CHAPTER XV.

Character of Cleon—Blockade and Capture of the Lacedæmonians at

Pylos—Comparison with the capture of Porto Bello by Admiral Vernon—Greek

comedy—Sketch of the Knights of Aristophanes—Subsequent history of

Cleon—Account of the Popish Plot—Character and history of Titus

Oates—Mutilation of the Hermæ at Athens.

Within very few years after the beginning of the Peloponnesian war,

a striking change took place both in the measures and the ministers

of the state. Miltiades, Aristides, Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles,

were all pre–eminent in personal merit, and most of them possessed

of hereditary distinction also. Nicias, a man of rank and virtue,

succeeded in appearance to the high station of Pericles, but not to

his talents and influence over his turbulent countrymen, who, after

having been long governed by the most illustrious of Grecian statesmen,

threw themselves into the arms of the worst of Grecian demagogues.

After Pericles’ death, popular favour veered for a short time between

Eucrates, a flax–seller, and Lysicles, a sheep–seller; until a man,

low equally in origin, habits, and education, carried away the prize,

and employed it, as the folly of his supporters deserved, to the ruin

of the state. “The son of a tanner, and himself bred to the trade;

without those generous feelings which seem inherent in high birth,

and without that regard for character which it is the purpose of

education to inspire, Cleon possessed those corporeal powers, which,

in the eyes of a mob, often supply the place of both:—with a bulky

body, a voice potent even beyond the extreme extent of value attached

to such a qualification among the Greeks, with a most republican

indifference to all exterior decorations of person, and a face bearing

on it the marks of vulgar intemperance, Nature herself seems to have

formed Cleon for a demagogue. His interior qualifications were just

what his exterior promised; he being, as Mr. Mitford observes, ‘of

extraordinary impudence and little courage; as slack in the field as he

was forward and noisy in the assembly, and as base in practice as he

was corrupt in principle.’ That such a man should ever have stood in

the situation of head of a party seems to us almost incredible: but he

possessed one redeeming qualification in an eminent degree; and among

a nation which pardoned everything to the pleasure of indulging its

ears, the coarse but ready eloquence of Cleon, exerted in those ways

which were most calculated to please an Athenian audience—in boasts

of his own integrity, and accusations of all the respectable men of

rank—this formed a splendid addition to his character, which threw

into the shade all his other defects.”[77] By this man’s persuasion

that atrocious decree was passed, which condemned to death every male

of the Mityleneans, and reduced to slavery their wives and children:

a fate but just averted by the repentance of the Athenians, whose

vengeance nevertheless was gratified by the execution of a thousand

prisoners. Through his folly and presumption, the opportunity was

lost of concluding an honourable and advantageous peace, when good

fortune and the military talent of Demosthenes had thrown the Spartan

army at Sphacteria into their power. This event, which raised Cleon’s

popularity to its greatest height, has also made known his character to

all ages. His name would have been comparatively little bruited abroad

by the grave censure of Thucydides; but the satire of Aristophanes has

conferred on it a most undesirable celebrity.

Sphacteria, now called Sphagia,[78] is a small island situated in the

centre of the mouth of the bay of Pylos, well known in modern history

by the name of Navarino, which it nearly closes, leaving a narrow

passage on either side. In the year B.C. 425, in the seventh year

of the war, the Athenian fleet, under the command of Eurymedon and

Demosthenes, raised a small fort at Pylos, intending to garrison it

with Messenians, the obstinate and hereditary enemies of Lacedæmon.[79]

The fleet then sailed away, leaving only five ships and their crews,

under the command of Demosthenes. The Spartan government immediately

sent a force to attack him by land and sea; and to make the blockade

effectual, they placed a body of Lacedæmonians in the island, meaning

to close both the inlets of the harbour with their ships. But the

Athenian fleet returned in time to save their little garrison; and a

naval victory made them masters of the sea, and of the destiny of the

420 Lacedæmonians thus shut up on the uninhabited and uncultivated

island of Sphacteria.

Consternation ran high in Sparta on receiving this news, for many

persons of the first families were among the detachment thus entrapped;

and an embassy was sent to Athens to negotiate for peace. A truce was

concluded in the first instance, by which the Spartans were still

detained on the island, but were to be supplied with a regulated

allowance of food; and advantageous and honourable terms were offered,

on which a lasting pacification might be founded. But Cleon induced the

Athenians to require more than the Spartans would, or perhaps could,

consent to or fulfil. In consequence, hostilities were renewed, and the

capture of the Spartans became an object of primary importance. The

island was rocky and woody, and it was thought inexpedient to reduce

them by force; a strict blockade was therefore drawn round the island

to starve them into submission. But during the truce they probably

had husbanded the provision allowed them; and a scanty supply was

introduced by expert swimmers, who dragged after them skins filled

with poppy–seed mixed with honey, or bruised linseed, or by boats,

which ran for the island on the seaward side in stormy nights, when it

was difficult to maintain the blockade: and the Athenians began to be

alarmed lest, in the difficulty and uncertainty of a winter blockade,

they might lose their prey. The sequel may be best related from

Thucydides, and in the following graphic passage of Plutarch, which

supplies some curious notices of Cleon:—

“When the people saw that this siege drew out in length, and that their

camp suffered grievous wants and necessities, then they fell out with

Cleon, and he again burdened Nicias, saying, that through his fear he

would let the besieged Spartans escape, and that if he had been captain

they should not have held out so long. Thereupon the Athenians said

aloud to Cleon, ‘And why dost not thou go thither then to take them?’

Moreover Nicias selfe also rising up, openly gave him his authority to

take this Pylos, and bade him levy as many soldiers as he would to go

thither, and not to bragg with such impudent words, where there was no

danger, but to do some notable service to the commonwealth. Cleon at

the first shrunk back, being amazed withal, little thinking they would

have taken him so suddenly at his word: but in the end, perceiving the

people urged him to it, and that Nicias also was importunate with him,

ambition so inflamed him, that he not only took the charge upon him,

but in a bravery said, that within twenty days after his departure he

would either put all the Spartans to the sword, or bring them prisoners

to Athens. The Athenians hearing Cleon say so, had more lust to laugh

than to believe that he spake; for it was their manner ever to laugh

at his anger and folly. For it is reported of him, that the people on

a time being solemnly assembled in council early in the morning, to

hear what Cleon would say, and having tarried long for him, at the

length he came with a garland on his head, and prayed the assembly to

dismiss the court till the next morning: for (quoth he) I shall not be

at leisure to–day, because I have sacrificed, and do feast also certain

strangers, my friends, that are come to see me. So the people burst

out in a laughing, and brake up the assembly.... But herein Nicias

did great harm to the commonwealth, suffering Cleon in that sort to

grow to credit and estimation. For after that victory Cleon grew to

so haughty a mind and pride of himself, that he was not to be dealt

withal; whereupon fell out the occasion of the great miseries that

happened to the city of Athens, by which Nicias himself was not the

smallest sufferer. For Cleon, among other things, took away the modesty

and reverence used before in public orations to the people: he of all

men was the first that cried out in his orations, that clapped his hand

on his thigh, threw open his gowne, and flung up and down the pulpit

as he spoke. Of which example afterwards followed all licentiousness

and contempt of honesty, the which all the orators and counsellors fell

into that dealt in matters of state and commonwealth, and was in the

end the overthrow of all together.”[80]

“Nicias seeing the Athenians to be in a kind of tumult against Cleon,

for that when he thought it so easy a matter, he did not presently put

it in practice, and seeing also he had upbraided him, willed him to

take what strength he would, that they could give him, and undertake

it. Cleon, supposing at first that he gave him this leave but in

words, was ready to accept it; but when he knew he would give him the

authority in good earnest, then he shrunk back, and said, that not he,

but Nicias, was general: being now indeed afraid, and hoping that he

durst not have given over the office to him. But then Nicias again bade

him do it, and gave over his command to him, for so much as concerned

Pylos, and called the Athenians to witness it. They (as is the fashion

of the multitude), the more Cleon declined the voyage, and went back

from his word, pressed Nicias so much the more to resign his power to

him, and cried out upon Cleon to go. Insomuch, as not knowing how

to disengage himself of his word, he undertook the voyage, and stood

forth, saying, that he feared not the Lacedæmonians, and that he would

not carry any man with him out of the city, but only the Lemnians and

Imbrians that were then present, and those targeteers that were come to

them from Œnus, and 400 archers out of other places, and with these,

he said, added to the soldiers that were at Pylos already, he would,

within twenty days, either fetch away the Lacedæmonians alive, or kill

them upon the place.

“This vain speech moved amongst the Athenians some laughter, and was

heard with great content of the wiser sort. For of two benefits, the

one must needs fall out; either to be rid of Cleon (which was their

greatest hope), or if they were deceived in that, then to get those

Lacedæmonians into their hands.”[81]

Cleon sailed accordingly; but in the interim a fire had consumed the

woods on the island, and Demosthenes, an able and successful general,

was already preparing to attack the Lacedæmonians. Cleon was prudent

enough to leave the direction of the assault in his hands. After an

obstinate resistance, the Lacedæmonian force at last surrendered, being

reduced in number to 292, of whom 120 were Spartans; and within the

time prescribed Cleon returned in triumph to Athens with his prisoners.

Thucydides says, that no event throughout the war created so much

astonishment in Greece as this; it being the general opinion that the

Lacedæmonians would not yield up their arms for famine, or for any

other extremity, but rather die with them, fighting as they best could.

Since this chapter was written, we have seen, in a work the scanty sale

of which says little for the general diffusion of a taste for sound

scholarship in England, an ingenious parallel between the remarkable

transaction above narrated, and a passage in English history. The

work in question, the ‘Philological Museum,’ is likely not to be in

the hands of a large proportion of our readers; and instead of merely

referring to it, we shall proceed to transcribe a portion of the

article in question.

“Mr. Mitford, in his elaborate narrative of the Peloponnesian war, has

drawn a comparison between the military operations of Brasidas in the

Athenian dependencies lying towards Thrace, and those of General Wolfe,

the hero of Quebec, in Canada. The points of resemblance are very

remarkable; but, as he observes, the differences are also obvious. The

parallel is, however, sufficiently close to awaken that interest which

all men naturally feel in marking the identity of the human character,

under similar circumstances, in ages and countries far removed from

each other. Such indications of a common nature connect one generation

with another, and bring home to the mind a more lively conception of

the past. The parallel about to be drawn fetches one of its subjects

from the same period of Grecian history, so fertile in remarkable

men and striking incidents. If, in Mr. Mitford’s case, the points of

difference be thought to outweigh those of resemblance, it may perhaps

be said, that in the following comparison the preponderance is exactly

reversed. It is needless to give a second account of what we have fully

described, the transactions at Sphacteria, and the singular arrangement

between Cleon and Nicias.” After a short notice of these events, the

author continues: “The people applaud Cleon’s bold proposal, and insist

on his going to redeem his word, whether he would or not. He goes,

and is completely successful, bringing the captives to Athens within

the specified twenty days. The applause of the citizens exceeded all

moderation, with which party spirit had perhaps something to do. Cleon

was esteemed a first–rate general, and accordingly sent out to match

the incomparable Brasidas.

“The temper of the English public, at the period to which we are about

to refer, is well evinced by the uncommon popularity of Glover’s

ballad, entitled Admiral Hosier’s Ghost, which was a political squib.

Hosier had been sent out to protect the West Indian trade against

the Spaniards, who were a terror to our merchantmen in those seas.

Their principal station was Porto Bello; off which accordingly Hosier

cruised. But he had instructions not to make aggressions on the

enemy; and he remained inactive at sea, insulted and despised by the

Spaniards, till his crews became diseased, and he at last died of a

broken heart. He was a brave sailor, but his orders kept him inactive.

This state of things, so disgraceful to our naval power, continued

till 1739; when Admiral Vernon, who was a fierce and not ineloquent

assailant in debate, and the delight of his party in the House of

Commons from his blunt impudence and harassing hostility to Ministers,

came prominently before the public. He was esteemed a pretty good

officer; but his boisterous manner in the house was his principal

recommendation. In a debate on the Spanish depredations, which still

continued unrepressed, he chanced to affirm that Porto Bello might be

easily taken, if the officers did their duty; and led on by the ardour

of debate, he even pledged himself to capture the place, with only

six ships of war, if they would put him in command. The opposition

re–echoed his proposal. Vernon was called by anticipation a Drake and

a Raleigh; and his popularity no bounds. The minister, Sir R. Walpole,

glad to appease the popular clamour, and to get rid for a time of

Vernon’s busy opposition in the Commons; and hoping perhaps, like

Nicias, that by the failure of his boast he would disgrace himself and

his party, or else clear the seas of the Spaniards; closed with the

offer so lightly made, and actually sent him out with a fleet to the

West Indies. Vernon sailed, and was as good as his word. He speedily

took Porto Bello, and demolished all the fortifications. Both houses

joined in an address; Vernon rose to the highest pitch of popularity;

and the ‘nation in general (observes the historian) was wonderfully

elated by an exploit, which was magnified much above its merit.’ A

Sacheverel or a Vernon are quite sufficient pillars for a party to rear

a triumphal arch upon.

“The extraordinary performance of an extravagant boast, under

circumstances unexpectedly favourable, is not more observable in both

cases, than the speedy exposure of the inability of both commanders,

when subsequently put to the test. The hero of Sphacteria at the head

of a brave army in Thrace, with which he did not know what to do[82]

next, like a chess–player who does not see his next move, is absolutely

ludicrous. The conduct of the conqueror of Porto Bello, when intrusted

with a powerful fleet on a larger field of action, is equally decisive

of his real merits. He failed most miserably as admiral on the West

India station; thus showing that a _coup de main_, whether in politics

or war, though it often succeed most signally, is no safe evidence of

general ability.”[83]

Fortified as to our facts by the authority of history, we may proceed,

after this digression, to develop the chief object of this chapter,

which is to give a sketch of one of the most remarkable productions

of Greek literature, the ‘Knights’ of Aristophanes, and to exhibit

the Aristophanic Cleon, who, even after this preface, will surprise

those who are unacquainted with him. We shall not be at a loss to

find a parallel for him in our own history. To Cleon and his politics

Aristophanes was violently opposed. Much undeserved obloquy has been

thrown in times past upon this poet: it is now pretty generally

acknowledged that the heaviest charges against him are undeserved:

that he saw clearly what were the true interests of his country, and

feared not to tell his turbulent countrymen their faults to their face.

The medicine indeed required to be disguised to render it palatable,

and we must regret that the vehicle employed was such as to render

it disgusting to modern delicacy: but the fault of this lay partly

in the state of society in which the poet lived; the courage, the

clear–sightedness, and the brilliant talent are his own peculiar glory.

The Grecian comedy is a delicate and difficult subject to touch

upon: for to those who are unacquainted with the original, abstracts

and translations present little more than the lifeless form in its

somewhat startling extravagance. Of the wit, the greatest part must

evaporate, and the remainder requires, in order to be relished, some

familiarity with the manners to which it refers. The Grecian drama had

its origin in religion. In the worship of Dionysius, or Bacchus, one

of the earliest of the Grecian deities, it was usual to introduce two

sorts of poetry; the one lofty and panegyrical, the other ludicrous

and satirical. As these rude attempts acquired extent and polish, they

separated in character more and more widely: until the former acquired

the exalted and highly reverential cast which we see in the tragedies

of Æschylus; while the latter retained its original features, more

pleasing to a deity who is mythologically represented as inspiring

and partaking the most fantastic rites of his followers, and as being

offended by nothing except sobriety or gravity. Extravagance and

indecency therefore became a religious duty, and one that the Athenians

fulfilled with pious fervour. The drama was a matter of public

interest; plays were performed, not daily, but upon the festivals of

Bacchus, in the early spring,[84] in theatres of vast extent, with all

the magnificence and effect which anxious care and unsparing expense

could produce; judges were appointed by the public to decide upon the

merits of the pieces represented, and the prize of victory was sought

with an eagerness totally disproportioned, according to modern notions,

to the object in view.

In co–operation with the author, certain persons, called Choragi,

were appointed by law, at whose expense the Chorus was provided, and

carefully instructed in the parts which they were to perform. Upon

the taste and liberality of the Choragus the success of the author

mainly depended; and if successful, he consecrated to Bacchus a tripod

inscribed with his own name, that of the author, and of the magistrate

who gave his name to the year. The modern drama possesses nothing which

resembles the Chorus. We have already noticed the religious songs

from which theatrical entertainments were derived. The first step to

their improvement was the introduction of some mythological narration

by another person to relieve the singer; the second, the conversion of

this narrative into dialogue, by the introduction of a second actor.

For some time the original Bacchic song maintained its ground in the

intervals of recitation; but at length the lyrical part was made to

bear upon the rest of the performance, and as a taste for splendour

was developed, the number of singers was increased from one to three,

fifteen, or even a greater number.[85] In the advanced state of the

art the Chorus bore marks of its original constitution, being still

regarded as a single actor, and mingling in the dialogue by means

of its Coryphæus, or leader. In tragedy it was composed of old men,

maidens, or any class of persons who were interested in the catastrophe

of the piece: the comic poets took a wider range, and availed

themselves of the boldest personifications which they thought likely to

produce effect. Thus in one play of Aristophanes there is a Chorus of

Clouds, in another of Birds, in another of Frogs, in another of Wasps,

which were all so habited as to bear some vague resemblance to the

things they personated, in a manner which such as recollect a pantomime

of no very old date, called Harlequin and the Queen Bee, will be at no

loss to comprehend. The introductory scenes of our pantomimes often

seem to imitate these freaks of Grecian comedy; as for instance, in

Harlequin Gulliver, where the inhabitants of the dogstar, as described

by another eminent traveller, Baron Munchausen, came in to sing; also

a chorus of men with their heads under their shoulders. And indeed the

latter scenes of pantomime, by retrenching the practical jokes, and

by the introduction of dialogue, might be made to bear considerable

resemblance to Grecian comedy. Grimaldi’s parody of the dagger–scene

in Macbeth, although principally aimed at a particular actor, was

a capital parallel to the pitiless pelting of wit carried on by the

comedians of Athens against the tragedians, and against each other.

No history of the gradual formation of comedy has come down to us, but

in the time of Aristophanes we find her possessed of most extraordinary

privileges, and availing herself of them to the extremity of licence.

To laugh was the grand object of the audience, and any thing was

tolerated which led to this conclusion. The slang of the port and

the market, the pleadings of the law courts, the peculiar language

of handicrafts, were all carefully studied and profusely introduced,

in combination with the grossest buffoonery and indecency, and the

most unsparing personal abuse. In a town like Athens, the population

of which, though large, was crowded within a narrow space and almost

living in the open air, a joke directed against the peculiarities,

corporeal or moral, of any person of any sort of notoriety, was pretty

sure to be understood, and if understood, quite sure to be relished.

Masks were always worn by the actors, and if a living character was

brought on the stage the mask was a portrait. Unlucky poets, public

defaulters, peculators, and notorious profligates, formed the stock

in trade common to all comedians; and a more exceptionable source

of amusement was found in the unrestrained indulgence of private

malevolence. Even the sacred persons of the gods were fair game; and

Bacchus, the patron of the festival, was made to minister to the

amusement of his riotous worshippers as the earliest Captain Bohadil

upon record.[86] Such are the features of the elder Grecian comedy,

confirmed by, and indeed mainly derived from the works of Aristophanes,

the only comedian of whom a perfect specimen remains.[87]

After this exposition the reader may be surprised at the respectful

terms in which we have above spoken of him. But it is pretty certain

that he saw clearly the true interests of his country; and there is

good ground for thinking that four at least of the eleven plays now

extant were written with the express view of improving its policy,

or, strange as it may appear, of correcting its morals; while through

them all the national faults of the Athenians are lashed with an

unsparing and somewhat dangerous severity. To argue this question

would transport us far from our subject, from which indeed we have

already wandered wide, and far beyond our limits: and is the less

necessary because it has already been fully argued in works of easy

access (Mitchell, Prelim. Discourse; Schlegel, Lectures on History of

Literature, Observer). On the literary merits of Aristophanes all are

agreed. For power and variety of versification, he stands unrivalled;

for command of the noble language in which he wrote, he is perhaps

unmatched, except by Plato. His wit it would be superfluous to praise;

unfortunately it is too often exercised on subjects which endure not an

English dress. Nothing perhaps approaches so nearly to the usual style

of his dialogue as the less refined parts of Shakspere’s comedies, but

the latter want that political design which, pervading the Grecian,

inclines us to forget the means in the end, and are in other respects

scarcely equal to the comparison. But amidst all this ribaldry he

often breaks out in a vein of pure and exalted poetry, sufficient to

show that he was capable of excelling in the most elegant or dignified

departments of the art, had the temper of his countrymen been such as

to profit by or allow a hearing to serious admonition.

One of his most celebrated comedies, ‘The Knights,’ is directed

expressly to destroy the popularity of Cleon. The danger incurred by

the author is evident from an anecdote related by himself, that no

maskmaker could be induced to furnish a likeness of the demagogue.[88]

And as no actor would perform the part, the poet himself made his first

appearance on the stage in it, his face rubbed with vermilion, or the

lees of wine, to imitate Cleon’s complexion, and serve in some degree

for a disguise. The plot, if we may call it such, is mainly founded

on the transactions at Pylos, already related, and the characters are

selected accordingly.

Nicias, Demosthenes, and Cleon figure as slaves of Demus, literally

“the people,” who represents the Athenian as John Bull does the English

nation. The only other character is an itinerant sausage–seller.

The chorus is composed of knights or horsemen, the richer class of

citizens, who were obliged to keep a horse and be prepared for the

cavalry service. Demosthenes and Nicias appear in the first scene, and

complain bitterly of a certain Paphlagonian; such is the country which

the poet has assigned to Cleon, whom their master has lately brought

home, partly, according to the Scholiast (Knights, verse 2), for the

sake of an untranslateable pun, partly because the Paphlagonians had

the reputation of making the worst–conditioned slaves of all who came

to the Athenian market. After some quibbling they agree to submit their

case to the spectators, and Demosthenes states it as follows:[89]—

With reverence to your worships, ’tis our fate

To have a testy, cross–grained, bilious, sour

Old fellow for our master; one much given

To a bean diet;[90] somewhat hard of hearing:

Demus his name, sirs, of the parish Pnyx[91] here.

Some three weeks back or so, this lord of ours

Brought back a scoundrel slave from Paphlagonia,

Fresh from the tan–yard, with as foul a mouth

As ever yet paid tribute to the gallows.

This tanner[92] Paphlagonian (for the fellow

Wanted not penetration) bowed and scraped,

And fawned, and wagged his ears and tail dog–fashion,

And thus soon slipped into the old man’s graces.

Occasional douceurs of leather parings,

With speeches to this tune, made all his own:

“Good sir, the court is up—you’ve judged one cause,

‘Tis time to take the bath; allow me, sir—

This cake is excellent—pray sup this broth—

You love an obolus, pray take these three—

Honour me, sir, with your commands for supper.”

Sad times meanwhile for us!—With prying looks

Round comes my man of hides, and if he finds us

Cooking a little something for our master,

Incontinently lays his paw upon it,

And modestly, in his own name, presents it.

It was but t’other day, these hands had mixed

A Spartan pudding for him,—there, at Pylos,

Slily and craftily the knave stole on me,

Ravished the feast, and to my master bore it.

Then none but he, forsooth, must wait at table:

(We dare not come in sight) anon the knave

Chaunts out his oracles, and when he sees

The old man plunged in mysteries to the ears,

And scared from his few senses, marks the time,

And enters on his tricks. False accusations

Now come in troops, and at their heels the whip.

Meanwhile the rascal shuffles in among us,

And begs of one, browbeats another, cheats

A third, and frightens all. “My honest friends,

These cords cut deep, you’ll find it—I say nothing—

Judge you between your purses and your backs;

I could perhaps—“ We take the gentle hint,

And give him all; if not, the old man’s foot

Plays such a tune upon our hinder parts—

Wherefore (to Nicias) befits it that we think what course

To take, or where to look for help.

_Mitchell_, p. 161–4.

The remedy however baffles their ingenuity, till Demosthenes, through

the inspiration of the wine–flask, sends his comrade to steal from

Cleon, who is asleep within, a certain book of oracles which he hoards

with especial care. They are happily secured and handed over to

Demosthenes, whose activity is all along contrasted with the indecision

of Nicias. After repeated application for more wine to clear his

understanding, he at last condescends to enlighten his companion’s

impatience.

_Dem._ (_reading._) So, so, thou varlet of a Paphlagonian!

‘Twas this bred such distrust in thee, and taught

To hoard these prophecies.

_Nic._ Say you?

_Dem._ I say

Here is a prophecy, which tells the time

And manner of this fellow’s death.

_Nic._ Out with it.

_Dem._ (_reading._) The words are clear enough, says my oracle,

There shall arise within our state a lint–seller,[93]

And to his hands the state shall be committed.

_Nic._ One seller note we:—good, proceed, what follows?

_Dem._ (_reading._) Him shall a sheep–seller succeed.[94]

_Nic._ A brace

Of sellers, good.—What shall befall this worthy?

_Dem._ (_reading._) ‘Tis fixed that he bear sway till one arise

More wicked than himself—that moment seals him.

Then comes the Paphlagonian—the hide–seller—

The man of claws, whose voice outroars Cycloborus.[95]

_Nic._ The man of sheep then falls beneath the lord

Of hides!

_Dem._ Even so; thus runs the oracle.

_Nic._ Another and another still succeeds,

And all are sellers! sure the race must be

Extinct!

_Dem._ One yet is left whose craft may stir

Your wonder.

_Nic._ What his name?

_Dem._ Wou’dst learn?

_Nic._ Aye marry.

_Dem._ I give it to thee then: the man that ruins

The Paphlagonian is—a sausage–seller.

_Mitchell_, p. 170–2.

A person exercising this lofty vocation is now seen approaching and

is eagerly hailed, as sent at this moment by the especial favour

of the gods. Their fated deliverer, however, is a modest man, and

cannot easily be led to believe the high destiny that awaits him. I

am a sausage–seller, he says; how should I become a man? Demosthenes

assures him that the qualities belonging to his profession—impudence

and cheating—are precisely those to which his greatness is to be owing:

but still failing to overcome his scruples, he is led to suspect the

sausage–seller of the unpardonable fault of having some taint of

gentility in his extraction. Satisfied on this point, he proceeds

to expound the oracles. The incipient statesman yields to their

predictions, and readily receives instructions for his public life.

“The oracles indeed do flatter me; but I wonder how I shall be able to

take charge of the people.” The answer is addressed to his professional

experience.

_Dem._ Nought easier: model you upon your trade.

Deal with the people as with sausages—

Twist, implicate, embroil; nothing will hurt

So you but make your court to Demus, cheating

And soothing him with terms of kitchen science;

All other public talents are your own:

Your voice is strong, your liver white, and you are

O’ the market—say, could Diffidence ask more

To claim the reins of state?

_Mitchell_, p. 180.

Cleon now comes on the stage, with the usual cry, “The commonwealth is

in danger,” and is immediately followed by the Chorus, who attack him

in an indignant burst, which defies translation. A long scene of abuse

and recrimination follows for near three hundred lines, in the course

of which every art and trade is made to contribute to the contest of

abuse, till Cleon at length accuses his rival of having received ten

talents as a bribe. “What then,” he replies, “will you take one of them

to hold your tongue?” “That he will, and gladly,” replies the Chorus:

“see, the wind is going down already.” The satire was the keener,

because Cleon had recently been fined five talents on a conviction for

bribery.[96] At length, being somewhat worsted, he leaves the stage,

with the threat of denouncing to the council “the nightly meetings in

the city, and conspiracies with the Medes and Bœotians,” in which his

tormentors are engaged. The sausage–seller follows to countermine him,

and the stage is left clear for the Parabasis, or customary address

of the Chorus to the audience. This was generally unconnected with

the play, and served as an opportunity for the author to deliver his

sentiments upon all things and all people. It was chiefly satirical,

but in Aristophanes is usually intermixed with passages of a highly

poetical cast, which strike the more from being introduced by a change

in the metre. We cannot shorten or garble it, and the passage is too

long, and would be too unintelligible, to be given entire.[97] At

the close of it, the sausage–seller returns, to acquaint his anxious

friends with his success.

_Saus._ Straight as he went from hence, I clapt all sail

And followed close behind. Within I found him

Launching his bolts, and thunder–driving words,

Denouncing all the knights as traitors, vile

Conspirators—jags, crags, and masses huge

Of stone were nothing to the monstrous words

His foaming mouth heaved up. All this to hear

Did the grave council seriously incline;

They love a tale of scandal in their hearts,

And his had been as quick in birth as golden–herb:

Mustard was in their faces, and their brows

With frowns were furrowed up. I saw the storm,

Marked how his words had sunk upon them, taking

Their very senses prisoners:—and oh!

In knavery’s name thought I,—by all the fools,

And scrubs, and rogues, and scoundrels in the town—

By that same market, where my early youth

Received its first instruction, let me gather

True courage now: be oil upon my tongue,

And shameless impudence direct my speech.

Just as these thoughts passed over me, I heard

A sound of thunder pealing on my right.[98]

I marked the omen—grateful, kissed the ground,

And pushing briskly through the lattice–work,

Raised my voice to its highest pitch, and thus

Began upon them: “Messieurs of the Senate,

I bring good news, and hope your favour for it.

Anchovies, such as since this war began,

Ne’er crossed my eyes for cheapness, do this day

Adorn our markets.”—At the words, a calm

Came over every face, and all was hushed.

A crown[99] was voted me upon the spot.

Then I (the thought was of the moment’s birth)

Making a mighty secret of it, bade them

Put pans and pots in instant requisition,

And then—one obol loads you with anchovies.

Then rose the clap of hands, and every face

Gaped into mine, in idiot vacancy.

My Paphlagonian, seeing by what words

The council best were pleased, thus uttered him:

“Sirs, Gentlemen, ‘tis my good will and pleasure

That for this kindly news, we sacrifice[100]

One hundred oxen to our patron goddess.”

Straight the tide turned, each head within the senate

Nodded assent, and warm good will to Cleon.

What! shall a little bull–flesh gain the day,

Thought I within me: then aloud, and shooting

Beyond his mark: I double, sirs, this vote;

Nay, more, sirs, should to–morrow’s sun see sprats

One hundred to the penny sold, I move

That we make offering of a thousand goats[101]

Unto Diana. Every head was raised,

And all turned eyes on me. This was a blow

He ne’er recovered: straight he fell to words

Of idle import, and the officers

Were now upon him. All meantime was uproar

In th’ assembly—nought talked of but anchovies—

How fared our statesman? he with suppliant tones

Begged a few moments’ pause; Rest ye, sirs, rest ye

Awhile—I have a tale will pay the hearing—

A herald brings from Sparta terms of peace,

And craves to utter them before you. “Peace!”

Cried all (their voices one), “is this a time

To talk of peace?—out, dotard! What, the rogues

Have heard the price anchovies sell for! Peace!

Who cares for peace now? let the war go on;

And, chairman, break the assembly up.” ‘Twas done—

On every side, one moment clears the rails!

I the mean time steal privately away

And buy me all the leeks and coriander

In the market: these I straight make largess of,

And gratis give, as sauce to dress their fish.

Who may recount the praises infinite,

And groom–like courtesies this bounty gained me!

In short, you see a man, that for one pennyworth

Of coriander vile, has purchased him

An entire senate: not a man among them

But is at my behest, and does me reverence.

_Mitchell_, p. 217, 221.

So soon as the Chorus has expressed its high satisfaction, Cleon

enters, and the war of words is renewed with equal spirit, till he

calls upon Demus to appear, and see what ill treatment he suffers on

his account. Demus hears the candidates for his favour, and resolves

to call an assembly to decide on their claims; but he insists that

it shall be held in his proper seat, the Pnyx, to the dismay of the

sausage–seller, who exclaims that he is ruined; since Demus, though

a clever fellow anywhere else, is a gaping ninny when he gets on one

of those stone benches.[102] However, there is no help for it; the

scene changes to the Pnyx, and the sausage–seller makes a favourable

impression by presenting to Demus a cushion to keep him from the bare

stone, with a most pathetic reference to his exploits at Salamis;[103]

a subject in reference to which the Athenians would swallow any

amount of flattery. Having gained the ear of the court, he exposes

the mischievous tendency of Cleon’s warlike politics, all the gain of

which was his own, while the evil and inconvenience were the portion

of Demus. This produces an effect which all the protestations of Cleon

cannot remove. “You that profess such devotion,” continues his enemy,

“did you ever, out of all the hides you sell, give him so much as a

pair of shoes?” “Not he, indeed,” replies Demus. A pair is immediately

presented, and the provident donor receives the grateful assurance,

that of all men living he is the best friend to the people, the city,

“and to my toes.” This specimen will probably be sufficient: the

result is altogether favourable to the sausage–seller, who is put

in possession of Cleon’s signet of office. The latter still has a

resource: he appeals to his favourite oracles; but even here he meets

with his match. They both quit the stage, and return laden.

_Demus._ What may you bear?

_Cleon._ Predictions, oracles.

_Demus._ What, all!

_Cleon._ Now you

Admire, and yet a chest filled to the brim

Is left behind.

_Saus._ I have a garret stored

With them, and eke two dwelling–chambers whole.

_Demus._ And who has worded these?

_Cleon._ Mine come from Bacis.[104]

_Demus_ (_to Saus._) And yours?

_Saus._ From Glanis, sir, his elder brother.

_Demus._ Now mould them for my ears.

_Cleon._ It shall be done, sir.

* * * * *

(_Reads._) In Athens the sacred, a cry’s heard for help,

A woman’s in labour—a lion her whelp.

For warfare he’s born, and will fight by the great, With the ants, and

the gnats, and the vermin of state. On gratitude rests it this wall to

environ With a wall of stout wood, and a turret of iron.

_Demus._ Dost reach him? (_to Saus._)

_Saus._ Sir, not I.

_Cleon._ And yet the god

Speaks clear. I am the lion, and I claim

Protection.

_Demus._ Good; his words sure stand with reason.

Who else may plead a lion’s teeth and claws![105]

_Saus._ Aye, but he sinks the iron wall and wood,

Where Phœbus wills that you hold guard of him;

And thus he falsifies the exposition.

_Demus._ And how do you expound it?

_Saus._ By the wood

And iron wall, I understand the pillory:

The oracle enjoins he takes his place there.

_Demus._ And I subscribe me to its pleasure.

_Cleon._ Nay,

Not so, the envious crows are croaking round me.

* * * * *

But another prediction awaits my lord’s ear,

‘Tis Phœbus that warns—“of Cyllene beware.”

_Demus._ Cyllene,[106] Cyllene, how this understand? (_to Saus._)

_Saus._ Cyllene is lameness, and means a lame hand,

To Cleon’s apply it: as with bruise or with maim

Still ‘tis bent with—your honour, drop gift in the same.

* * * * *

_Cleon._ I have seen me a vision: I’ve dreamed me adream;

Its author was Pallas, and Demus its theme;

The cup arytœna[107] blazed broad in her hand,

And plenty and riches fell wide o’er the land.

_Saus._ I too have my visions and dreams of the night:

Our lady[108] and owl stood confest to my sight;

From the cup aryballus choice blessings she threw.

(_To Cleon._) On him fell tan pickle, and nectar on you.

(_to Demus._)

Here ends the contest of oracles; and Demus, after expresssing his

opinion that there never was a wiser man than Glanis, commits himself

to the guidance and instruction of the sausage–seller. He is induced to

pause, however, by the offers which Cleon makes, of supplying his table

with provisions, and finally comes to the resolution of “giving the

reins of the Pnyx” to which soever of the two candidates shall offer

the most acceptable bribes. They quit the stage, each endeavouring to

get the advantage in a false start; and the Chorus comes forward with

an address to Demus.

_Chorus._ Honour, power, and high estate,

Demus, mighty lord, hast thou;

To thy sceptre small and great

In obeisance lowly bow!

Yet you’re easy to his hand, whoever cringes;

Every fool you gape upon,

Every speech your ear hath won,

While your wits move off and on

Their hinges.

_Demus_ (_surlily_). Hinges in their teeth, who deem

That Demus is an easy fool;

If he yawn, and if he dream,

If he tipple, ’tis by rule.

’Tis his way to keep in pay a knave to ease him;

Him he keeps for guide and gull,

But when once the sponge is full,

To himself the knave he’ll pull,

And squeeze him.[109]

_Mitchell_, p. 250, 262.

They return laden with all sorts of eatables. “The sausage–seller

has the advantage of his rival for some time in his presents, till

Cleon awakens his fears by talking of a dish of hare, which he has

exclusively to present. His rival, disconcerted at first, has recourse

to a stratagem. ‘Some ambassadors come this way, _and their purses seem

well filled_.’ ‘Where are they?’ exclaims Cleon eagerly, and turns

about. The hare–flesh was immediately in the hands of his rival, who

presents the boasted dainty in his own name to Demus, and casts the old

affair of Pylos in the disappointed Cleon’s teeth.[110]

“While the sausage–seller piously refers the suggestion of this little

theft to Minerva, and modestly takes the execution only to himself,

Cleon resents the surprise very warmly. ‘I had all the danger of

catching the hare,’ says he. ‘I had all the trouble of dressing it,’

says his rival. ‘Fools,’ says Demus, ‘I care not who caught it, nor who

dressed it; all I regard is the hand which serves it up to table.’ The

sausage–seller proposes a new test of affection. ‘Let our chests be

searched; it will then be proved who is the better man towards Demus

and his stomach.’ This is accordingly done. That of the new candidate

for power is found empty. ‘He had given his dear little grandfather

every thing;’ and the person so benefited signifies his approbation.

‘This chest is well disposed towards Demus.’ In Cleon’s is found

abundance of all good things; and a tempting cheese–cake particularly

excites Demus’s surprise. ‘The rogue,’ says this representative of the

sovereign multitude, ‘to conceal such a prodigious cheese–cake as this,

and to cut me off with a mere morsel of it.’ Cleon in vain pleads, that

he stole it for the good of his country. He is ordered to lay down his

chaplet,[111] and invest his antagonist with it. Nay, says he, still

struggling for the retention of office.”

_Cleon._ I have an oracle: it came from Phœbus, And tells to whom Fate

wills I yield the mastery.

_Saus._ Declare the name; my life upon’t, the god Refers to me.

_Cleon._ Presumptuous! you! low scoundrel! To the proof;—where were you

schooled, and who the teacher That first imbued your infant mind with

knowledge?

_Saus._ The kitchen and the scullery gave me breeding; And teachers I

had none, save blows and cuffs.

_Cleon._ My mind misgives me. But pass we on; say further, what the

wrestling–master Instructed you?

_Saus._ To steal; to look the injured Full in the face, and then

forswear the theft.

* * * * *

_Cleon._ One only hope remains. Resolve me, practised you Within the

market–place, or at the gates?[112]

_Saus._ Nay, at the gates, among the men who deal In salted fish.

_Cleon._ All is accomplished: It is the will of heaven:—bear me within.

Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness! Adieu, fair chaplet!

‘gainst my will I quit thee, And give thy matchless sweets to other

hands! There may be knaves more fortunate than I, But never shall the

world see thief more rascally.[113]

_Saus._ (_devoutly._) Thine be triumph, Jove Ellanian![114]

p. 269–73.

The Chorus now enters upon an address, first in praise of the

equestrian order, and then proceeding to satirize individuals by name.

Meanwhile Demus is undergoing a thorough purgation under the hands

of the sausage–seller. He reappears “in his former splendour of the

days of Miltiades and Aristides,” delivers a recantation of his former

principles, and concludes the piece by confirming the appointment of

the sausage–seller to Cleon’s place, and investing Cleon solemnly with

the tray, and other implements of the sausage–seller.

To those who are disappointed in the specimen here given of the wit

and humour of Aristophanes, we have only to suggest in defence of

our author, that a large proportion of the most remarkable passages

have been omitted, on account of the impossibility of rendering them

intelligible, even by a prolix commentary, to those who cannot read the

original; and that our description of the ‘Knights’ is but a set of

fragments from a translation, which professes its inability to render

its original as a whole. And we may quote, as much more applicable

to this short attempt than to the work to which it is prefixed, the

singularly happy and modest motto of Mr. Mitchell’s translation,

applicable as it must be to all translations, but especially to those

of Aristophanes.

Among the rest, he culled me out a root;

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it;

And in another country, as he said,

Bore a bright golden flower, _but not in this soil_.

_Comus._

In the Parabasis to the Clouds, performed two years after the Knights,

the poet refers with pride to his attack on Cleon at his highest; but

though he returns to the charge once and again, he makes no mention

of any fine imposed upon him; which is in itself almost a sufficient

refutation of the story mentioned in a previous note. The play was

so relished as to gain the first prize, but there is not a jot of

evidence to show that Cleon’s popularity was overclouded by it. Happily

his reign only lasted for two years after it. His success at Pylus

flattered him into a belief in his talents for war, and he took the

command of the army in Thrace, opposed to Brasidas, the best Spartan

general of his day. His incapacity lost the Athenians a battle, but the

generals on both sides where slain; and the death of their greatest

nuisance at home, and their worst enemy abroad, was an ample recompense

for the injury incurred by his rashness. “When both Cleon and Brasidas

were slain, the which on either side were most opposite to the peace:

the one for that he had good success and honour in the war; the other,

because in quiet times his evil actions would the more appear, and

his calumniations be the less believed,”[115] peace, though of brief

duration, was almost immediately concluded.

That Cleon should have succeeded to the influence of Pericles may

well surprise the reader. But a very slight inequality will turn the

course of a rapid current to the undermining of its own banks; and in

like manner, when men’s minds are deeply moved, things in quiet times

contemptible may acquire influence and importance commensurate with

the force of that which they are enabled, by no intrinsic qualities,

to control. By no other considerations can we explain—to justify it

is impossible—the extravagance of terror and fury into which England

was once goaded by a man, who for knavery and impudence may match the

Athenian demagogue, and who, for some time, bore equal sway over the

minds of his countrymen, Titus Oates, the discoverer, and probably

the inventor of the Popish Plot. Some excuse is to be found in the

political circumstances of the times; in the belief that the King

adhered secretly to the Romish faith, as the Duke of York openly

professed it; and especially in the known fact that the sovereign

of Britain was pensioned by France, that he might dispense with

parliaments, and the more easily establish himself on an absolute

throne. The high character of many who promoted the inquiry is a

sufficient warrant that they were actuated by no unworthy motives.

But the revolting narrative of murders committed under form of law by

perjured witnesses and corrupt judges, will remain for ever a blot

in our history; a warning against adding gall to bitterness; against

aggravating political dissension by religious discord.

The first information of the plot was given by one Dr. Tongue,

in August, 1678; but the King, who was by no means deficient in

penetration, pronounced it to be a forgery, and it might have slept

for ever, had not the Duke of York, whose confessor was implicated,

judged an inquiry necessary to clear himself from all suspicion. Tongue

professed to have his information from Oates, and having brought the

principal actor on the stage, took no further part in the action of

the piece. On Michaelmas–eve Oates was examined before the council,

and deposed to the existence of a most extensive conspiracy among the

Jesuits to murder the King. He indicated Coleman, formerly secretary

to the Duke of York, and at that time to the Duchess, as being

acquainted with all the schemes under consideration. The effect of

this announcement is thus described by a most amiable and unprejudiced

contemporary.

“October 1, 1678. The parliament and the whole nation were alarmed

about a conspiracy of some eminent Papists, for the destruction of

the King, and introduction of Popery, discovered by one Oates and

Dr. Tongue, which last I knew. I went to see and converse with him

at Whitehall, with Mr. Oates, one that was lately an apostate to the

church of Rome, and now returned again with this discovery. He seemed

to be a bold man, and, in my thoughts, furiously indiscreet; but every

body believed what he said, and it quite changed the genius and motions

of the parliament, growing now corrupt, and interested with long

sitting and court practices: but with all this, Popery would not go

down. This discovery turned them all as one man against it, and nothing

was done but to find out the depth of this. Gates was encouraged, and

every thing he affirmed taken for gospel. The truth is, the Roman

Catholics were exceedingly bold and busy everywhere, since the Duke

forbore to go any longer to the chapel.”[116]

Coleman had notice of his danger, and secreted a part, but not the

whole, of his papers. The remainder were seized, and clearly proved

that he had maintained a correspondence with the confessor of Louis

XIV., the object of which was the reconversion of England. Besides

appearing before the council, Gates made oath to the truth of his

Narrative, which he published before Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, a zealous

Protestant, and active justice of peace, and yet one that lived

on good terms both with Non–conformists and Papists. Very shortly

afterwards Godfrey was murdered. He was found in a ditch, with his

own sword sticking in his body, which had not been plundered; and

marks of strangling were thought to be visible about his neck, and

some contusions on his breast. It has ever been a mystery by whom this

crime was perpetrated; it was of course charged on the Papists, and

retorted by them on the contrivers and assertors of the plot. But the

support given to Gates’s story by this event, conjointly with Coleman’s

papers, threw the whole country into a ferment. Vast crowds flocked to

behold the corpse; the funeral excited equal interest, and the wish of

its conductors to inflame the people is visible in some extraordinary

precautions said to have been taken against a danger which no man could

have apprehended seriously. The following account is taken from a

contemporary of high tory principles, and animated by a most especial

hatred of Gates.

[Illustration:

This medal appears to have been struck in ridicule of the notion that

Godfrey had murdered himself; he is represented as walking with the

halter about his neck, apparently towards Primrose Hill, seen in the

distance with its double head. The legend, “Ergo pares sumus,”—Therefore

we are alike,—intimates that those, and those only, who can believe the

well–known story of St. Denys, could believe the Papistical account that

Godfrey had killed himself.]

“The next and last act of this tragedy was the funeral of this poor

gentleman; and if it had been possible the rout could have been more

formidable than at the exposition of him, it must now have appeared.

For as about other party concerns, so here the time and place of the

assemblation was generally notified, as also what learned divine was to

preach the sermon. The crowd was prodigious, both at the procession and

in and about the church; and so heated, that any thing called Papist

had gone to pieces in an instant. The Catholics all kept close in their

houses and lodgings, thinking it a good composition to be safe there;

so far were they from acting violently at that time. But there was all

this time upheld among the common people an artificial fright, so as

almost every one fancied a Popish knife just at his throat. And at the

sermon, besides the preacher, two other thumping divines stood upright

in the pulpit, one on each side of him, to guard him from being killed

while he was preaching, by the Papists. I did not see this spectacle,

but was credibly told by some that affirmed they did see it; and though

I have often mentioned it, as now, with precaution, yet I never met

with any that contradicted it. A most portentous spectacle sure! Three

parsons in one pulpit! Enough of itself, on a less occasion, to strike

a terror into the audience.”[117]

This might perhaps be considered as party spleen: but the testimony of

Calamy, one of the most learned and amiable dissenting clergymen of his

day, and a believer in much, though not in all the details of the plot,

to the extravagancies committed, is unexceptionable.

“Though I was at that time but young (he was about nine years of age),

yet can I not forget how much I was affected with seeing several that

were condemned for this plot, go to be executed at Tyburn, and at the

pageantry of the mock processions on the 17th of November.[118] Roger

L’Estrange (who used to be called Oliver’s Fiddler), formerly in danger

of being hanged for a spy, and about this time the admired buffoon of

high–church, called them ‘hobby–horsing processions.’

“In one of them, in the midst of vast crowds of spectators, who made

great acclamations and showed abundance of satisfaction, there were

carried in pageants upon men’s shoulders through the chief streets of

the city, the effigies of the Pope, with the representation of the

devil behind him, whispering in his ear, and wonderfully soothing and

caressing him (though he afterwards deserted him, and left him to shift

for himself, before he was committed to the flames), together with the

likeness of the dead body of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, carried before him

by one that rode on horseback, designed to remind the people of his

execrable murder. And a great number of dignitaries in their copes,

with crosses; monks, friars, and Jesuits; Popish bishops in their

mitres, with all their trinkets and appurtenances. Such things as

these very discernibly heightened and inflamed the general aversion of

the nation from Popery; but it is to be feared, on the other hand, they

put some people, by way of revulsion, upon such desperate expedients as

brought us even within an ace of ruin.”[119]

A few days after these events the parliament met. “All Oates’s evidence

was now so well believed, that it was not safe for any man to seem to

doubt of any part of it. He thought he had the nation in his hands,

and was swelled up to the highest pitch of vanity and insolence. And

now he made a new edition of his discovery before the bar of the House

of Commons.”[120] He now said that the Pope, having declared himself

entitled to the possession of England, in virtue of the heresy of

prince and people, had delegated the supreme power to the order of

Jesuits, and that in consequence commissions had been issued by the

general of that order, to various noblemen and gentlemen, investing

them with all the great offices of the state. He swore that Coleman,

and Sir George Wakeman, the Queen’s physician, were in the plot, and

that for 15,000_l._ the latter had engaged to poison the King. Success

emboldened him to soar still higher; and after declaring to the House

of Lords, that he had named all the persons of rank involved in the

plot, he had the effrontery to accuse the Queen of being concerned in

it, under circumstances the most improbable: besides that the charge

was discountenanced by the whole tenour of her life.

“It was plain, that postnate to the narrative of Oates, there was a

design formed for cutting off the Queen by a false accusation, and

thereupon this evidence was given, and Bedloe, another evidence for

the plot, chimed in. It seems the not venturing so high in Oates’s

narrative was thought to be an error to be retrieved by additional

swearing. It was not a cabal of ordinary authority could encourage

Oates to come to the bar of the House of Commons, and say, ‘Aye, Taitus

Oates, accause Catherine Quean of England of haigh traison.’ Upon which

the King immediately confined him, and it might have been worse, if

some people had not taken his part, who were considerable enough to

give umbrage that it would be more prudent to set him at liberty again,

which was done accordingly. The King was pleased to say, ‘They think I

have a mind to a new wife; but for all that I will not see an innocent

woman abused.’ This passage ought to be remembered to the honour of the

King’s justice: certainly if his Majesty had given way, the Queen had

been very ill used.”[121]

Oates’s exaltation was a tempting bait, and other witnesses of infamous

character began to appear. In November Coleman was tried, convicted,

and executed on the joint evidence of Oates and Bedloe. There was

sufficient disagreement between the statements made by the former upon

the trial and before the council, to cause them to be received with

much suspicion; but Chief Justice Scroggs, after manifesting throughout

a most scandalous bias against the prisoner, charged the jury in a

style of which this is a specimen: “The things the prisoner is accused

of are of two sorts: the one is to subvert the Protestant religion,

and to introduce Popery; the other was to destroy and kill the king.

The evidence likewise was of two sorts; the one by letters of his own

handwriting, and the other by witnesses _viva voce_. The former he

seems to confess, the other totally to deny.... You are to examine

what these letters import in themselves, and what consequences are

naturally to be deduced from them. That which is plainly intended is to

bring in the Roman Catholic, and subvert the Protestant religion. That

which is by consequence intended, is the killing the king, as being

the most likely means to introduce that which as it is apparent from

his letters, was designed to be brought in.”[122] It would be a waste

of words to point out the monstrous wickedness of this inference. The

nature of the letters has been already described; that they contained

schemes hostile to the constitution there is no doubt, though not,

it should seem, such as bore out a charge of treason, least of all

against the life of the king. And it is worthy of observation, that

after dwelling at length upon the letters, Scroggs says not one word

concerning the evidence of the witnesses. Justice Jones worthily

seconded his principal: “You must find the prisoner guilty, or bring in

two persons perjured.”

The next act of the tragedy was the trial of Ireland, Fenwick, and

Whitebread, three Jesuits; and Grove and Pickering, two servants in the

queen’s chapel. Oates and Dugdale swore that the priests had conspired

the death of the king, and at their instigation the latter had agreed

to shoot him, which they attempted three several times; but that on

one occasion the flint of their pistol was loose; on another there

was no priming; and on the third no powder in the barrel: with other

circumstances equally childish and improbable. Scroggs acknowledged

that the case had broken down against Whitebread and Fenwick, and in

defiance of all principles of justice, remanded them that further

evidence might be procured.[123] The other three were condemned and

executed. Whitebread, Fenwick, and three other Jesuits, afterwards

underwent the same fate.

In July Wakeman and others were tried. “Scroggs summed up very

favourably for the prisoners; far contrary to his former practice. The

truth is, that this was looked upon as the Queen’s trial, as well as

Wakeman’s. The prisoners were acquitted, and now the witnesses saw they

were blasted; and they were enraged on it, which they vented with much

spite against Scroggs.”[124]

“July 18, 1679. I went early to the Old Bailey sessions–house, to

the famous trial of Sir G. Wakeman, one of the Queen’s physicians,

and three Benedictine monks: the first (who I take to be a worthy

gentleman, abhorring such a fact) for intending to poison the King: the

others as accomplices to carry on the plot to subvert the government

and introduce Popery. The bench was crowded with the judges, the lord

mayor, justices, and innumerable spectators. The chief accusers,

Dr. Oates (as he called himself), and one Bedloe, a man of inferior

note. Their testimonies were not so pregnant, and I fear, much of

it upon hearsay; but swearing positively to some particulars which

drew suspicion upon their truth, nor did circumstances so agree as

to give either the bench or the jury so entire satisfaction as was

expected. After therefore a long and tedious trial of nine hours, the

jury brought them in not guilty, to the extraordinary triumph of the

Papists, and[125] without sufficient disadvantage and reflections on

the witnesses, especially Oates and Bedloe. This was a happy day for

the lords in the Tower, who, expecting their trial, had this day gone

against the prisoners at the bar, would all have been in the utmost

hazard. For my part I look upon Oates as a vain insolent man, puffed up

with the favour of the Commons for having discovered something really

true, more especially as detecting the dangerous intrigue of Coleman,

proved out of his own letters, and of a general design which the

Jesuitical party of the Papists ever had, and still have, to ruin the

church of England; but that he was trusted with those great secrets he

pretended, or had any solid ground for what he accused divers noblemen

of, I have many reasons to induce my contrary belief.”

This, the first acquittal, was indeed equivalent to a sentence of

perjury against the witnesses; whose credit began to be shaken by the

contradictions in their evidence, discoverable by any who would calmly

look for them; and by the constancy with which all the condemned met

death, disclaiming to the last the justice of their sentence. Several

trials followed with various success. Soon after the meeting of the

Parliament in 1678, Lord Stafford, with four other Popish lords, had

been committed to the Tower upon Oates’s depositions. The parliament

was dissolved in January, 1679. Another was called in March, and the

question of the Popish lords proceeded in; but this also was dissolved

in May, without the accused being brought to trial, and they remained

in confinement till a third parliament was called in October, 1680,

soon after which it was resolved, “That the House will proceed with

the prosecution of the lords in the Tower, and forthwith begin with

William, Viscount Stafford.” Oates, Dugdale, and Turbervile, two more

witnesses of the same class, gave evidence upon which he was condemned.

Stafford was an aged man, and of little estimation; yet he defended

himself, prisoners not being then allowed benefit of counsel, with

dignity and constancy, through a long trial of six days. He urged with

much force the infamy of Oates.

“Dec. 6, 1680. One thing my lord said, as to Oates, which I confess did

exceedingly affect me; that a person who during his depositions should

so vauntingly brag, that though he went over to the church of Rome,

yet he never was a Papist, nor of their religion, all the time that he

seemed to apostatize from the Protestant, but only as a spy; though

he confessed he took their sacraments, worshipped their images, went

through all their oaths, and discipline of their proselytes, swearing

secrecy and to be faithful, but with intent to come over again and

betray them; that such a hypocrite, that had so deeply prevaricated as

even to turn idolater (for so we of the church of England term it),

attesting God so solemnly that he was entirely theirs, and devoted to

their interests, and consequently (as he pretended) trusted; I say that

the witness of such a profligate wretch should be admitted against the

life of a peer, this my lord looked upon as a monstrous thing, and such

as must needs redound to the dishonour of our religion and nation. And

verily I am of his lordship’s opinion: such a man’s testimony should

not be taken against the life of a dog. But the merit of something

material which he discovered against Coleman, put him in such esteem

with the parliament, that now I fancy he stuck at nothing, and thought

every body was to take what he said for gospel. The consideration of

this in some other circumstances began to stagger me: particularly how

it was possible that one who went among the Papists on such a design,

and pretended to be intrusted with so many letters and commissions

from the Pope and the party, nay and delivered them to so many great

persons, should not reserve one of them to show, nor so much as one

copy of any commission, which he who had such dexterity in opening

letters might certainly have done, to the undeniable conviction of

those that he accused: but as I said he gained credit on Coleman;

but as to others whom he so madly flew upon, I am little inclined to

believe his testimony, he being so slight a person, so passionate,

ill–bred, and of such impudent behaviour; nor is it likely that such

piercing politicians as the Jesuits should trust him with so high and

so dangerous secrets.”[126]

Burnet gives his own words: “I asked him, what were the arguments which

prevailed on him to change his religion, and go over to the church of

Rome. He upon that stood up, and laid his hands on his breast and said,

‘God and his holy angels knew that he had never changed, but that he

had gone among them on purpose to betray them.’ This gave me such a

character of him, that I could have no regard to anything he either

said or swore after that.”[127]

Stafford died with dignity and calmness, such as to make a deep

impression on the spectators. Their behaviour was decent, and even

compassionate, and a general belief in his dying protestations of

innocence was expressed. He was the last victim, strictly speaking, of

this impudent and atrocious forgery, upon which fourteen other men had

been previously executed. Many Romish priests also were condemned, and,

in part at least, suffered death upon a statute of Elizabeth, making it

treason for such to be found within the realm.

It is not from any resemblance in the circumstances of the times, nor

from similarity of character, though indeed that is considerable,

that Cleon and Oates have been grouped together, so much as to show

that cruelty and credulity are equally the growth of ancient and

modern times, and that there have always been periods when it has been

easy for men, contemptible in rank, talent, and character, so they

be possessed of a certain low cunning and a plenitude of impudence,

to govern the public mind by availing themselves of its prejudices.

Diminish these prejudices in the smallest degree, in the same degree

is the liability to this degrading and mischievous bondage reduced. A

startling warning may be drawn from the comparison of the two periods.

Had England resembled in circumstances, and form of government, the

tyrant–democracy of Athens, there is strong reason to thing that

the fearful enormities committed by that profligate city against

her dependents might have been equalled in the extirmination of the

obnoxious sect; as we know that the accusation of non–conformity, and

the charge of conspiring to establish a tyranny,[128] formed equally

ready handles of insult and oppression. Happily the balanced and

complicated form of the constitution, and the impossibility of moving

with one accord a great nation, delivered our ancestors from this

extremity of guilt. May the hazard which they incurred serve as a

beacon, to warn men against suffering themselves to be hoodwinked and

goaded by their fears into forgetfulness alike of reason and charity.

It may be some consolation to any whose patriotism is shocked by

the ready belief of Oates’s narrative, to know that the proverbial

credulity of the English was fully equalled by the gullibility of

the acute and polished Athenians.[129] Gross as was the imposture,

it was yet not without some foundation in truth; and in the then

alarming crisis of public affairs, we may imagine how it was that eager

politicians greedily swallowed a story adapted to their prepossessions,

although candid and dispassionate observers, like Evelyn, saw

immediately how little of it was entitled to credit. Yet even Evelyn

was partly a believer, as also Dryden, whose party prejudices certainly

did not lead him to side with the whigs.

That plot, the nation’s curse,

Bad in itself, but represented worse;

Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried;

With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied;

Not weighed and winnowed by the multitude,

But swallowed in the mass, unchewed and crude.

Some truth there was, but dashed and brewed with lies

To please the fools and puzzle all the wise.

Succeeding times did equal folly call,

Believing nothing, or believing all.

_Absalom and Achitophel, part I._

The following passages will probably amuse the reader, and convey a

good idea of the character of Oates himself:—

“Titus Oates was the son of an anabaptist teacher, who afterwards

conformed and got into orders, and took a benefice as this his son

did. He was proud and ill–natured, haughty but ignorant. He had been

complained of for some very indecent expressions concerning the

mysteries of the Christian religion. He was once presented for perjury.

But he got to be chaplain in one of the king’s ships, from which he was

dismissed upon charges of gross profligacy.... He seemed inclined to be

instructed in the Popish religion. One Hutchinson, a Jesuit, had that

work put upon him.... He told me that Oates and the Jesuits were always

on ill terms. They did not allow Oates above nine–pence a day, of which

he complained much; and Hutchinson relieved him often. They wished they

could be well rid of him, and sent him beyond sea, being in very ill

terms with him. This made Hutchinson conclude that they had not at that

time trusted Oates with their secrets; Oates was kept for some time at

St. Omers, and was thence sent through France into Spain, and was now

returned to England. He had been long acquainted with Tongue, and made

his first discovery to him.”[130]

“Oates was a low man, of an ill cut, very short neck, and his visage

and features were most particular. His mouth was the centre of his

face, and a compass there would sweep his nose, forehead, and chin

within the perimeter. In a word, he was a most consummate cheat,

blasphemer, vicious, perjured, impudent, and saucy foul–mouthed wretch;

and were it not for the truth of history and the great emotions in the

public which he was the cause of, not fit (so little deserving) to be

remembered.”[131]

“Oates would never say all that he knew, for that was not consistent

with the uncertainty of events. For he could not foresee what sort of

evidence there might be occasion for, nor whom (it might be thought

fit) to accuse. All which matters were kept in reserve to be launched

or not, as occasion, like fair weather, invited, or flaws discouraged.

And having once said, there was all he knew (if he had been so

overseen), it had ended the plot, and then there could have been no

further suspense or expectation, as was afterwards continually kept on

foot, in hopes that at length the bottom of the plot would come up. In

the mean time the faction could calumniate any person, as the Duke,

the Queen, and even the good King himself, as being in the plot, much

more any one that was loyal in the ministry and magistracy, and so keep

all in one. And all the while it went about in whispers, that strange

things would appear, if they could but once come to the bottom of the

plot, and each one’s evil imagination was to inform what that was, as

will fully appear afterwards. When Oates was examined in the House of

Commons, and was asked if he knew of any further designs against his

Majesty, &c., instead of answering that question, he told a tale of a

fox and a goose, that the fox, to see if the ice would bear him and his

goose, first carried over a stone as heavy as the goose. And neither

then nor ever after, during his whole life, would he be brought to say

he had told all that he knew.”[132]

“Oates was now (the author is speaking of a time soon after his first

examination before parliament) in his trine exaltation; his plot in

full force, efficacy, and virtue: he walked about with his guards

(assigned) for fear of the Papists murdering him. He had lodgings in

Whitehall, and 1200_l._ per annum pension. And no wonder, after he had

the impudence to cry to the House of Lords in plain terms, that if they

would not help him he must help himself. He put on an episcopal garb

(except his lawn sleeves), silk gown and cassock, great hat, satin

hatband and rose, and was called, or most blasphemously called himself,

‘the Saviour of the nation.’ Whoever he pointed at was taken up and

committed, so that many people got out of his way, as from a blast,

and glad that they could prove their last two years’ conversation. The

very breath of him was pestilential, and if it brought not imprisonment

or death over such on whom it fell, it surely poisoned reputation, and

left good Protestants arrant Papists; and, something worse than that,

in danger of being put in the plot as traitors.”[133]

“He threatened me indeed with a parliament, but that is a course

of speech he has got. If the prisoners but ask a new comer for his

garnish, the master of the prison shall be told of a parliament. A

bishop shall not suspend a minister for refusing to officiate according

to the canon, but he is presently threatened with a parliament. If

the university shall not think fit to allow Mr. Oates his degree, the

lawn sleeves are to be ruffled next parliament. I was walking awhile

since only over the outer court at Whitehall innocently about my

business, and because I did not cap him over the square, as the boys do

fellows at Cambridge, ‘Squire L’Estrange,’ says he, ‘we shall have a

parliament,’ twirling his hat about between his finger and thumb, with

a look and action not to be expressed.”[134]

The credit of the plot and of its author declined together. In 1681,

Oates appeared as a witness in defence of one Colledge, better known as

the “Protestant joiner,” a busy man and a zealot against Popery, who

was accused of treason upon no better grounds than had served his own

party for the destruction of so many Papists. The court was eager for

revenge, and by no means scrupulous concerning the means of obtaining

it; the witnesses, who had supported the plot, were indifferent which

way they perjured themselves, so long as perjury was profitable, and

swore against Colledge as readily as against the Jesuits. Oates,

therefore, who adhered to his old friends, be this one thing recorded

to his credit, was brought into collision with his former associates,

and a scene of abuse passed between him and them in open court which

is too long for quotation, but will satisfy any person of the infamy

of at least one, probably of both parties. (State Trials, vol. viii.

p. 628.) Towards the end of Charles’s reign, when the discontinuance

of parliaments threw all power into the hands of the court, and the

infamous Jefferies was a ready minister of oppression; Oates was

prosecuted by the Duke of York for libel, and damages assessed at

100,000_l._ This was but the beginning of his misfortunes. In 1688,

soon after the accession of James, he was convicted of perjury upon two

indictments: the one charging him with having sworn that he was at a

consultation of Jesuits in London, when he was really at St. Omers; the

other, with having deposed to Ireland’s presence in London at a time

when he was gone into Staffordshire. The sentence passed upon him was

most savage and illegal, and moreover executed with such severity as to

produce the belief that he was not meant to survive it. It is in itself

a curiosity, and as such, as well as for the instruction of any who do

not duly appreciate the blessings of an incorrupt judicature: though

long, it shall be given entire.

_Justice Wilkins._ “I hope I have not been thought a man of ill–nature,

and I confess nothing has been so great a regret to me in my place and

station as to give judgment and pronounce the sentence of law against

my fellow–subjects, my fellow–creatures—but as to you, Mr. Oates, I

cannot say my fellow–christian. Yet in this case when I consider your

offence, and the dismal effects that have followed upon it, I cannot

say I have any remorse in giving judgment upon you. And therefore

having told you my thoughts shortly about your crime, and how readily I

pronounce your sentence, I shall now declare the judgment of the court

upon you: and it is this:—

“First, the court does order for a fine, that you pay 1000 marks upon

each indictment.

“Secondly, that you be stripped of all your canonical habits.

“Thirdly, the court doth award, that you do stand upon the pillory, and

in the pillory here before Westminster Hall gate, upon Monday next, for

an hour’s time, between the hours of ten and twelve, with a paper over

your head (which you must first walk with round about to all the courts

in Westminster Hall) declaring your crime. And that is upon the first

indictment.

“Fourthly (on the second indictment), upon Tuesday you shall stand

upon and in the pillory at the Royal Exchange, in London, for the

space of an hour, between, the hours of twelve and two, with the same

inscription.

“You shall upon the next Wednesday be whipped from Aldgate to Newgate.

“Upon Friday you shall be whipped from Newgate to Tyburn by the hands

of the common hangman.

“But Mr. Oates, we cannot but remember there were several particular

times you swore false about, and therefore, as annual commemorations,

that it may be known, to all people as long as you live, we have taken

special care of you for an annual punishment.

“Upon the 24th of April, every year, as long as you live, you are to

stand upon the pillory, and in the pillory at Tyburn, just opposite to

the gallows, for the space of an hour, between the hours of ten and

twelve.

“You are to stand upon and in the pillory here, at Westminster Hall

gate, every 9th of August, in every year, so long as you live. And that

it may be known what we mean by it, it is to remember what he swore

about Mr. Ireland’s being in town between the 8th and 12th of August.

“You are to stand upon and in the pillory at Charing Cross, upon the

10th of August, every year during your life, for an hour, between ten

and twelve.

“The like over against the Temple gate upon the 11th.

“And upon the 2nd of September (which is another notorious time, which

you cannot but be remembered of) you are to stand upon and in the

pillory, for the space of one hour, between twelve and two, at the

Royal Exchange; all this you are to do every year during your life, and

to be committed close prisoner as long as you live.

“This I pronounce to be the judgment of the court upon you for your

offences. And I must tell you plainly that if it had been in my power

to have carried it further, I should not have been unwilling to have

given sentence of death upon you, for I am sure you deserve it.”[135]

Burnet says, “But now the sitting of the parliament of England came

on. And as a preparative to it, Oates was convicted of perjury upon

the evidence of the witnesses from St. Omers, who had been brought

over before to discredit his testimony. Now juries were so prepared

as to believe more easily than formerly. So he was condemned to have

his priestly habit taken from him, to be a prisoner for life, to be

set in the pillory in all the public places through the city, and ever

after that set in the pillory four times a–year, and to be whipped

by the common hangman from Aldgate to Newgate one day, and the next

from Newgate to Tyburn, which was executed with so much rigour that

his back appeared to be all over flead. This was thought too little

if he were guilty, and too much if he were innocent; and was illegal

in all the parts of it. For as the secular court, could not order

the ecclesiastical habit to be taken from him, so to condemn a man

to perpetual imprisonment was not in the power of the court. And the

extreme rigour of such whipping was without a precedent. Yet he, who

was an original in all things, bore this with a constancy that amazed

all those who saw it. So that this treatment did rather raise his

reputation than sink it.”[136]

So soon as the heat of the plot was over, Charles reduced his pension

one–half, and ultimately deprived him of it altogether. After the

Revolution he was pardoned, “redintegrated at court, and admitted to a

pension of 400_l._ per annum, at which he was very wroth, for Charles

gave him 600_l._, ‘and sure,’ he said, ‘William will give me more.’ He

sought by Act of Parliament to have his judgment for perjury reversed,

but he could never obtain a swearing capacity again. The Earl of

Danby (then Leeds) knew the danger of that, and would indeed have his

sentence reversed, that is, having been whipped from Newgate to Tyburn,

would fain have had him whipped back from Tyburn to Newgate. The power

of swearing is formidable to great and small, and his lordship was

within an ace of being put in the plot for Godfrey’s murder.”[137]

Here ends his public life; he died in 1705, having once more changed

his religion, and entered into the communion of the Baptists. To the

last many persons adhered to him, and considered him a martyr to the

Protestant cause. In conclusion, we subjoin his character, as drawn

by Calamy, whose temper and opinions alike free his testimony from

suspicion.

“Dr. Oates was a man of invincible courage and resolution, and endured

what would have killed a great many others. He occasioned a strange

turn in the nation, after a general lethargy, that had been of some

years’ continuance. By awakening us out of sleep he was an instrument

in the hand of God for our preservation. Yet after all, he was but a

sorry foul–mouthed wretch, as I can testify from what I once heard from

him in company.

[Illustration:

Medal of Oates. The reverse represents the pretended scheme to shoot

Charles II. walking in St. James’s Park. Legend: The Popish Plott

discovered by mee, T. Oates, D.D.]

“I have been informed at Westminster that Dr. Oates was a frequent

auditor of my predecessor, Mr. Alsop, and moved for leave to come

to the Lord’s table with his society, but that an honest man of the

congregation upon that occasion spoke freely against him, as one so

irregular in his life as to be very unfit for church communion. The

doctor afterwards meeting Mr. Alsop, told him that man had sadly

abused him, and upon that account he vehemently complained as one that

was injuriously dealt with. Mr. Alsop cried out, ‘Prove him a liar,

doctor! prove him a liar!’ which it would have been well for him if

he could have done. But he really bore an indifferent character at

Westminster, and notwithstanding all the service he had done, there

were so many things concurring to lessen his credit, as makes it very

hard to distinguish between what was true and what was false in his

depositions. For which reason I must own that I am the less surprised,

that the parliament after the Revolution should leave him under a

brand, and incapacitate him for being a witness for the future.”[138]

We may conclude the chapter with a short reference to that most

remarkable transaction, the mutilation of the Hermæ, which occurred

B.C. 415, just before the Sicilian expedition, and in its consequences

bears a striking analogy to the passage in history which we have just

related. The Hermæ were square pillars, surmounted by a head of the

god, Hermes, or Mercury, which, in compliance with an ancient custom,

were placed at the entrances of temples and houses. Most of these

throughout Athens were defaced in the course of one night. A great

sensation was excited in the city; for the circumstance was held to be

of evil omen to the important enterprise just about to be commenced,

and moreover to indicate the existence of a plot to overthrow the

democracy. Alcibiades was accused among others, but no evidence could

be obtained to bring home the offence to any one: the excitement passed

off for a time, and he was ordered with the army to Sicily. But men’s

minds were unsettled, and agitated by terrors of they knew not what,

aggravated by designing persons for party ends. “From the affair of

the Mercuries, a plot was inferred for the establishment of oligarchy

or tyranny, and the irritation was cherished by continual discourses

of what Athens had suffered through the Pisistratidæ. On the slightest

suspicion, on the most discreditable evidence, men, the most respected,

were imprisoned; alarm increased with the number of accusations, and

each found readier credit than the last. At length Andocides, one of

the imprisoned, seeing no other hope of escape, and hoping by the

sacrifice of a few to save the rest, and to tranquillize the city,

confessed the crime, and accused some others, whether truly or falsely

is not known. The people received the information with joy; and setting

free the informer, and those whom he had cleared, tried and executed

the others. The proof was very inadequate, and the condemnation most

unjust; but the panic was in great measure abated.”[139]

In this jealous temper, Alcibiades, though not included in the

accusation, was summoned home from Sicily. He fled to Sparta, and by

his powerful talents contributed very principally to produce those

reverses which subsequently overtook the Athenians. The account of this

remarkable transaction is given in Thucydides, vi. c. 27, 60, and most

completely in the speech of Andocides de Mysteriis, which is contained

in Bekker’s collection of the Greek orators.