No More Learning

Not such thy sons who whilom did await,
The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, — In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait
Oh ! who that gallant spirit shall resume,
Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb ?
Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train,
Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain ? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain,
But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain,
Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand,
From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed, unmanned.
GREECE BEFORE ITS NEW BIRTH.
In all save form alone, how changed ! and who That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye,
Who but would deem their bosoms burned anew With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! And many dream withal the hour is nigh
That gives them back their fathers' heritage: For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh,
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page.
Hereditary bondmen ! know ye not
Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow ?
By their right arms the conquest must be wrought ? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no !
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low,
But not for you will freedom's altars flame. Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe !
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same ; Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thine years of shame.
The city won for Allah from the Giaour,
The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest ;
And the Serai's impenetrable tower
Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest ; Or Wahab's rebel brood who dared divest
The prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil,
May wind their path of blood along the West;
But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil,
But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toiL
When riseth Lacedemon's hardihood, When Thebes Epaminondas rears again,
When Athens' children are with hearts endued, When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, Then may'st thou be restored ; but not till then.
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; An hour may lay it in the dust : and when
Can man its shattered splendor renovate,
Recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate ?
And yet how lovely in thine age of woe,
Land of lost gods and godlike men, art thou !
Thy vales of evergreen, thy hills of snow, Proclaim thee Nature's varied favorite now ; Thy fanes, thy temples to thy surface bow,
GREECE BEFORE ITS NEW BIRTH.
Commingling slowly with heroic earth, Broke by the share of every rustic plow :
So perish monuments of mortal birth,
So perish all in turn, save well-recorded Worth :
Save where some solitary column mourns Above its prostrate brethren of the cave ;
Save where Tritonia's airy shrine adorns Colonna's cliff, and gleams along the wave ; Save o'er some warrior's half-forgotten grave,
Where the gray stones and unmolested grass Ages, but not oblivion, feebly brave,
While strangers only not regardless pass, " " Lingering like me, perchance, to gaze, and sigh Alas !
Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild,
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields,
Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,
And still his honeyed wealth Hymettus yields ; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds,
The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain air ; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,
Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground ; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mold,
But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold
The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold
Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone : Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
The sun, the soil, but not the slave, the same ; Unchanged in all except its foreign lord —
Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame, The Battle-field, where Persia's victim horde First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword,
As on the morn to distant Glory dear, When Marathon became a magic word ; Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear
The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career.
DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE. 351
The flying Mede, his shaftless broken bow ; The fiery Greek, his red pursuing spear ;
Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below ; Death in the front, Destruction in the rear !
Such was the scene — what now remaineth here ?
What sacred trophy marks the hallowed ground, Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear ?
The rifled urn, the violated mound,
The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns around.
Yet to the remnants of thy splendor past
Shall pilgrims, pensive but unwearied, throng ;
Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue
Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore : Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young !
Which sages venerate and bards adore,
As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore.
THE DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
By THUCYDIDES. (Translated by Benjamin Jowett. )
Demosthenes, Menander, and Euthydemus, who had gone on board the Athenian fleet to take the command, now quitted their own station, and proceeded straight to the closed mouth of the harbor, intending to force their way to the open sea where a passage was still left.
The Syracusans and their allies had already put out with nearly the same number of ships as before. A detachment of them guarded the entrance of the harbor ; the remainder were disposed all round it in such a manner that they might fall on the Athenians from every side at once, and that their land forces might at the same time be able to cooperate wherever the ships retreated to the shore. Sicanus and Agatharchus com manded the Syracusan fleet, each of them a wing ; Pythen and the Corinthians occupied the center. When the Athenians approached the closed mouth of the harbor the violence of their
352 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
onset overpowered the ships which were stationed there ; they then attempted to loosen the fastenings. Whereupon from all sides the Syracusans and their allies came bearing down upon them, and the conflict was no longer confined to the entrance, but extended throughout the harbor. No previous engagement had been so fierce and obstinate. Great was the eagerness with which the rowers on both sides rushed upon their enemies whenever the word of command was given ; and keen was the contest between the pilots as they maneuvered one against another. The marines too were full of anxiety that, when ship struck ship, the service on deck should not fall short of the rest ; every one in the place assigned to him was eager to be foremost among his fellows. Many vessels meeting — and never did so many fight in so small a space, for the two fleets together amounted to nearly two hundred — they were seldom able to strike in the regular manner, because they had no opportunity of first retiring or breaking the line ; they generally fouled one another as ship dashed against ship in the hurry of flight or pursuit. All the time that another vessel was bearing down, the men on deck poured showers of javelins and arrows and stones upon the enemy ; and when the two closed, the marines fought hand to hand, and endeavored to board. In many places, owing to the want of room, they who had struck another found that they were struck themselves : often two or even more vessels were unavoidably entangled about one, and the pilots had to make plans of attack and defense, not against one adversary only, but against several coming from different sides. The crash of so many ships dashing one against 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 opportu nity now or never of returning in safety to their native land. To the Syracusans and their allies was represented the glory of preventing the escape of their enemies, and of a victory by which every man would exalt the honor of his own city. The commanders too, when they saw any ship backing water with out 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
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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 tor mented 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 hav ing different points of view, they would some of them see their own ships victorious ; their courage would then revive and they would earnestly call upon the gods not to take from them their hope of deliverance. But others, who saw their ships worsted, cried and shrieked aloud, and were by the sight alone more utterly unnerved than the defeated combatants themselves. Others again, who had fixed their gaze on some part of the struggle which was undecided, were in a state of excitement still more terrible ; they kept swaying their bodies to and fro in an agony of hope and fear as the stubborn conflict went on and on ; for at every instant they were all but saved or all but lost. And while the strife hung in the balance you might hear in the Athenian army at once lamentation, shouting, cries of victory or defeat, and all the various sounds which are wrung from a great host in extremity of danger. Not less agonizing were the feelings of those on board. At length the Syracusans and their allies, after a protracted struggle, put the Athenians to flight, and triumphantly bearing down upon them, and encouraging one another with loud cries and exhortations, drove them to land. Then that part of the navy which had not been taken in the deep water fell back in confusion to the shore, and the crews rushed out of the ships into the camp. And the land forces, no longer now divided in feeling, but uttering one universal groan of intolerable anguish, ran, some of them to save the ships, others to defend what remained of the wall ; but the greater number began to look to themselves and to their own safety. Never had there been a greater panic in an Athenian army than at that moment. They now suffered what they had done to others at Pylos. For at Pylos the
Lacedaemonians, "when they saw their ships destroyed, knew vol. in. —23
354 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
that their friends who had crossed over into the island of Sphac- teria were lost with them. And so now the Athenians, after the rout of their fleet, knew that they had no hope of saving themselves by land unless events took some extraordinary turn.
Thus, after a fierce battle and a great destruction of ships and men on both sides, the Syracusans and their allies gained the victory. They gathered up the wrecks and bodies of the dead, and sailing back to the city, erected a trophy. The Athenians, overwhelmed by their misery, never so much as thought of recovering their wrecks or of asking leave to collect their dead. Their intention was to retreat that very night. Demosthenes came to Nicias and proposed that they should once more man their remaining vessels and endeavor to force the passage at daybreak, saying that they had more ships fit for service than the enemy. For the Athenian fleet still numbered sixty, but the enemy had less than fifty. Nicias approved of his proposal, and they would have manned the ships, but the sailors refused to embark ; for they were paralyzed by their defeat, and had no longer any hope of succeeding. So the Athenians all made up their minds to escape by land.
Hermocrates the Syracusan suspected their intention, and dreading what might happen if their vast army, retreating by land and settling somewhere in Sicily, should choose to renew the war, he went to the authorities, and represented to them that they ought not to allow the Athenians to withdraw by night (mentioning his own suspicion of their intentions), but that all the Syracusans and their allies should march out before them, wall up the roads, and occupy the passes with a guard. They thought very much as he did, and wanted to carry out his plan, but doubted whether their men, who were too glad to repose after a great battle, and in time of festival — for there happened on that very day to be a sacrifice to Heracles — could be induced to obey. Most of them, in the exultation of victory, were drinking and keeping holiday, and at such a time how could they ever be expected to take up arms and go forth at the order of the generals ? On these grounds the authorities decided that the thing was impossible. Whereupon Hermocrates himself, fearing lest the Athenians should gain a start and quietly pass the most difficult places in the night, contrived the follow ing plan : when it was growing dark he sent certain of his own acquaintances, accompanied by a few horsemen, to the Athenian camp. They rode up within earshot, and pretending to be friends
DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE. 355
(there were known to be men in the city who gave information to Nicias of what went on) called to some of the soldiers, and bade them tell him not to withdraw his army during the night, for the Syracusans were guarding the roads ; he should make preparation at leisure and retire by day. Having delivered their message they departed, and those who had heard them informed the Athenian generals.
On receiving this message, which they supposed to be genu ine, they remained during the night. And having once given up the intention of starting immediately, they decided to re main during the next day, that the soldiers might, as well as they could, put together their baggage in the most convenient form, and depart, taking with them the bare necessaries of life, but nothing else.
Meanwhile the Syracusans and Gylippus, going forth before them with their land forces, blocked the roads in the country by which the Athenians were likely to pass, guarded the fords of the rivers and streams, and posted themselves at the best points for receiving and stopping them. Their sailors rowed up to the beach and dragged away the Athenian ships. The Athenians themselves burnt a few of them, as they had intended, but the rest the Syracusans towed away, unmolested and at their leisure, from the places where they had severally run aground, and conveyed them to the city.
On the third day after the sea fight, when Nicias and Demosthenes thought that their preparations were complete, the army began to move. They were in a dreadful condition ; not only was there the great fact that they had lost their whole fleet, and instead of their expected triumph had brought the utmost peril upon Athens as well as upon themselves, but also the sights which presented themselves as they quitted the camp were painful to every eye and mind. The dead were unburied, and when any one saw the body of a friend lying on the ground he was smitten with sorrow and dread, while the sick or wounded who still survived but had to be left were even a greater trial to the living, and more to be pitied than those who were gone. Their prayers and lamentations drove their companions to dis traction ; they would beg that they might be taken with them, and call by name any friend or relation whom they saw pass ing ; they would hang upon their departing comrades and follow as far as they could, and when their limbs and strength failed them and they dropped behind many were the impreca
356 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
tions and cries which they uttered. So that the whole army was in tears, and such was their despair that they could hardly make up their minds to stir, although they were leaving an enemy's country, having suffered calamities too great for tears already, and dreading miseries yet greater in the unknown future. There was also a general feeling of shame and self- reproach, — indeed they seemed, not like an army, but like the fugitive population of a city captured after a siege ; and of a great city too. For the whole multitude who were marching together numbered not less than forty thousand. Each of them took with him anything he could carry which was likely to be of use. Even the heavy-armed and cavalry, contrary to their practice when under arms, conveyed about their persons their own food, some because they had no attendants, others because they could not trust them ; for they had long been deserting, and most of them had gone off all at once. Nor was the food which they carried sufficient ; for the supplies of the camp had failed. Their disgrace and the universality of the misery, although there might be some consolation in the very community of suffering, was nevertheless at that moment hard to bear, especially when they remembered from what pomp and splendor they had fallen into their present low estate. Never had an Hellenic army experienced such a reverse. They had come intending to enslave others, and they were going away in fear lest they would be themselves enslaved. Instead of the prayers and hymns with which they had put to sea, they were now departing amid appeals to heaven of another sort. They were no longer sailors but landsmen, depending, not upon their fleet, but upon their infantry. Yet in face of the great danger which still threatened them all these things appeared endurable.
Nicias, seeing the army disheartened at their terrible fall, went along the ranks and encouraged and consoled them as well as he could. In his fervor he raised his voice as he passed from one to another and spoke louder and louder, desir ing that the benefit of his words might reach as far as possible.
" Even now, Athenians and allies, we must hope : men have been delivered out of worse straits than these, and I would not have you judge yourselves too severely on account either of the reverses which you have sustained or of your present unde served miseries. I too am as weak as any of you ; for I am quite prostrated by my disease, as you see. And although
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there was a time when I might have been thought equal to the best of you in the happiness of my private and public life, I am now in as great danger, and as much at the mercy of for tune as the meanest. Yet my days have been passed in the performance of many a religious duty, and of many a just and blameless action. Therefore my hope of the future remains unshaken, and our calamities do not appall me as they might. Who knows that they may not be lightened ? For our ene mies have had their full share of success, and if our expedition provoked the jealousy of any God, by this time we have been punished enough. Others ere now have attacked their neigh bors ; they have done as men will do, and suffered what men can bear. We may therefore begin to hope that the Gods will be more merciful to us ; for we now invite their pity rather than their jealousy. And look at your own well-armed ranks ; see how many brave soldiers you are, marching in solid array, and do not be dismayed ; bear in mind that wherever you plant yourselves you are a city already, and that no city of Sicily will find it easy to resist your attack, or can dislodge you if you choose to settle. Provide for the safety and good order of your own march, and remember every one of you that on whatever spot a man is compelled to fight, there if he con quer he may find a home and a fortress. We must press for ward day and night, for our supplies are but scanty. The Sicels, through fear of the Syracusans, still adhere to us, and if we can only reach any part of their territory we shall be among friends, and you may consider yourselves secure. We have sent to them, and they have been told to meet us and bring food. In a word, soldiers, let me tell you that you must be brave ; there is no place near to which a coward can fly. And if you now escape your enemies, those of you who are not Athenians may see once more the home for which they long, while you Athenians will again rear aloft the fallen greatness of Athens. For men, and not walls or ships in which are no men, constitute a state. "
Thus exhorting his troops Nicias passed through the army, and wherever he saw gaps in the ranks or the men dropping out of line, he brought them back to their proper place. Demosthenes did the same for the troops under his command, and gave them similar exhortations. The army marched dis posed in a hollow oblong : the division of Nicias leading, and that of Demosthenes following; the hoplites inclosed within
358 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
their ranks the baggage bearers and the rest of the army. When they arrived at the ford of the river Anapus they found a force of the Syracusans and of their allies drawn up to meet them ; these they put to flight, and getting command of the ford, proceeded on their march. The Syracusans oontinually harassed them, the cavalry riding alongside, and the light- armed troops hurling darts at them. On this day the Athe nians proceeded about four and a half miles and encamped at a hill. On the next day they started early, and, having advanced more than two miles, descended into a level plain, and encamped. The country was inhabited, and they were desirous of obtaining food from the houses, and also water which they might carry with them, as there was little to be had for many miles in the country which lay before them. Meanwhile the Syracusans had gone on before them, and at a point where the road ascends a steep hill called the Acraean height, and there is a precipitous ravine on either side, were blocking up the pass by a wall. On the next day the Athe nians advanced, although again impeded by the numbers of the enemy's cavalry who rode alongside, and of their javelin men who threw darts at them. For a long time the Athenians maintained the struggle, but at last retired to their own encampment. Their supplies were now cut off, because the horsemen circumscribed their movements.
In the morning they started early and resumed their march. They pressed onwards to the hill where the way was barred, and found in front of them the Syracusan infantry drawn up to defend the wall, in deep array, for the pass was narrow. Whereupon the Athenians advanced and assaulted the barrier ; but the enemy, who were numerous and had the advantage of position, threw missiles upon them from the hill, which was steep, and so, not being able to force their way, they again retired and rested. During the conflict, as is often the case in the fall of the year, there came on a storm of rain and thun der, whereby the Athenians were yet more disheartened, for they thought that everything was conspiring to their destruc tion. While they were resting, Gylippus and the Syracusans dispatched a division of their army to raise a wall behind them across the road by which they had come ; but the Athenians sent some of their own troops and frustrated their intention. They then retired with their whole army in the direction of the plain and passed the night. On the following day they
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again advanced. The Syracusans now surrounded and attacked them on every side, and wounded many of them. If the Athe nians advanced they retreated, but charged them when they retired, falling especially upon the hindermost of them, in the hope that, if they could put to flight a few at a time, they might strike a panic into the whole army. In this fashion the Athenians struggled on for a long time, and having advanced about three quarters of a mile rested in the plain. The Syra cusans then left them and returned to their own encampment.
The army was now in a miserable plight, being in want of every necessary ; and by the continual assaults of the enemy great numbers of the soldiers had been wounded. Nicias and Demosthenes, perceiving their condition, resolved during the night to light as many watch fires as possible and to lead off their forces. They intended to take another route and march towards the sea in the direction opposite to that from which the Syracusans were watching them. Now their whole line of march lay, not towards Catana, but towards the other side of Sicily, in the direction of Camarina and Gela, and the cities, Hellenic or Barbarian, of that region. So they lighted numer ous fires and departed in the night. And then, as constantly happens in armies, especially in very great ones, and as might be expected when they were marching by night in an enemy's country, and with the enemy from whom they were flying not far off, there arose a panic among them, and they fell into con fusion. The army of Nicias, which led the way, kept together, and was considerably in advance, but that of Demosthenes, which was the larger half, got severed from the other division, and marched in less order. At daybreak they succeeded in reaching the sea, and striking into the Helorine road marched along it, intending as soon as they arrived at the river Cacy- paris to follow up the stream through the interior of the island. They were expecting that the Sicels for whom they had sent would meet them on this road. When they had reached the river they found there also a guard of the Syra cusans cutting off the passage by a wall and palisade.
forced their way through, and crossing the river, passed on towards another river which is called the Erineus, this being the direction in which their guides led them.
When daylight broke and the Syracusans and their allies saw that the Athenians had departed, most of them thought that Gylippus had let them go on purpose, and were very
They
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angry with him. They easily found the line of their retreat, and quickly following, came up with them about the time of the midday meal. The troops of Demosthenes were last ; they were marching slowly and in disorder, not having recovered from the panic of the previous night, when they were over taken by the Syracusans, who immediately fell upon them and fought. Separated as they were from the others, they were easily hemmed in by the Syracusan cavalry and driven into a narrow space. The division of Nicias was as much as six miles in advance, for he marched faster, thinking that their safety depended at such a time, not in remaining and fighting, if they could avoid it, but in retreating as quickly as they could, and resisting only when they were positively compelled. Demosthenes, on the other hand, who had been more inces santly harassed throughout the retreat, because marching last he was first attacked by the enemy, now, when he saw the Syracusans pursuing him, instead of pressing onward, had ranged his army in order of battle. Thus lingering he was surrounded, and he and the Athenians under his command were in the greatest danger and confusion. For they were crushed into a walled inclosure, having a road on both sides and planted thickly with olive trees, and missiles were hurled at them from all points. The Syracusans naturally preferred this mode of attack to a regular engagement. For to risk themselves against desperate men would have been only play ing into the hands of the Athenians. Moreover, every one was sparing of his life ; their good fortune was already assured, and they did not want to fall in the hour of victory. Even by this irregular mode of fighting they thought that they could overpower and capture the Athenians.
And so when they had gone on all day assailing them with missiles from every quarter, and saw that they were quite worn out with their wounds and all their other sufferings, Gylippus and the Syracusans made a proclamation, first of all to the islanders, that any of them who pleased might come over to them and have their freedom. But only a few cities accepted the offer. At length an agreement was made for the entire force under Demosthenes. Their arms were to be surrendered, but no one was to suffer death, either from violence or from imprisonment, or from want of the bare means of life. So they all surrendered, being in number six thousand, and gave up what money they had. This they threw into the hollows of
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shields and filled four. The captives were at once taken to the city. On the same day Nicias and his division reached the river Erineus, which he crossed, and halted his army on a rising ground.
On the following day he was overtaken by the Syracusans, who told him that Demosthenes had surrendered, and bade him do the same. He, not believing them, procured a truce while he sent a horseman to go and see. Upon the return of the horseman bringing assurance of the fact, he sent a herald to Gylippus and the Syracusans, saying that he would agree, on behalf of the Athenian state, to pay the expenses which the Syracusans had incurred in the war, on condition that they should let his army go ; until the money was paid he would give Athenian citizens as hostages, a man for a talent. Gylip pus and the Syracusans would not accept these proposals, but attacked and surrounded this division of the army as well as the other, and hurled missiles at them from every side until the evening. They, too, were grievously in want of food and necessaries. Nevertheless they meant to wait for the dead of the night and then to proceed. They were just resuming their arms, when the Syracusans discovered them and raised the Paean. The Athenians, perceiving that they were detected, laid down their arms again, with the exception of about three hundred men who broke through the enemy's guard and made their escape in the darkness as best they could.
When the day dawned Nicias led forward his army, and the Syracusans and the allies again assailed them on every side, hurling javelins and other missiles at them. The Athenians hurried on to the river Assinarus. They hoped to gain a little relief if they forded the river, for the mass of horsemen and other troops overwhelmed and crushed them ; and they were worn out by fatigue and thirst. But no sooner did they reach the water than they lost all order and rushed in ; every man was trying to cross first, and, the enemy pressing upon them at the same time, the passage of the river became hopeless. Being compelled to keep close together they fell one upon another, and trampled each other under foot : some at once perished, pierced by their own spears ; others got entangled in the bag gage and were carried down the stream. The Syracusans stood upon the further bank of the river, which was steep, and hurled missiles from above on the Athenians, who were huddled together in the deep bed of the stream and for the most part were drink
862 DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE.
ing greedily. The Peloponnesians came down the bank and slaughtered them, falling chiefly upon those who were in the river. Whereupon the water at once became foul, but was drunk all the same, although muddy and dyed with blood, and the crowd fought for it.
At last, when the dead bodies were lying in heaps one upon another in the water, and the army was utterly undone, some perishing in the river, and any who escaped being cut off by the cavalry, Nicias surrendered to Gylippus, in whom he had more confidence than in the Syracusans. He entreated him and the Lacedaemonians to do what they pleased with himself, but not to go on killing the men. So Gylippus gave the word to make prisoners. Thereupon the survivors, not including, however, a large number whom the soldiers concealed, were brought in alive. As for the three hundred who had broken through the guard in the night, the Syracusans sent in pur suit and seized them. The total of the public prisoners when collected was not great ; for many were appropriated by the soldiers, and the whole of Sicily was full of them, they not having capitulated like the troops under Demosthenes. A large number also perished, — the slaughter at the river being very great, quite as great as any which took place in the Sicilian war ; and not a few had fallen in the frequent attacks which were made upon the Athenians during their march. Still, many escaped, some at the time, others ran away after an interval of slavery, and all these found refuge at Catana.
The Syracusans and their allies collected their forces and re turned with the spoil, and as many prisoners as they could take with them, into the city. The captive Athenians and allies they deposited in the quarries, which they thought would be the safest place of confinement. Nicias and Demosthenes they put to the sword, although against the will of Gylippus. For Gylippus thought that to carry home with him to Lacedaemon the generals of the enemy, over and above all his other suc cesses, would be a brilliant triumph. One of them, Demosthe nes, happened to be the greatest foe, and the other the greatest friend, of the Lacedaemonians, both in the same matter of Pylos and Sphacteria. For Nicias had taken up their cause, and had persuaded the Athenians to make the peace which set at liberty the prisoners taken in the island. The Lacedaemonians were grateful to him for the service, and this was the main reason why he trusted Gylippus and surrendered himself to him.
DESTRUCTION OF THE ATHENIANS AT SYRACUSE. 368
But certain Syracusans, who had heen in communication with him, were afraid (such was the report) that on some suspicion of their guilt he might be put to the torture and bring trouble on them in the hour of their prosperity. Others, and especially the Corinthians, feared that, being rich, he might by bribery escape and do them further mischief. So the Syracusans gained the consent of the allies and had him executed. For these or the like reasons he suffered death. No one of the Hellenes in my time was less deserving of so miserable an end ; for he lived in the practice of every virtue.
Those who were imprisoned in the quarries were at the beginning of their captivity harshly treated by the Syracusans. There were great numbers of them, and they were crowded in a deep and narrow place. At first the sun by day was still scorch ing and suffocating, for they had no roof over their heads, while the autumn nights were cold, and the extremes of tempera ture engendered violent disorders. Being cramped for room they had to do everything on the same spot. The corpses of those who died from their wounds, exposure to the weather, and the like, lay heaped one upon another. The smells were in tolerable ; and they were at the same time afflicted by hunger and thirst. During eight months they were allowed only about half a pint of water and a pint of food a day. Every kind of misery which could befall man in such a place befell them. This was the condition of all the captives for about ten weeks. At length the Syracusans sold them, with the exception of the Athenians and of any Sicilians or Italian Greeks who had sided with them in the war. The whole number of the public prison ers is not accurately known, but they were not less than seven thousand.
Of all the Hellenic actions which took place in this war, or indeed of all the Hellenic actions which are on record, this was the greatest — the most glorious to the victors, the most ruinous to the vanquished ; for they were utterly and at all points de feated, and their sufferings were prodigious. Fleet and army perished from the face of the earth ; nothing was saved, and of the many who went forth few returned home.
Thus ended the Sicilian expedition.
364 SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE.
THE SACRIFICE OF ANTIGONE. By SOPHOCLES.
(Translated by K. C. Jebb. )
[Sophocles : A famous Greek tragic poet, born at Colonus, near Athens, probably in b. c. 495. He received a careful education, and at his first appear ance as a tragic poet, when only twenty-seven years old, gained a victory over the veteran -ffischylus. From that time until extreme old age he maintained his preeminence, obtaining the first prize more than twenty times. He also took part in political affairs, and during the Samian War (b. c. 440) was one of the ten generals acting jointly with Pericles. Of the one hundred and thirty dramas ascribed to him, only seven are preserved complete: "Trachinise," "Ajax," " Philoctetes," "Electra," "OSdipus Tyrannus," "OSdipus at Colo nus," and "Antigone. " Among the innovations which Sophocles made in the drama were the introduction of a third actor, the increase of the number of the chorus from twelve to fifteen, and the perfection of costumes and decoration. ]
[Thebes has been besieged by an Argive army, the allies of the exile Polyneices, whom his brother Eteocles had driven out of Thebes that he himself might be sole king. But on the day before, the two brothers had slain each other in single fight. Creon, their uncle, is now king. The Argive army has lost six other leaders and fled. ]
Antigone and Ismene.
Antigone — Ismene, my sister, mine own dear sister, knowest thou what ill there is, of all bequeathed by (Edipus, that Zeus ful fills not for us twain while we live ? Nothing painful is there, nothing fraught with ruin, no shame, no dishonor, that I have not seen in thy woes and mine. And now what new edict is this of which they tell, that our Captain hath just published to all Thebes ? Knowest thou aught ? Hast thou heard ? Or is it hidden from thee that our friends are threatened with the doom of our foes ?
Ismene —No word of friends, Antigone, gladsome or painful, hath come to me, since we two sisters were bereft of brothers twain, killed in one day by a twofold blow ; and since in this last night the Argive host hath fled, I know no more, whether my fortune be brighter or more grievous.
Antigone — I knew it well, and therefore sought to bring thee beyond the gates of the court, that thou mightest hear alone.
Ismene —What is it? 'Tis plain that thou art brooding on some dark tidings.
Antigone — What, hath not Creon destined our brothers, the one to honored burial, the other to unburied shame ? Eteocles, they say, with due observance of right and custom, he hath laid in the earth, for his honor among the dead below. But the hapless corpse
SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE. 365
of Polyneices — as rumor saith, it hath been published to the town that none shall entomb him or mourn, but leave unwept, unsepul- chered, a welcome store for the birds, as they espy him, to feast on at will. Such, 'tis said, is the edict that the good Creon hath set forth for thee and for me, — yes, for me, — and is coming hither to proclaim it clearly to those who know it not; nor counts the matter light, but, whoso disobeys in aught, his doom is death by stoning before all the folk. Thou knowest it now; and thou wilt soon show whether thou art nobly bred, or the base daughter of a noble line.
Ismene — Poor sister, — and if things stand thus, what could I help to do or undo?
Antigone — Consider if thou wilt share the toil and the deed. Ismene — In what venture ? What can be thy meaning ? Antigone — Wilt thou aid this hand to lift the dead ?
Ismene — Thou wouldst bury him, — when 'tis forbidden to
Thebes?
Antigone — I will do my part — and thine, if thou wilt not —
to a brother. False to him will I never be found.
Ismene — Ah, overbold! when Creon hath forbidden?
Antigone — Nay, he hath no right to keep me from mine own. Ismene —Ah me! think, sister, how our father perished, amid
hate and scorn, when sins bared by his own search had moved him to strike both eyes with self-blinding hand ; then the mother wife, two names in one, with twisted noose did despite unto her life ; and last, our two brothers in one day — each shedding, hapless one, a kinsman's blood — wrought out with mutual hands their common doom. And now we in turn — we two left all alone — think how we shall perish, more miserably than all the rest, if, in defiance of the law, we brave a king's decree or his powers. Nay, we must remember, first, that we were born women, as who should not strive with men ; next, that we are ruled of the stronger, so that we must obey in these things, and in things yet sorer. I, therefore, asking the Spirits Infernal to pardon, seeing that force is put on me herein, will hearken to our rulers ; for 'tis witless to be over-busy.
Antigone — I will not urge thee, — no, nor, if thou yet shouldst have the mind, wouldst thou be welcome as a worker with me. Nay, be what thou wilt ; but I will bury him : well for me to die in doing that. I shall rest, a loved one with him whom I have loved, sinless
in my crime ; for I
the living : in that world I shall abide forever. But if thou wilt, be guilty of dishonoring laws which the gods have stablished in honor.
owe a longer allegiance to the dead than to
Ismene — I do them no dishonor; but to defy the State, — I have no strength far that.
366 SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE.
Antigone — Such be thy plea: I, then, will go to heap the earth above the brother whom I love.
Ismene — Alas, unhappy one ! How I fear for thee !
Antigone — Fear not for me ; guide thine own fate aright.
Ismene — At least, then, disclose this plan to none, but hide it
closely — and so, too, will I.
Antigone — Oh, denounce it! Thou wilt be far more hateful
for thy silence, if thou proclaim not these things to all.
Ismene — Thou hast a hot heart for chilling deeds.
Antigone — I know that I please where I am most bound to
please. — Ismene
not.
Aye, if thou canst; but thou wouldst what thou canst
Antigone — Why, then, when my strength fails, I shall have done.
Antigone — If thus thou speakest, thou wilt have hatred from me, and wilt justly be subject to the lasting hatred of the dead. But leave me, and the folly that is mine alone, to suffer this dread thing; for I shall not suffer aught so dreadful as an ignoble death.
Antigone and Creon.
Ismene — A hopeless quest should not be made at all.
Ismene — Go, then, if thou must; and of this be sure, — that, though thine errand is foolish, to thy dear ones thou art truly dear.
Oreon — Thou — thou whose face is bent to earth — dost thou avow, or disavow, this deed ?
Antigone — I avow it ;
I make no denial.
Creon [to Guard] — Thou canst betake thee whither thou wilt,
free and clear of a grave charge. [Exit Guard. [ To Antigone] — Now tell me thou — not in many words, but
briefly —knewest thou that an edict had forbidden this?
Antigone — I knew it : could I help it ? It was public.
Creon — And thou didst indeed dare to transgress that law ? Antigone — Yes; for it was not Zeus that had published me
that edict ; not such are the laws set among men by the Justice who dwells with the gods below ; nor deemed I that thy decrees were of such force, that a mortal could override the unwritten and unfailing statutes of heaven. For their life is not of to-day or yesterday, but from all time, and no man knows when they were first put forth. Not through dread of any human pride could I answer to the gods for breaking these. Die I must, — I knew that well (how should I not ? ) — even without thy edicts. But if I am to die before my time, I count that a gain : for when any one lives, as I do, compassed about with evils, can such an one find aught but gain in death ? So for me to
SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE. 367
meet this doom is trifling grief ; but if I had suffered my mother's son to lie in death an unburied corpse, that would have grieved me ; for this, I am not grieved. And if my present deeds are foolish in thy sight, it may be that a foolish judge arraigns my folly.
Chorus — The maid shows herself passionate child of passionate sire, and knows not how to bend before troubles.
Creon — Yet I would have thee know that o'er-stubborn spirits are most often humbled ; 'tis the stiffest iron, baked to hardness in the fire, that thou shalt oftenest see snapped and shivered; and I have known horses that show temper brought to order by a little curb ; there is no room for pride, when thou art thy neighbor's slave. — This girl was already versed in insolence when she transgressed the laws that had been set forth ; and, that done, lo, a second insult, — to vaunt of this, and exult in her deed. Now verily I am no man, she is the man, if this victory shall rest with her, and bring no penalty. No ! be she sister's child, or nearer to me in blobd than any that worships Zeus at the altar of our house, — she and her kinsfolk shall not avoid a doom most dire ; for indeed I charge that other with a like share in the plotting of this burial. And summon her, — for I saw her e'en now within, — raving, and not mistress of her wits. So oft, before the deed, the mind stands self-convicted in its treason, when folks are plotting mischief in the dark. But verily this, too, is hateful, — when one who hath been caught in wicked ness then seeks to make the crime a glory.
Antigone — Wouldst thou do more than take and slay me ? Creon — No more, indeed; having that, I have all.
Antigone — Why then dost thou delay ? In thy discourse there
is naught that pleases me, — never may there be ! — and so my words must needs be unpleasing to thee. And yet, for glory — whence could I have won a nobler, than by giving burial to mine own brother ? All here would own that they thought it well, were not their lips sealed by fear. But royalty, blest in so much besides, hath the power to do and say what it will.
Creon — Thou differest from all these Thebans in that view. Antigone — These also share it; but they curb their tongues for
thee.
Creon — And art thou not ashamed to act apart from them ? Antigone — No; there is nothing shameful in piety to a brother. Creon — Was it not a brother, too, that died in the opposite cause ?
Antigone — Brother by the same mother and the same sire.
Creon — Why, then, dost thou render a grace that is impious in
his sight ? — Antigone
The dead man will not say that he so deems it. Creon — Yea, if thou makest him but equal in honor with the
wicked.
368
SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE.
Antigone — It was his brother, not his slave, that perished.
Greon — Wasting this land ; while he fell as its champion. Antigone — Nevertheless, Hades desires these rites.
Creon — But the good desires not a like portion with the eviL , Antigone — Who knows but this seems blameless in the world
below?
Greon — A foe is never a friend — not even in death.
Antigone — 'Tis not my nature to join in hating, but in loving. Creon — Pass, then, to the world of the dead, and, if thou must
needs love, love them. While I live, no woman shall rule me.
Enter Ismene from the house, led in by two Attendants.
Chorus — Lo, yonder Ismene comes forth, shedding such tears as fond sisters weep ; a cloud upon her brow casts its shadow over her darkly flushing face, and breaks in rain on her fair cheek.
Creon — And thou, who, lurking like a viper in my house, was secretly draining my life blood, while I knew not that I was nurtur ing two pests, to rise against my throne — come, tell me now, wilt thou also confess thy part in this burial, or wilt thou forswear all knowledge of it ?
Ismene — I have done the deed, — if she allows my claim, — and share the burden of the charge.
Antigone — Nay, justice will not suffer thee to do that: thou didst not consent to the deed, nor did I give thee part in it.
Ismene — But, now that ills beset thee, the sea of trouble at thy side.
I am not ashamed to sail
Antigone —Whose was the deed, Hades and the dead are wit nesses : a friend in words is not the friend that I love.
Ismene — Nay, sister, reject me not, but let me die with thee, and duly honor the dead.
Antigone — Share not thou my death, nor claim deeds to which thou hast not put thy hand : my death will suffice.
Ismene — And what life is dear to me, bereft of thee? Antigone — Ask Creon ; all thy care is for him.
Ismene — Why vex me thus, when it avails thee naught? Antigone — Indeed, if I mock, 'tis with pain that I mock thee. Ismene — Tell me, — how can I serve thee, even now? Antigone — Save thyself :
I grudge not thy escape.
Ismene — Ah, woe is me ! And shall I have no share in thy
fate?
Antigone — Thy choice was to live : mine, to die.
Ismene — At least thy choice was not made without my protest. Antigone — One world approved thy wisdom ; another, mine. Ismene — Howbeit, the offense is the same for both of us.
SOPHOCLES' ANTIGONE. 369
Antigone — Be of good cheer ; thou livest ; but my life hath long been given to death, that so I might serve the dead.
Creon — Lo, one of these maidens hath newly shown herself fool ish, as the other hath been since her life began.
Iamene —Yea, 0 King, such reason as nature may have given abides not with the unfortunate, but goes astray.
Creon — Thine did, when thou choosest vile deeds with the vile. Jsmene — What life could I endure, without her presence ? Creon — Nay, speak not of her " presence " ; she lives no more. Jsmene — But wilt thou slay the betrothed of thine own son ? Creon — Nay, there are other fields for him to plow.