Up to the end of the Peloponnesian War, the history of Greece had been chiefly the history of Athens and Sparta. The end of the war left Sparta supreme, but she did not know how to use her power. She was stern and harsh, cared little for literature, and disliked changes. She had not the imagination to put herself in the place of Athens and to understand how she should rule such independent, sea-faring, intellectually alert and artistic people. The short period of her supremacy ended in failure, and then she was, in her turn, overthrown by another Greek state. This state was Thebes, a state which had not hitherto played a very honourable part in Greek history. Always jealous of Athens, she had taken every opportunity to side against her. She had treated the sturdy, independent little city of Plataea with great cruelty; she had sided with the Barbarian invader during the Persian Wars and with Sparta during the Peloponnesian War, and it was only when the Spartan rule became intolerable to friends and enemies alike, that she offered a refuge to the Athenian exiles.
The city of Thebes lay in the rich plains of Boeotia, where meat and corn and wine were to be had abundantly. The near by hills provided excellent hunting, and the Thebans were a people known to their neighbours as loving pleasure and all the good things of the world, as being good fighters, but men who were intellectually dull. There were some exceptions, however, for Thebes produced two men of genius: Pindar, the poet, and Epaminondas, the mighty general.
Pindar was born in the sixth century B.C. but he lived to be an old man, and the Persians had been driven out of Greece before he died. He was a noble, and his poems are the last lyrics that sing of an order of society that was about to give way to the rule of the people. Many of Pindar's lyrics were written in honour of the winners at the Olympic Games, and in reading them one can almost see the chariot racing along the course, and hear the people shouting, and feel the joy of the victor as he receives his prize. Pindar was very conservative; he belonged to a generation which had not yet begun to question the existence of the gods, and all his poems are filled with unquestioning faith in them and in their righteousness. Especially did he delight to honour Apollo, and long after his death it was believed that he was particularly dear to the god, for it was said that every night at Delphi he was honoured by the summons: "Let Pindar the poet come in to the supper of the god."
But if Thebes had had no honoured past in history, she was rich in legend and story. Thebes had been founded by Cadmus in obedience to the word of Apollo. On the spot where the city was to be built, he had slain a fearful dragon, and taking the dragon's teeth he had sown them in the ground as a sower sows his seed, and immediately a host of armed men had sprung up from the ground, who became the first citizens of the new city. With their help, Cadmus built a citadel which was known through all the days of Theban history as the Cadmeia.
Thebes was surrounded by strong walls and the city was entered by seven gates. Another story told how the foundations of these walls and gateways had been laid by Amphion, who then took his lyre and played such divine music on it that the walls rose by magic as he played, until they stood in such strength that they completely protected the city, and later were able to endure a great siege.
But the gods had not always smiled upon Thebes. Pindar tells us that "for every good a mortal receives from the gods, he must likewise receive two evils," and this seemed to be true of the royal house of Thebes. Dark and tragic are the tales of the fate of these ancient rulers. It was Oedipus, who having first guessed the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx, then in ignorance killed his own father and became King, only to learn in later years of what he had done, and to be driven forth from his kingdom, blind and helpless. Other legends tell of Antigone, the faithful daughter of Oedipus, who accompanied him in his wanderings and tended him until his death.
Epaminondas was born in Thebes late in the fifth century B.C. He belonged to a very old family, one of the few which claimed to be descended from the dragon's teeth sown by Cadmus. Though of an ancient family, he was poor, but he was among the best educated among the Thebans; he had been taught to play the harp and to sing to its accompaniment, to play the flute and to dance. A wise philosopher was his instructor, to whom he was so attached that, young as he was, he preferred the society of the grave and stern old man to that of companions of his own age. After he grew up and began to practise gymnastics, he studied not so much to increase the strength as the agility of his body; for he thought that strength suited the purposes of wrestlers, but that agility made a man a better soldier, so he spent most of his time in war-like exercises.
Epaminondas, we are told, was
modest, prudent, grave, wisely availing himself of opportunities, skilled in war, brave in action and of remarkable courage. He was so great a lover of truth that he would not tell a falsehood, even in jest; he was also master of his passions, and gentle in disposition. He was a remarkable keeper of secrets, a quality no less serviceable sometimes than ability to speak eloquently.[1]
Amongst the statesmen who helped to make Greece great, none were more honourable or of greater integrity than Epaminondas. It was not possible to corrupt or bribe him and he was entirely free from covetousness. This was shown when the envoy of King Artaxerxes the Persian came to Thebes to bribe Epaminondas with a large sum of gold (to get the Thebans to help the King), but Epaminondas said to him:
There is no need for money in this matter; for if the King desires what is for the good of the Thebans, I am ready to do it for nothing; if otherwise, he has not sufficient silver or gold to move me, for I would not exchange the riches of the whole world for my love for my country. I do not wonder that you have tried me thus as you did not know me, seeing that you thought me like yourself, and I forgive you; but get you away immediately lest you corrupt others, though unable to corrupt me.[2]
Under Epaminondas, Thebes became the ruling power in Greece, but only for a very short time. The Thebans were good soldiers only as long as they had inspiring leaders, without a great leader they were unable to hold what they had gained. One of the characteristics of a great man is that he knows how to use his opportunities, and Epaminondas had this gift. The story of his life is the story of a great general. At his side was his friend Pelopidas, a man of extraordinary courage, of great enthusiasm, and of utter devotion to his leader.
Epaminondas made the Theban army a very formidable fighting force, and with this powerful army he set himself to break the power of Sparta and to put that of Thebes in its place. In 371 B.C. the Spartans were defeated by the Thebans under Epaminondas in a great battle at Leuctra, not far from Thebes, and this victory made Thebes for the time the chief military power in Greece. For nine years she kept her power, though fighting continued. Epaminondas wanted to capture Sparta itself, and he marched four times down into the Peloponnesus. In spite of the long marches his men were obliged to make, they were in splendid condition. They had implicit faith in their general and would follow him anywhere. "There was no labour which they would shrink from, either by night or by day; there was no danger they would flinch from; and with the scantiest provisions, their discipline never failed them."[3]
The Thebans had marched for the fourth time to the Peloponnesus, and they were at Mantinea, and here in 362 B.C. Epaminondas fought his last great battle against Sparta. Thebes was victorious, but she bought her victory dearly, for Epaminondas was mortally wounded. As he was carried from the field, he asked for the two captains who stood nearest to him and would take his place. But he was told that both had been killed. "Then make peace with the enemy," he murmured, and drawing out the spear which had wounded him, he fell back dead.
Epaminondas was dead, and there was no one to take his place. He had broken the power of Sparta, and the Peloponnesus was now divided into a number of camps, each at war with the other, and confusion reigned everywhere in Greece. Thebes had been no more able to unite Greece than Sparta had been, but under Epaminondas the art of war had been so developed and changed that in the hands of a commander of genius, an army had become a more formidable weapon than had ever before been deemed possible.
Six years before the battle of Mantinea, a half-barbarian boy of fifteen had been brought from Macedonia to Thebes as a hostage. This boy was Philip of Macedon, and he spent three years in Thebes, learning all that the greatest military state then in Greece could teach him. He was destined himself to be a great commander, and the father of one yet greater. There was now no Greek state powerful enough to uphold Greek freedom. As a statesman, Epaminondas had failed, for he left nothing but confusion behind him, but as a general of genius, he was the teacher of Philip and Alexander of Macedon, whose growing power was now to menace the freedom, not only of Greece, but of the world.
[1] Cornelius Nepos: Life of Epaminondas.
[2] Cornelius Nepos: Life of Epaminondas.
[3] Xenophon: Hellenica, VII.
History is the story of the way in which man has learned how to live, and in learning this, man has come from time to time to periods of great change: periods when the old order of things has changed, passing into the new. These times are always very difficult for those who live in them, for so much of the old seems to be undergoing destruction that the building of the new is not noticed, for those who destroy generally make more noise than those who build.
Greece was living through one of these periods of change when Philip became King of Macedon. Not very much is known about the early Macedonians. They were partly barbarian, and partly Greek, and when they first appear in history were very disunited. In the plains dwelt a number of tribes, who were said to be of Greek origin. They were closely bound to the King and the chief of them were known as his Companions. Scattered about the hills were numerous tribes, more barbarian than Greek, who looked on the King of Macedonia as their overlord, but who were a constant source of danger to him, as they were frequently struggling for independence. When a weak king ruled, the story of Macedonia became that of petty warfare with these hill-tribes, but strong kings were always trying to unite these warring elements into a nation.
In 359 B.C., Philip became King of Macedonia. He had spent three years in Thebes, where he had seen the transformation that the military genius of Epaminondas had effected in the Theban army, and now at the age of twenty-four, he found himself ruler of Macedonia. But his inheritance was one that might have daunted the stoutest heart. He had no allies and no money; enemies surrounded him on all sides, and there was no unity in his kingdom. But he had youth, a few faithful friends, unbounded ambition, and a body fit to endure any hardships. Philip never asked anything of his soldiers that he was not ready to do himself, yet he was not a man whom they loved, and he inspired fear rather than affection.
Philip had three definite aims in his policy: to create a standing army, one that would be ready to march and fight at all times, in winter as well as summer; to unite all Macedonia into a real kingdom, and then to unite all Greece under his rule. Having done that, he intended to march into Asia against the Persian King.
Philip created his army, he subdued and united Macedonia, and then he was ready to turn to Greece. Athens, Sparta and Thebes were now all weak. The power of the city-state was passing away and was to yield in time to the new idea of national unity, but it was not to yield without a conflict. The struggle between Philip and the Greek states was more than a struggle between a strong state and several weak ones; it was a conflict of ideas. On the one side was Athens and the states who sided with her, the last representatives of the independent city-state who still jealously guarded their political freedom; on the other side was Philip, who represented this new idea of national unity. He determined to subdue most of Greece by force, but he would have liked Athens to yield to him of her own free will. The power of her fleet and her armies had been broken, but her thought, her art and her culture remained. Could Philip have been received by Athens with good-will, and been recognized by her as the leader of all Greece; he would have held it of greater importance than any military victory. He wrote letters to her statesmen, sent special envoys to Athens to plead his cause, he tried to prove to her that her fears of him were groundless, and he treated the very soil of Attica as if it were sacred. It is a striking picture: Philip, the warrior, at the head of a powerful army, lowering his sword before the politically weak little state, because of the might of her spirit. And that spirit was not dead. One more flash of the old Athenian independence flamed out in the defiance she hurled at Philip.
Philip advanced. He seized and held Thermopylae, the gateway into Greece; he upheld the rights of Delphi against a neighbouring state and was recognized by the Oracle as the defender of Apollo. Then he marched into Boeotia, where Athens and Thebes made a last tremendous stand against him. In 338 B.C. one of the decisive battles of the world was fought at Chaeronea. On one side was an army of the last representatives of the old city-state, a confused array of men, some of them citizen-soldiers serving without pay, some of them hired mercenaries; and on the other side, the first great army of one united nation. The battle was fought on a hot summer's day, and it was fierce and long, but at length the Greeks gave way and Philip was victorious. He had little mercy for Thebes, and she drank the cup of bitterness to the dregs. Some of her leaders were banished, others were put to death, a Macedonian garrison was placed in the city and all Theban lands were confiscated.
Athens was treated with greater mercy. On the day of the victory over her, Philip
did not laugh at table, or mix any amusements with the entertainment; he had no chaplets or perfumes; and as far as was in his power, he conquered in such a way that nobody might think of him as a conqueror. And neither did he call himself the King; but the general of Greece. To the Athenians, who had been his bitterest enemies, he sent back their prisoners without ransom, and restored the bodies of those that were slain in battle for burial, and he sent Alexander his son to make peace and an alliance with them.[1]
Underlying all his ambition, all his reliance on military power, was yet the feeling, partly unconscious yet there, that, after all, the things of the spirit were greater than those of pomp and power, and he longed for recognition from Athens. But Athens, though forced to recognize his supremacy, never accepted him willingly.
Philip's next move was to organize an expedition into Asia, in order to crush the power of Persia, and as such an expedition would take Philip out of Greece, most of the Greek states agreed to join it. But first he returned to Macedonia, where enemies were always to be found stirring up hostility to him. A royal marriage gave a good excuse for a great public festivity, and a procession was planned, in which Philip, robed in white, was to walk in state. It must have been a moment of great triumph. His ambitions were fulfilled. The Macedonian army was the greatest in the world, he had united the hostile elements in his kingdom and made of them a nation, he had conquered Greece and been recognized as the chief general of all the Greek armies, and now he was about to set forth to conquer Persia. He was still young, and there seemed nothing to prevent the fulfilment of every further ambition. But suddenly, as the stately procession moved forward, a man darted out from the crowd of spectators, buried his dagger deep in the heart of the King, and Philip fell dead.
He was succeeded by his son Alexander, who in a speech to the Macedonians summed up the achievements of his father. He said to them:
My father found you, vagabond and poor, most of you clad only in skins, tending a few sheep on the mountain sides, and to protect them you had to fight against the border tribes, often with small success. Instead of the skins, my father gave you cloaks to wear and he led you down from the hills into the plains and made you the equal in battle of the neighbouring barbarians, so that your safety depended no longer on the inaccessibility of your mountain strongholds, but on your own valour. He taught you to live in cities, and he gave you good laws and customs, and instead of being the slaves and subjects of those barbarians by whom you and your possessions had long been harried, he made you lords over them. He also added the greater part of Thrace to Macedonia, and by seizing the most conveniently situated places on the sea-coast, he threw open your country to commerce. He made it possible for you to work your mines in safety. He made you rulers over the Thessalonians, of whom you had formerly been in mortal fear, and by humbling the Phocians he gave you, instead of a narrow and difficult road into Greece, a broad and easy one. To such a degree did he humble the Athenians and Thebans, who had ever been ready to fall upon Macedonia, that instead of your paying tribute to the former and being vassals to the latter, both states turned to us for protection. He marched into the Peloponnesus and after setting affairs there in order, he was publicly declared commander-in-chief of the whole of Greece in the expedition against the Persian. And he considered this great distinction not as personal honour to himself, but as a glory for Macedonia.[2]
The new King was only twenty years old. It seemed as if his father had been cut off at the height of his career, and that his death could mean nothing but disaster to the power of Macedonia. But what seems like a tragedy and the failure of human hopes, is sometimes the door through which an individual or a nation passes to greater things. Philip had done his work. He was a great soldier and had made great conquests, but he inspired no love and he lacked the imagination which would have made him see with the eyes of the conquered, and so rule them that they would have become real parts of a mighty whole. His son was young, but he had this gift, and so the tragedy of his father's death was the beginning of new and greater opportunities for him, and the door through which Greece was to pass from the old order into the new.
Though forced to acknowledge the political supremacy of Philip, Athens had never given him the real homage he so greatly desired, that of the spirit. And that she persisted in her refusal was largely due to the orator Demosthenes.
Politically, Athens was now weak, and her constant wars were a great strain on all her resources. But at this time, most of her fighting was done at a distance from Athens and by hired mercenaries. A great change had come over her since the days of Marathon and Salamis. No longer was it the pride of the Athenians that her citizens themselves defended her, and though the young men liked to boast that their forefathers had fought at Marathon, they preferred a more pleasure-loving life than was possible in a camp, and so they paid other men to go out and fight for them.
Demosthenes fought against this spirit, and when Philip made advances to Athens and tried to conclude an alliance with her, Demosthenes made speech after speech against such a policy, imploring the people not to make terms with the stranger, but to make ready for war, and to give their own lives on the battle-field instead of paying others to die for them.
Demosthenes had been a delicate child, very shy and with a stammer in his speech. He grew up, however, with a passion for oratory, and he would go to hear the noted orators of his time and listen to every word they said, going home afterwards to practise the art of speaking himself. The first time he spoke in public, he met with discouragement, for his style was awkward, his voice weak and he stammered. He determined, however, that he would overcome all these obstacles, and
he built himself a place to study in underground, and hither he would come constantly every day to form his action, and to exercise his voice; and here he would continue, oftentimes without intermission, two or three months together, shaving one half of his head, that so for shame he might not go abroad, though he desired it ever so much.[3]
It was known that Demosthenes worked very hard over his speeches, and that he never spoke in the Assembly unless he had thought over the subject and prepared what he intended to say. It became a matter of joke in Athens that instead of depending on inspiration, his speeches "smelt of the lamp." In his old age, Demosthenes told some of his friends how he had overcome his defects of speech:
His inarticulate and stammering pronunciation he overcame and rendered more distinct by speaking with pebbles in his mouth; his voice he disciplined by declaiming and reciting speeches or verses when he was out of breath, while running or going up steep places; and that in his house he had a large looking-glass, before which he would stand and go through his exercises.[4]
To cure a habit he had of raising his left shoulder while speaking, he suspended a naked sword over it whenever he practised, and he would stand on the sea-shore during a storm to declaim, so that he might accustom himself to the uproar in a public assembly.
Demosthenes has been called the greatest of orators. Opinions have differed since, as to whether his policy was the wisest for Athens to follow at that moment, but every word he uttered was inspired by a passionate love for Athens, and he at all times entreated the Athenians to be true to their own great spirit and their ancient patriotism.
Never to this day, [he said on one occasion], has this People been eager for the acquisition of money; but for honour it has been eager as for nothing else in the world. It is a sign of this that when Athens had money in greater abundance than any other Hellenic people, she spent it all in the cause of honour; her citizens contributed from their private resources, and she never shrank from danger when glory was to be won. Therefore she has those eternal and abiding possessions, the memory of her actions, and the beauty of the offerings dedicated in honour of them, the Porticoes which you see, the Parthenon, the Colonnades, the Dockyards.
The speeches of Demosthenes against the policy of making friends with Philip are known as the Philippics, a word which has become part of later language, and in the greatest of these, he shows the Athenians how their lowered ideals have permitted political corruption and were leading them to destruction.
What is the cause of these things? [he asked], for as it was not without reason that the Hellenes in old days were so prompt for freedom, so it is not without reason or cause that they are now so prompt to be slaves. There was a spirit, men of Athens, a spirit in the mind of the People in those days which is absent today, the spirit which vanquished the wealth of Persia, which led Hellas in the path of freedom, and never gave way in face of battle by sea or land; a spirit whose extinction today has brought universal ruin and turned Hellas upside down. What was this spirit? It was nothing subtle or clever. It meant that those who took money from those who aimed at dominion or at the ruin of Hellas were execrated by all. Where are such sentiments now? They have been sold in the market and are gone.[5]
In burning words Demosthenes pleaded with the Athenians to fight themselves with their old spirit for their freedom.
I wonder that you, men of Athens, who once raised your hand against Sparta in defence of the rights of the Hellenes ... who spent your own fortunes in war contributions and always bore the brunt of the dangers of the campaign, that you, I say, are now shrinking from marching, and hesitating to make any contribution to save your own possessions.... This is our own personal and immediate duty; and I say that you must contribute funds, you must go on service in person with a good will.... You must get rid of all excuses and all deficiencies on your own part; you cannot examine mercilessly the actions of others, unless you yourselves have done all that your duty requires.[6]
Demosthenes possessed the power of appealing to both the reason and the emotions of his hearers, and in the end Athens followed his advice. But it resulted in disaster. Those who had opposed Demosthenes, especially the statesman Aeschines, turned upon him in anger, and accused him of sacrificing the lives of the young men, and of spending their treasure for nothing. Athens had followed his advice and had been beaten, and now Philip was her master. As Aeschines and his opponents had been laying such stress on the consequences of his policy, Demosthenes defended himself in what was, perhaps, the greatest of his speeches. In one part of it he warned the Athenians that what he had to say might startle them, but
let no one, [he said], in the name of Heaven, be amazed at the length to which I go, but give a kindly consideration to what I say. Even if what was to come was plain to all beforehand; even if all foreknew it; even if you, Aeschines, had been crying with a loud voice in warning and protestation, you who uttered not so much as a sound; even then, I say, it was not right for the city to abandon her course, if she had any regard for her fame, or for our forefathers, or for the ages to come. As it is, she is thought, no doubt, to have failed to secure her object, as happens to all alike, whenever God wills it: but then, by abandoning in favour of Philip her claim to take the lead of others, she must have incurred the blame of having betrayed them all. Had she surrendered without a struggle those claims in defence of which our forefathers faced every imaginable peril, who would not have cast scorn upon you, Aeschines—upon you, I say; not, I trust, upon Athens nor upon me? In God's name, with what faces should we have looked upon those who came to visit the city, if events had come round to the same conclusion as they now have, if Philip had been chosen as commander and lord of all, and we had stood apart, while others carried on the struggle to prevent these things; and that, although the city had never yet in time past preferred an inglorious security to the hazardous vindication of a noble cause? What Hellene, what foreigner, does not know that the Thebans, and the Spartans who were powerful still earlier, and the Persian King would all gratefully and gladly have allowed Athens to take and keep all that was her own, if she would do the bidding of another, and let another take the first place in Hellas? But this was not, it appears, the tradition of the Athenians; it was not tolerable; it was not in their nature. From the beginning of time no one had ever yet succeeded in persuading the city to throw in her lot with those who were strong, but unrighteous in their dealings, and to enjoy the security of servitude. Throughout all time she has maintained her perilous struggle for pre-eminence, honour and glory. And this policy you look upon as so lofty, so proper to your own national character that, of your forefathers also, it is those who have acted thus that you praise most highly. And naturally, for who would not admire the courage of those men, who did not fear to leave their land and their city, and to embark upon their ships that they might not do the bidding of another; who chose for their general Themistocles (who had counselled them thus), and stoned Cyrsilus to death, when he gave his voice for submission to a master's orders—and not him alone, for your wives stoned his wife also to death. For the Athenians of that day did not look for an orator or a general who would enable them to live in happy servitude; they cared not to live at all, unless they might live in freedom. For everyone of them felt that he had come into being, not for his father and his mother alone, but also for his country. And wherein lies the difference? He who thinks he was born for his parents alone awaits the death which destiny assigns him in the course of nature: but he who thinks that he was born for his country also will be willing to die, that he may not see her in bondage, and will look upon the outrages and the indignities that he must needs bear in a city that is in bondage as more to be dreaded than death.
Now were I attempting to argue that I had induced you to show a spirit worthy of your forefathers, there is not a man who might not rebuke me with good reason. But, in fact, I am declaring that such principles as these are your own; I am showing that before my time the city displayed this spirit, though I claim that I, too, have had some share, as your servant, in carrying out your policy in detail. But in denouncing the policy as a whole, in bidding you be harsh with me, as one who has brought terrors and dangers upon the city, the prosecutor, in his eagerness to deprive me of my distinction at the present moment, is trying to rob you of praises that will last throughout all time. For if you condemn the defendant on the ground that my policy was not for the best, men will think that your own judgment has been wrong, and that it was not through the unkindness of fortune that you suffered what befell you. But it cannot, it cannot be that you were wrong, men of Athens, when you took upon you the struggle for freedom and deliverance. No! by those who at Marathon bore the brunt of the peril—our forefathers. No! by those who at Plataea drew up their battle-line, by those who at Salamis, by those who off Artemisium fought the fight at sea, by the many who lie in the sepulchres where the People laid them, brave men, all alike deemed worthy by their country, Aeschines, of the same honour and the same obsequies—not the successful or the victorious alone! And she acted justly. For all these have done that which it was the duty of brave men to do; but their fortune has been that which Heaven assigned to each.[7]
At the age of twenty, Alexander succeeded to Philip's throne. He is one of the personalities in history who have most appealed to the imagination, not only of his contemporaries, but of all ages. He had the beauty of a young Greek god, a brilliant mind and personal charm which endeared him to his companions. From his father he had inherited great military genius, extraordinary powers of organization, tireless energy and inordinate ambition; and from his mother, a wild, half-barbarian princess, a passionate nature, given to outbursts of fierce and uncontrolled anger, and a romantic imagination.
ALEXANDER THE GREAT. British Museum.
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
British Museum.
During the boyhood of Alexander, his father was constantly away at war, but he saw to it that his son was well educated. His first teachers accustomed him to a Spartan discipline, and so trained his body that in later years he was able to undergo fatigue and endure hardships that astonished all who were with him.
When Alexander was twelve years old, an episode occurred which convinced his father that he needed the best guidance that could be found for him. A horse, Bucephalus by name, was offered to Philip for the sum of thirteen talents, and the King, with the Prince and many others,
went into the field to try him. But they found him so very vicious and unmanageable that he reared up when they endeavoured to mount him, and would not so much as endure the voice of any of Philip's attendants. Upon which as they were leading him away as wholly useless and untractable, Alexander, who stood by, said: "What an excellent horse do they lose for want of address and boldness to manage him!" Philip at first took no notice of what he said; but when he heard him repeat the same thing several times, and saw he was much vexed to see the horse sent away, "Do you reproach," said he to him, "those who are older than yourself, as if you knew more, and were better able to manage him than they?" "I could manage this horse," said he, "better than others do." "And if you do not," said Philip, "what will you forfeit for your rashness?" "I will pay," answered Alexander, "the whole price of the horse." At this the whole company fell a-laughing; and as soon as the wager was settled amongst them, he immediately ran to the horse, and taking hold of the bridle, turned him directly towards the sun, having, it seems, observed that he was disturbed at and afraid of the motion of his own shadow; then letting him go forward a little, still keeping the reins in his hands and stroking him gently, when he found him begin to grow eager and fiery, with one nimble leap he securely mounted him, and when he was seated, by little and little drew in the bridle, and curbed him without either striking or spurring him. Presently, when he found him free from all rebelliousness he let him go at full speed. Philip and his friends looked on at first in silence and anxiety for the result; till seeing him turn and come back rejoicing and triumphing for what he had performed, they all burst out into acclamations of applause; and his father, shedding tears, it is said, for joy, kissed him as he came down from his horse, and in his transport said: "O my son look thee out a kingdom equal to and worthy of thyself, for Macedonia is too little for thee!"[8]
It was evident that Alexander would not submit to be controlled in what he did, but that a steady guiding hand was needed to develop his best nature, and so Philip sent for the philosopher Aristotle, who was his tutor for four years. Aristotle taught him the best that Greece could offer in literature, philosophy and natural science. Alexander had no small opinion of his own powers, and considered himself quite the equal, if not the superior, of the best minds of his time, and he wanted to be recognized as such. Later, when Aristotle had published some of his writings, Alexander wrote to him: "You have not done well to publish your books of oral doctrine; for what is there now that we excel others in, if those things which we have been particularly instructed in be laid open to all?"[9] Alexander had been born with a love for study, and his education gave him a real appreciation of all that was best in Greek thought. He used to sleep with a copy of Homer under his pillow, and he told Aristotle that he would "rather excel others in the knowledge of what is excellent than in the extent of his power and dominion."[10] Alexander grew to love his tutor greatly, and in after years he would say that as from his father he had received life, so from Aristotle had he learned to lead a good life.
Such a personality soon made Alexander the idol of Macedonia, but, as in the case of his father, that was not enough; Macedonian, and therefore in the eyes of Greece a half-barbarian, he wanted to be accepted by the Greeks as a Greek and to receive their hero-worship. Like Philip, he was determined to march into Asia, subdue the Persian King and become a world ruler, but it was necessary that he should subdue Greece first. He did this very quickly, and in 335 B.C., one year after he became King, he marched against Thebes, which had organized a revolt against him. He came upon the city with almost magical swiftness, for in thirteen days he had transported his army two hundred and fifty miles. A rumour had spread in Greece that he was dead, but suddenly, there he was before the walls of Thebes. In two days all was over. The city was razed to the ground, and the inhabitants either slain or sold into slavery. Yet in the midst of all the horror, Alexander gave an order which seized upon the Greek imagination: the house of Pindar was to be left untouched for no war was being waged against Greek civilization.
Alexander went to Corinth, where he was elected General of the army that was to invade Persia. He was surrounded by men who praised and flattered him, but one man refused to take any notice of him whatever. This was the cynical philosopher Diogenes.
Alexander found him in a cask by the roadside. When he saw so much company near him, he raised himself a little, and vouchsafed to look upon Alexander; and when Alexander kindly asked whether he wanted anything. "Yes," said, he, "I would have you stand from between me and the sun." Alexander was so struck at this answer, and surprised at the greatness of the man, who had taken so little notice of him, that as he went away he told his followers, who were laughing at the moroseness of the philosopher, that if he were not Alexander, he would choose to be Diogenes.[11]
The time had now come when at the head of a mighty army, Alexander could start for Asia. This army was made up of Macedonians and of men from all the most warlike states of Greece. It had been thoroughly trained and disciplined, and it served under a general only twenty-two years of age, it is true, but who had already shown himself a military genius and who was adored by every soldier from the highest to the lowest. It was an army that was never to know defeat.
Alexander did not hide his purpose from the Persian King, for he sent him word that he considered himself lord of Asia: "I, Alexander, consider the whole of thy treasure, and the whole of thy land to be mine." To the Greeks this did not represent any over-weening pride, for Alexander was but expressing the belief that was held by Aristotle, the greatest Greek thinker of the age, that Greeks were justified in enslaving the Barbarian.
No story of conquest is more romantic than that of Alexander. On first reaching Asia Minor he went to Ilium, where he dedicated his armour to Athena, and took in its place some weapons which tradition said had been used in the Trojan War, and he laid a wreath on the tomb of Achilles. Then he started on his march. He came, whilst passing through Asia Minor, to Gordium, where he saw the celebrated Gordian knot, by which the yoke was fastened to the pole of an ancient chariot. An old prophecy had been made that the man who untied this knot would rule the world. Alexander tried to loosen it, but losing patience, he took his sword and cut it. He meant to rule the world, and he knew that his empire would only be won by the sword.
Alexander marched through Syria into Egypt, and when he was in Egypt, he made a journey through the desert of Libya to consult the oracle, Zeus Ammon.
Few men would have started upon so long and dangerous a journey without misgivings, for there was likely to be scarcity of water, and violent winds that would blow about the poisonous sand of the desert and cause the death of those who inhaled it. But Alexander was not to be turned from anything he was bent upon; for hitherto fortune had helped him in all his plans, and the boldness of his temper gave him a passion for overcoming difficulties. In this journey the gods seemed to favour him as usual, for plentiful rains fell, which not only relieved the soldiers from fear of dying of thirst, but made the sand moist and firm to travel on and purified the air. Besides, some ravens kept up with them in their march, flying before them and waiting for them if they fell behind; but the greatest miracle of all was that if any of the company went astray in the night, the ravens never ceased croaking until they were guided to the right path again.
Having passed through the wilderness, they came to the place where the high-priest of Ammon bade Alexander welcome in the name of the god, and called him son of Zeus. And being asked by the King whether any of his father's murderers had escaped punishment, the priest charged him to speak with more respect, since his was not a mortal father. Then Alexander desired to know of the oracle if any of those who murdered Philip were yet unpunished, and further concerning dominion, whether the empire of the world should be his? This, the god answered, he should obtain, and that Philip's death was fully revenged, which gave him so much satisfaction that he made splendid offerings to Zeus, and gave the priests very rich presents.[12]
Before leaving Egypt, Alexander founded the city of Alexandria,
which takes its name from him. The position seemed to him a very fine one in which to found a city, and he thought it would become a prosperous one. Therefore he was seized by an ardent desire to undertake the enterprise, and he marked out the boundaries of the city himself, pointing out where the market-place was to be constructed, where the temples were to be built, stating how many there were to be, and to what Greek gods they were to be dedicated, and specially marking a spot for a temple to the Egyptian Isis. He also pointed out where the wall was to be carried out. The soothsayers, (pondering upon certain lucky omens), told Alexander that the city would become prosperous in every respect, but especially in regard to the fruits of the earth.[13]
Before his death, Alexander founded many cities called by his name, but the Alexandria of Egypt was the greatest, and the one that was to survive even to the present day. For more than two thousand years it has held its position as one of the chief ports in the Eastern part of the Mediterranean. Alexander did not intend that it should become the capital of Egypt, but he did intend that it should take the place of Tyre, so that the trade coming from the East should be in the hands of Greeks and not of Phoenicians.
The army worshipped Alexander, and he knew how to appeal to the imagination of his followers and to gain their devotion. He was once detained by a serious illness, caused by bathing in an ice-cold river. One of his physicians had prepared medicine for him, but before he had taken it, one of his commanders sent the King a letter bidding him beware of Philip (the physician) who, he said, had been bribed by Darius to poison him. Having read the letter, Alexander
put it under his pillow without showing it to anybody, and when Philip came in with the potion, he took it with great cheerfulness and assurance, giving him the letter to read. It was well worth being present to see Alexander take the draught and Philip read the letter at the same time.[14]
On one occasion
he had made a long and painful march of eleven days, during which his soldiers suffered so much from want of water that they were ready to give up. While they were in this distress it happened that some Macedonians who had fetched water in skins upon their mules from a river they had found out came about noon to the place where Alexander was, and seeing him almost choked with thirst, presently filled a helmet and offered it to him. He asked them to whom they were carrying the water; they told him to their children, adding that if his life were but saved, it was no matter for them though they all perished. Then he took the helmet into his hands, and looking round about, when he saw all those who were with him stretching their heads out and looking earnestly after the drink, he returned it again with thanks without taking a drop of it. "For," said he, "if I alone should drink, the rest will be out of heart." When the soldiers heard him speak in this way, they one and all cried out to him to lead them forward boldly, and began whipping on their horses. For whilst they had such a King they said they defied both weariness and thirst, and looked upon themselves to be little less than immortal.[15]
On another occasion the hardships endured by the army were so great that the men were almost ready to refuse to follow Alexander any further. But he called them together, and spoke to them, reminding them that he asked no one to suffer what he himself did not suffer.
I often sit up at night to watch for you, [he said], that you may be able to sleep. Who is there of you who knows that he has endured greater toil for me than I have for him? I have been wounded with the sword in close fight; I have been shot with arrows; and though I have suffered these things for the sake of your lives, your glory, and your wealth, I am still leading you as conquerors over all the land and sea, all rivers, mountains and plains.[16]
And the magic of his personality silenced all their murmuring and banished all their discontent.
Followed by this devoted army, Alexander started on a marvellous campaign which led him to the uttermost limit of the then known world, even beyond the Indus into India. In battle after battle he met those who opposed his path and conquered them. Alexander did not know the meaning of the word impossible. He was told once that a certain mountain pass was impracticable. For other men, it would have been, but Alexander gave orders that his spearmen should cut steps in the steep rock, and where before only the surest-footed goats had climbed, Alexander and his men passed in safety. His men followed him over snowy mountains in winter, and across thirsty deserts in summer, up and down the lower ranges of the Himalaya Mountains, where the best European armies of today can only go with difficulty. They crossed the plains of India in the rainy season, and even went through that country so unfit for human habitation that Mohammedan conquerors of a later age declared it was a place fit only to be dwelt in by the souls of the lost.
Nothing stopped Alexander, not the mountain barrier, nor the deep river, nor the burning sands. On he went, until he reached what he believed to be the River Ocean that girdled the earth.
Everywhere Alexander had been victorious, until even the Great King of Persia himself was utterly defeated and Alexander was seated upon his throne. He burnt the Persian palace at Persepolis in order "to take vengeance on the Persians for their deeds in the invasion of Greece, when they razed Athens to the ground and burnt down the temples. He also desired to punish the Persians for all the other injuries they had done the Greeks."[17]
When the news of the victories of Alexander over the Persians reached Greece, great was the amazement. For centuries, the name of the Great King had stood for all that was powerful and invincible. Though he had been driven out of Greece, he was still believed to be omnipotent in Asia. The general feeling was voiced by one of the orators, speaking of what was happening in the Athenian Assembly:
What is there strange and unexpected that has not happened in our time? We have not lived the life of ordinary men, and the things we have seen will become a tale of wonder to posterity. Is not the King of the Persians, he who channelled Athos, he who bridged the Hellespont, he who demanded earth and water of the Greeks, he who dared to write in his letters that he was lord of all men from the rising of the sun unto its setting, is he not struggling now, no longer for lordship over others, but already for his life?
Alexander had conquered the Great King and seated himself on the royal throne of Persia under the canopy of gold. But now that he had reached the summit of his ambition and was master of the greatest empire in the world, a change came over him, and he began to indulge his passions and to give himself up to all kinds of dissipation. He dressed like a Persian, which deeply offended the Greeks, who became jealous of the increasing favour the King showed to the Barbarian.
Slowly the leaders of Alexander's army began to realize the change that was taking place in their general, and though he gained in popularity with the Persians, he began to lose some of the devotion hitherto felt for him by the Greeks and Macedonians, and he was becoming estranged from his old followers. At length they realized that it was not a Greek conquest that would enslave Asia of which he dreamed, but of a world empire, in which the Barbarian would live on equal terms with the Greek. Alexander was far-seeing beyond his age, and he had learned that men whose customs are alien to those in which he had been brought up were not always to be despised, and that if he dreamed of holding the world empire he had conquered, he could only do so by treating all parts of it alike, and by encouraging intercourse between the different races which composed it. However wise this may have been, it is not difficult to understand the feeling of the older Greeks who had been educated to feel a gulf between them and the Barbarian that nothing could ever bridge. The climax of the estrangement between Alexander and his old companions came in a tragic scene at a banquet. Alexander and his friends had been drinking fast and furiously, then songs had been sung, some of which ridiculed the Macedonian officers who had recently been unfortunate in a skirmish. The older men present were offended, but Alexander laughed and had the song repeated. Clitus, who had been an old and trusted friend of the King, said angrily: "It is not well to make a jest of Macedonians among their enemies, for, though they have met with misfortunes, they are better men than those who laugh at them." Angry words passed between him and the King, until, unable to control his rage, Alexander snatched a spear from one of his guards and ran it through the body of Clitus, who fell dead to the ground. Dead silence followed this mad deed, and Alexander was sobered by the sight of the man he had loved lying dead at his feet, slain by his own hand. He drew the spear out of the body and would have killed himself with it, had the guards not interfered and led him by force to his chamber. All that night and the next day he wept bitterly and would speak to no one. At length one of his friends entered the room where he lay and said to him in a loud voice:
Is this the Alexander whom the whole world looks to, lying here weeping like a slave for fear of what men will say? It is Alexander himself who, by the right of his conquests, should be the law to decide what is right and wrong. Do you not know, Alexander, that Zeus is represented with Justice and Law on either side of him, to show that all the deeds of a conqueror are lawful and just?[18]
The King was soothed by these words, for he was only too ready to believe, as his friend had said, that whatever he might choose to do was right. But he was spoiled by such flattery which only increased his arrogance and made him yield more to his passions than before.
Having conquered and established an empire which extended from Greece and Macedonia in Europe across Asia to India, and which included Egypt and Libya, Alexander prepared to set out on yet another expedition to the West and to enter Arabia. He was in Babylon, and spent a long day attending to military duties. Towards evening, he left his chair of state to take a little relaxation. During his absence, a half-crazy man appeared, who, without any warning, sat himself down on the King's seat. The attendants looked on in horror at such an act, which seemed to them great impiety, but they did not dare turn him out, for suddenly superstitious fears took hold of them, and in frightened voices they whispered to each other that this could foretell nothing but some great calamity.
It was in the early summer of 323 B.C. that Alexander was ready to start on his march, but the night before he was to leave Babylon, he became ill of a fever. For a few days he was still able to attend to some business from his bed, but he grew rapidly worse. Suddenly the army realized that he was dying, and his old friends, forgetting whatever estrangement had come between them, entreated to be allowed to see him once more. They were admitted to the chamber where he lay, and passed in silence before him. He was so weak that he "could not speak, and only touched the right hand of each, and raised his head a little, and signed with his eyes." The next day Alexander was dead. Deep and awe-struck silence fell upon the city and camp for four days, and then, his generals having found amongst his papers plans for the western campaign, they endeavoured to carry them out. But they were not successful, and never again did the great army fight under one leader. Having lost the almost magical inspiration of Alexander's leadership, his successors were unable to keep the empire which he had conquered.
Almost from the moment of his death, Alexander was worshipped as a god. He was the great hero of his age, and even in his life-time, it was believed that he was half-divine. Dying so young, he was only thirty-three, possessed of great strength and god-like beauty, capable of rare generosity, brave almost to recklessness, planning conquests so far-reaching that they appealed to the imagination of everyone, given to outbursts of savage anger and vindictive rage, all these characteristics were looked upon as more than human. For more than two thousand years, the name of Alexander has been immortal in the East. There is hardly an ancient city from Babylon almost to the borders of China, that does not claim Alexander as its founder; his name still clings to old traditions and legends; to this very day the Parsees curse him for having caused the destruction of the ancient sacred Persian writings when he captured Persepolis and burnt it. Later generations of men have differed as to the lasting value of some of his work, but the name of Alexander, and the story of his hero-deeds have become a permanent possession of the imagination of mankind.
[1] From Justin.
[2] Arrian: Anabasis of Alexander.
[3] Plutarch: Life of Demosthenes.
[4] Plutarch: Life of Demosthenes.
[5] Third Philippic.
[6] Second Olynthiac Oration.
[7] On the Crown.
[8] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[9] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[10] Ibid.
[11] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[12] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[13] Arrian: Anabasis of Alexander.
[14] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[15] Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
[16] Arrian: Anabasis of Alexander.
[17] Arrian: Anabasis of Alexander.
[18] From Plutarch: Life of Alexander.
What man achieves is, in regard to its permanent value, of less importance than the spirit in which he achieves it; what one learns is of less importance than how one learns; learning facts is of less importance than developing certain qualities of mind. It is not possible, and were it possible it would not be desirable, to reproduce in modern life, the conditions of a past age, but certain qualities of the mind and spirit are undying, and some of the greatest of these qualities have come to us from the Greeks.
History is the story of the way in which man has learned and is still learning, how to live: of how through long centuries he has sought to satisfy the practical needs of his body, the questioning of his mind, and the searching of his spirit.[1]
Mankind is still engaged upon the high adventure for this three-fold quest, and not yet has any one civilization succeeded in bringing into perfect accord the demands of the body, of the mind, and of the spirit. If, in the beginning of this story in the ancient world, the Hebrews stand supreme amongst the teachers of those who have sought to satisfy the searching of the spirit, so are the Greeks the great teachers of those who have sought to satisfy the questioning of the mind. The Greeks gave to the mind of man three definite qualities: the love of Freedom, the love of Truth, and the love of Beauty. These are practical qualities which show themselves quite definitely in what the Greeks did, in what they thought and in what they built, or in other words, in their political history, their literature and their art.
It must not be thought that the Greeks perfectly fulfilled their great ideals. Greek history shows quite clearly that they did not. If the story of the Greeks as it has been told in this book has emphasized their ideals rather than their failure always to attain these, it is because their ideals are the imperishable gifts they have given to the world. But the Greeks were not dreamers; they were practical men, keen and interested in all the practical affairs of every day life. Their history shows how they failed in perfectly carrying out their ideals because of certain weaknesses of character and of certain conditions and limitations in their life from which the men of to-day can learn many useful lessons. The greatness of the Greeks lies, not in what they did not do or did imperfectly, but in their spirit, that spirit which in their political history, their literature and their art sought for Freedom, for Truth, and for Beauty.
The Greeks showed the world the way to Freedom. They won their own national freedom against almost overwhelming odds, for never before had a small country maintained her independence in the face of a great empire, and been victorious. They also maintained a political freedom, which they carried too far, for the inability of Greek states to form alliances and to unite was one of the sources of weakness which finally led to their downfall. Nevertheless the spirit of sturdy independence is one that has endured. The Greeks carried their vision of freedom further than the political independence of each state, and one of their chief characteristics was their personal freedom. In a speech to the Athenian army before the battle in the harbour at Syracuse, Nicias "reminded them that they were the inhabitants of the freest country in the world, and how in Athens there was no interference with the daily life of any man."[2] Modern times are apt to pride themselves on the freedom of speech allowed to all, but no modern state permits greater liberty of speech (and some would not tolerate as much) than was allowed in Athens in the fifth century B.C. when Aristophanes wrote his satirical comedies.
The Greeks loved Truth. By this is not meant truthfulness, for the Greeks were insincere and never trusted even one another, but the spirit which desired to see all things straight, "with an unclouded clearness of mind"; the spirit which could distinguish clearly between right and wrong, which could judge without prejudice or passion, above all the spirit which knew its own limitations and which acknowledged what it did not know. Perhaps the greatest Greek searcher for truth was Socrates, and some knowledge of his life and teaching will show us what is our debt to Greece in the story of how the mind of man has gained freedom in its search for truth.
During the last years of the Peloponnesian War, a strange figure might have been seen in Athens: a short, ugly, odd-looking man, poorly-clad and utterly indifferent to criticism of his habits or appearance, but a man to whom every one listened when he began to speak. This was Socrates, the Greek philosopher.
His father was a stone-cutter and a poor man, but he seems to have given to his son the best education that was to be had in Athens, for Socrates often quoted from Greek literature, especially from Homer, and he speaks of having studied with his friends "the treasures which the wise men of old have left us in their books."
Very little is known of the early life of Socrates, but he passed his youth and early manhood during the greatest years of Athenian history. He was born ten years after the Persian had been defeated at Plataea and driven out of Greece; as a boy, he had seen the Long Walls being built; he had grown up in the Athens of Pericles, a contemporary of Sophocles, and Euripides, of Pheidias and of Thucydides. When the clouds gathered over Athens and war came, he served in the army as a common soldier; he had lived through the short-lived triumphs and the tragic disasters which befell the city; he had been hungry when food was scarce, he had seen Athens besieged and taken; he had watched the Long Walls destroyed, and he had lived through the Terror when the Thirty ruled Athens. It was a life lived in very stirring times, and Socrates had taken his share in the happenings. During the war, he served in one of the northern campaigns, and he amazed everyone by his extraordinary power of enduring hunger and thirst, and all the hardships of a cold Thracian winter. One of his friends says of this time that
his fortitude in enduring cold was surprising. There was a severe frost, for the winter in that region is really tremendous, and everybody else either remained indoors, or if they went out had on an amazing quantity of clothes, and were well shod, and had their feet swathed in felt and fleeces: in the midst of this, Socrates with his bare feet on the ice and in his ordinary dress marched better than the other soldiers who had shoes, and they looked daggers at him because he seemed to despise them. Another tale of what he did on this expedition is worth hearing. One morning, he was thinking about something which he could not resolve; he would not give it up, but continued thinking from early dawn until noon—there he stood fixed in thought; and at noon attention was drawn to him and the remark ran through the wondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and thinking about something ever since the break of day. At last in the evening after supper, some Ionians out of curiosity (I should explain that this was not in winter but in summer), brought out their mats and slept in the open air that they might watch him and see whether he would stand all night. There he stood until the following morning, and with the return of light he offered up a prayer to the Sun and went his way.[3]