Chapter III: Part 3

"Cleobis and Bito," answered Solon. "These were men of the Argive race, who had fortune enough for their wants, and were so strong as to gain prizes at the Games."

"But their special title to happiness was," continued Solon, "that in a festival to the goddess Juno, at Argos, their mother wished to go in a car. As the oxen did not return in time from the fields, the youths, fearing to be late, yoked themselves to the car, and drew their mother to the temple, forty-five furlongs away. This filial deed gained them the highest praise from the people, while their mother prayed the goddess to bestow upon them the highest blessing to which mortals can attain. After her prayer, the youths offered sacrifices, partook of the holy banquet, and fell asleep in the temple. They never woke again! This was the blessing of the goddess."

"What," cried Croesus, angrily, "is my happiness, then, of so little value to you that you put me on a level with private men like these?"

"You are very rich, Croesus," answered Solon, "and are lord of many nations. But remember that you have many days yet to live, and that any single day in a man's life may yield events that will change all his fortune. As to whether you are supremely happy and fortunate, then, I have no answer to make. I cannot speak for your happiness till I know if your life has a happy _ending_."[1]

Solon, having completed his travels, returned to Athens to find it in turmoil. Pisistratus, a political adventurer and a favorite with the people, had gained despotic power by a cunning trick. He wounded himself, and declared that he had been attacked and wounded by his political enemies. He asked, therefore, for a body-guard for his protection. This was granted him by the popular assembly, which was strongly on his side. With its aid he seized the Acropolis and made himself master of the city, while his opponents were forced to fly for their lives.

This revolutionary movement was strenuously opposed by Solon, but in vain. Pisistratus had made himself so popular with the people that they treated their old law-giver like a man who had lost his senses. As a last appeal he put on his armor and placed himself before the door of his house, as if on guard as a sentinel over the liberties of his country! This appeal was also in vain.

"I have done my duty!" he exclaimed; "I have sustained to the best of my power my country and the laws."

He refused to fly, saying, when asked on what he relied for protection, "On my old age."

Pisistratus--who proved a very mild despot--left his aged opponent unharmed, and in the next year Solon died, being then eighty years of age.

His laws lived after him, despite the despotism which ruled over Athens for the succeeding fifty years.

_THE FORTUNE OF CROESUS._

The land of the Hellenes, or Greeks, was not confined to the small peninsula now known as Greece. Hellenic colonies spread far to the east and the west, to Italy and Sicily on the one hand, to Asia Minor and the shores of the Black Sea on the other. The story of the Argonauts probably arose from colonizing expeditions to the Black Sea. That of Croesus has to do with the colonies in Asia Minor.

These colonies clung to the coast. Inland lay other nations, to some extent of Hellenic origin. One of these was the kingdom of Lydia, whose history is of the highest importance to us, since the conflicts between Lydia and the coast colonies were the first steps towards the invasion of Greece by the Persians, that most important event in early Grecian history.

These conflicts began in the reign of Croesus, an ambitious king of Lydia in the sixth century before Christ. What gave rise to the war between Lydia and the Greek settlements of Ionia and AEolia we do not very well know. An ambitious despot does not need much pretext for war. He wills the war, and the pretext follows. It will suffice to say that, on one excuse or another, Croesus made war on every Ionian and AEolian state, and conquered them one after the other.

First the great and prosperous city of Ephesus fell. Then, one by one, others followed, till, by the year 550 B.C., Croesus had become lord and master of every one of those formerly free and wealthy cities and states. Then, having placed all the colonies on the mainland under tribute, he designed to conquer the islands as well, and proposed to build ships for that purpose. He was checked in this plan by the shrewd answer of one of the seven wise men of Greece, either Bias or Pittacus, who had visited Sardis, the capital of Lydia.

"What news bring you from Greece?" asked King Croesus of his wise visitor.

"I am told that the islanders are gathering ten thousand horse, with the purpose of attacking you and your capital," was the answer.

"What!" cried Croesus. "Have the gods given these shipmen such an idea as to fight the Lydians with cavalry?"

"I fancy, O king," answered the Greek, "that nothing would please you better than to catch these islanders here on horseback. But do you not think that they would like nothing better than to catch you at sea on shipboard? Would they not avenge on you the misfortunes of their conquered brethren?"

This shrewd suggestion taught Croesus a lesson. Instead of fighting the islanders, he made a treaty of peace and friendship with them. But he continued his conquests on the mainland till in the end all Asia Minor was under his sway, and Lydia had become one of the great kingdoms of the earth. Such wealth came to Croesus as a result of his conquests and unchanging good fortune that he became accounted the richest monarch upon the earth, while Sardis grew marvellous for its splendor and prosperity. At an earlier date there had come thither another of the seven wise men of Greece, Solon, the law-giver of Athens. What passed between this far-seeing visitor and the proud monarch of Lydia we have already told.

The misfortunes which Solon told the king were liable to come upon any man befell Croesus during the remainder of his life. Herodotus, the historian, tells us the romantic story of how the gods sent misery to him who had boasted overmuch of his happiness. We give briefly this interesting account.

Croeus had two sons, one of whom was deaf and dumb, the other, Atys by name, gifted with the highest qualities which nature has to bestow. The king loved his bright and handsome son as dearly as he loved his wealth, and when a dream came to him that Atys would die by the blow of an iron weapon, he was deeply disturbed in his mind.

How should he prevent such a misfortune? In alarm, he forbade his son to take part in military forays, to which he had before encouraged him; and, to solace him for this deprivation, bade him to take a wife. Then, lest any of the warlike weapons which hung upon the walls of his apartments might fall and wound him, the king had them all removed, and stored away in the part of the palace devoted to the women.

But fate had decreed that all such precautions should be in vain. At Mount Olympus, in Mysia, had appeared a monster boar, that ravaged the fields of the lowlands and defied pursuit into his mountain retreat. Hunting parties were sent against him, but the great boar came off unscathed, while the hunters always suffered from his frightful tusks. At length ambassadors were sent to Croesus, begging him to send his son, with other daring youths and with hunting hounds, to aid them rid their country of this destructive brute.

"That cannot be," answered Croesus, still in terror from his dream. "My son is just married, and cannot so soon leave his bride. But I will send you a picked band of hunters, and bid them use all zeal to kill this foe of your harvests."

With this promise the Mysians were quite content, but Atys, who overheard it, was not.

"Why, my father," he demanded, "do you now keep me from the wars and the chase, when you formerly encouraged me to take part in them, and win glory for myself and you? Have I ever shown cowardice or lack of manly spirit? What must the citizens or my young bride think of me? With what face can I show myself in the forum? Either you must let me go to the chase of this boar, or give a reason why you keep me at home."

In reply Croesus told the indignant youth of his vision, and the alarm with which it had inspired him.

"Ah!" cried Atys, "then I cannot blame you for keeping this tender watch over me. But, father, do you not wrongly interpret the dream? It said I was to die stricken by an iron weapon. A boar wields no such weapon. Had the dream said I was to die pierced by a tusk, then you might well be alarmed; but it said a weapon. We do not propose now to fight men, but to hunt a wild beast I pray you, therefore, let me go with the party."

"You have the best of me there," said Croesus. "Your interpretation of the dream is better than mine. You may go, my son."

At that time there was at the king's court a Phrygian named Adrastus, who had unwittingly slain his own brother and had fled to Sardis, where he was purified according to the customs of the country, and courteously received by the king. Croesus sent for this stranger and asked him to go with the hunting party, and keep especial watch over his son, in case of an attack by some daring band of robbers.

Adrastus consented, though against his will, his misfortune having taken from him all desire for scenes of bloodshed. However, he would do his utmost to guard the king's son against harm.

The party set out accordingly, reached Olympus without adventure, and scattered in pursuit of the animal, which the dogs soon roused from its lair. Closing in a circle around the brute, the hunters drew near and hurled their weapons at it. Not the least eager among the hunters was Adrastus, who likewise hurled his spear; but, through a frightful chance, the hurtling weapon went astray, and struck and killed Atys, his youthful charge. Thus was the dream fulfilled: an iron weapon had slain the king's favorite son.

The news of this misfortune plunged Croesus into the deepest misery of grief. As for Adrastus, he begged to be sacrificed at the grave of his unfortunate victim. This Croesus, despite his grief, refused, saying,--

"Some god is the author of my misfortune, not you. I was forewarned of it long ago."

But Adrastus was not to be thus prevented. Deeming himself the most unfortunate of men, he slew himself on the tomb of the hapless youth. And for two years Croesus abandoned himself to grief.

And now we must go on to tell how Croesus met with a greater misfortune still, and brought the Persians to the gates of Greece. Cyrus, son of Cambyses, king of Persia, had conquered the neighboring kingdom of Media, and, inspired by ambition, had set out on a career of wide-spread conquest and dominion. He had grown steadily more powerful, and now threatened the great kingdom which Croesus had gained.

The Lydian king, seeing this danger approaching, sought advice from the oracles. But wishing first to know which of them could best be trusted, he sent to six of them demanding a statement of what he was doing at a certain moment. The oracle of Delphi alone gave a correct answer.

Thereupon Croesus offered up a vast sacrifice to the Delphian deity. Three thousand oxen were slain, and a great sacrificial pile was built, on which were placed splendid robes and tunics of purple, with couches and censers of gold and silver, all to be committed to the flames. To Delphi he sent presents befitting the wealthiest of kings,--ingots, statues, bowls, jugs, etc., of gold and silver, of great weight. These Herodotus himself saw with astonishment a century afterwards at Delphi. The envoys who bore these gifts asked the oracle whether Croesus should undertake an expedition against the Persians, and should solicit allies.

He was bidden, in reply, to seek alliance with the most powerful nations of Greece. He was also told that if he fought with the Persians he would overturn a "mighty empire." Croesus accepted this as a promise of success, not thinking to ask whose empire was to be overturned. He sent again to the oracle, which now replied, "When a mule shall become king of the Medes, then thou must run away,--be not ashamed." Here was another enigma of the oracle. Cyrus--son of a royal Median mother and a Persian father of different race and lower position--was the mule indicated, though Croesus did not know this. In truth, the oracles of Greece seem usually to have borne a double meaning, so that whatever happened the priestess could claim that her word was true, the fault was in the interpretation.

Croesus, accepting the oracles as favorable, made an alliance with Sparta, and marched his army into Media, where he inflicted much damage. Cyrus met him with a larger army, and a battle ensued. Neither party could claim a victory, but Croesus returned to Sardis, to collect more men and obtain aid from his allies. He might have been successful had Cyrus waited till his preparations were complete. But the Persian king followed him to his capital, defeated him in a battle near Sardis, and besieged him in that city.

Sardis was considered impregnable, and Croesus could easily have held out till his allies arrived had it not been for one of those unfortunate incidents of which war has so many to tell. Sardis was strongly fortified on every side but one. Here the rocky height on which it was built was so steep as to be deemed inaccessible, and walls were thought unnecessary. Yet a soldier of the garrison made his way down this precipice to pick up his helmet, which had fallen. A Persian soldier saw him, tried to climb up, and found it possible. Others followed him, and the garrison, to their consternation, found the enemy within their walls. The gates were opened to the army without, and the whole city was speedily taken by storm.

Croesus would have been killed but for a miracle. His deaf and dumb son, seeing a Persian about to strike him down, burst into speech through the agony of terror, crying out, "Man, do not kill Croesus!" The story goes that he ever afterwards retained the power of speech.

Cyrus had given orders that the life of Croesus should be spared, and the unhappy captive was brought before him. But the cruel Persian had a different death in view. He proposed to burn the captive king, together with fourteen Lydian youths, on a great pile of wood which he had constructed. We give what followed as told by Herodotus, though its truth cannot be vouched for at this late day.

As Croesus lay in fetters on the already kindled pile and thought of this terrible ending to his boasted happiness, he groaned bitterly, and cried in tones of anguish, "Solon! Solon! Solon!"

"What does he mean?" asked Cyrus of the interpreters. They questioned Croesus, and learned from him what Solon had said. Cyrus heard this story not without alarm. His own life was yet to end; might not a like fate come to him? He ordered that the fire should be extinguished, but would have been too late had not a timely downpour of rain just then come to the aid of the captive king,--sent by Apollo, in gratitude for the gifts to his temple, suggests Herodotus. Croesus was afterwards made the confidential friend and adviser of the Persian king, whose dominions, through this victory, had been extended over the whole Lydian empire, and now reached to the ocean outposts of Greece.

_THE SUITORS OF AGARISTE._

Sicyon, the smallest country of the Peloponnesus, lay on the Gulf of Corinth, adjoining the isthmus which connects the peninsula with the rest of Greece. In this small country--as in many larger ones--the nobles held rule, the people were subjects. The rich and proud rulers dwelt on the hill slopes, the poor and humble people lived on the sea-shore and along the river Asopus. But in course of time many of the people became well off, through success in fisheries and commerce, to which their country was well adapted. Weary of the oppression of the nobles, they finally rose in rebellion and overthrew the government. Orthagoras, once a cook, but now leader of the rebels, became master of the state, and he and his descendants ruled it for a hundred years. The last of this dynasty was Cleisthenes, a just and moderate ruler, concerning whom we have a story to tell.

These lords of the state were called tyrants; but this word did not mean in Greece what it means to us. The tyrants of Greece were popular leaders who had overthrown the old governments and laws, and ruled largely through force and under laws of their own making. But they were not necessarily tyrannical. The tyrants of Athens were mild and just in their dealings with the people, and so proved to be those of Sicyon.

Cleisthenes, who became the most eminent of the tyrants of Sicyon, had a beautiful daughter, named Agariste, whom he thought worthy of the noblest of husbands, and decided that she should be married to the worthiest youth who could be found in all the land of Greece. To select such a husband he took unusual steps.

When the fair Agariste had reached marriageable age, her father attended the Olympic games, at which there were used to gather men of wealth and eminence from all the Grecian states. Here he won the prize in the chariot race, and then bade the heralds to make the following proclamation:

"Whoever among the Greeks deems himself worthy to be the son-in-law of Cleisthenes, let him come, within sixty days, to Sicyon. Within a year from that time Cleisthenes will decide, from among those who present themselves, on the one whom he deems fitting to possess the hand of his daughter."

This proclamation, as was natural, roused warm hopes in many youthful breasts, and within the sixty days there had gathered at Sicyon thirteen noble claimants for the charming prize. From the city of Sybaris in Italy came Smindyrides, and from Siris came Damasus. Amphimnestus and Males made their way to Sicyon from the cities of the Ionian Gulf. The Peloponnesus sent Leocedes from Argos, Amiantus from Arcadia, Laphanes from Paeus, and Onomastus from Elis. From Euboea came Lysanias; from Thessaly, Diactorides; from Molossia, Alcon; and from Attica, Megacles and Hippoclides. Of the last two, Megacles was the son of the renowned Alkmaeon, while Hippoclides was accounted the handsomest and wealthiest of the Athenians.

At the end of the sixty days, when all the suitors had arrived, Cleisthenes asked each of them whence he came and to what family he belonged. Then, during the succeeding year, he put them to every test that could prove their powers. He had had a foot-course and a wrestling-ground made ready to test their comparative strength and agility, and took every available means to discover their courage, vigor, and skill.

But this was not all that the sensible monarch demanded in his desired son-in-law. He wished to ascertain their mental and moral as well as their physical powers, and for this purpose kept them under close observation for a year, carefully noting their manliness, their temper and disposition, their accomplishments and powers of intellect. Now he conversed with each separately; now he brought them together and considered their comparative powers. At the gymnasium, in the council chamber, in all the situations of thought and activity, he tested their abilities. But he particularly considered their behavior at the banquet-table. From first to last they were sumptuously entertained, and their demeanor over the trencher-board and the wine-cup was closely observed.

In this story, as told us by garrulous old Herodotus, nothing is said of Agariste herself. In a modern romance of this sort the lady would have had a voice in the decision and a place in the narrative. There would have been episodes of love, jealousy, and malice, and the one whom the lady blessed with her love would in some way--in the eternal fitness of things--have become victor in the contest and carried off the prize. But they did things differently in Greece. The preference of the maiden had little to do with the matter; the suitor exerted himself to please the father, not the daughter; maiden hands were given rather in barter and sale than in trust and affection; in truth, almost the only lovers we meet with in Grecian history are Haemon and Antigone, of whom we have spoken in the tale of the "Seven against Thebes."

And thus it was in the present instance. It was the father the suitors courted, not the daughter. They proved their love over the banquet-table, not at the trysting-place. It was by speed of foot and skill in council, not by whispered words of devotion, that they contended for the maidenly prize. Or, if lovers' meetings took place and lovers' vows were passed, they were matters of the strictest secrecy, and not for Greek historians to put on paper or Greek ears to hear.

But the year of probation came in due time to its end, and among all the suitors the two from Athens most won the favor of Cleisthenes. And of the two he preferred Hippoclides. It was not alone for his handsome face and person and manly bearing that this favored youth was chosen, but also because he was descended from a noble family of Corinth which Cleisthenes esteemed. Yet "there is many a slip between the cup and the lip," an adage whose truth Hippoclides was to learn.

When the day came on which the choice of the father was to be made, and the wedding take place, Cleisthenes held a great festival in honor of the occasion. First, to gain the favor of the gods, he offered a hundred oxen in sacrifice. Then, not only the suitors, but all the people of the city were invited to a grand banquet and festival, at the end of which the choice of Cleisthenes was to be declared. What torments of love and fear Agariste suffered during this slow-moving feast the historian does not say. Yet it may be that she was the power behind the throne, and that the proposed choice of the handsome Hippoclides was due as much to her secret influence as to her father's judgment.

However this be, the feast went on to its end, and was followed by a contest between the suitors in music and oratory, with all the people to decide. As the drinking which followed went on, Hippoclides, who had surpassed all the others as yet, shouted to the flute-player, bidding him to play a dancing air, as he proposed to show his powers in the dance.

The wine was in his weak head, and what he considered marvellously fine dancing did not appear so to Cleisthenes, who was closely watching his proposed son-in-law. Hippoclides, however, in a mood to show all his accomplishments, now bade an attendant to bring in a table. This being brought, he leaped upon it, and danced some Laconian steps, which he followed by certain Attic ones. Finally, to show his utmost powers of performance, he stood on his head on the table, and began to dance with his legs in empty air.

This was too much for Cleisthenes. He had changed his opinion of Hippoclides during his light and undignified exhibition, but restrained himself from speaking to avoid any outbreak or ill feeling. But on seeing him tossing his legs in this shameless manner in the air, the indignant monarch cried out,--

"Son of Tisander, you have danced your wife away."

"What does Hippoclides care?" was the reply of the tipsy youth.

And for centuries afterwards "What does Hippoclides care?" was a common saying in Greece, to indicate reckless folly and lightness of mind.

Cleisthenes now commanded silence, and spoke as follows to the assembly:

"Suitors of my daughter, well pleased am I with you all, and right willingly, if it were possible, would I content you all, and not, by making choice of one, appear to put a slight upon the rest. But as it is out of my power, seeing that I have only one daughter, to grant to all their wishes, I will present to each of you whom I must needs dismiss a talent of silver[2] for the honor that you have done in seeking to ally yourselves with my house, and for your long absence from your homes. But my daughter Agariste I betroth to Megacles, the son of Alkmaeon, to be his wife, according to the usage and wont of Athens."

Megacles gladly accepted the honor thus offered him, the marriage was solemnized with all possible state, and the suitors dispersed,--twelve of them happy with their silver talents, one of them happier with his charming bride.

We have but further to say that Cleisthenes of Athens--a great leader and law-giver, whose laws gave origin to the democratic government of that city--was the son of Megacles and Agariste, and that his grandson was the famous Pericles, the foremost name in Athenian history.

_THE TYRANTS OF CORINTH._

We have already told what the word "tyrant" meant in Greece,--a despot who set aside the law and ruled at his own pleasure, but who might be mild and gentle in his rule. Such were the tyrants of Sicyon, spoken of in our last tale. The tyrants of Corinth, the state adjoining Sicyon, were of a harsher character. Herodotus, the gossiping old historian tells some stories about these severe despots which seem worth telling again.

The government of Corinth, like most of the governments of Greece, was in early days an oligarchy,--that is, it was ruled by a number of powerful aristocrats instead of by a single king. In Corinth these belonged to a single family, named the Bacchiadae (or legendary descendants of the god Bacchus), who constantly intermarried, and kept all power to themselves.

But one of this family, Amphion by name, had a daughter, named Labda, whom none of the Bacchiadae would marry, as she had the misfortune to be lame. So she married outside the family, her husband being named Aetion, and a man of noble descent. Having no children, Aetion applied to the Delphian oracle, and was told that a son would soon be borne to him, and that this son "would, like a rock, fall on the kingly race and right the city of Corinth."

The Bacchiadae heard of this oracle, and likewise knew of an earlier one that had the same significance. Forewarned is forearmed. They remained quiet, waiting until Aetion's child should be born, and proposing then to take steps for their own safety.

When, therefore, they heard that Labda had borne a son, they sent ten of their followers to Petra (the _rock_), where Aetion dwelt, with instructions to kill the child. These assassins entered Aetion's house, and, with murder in their hearts, asked Labda, with assumed friendliness, if they might see her child. She, looking upon them as friends of her husband, whom kindly feeling had brought thither, gladly complied, and, bringing the infant, laid it in the arms of one of the ruffianly band.

It had been agreed between them that whoever first laid hold of the child should dash it to the ground. But as the innocent intended victim lay in the murderer's arms, it smiled in his face so confidingly that he had not the heart to do the treacherous deed. He passed the child, therefore, on to another, who passed it to a third, and so it went the rounds of the ten, disarming them all by its happy and trusting smile from performing the vile deed for which they had come. In the end they handed the babe back to its mother, and left the house.

Halting just outside the door, a hot dispute arose between them, each blaming the others, and nine of them severely accusing the one whose task it had been to do the cruel deed. He defended himself, saying that no man with a heart in his breast could have done harm to that smiling babe,--certainly not he. In the end they decided to go into the house again, and all take part in the murder.

But they had talked somewhat too long and too loud. Labda had overheard them and divined their dread intent. Filled with fear, lest they should return and murder her child, she seized the infant, and, looking eagerly about for some place in which she might conceal it, chose a _cypsel_, or corn-bin, as the place least likely to be searched.

Her choice proved a wise one. The men returned, and, as she refused to tell them where the child was, searched the house in vain,--none of them thinking of looking for an infant in a corn-bin. At length they went away, deciding to report that they had done as they were bidden, and that the child of Aetion was slain.

The boy, in memory of his escape, was named _Cypselus_, after the corn-bin. He grew up without further molestation, and on coming to man's estate did what so many of the ancients seemed to have considered necessary, went to Delphi to consult the oracle.

The pythoness, or priestess of Apollo, at his approach, hailed him as king of Corinth. "He and his children, but not his children's children." And the oracle, as was often the case, produced its own accomplishment, for it encouraged Cypselus to head a rebellion against the oligarchy, by which it was overthrown and he made king. For thirty years thereafter he reigned as tyrant of Corinth, with a prosperous but harsh rule. Many of the Corinthians were put to death by him, others robbed of their fortunes, and others banished the state. Then he died and left the government to his son Periander.

Periander began his reign in a mild spirit. But his manner changed after he had sent a herald to Thrasybulus, the tyrant of Miletus, asking his advice how he could best rule with honor and fortune. Thrasybulus led the messenger outside the city and through a field of corn, questioning him as they walked, while, whenever he came to an ear of corn that overtopped its fellows, he broke it off and threw it aside. Thus his path through the field was marked by the downfall of all the tallest stems and ears. Then, returning to the city, he sent the messenger back without a word of answer to his petition.

Periander, on his herald's return, asked him what counsel he brought. "None," was the answer; "not a word. King Thrasybulus acted in the strangest way, destroying his corn as he led me through the field, and sending me away without a word." He proceeded to tell how the monarch had acted.

Periander was quick to gather his brother tyrant's meaning. If he would rule in safety he must cut off the loftiest heads,--signified by the tall ears of corn. He took the advice thus suggested, and from that time on treated his subjects with the greatest cruelty. Many of those whom Cypselus had spared he put to death or banished, and acted the tyrant in the fullest sense of the word.

He even killed his wife Melissa; just why, we do not know. But we are told that she afterwards appeared to him in a dream and said that she was cold, being destitute of clothes. The garments he had buried with her were of no use to her spirit, since they had not been burned. Periander took his own way to quiet and clothe the restless ghost. He proclaimed that all the wives of Corinth should go to the temple of Juno. This they did, dressed in their best, deeming it a festival. When they were all within he closed the doors, and had them stripped of their rich robes and ornaments, which he threw into a pit and set on fire, calling on the name of Melissa as they burned. And in this way the demand of the shivering ghost was satisfied.

Periander had two sons,--the elder a dunce, the younger, Lycophron (or wolf-heart), a youth of noble nature and fine intellect. He sent them on a visit to Proclus, their mother's father, and from him the boys learned, what they had not known before, that their father was their mother's murderer.

This story did not trouble the dull-brained elder, but Lycophron was so affected by it that on his return home he refused to speak to his father, and acted so surlily that Periander in anger turned him out of his house. The tyrant, learning from his elder son the cause of Lycophron's strange behavior, grew still more incensed. He sent orders to those who had given shelter to his son that they should cease to harbor him, And he continued to drive him from shelter to shelter, till in the end he proclaimed that whoever dared to harbor, or even speak to, his rebellious son, should pay a heavy fine to Apollo.

Thus, driven from every house, Lycophron took lodging in the public porticos, where he dwelt without shelter and almost without food. Seeing his wretched state, Periander took pity on him and bade him come home and no longer indulge in such foolish and unfilial behavior.

Lycophron's only reply was that his father had broken his own edict by coming and talking with him, and therefore himself owed the penalty to Apollo.

Periander, seeing that the boy was uncontrollable in his indignation, and troubled at heart by the piteous spectacle, now sent him by ship to the island of Corcyra, a colony of Corinth. As for Proclus, the tyrant made war upon him for his indiscreet revelation, robbed him of his kingdom, Epidaurus, and carried him captive to Corinth.

And the years went on, and Periander grew old and unable properly to handle his affairs. His elder son was incapable of taking his place, so he sent to Corcyra and asked Lycophron to come to Corinth and take the kingship of that fair land.

Lycophron, whose indignation time had not cooled, refused even to answer the message. Then Periander sent his daughter, the sister of Lycophron, hoping that she might be able to persuade him. She made a strong appeal, begging him not to let the power pass away from their family and their father's wealth fall into strange hands, and reminding him that mercy was a higher virtue than justice.

Her appeal was in vain. Lycophron refused to go back to Corinth as long as his father remained alive.

Then the desperate old man, at his wits' end through Lycophron's obstinacy, sent a herald, saying that he would himself come to Corcyra, and let his son take his place in Corinth as king. To these terms Lycophron agreed. But there were others to deal with, for, when the terrified Corcyrians heard that the terrible old tyrant was coming to dwell in their island, they rose in a tumult and put Lycophron to death.

And thus ended the dynasty of Cypselus, as the oracle had foretold. Though Periander revenged himself on the Corcyrians, he could not bring his son to life again, and the children's children of Cypselus did not come to the throne.

_THE RING OF POLYCRATES._

Near the coast of Asia Minor lies the bright and beautiful island of Samos, one of the choicest gems of the AEgean archipelago. This island was, somewhere about the year 530 B.C., seized by a political adventurer named Polycrates. He accomplished this by the aid of his two brothers, but of these he afterwards killed one and banished the other,--Syloson by name,--so that he became sole ruler and despot of the island.

This island kingdom of Polycrates was a small one, about eighty miles in circumference, but it was richly fertile, and had the honor of being the birthplace of many illustrious Greeks, among whom we may name Pythagoras, the famous philosopher. The city of Samos became, under Polycrates, "the first of all cities, Greek or barbarian." It was adorned with magnificent buildings and costly works of art; was supplied with water by a great aqueduct, tunnelled for nearly a mile through a mountain; had a great breakwater to protect the harbor, and a vast and magnificent temple to Juno: all of which seem to have been partly or wholly constructed by Polycrates.

But this despot did not content himself with ruling the island and adorning the city which he had seized. He was ambitious and unscrupulous, and aspired to become master of all the islands of the AEgean Sea, and of Ionia in Asia Minor. He conquered several of these islands and a number of towns in the mainland, defeated the Lesbian fleet that came against him during his war with Miletus, got together a hundred armed ships and hired a thousand bowmen, and went forward with his designs with a fortune that never seemed to desert him. His naval power became the greatest in the world of Greece, and it seemed as if he would succeed in all his ambitious designs. But a dreadful fate awaited the tyrant. Like Croesus, he was to learn that good fortune is apt to be followed by disaster. The remainder of his story is part history and part legend, and we give it as told by old Herodotus, who has preserved so many interesting tales of ancient Greece.

At, that time Persia, whose king Cyrus had overcome Croesus, was the greatest empire in the world. All western Asia lay in its grasp; Asia Minor was overrun; and Cambyses, the king who had succeeded Cyrus, was about to invade the ancient land of Egypt. The king of this country, Amasis by name, was in alliance with Polycrates, rich gifts had passed between them, and they seemed the best of friends. But Amasis had his superstitions, and the constant good fortune of Polycrates seemed to him so different from the ordinary lot of kings that he feared that some misfortune must follow it. He perhaps had heard the story of Solon and Croesus. Amasis accordingly wrote a warning letter to his friend.

The great prosperity of his friend and ally, he said, caused him foreboding instead of joy, for he knew that the gods were envious, and he desired for those he loved alternate good and ill fortune. He had never heard of any one who was successful in all his enterprises that did not meet with calamity in the end. He therefore counselled Polycrates to do what the gods had not yet done, and bring some misfortune on himself. His advice was that he should select the treasure he most valued and could least bear to part with, and throw it away so that it should never be seen again. By this voluntary sacrifice he might avert involuntary loss and suffering.

This advice seemed wise to the despot, and he began to consider which of his possessions he could least bear to lose. He settled at length on his signet-ring, an emerald set in gold, which he highly valued. This he determined to throw away where it could never be recovered. So, having one of his fifty-oared vessels manned, he put to sea, and when he had gone a long distance from the coast he took the ring from his finger and, in the presence of all the sailors, tossed it into the waters.

This was not done without deep grief to Polycrates. He valued the ring more highly than ever, now that it lay on the bottom of the sea, irretrievably lost to him, as he thought; and he grieved for days thereafter, feeling that he had endured a real misfortune, which he hoped the gods might accept as a compensation for his good luck.

But destiny is not so easily to be disarmed. Several days afterwards a Samian fisherman had the fortune to catch a fish so large and beautiful that he esteemed it worthy to be offered as a present to the king. He accordingly went with it to the palace gates and asked to see Polycrates. The guards, learning his purpose, admitted him. On coming into the king's presence, the fisherman said that, though he was a poor man who lived by his labor, he could not let himself offer such a prize in the public market.

"I said to myself," he continued, "'It is worthy of Polycrates and his greatness;' and so I brought it here to give it to you."

The compliment and the gift so pleased the tyrant that he not only thanked the fisherman warmly, but invited him to sup with him on the fish.

But a wonder happened in the king's kitchen. On the cook's cutting open the fish to prepare it for the table, to his surprise he found within it _the signet-ring of the king_. With joy he hastened to Polycrates with his strangely recovered treasure, the story of whose loss had gone abroad, and told in what a remarkable way it had been restored.

As for Polycrates, the return of the ring brought him some joy but more grief. The fates, it appeared, were not so lightly to be appeased. He wrote to Amasis, telling what he had done and with what result. The letter came to the Egyptian king like a prognostic of evil. That there would be an ill end to the career of Polycrates he now felt sure; and, not wishing to be involved in it himself, he sent a herald to Samos and informed his late friend and ally that the alliance between them was at an end.

It cannot be said that Amasis profited much by this act. Soon afterwards his own country was overrun and conquered by Cambyses, the Persian king, and his reign came to a disastrous termination.

Whether there is any historical basis for this story of the ring may be questioned. But this we do know, that the friendship between Amasis and Polycrates was broken, and that Polycrates offered to help Cambyses in his invasion, and sent forty ships to the Nile for this purpose. On these were some Samians whom the tyrant wished to get rid of, and whom he secretly asked the Persian king not to let return.

These exiles, however, suspecting what was in store for them, managed in some way to escape, and returned to Samos, where they made an attack on Polycrates. Being driven off by him, they went to Sparta and asked for assistance, telling so long a story of their misfortunes and sufferings that the Spartans, who could not bear long speeches, curtly answered, "We have forgotten the first part of your speech, and the last part we do not understand." This answer taught the Samians a lesson. The next day they met the Spartans with an empty wallet, saying, "Our wallet has no meal in it." "Your wallet is superfluous," said the Spartans; meaning that the words would have served without it. The aid which the Spartans thereupon granted the exiles proved of no effect, for it was against Polycrates, the fortunate. They sent an expedition to Samos, and besieged the city forty days, but were forced to retire without success. Then the exiles, thus made homeless, became pirates. They attacked the weak but rich island of Siphnos, which they ravaged, and forced the inhabitants to buy them off at a cost of one hundred talents. With this fund they purchased the island of Hydrea, but in the end went to Crete, where they captured the city of Cydonia. After they had held this city for five years the Cretans recaptured it, and the Samian exiles ended their career by being sold into slavery.

Meanwhile the good fortune of Polycrates continued, and Samos flourished under his rule. In addition to his great buildings and works of engineering he became interested in stock-raising, and introduced into the island the finest breeds of sheep, goats, and pigs. By high wages he attracted the ablest artisans of Greece to the city, and added to his popularity by lending his rich hangings and costly plate to those who wanted them for a wedding feast or a sumptuous banquet. And that none of his subjects might betray him while he was off upon an extended expedition, he had the wives and children of all whom he suspected shut up in the sheds built to shelter his ships, with orders that these should be burned in case of any rebellious outbreak.

Yet the misfortune that the return of the ring had indicated came at length. The warning which Solon had given Croesus applied to Polycrates as well. The prosperous despot had a bitter enemy, Oroetes by name, the Persian governor of Sardis. As to why he hated Polycrates two stories are told, but as neither of them is certain we shall not repeat them. It is enough to say that he hated Polycrates bitterly and desired his destruction, which he laid a plan to bring about.

Oroetes, residing then at Magnesia, on the Maeander River, in the vicinity of Samos, and being aware of the ambitious designs of Polycrates, sent him a message to the effect that he knew that while he desired to become lord of the isles, he had not the means to carry out his ambitious project. As for himself, he was aware that Cambyses was bent on his destruction. He therefore invited Polycrates to come and take him, with his wealth, offering for his protection gold sufficient to make him master of the whole of Greece, so far as money would serve for this.

This welcome offer filled Polycrates with joy. He knew nothing of the hatred of Oroetes, and at once sent his secretary to Magnesia to see the Persian and report upon the offer. What he principally wished to know was in regard to the money offered, and Oroetes prepared to satisfy him in this particular. He had eight large chests prepared, filled nearly full of stones, upon which gold was spread. These were corded, as if ready for instant removal.

This seeming store of gold was shown to the secretary, who hastened back to Polycrates with a glowing description of the treasure he had seen. Polycrates, on hearing this story, decided to go at once and bring Oroetes and his chests of gold to Samos.

Against this action his friends protested, while the soothsayers found the portents unfavorable. His daughter, also, had a significant dream. She saw her father hanging high in the air, washed by Zeus, the king of the gods, and anointed by the sun. Yet in spite of all this the infatuated king persisted in going. His daughter followed him on the ship, still begging him to return. His only answer was that if he returned successfully he would keep her an old maid for years.

"Oh that you may perform your threat!" she answered. "It is far better for me to be an old maid than to lose my father."

Yet the infatuated king went, despite all warnings and advice, taking with him a considerable suite. On his arrival at Magnesia grief instead of gold proved his portion. His enemy seized him, put him to a miserable death, and hung his dead body on a cross to the mercy of the sun and the rains. Thus his daughter's dream was fulfilled, for, in the old belief, to be washed by the rain was to be washed by Zeus, while the sun anointed him by causing the fat to exude from his body.

A year or two after the death of Polycrates, his banished brother Syloson came to the throne in a singular way. During his exile he found himself at Memphis, in Egypt, while Cambyses was there with his conquering army. Among the guards of the king was Darius, the future king of Persia, but then a soldier of little note. Syloson wore a scarlet cloak to which Darius took a fancy and proposed to buy it. By a sudden impulse Syloson replied, "I cannot for any price sell it; but I give it you for nothing, if it must be yours."

Darius thanked him for the cloak, and that ended the matter there and then,--Syloson afterwards holding himself as silly for the impulsive good nature of his gift.

But at length he learned with surprise that the simple Persian soldier whom he had benefited was now king of the great Persian empire. He went to Susa, the capital, and told who he was. Darius had forgotten his face, but he remembered the incident of the cloak, and offered to pay a kingly price for the small favor of his humbler days, tendering gold and silver in profusion to his visitor. Syloson rejected these, but asked the aid of Darius to make him king of Samos. This the grateful monarch granted, and sent Syloson an army, with whose aid the island quickly and quietly fell into his hands.

Yet calamity followed this peaceful conquest. Charilaus, a hot-tempered and half-mad Samian, who had been given charge of the acropolis, broke from it at the head of the guards, and murdered many of the Persian officers who were scattered unguarded throughout the town. The reprisal was dreadful. The Persian army fell in fury on the Samians and slaughtered every man and boy in the island, handing over to Syloson a kingdom of women and infants. Some time afterwards, however, the island was repeopled by men from without, and Syloson completed his reign in peace, leaving the sceptre of Samos to his son.

_THE ADVENTURES OF DEMOCEDES._

When Pythagoras, the celebrated Greek philosopher, settled in the ancient Italian city of Crotona (between 550 and 520 B.C.) there was living in that town a youthful surgeon who was destined to have a remarkable history. Democedes by name, the son of a Crotonian named Calliphon, he strongly inclined while still a mere boy to the study of medicine and surgery, for which arts that city had then a reputation higher than any part of Greece.

The boy had two things to contend with, the hard study in his chosen profession and the high temper of his father. The latter at length grew unbearable, and the youthful surgeon ran away from home, making his way to the Greek island of AEgina. Here he began to practise what he had learned at home, and, though he was very poorly equipped with the instruments of his profession, he proved far abler and more successful than the surgeons whom he found in that island. So rapid, indeed, was his progress that his first year's service brought him an offer from the citizens of AEgina to remain with them for one year, at a salary of one talent,--the AEginetan talent being nearly equal to two thousand dollars. The next year he spent at Athens, whose people had offered him one and two-thirds talents. In the following year Polycrates of Samos bid higher still, offering him two talents, and the young surgeon repaired to that charming island.

Thus far the career of Democedes had been one of steady progress. But, as Solon told Croesus, a man cannot count himself sure of happiness while he lives. The good fortune which had attended the runaway surgeon was about to be followed by a period of ill luck and degradation, following those of his new patron. In the constant wars of Greece a free citizen could never be sure how soon he might be reduced to slavery, and such was the fate of Democedes.

We have already told how Polycrates was treacherously seized and murdered by the Persian satrap Oroetes. Democedes had accompanied him to the court of the traitor, and was, with the other attendants of Polycrates, seized and left to languish in neglect and imprisonment. Soon afterwards Oroetes received the just retribution for his treachery, being himself slain. And now a third turn came to the career of Democedes. He was classed among the slaves of Oroetes, and sent with them in chains to Susa, the capital of Darius, the great Persian king.

But here the wheel of fortune suddenly took an upward turn. Darius, the king, leaping one day from his horse in the chase, sprained his foot so badly that he had to be carried home in violent pain. The surgeons of the Persian court were Egyptians, who were claimed to be the first men in their profession. But, though they used all their skill in treating the foot of the king, they did him no good. Indeed, they only made the pain more severe. For seven days and nights the mighty king was taught that he was a man as well as a monarch, and could suffer as severely as the poorest peasant in his kingdom. The foot gave him such torture that all sleep fled from his eyelids, and he and those around him were in despair.