the men who had sprung from the dragon teeth sown by Cadmus, the founder
of Thebes. Epaminondas, however, was very poor; and wealth had no charms
for him, for he was a disciple of Py-tha'o-ras, a philosopher who was
almost as celebrated as Socrates.
Now, although Epaminondas was poor, quiet, and studious, and Pelopidas
was particularly fond of noise and bustle, they became great friends and
almost inseparable companions. Pelopidas, seeing how good and generous a
man his friend was, did all he could to be like him, and even gave up
all his luxurious ways to live plainly too.
He therefore had plenty of money to spare, and this he spent very freely
for the good of the poor. When his former friends asked why he no
longer cared for his riches, he pointed to a poor cripple near by, and
said that money was of importance only to unhappy men like that one, who
could do nothing for themselves.
LXXVII. THEBES FREE ONCE MORE.
The Spartans, coming into Thebes, as we have seen, exiled the rich and
important Pelopidas, but allowed his friend Epaminondas to remain. They
little suspected that this quiet and seemingly stupid man would in time
become their greatest enemy, and that the mere sound of his name would
fill their hearts with dread.
Pelopidas, thus forced to leave home, withdrew to Athens, where he was
very kindly received. He was not happy, however, and was always longing
to return home, and see his friend Epaminondas, whose society he missed
very much.
He therefore called a few of the Theban exiles together, and proposed
that they should return to Thebes in disguise, and, taking advantage of
the Spartans' carelessness, kill their leaders, and restore the city to
freedom.
This proposal was received with joy, although the Spartans numbered
three thousand, and the Theban exiles only twelve. The chances were of
course against them; but the men were so anxious to free their city,
that they resolved to make the attempt.
They therefore set out from Athens with weapons and hunting dogs, as if
bent upon a day's sport in the country. Thus armed, they secretly
entered the house of Cha'ron, one of their friends in Thebes. Here they
exchanged their hunting garments for women's robes; for, hearing that
the Spartan general and his officers were feasting, they had resolved to
pretend that they were dancing girls, in order to gain an entrance into
the banquet hall, and kill the men while they were drinking.
They had just finished dressing, when a knock was heard at the door, and
a Spartan soldier came in and gravely informed Charon that the commander
wished to see him.
For a moment Pelopidas and his companions fancied that their plans were
discovered, and that Charon had betrayed them. He read this suspicion in
their frightened faces, and, before leaving the house with the soldier,
he placed his only son, a mere infant, in the arms of Pelopidas, saying,
"There, keep him; and if you find that I have betrayed you, avenge
yourselves by killing my only child, my dearest treasure."
After speaking thus, Charon went out, and soon came back to report that
all was well.
The Theban exiles now went to the banquet hall, where they were readily
allowed to enter to amuse the company. The Spartan officers, who were no
longer frugal and temperate as of old, were so heavy and stupid with
wine, that the supposed dancing girls easily killed them.
[Illustration: "Avenge yourselves by killing my only child."]
One version of the story is, that Pelopidas and his companions rushed
out into the street with lighted torches, and slew every Spartan they
met. The Spartan soldiers, deprived of most of their officers (who had
been killed in the banquet hall), and greatly frightened, fled in the
darkness from what they fancied was a large army, and returned in haste
to Sparta.
Imagine their shame, however, when it became known there that they had
been routed by only twelve determined men! The Spartan citizens were so
angry that they put the two remaining officers to death, and, collecting
another army, placed it under the leadership of Cle-om'bro-tus, their
second king, because Agesilaus was too ill at the time to fight.
LXXVIII. THE BATTLE OF LEUCTRA.
The Thebans, delighted at having thus happily got rid of their enemies,
had made Pelopidas and Epaminondas Boe'o-tarchs, or chiefs of
Boeotia, the country of which Thebes was the capital. These two men,
knowing well that the Spartans would soon send an army to win back the
city, now made great preparations to oppose them.
Epaminondas was made general of the army; and Pelopidas drilled a choice
company, called the Sacred Battalion. This was formed of three hundred
brave young Thebans, who took a solemn oath never to turn their backs
upon the enemy or to surrender, and to die for their native country if
necessary.
The Thebans then marched forth to meet their foes; and the two armies
met at Leuc'tra, a small town in Boeotia. As usual, the Thebans had
consulted the oracles to find out what they should do, and had been
told that all the omens were unfavorable. Epaminondas, however, nobly
replied that he knew of none which forbade fighting for the defense of
one's country, and he boldly ordered the attack.
The Spartans were greatly amused when they heard that Epaminondas, a
student, was the commander of the army, and they expected to win a very
easy victory. They were greatly surprised, therefore, when their
onslaught was met firmly, and when, in spite of all their valor, they
found themselves defeated, and heard that their leader, Cleombrotus, was
dead.
The Thebans, of course, gloried in their triumph; but Epaminondas
remained as modest and unassuming as ever, merely remarking that he was
glad for his country's and parents' sake that he had been successful. To
commemorate their good fortune, the Thebans erected a trophy on the
battlefield of Leuctra, where their troops had covered themselves with
glory.
The inhabitants of Sparta, who had counted confidently upon victory,
were dismayed when they saw only a few of their soldiers return from the
battle, and heard that the Thebans were pursuing them closely. Before
they could collect new troops, the enemy marched boldly down into
Laconia; and the women of Sparta now beheld the smoke of the enemy's
camp for the first time in many years. As there were neither walls nor
fortifications of any kind, you can easily imagine that the inhabitants
were in despair, and thought that their last hour had come.
If Epaminondas had been of a revengeful temper, he could easily have
destroyed the city; but he was gentle and humane, and, remaining at a
short distance from the place, he said that he would go away without
doing the Spartans any harm, provided they would promise not to attack
Thebes again, and to set the Messenians free.
These conditions were eagerly agreed to by the Spartans, who found
themselves forced to take a secondary place once more. Athens had ruled
Greece, and had been forced to yield to Sparta; but now Sparta was
compelled in her turn to recognize the supremacy of Thebes.
LXXIX. DEATH OF PELOPIDAS.
Thebes was the main power in Greece after the brilliant victory at
Leuctra, and for a short time the city managed to maintain its
supremacy. By virtue of its position, it decided the destiny of less
powerful cities; and when Al-ex-an'der, tyrant of Thessaly, became very
cruel, the Thebans sent Pelopidas to remonstrate with him.
Instead of treating the ambassador of the Thebans with courtesy,
however, the Thessalian tyrant loaded him with heavy chains, put him in
prison, and vowed he would keep him there as long as he lived.
When the news of this outrage reached the Thebans, they set out at once,
under the guidance of two new Boeotarchs, to deliver their beloved
fellow-citizen. Epaminondas, too, marched in the ranks; for, now that
his term of office was ended, he had contentedly returned to his former
obscure position.
The new Boeotarchs were unfortunately very poor generals. They met the
Thessalian army, but were defeated and driven back. Indeed, the Thebans
were soon in such danger, that the soldiers revolted against their
generals, and begged Epaminondas again to take the lead.
As they were in great distress, Epaminondas could not refuse to help
them: so he assumed the command, and beat such a skillful retreat that
he brought them out of the country in safety.
The following year, when again chosen Boeotarch, Epaminondas made
plans for a second campaign, and marched into Thessaly to deliver his
friend, who was still a prisoner.
When Alexander the tyrant heard that Epaminondas was at the head of the
army, he was frightened, and tried to disarm the wrath of the Thebans by
setting Pelopidas free, and sending him to meet the advancing army.
Of course, Epaminondas was very glad to see his friend; but when he
heard how cruelly Alexander treated all his subjects, he nevertheless
continued his march northward, hoping to rid the country of such a bad
ruler.
Just then the Spartans, in spite of their solemn promise, suddenly rose
up in arms against the Thebans; and Epaminondas, leaving part of the
army in Thessaly with Pelopidas, hurried southward with the rest to put
down the revolt.
Pelopidas marched boldly northward, met the Thessalians, and fought a
fierce battle. When it was over, the Thebans, although victorious, were
very sad; for their leader, Pelopidas, had been slain in the midst of
the fray.
Still, undaunted by his death, the army pursued the Thessalians, and
killed Alexander. Then, to show their scorn for such a vile wretch, they
dragged his body through the mud, and finally flung it out of a palace
window into the courtyard, where it was torn to pieces by his own
bloodhounds.
LXXX. THE BATTLE OF MANTINEA.
When Epaminondas heard that his friend Pelopidas was dead, he grieved
sorely; but nevertheless, knowing that his country had need of him, he
vigorously continued his preparations to meet and conquer the Spartan
army.
The battle promised to be hard fought; for while Epaminondas, the victor
of Leuctra, led the Thebans, Agesilaus, the hero of countless battles,
was again at the head of the Spartan army. The Thebans pressed forward
so eagerly, however, that the two armies met at Man-ti-ne'a, in the
central part of the Peloponnesus.
In spite of Agesilaus' courage and experience, and the well-known
discipline of the Spartan troops, the Thebans again won a splendid
victory over their foes. Their joy, however, was turned to mourning when
they heard that Epaminondas had been mortally wounded just as the battle
was drawing to an end.
A spear had pierced his breast; and as he sank to the ground, some of
his followers caught him, bore him away tenderly in their arms, and
carefully laid him down under a tree on a neighboring hillside. As soon
as he opened his eyes, he eagerly asked how the army was getting along.
Gently raising him so that he could see the battlefield, his friends
pointed out the Spartan army in full flight, and the Thebans masters of
the field. Epaminondas sank back with a sigh of relief, but soon roused
himself again to ask whether his shield were safe.
It was only when he had seen it that he would allow the doctors to
examine his wound. They found the head of a barbed spear sunk deep into
his breast, and said that it must be pulled out. Still they hesitated to
draw it out, for they feared that the rush of blood would kill him.
Epaminondas, therefore, bade them leave it alone, although he was
suffering greatly; and then he called for his assistant generals, to
give them a few important orders. The friends standing around him sadly
told him that both had fallen in the battle, and could no longer execute
his commands. When Epaminondas heard this unwelcome news, he realized
that there was no one left who could replace him, and maintain the
Theban supremacy: so he advised his fellow-countrymen to seize the
favorable opportunity to make peace with the Spartans.
When he had thus done all in his power to provide for the future welfare
of his native city, Epaminondas drew out the spear from his wound with
his own hand, for he saw that his friends were afraid to touch it.
As the doctors had foreseen, there was a great rush of blood, and they
soon saw that Epaminondas had only a few minutes to live. His friends
wept over him, and one of them openly expressed his regret that
Epaminondas left no children.
These words were heard by the dying hero, who opened his eyes once more,
and gently said, "Leuctra and Mantinea are daughters enough to keep my
name alive!"
This saying has proved true; for these two great victories are put down
in every Greek history, and are never spoken of except in connection
with the noble general who won them in behalf of his country, and died
on the field when the last victory was secured.
In memory of Epaminondas, their greatest citizen and general, the
Thebans erected a monument on the battlefield, and engraved his name
upon it, with an image of the dragon from whose teeth his ancestors had
sprung.
The Thebans, remembering his dying wish, then proposed a peace, which
was gladly accepted by all the Greek states, for they were exhausted by
the almost constant warfare they had kept up during many years.
LXXXI. THE TYRANT OF SYRACUSE.
You have seen what a cruel man Alexander was. He was not the only tyrant
in those days, however; for the city of Syracuse in Sicily, which
Alcibiades had hoped to conquer, was ruled by a man as harsh and mean as
Alexander.
This tyrant, whose name was Di-o-nys'ius, had seized the power by force,
and kept his authority by exercising the greatest severity. He was
always surrounded by guards, who at a mere sign from him were ready to
put any one to death.
Dionysius was therefore feared and hated by the people whom he governed,
but who would have been very glad to get rid of him. No honest man cared
to come near such a bloodthirsty wretch, and there were soon none but
wicked men to be found in his court.
These men, hoping to win his favor and get rich gifts, used to flatter
him constantly. They never told him the truth, but only praised him, and
made believe to admire all he said and did.
Of course, even though they were wicked too, they could not really
admire him, but secretly hated and despised him. Their praise,
therefore, was as false as they, and their advice was always as bad as
bad could be.
Now, Dionysius was as conceited as he was cruel, and fancied that there
was nothing he could not do. Among other things, he thought he could
write beautiful poetry. Whenever he wrote a poem, therefore, he read it
aloud to all his courtiers, who went into raptures over it, although
they made great fun of it behind his back.
Dionysius was highly flattered by their praise, but thought he would
like to have it confirmed by the philosopher Phi-lox'e-nus, the most
learned man of Syracuse.
He therefore sent for Philoxenus, and bade him give his candid opinion
of the verse. Now, Philoxenus was far too noble a man to tell a lie: and
whenever he was consulted by Dionysius, he always boldly told the
truth, whether it was agreeable or not.
When the tyrant asked his opinion about the poems, therefore, he
unhesitatingly answered that they were trash, and did not deserve the
name of poetry at all.
This answer so angered Dionysius, and so sorely wounded his vanity, that
he called his guards, and bade them put the philosopher into a prison
hewn out of the living rock, and hence known as "The Quarries."
Here Philoxenus was a prisoner for many a day, although his only fault
was having told the tyrant an unwelcome truth when asked to speak.
The philosopher's friends were indignant on hearing that he was in
prison, and signed a petition asking Dionysius to set him free. The
tyrant read the petition, and promised to grant their request on
condition that the philosopher would sup with him.
Dionysius' table was well decked, as usual, and at dessert he again read
aloud some new verses which he had composed. All the courtiers went into
ecstasies over them, but Philoxenus did not say a word.
Dionysius, however, fancied that his long imprisonment had broken his
spirit, and that he would not now dare refuse to give a few words of
praise: so he pointedly asked Philoxenus what he thought of the poem.
Instead of answering, the philosopher gravely turned toward the guards,
and in a firm voice cried aloud, "Take me back to The Quarries!" thus
showing very plainly that he preferred suffering to telling an untruth.
The courtiers were aghast at his rashness, and fully expected that the
tyrant would take him at his word and put him in prison, if nothing
worse; but Dionysius was struck by the moral courage which made
Philoxenus tell the truth at the risk of his life, and he bade him go
home in peace.
LXXXII. STORY OF DAMON AND PYTHIAS.
There lived in those days in Syracuse two young men called Da'mon and
Pyth'i-as. They were very good friends, and loved each other so dearly
that they were hardly ever seen apart.
Now, it happened that Pythias in some way roused the anger of the
tyrant, who put him in prison, and condemned him to die in a few days.
When Damon heard of it, he was in despair, and vainly tried to obtain
his friend's pardon and release.
The mother of Pythias was very old, and lived far away from Syracuse
with her daughter. When the young man heard that he was to die, he was
tormented by the thought of leaving the women alone. In an interview
with his friend Damon, Pythias regretfully said that he would die easier
had he only been able to bid his mother good-by and find a protector for
his sister.
Damon, anxious to gratify his friend's last wish, went into the presence
of the tyrant, and proposed to take the place of Pythias in prison, and
even on the cross, if need be, provided the latter were allowed to visit
his relatives once more.
Dionysius had heard of the young men's touching friendship, and hated
them both merely because they were good; yet he allowed them to change
places, warning them both, however, that, if Pythias were not back in
time, Damon would have to die in his stead.
At first Pythias refused to allow his friend to take his place in
prison, but finally he consented, promising to be back in a few days to
release him. So Pythias hastened home, found a husband for his sister,
and saw her safely married. Then, after providing for his mother and
bidding her farewell, he set out to return to Syracuse.
The young man was traveling alone and on foot. He soon fell into the
hands of thieves, who bound him fast to a tree; and it was only after
hours of desperate struggling that he managed to wrench himself free
once more, and sped along his way.
He was running as hard as he could to make up for lost time, when he
came to the edge of a stream. He had crossed it easily a few days
before; but a sudden spring freshet had changed it into a raging
torrent, which no one else would have ventured to enter.
In spite of the danger, Pythias plunged into the water, and, nerved by
the fear that his friend would die in his stead, he fought the waves so
successfully that he reached the other side safe but almost exhausted.
Regardless of his pains, Pythias pressed anxiously onward, although his
road now lay across a plain, where the hot rays of the sun and the
burning sands greatly increased his fatigue and faintness, and almost
made him die of thirst. Still he sped onward as fast as his trembling
limbs could carry him; for the sun was sinking fast, and he knew that
his friend would die if he were not in Syracuse by sunset.
[Illustration: Damon and Pythias.]
Dionysius, in the mean while, had been amusing himself by taunting
Damon, constantly telling him that he was a fool to have risked his life
for a friend, however dear. To anger him, he also insisted that Pythias
was only too glad to escape death, and would be very careful not to
return in time.
Damon, who knew the goodness and affection of his friend, received these
remarks with the scorn they deserved, and repeated again and again that
he knew Pythias would never break his word, but would be back in time,
unless hindered in some unforeseen way.
The last hour came. The guards led Damon to the place of crucifixion,
where he again asserted his faith in his friend, adding, however, that
he sincerely hoped Pythias would come too late, so that he might die in
his stead.
Just as the guards were about to nail Damon to the cross, Pythias dashed
up, pale, bloodstained, and disheveled, and flung his arms around his
friend's neck with a sob of relief. For the first time Damon now turned
pale, and began to shed tears of bitter regret.
In a few hurried, panting words, Pythias explained the cause of his
delay, and, loosing his friend's bonds with his own hands, bade the
guards bind him instead.
Dionysius, who had come to see the execution, was so touched by this
true friendship, that for once he forgot his cruelty, and let both young
men go free, saying that he would not have believed such devotion
possible had he not seen it with his own eyes.
This friendship, which wrung tears from the grim executioners, and
touched the tyrant's heart, has become proverbial. When men are devoted
friends, they are often compared to Damon and Pythias, whose story has
been a favorite with poets and playwrights.
LXXXIII. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.
Dionysius, tyrant of Syracuse, was not happy, in spite of all his wealth
and power. He was especially haunted by the constant fear that some one
would murder him, for he had been so cruel that he had made many bitter
enemies.
We are told that he was so afraid, that he never went out unless
surrounded by guards, sword in hand, and never walked into any room
until his servants had examined every nook and corner, and made sure
that no murderer was hiding there.
The tyrant even carried his caution so far, that no one was allowed to
come into his presence until thoroughly searched, so as to make sure
that the visitor had no weapon hidden about his person. When his barber
once jokingly said that the tyrant's life was daily at his mercy,
Dionysius would no longer allow the man to shave him.
Instead of the barber, Dionysius made his wife and daughter do this
service for him, until, growing afraid of them also, he either did it
himself or let his beard grow.
Suspicious people are never happy; and, as Dionysius thought that
everybody had as evil thoughts as himself, he was always expecting
others to rob or murder or injure him in some way.
His sleep, even, was haunted by fear; and, lest some one should take him
unawares, he slept in a bed surrounded by a deep trench. There was a
drawbridge leading to the bed, which he always drew up himself on his
own side, so that no one could get at him to murder him in his sleep.
Among the courtiers who daily visited Dionysius there was one called
Dam'o-cles. He was a great flatterer, and was never weary of telling the
tyrant how lucky and powerful and rich he was, and how enviable was his
lot.
Dionysius finally grew tired of hearing his flattery; and when he once
added, "If I were only obeyed as well as you, I should be the happiest
of men," the tyrant offered to take him at his word.
By his order, Damocles was dressed in the richest garments, laid on the
softest couch before the richest meal, and the servants were told to
obey his every wish. This pleased Damocles greatly. He laughed and sang,
ate and drank, and was enjoying himself most thoroughly.
By chance he idly gazed up at the ceiling, and saw a naked sword hanging
by a single hair directly over his head. He grew pale with terror, the
laughter died on his lips, and, as soon as he could move, he sprang from
the couch, where he had been in such danger of being killed at any
minute by the falling sword.
Dionysius with pretended surprise urged him to go back to his seat; but
Damocles refused to do so, and pointed to the sword with a trembling
hand. Then the tyrant told him that a person always haunted by fear can
never be truly happy,--an explanation which Damocles readily understood.
Since then, whenever a seemingly happy and prosperous person is
threatened by a hidden danger, it has been usual to compare him to
Damocles, and to say that a sword is hanging over his head.
LXXXIV. DION AND DIONYSIUS.