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North of the Peloponnesus, jutting out into the AEgean Sea, lay the rocky
little Ionian state of Attica, with its lovely city, Athens. There was a
story that Neptune and Pallas Athene had had a strife as to which should
be the patron of the city, and that it was to be given to whichever
should produce the most precious gift for it. Neptune struck the earth
with his trident, and there appeared a war-horse; but Pallas' touch
brought forth an olive-tree, and this was judged the most useful gift.
The city bore her name; the tiny Athenian owl was her badge; the very
olive-tree she had bestowed was said to be that which grew in the court
of the Acropolis, a sacred citadel on a rock above the city; and near at
hand was her temple, called the Parthenon, or Virgin's Shrine. Not far
off was the Areopagus, a Hill of Ares, or Mars, the great place for
hearing causes and doing justice; and below these there grew up a city
filled with men as brave as the Spartans, and far more thoughtful and
wise, besides having a most perfect taste and sense of beauty.
[Picture: Gate of Mycenae]
The Athenians claimed Theseus as their greatest king and first lawgiver.
It was said that, when the Dorians were conquering the Peloponnesus, they
came north and attacked Attica, but were told by an oracle that they
never would succeed if they slew the king of Athens. Codrus, who was
then king of Athens, heard of this oracle, and devoted himself for his
country. He found that in battle the Dorians always forbore to strike
him, and he therefore disguised himself, went into the enemy's camp,
quarrelled with a soldier there, and thus caused himself to be killed, so
as to save his country. He was the last king. The Athenians would not
have anyone less noble to sit in his seat, and appointed magistrates
called Archons in the stead of kings.
Soon they fell into a state of misrule and disorder, and they called on a
philosopher named Draco to draw up laws for them. Draco's laws were
good, but very strict, and for the least crime the punishment was death.
Nobody could keep them, so they were set aside and forgotten, and
confusion grew worse, till another wise lawgiver named Solon undertook to
draw up a fresh code of laws for them.
Solon was one of the seven wise men of Greece, who all lived at the same
time. The other six were Thales, Bion, Pittacus, Cleobulus, Chilo, and
Periander. This last was called Tyrant of Corinth. When the ancient
Greeks spoke of a tyrant, they did not mean a cruel king so much as a
king who had not been heir to the crown, but had taken to himself the
rule over a free people. A very curious story belongs to Periander, for
we have not quite parted with the land of fable. It is about the poet
Arion, who lived chiefly with him at Corinth, but made one voyage to
Sicily. As he was coming back, the sailors plotted to throw him
overboard, and divide the gifts he was bringing with him. When he found
they were resolved, he only begged to play once more on his lyre; then,
standing on the prow, he played and sung a hymn calling the gods to his
aid. So sweet were the sounds that shoals of dolphins came round the
ship, and Arion, leaping from the prow, placed himself on the back of
one, which bore him safely to land. Periander severely punished the
treacherous sailors. Some think that this story was a Greek alteration
of the history of Jonah, which might have been brought by the Phoenician
sailors.
Solon was Athenian by birth, and of the old royal line. He had served
his country in war, and had travelled to study the habits of other lands,
when the Athenians, wearied with the oppressions of the rich and great,
and finding that no one attended to the laws of Draco, left it to him to
form a new constitution. It would be of no use to try to explain it all.
The chief thing to be remembered about it is, that at the head of the
government were nine chief magistrates, who were called Archons, and who
were changed every three years. To work with them, there was a council
of four hundred _aristoi_, or nobles; but when war or peace was decided,
the whole _demos_, or people, had to vote, according to their tribes; and
if a man was thought to be dangerous to the state, the _demos_ might
sentence him to be banished. His name was written on an oyster shell, or
on a tile, by those who wished him to be driven away, and these were
thrown into one great vessel. If they amounted to a certain number, the
man was said to be "ostracised," and forced to leave the city. This was
sometimes done very unjustly, but it answered the purpose of sending away
rich men who became overbearing, and kept tyrants from rising up. There
were no unnatural laws as there were at Sparta; people might live at home
as they pleased; but there were schools, and all the youths were to be
taught there, both learning and training in all exercises. And whether
it was from Solon's laws or their own character, there certainly did
arise in Athens some of the greatest and noblest men of all times.
After having set things in order, Solon is said to have been so annoyed
by foolish questions on his schemes, that he went again on his travels.
First he visited his friend Thales, at Miletus, in Asia Minor; and,
finding him rich and comfortable, he asked why he had never married.
Thales made no answer then, but a few days later he brought in a
stranger, who, he said, was just from Athens. Solon asked what was the
news. "A great funeral was going on, and much lamentation," said the
man. "Whose was it?" He did not learn the name, but it was a young man
of great promise, whose father was abroad upon his travels. "The father
was much famed for his wisdom and justice." "Was it Solon?" cried the
listener. "It was." Solon burst into tears, tore his hair, and beat his
breast; but Thales took his hand, saying, "Now you see, O Solon, why I
have never married, lest I should expose myself to griefs such as these;"
and then told him it was all a trick. Solon could not much have approved
such a trick, for when Thespis, a great actor of plays, came to Athens,
Solon asked him if he were not ashamed to speak so many falsehoods.
Thespis answered that it was all in sport. "Ay," said Solon, striking
his staff on the ground; "but he that tells lies in sport will soon tell
them in earnest."
After this, Solon went on to Lydia. This was a kingdom of Greek settlers
in Asia Minor, where flowed that river Pactolus, whose sands contained
gold-dust, from King Midas' washing, as the story went. The king was
Croesus, who was exceedingly rich and splendid. He welcomed Solon, and,
after showing him all his glory, asked whom the philosopher thought the
happiest of men. "An honest man named Tellus," said Solon, "who lived
uprightly, was neither rich nor poor, had good children, and died bravely
for his country." Croesus was vexed, but asked who was next happiest.
"Two brothers named Cleobis and Bito," said Solon, "who were so loving
and dutiful to their mother, that, when she wanted to go to the temple of
Juno, they yoked themselves to her car, and drew her thither; then,
having given this proof of their love, they lay down to sleep, and so
died without pain or grief." "And what do you think of me?" said
Croesus. "Ah!" said Solon, "call no man happy till he is dead."
Croesus was mortified at such a rebuff to his pride, and neglected Solon.
There was a clever crooked Egyptian slave at Croesus' court, called
AEsop, who gave his advice in the form of the fables we know so well,
such as the wolf and the lamb, the fox and the grapes, etc.; though, as
the Hindoos and Persians have from old times told the same stories, it
would seem as if AEsop only repeated them, but did not invent them. When
AEsop saw Solon in the background, he said, "Solon, visits to kings
should be seldom, or else pleasant." "No," said Solon; "visits to kings
should be seldom, or else profitable," as the courtly slave found them.
AEsop came to a sad end. Croesus sent him to Delphi to distribute a sum
of money among the poor, but they quarrelled so about it that AEsop said
he should take it back to the king, and give none at all; whereupon the
Delphians, in a rage, threw him off a precipice, and killed him.
Croesus was just thinking of going to war with the great Cyrus, king of
the Medes and Persians, the same who overcame Assyria, took Babylon, and
restored Jerusalem, and who was now subduing Asia Minor. Croesus asked
council of all the oracles, but first he tried their truth. He bade his
messenger ask the oracle at Delphi what he was doing while they were
inquiring. The answer was--
"Lo, on my sense striketh the smell of a shell-covered tortoise
Boiling on the fire, with the flesh of a lamb, in a cauldron;
Brass is the vessel below, brass the cover above it."
Croesus was really, as the most unlikely thing to be guessed, boiling a
tortoise and a lamb together in a brazen vessel. Sure now of the truth
of the oracle, he sent splendid gifts, and asked whether he should go to
war with Cyrus. The answer was that, if he did, a mighty kingdom would
be overthrown.
He thought it meant the Persian, but it was his own. Lydia was overcome,
Sardis, his capital, was burnt, and he was about to be slain, when,
remembering the warning, "Call no man happy till his death," he cried
out, "O Solon, Solon, Solon!"
Cyrus heard him, and bade that he should be asked what it meant. The
story so struck the great king, that he spared Croesus, and kept him as
his adviser for the rest of his life.
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