No More Learning

If in the narration of contemporary events Thucydides is the
most objective of the ancient historians, from the point of view of
style he is, with the possible exception of Tacitus, the most subject-
ive of all. When he began to write, Attic prose was in its infancy.
His predecessors were the Ionic chroniclers, whose easy-flowing, un-
periodic style was ill suited to a theme demanding a powerful and
compressed idiom. The problem before Thucydides was to chisel
out of the rough marble of Attic speech a form of expression that
would comport with the gravity of his subject and the philosophic
character of his mind. Tragedy could be called upon to augment his
vocabulary; the formal rhetoric of the Sophists could supply him
with devices for varying his native power of plain but vigorous
description. The chief difficulty was to find adequate expression
for the new and pregnant political and philosophical ideas of the time.
Here he had to create a style from the stubborn material of an
unsettled speech; and here it is that we find the chief examples
of his austerity. When Thucydides was exiled, men had only just
been awakened to the power that lies in the artistic arrangement of
words in prose. The result was a conventional and high-strung rhet-
oric, which Thucydides in his exile could not unbend by contact
with the newer teachers. When he returned to Athens, his style, like
his ideals, had become irrevocably fixed. Meantime, at Athens, the
process of adjusting. expression to the spirit of the age had resulted
in the plain and ungarnished style of Lysias. While much of Thu-
cydides's harshness may be ascribed to the unformed condition of nas-
cent Attic speech, and some part of his irregularities may be charged
to the account of the copyists, enough remains to show that the pe-
culiarities of his diction are largely individual. When he wishes, he
can write simply and nervously ("The lion laughs," says an ancient
commentator), as in the description of the siege of Platea. When
we come from the reading of Plato or Demosthenes, we feel that it
is from his very striving after clearness that Thucydides becomes
obscure. His particularity is too minute. He uses high where we
should use low relief. Naturally terse, his brevity leads him to pack
a paragraph into a sentence, a sentence into a single word. The
very words seem to pant for air. He hurries us on to a new thought
before we have grasped the one that preceded ("semper instans sibi,**
says Quintilian). He is especially fond of antithesis, -a mark of the
«* Ever pressing close upon his own heels. "


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THUCYDIDES
14915
time. He differentiates synonyms as if Prodicus were at his elbow.
Formal grammar he rarely violates, and verbal association will gen-
erally explain the apparent irregularities. If the style is rugged it.
is never mean; it often attains a noble beauty and grandeur; and
throughout, it mirrors the deep moral earnestness of the man. Irony
he possesses, but no humor.
The peculiarities of this style are most marked in the speeches;
which are either deliberative (including the hortatory addresses to
the soldiers), panegyrical as in the famous oration of Pericles, or
judicial. They are usually arranged in pairs, so as to set forth the
interest and policy of the conflicting parties. It is interesting to
note, however, that no speaker voices the opposition to Pericles. In
one case, instead of two speeches, we have a dialogue between the
Athenians and the Melians; placed with fine dramatic irony at that
point where the recital of Athenian insolence is to be succeeded
by the story of Athens's downfall. The speeches serve not only to
relieve the monotony of annalistic narration: they illuminate the
character of the great personages; they personify a national cause;
and they enable us to realize with intense vividness the policy of the
leading statesmen of the time. Not that they are authentic. Thu-
cydides says that he has merely put into the mouth of each speaker
the sentiments proper to the occasion, expressed as he thought the
speaker would be likely to express them, while at the same time he
has endeavored to embody the substance of what was actually said.
The idealized and majestic form is undoubtedly Thucydidean, though
some attention has been given to differentiating the styles of the
speakers. The speech of the ephor Sthenelaïdas has a laconic brev-
ity; that of Alcibiades is as full of metaphors as it is of egotism.
All the speeches, even that of Cleon the tanner, show an elevated
style. The longer orations display a subtle acquaintance with the
character of the speakers, and are truly Thucydidean in keeping our
intellectual faculties on the stretch. In inserting these public har-
angues, Thucydides set the type which becomes merely artificial in
imitators like Sallust and others. In him they are a natural product
of that period in the growth of Attic prose when prose writing was
almost entirely confined to oratory.
The Greek standard in matters of literary indebtedness was not
the modern standard. Failure to acknowledge one's debt in ancient
times is generally to be regarded as merely evidence of agreement;
and Thucydides passes over the name of Stesimbrotus who wrote
on Themistocles, and of Antiochus of Syracuse to whose work he was
largely indebted. Allusion to a predecessor serves only as an oppor-
tunity to bring him to penance. Herodotus castigates Hecatæus,
Thucydides castigates Herodotus and Hellanicus. How far is Thu-
cydides himself invulnerable?


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THUCYDIDES
If we consider the difficulties of composing contemporaneous his-
tory in ancient times, when inscriptions were the only written records,
we shall not wonder if Thucydides may have blundered here and
there. One inscription shows that he (or was it the defenseless copy-
ist? ) misstated the name of a general. There are a few variations of
minor importance between a treaty inserted in the text and the act-
ual document discovered on the Acropolis. It has been reserved for
our generation to produce an advocatus diaboli, who, in the person of
Müller-Strübing, endeavors to shake our belief in the general accu-
racy of the historian. He charges him with suppressing frequently
facts of prime importance. When the last word on this score has
been said, we may still believe that if Thucydides, a writer of con-
temporaneous history, had been inaccurate, he would have raised up
a cloud of witnesses ready to impeach him. The ancients regarded
him as fair-minded, and he makes upon us the impression of a truth-
fulness and a candor that are free from all simulation. In the third
century B. C. , Thucydides was the ideal truthful historian, who, as
Praxiphanes the pupil of Theophrastus says, "though mostly unknown
in his lifetime, was valued beyond price by posterity. " Conscious of
the single purpose to narrate events as they really were, Thucydides
says with lofty confidence that he "will be satisfied if his work shall
prove useful to those who wish to see the truth, both of what has
happened and will happen again, according to the order of human
things. " Dionysius, his chief student in antiquity, learned from him
that history is philosophy teaching by examples. Only a profound
conviction of the truth could have led Thucydides to the belief that
by the past we can foresee the future; and emboldened him to the
statement that "unlike the narratives of those who intermingle fables
with history to delight the hearer for the moment, his work is a pos-
session to keep forever. "
Herbert Weir Suryth
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. The first edition of the text is that of
Aldus (1502).
The elaborate edition in eleven volumes by Poppo
(1821-40) is still a storehouse of information. Stahl has re-edited
1886 ff. ) the abbreviated Poppo (four vols. ) in a convenient and serv-
iceable edition with Latin notes. The edition by Arnold (1831-35)
is interesting for its historical comments. Grammatical interpreta-
tion is the strong feature of the German edition by Classen, several
of whose volumes have appeared in an English dress. Hobbes, the
author of the 'Leviathan,' translated Thucydides in 1628. The most
recent translation is that of Jowett (1881), from whom the following
extracts are taken.
H. W. S.


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THUCYDIDES
14917
THE NIGHT ATTACK ON PLATEA
AND
ND now the war between the Athenians and Peloponnesians
and the allies of both actually began. Henceforward the
struggle was uninterrupted, and they communicated with
one another only by heralds. The narrative is arranged accord-
ing to summers and winters, and follows the order of events.
For fourteen years the thirty years' peace
remained
unbroken. But in the fifteenth year, when Chrysis the high-
priestess of Argos was in the forty-eighth year of her priesthood,
Enesias being ephor at Sparta, and at Athens Pythodorus having
two months of his archonship to run,
and at the begin-
ning of spring, about the first watch of the night, an armed force
of somewhat more than three hundred Thebans entered Platæa, a
city of Boeotia which was an ally of Athens.
They were
invited by Naucleides, a Platæan, and his partisans, who opened
the gates to them. These men wanted to kill certain citizens of
the opposite faction, and to make over the city to the Thebans,
in the hope of getting the power into their own hands.
There was an old quarrel between the two cities; and the The-
bans, seeing that war was inevitable, were anxious to surprise the
place while the peace lasted, and before hostilities had actually
broken out. No watch had been set; and so they were enabled
to enter the city unperceived. They grounded their arms in the
agora; but instead of going to work at once, and making their
way into the houses of their enemies, as those who invited them
suggested, they resolved to issue a conciliatory proclamation,
and try to make friends with the citizens. The herald announced
that if any one wished to become their ally, and return to the
ancient constitution of Boeotia, he should join their ranks. In this
way they thought that the inhabitants would easily be induced to
come over to them.
-
The Plateans, when they found that the city had been sur-
prised and taken, and that the Thebans were within their walls,
were panic-stricken. In the darkness they were unable to see
them, and greatly overestimated their numbers. So they came
to terms, and accepting the proposals which were made to them,
remained quiet, the more readily since the Thebans offered
violence to no one. But in the course of the negotiations they
somehow discovered that their enemies were not so numerous as


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THUCYDIDES
they had supposed, and concluded that they could easily attack
and master them. They determined to make the attempt; for
the Plataan people were strongly attached to the Athenian alli-
ance. They began to collect inside the houses, breaking through
the party-walls that they might not be seen going along the
streets; they likewise raised barricades of wagons, unyoking the
beasts which drew them, and took other measures suitable to
the emergency. When they had done all which could be done.
under the circumstances, they sallied forth from their houses;
choosing the time of night just before daybreak, lest, if they
put off the attack until dawn, the enemy might be more confident
and more a match for them. While darkness lasted they would
be timid, and at a disadvantage, not knowing the streets so well
as themselves. So they fell upon them at once hand to hand.
When the Thebans found that they had been deceived, they
closed their ranks and resisted their assailants on every side.
Two or three times they drove them back. But when at last
the Platæans charged them with a great shout, and the women
and slaves on the housetops screamed and yelled and pelted
them with stones and tiles, the confusion being aggravated by
the rain which had been falling heavily during the night, they
turned and fled in terror through the city. Hardly any of them
knew the way out, and the streets were dark as well as muddy,
for the affair happened at the end of the month when there was
no moon; whereas their pursuers knew well enough how to pre-
vent their escape: and thus many of them perished.
The gates
by which they entered were the only ones open; and these a
Platæan fastened with the spike of a javelin, which he thrust
into the bar instead of the pin. So this exit too was closed, and
they were chased up and down the city. Some of them mounted
upon the wall, and cast themselves down into the open. Most
of these were killed. Others got out by a deserted gate, cut-
ting through the bar unperceived, with an axe which a woman
gave them; but only a few, for they were soon found out. Others
lost themselves in different parts of the city, and were put to
death. But the greater number kept together, and took refuge
in a large building abutting upon the wall, of which the doors on
the near side chanced to be open; they thinking them to be the
gates of the city, and expecting to find a way through them into
the country. The Platæans, seeing that they were in a trap,
began to consider whether they should not set the building on


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THUCYDIDES
14919
fire, and burn them where they were. At last they, and the
other Thebans who were still alive and were wandering about
the city, agreed to surrender themselves and their arms uncondi-
tionally. Thus fared the Thebans in Platea.
The main body of the Theban army, which should have come
during the night to the support of the party entering the city in
case of a reverse, having on their march heard of the disaster,
were now hastening to the rescue. Platea is about eight miles
distant from Thebes, and the heavy rain which had fallen in the
night delayed their arrival; for the river Asopus had swollen,
and was not easily fordable. Marching in the rain, and with
difficulty crossing the river, they came up too late; some of
their friends being already slain and others captives. When the
Thebans became aware of the state of affairs, they resolved to
lay hands on the Platæans who were outside the walls; for there
were men and property left in the fields, as would naturally
happen when a sudden blow was struck in time of peace. And
they meant to keep any one whom they caught as a hostage, and
exchange him for one of their own men if any of them were
still alive. But before they had executed their plan, the Platæ-
ans, suspecting their intentions, and fearing for their friends out-
side, sent a herald to the Thebans protesting against the crime
of which they had been guilty in seizing their city during peace,
and warning them not to touch anything which was outside the
walls. If they persisted, they threatened in return to kill the
prisoners; but if they retired, they would give them up. This
is the Theban account; and they add that the Platæans took an
oath. The Platæans do not admit that they ever promised to
restore the captives at once, but only if they could agree after
negotiations; and they deny that they took an oath. However
this may have been, the Thebans withdrew, leaving the Platæan
territory unhurt; but the Platæans had no sooner got in their
property from the country than they put the prisoners to death.
Those who were taken were a hundred and eighty in number;
and Eurymachus, with whom the betrayers of the city had nego-
tiated, was one of them.
When they had killed their prisoners, they sent a messenger
to Athens and gave back the dead to the Thebans under a flag
of truce; they then took the necessary measures for the security
of the city. The news had already reached Athens; and the
Athenians had instantly seized any Boeotians who were in Attica


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THUCYDIDES
and sent a herald to Platæa bidding them do no violence to the
Theban prisoners, but wait for instructions from Athens. The
news of their death had not arrived. For the first messenger
had gone out when the Thebans entered, and the second when
they were just defeated and captured: but of what followed, the
Athenians knew nothing; they sent the message in ignorance,
and the herald, when he arrived, found the prisoners dead. The
Athenians next dispatched an army to Platæa, and brought in
corn. Then, leaving a small force in the place, they conveyed
away the least serviceable of the citizens, together with the
women and children. The affair of Platæa was a glaring vio-
lation of the thirty years' truce; and the Athenians now made
preparations for war.
PERICLES'S MEMORIAL ORATION OVER THE ATHENIAN DEAD
OF THE FIRST CAMPAIGN
MⓇ
OST of those who have spoken here before me have com-
mended the lawgiver who added this oration to our other
funeral customs: it seemed to them a worthy thing that
such an honor should be given at their burial to the dead who
have fallen on the field of battle. But I should have preferred
that when men's deeds have been brave, they should be honored
in deed only, and with such an honor as this public funeral
which you are now witnessing. Then the reputation of many
would not have been imperiled on the eloquence or want of elo-
quence of one, and their virtues believed or not as he spoke well
or ill.
For it is difficult to say neither too little nor too much;
and even moderation is apt not to give the impression of truth-
fulness. The friend of the dead who knows the facts is likely to
think that the words of the speaker fall short of his knowledge
and of his wishes; another who is not so well informed, when
he hears of anything which surpasses his own powers, will be
envious and will suspect exaggeration. Mankind are tolerant of
the praises of others so long as each hearer thinks that he can
do as well or nearly as well himself; but when the speaker rises
above him, jealousy is aroused and he begins to be incredulous.
However, since our ancestors have set the seal of their approval
upon the practice, I must obey, and to the utmost of my power


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THUCYDIDES
14921
shall endeavor to satisfy the wishes and beliefs of all who hear
me.
I will speak first of our ancestors; for it is right and becom-
ing that now, when we are lamenting the dead, a tribute should
be paid to their memory. There has never been a time when
they did not inhabit this land, which by their valor they have
handed down from generation to generation, and we have re-
ceived from them a free State. But if they were worthy of
praise, still more were our fathers, who added to their inherit-
ance, and after many a struggle transmitted to us their sons this
great empire. And we ourselves assembled here to-day, who
are still most of us in the vigor of life, have chiefly done the
work of improvement, and have richly endowed our city with
all things, so that she is sufficient for herself both in peace and
war. Of the military exploits by which our various possessions
were acquired, or of the energy with which we or our fathers
drove back the tide of war, Hellenic or Barbarian, I will not
speak; for the tale would be long, and is familiar to you. But
before I praise the dead, I should like to point out by what prin-
ciples of action we rose to power, and under what institutions and
through what manner of life our empire became great. For I
conceive that such thoughts are not unsuited to the occasion,
and that this numerous assembly of citizens and strangers may
profitably listen to them.
Our form of government does not enter into rivalry with the
institutions of others. We do not copy our neighbors, but are
an example to them. It is true that we are called a democracy;
for the administration is in the hands of the many and not of
the few. But while the law secures equal justice to all alike in
their private disputes, the claim of excellence is also recognized;
and when a citizen is in any way distinguished, he is preferred
to the public service, not as a matter of privilege, but as the re-
ward of merit. Neither is poverty a bar, but a man may benefit
his country whatever be the obscurity of his condition. There is
no exclusiveness in our public life, and in our private intercourse
we are not suspicious of one another, nor angry with our neigh-
bor if he does what he likes; we do not put on sour looks at
him, which though harmless are not pleasant. While we are thus
unconstrained in our private intercourse, a spirit of reverence
pervades our public acts: we are prevented from doing wrong by
respect for authority and for the laws; having an especial regard


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14922
THUCYDIDES
to those which are ordained for the protection of the injured,
as well as to those unwritten laws which bring upon the trans-
gressor of them the reprobation of the general sentiment.
And we have not forgotten to provide for our weary spirits
many relaxations from toil: we have regular games and sacrifices
throughout the year; at home the style of our life is refined; and
the delight which we daily feel in all these things helps to banish
melancholy. Because of the greatness of our city the fruits of
the whole earth flow in upon us; so that we enjoy the goods of
other countries as freely as. of our own.
Then again, our military training is in many respects superior
to that of our adversaries. Our city is thrown open to the world;
and we never expel a foreigner, or prevent him from seeing or
learning anything of which the secret if revealed to an enemy
might profit him. We rely not upon management or trickery,
but upon our own hearts and hands. And in the matter of
education, whereas they from early youth are always under-
going laborious exercises which are to make them brave, we live
at ease, and yet are equally ready to face the perils which they
face. And here is the proof. The Lacedæmonians come into
Attica not by themselves, but with their whole confederacy fol-
lowing: we go alone into a neighbor's country; and although our
opponents are fighting for their homes and we on a foreign soil,
we have seldom any difficulty in overcoming them. Our ene-
mies have never yet felt our united strength; the care of a navy
divides our attention, and on land we are obliged to send our own
citizens everywhere. But they, if they meet and defeat a part
of our army, are as proud as if they had routed us all; and when
defeated they pretend to have been vanquished by us all.
If then we prefer to meet danger with a light heart but with-
out laborious training, and with a courage which is gained by
habit and not enforced by law, are we not greatly the gainers?
Since we do not anticipate the pain, although, when the hour
comes, we can be as brave as those who never allow themselves
to rest; and thus too our city is equally admirable in peace and in
war. For we are lovers of the beautiful, yet simple in our tastes,
and we cultivate the mind without loss of manliness. Wealth we
employ, not for talk and ostentation, but when there is a real
use for it.
To avow poverty with us is no disgrace: the true
disgrace is in doing nothing to avoid it. An Athenian citizen
does not neglect the State because he takes care of his own


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14923
household; and even those of us who are gaged in business
have a very fair idea of politics. We alone regard a man who
takes no interest in public affairs, not as a harmless but as a
useless character; and if few of us are originators, we are all
sound judges, of a policy. The great impediment to action is,
in our opinion, not discussion, but the want of that knowledge
which is gained by discussion preparatory to action. For we
have a peculiar power of thinking before we act, and of act-
ing too; whereas other men are courageous from ignorance but
hesitate upon reflection. And they are surely to be esteemed
the bravest spirits, who, having the clearest sense both of the
pains and pleasures of life, do not on that account shrink from
anger. In doing good, again, we are unlike others: we make our
friends by conferring, not by receiving favors. Now he who
confers a favor is the firmer friend, because he would fain by
kindness keep alive the memory of an obligation; but the recipi-
ent is colder in his feelings, because he knows that in requiting
another's generosity he will not be winning gratitude, but only
paying a debt. We alone do good to our neighbors not upon
a calculation of interest, but in the confidence of freedom and in
a frank and fearless spirit.
To sum up: I say that Athens is the school of Hellas, and
that the individual Athenian in his own person seems to have
the power of adapting himself to the most varied forms of action
with the utmost versatility and grace. This is no passing and
idle word, but truth and fact; and the assertion is verified by
the position to which these qualities have raised the State. For
in the hour of trial, Athens alone among her contemporaries is
superior to the report of her. No enemy who comes against
her is indignant at the reverses which he sustains at the hands
of such a city; no subject complains that his masters are un-
worthy of him. And we shall assuredly not be without witnesses:
there are mighty monuments of our power, which will make us
the wonder of this and of succeeding ages; we shall not need
the praises of Homer or of any other panegyrist, whose poetry
may please for the moment although his representation of the
facts will not bear the light of day. For we have compelled.
every land and every sea to open a path for our valor, and
have everywhere planted eternal memorials of our friendship and
of our enmity. Such is the city for whose sake these men nobly
fought and died: they could not bear the thought that she might


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THUCYDIDES
be taken from them; and every one of us who survive should
gladly toil on her behalf.
I have dwelt upon the greatness of Athens because I want to
show you that we are contending for a higher prize than those
who enjoy none of these privileges, and to establish by manifest
proof the merit of these men whom I am now commemorating.
Their loftiest praise has been already spoken. For in magnifying
the city I have magnified them, and men like them whose virtues
made her glorious. And of how few Hellenes can it be said as
of them, that their deeds when weighed in the balance have been
found equal to their fame! Methinks that a death such as theirs
has been, gives the true measure of a man's worth; it may be
the first revelation of his virtues, but is at any rate their final
seal. For even those who come short in other ways may justly
plead the valor with which they have fought for their country;
they have blotted out the evil with the good, and have benefited
the State more by their public services than they have injured
her by their private actions. None of these men were enervated
by wealth, or hesitated to resign the pleasures of life; none of
them put off the evil day in the hope, natural to poverty, that a
man though poor may one day become rich. But deeming that
the punishment of their enemies was sweeter than any of these
things, and that they could fall in no nobler cause, they deter-
mined at the hazard of their lives to be honorably avenged, and
to leave the rest. They resigned to hope their unknown chance
of happiness; but in the face of death they resolved to rely upon
themselves alone. And when the moment came, they were minded
to resist and suffer rather than to fly and save their lives; they
ran away from the word of dishonor, but on the battle-field their
feet stood fast: and in an instant, at the height of their fortune,
they passed away from the scene, not of their fear, but of their
glory.
Such was the end of these men; they were worthy of Athens,
and the living need not desire to have a more heroic spirit, al-
though they may pray for a less fatal issue.
The value of such
a spirit is not to be expressed in words. Any one can discourse
to you for ever about the advantages of a brave defense, which
you know already. But instead of listening to him, I would
have you day by day fix your eyes upon the greatness of Athens,
until you become filled with the love of her: and when you are
impressed by the spectacle of her glory, reflect that this empire


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14925
has been acquired by men who knew their duty and had
the courage to do it; who in the hour of conflict had the fear of
dishonor always present to them; and who, if ever they failed in
an enterprise, would not allow their virtues to be lost to their
country, but freely gave their lives to her as the fairest offering
which they could present at her feast. The sacrifice which they
collectively made was individually repaid to them; for they re-
ceived again each one for himself a praise which grows not old,
and the noblest of all sepulchres,- I speak not of that in which
their remains are laid, but of that in which their glory survives,
and is proclaimed always and on every fitting occasion both in
word and deed. For the whole earth is the sepulchre of famous.
men; not only are they commemorated by columns and inscrip-
tions in their own country, but in foreign lands there dwells also
an unwritten memorial of them, graven not on stone, but in the
hearts of men. Make them your examples; and esteeming cour-
rage to be freedom and freedom to be happiness, do not weigh too
nicely the perils of war. The unfortunate who has no hope of a
change for the better has less reason to throw away his life than
the prosperous; who, if he survive, is always liable to a change
for the worse, and to whom any accidental fall makes the most
serious difference. To a man of spirit, cowardice and disaster
coming together are far more bitter than death striking him
unperceived, at a time when he is full of courage and animated
by the general hope.
Wherefore I do not now commiserate the parents of the
dead who stand here; I would rather comfort them. You know
that your life has been passed amid manifold vicissitudes; and
that they may be deemed fortunate who have gained most honor,
whether an honorable death like theirs, or an honorable sor-
row like yours, and whose days have been so ordered that the
term of their happiness is likewise the term of their life. I
know how hard it is to make you feel this, when the good for-
tune of others will too often remind you of the gladness which
once lightened your hearts. And sorrow is felt at the want of
those blessings, not which a man never knew, but which were a
part of his life before they were taken from him.
Some of you
are of an age at which they may hope to have other children;
and they ought to bear their sorrow better: not only will the child-
ren who may hereafter be born make them forget their own lost
ones, but the city will be doubly a gainer,- she will not be left


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14926
THUCYDIDES
desolate, and she will be safer. For a man's counsel cannot
have equal weight or worth when he alone has no children to
risk in the general danger. To those of you who have passed
their prime, I say: "Congratulate yourselves that you have been
happy during the greater part of your days; remember that your
life of sorrow will not last long, and be comforted by the glory
of those who are gone. For the love of honor alone is ever
young; and not riches, as some say, but honor is the delight of
men when they are old and useless. "
To you who are the sons and brothers of the departed, I see
that the struggle to emulate them will be an arduous one. For
all men praise the dead; and however pre-eminent your virtue
may be, hardly will you be thought, I do not say to equal,
but even to approach them. The living have their rivals and
detractors; but when a man is out of the way, the honor and
good-will which he receives is unalloyed. And if I am to
speak of womanly virtues to those of you who will henceforth be
widows, let me sum them up in one short admonition: To a
woman, not to show more weakness than is natural to her sex
is a great glory, and not to be talked about for good or for evil
among men.
I have paid the required tribute in obedience to the law, mak-
ing use of such fitting words as I had. The tribute of deeds
has been paid in part: for the dead have been honorably interred,
and it remains only that their children should be maintained at
the public charge until they are grown up; this is the solid prize
with which, as with a garland, Athens crowns her sons living
and dead, after a struggle like theirs. For where the rewards
of virtue are greatest, there the noblest citizens are enlisted in
the service of the State. And now, when you have duly lamented.
every one his own dead, you may depart.
REFLECTIONS ON REVOLUTION
WHE
HEN troubles had once begun in the cities, those who fol-
lowed carried the revolutionary spirit further and further,
and determined to outdo the report of all who had pre-
ceded them by the ingenuity of their enterprises and the atrocity
of their revenges. The meaning of words had no longer the
same relation to things, but was changed by them as they


## p. 14927 (#511) ##########################################

THUCYDIDES
14927
thought proper. Reckless daring was held to be loyal courage;
prudent delay was the excuse of a coward; moderation was the
disguise of unmanly weakness; to know everything was to do
nothing. Frantic energy was the true quality of man. A con-
spirator who wanted to be safe was a recreant in disguise. The
lover of violence was always trusted, and his opponent suspected.
He who succeeded in a plot was deemed knowing, but a still
greater master in craft was he who detected one. On the other
hand, he who plotted from the first to have nothing to do with
plots was a breaker-up of parties, and a poltroon who was afraid
of the enemy. In a word, he who could outstrip another in a
bad action was applauded, and so was he who encouraged to
evil one who had no idea of it. The tie of party was stronger
than the tie of blood, because a partisan was more ready to dare
without asking why. (For party associations are not based upon
any established law, nor do they seek the public good: they are
formed in defiance of the laws and from self-interest. ) The
seal of good faith was not Divine law, but fellowship in crime.
If an enemy when he was in the ascendant offered fair words,
the opposite party received them, not in a generous spirit, but
by a jealous watchfulness of his actions. Revenge was dearer
than self-preservation. Any agreements sworn to by either party,
when they could do nothing else, were binding as long as both
were powerless. But he who on a favorable opportunity first
took courage, and struck at his enemy when he saw him off his
guard, had greater pleasure in a perfidious, than he would have
had in an open, act of revenge: he congratulated himself that he
had taken the safer course, and also that he had overreached his
enemy and gained the prize of superior ability. In general, the
dishonest more easily gain credit for cleverness than the simple
for goodness: men take a pride in the one, but are ashamed of
the other.
The cause of all these evils was the love of power originating
in avarice and ambition, and the party spirit which is engendered
by them when men are fairly embarked in a contest. For the
leaders on either side used specious names: the one party profess-
ing to uphold the constitutional equality of the many, the other
the wisdom of an aristocracy; while they made the public inter-
ests, to which in name they were devoted, in reality their prize.
Striving in every way to overcome each other, they committed
the most monstrous crimes, yet even these were surpassed by


## p. 14928 (#512) ##########################################

14928
THUCYDIDES
the magnitude of their revenges, which they pursued to the
very utmost,-neither party observing any definite limits either of
justice or public expediency, but both alike making the caprice
of the moment their law. Either by the help of an unright-
eous sentence, or grasping power with the strong hand, they
were eager to satiate the impatience of party spirit. Neither fac-
tion cared for religion; but any fair pretense which succeeded in
effecting some odious purpose was greatly lauded. And the citi-
zens who were of neither party fell a prey to both: either they
were disliked because they held aloof, or men were jealous of
their surviving.
Thus revolution gave birth to every form of wickedness in
Hellas. The simplicity which is so large an element in a noble
nature was laughed to scorn and disappeared. An attitude of
perfidious antagonism everywhere prevailed; for there was no
word binding enough, nor oath terrible enough, to reconcile ene-
mies. Each man was strong only in the conviction that nothing
was secure: he must look to his own safety, and could not afford
to trust others. Inferior intellects generally succeeded best. For,
aware of their own deficiencies, and fearing the capacity of their
opponents, for whom they were no match in powers of speech,
and whose subtle wits were likely to anticipate them in contriv-
ing evil, they struck boldly and at once. But the cleverer sort,
presuming in their arrogance that they would be aware in time,
and disdaining to act when they could think, were taken off their
guard and easily destroyed.
Now, in Corcyra most of these deeds were perpetrated, and
for the first time. There was every crime which men might
be supposed to perpetrate in revenge who had been governed
not wisely, but tyrannically, and now had the oppressor at their
mercy. They were the dishonest designs of others who were
longing to be relieved from their habitual poverty, and were nat-
urally animated by a passionate desire for their neighbors' goods;
and there were crimes of another class, which men commit not
from covetousness, but from the enmity which equals foster to-
wards one another until they are carried away by their blind rage
into the extremes of pitiless cruelty. At such a time the life of
the city was all in disorder; and human nature, which is always
ready to transgress the laws, having now trampled them under
foot, delighted to show that her passions were ungovernable,—
that she was stronger than justice, and the enemy of everything


## p. 14929 (#513) ##########################################

THUCYDIDES
14929
above her. If malignity had not exercised a fatal power, how
could any one have preferred revenge to piety, and gain to inno-
cence? But when men are retaliating upon others, they are reck-
less of the future, and do not hesitate to annul those common laws
of humanity to which every individual trusts for his own hope
of deliverance should he ever be overtaken by calamity; they
forget that in their own hour of need they will look for them
in vain.
THE FINAL STRUGGLE IN THE HARBOR OF SYRACUSE
THE
HE Syracusans and their allies had already put out with nearly
the same number of ships as before. A detachment of them
guarded the entrance of the harbor; the remainder were
disposed all round it in such a manner that they might fall on
the Athenians from every side at once, and that their land forces
might at the same time be able to co-operate wherever the ships
retreated to the shore. Sicanus and Agatharchus commanded the
Syracusan fleet, each of them a wing; Pythen and the Corinthians
occupied the centre. When the Athenians approached the closed
mouth of the harbor, the violence of their onset overpowered the
ships which were stationed there; they then attempted to loosen
the fastenings. Whereupon from all sides the Syracusans and
their allies came bearing down upon them; and the conflict was
no longer confined to the entrance, but extended throughout
the harbor. No previous engagement had been so fierce and
obstinate. Great was the eagerness with which the rowers on
both sides rushed upon their enemies whenever the word of com-
mand was given; and keen was the contest between the pilots
as they manoeuvred one against another. The marines too were
full of anxiety that when ship struck ship, the service on deck
should not fall short of the rest; every one in the place assigned.
to him was eager to be foremost among his fellows. Many vessels
meeting—and never did so many fight in so small a space, for
the two fleets together amounted to nearly two hundred- they
were seldom able to strike in the regular manner, because they had
no opportunity of first retiring or breaking the line; they gen-
erally fouled one another, as ship dashed against ship in the
hurry of flight or pursuit. All the time that another vessel was
bearing down, the men on deck poured showers of javelins and
XXV-934


## p. 14930 (#514) ##########################################

14930
THUCYDIDES
arrows and stones upon the enemy; and when the two closed,
the marines fought hand to hand, and endeavored to board. In
many places, owing to the want of room, they who had struck
another found that they were struck themselves; often two or
even more vessels were unavoidably entangled about one, and the
pilots had to make plans of attack and defense, not against one
adversary only, but against several coming from different sides.
The crash of so many ships dashing against one another took
away the wits of the sailors, and made it impossible to hear the
boatswains, whose voices in both fleets rose high, as they gave
directions to the rowers, or cheered them on in the excitement of
the struggle. On the Athenian side they were shouting to their
men that they must force a passage, and seize the opportunity
now or never of returning in safety to their native land. To the
Syracusans and their allies was represented the glory of prevent-
ing the escape of their enemies, and of a victory by which every
man would exalt the honor of his own city. The commanders
too, when they saw any ship backing water without necessity,
would call the captain by his name, and ask of the Athenians.
whether they were retreating because they expected to be more
at home upon the land of their bitterest foes than upon that
sea which had been their own so long; on the Syracusan side,
whether, when they knew perfectly well that the Athenians were
only eager to find some means of flight, they would themselves
fly from the fugitives.
While the naval engagement hung in the balance, the two
armies on shore had great trial and conflict of soul. The Sicilian
soldier was animated by the hope of increasing the glory which
he had already won, while the invader was tormented by the
fear that his fortunes might sink lower still. The last chance of
the Athenians lay in their ships, and their anxiety was dreadful.
The fortune of the battle varied; and it was not possible that the
spectators on the shore should all receive the same impression of
it. Being quite close, and having different points of view, they
would some of them see their own ships victorious; their cour-
age would then revive, and they would earnestly call upon the
gods not to take from them their hope of deliverance. But others,
who saw their ships worsted, cried and shrieked aloud, and were
by the sight alone more utterly unnerved than the defeated com-
batants themselves. Others again, who had fixed their gaze on
some part of the struggle which was undecided, were in a state


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THUCYDIDES
14931
of excitement still more terrible: they kept swaying their bodies
to and fro in an agony of hope and fear, as the stubborn conflict.
went on and on; for at every instant they were all-but saved
or all-but lost. And while the strife hung in the balance, you
might hear in the Athenian army at once lamentation, shout-
ing cries of victory or defeat, and all the various sounds which
are wrung from a great host in extremity of danger. Not less
agonizing were the feelings of those on board. At length the
Syracusans and their allies, after a protracted struggle, put the
Athenians to flight; and triumphantly bearing down upon them,
and encouraging one another with loud cries and exhortations,
drove them to land. Then that part of the navy which had not
been taken in the deep water fell back in confusion to the shore,
and the crews rushed out of the ships into the camp. And the
land forces, no longer now divided in feeling, but uttering one
universal groan of intolerable anguish, ran, some of them to save
the ships, others to defend what remained of the wall; but the
greater number began to look to themselves and to their own
safety. Never had there been a greater panic in an Athenian
army than at that moment. Thus, after a fierce battle and a
great destruction of ships and men on both sides, the Syracusans.
and their allies gained the victory.


## p. 14932 (#516) ##########################################

14932
ALBIUS TIBULLUS
ALBIUS TIBULLUS
(54 P-19? B. C. )
BY G. M. WHICHER
HE elegiac couplet, which Horace pronounced suitable for
laments and votive inscriptions, had been used by the early
Greek poets for a wide range of subjects. The political
reflections of Solon, the warlike strains of Tyrtæus, the gnomic wis-
dom of Theognis, had all seemed to them as appropriately written in
this metre, as the famous dirges of Simonides, or Mimnermus's com-
plaints over the swift passing of life and
love. More personal in tone than the epic,
while less strenuous than lyric measures,
elegy was used apparently to embody all
slighter themes and emotions less exalted
than were demanded by the grander styles.
Naturally, therefore, the age which saw
the final decay of the literature that began
with Homer and Sappho found this form of
verse congenial to its taste. In the hands
of Alexandrian writers,- Callimachus, Phi-
letas, Hermesianax, and their imitators, -it
was a favorite form of erudite versifying.
They identified the elegy chiefly with erotic
themes; and it was with traditions due to
them that it passed to the younger poets of the Augustan age,-
Tibullus, Propertius, and Ovid. These writers, if less learned than
their teachers, had a more ardent temperament, fresher and more
vivid sensibilities. Accordingly, this last form of literature which
the Romans appropriated from the Greeks was one of the very few
in which they could flatter themselves that they had surpassed their
models.
If not the greatest genius among Roman elegiac poets, -as many
ancient critics were inclined to rate him,- Tibullus was at least the
most typical. His art was the most consistent and symmetrically devel-
oped, quite in keeping with his amiable and yet singularly independ-
ent character. It was his aim to be an elegiast pure and simple.
His love, or rather its reflection in his poetry, was to him all in all;
and no other subject could long divert his attention. Even Propertius
sometimes forgets his Cynthia, and repeats a legend of early Rome,



## p. 14933 (#517) ##########################################

ALBIUS TIBULLUS
14933
or recounts the exploits of Augustus. And Ovid could neglect the
art of love to narrate the adventures of gods and heroes. But to the
end Tibullus is found, as Horace pictures him in the well-known ode,
chanting his "miserabiles elegos" and bewailing the harshness of
his mistress. *
This entire devotion to his one chosen theme not only distin-
guishes him from these his immediate rivals, but is in marked con-
trast with the attitude of the greater poets of the Augustan age.
Horace and Virgil, though provincials of low birth, possibly of alien
race, and writing in the very shadow of the imperial power, are
yet impressed by a sense of Rome's greatness. Though freedom had
perished, they believe that there is still a mission for the noble
qualities that had made the nation great: to conserve, to stimulate,
to direct these loftier impulses, are the aims which lend dignity to
their art. But Tibullus, who was by birth and breeding a Roman of
the Romans, seemingly cares for none of these things. His family
was of equestrian rank, and he still owned part of the ancestral
estate at Pedum, almost within sight of the Capitol. His patron
and intimate friend was Messala,- one of the noblest figures of the
age, and not less conspicuous for his services to the State than for
the dauntless independence which even Augustus acknowledged and
respected. Yet nothing can be more un-Roman than the manner
in which Tibullus shrinks from public life, and sings the supreme
blessings of peace and retirement. He celebrates his patron's Aqui-
tanian campaign, in which the poet himself was present, B. C. 30; but
it is his friend, and not the commonwealth, that is uppermost in his
thoughts. Messala bore a gallant part at Actium; but Tibullus, alone
of the poets of the day, has nothing to say of the significance of
that struggle. Once he does indeed speak of the glorious destiny
of Rome, the "name fatal to nations"; but his interest even here is
roused by the induction of Messalinus, his friend's son, into a priest-
hood!
This apparent incivism may be explained in part by the fact that
Messala and his entire circle held themselves aloof from the policy
of the empire. And in part it may be only the artist's pose, not the
attitude of the man. We know little of him save the narrow range
of feelings which he considered appropriate to his poetry. Horace
in his epistles has sketched another picture of his friend, living
upon his small estate, with riches, health, fame, and beauty to make
him happy,—a picture which many find it difficult to reconcile with
the melancholy and pensive Tibullus of the elegies. Yet there is no
*The sixteen poems which are undoubtedly his workmanship tell us little
save the vicissitudes of his passion for Delia, Nemesis, and even less worthy
objects of affection.


## p. 14934 (#518) ##########################################

ALBIUS TIBULLUS
14934
good reason to doubt their identity. Tibullus has chosen to limit
himself to a narrow range, and his art gains by the restrictions im-
posed upon it. His loves, his friendships, his longing for the serene
and peaceful life of the country, his regard for the simple deities
and religious rites of his forefathers, - these are the materials of
which with fine skill he constructs his poems. The tasteless learn-
ing of his Alexandrian predecessors he never imitates; nor does
he degenerate into that sensuality which is the reproach of ancient
erotic poetry. If he never startles, as Propertius occasionally does,
by some powerful line, some striking image, he lacks too the fre-
quent obscurity and the harshness of phrase which mar that poet's
work. Ovid's more fluent style and more romantic themes have won
for him a wider circle of readers; he has wit and brilliancy, and the
charm of his work is apparent on the surface. But Tibullus, while
equally smooth and polished in his versification, possesses a grace
and a refinement of sentiment that are his alone.
As his art is the most harmonious, so his personality is by far the
most attractive of the three. Especially does he reveal a delicacy
of feeling which is all too rare among ancient writers when deal-
ing with the sentiment of love. Delia and Nemesis may have found
their portraits shadowy beside the vivid figures of Clodia, Cynthia,
and the other charmers who rejoiced to "flourish more illustrious
than Roman Ilia"; but there was at least a unique generosity, an
unwonted self-abnegation, in the artist whom they inspired. It is
easy to believe that there were many traits in his gentle and win-
ning character which recalled the greatest and purest of his contem-
poraries; and it was more than the chance coincidence of their death
in the same year which led a later poet to associate Tibullus, in the
Elysian fields, with the mightier shade of Virgil.
Under the name of Tibullus, four books of elegies are extant; but
the greater number of scholars now believe that the last two are the
work of Lygdamus, Sulpicia, and perhaps other writers of Messala's
coterie. Their characteristics are not essentially different from those
ascribed to the undoubted work of Tibullus.
Among the complete editions with critical notes are those of
Lachman (Berlin, 1829), Hiller (Leipzig, 1885), and Dissen (Göttingen,
1835). There are in English only selections readily accessible: the
most recent in Ramsay's 'Selections from Propertius and Tibullus. '
Sellar's 'Roman Poets of the Augustan Age' contains an admirable
survey of the Latin elegiac school, though the chapter on Ovid is
but a fragment. The best verse translation is by Cranstoun (Lon-
don, 1872).
D. M. Whicher
G.


## p. 14935 (#519) ##########################################

ALBIUS TIBULLUS
ON THE PLEASURES OF A COUNTRY LIFE
HEIR piles of golden ore let others heap,
THE
And hold their countless roods of cultured soil,
Whom neighboring foes in constant terror keep,—
The weary victims of unceasing toil.
Let clang of drums and trumpet's blast dispel
The balmy sleep their hearts in vain desire:
At home in poverty and ease I'd dwell,
My hearth aye gleaming with a cheerful fire.
In season due I'd plant the pliant vine,
With skillful hand my swelling apples rear;
Nor fail, blest Hope! but still to me consign
Rich fruits, and vats abrim with rosy cheer.
For the lone stump afield I still revere,
Or ancient stone, whence flowery garlands nod,
In cross-roads set: the first-fruits of the year
I duly offer to the peasant's god.
O fair-haired Ceres! let the spiky crown,
Culled from my field, adorn thy shrine-door aye;
Amid my orchards red Priapus frown,
And with his threatening bill the birds dismay.
Guards of a wealthy once, now poor domain,
Ye Lares! still my gift your wardship cheers:
A fatted calf did then your altars stain,
To purify innumerable steers.
14935
A lambkin now,- a meagre* offering,-
From the few fields that still I reckon mine,
Shall fall for you, while rustic voices sing,
"Oh, grant the harvests, grant the generous wine! "
Now I can live content on scanty fare,
Nor for long travels do I bear the will:
'Neath some tree's shade I'd shun the Dog's fierce glare,
Beside the waters of a running rill.
Nor let me blush the while to wield the rake,
Or with the lash the laggard oxen ply;
The struggling lamb within my bosom take,
Or kid, by heedless dam left lone to die.
*Parva; other texts magna.


## p. 14936 (#520) ##########################################

14936
ALBIUS TIBULLUS
Spare my small flock, ye thieves and wolves! Away
Where wealthier cotes an ampler beauty hold:
I for my swain lustrations yearly pay,
And soothe with milk the goddess of the fold.
Then smile, ye gods! nor view with high disdain
The frugal gifts clean earthen bowls convey:
Such earthen vessels erst the ancient swain
Molded and fashioned from the plastic clay.
The wealth and harvest stores my sires possessed
I covet not: few sheaves will yield me bread;
Enough, reclining on my couch to rest,
And stretch my limbs upon the wonted bed.
How sweet to lie and hear the wild winds roar,
While to our breast the lovèd one we strain;
Or when the cold South's sleety torrents pour,
To sleep secure, lulled by the plashing rain!
This lot be mine: let him be rich, 'tis fair,
Who braves the wrathful sea and tempests drear;
Oh, rather perish gold and gems than e'er
One fair one for my absence shed a tear.
Dauntless, Messala, scour the earth and main,
To deck thy home with warfare's spoils; 'tis well:
Me here a lovely maiden's bonds enchain,
At her hard door a sleepless sentinel.
Delia, I court not praise, if mine thou be;
Let men cry lout and clown, I'll bear the brand;
In my last moments let me gaze on thee,
And dying, clasp thee with my faltering hand.
Thou'lt weep to see me laid upon the bier,
That will too soon the flames' mad fury feel;
Thou'lt mingle kisses with the bitter tear,
For thine no heart of stone, no breast of steel.
Nor only thou wilt weep; no youth, no maid,
With tearless eye will from my tomb repair:
But, Delia, vex not thou thy lover's shade;
Thy tender cheeks, thy streaming tresses spare!
Love's joys be ours while still the Fates allow:
Soon death will come with darkly mantled head;


## p. 14937 (#521) ##########################################

ALBIUS TIBULLUS
14937
Dull age creeps on, and love-cup or love-vow
Becomes no forehead when its snows are shed.
Then let us worship Venus while we may;
With brow unblushing, burst the bolted door
And join with rapture in the midnight fray,
Your leader I-Love's soldier proved of yore.
Hence, flags and trumpets! Me ye'll never lure;
Bear wounds and wealth to warriors bent on gain:
I, in my humble competence secure,
Shall wealth and poverty alike disdain.
WRITTEN IN SICKNESS AT CORCYRA
THOU
HOU'LT cross the Ægean waves, but not with me,
Messala; yet by thee and all thy band
I pray that I may still remembered be,
Lingering on lone Phæacia's foreign strand.
Spare me, fell Death! no mother have I here
My charred bones in sorrow's lap to lay:
Oh, spare! for here I have no sister dear
To shower Assyrian odors o'er my clay,
Or to my tomb with locks disheveled come,
And pour the tear of tender piety;
Nor Delia, who, ere yet I quitted Rome,
'Tis said consulted all the gods on high.
Thrice from the boy the sacred lots she drew,
Thrice from the streets he brought her omens sure.
All smiled: but tears would still her cheeks bedew;
Naught could her thoughts from that sad journey lure.
I blent sweet comfort with my parting words,
Yet anxiously I yearned for more delay.
Dire omens now, now inauspicious birds,
Detained me, now old Saturn's baleful day.