TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—This work is divided into three volumes, all of them available on PG;
index is on third volume. It has been split replacing every item in
the volume where they belong. A full version of index has been
mantained at the end of third volume.
HISTORICAL
PARALLELS
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. I.
LONDON:
CHARLES KNIGHT & Co., LUDGATE STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET.
CONTENTS.
Page
INTRODUCTION 5
CHAPTER I.
Mythic period of Grecian history—Savage state of Greece
compared with that of Scandinavia—Anecdotes of Northern
warriors—Hercules—Theseus—State of Greece in their time,
illustrated by that of England subsequent to the
Conquest—Argonautic expedition—Theban war—Story of Don
Pedro of Castile—Trojan war 11
CHAPTER II.
Aristomenes—Hereward le Wake—Wallace 40
CHAPTER III.
Treatment of Prisoners of War—Crœsus—Roman Triumphs—Sapor
and Valerian—Imprisonment of Bajazet—His treatment of the
Marshal Boucicaut and his Companions—Changes produced by
the advance of Civilization—Effect of Feudal
Institutions—Anecdote from Froissart—Conduct of the Black
Prince towards the Constable Du Guesclin and the King of
France 77
CHAPTER IV.
Tyranny of Cambyses, terminating in madness—of
Caligula—of the Emperor Paul 114
CHAPTER V.
Early changes in the Athenian constitution—Murder of
Cylon—Fatalism—Usurpation of Pisistratus—His
policy—Hippias and Hipparchus—Conspiracy of Harmodius
and Aristogiton—Expulsion of Hippias—Cosmo de’ Medici,
Lorenzo and Giuliano de’ Medici—Conspiracy of the Pazzi 153
CHAPTER VI.
Invasion of Scythia by Darius—Destruction of Crassus and
his army by the Parthians—Retreat of Antony—Retreat and
death of Julian—Retreat from Moscow 190
INDEX 239
HISTORICAL PARALLELS.
INTRODUCTION.
Works of history may be divided into two great classes: those which
select a single action or a detached period for their subject; and
those which follow a nation through the whole or a large portion
of its existence; and which, embracing a number of such subjects,
compensate for giving less minute and accurate information upon each,
by explaining their relation, and the influence which they have
exerted upon each other. To the former belong Thucydides, Xenophon,
and Cæsar; to the latter Diodorus and Livy: or, in English literature,
we may take Clarendon and Hume respectively as the representatives
of these divisions. It is obvious that the method of treating themes
so different in character, must also be essentially different; that
for an historian of the latter class to aim at the particularity
which we expect in the former, would involve something of the same
absurdity as if a landscape painter were to give to an extended horizon
the distinctness and detail which are proper to his foregrounds or
to a closely bounded scene. If our curiosity is not satisfied by a
comprehensive view, the remedy is to be found by multiplying pictures
of its most striking parts, not by introducing into one canvas a
multitude of objects which must fatigue and confuse the mind, and
obscure those leading features which ought to stand out in prominent
relief. Any one who wished to become acquainted with the nature and
characteristics of a country, which he could not survey personally,
would neither confine his inspection to bird’s–eye and panoramic
views, nor content himself with a series of detached paintings, though
representing separately whatever was most worthy of observation: in the
one case his ideas, though perhaps correct, would necessarily be slight
and superficial; in the other, his knowledge of the parts would never
enable him to form an accurate judgment of the whole.
Valuable, therefore, as is the assistance of those authors who have
devoted their talents and learning to epitomizing and rendering
accessible the story of past ages, it is far from desirable that we
should content ourselves with a blind trust in them, without checking
their assertions, and filling up their sketches by a more detailed
knowledge than it is possible for them to communicate. To apply these
observations to the present work, the History of Greece contained
in the Library of Useful Knowledge necessarily gives a very short
account of many things which deserve to be known in detail, both on
account of their historical notoriety and for the intrinsic value
which they possess as striking examples of human power, passion, and
suffering. Much of the excessive commendation which has been bestowed
upon ancient virtue and patriotism ought probably to be attributed to
the eager interest naturally excited by the revival of learning and
the peculiar circumstances under which it took place. The discovery
of the works of the most celebrated writers of antiquity, whose names
at least had not been forgotten, must at any time have produced much
curiosity and excitement: and peculiarly so when modern literature did
not yet possess many names to divide the palm of genius with them.
Besides this the political circumstances of the Italian states, in
which the new discoveries were at first most successfully and generally
prosecuted, would give an additional interest and a peculiar bias to
the study of ancient literature; for their inhabitants would naturally
be disposed, as Italians, to exult in the glories of ancient Italy,
and as republicans to look for patterns both of polity and of conduct
among the famous republics of Greece and Rome. A contrary cause, in a
later age, and in countries subject to arbitrary power, would probably
conduce to the continuance of the same feeling, when the prevalent
subjection of public opinion made it safer to enforce sentiments of
freedom and patriotism under the mask of an overstrained admiration
for actions, frequently of very questionable character, done in times
long past, than openly to profess the love of republican simplicity and
liberty, which was willingly left to be inferred. The usual course of
education long tended, and in an inferior degree perhaps still tends,
to cherish the same indiscriminate enthusiasm. The first histories
put into the hands of children are usually those of Greece and Rome,
taken not from the sober and comparatively unprejudiced relations of
the earliest authorities, but from Plutarch, and other compilers of a
later age, who, living themselves under despotic power, and compelled
to veil their philosophical aspirations after a better state of polity
and morals under extravagant praises of a by–gone period of imaginary
virtue and disinterestedness, were for the most part ready to warp
truth into correspondence with their own views. In such works actions
are held up to admiration because they are brilliant, without much
inquiry whether they were justifiable; wanton and unjust aggressions,
and other crimes of still deeper dye, are glossed over upon some false
plea of patriotism; or their moral quality is never alluded to, and the
young reader is too much captivated by the splendour of bravery and
talent, to remember that the ends to which these gifts are directed
should never be forgotten in estimating their claim to applause.[1]
But whatever be our opinion touching Grecian and Roman virtue, or the
moral character of the most celebrated portions of their history, these
have obtained a degree of currency and notoriety which render familiar
acquaintance with them almost necessary for the full understanding of
much even of modern literature. The object of this work is to supply,
in part, these details from the original historians, and to compare
or contrast them with other remarkable incidents of ancient or modern
times; in hope of forming a collection of narratives of some interest
to those who are not largely read in history. And even those who are
in some degree familiar with the subjects here treated, but whose
knowledge is chiefly drawn from compilations of modern date, may be
gratified by the variety in style, feelings, and opinions observable in
a collection of extracts from authors of various dates and nations.
We have selected from the Grecian History, in chronological order,
as furnishing the readiest principle of arrangement, a series of
occurrences of which some have obtained remarkable notoriety; some,
being less known, are either striking in themselves, or characteristic
of the age and people to which they belong; and finally some, with
less intrinsic value, may serve to introduce curious or instructive
matter of comparison. To every person well acquainted with the
subject, many things will probably occur, of which the omission may
be regretted. Completeness, however, is evidently unattainable in an
undertaking of this sort, and the passages taken from Grecian history
have necessarily been regulated in part by the correspondences which
presented themselves in the histories of other nations. It has been
our object to draw examples from a great variety of sources; from
different countries, in different ages, and in different states of
civilization: and to show that no particular virtues or vices have
been inherent in any age or nation: believing that human nature and
human passions are everywhere alike, and that the great differences in
national character are mainly to be ascribed to external circumstances
and training. Comparisons of contrast, therefore, are no less valuable
than comparisons of resemblance, when we can trace the causes which
have produced a difference in conduct. It only remains to add, that we
have not always thought it necessary to require a close analogy either
of motives or of actions.
The instances chosen have not been very strictly confined to what
rests upon undoubted testimony. Perhaps we learn little less of the
habits and opinions of men, from ascertaining what they have believed
of others, than from knowing what they have done themselves; and,
therefore, even works of fiction may be resorted to in some degree,
care being taken to distinguish the character of the authorities.
For example, we should have no hesitation in quoting even from the
Mort d’Arthur, and still more from the earlier romances on which
it is founded, in illustration of the manners of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, in which those romances were written; or,
though on different grounds, the admirable narratives of the plagues
of Florence and London by Boccaccio and Defoe, which probably are no
less trustworthy for the character of the narrative, and in a great
degree for the facts themselves, than Thucydides’ description of
the plague at Athens. Again, there is a sort of debateable ground,
where genuine history begins to gain the ascendant over fable, as
in the case of Aristomenes and Wallace, where we cannot tell, nor
is it important to know, the exact measure of truth contained in
the legends concerning them. The outlines of their lives we have
reason to believe to be correct, and rejecting from their exploits
all that is grossly improbable, the remainder will furnish us with a
sufficiently clear idea of the accomplishments and adventures of a
warrior of their respective ages. The poem of Blind Harry abounds in
improbable fictions, but much more information concerning Wallace
and his contemporaries may be gained from it than from the meagre
chronicles which composed the graver literature of the age. From
such sources, therefore, we shall not scruple to borrow, though not
without advertising the reader of their nature, and endeavouring, where
necessary, to draw the boundary line between truth and fiction.
For reasons above stated, our extracts have usually been taken from
contemporary authors, or at least from the earliest authorities
extant. Where this rule has been departed from, it is because the
originals offer no striking passages to select, and are too prolix
to be given entire. In this case, condensation becomes necessary,
and we have gladly availed ourselves of the labours of others who
have already performed that task, in preference to seeking novelty
at the expense perhaps of accuracy or elegance. For the same reason
existing translations have been used, whenever a good translation of
the particular passage could be found. Where none such occurred, we
have endeavoured to adhere closely to our author, and even where his
narrative has been much compressed, to give, as far as was possible,
not only his substance, but his words.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
Mythic period of Grecian history—Savage state of Greece
compared with that of Scandinavia—Anecdotes of Northern
warriors—Hercules—Theseus—State of Greece in their time, illustrated by
that of England subsequent to the Conquest—Argonautic expedition—Theban
war—Story of Don Pedro of Castile—Trojan war.
The traditions from which our knowledge of what is called the mythic
age of Greece, or the age of fable, from the earliest notices of it
to the Trojan war, is almost entirely derived, furnish few materials
for a work like this, for where everything is misty and undefined,
there can be little opportunity for comparison. The wonderful poetic
talent displayed in their narration and embellishment has, however,
given them a place in history, and an importance otherwise undeserved,
and men study the actions and genealogy of an Achaian prince, as
gravely as if he had been really the descendant of Jupiter, and the
conqueror of monsters and oppressors innumerable. It becomes the more
interesting therefore to inquire into the actual condition of Greece
in its earliest times, and ascertain, if possible, whether the godlike
men, sprung from the Gods, of whose superhuman powers and exploits
succeeding ages have read, until by the mere force of repetition they
have half believed them, had in reality any advantage over barbarians
of other races and regions. To guide us in the inquiry we have two
sorts of information, totally distinct in their nature: the meagre
notices of authentic history, and a copious store of mythological and
poetical legends. So far as the former is available, we have no reason
to think that the heroic age had much advantage over those dark times
in which the foundations of modern Europe were laid. Passing over the
account given by Thucydides of the earliest inhabitants of Greece as
being applicable to any savage race, in the next stage of society, when
the arts had somewhat advanced, in the reign of Minos, the first person
perhaps of whom any rational and credible account is given, a code of
honour existed which made strength not only the first but the sum–total
of all virtues, and filled the sea with pirates and the land with
robbers.
“Minos was the most ancient of all that by report we know to have
built a navy, and he made himself master of the now Grecian sea, and
both commanded the Isles called Cyclades,[2] and also was the first
who sent colonies into most of the same, expelling thence the Carians,
and constituting his own sons there for governors, and also freed the
sea from pirates as much as he could, for the better coming in, as is
likely, of his own revenue.
“For the Grecians in old time and such barbarians[3] as in the
continent lived near unto the sea or else inhabited the islands, when
they began more often to cross over to one another in ships, became
thieves, and went abroad under the conduct of their most puissant men,
both to enrich themselves and to fetch in maintenance for the weak:
and falling upon towns unfortified, and scatteringly inhabited, rifled
them, and made this the best means of their living; being at that time
a matter nowhere in disgrace, but rather carrying with it something
of glory. This is manifest by some that dwell on the continent, among
whom, so it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed as an ornament.
The same also is proved by some of the ancient poets, who introduce
men questioning such as sail by, on all coasts alike, whether they be
thieves or not;[4] as a thing neither scorned by such as were asked,
nor upbraided by those that were desirous to know. They also robbed
one another within the main land: and much of Greece useth that old
custom, as the Locrians called Ozolæ (or _Stinkards_), the Acarnanians,
and those of the continent in that quarter unto this day. Moreover the
fashion of wearing iron remaineth yet with the people of that continent
from their old trade of thieving.
“For once they were wont throughout all Greece to go armed, because
their houses were unfenced and travelling unsafe, and accustomed
themselves like the barbarians to the ordinary wearing of their armour.
And the nations of Greece that live so yet, do testify that the same
manner of life was anciently universal to all the rest.”[5]
A condition of society identical with that described in the latter
part of this extract still exists among the Curdish and Caucasian and
other Asiatic mountaineers, and existed till lately in the Scottish
Highlands. But descriptions of the latter have been multiplied, until
they have become familiar in men’s mouths as household terms; and we
pass in preference to a less hackneyed subject. In the eighth and
ninth centuries the piratical spirit of ancient Greece was revived
among those fierce Danes and Norwegians, who led a life of constant
rapine and bloodshed; of interminable warfare at home, of frightful
devastation abroad. “The Sea–kings of the North were a race of beings
whom Europe beheld with horror. Without a yard of territorial property,
with no wealth but their ships, no force but their crews, and no
hope but from their swords, they swarmed upon the boisterous ocean,
and plundered in every district that they could approach.... It is
declared to have been a law or custom in the North, that one of the
male children should be selected to remain at home to inherit the
government. The rest were exiled to the ocean, to wield their sceptres
amid the turbulent waters. The consent of the northern societies
entitled all men of royal descent, who assumed piracy as a profession,
to enjoy the name of kings, though they possessed no territory. The
sea–kings had the same honour, but they were only a portion of those
pirates, or _vikingr_, who in the ninth century were covering the
ocean. Not only the children of the kings, but every man of importance
equipped ships, and roamed the seas to acquire property by force.
Piracy was not only the most honourable occupation and the best harvest
of wealth; it was not only consecrated to public estimation by the
illustrious who pursued it, but no one was esteemed noble, no one was
respected, who did not return in the winter to his home with ships
laden with booty.”[6] Part of the regulations of a band of pirates is
preserved by Bartholinus, and may serve as a specimen of the better
class, though the reader may not be inclined to agree with him in
considering them as men “devoted to virtue, bravery, and humanity,
rather than to the oppression of innocent persons.” These regulations
were called the Constitutions of King Half. “No one might wear a
sword more than an ell in length, that they might be compelled to
close in battle. Each was to be equal in strength to twelve ordinary
men. They made prisoners neither women nor boys. None was to bind his
wounds until the lapse of twenty hours. These men everywhere infested
the land, and everywhere were victorious. They lay at anchor at the
ends of headlands. They never raised bulwarks on their ships’ sides,
and never lowered their sails, let the wind blow as it would. Their
captain never had in his ship more than sixty men.” No less creditable
were the ordinances of Hialmar, the sum of which was, that his men
should plunder neither traders nor husbandmen; that they should neither
rob women of their money, nor carry them off against their consent:
and should not eat raw flesh.[7] The fiercer class indulged in this
disgusting food, and washed it down suitably with draughts of blood.
Savage in all things, it was an amusement to toss infants from one to
another, and catch them on the points of their lances. Many used to
work themselves literally into a state of bestial ferocity. Those who
were subject to these paroxysms were called Berserkir: they studied
to resemble wild beasts; they excited themselves to a strength which
has been compared to that of bears; and this unnatural power was
succeeded, as we may well suppose, by corresponding debility. In the
French and Italian romances, we frequently find a warrior endowed,
for a part of the day, with a double or treble share of strength;
and it is not improbable that the fiction may have been derived
from this species of frenzy, which is thus described by the Danish
historian, Saxo Grammaticus. “Sivald had seven sons, so skilled in
magic, that, impelled by the sudden access of fury, they used often
to howl savagely, to gnaw their shields, to devour live coals, and
rush fearlessly into fire; and this passion could only be appeased by
confinement in fetters, or by human blood.” This Sivald and Haldan
were rivals for the Swedish crown. Sivald challenged Haldan to decide
their quarrel by contending alone with himself and his seven sons. The
latter answered that the legitimate form of the duel did not admit of
more than two. “No wonder,” replied his antagonist, “that a man without
wife or offspring, whose mind and body are alike deficient in warmth,
should refuse the proffered encounter. But my children, who own me as
the author of their existence, and myself, have one common origin, and
must be considered as one man.” The force of the argument was admitted,
and, in obedience to this modest request, Haldan knocked out the brains
of the eight.
The same warrior was challenged by another Berserkir, named Harthben,
who always had twelve chosen men in attendance to prevent his doing
mischief when the fit was upon him. Upon hearing that Haldan undertook
to fight himself and his followers, he was seized with a paroxysm which
was not subdued until he had killed six of them, by way of trying his
hand: and then he was killed by his antagonist, as he richly deserved,
for throwing away half his chance.[8] So also we read that Odin could
blunt the weapons of his enemies; that his soldiers went to battle
without armour, biting their shields, raging like wolves or dogs: like
bears or bulls in strength, they slaughtered their foes, and were
themselves invulnerable to fire and sword.[9] At length, however, this
passion changed from a distinction to a reproach, and was ultimately
prohibited by penal laws.
Harold Harfager, or the Fairhaired, who consolidated Norway under
his sceptre, A.D. 910, cleared the Northern Ocean from the
scourge of piracy, as did Minos the Grecian seas. Still the spirit
of depredation was alive. The spread of Christianity moderated the
excesses of the Northmen, but it was long ere their fondness for
freebooting was extinguished; nay, the very rites of religion were
employed to give a sanction to robbery. Maritime expeditions seemed
to the Danes pious and necessary, that they might protect themselves
from the incursions of their Sclavonic neighbours on the continent, and
piracy was therefore practised under certain laws, which in the opinion
of Bartholinus breathe a spirit of defence rather than of aggression.
“Pirates had power to take such ships as appeared suited to their
purpose, even without consent of the owners, upon payment of one–eighth
of the booty by way of hire. Before a voyage they made confession to
the priests, and having undergone penance, they received the sacrament,
as if at the point of death, believing that things would go more
prosperously if they duly propitiated God before war. Content with
their food and armour, they avoided burdening their vessels, and took
nothing that could delay their voyage. Their watches were frequent,
their mode of life sparing. They slept leaning upon their oars. Their
battles were numerous: their victory ever easy, and almost bloodless.
The booty was shared equally, the master receiving no larger portion
than a common rower. Those Christians whom they found enslaved in the
captured vessels, they presented with clothing, and dismissed to their
own homes.”[10]
The frantic ravages of these barbarians have been described by the
sufferers, and belong in part to our own history; while those committed
by the unknown tribes who two thousand years before occupied the other
extremity of Europe, are long since forgotten, or remembered only in
the flattering traditions of their countrymen. The former, therefore,
are known and execrated, while the latter stand fair with the world:
and in the absence of evidence, we are far from wishing to impute to
them that bestial ferocity which so often disgraced the Northmen:
but who can compare the passages just given with that quoted from
Thucydides, without being convinced that they refer to corresponding
periods of civilization, and describe similar principles, if not
similar modes of action? And as the best historical accounts which we
can procure represent the feelings and habits of the early Greeks
as closely akin to those of our own barbarous ancestors, so their
traditions and fables lead us to the same conclusion. The Scaldic poems
bear, indeed, a more savage cast; some say from the inhospitable rigour
of our northern sky; but more probably because we possess them in their
original or nearly their original state, while the earliest Greek
compositions extant were written in an age comparatively civilized.
But the heroes of both were actuated by the same spirit. Siegfrid and
Wolf Dietrich differ little but in external ornament from Castor, or
Achilles, or Diomed; their pride was in the same accomplishments, their
delight in the same pleasures, their hope in an immortality of the same
sensual enjoyments.[11]
Some sketch of the life of Starchaterus, a purely fictitious person,
may serve as a specimen of these stories.
Starchaterus was born in Sweden, a few years after the Christian era.
He was of giant stature, and of strength and courage correspondent to
the magnitude of his frame, so that in prowess he was held inferior to
none of mortal parentage; and, as he excelled all in bodily endowments,
so his life was protracted to three times the usual duration of human
existence. Like his great prototype, the Grecian Hercules, he traversed
the neighbouring regions, and went even to Ireland and Constantinople
in quest of adventures; but, unlike him, he was animated by a most
intolerant hatred of everything approaching to luxury, insomuch that
he treated an invitation to dinner as an insult, and inflicted severe
punishment upon all who were so imprudently hospitable as to request
his company. For it was the mark of a buffoon and parasite, he said, to
run after the smell of another man’s kitchen, for the sake of better
fare.[12] In other respects the severity of his manners was more
commendable; when he found any of the classes who live by the follies
or vices of mankind mixing with soldiers, he drove them away with the
scourge, esteeming them unworthy to receive death from the hands of
brave men. In addition to his other accomplishments, he was skilled in
poetry, and persecuted luxury in verse no less successfully than by
corporeal inflictions, as is evident from certain of his compositions,
which have been translated into Latin by Saxo Grammaticus.
He went to Russia on purpose to fight Visin, who possessed the power
of blunting weapons with a look, and trusting in this magic power,
exercised all sorts of cruelty and oppression. Starchaterus rendered
the charm of no avail by covering his sword with thin leather, and then
obtained an easy victory.
Nine warriors of tried valour offered to Helgo, king of Norway, the
alternative of doing battle singly against the nine, or losing his
bride upon his marriage–day. Helgo thought it best to appear by his
champion, and requested the assistance of Starchaterus, who was so
eager for the adventure, that in following Helgo to the appointed
place, in one day, and on foot, he performed a journey which had
occupied the king, who travelled on horseback, during twelve days.
On the morrow, which was the appointed day, ascending a mountain,
which was the place of meeting, he chose a spot exposed to the wind
and snow, and then, as if it were spring, throwing off his clothes,
he set himself to dislodge the fleas that nestled in them. Then the
nine warriors ascended the mountain on the other side, and showed the
difference of their hardihood by lighting a fire in a sheltered spot.
Not perceiving their antagonist, one went to look out from the mountain
top, who saw at a distance an old man covered with snow up to the
shoulders. They asked him if it were he who was to fight with them, and
being answered in the affirmative, inquired further, whether he would
receive them singly or all together. His reply was rather more churlish
than the question deserved: “When the dogs bark at me, I drive them off
all together, and not one by one.” Then, after a severe battle, he
slew them all.
At last, being overtaken by age, he thought it fit to terminate his
life before his glory was dimmed by decrepitude; for men used to
consider it disgraceful for a warrior to perish by sickness. So he
hung round his neck one hundred and twenty pounds of gold, the spoil
of one Olo, to buy the good offices of an executioner, thinking it fit
that the wealth which he had obtained by another man’s death should be
spent in procuring his own. And meeting Hather, whose father he had
formerly slain, he exhorted him to take vengeance for that injury, and
pointed out what he would gain by doing so. Hather willingly consented,
and Starchaterus, stretching out his neck, bade him strike boldly,
adding, for his encouragement, that if he leaped between the severed
head and the trunk before the latter touched the earth, he would become
invincible in arms. Now, whether he said this out of good will, or to
be quits with his slayer, who ran a good chance of being crushed by the
falling giant, is doubtful. The head, stricken off at a blow, bit the
earth, retaining its ferocity in death: but Starchaterus’ real meaning
remained unknown, for Hather showed his prudence by declining to take a
leap, which had he taken, he might never have leaped again.[13]
This is an early and rude specimen of an errant knight; the same
character which was afterwards expanded into Roland and Launcelot, the
paladins and peers of Charlemagne and Arthur, worthies closely allied
to the heroes of Homer and Hesiod. The triple–bodied Geryon, the Nemean
lion and Lernæan hydra, the deliverance of Andromeda by Perseus, the
capture of the golden fleece, and above all, perhaps, Amycus, who
compelled all strangers to box with him, till he was beaten by Pollux,
and bound by oath to renounce the practice, are entirely in unison with
the spirit and imagery of chivalric romance. Examples to this effect
might easily be multiplied. But an essay on the fictions of the Greeks
would be foreign to the scope of this publication: and it would be
absurd to enter upon a critical investigation of a series of stories,
extended by some chronologers over seven centuries, from the foundation
of Argos to the Trojan war, while Newton contracts them within a
century and a half, which tell of little but bloodshed, abductions,
and violence of all sorts, intermixed, however, with notices of those
who invented the useful arts and fostered the gradual progress of
civilization. As we approach to the Trojan war, a sort of twilight
history begins to dawn upon us. It is to what may seem at first the
strongholds of fiction, to the exploits of Hercules and Theseus, that
we refer. The earliest ascertained fact is the establishment of a
regular government by Minos, who also cleared the sea from pirates.
At no long interval the above–named heroes made another step in
civilization; they cleared the land from rapine, as Minos had cleared
the sea. Other men, roaming in search of adventures, had carried
bloodshed through the land at the suggestion of their passions or for
the advancement of their fame; but Hercules first traversed the earth
with the express design of avenging the oppressed and exterminating
their oppressors, and the example was soon after followed by his
kinsman Theseus. Their exploits, of course, are chiefly fabulous:
but it is worthy of observation that those of Theseus approach much
nearer to probability than the far–famed labours of Hercules. Indeed
the history of the former presents this peculiarity, that the accounts
of his youth are consistent, and scarcely improbable, while those of
his age run into all the extravagance of romance. Theseus, travelling
from Trœzen to Athens, was strongly urged to go by sea, the way by
land being beset with robbers and murderers. He refused to do so,
being inflamed with emulation of Hercules’ renown; and on the journey
signalized himself by slaying Sinnis, surnamed the Pine–bender, because
he dismembered travellers by tying them to the tops of trees forcibly
brought together and then allowed to start asunder; Procrustes, who
exhibited a passion for uniformity worthy a German general of the
old school, in reducing all men to the measure of his own bed, by
stretching those who were too short, and docking those who were too
long; together with others of less note, and similar habits. That
Plutarch believed in these stories is evident, from the tone in which
he recites them; a corroboration, indeed, of no great weight, for
he proceeds with equal gravity to relate things which no one will
credit; but in this instance his account of the state of Greece gives
warranty for his belief, and is itself confirmed by our knowledge of
later ages. The passage has often been quoted, but it is striking and
to the purpose, and its want of novelty, therefore, shall be no bar
to its insertion. “The world at that time brought forth men, which
for strongness in their arms, for swiftness of their feet, and for
a general strength of the whole body, did far pass the common force
of others, and were never weary for any labour or travail they took
in hand. But for all this, they never employed these gifts of nature
to any honest or profitable thing; but rather delighted villainously
to hurt and wrong others; as if all the fruit and profit of their
extraordinary strength had consisted in cruelty and violence only,
and to be able to keep others under and in subjection; and to force,
destroy, and spoil all that came to their hands. Thinking that the more
part of those which think it a shame to do ill, and commend justice,
equity, and humanity, do it of faint, cowardly hearts, because they
dare not wrong others, for fear they should receive wrong themselves;
and, therefore, that they which by might could have vantage over
others, had nothing to do with such qualities.”[14]
The enormities ascribed to Sinnis and his fellows have discredited
the whole train of adventures to which they belong; but this is an
untenable ground of doubt. He who reads descriptions of the state of
England, before laws were strong enough to control private violence,
given by contemporaries who saw what they relate, and whose narratives
bear the impress of sincerity, will better appreciate the extent of
human ferocity. In the reign of Stephen disorder was at its height.
“The barons cruelly oppressed the wretched men of the land with
castle–works, and when the castles were made, they filled them with
devils and evil men. Then took they those whom they supposed to have
any goods, both by night and day, labouring men and women, and threw
them into the prison for their gold and silver, and inflicted on them
unutterable tortures: for never were any martyrs so tortured as they
were. Some they hanged up by the feet, and smoked them with foul smoke,
and some by the thumbs, or the head, and hung coats of mail on their
feet. They tied knotted cords about their heads, and twisted them until
the pain went to their brains. They put them into dungeons where were
adders, and snakes, and toads, and so destroyed them. Some they placed
in a crucet house; that is, in a chest that was short and narrow, and
not deep, wherein they put sharp stones, and so thrust the man therein,
that they broke all the limbs. In many of the castles were things
loathsome and grim, called Sachenteges, of which two or three men had
enough to bear one. They were thus made: they were fastened to a beam,
having a sharp iron to go about a man’s throat, so that he could in no
direction either sit, or lie, or sleep, but bear all that iron. Many
thousands they wore out with hunger. I neither can, nor may I tell
all the wounds and pains which they inflicted on wretched men in this
land.”[15]
“Some, seeing the sweetness of their country turned into bitterness,
went into foreign parts: others built hovels about churches in hope
of security, and there passed life in fear and pain, subsisting for
lack of food (for famine was felt dreadfully over all England) upon
the forbidden and unused flesh of dogs and horses, or relieving hunger
with raw herbs and roots, until throughout the provinces men, wasted
by famine, died in crowds, or went voluntarily with their families
into a miserable exile. You might see towns of famous name, standing
lonely, and altogether emptied by the death of their inhabitants of
all ages and sexes; the fields whitening under a thriving harvest, but
the husbandman cut off by pestilential famine ere it ripened: and all
England wore the face of grief and calamity, of misery and oppression.
In addition to these evils, the savage multitude of barbarians who
resorted to England for the gains of warfare was moved neither by the
bowels of piety nor by any feeling of human compassion for such misery:
everywhere they conspired from their castles to do all wickedness,
being always at leisure to rob the poor, to promote quarrels, and
intent everywhere upon slaughter with all the malice of a wicked
mind.” Even churchmen amused themselves with these pastimes. “The
bishops themselves, as I am ashamed to say, not all indeed, but many
of them, clad in handsome armour, rode up and down on prancing horses
with these upsetters of their country; shared in their booty; exposed
to fetters, or torture, knights, or any wealthy persons soever, whom
they intercepted; and being themselves the head and cause of all this
wickedness, they threw the blame not on themselves, but only upon their
followers.”[16]
Enough of general descriptions, which are fully borne out by the
particulars related. “In the reign of Stephen, Robert, the son of
Hubert, had gotten possession of the castle of Devizes. He was a man
exceeding all within memory in barbarity and blasphemy, who used
freely to make boast, that he had been present when twenty–four monks
were burnt together with their church, and profess that he would do
as much in England, and ruin utterly the abbey of Malmesbury. If he
ever dismissed a prisoner unransomed, and without the torture, which
very seldom happened, at such times, when they thanked him in God’s
name, I have with these ears heard him answer, ‘God will never own the
obligation to me.’ He would expose his captives naked to the burning
sun, anointed with honey, to attract flies, and such other tormenting
insects.”[17] This worthy met with a fit end, being taken and hanged;
but this act of retribution was one of illegal violence, being done by
a knight who held Marlborough Castle, without a shadow of authority,
and apparently on the principle that any one had a right to abate a
nuisance.
“In these times (the reign of William Rufus) men come not to great
name but by the highest wickedness. Thomas, a great baron near Laudun
in France, was great in name, because he was extreme in wickedness. At
enmity with the surrounding churches, he had brought all their wealth
into his own exchequer. If any one by force or guile were holden in his
keeping, truly might that man say, ‘the pains of hell got hold upon
me.’ Murder was his glory and delight. Against all usage, he placed
a countess in a dungeon, whom the foul ruffian harassed with fetters
and torments to extort money. He would speak words of peace to his
neighbour, and stab him to the heart with a smile, and hence, under his
cloak, he more often wore his sword naked than sheathed. Therefore,
men feared, respected, worshipped him. All through France was he
spoken of. Daily did his estate, his treasure, his vassalage increase.
Wouldst thou hear the end of this villain? Being stricken with a sword
unto death, refusing to repent, and turning away his head from the
Lord’s body, in such manner he perished: so that it might well be
said, ‘Befitting to your life was that death.’ You have seen Robert de
Belesme, a Norman baron, who when established in his castle was Pluto,
Megæra, Cerberus, or anything that can be named more dreadful. He took
pains not to dismiss, but to dispatch his captives. Pretending to be in
play, he put out his son’s eyes with his thumbs, while he was muffled
up in a cloak; he impaled persons of both sexes. Horrid slaughter was
as a meat pleasant to his soul: therefore was he found in all men’s
mouths, so that the wonderful doings of Robert de Belesme passed into
proverbs. Let us come at length to the end. He who had afflicted
others in prison, being at last thrown into prison by King Henry, ended
his wicked life by an enduring punishment.”[18]
It was this state of disorder which produced knight–errantry, and
there is nothing absurd in believing that equal lawlessness in another
country was checked by the same sort of interference. The reality of
knight–errantry has, indeed, been questioned; it has been pronounced a
fiction, suited to the wants of the period in which it was supposed to
exist. If this were so, and the tales of Hercules and Theseus equally
groundless, it would still be curious to see that men had been led to
imagine the same means of making amends for the want of an executive
power: but we do not believe this to be the case. The romances gave
system and consistency to the scattered acts of individuals; they
described the better qualities of knighthood in their own days, and
filled up the picture with imaginary virtues and preter–human prowess,
attributes which men are always ready to confer on their ancestors, as
Nestor makes the heroes with whom he fought in youth far superior to
those whom he lectured in old age, and Homer endows those who fought
under Troy with the strength of three or four men, “such as mortals now
are.” But their productions bear the stamp of copies, not originals,
and it is not very easy to believe that they would have invented, or
their audience and readers relished, characters and rules of action for
which their own experience gave no warrant.
There is, however, a double Theseus, of historic as well as legendary
fame. In his latter capacity, both for the degree of reality and
the nature of his exploits, he may be compared to Arthur; in his
former, still to draw an illustration from British history, he is not
unworthy to be placed by the side of Alfred. The union of these two,
discordant as it may appear, is not more so than that of the poetic
and the historical Theseus. Alfred, indeed, signalised his military
talents in many hard–fought fields, but his victories were those of
a general: the exploits of Theseus were those of a knight. But among
the mass of stories of questionable truth or unquestioned falsehood
relating to him, it is generally acknowledged that this man, whose
very existence we might else have doubted, was the author of extensive
and judicious reforms in government, such as proved the foundation
of Attic greatness: reforms which he effected by the rarest and most
virtuous of all sacrifices, the resignation of his own power.[19]
Attica was divided into twelve districts, shires we might call them,
except that, taken all together, they were less than one of the
larger English counties. Professedly forming one body, and owning a
precarious obedience to one prince, they had still their petty and
conflicting interests, and could with difficulty be induced to concur
in any measures for the benefit of the whole. Theseus, encouraged
by the popularity which he had gained by delivering Athens from its
subjection to Crete,[20] undertook to substitute a better polity. “He
went through the several towns, and persuaded the inhabitants to give
up their separate councils and magistrates, and submit to a common
jurisdiction. Every man was to retain his dwelling and his property
as before; but justice was to be administered and all public business
transacted at Athens. The mass of the people came into his measures,
and to subdue the reluctance of the powerful, who were loath to resign
the importance accruing from the local magistracies, he gave up much of
his own authority, reserving only the command of the army, and the care
of watching over the execution of the laws. Opposition was silenced
by his liberality, together with the fear of his power, ability, and
courage, and the union of Attica was effected by him and made lasting.
To bind it closer, without disturbing the religious observances of the
several towns, he instituted a common festival in honour of Minerva,
which was called the feast of union, and (_Panathenæa_) the feast of
all the Athenians.”[21]
This process bears some resemblance to the consolidation of the Saxon
Heptarchy, nominally effected by Egbert, but completed and made truly
beneficial by Alfred. The evils which were to be reformed were very
different in the two cases: at Athens civil dissension was to be
remedied; in England a rude people, intermixed with foreign barbarians
more ferocious than themselves, and reduced to poverty by a series of
destructive invasions, required a strong curb for the re–establishment
of order and security. We must not expect, therefore, to find any
resemblance between their institutions: the Saxons required no measures
to prevent civil war, and inspire a spirit of nationality; the
Athenians, though well inclined to civil broils, respected, from the
earliest dawn of history, the security of property, and in consequence
far outstripped the rest of Greece in wealth and refinement.
Nevertheless the names of these princes may fairly be selected to
adorn the same page: both advanced beyond their age in legislative and
political science; both directed their wisdom, power, and popularity to
truly noble ends; and therefore merit the respect of all who believe
rank and office to have been instituted for other ends than for the
advantage of those who possess them.
We have spoken of Hercules and Theseus as indicating the commencement
of Grecian history. Previous to them, facts are mentioned which we
have no ground to disbelieve, as the various settlements by Phœnician
or Egyptian emigrants; but all further particulars of these persons,
with the exception of Minos, are of such a nature, that where we find
no internal evidence to pronounce them fabulous we can yet assign but
scanty reasons for relying confidently upon their truth. But about
this era our knowledge begins to increase. We must refer to it an
event of which it is not easy to fix the date with certainty; namely,
the celebrated Argonautic expedition, in which both these heroes
are said to have joined: a statement, however, irreconcileable with
the accounts of Theseus’ introduction to Ægeus, and the plot formed
against him by Medea.[22] Without troubling ourselves to account for
these discrepancies, it is evident that the expedition, if it ever
took place, which there seems reason to believe in spite of Bryant’s
opposition, who would ascribe this, and almost all other legends, to
some faint traditions of the deluge and preservation of Noah, must have
borne a close resemblance to the Danish piratical excursions which we
have already described. Not long after occurs the first confederate war
mentioned in Grecian history, that of the Seven against Thebes;[23]
an event so closely connected with mythology that its reality might
reasonably be questioned, but for the testimony of Homer and Hesiod.
The revolting nature of the struggle between two brothers, for the
kingdom of a banished, miserable, and neglected father, would incline
us indeed to give as little credit to the concluding tragedy of the
house of Laius, as to the series of crimes and misery by which that
house had been polluted: but all arguments founded upon the horrors
of such fratricidal warfare fall to the ground, when in the brightest
period of chivalry we find it revived with no less rancour, and a no
less fatal end, and the flower of French knighthood a calm spectator,
nay, almost an actor in the scene. The strife between Don Pedro of
Castile, and his brother Henry of Transtamara, the deadly struggle in
which Pedro, who had already slain one brother, fell, when defeated
and a prisoner, by the dagger of another against whom his own hand was
armed, involve circumstances of horror scarce less adapted to dramatic
effect than those legends which have so often employed the Greek
tragedians.
Don Pedro was the legitimate heir to the crown of Castile. Don Henry
and Don Fadrique (or Frederick) were his half–brothers by Donna Leonora
de Guzman, whom their father had entertained as his mistress, and even
proclaimed queen, during the life–time of his lawful wife. When Pedro
succeeded to the throne, at his mother’s instigation he put her rival
to death: his brothers, Henry and Fadrique, escaped, and the former
renounced his allegiance: the latter fled into Portugal; but after
some time he made his peace, returned, and was appointed master of the
order of St. Iago. When several months had elapsed, he was invited to
join the court at Seville, and take his share in the amusements of an
approaching tournament. He accepted the invitation, but was sternly
and ominously received, and immediately executed within the palace.
The friends of Pedro asserted, that the king had, that very day,
detected Don Fadrique in a correspondence with his brother Henry and
the Arragonese; while popular belief attributed the slaughter of the
master to the influence of Pedro’s mistress, Maria de Padilla. The
circumstances of this event are powerfully described in one of the
Spanish ballads, so admirably translated by Mr. Lockhart. There is a
peculiarity of construction in the ballad, the person of the narrator
being changed in the course of it. It is commenced by the victim
himself, who describes the alacrity with which he obeyed his brother’s
summons.
I sat alone in Coimbra—the town myself had ta’en,—
When came into my chamber a messenger from Spain:
There was no treason in his look, an honest look he wore,
I from his hand the letter took—my brother’s seal it bore.
“Come, brother dear, the day draws near (’twas thus bespoke the king)
For plenar court and nightly sport, within the listed ring.”
Alas, unhappy master, I easy credence lent:
Alas, for fast and faster I at his bidding went.
When I set out from Coimbra, and passed the bounds of Spain,
I had a goodly company of spearmen in my train;
A gallant force, a score of horse, and sturdy mules thirteen;
With joyful heart I held my course, my years were young and green.
A journey of good fifteen days within the week was done,
I halted not, though signs I got, dark tokens many a one;
A strong stream mastered horse and mule, I lost a poniard fine,
And left a page within the pool, a faithful page of mine.
Yet on to proud Seville I rode—when to the gate I came,
Before it stood a man of God to warn me from the same:
The words he spake I would not hear, his grief I would not see;
“I seek,” I said, “my brother dear—I will not stop for thee.”
No lists were closed upon the sand, for royal tourney dight,
No pawing horse was seen to stand, I saw no armed knight:
Yet aye I gave my mule the spur, and hasted through the town,
I stopt before his palace–door, then gaily leapt I down.
They shut the door—my trusty score of friends were left behind;
I would not hear their whispered fear, no harm was in my mind;
I greeted Pedro, but he turned—I wot his look was cold;
His brother from his knee he spurned—“Stand off, thou master bold.
“Stand off, stand off, thou traitor strong!” ‘twas thus he saith to me,
“Thy time on earth shall not be long—what brings thee to my knee?
My lady craves a new year’s gift, and I will keep my word;
Thy head methinks may serve the shift—good yeoman, draw thy sword—“
The master lay upon the floor, ere well that word was said,
Then in a charger off they bore his pale and bloody head.
They brought it to Padilla’s chair, they bowed them on the knee—
“King Pedro greets thee, lady fair, his gift he sends to thee.”
She gazed upon the master’s head, her scorn it could not scare,
And cruel were the words she spoke, and proud her glances were.
“Thou now shalt pay, thou traitor base, the debt of many a year,
My dog shall lick that haughty face, no more that lip shall sneer.”
She seized it by the clotted hair, and o’er the window flung:
The mastiff smelt it in his lair, forth at her cry he sprung;
The mastiff that had crouched so low, to lick the master’s hand,
He tossed the morsel to and fro, and licked it on the sand.
And ever as the mastiff tore, his bloody teeth were shown,
With growl and snort he made his sport, and picked it to the bone!
The baying of the beast was loud; and swiftly on the street
There gathered round a gaping crowd to see the mastiff eat.
Then out and spake King Pedro—“What governance is this?
The rabble rout the gate without torment my dogs, I wiss.”
Then out and spake King Pedro’s page—“It is the master’s head,
The mastiff tears it in his rage, therewith they have him fed.”
Then out and spake the ancient nurse, that nursed the brothers twain—
“On thee, King Pedro, lies the curse; thy brother thou hast slain;
A thousand harlots there may be within the realms of Spain,
But where is she can give to thee thy brother back again?”
Came darkness o’er King Pedro’s brow, when thus he heard her say;
He sorely rued the accursed vow he had fulfilled that day;
He passed unto his paramour, where on her couch she lay.
Leaning from out her painted bower, to see the mastiff’s play.
He drew her to a dungeon dark, a dungeon strong and deep;
“My father’s son lies stiff and stark, and there are few to weep.
Fadrique’s blood for vengeance calls, his cry is in mine ear;
Thou art the cause, thou harlot false; in darkness lie thou here.”
After Pedro had alienated his people’s hearts by his cruelty, Don
Henry returned with a formidable body of French auxiliaries. At first
the fortune of the rightful owner of the throne, who was supported
by Edward the Black Prince, prevailed, and the invader was obliged
to retire back to France: but suddenly renewing the attack, assisted
by Du Guesclin, the flower of French knighthood, after the English
auxiliaries had quitted Spain, he defeated and took prisoner his
brother. Upon entering the chamber where he was confined, Henry
exclaimed, “Where is that whoreson and Jew, who calls himself King
of Castile?” Pedro, as proud and fearless as he was cruel, stepped
instantly forward, and replied, “Here I stand, the lawful son and heir
of Don Alphonso, and it is thou that art but a false bastard.” The
rival brothers instantly grappled like lions; the French knights, and
Du Guesclin himself, looking on. Henry drew his poniard, and wounded
Pedro in the face, but his body was protected by a coat of mail. A
violent struggle ensued. Henry fell across a bench, and his brother,
being uppermost, had well nigh mastered him, when one of Henry’s
followers seizing Don Pedro by the leg, turned him over, and his master
thus at length gaining the upper hand, instantly stabbed the king to
the heart. Menard, in his history of Du Guesclin, says that, while all
around gazed like statues on the furious struggle of the brothers, Du
Guesclin exclaimed to this attendant of Henry, “What! will you stand
by, and see your master placed at such a pass by a false renegade?
Make forward and help him, for well you may.”[24]
At Athens, the poets who contended for the tragic prize, were expected
to exhibit three pieces, which, from their number, were called
collectively a trilogy, together with a fourth, satirical, drama,
which came last in the order of representation, like our farces now.
Often they chose for the argument of these tragedies different events
in the same story, so that the three formed a connected whole: of
which an instance, the only instance extant, remains in the Agamemnon,
Choephoroi, and Eumenides of Æschylus. The tale which has just been
narrated is well fitted for this kind of representation, and would
furnish materials not unworthy even of that poet’s genius. In the first
play we may imagine an insulted queen and deserted wife, brooding over
past injuries, rejoicing in the prospect of revenge, and urging the
savage temper of her son to seek it in the blood of those who should
have been dearest to him; the play terminating with the death of
Leonora de Guzman, and the escape of her sons, preserved, like Orestes,
to be at once the ministers of vengeance and the instruments of further
crime. For the second the unsuspecting confidence of Don Fadrique, his
rejection of the signs and warnings, which were offered in vain, and
the successful machinations of a wicked, perhaps a rejected woman,
acting upon the proud and cruel Pedro, are well suited; while the
chorus would find a fitting part, at first, in dark and indistinct
presages of evil, and lamentations over the blindness with which the
fated victim rushed into the snare; and at the end, in indignant
description of the circumstances of horror narrated in the ballad, and
in joining the aged nurse to bewail the death of her foster son, and
denouncing vengeance upon the murderer’s head. The third would contain
the capture of Pedro, the mutual defiance and death–struggle of the
brothers, and the barbarous exposure by Henry of his brother’s corpse:
while at the end the impression of these horrors might be relieved by
the constant love of Maria de Padilla, who, now neglected and despised,
still watched over the forsaken body of her monarch and lover, with a
fidelity worthy of a purer bosom.[25]
We reach at length the Trojan war, the point assumed by Thucydides for
the commencement of his sketch of Grecian history: a circumstance alone
sufficient to discredit the scepticism of those who believe it to be
a mere fabulous legend. The universal voice of antiquity testifies to
its reality, and we know not of any arguments strong enough to shake
this testimony. Herodotus, on the authority of the Persians, mentions
the Rape of Helen as one of a series of reprisals consequent upon
the aggression of the Phœnicians, who carried off Io; the cause and
commencement of hostility between the Greeks and the Asiatic nations.
The former were clearly in the wrong, in the opinion of the Persians,
both because the rape of Helen only balanced accounts, and because
the Greeks made such injuries a ground for war. “Up to that time they
confined themselves to mutual depredations; but the Greeks set the
example of carrying war from one continent to the other. Now, to carry
off women is the act of rogues; but to be over eager to avenge their
loss is the part of fools; and wise men will take no thought for them
after they are gone: for it is plain that they would not have been
run away with, except with their own good will. And in truth, say
the Persians, the Asiatics made no account of the carrying off their
women: but the Greeks collected a mighty armament on account of a
Lacedæmonian female, and then came to Asia, to pull down the empire of
Priam!”[26] So thought the Persians. Herodotus confesses that he is not
prepared to say how these things took place, and sets us the example of
hastening to ground which he can tread with some certainty. That there
is no intrinsic improbability in the story, has already been asserted
by Mitford, on the ground of its close analogy to an incident in the
history of the British islands.
Dermod Mac Morough (or Mac Murchad), prince of Leinster, was attached
to Dervorghal, wife of Tiernan O’Ruark, another Irish chief, who held
the county of Leitrim, with some adjacent districts,—a lady of great
beauty, but small virtue, who took advantage of her husband’s being
driven into hiding by O’Connor, who was then predominant in Ireland, to
elope with her lover. “An outrage of this kind was not always regarded
with abhorrence by the Irish; they considered it rather as an act of
pardonable gallantry, or such an offence as a reasonable pecuniary
compensation might atone for. But the sullen and haughty prince,
provoked more by the insolence and treachery of his ravisher than
the infidelity of his wife, conceived the most determined animosity
against Dermod. He practised secretly with O’Connor, promised the most
inviolable attachment to his interest, and prevailed on him, not only
to reinstate him in his possessions, but to revenge the insult of
Mac Morough, whom he represented, and justly, as a faithless vassal,
really devoted to the service of his rival. The King of Connaught led
his forces into Leinster, rescued Dervorghal from her paramour, and
restored her to her friends; with whom she lived, if not in a state
of reconciliation with her husband, at least in that opulence and
splendour which enabled her to atone for the crime of infidelity, by
the usual method of magnificent donations to the church.”[27] This
domestic squabble led to more than usually important results, for
the expelled Dermod applied to our Henry II. for assistance, and the
conquest of Ireland followed.
The ambition of Agamemnon, however, is regarded by Thucydides as the
cause of the war; the abduction of Helen served only as the pretext.
“To me it seemeth that Agamemnon got together that fleet, not so much
for that he had with him the suitors of Helena, bound thereto by oath
to Tyndareus, as for that he exceeded the rest in power. For Atreus,
after that Eurystheus was slain by the Heraclidæ, obtained the kingdom
of Mycenæ, and whatever else had been under him, for himself. To which
greatness Agamemnon succeeding; and also far excelling the rest in
shipping, took that war in hand, as I conceive it, and assembled the
said forces, not so much on favour as by fear. For it is clear, that
he himself both conferred most ships to that action, and that some
also he lent to the Arcadians. And this is likewise confirmed by
Homer (if any think his testimony sufficient), who, at the delivery
of the sceptre unto him, calleth him, ‘Of many isles, and of all
Argos king.’”[28] Argos here signifies the whole peninsula, called
afterwards Peloponnesus. It is plain, however, from Homer, that the
sovereignty here ascribed to him was of a most uncertain and insecure
tenure; that his subordinate princes were in fact independent within
their own dominions, and were too high spirited and powerful to be
maltreated with impunity. Altogether, without the elaborate machinery
of the feudal system, the power and influence of Agamemnon seem to
have resembled that possessed by the kings of France, and emperors of
Germany, over those great vassals who held whole provinces, and singly
or united often proved an overmatch for their sovereign.
Here ends the Mythic age. We shall pass over the next three, or
according to most chronologers the next five centuries, which are but
partially filled up by notices of events, such as the return of the
Heraclidæ, the gradual subversion of monarchy throughout Greece, and
the great emigrations which peopled the Asiatic coast with a Hellenic
race. About the sixth century B.C. we begin to reap the
benefit of contemporary authorities; and thenceforward history, if not
free from an admixture of fiction, at least runs with a copious and
uninterrupted stream.
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