effect ofchance, but of wisdom and contrivance."
"But since there are many things, some of which we can easily see theuseof, while we can not say of others to what purpose they were produced, which of these, Aristodemus, do you suppose the work of wisdom?"
"It should seem the most reasonable to affirm it of those whose fitness and utility is so evidently apparent."
"But it is evidently apparent, that He, who at the beginning made man, endued him with sensesbecausethey weregoodfor him; eyes, wherewith to behold whatever was visible; and ears, to hear whatever was to be heard. For say, Aristodemus, to what purpose should odors be prepared, if the sense of smelling had been denied? Or why the distinctions of bitter and sweet, of savory and unsavory, unless a palate had been likewise given, conveniently placed, to arbitrate between them, and declare the difference? Is not that Providence, Aristodemus, in a most eminent manner conspicuous, which, because the eye of man is so delicate in its contexture, hath therefore preparedeyelids like doors, whereby to secure it; which extend of themselves whenever it is needful, and again close when sleep approaches? Are not these eyelids provided, as it were, with a fence on the edge of them, to keep off the wind and guard the eye? Even the eyebrow itself is not without office, but, as a penthouse, is prepared to turn off the sweat, which, falling from the forehead, might enter and annoy that no lesstenderthanastonishingpart of us! Is it not to be admired that the ears should take in sounds of every sort, and yet are not too much filled by them? That the fore-teeth of the animal should be formed in such a manner as evidently best suited for the cutting of its food, and those on the side for grinding it in pieces? That the mouth, through which this food is conveyed, should be placed so near the nose and the eyes, as to prevent the passing,unnoticed, whatever is unfit for nourishment; while Nature, on the contrary, hath set at a distance, and concealed from the senses, all that might disgust them? And canst thou still doubt, Aristodemus! whether a disposition of parts likethisshould be the work of chance, or of wisdom and contrivance?"
"I have no longer any doubt," replied Aristodemus; "and, indeed, the more I consider it, the more evident it appears to me, that man must be themasterpieceof some great Artificer, carrying along with it infinite marks of love and favor of Him who hath thus formed it."
"And what thinkest thou, Aristodemus, of thatdesirein the individual which leads to the continuance of the species? Of that tenderness and affection in the female towards her young, so necessary for its preservation? Of that unremitted love of life, and dread of dissolution, which take such strong possession of us from the moment we begin to be?"
"I think of them," answered Aristodemus, "as so many regular operations of the same great and wise Artist, deliberately determining topreservewhat He hath once made."
"But, farther (unless thou desirest to ask me questions), seeing, Aristodemus, thou thyself art conscious of reason and intelligence, supposest thou there is no intelligence elsewhere? Thou knowest thy body to be a small part of that wide-extended earth which thou everywhere beholdest; the moisture contained in it, thou also knowest to be a small portion of that mighty mass of waters whereof seas themselves are but a part, while the rest of the elements contribute, out of their abundance, to thy formation. It is the soul, then, alone, that intellectual part of us, which is come totheeby some lucky chance, from I know not where. If so be, there is indeed no intelligence elsewhere; and we must be forced to confess, that this stupendous universe, with all the various bodies contained therein—equally amazing, whether we consider their magnitude or number, whatever their use, whatever their order—allhave been produced, not byintelligence, butchance!"
"It is with difficulty that I can suppose otherwise," returned Aristodemus, "for I behold none of those gods, whom you speak of asmakingandgoverningall things, whereas I see the artists when at their work here among us."
"Neither yet seest thou thy soul, Aristodemus, which, however, most assuredlygovernsthy body: although it may well seem, by thy manner of talking, that it ischance, and notreason, which governs thee."
"I do not despise the gods," said Aristodemus; "on the contrary, I conceive so highly of their excellence, as to suppose they stand in no need of either me or of my services."
"Thou mistakest the matter, Aristodemus; the greater magnificence they have shown in their care ofthee, so much the more honor and service thou owest them."
"Be assured," said Aristodemus, "if I once could be persuaded the gods took care of man, I should want no monitor to remind me of my duty."
"And canst thou doubt, Aristodemus, if the gods take care of man? Hath not the glorious privilege of walking upright beenalonebestowed on him, whereby he may, with the better advantage, survey what is around him, contemplate, with more ease, those splendid objects which are above, and avoid the numerous ills and inconveniences which would otherwise befall him? Other animals, indeed, they have provided with feet, by which they may remove from one place to another; but tomanthey have also givenhands, with which he can form many things for his use, and make himself happier than creatures of any other kind. A tongue hath been bestowed on every other animal, but what animal, except man, hath the power of forming words with it, whereby to explain his thoughts, and make them intelligible to others? And to show that the gods have had regard to his verypleasures, they have not limited them, like those of other animals, totimesand seasons, but man is left to indulge in them whenever not hurtful to him.
"But it is not with respect to the body alone that the gods have shown themselves thus bountiful to man! Their most excellent gift is thatsoulthey have infused into him, which so far surpasses what is elsewhere to be found. For, by what animal, except man, is even theexistenceof those gods discovered, who haveproduced, and stilluphold, in such regular order, this beautiful and stupendous frame of the universe? What other species of creatures are to be found that can serve, that can adore them? What other animal is able, like man, to provide against the assaults of heat and cold, of thirst and hunger? That can lay up remedies for the time of sickness and improve the strength nature hath given by a well-proportioned exercise? That can receive, like him, information and instruction, or so happily keep in memory what he hath seen, and heard, and learnt? These things being so, who seeth not that man is, as it were,a godin the midst of this visible creation; so far doth he surpass, whetherin the endowments of soul or body, all animals whatsoever that have been produced therein! For, if thebodyof theoxhad been joined to themindofman, the acuteness of the latter would have stood him in small stead, while unable to execute the well-designed plan; nor would thehumanform have been of more use to the brute, so long as it remained destitute of understanding! But in thee, Aristodemus, hath been joined to a wonderfulsoul, a body no less wonderful, and sayest thou, afterthis, 'the gods take no thought for me!' What wouldst thou, then, more to convince thee of their care?"
"I would they should send, and inform me," said Aristodemus, "what things Ioughtorought notto do in like manner as thou sayest they frequently do to thee."
"And what then, Aristodemus! Supposest thou, that when the gods give out some oracle toallthe Athenians, they mean it not forthee? If, by their prodigies, they declare aloud to all Greece—toallmankind—the things which shall befall them, are they dumb totheealone? And artthouthe only person whom they have placed beyond their care? Believest thou they would have wrought into the mind of man a persuasion of their beingableto make him happy or miserable, if so be they had no suchpower? or would not even man himself, long ere this, have seen through the gross delusion? How is it, Aristodemus, thou rememberest, or remarkest not, that the kingdoms and commonwealths most renowned as well for theirwisdomas antiquity, are those whose piety and devotion hath been the most observable? And why thinkest thou that the providence of God may not easily extend itself throughout the whole universe? As, therefore, among men, we make best trial of the affection and gratitude of our neighbor, by showing him kindness, and discover his wisdom, by consulting him in our distress; do thou, in like manner, behave towards the gods, and, if thou wouldst experience what their wisdom, and what their love, render thyselfdeserving the communication of some of those divine secrets which may not be perpetrated by man, and are imparted to those alone who consult, who adore, who obey the Deity. Then shalt thou, my Aristodemus, understand there is a Being whose eye pierceth throughout all nature, and whose ear is open to every sound;extendedto all places;extendingthrough all time, and whose bounty and care can know no other bounds than those fixed by his own creation!"
By this discourse, and others of the like nature, Socrates taught his friends that they were not only to forbear whatever was impious, unjust, or unbecoming beforemen;but even, when alone, they ought to have a regard to their actions; since the gods have their eyes continually upon us, and none of our designs can be concealed from them.
Euripides flourished about 450 B.C.; was born 480 B.C. He spent his youth in the highest mental and physical training. He was a native of Athens, and enjoyed the most glorious days of her annals, being brought in direct connection with Æschylus and Sophocles, and in his older days was a pupil of Socrates.
In comparing Euripides and the other two masters in Grecian tragedy, it may be said that he ranks first in tragic representation and effect; Sophocles first in dramatic symmetry and ornament; Æschylus first in poetic vigor and grandeur. Æschylus was the most sublime; Sophocles the most beautiful; Euripides the most pathetic. The first displays the lofty intellect; the second exercises the cultivated taste; the third indulges the feeling heart. Each, as it were, shows a fine piece of sculpture. In Æschylus, it is a naked hero, with all the strength, boldness,and dignity of olden time. In Sophocles and Euripides, it may be perhaps the same hero; but with the former, he has put on the flowing robes, the elegant address, and the soft urbanity of a polished age; with the latter, he is yielding to some melancholy emotion, ever heedless of his posture or gait, and casting his unvalued drapery negligently about him. They have been compared by an illustration from another art: "The sublime and daring Æschylus resembles some strong and impregnable castle situated on a rock, whose martial grandeur awes the beholder—its battlements defended by heroes, and its gates proudly hung with trophies." Sophocles appears with splendid dignity, like some imperial palace of richest architecture; the symmetry of the parts and the chaste magnificence of the whole delight the eye and command the approbation of the judgment. The pathetic and moral Euripides has the solemnity of a Gothic temple, whose storied windows admit a dim religious light, enough to show its high embowed roof, and the monuments of the dead which rise in every part, impressing our minds with pity and terror as emblems of the uncertain and short duration of human greatness, and with an awful sense of our own mortality.