of Troy. According to one of these, Antenor and Æneas treacherously
betrayed the Palladium to the Greeks, and at the same time threw open
the gates of the city at night. The other account relates that the
capture was effected by the stratagem of the wooden horse, which was
planned by the cunning of Ulysses. A huge, hollow structure resembling
a horse, was filled with armed men, and left standing in the plain,
while the Greeks went on board their ships and sailed to the island of
Tenedos, which lay not far distant. By an artful manœuvre, the Trojans
were made to believe that this horse was an offering to Minerva, and
that they would achieve a great triumph by carrying it into the city.
Accordingly they made a breach in the wall, and transported the horse
within. In the dead of night the Greeks broke out of their concealment,
and set the city on fire. The fleet, on a signal given, sailed back
from Tenedos; the army landed. Troy was taken and destroyed.
This event is usually placed about 1184 B.C. In the division of the
spoils, after the taking of Troy, Cassandra, one of the daughters
of King Priam, fell to the lot of Agamemnon. She was endued with
the gift of prophecy, and warned Agamemnon not to return to Mycenæ.
This warning, however, was disregarded by the king, who, upon his
return from Troy, was carried by a storm to that part of the coast
of Argolis where Ægisthus, the son of Thyestes, resided. This king,
Ægisthus, had entered into a wicked agreement with Clytemnestra, wife
of Agamemnon, to put that monarch to death upon his return from Troy,
so that Ægisthus could seize the throne of Mycenæ, and marry Queen
Clytemnestra. There are two accounts of the death of Agamemnon. One
states that Ægisthus had set a watchman, with a promise of a large
reward, to give him the earliest tidings of the return of the king. As
soon as he learned that Agamemnon’s fleet was on the coast, he went
out to welcome him, and invited him to his mansion. At the banquet in
the evening, with the consent of Clytemnestra, he placed twenty
armed men in concealment, who fell on King Agamemnon and killed him,
together with Cassandra and all their attendants. Another account makes
Agamemnon to have fallen by the hands of his wife Clytemnestra, after
he had just come forth from a bath, and while he was endeavoring to put
on a garment, the sleeves of which she had previously sewed together,
as well as the opening for his head; thus giving her time to commit the
bloody deed before any succor could reach him. His death, however, was
avenged by his son Orestes.
With regard to the extent of Agamemnon’s sway, Homer states that
he ruled over many islands, and over all Argos; meaning not the
city Argos, over which Diomed ruled, but a large portion of the
Peloponnesus, including particularly the cities of Mycenæ and Tiryns.
Homer also says that Agamemnon possessed the most powerful fleet;
and as he was chosen the sovereign of all the Grecian kings, and
commander-in-chief of all the Grecian hosts during the Trojan War, he
may doubtless be called the greatest and most famous of all the more
ancient Grecian rulers.
CYRUS THE GREAT.
599-529 B.C.
“Death makes no conquest of this conqueror;
For now he lives in fame, though not in life.”
SHAKESPEARE.
IN a lonely and desolate country, in the depths of a dark forest, at
the edge of a yawning precipice, there once lay an infant, robed in
costly garments, which betokened noble or royal birth. The baby lay
in a small basket cradle, made of golden wires and lined with richly
embroidered cushions. It seemed to be slumbering, for it moved not,
even when the afternoon shadows gathered more densely around it; and
a rapacious bird of prey might have been seen hovering above its
dangerous retreat, and the noise of wild beasts was heard in the dark
forests around. Was there no one near to protect and care for this
lovely child? Ah, see! as that vulture swoops down towards its helpless
victim, a lonely watcher rushes forth from the forest, and drawing
his bow, an arrow flies into the heart of the bird, which falls dead
into the awful chasm below. But why does not the babe awake? and why
is it left in this desolate spot? Just then a lion steals out of the
brushwood, and after a stealthy glance at the tempting prey so near
his reach, he prepares to spring. But again the watcher leaps forth
from the shadow, and hurls a sharp javelin with so true an aim that the
lordly beast is mortally wounded, and retreats to the forest, roaring
with pain. And still the infant sleeps on.
Just outside of the dreary forest is a poor herdsman’s hut. Here, too,
might have been found an infant; but it is crowing and smiling as it
raises its chubby fists to its mouth and tries to catch the sunshine,
which streams in through the open door, and falls upon the wall over
its head. This baby is clothed in the coarse garments of a peasant’s
child. And yet the infant in the costly robes, in the wild forest, is
really the dead child of a poor herdsman; and this crowing, laughing
baby, dressed in peasant clothes, and lying in the lowly hut, is none
other than the future Cyrus the Great, upon whom hang the destinies
of a vast empire. The remarkable story regarding the birth and early
boyhood of Cyrus the Great is recounted by Herodotus, one of the
greatest and earliest of Grecian historians. Herodotus and Xenophon—a
noted Grecian general, as well as historian—are the chief sources of
information regarding most of the important historical events of that
period of the world. Some parts of their accounts are thought to be
historical romances, founded on facts; but as they have become a part
of the history of those times, I shall gather the story of Cyrus from
the events related by both these writers.
About 599 B.C. there were three kingdoms in the centre of Asia:
Assyria, Media, and Persia. Astyages was king of Media. One night
Astyages awoke from a terrible dream: he had dreamed that a fearful
inundation had overwhelmed his kingdom. As the deluge seemed in some
mysterious manner to be connected in his mind with his only daughter,
Mandane, he imagined that it portended that evil should come to his
throne through her children. And so he arranged that she should marry
Cambyses, ruling prince of Persia. In this manner he hoped to remove
her so far distant, and place her in so weak a kingdom, that he need
have no fears.
A year after his daughter’s marriage to the king of Persia, Astyages
had another dream,—of a great vine which overspread his kingdom. This
vine also appeared to be associated in his mind with his daughter. So
he called the soothsayers, who declared that it portended the future
power of his daughter’s son, who should become a king.
Astyages was now so alarmed that he determined to destroy the child.
So, with seeming kindness, he invited his daughter Mandane to make
him a visit. He placed her in a palace and surrounded her with his
own spies and servants. As soon as the infant son was born, Astyages
sent for an officer of his court, named Harpagus, whom he thought
was unscrupulous enough to obey his evil commands. Astyages ordered
Harpagus to go and request the attendants of Mandane to allow him to
see the infant; and then, under pretence that his grandfather Astyages
desired that the infant should be brought to him, Harpagus should take
the child away, and in some manner cause it to be put to death.
Harpagus did not dare to refuse, and accordingly went to the palace in
which Mandane was residing. Her attendants, not suspecting his evil
designs, arrayed the infant in its most beautiful robes, and delivered
it into his care. Harpagus took the child home and consulted with his
wife what he should do. He did not dare to disobey the king, and also,
as Mandane was the daughter of the king, he feared to carry out the
terrible deed himself.
In his perplexity he sent for one of his herdsmen, named Mitridates,
living near wild and desolate forests. When Mitridates arrived,
Harpagus gave the infant to him, commanding him to expose it in the
forests for three days, and when the child was dead, to send him word.
The herdsman dared not refuse this wicked mission, and took the child
home to his hut. His wife Spaco had at that time just lost an infant of
the same age, and its dead body was still unburied. When she saw the
beautiful babe of Mandane, she implored her husband to let her keep it
in place of her dead child, who was accordingly arrayed in the costly
robes of the young prince, while the royal baby was dressed in the
coarse garments of the little dead peasant. The body of the dead infant
was then placed in the royal cradle, or basket, in which the little
prince had been carried from the palace; and after being exposed in
the forest for three days, attended by watchers to keep away the wild
beasts, the herdsman sent word to Harpagus that the infant was dead.
Harpagus sent trusty messengers to see if the report was true; and when
they saw the dead infant in the royal robes, they returned with the
assurance that his orders had been complied with, and that they had
seen the dead child. Harpagus gave orders to have the body buried, and
sent word to King Astyages that the infant was dead.
The truth about the young Cyrus was not discovered until ten years
after, and came about in a very strange way. Cyrus had now grown to be
a strong, bright boy of ten years of age, and was supposed to be the
son of the peasant herdsman. Several of the sons of the Median nobles
were accustomed to meet in the neighborhood where he lived, for their
sports, and Cyrus was always their leader in all pursuits. The story
goes that he was once chosen as their king in a boyish game; and one
of the nobles’ sons, being one of his subjects, and having disobeyed
his commands, the boy king Cyrus punished him very severely. The father
of the young noble complained to King Astyages of this ill treatment
which his son had suffered at the hands of a peasant boy. Whereupon,
the herdsman Mitridates and his supposed son were summoned to appear at
court.
When the young Cyrus entered the presence of the king, Astyages was
astonished at his manly bearing and his unusual beauty, and with an
unaccountable feeling of interest in the supposed peasant boy, he
inquired if the complaint of the noble was true. The little disguised
prince looked up into the face of the dread monarch, in whose presence
all his subjects trembled, and with perfect self-possession, replied,—
“My lord, what I have done I am able to justify. I did punish this boy,
and I had a right to do so. I was king, and he was my subject, and he
would not obey me. If you think that for this I deserve punishment
myself, here I am; I am ready to suffer for it.”
Astyages was so surprised at this unlooked-for answer that he hastily
commanded that Mitridates should be brought before him; and under
threats of severe punishment, he demanded that he should tell him
the truth about the lad; for he had grave doubts about his being the
peasant’s son. Mitridates, frightened by the stern manner of the king,
confessed the truth, and related all the circumstances regarding the
infant who had been committed to him by Harpagus.
Astyages had deeply regretted his evil intentions towards his grandson,
which, as he supposed, had ended in his death, and gladly claimed Cyrus
as his own. But with strange inconsistency, he was equally incensed
against Harpagus, who had dared to disobey his commands, by not
causing the infant to be put to death; and he determined to celebrate
in a strange and most shocking manner his joy at the recovery of his
grandson, and his anger at the disobedience of Harpagus. So with
wicked craftiness he sent word to Harpagus that his grandson had been
discovered, and commanded that Harpagus should send his son, a boy
about thirteen years of age, up to the palace to be a companion for
young Cyrus. Furthermore, he announced that he was about to celebrate
his joy at the recovery of his grandson, by a grand festival, at which
he invited Harpagus to be present.
Harpagus suspecting no evil, and rejoicing at the happy sequel of
that deed which had occasioned him much disquiet, having sent his son
to the palace, according to the command of the king, related to his
wife the strange events which had taken place. Neither of them were
suspicious of any evil design in this seeming kindliness of Astyages,
and thought it a fitting honor for their son, that he should be chosen
as the companion of Prince Cyrus. Harpagus went to the festival, and
was given a seat of honor at the table. Various dishes were set before
the guests, and the attendants were especially attentive to see that
Harpagus was most bountifully served. At the end of the feast, Astyages
asked Harpagus how he had liked his fare. Harpagus expressed himself as
being well pleased. The king then ordered the servants to bring in a
basket, which they uncovered before Harpagus, and he beheld with horror
the head, hands, and feet of his own son.
The story relates that Harpagus did not display his terrible despair by
word or look; and when the wicked king asked him if he knew what he had
been eating, he replied that he did, and whatever was the will of the
king was pleasing to him. Such shocking cruelties reveal the wickedness
of those despotic times.
Harpagus satisfied his revenge against the cruel Astyages, many
years afterwards, in a manner which will be disclosed as this story
continues. A king whose greed of power could condemn an own grandson to
death would not scruple at other crimes. Astyages now again consulted
the soothsayers as to his safety in recognizing Cyrus as his grandson
and giving him his royal place at court. The Magi now replied, that as
Cyrus had already been a king, even though it was only in a childish
game, still, as he had been called a king, the oracles had been
fulfilled, and Astyages need fear no further danger to his kingdom.
Astyages therefore sent Cyrus to his parents in Persia, who received
their long-lost son with overwhelming delight; and the youthful Cyrus
was no doubt astonished and rejoiced to find himself the son and
grandson of powerful kings, rather than a simple peasant boy, the son
of a poor herdsman.
[Illustration: PERSIAN GUARDSMAN CARRYING BOW AND QUIVER.]
[Illustration: PERSIAN SOLDIER WITH BATTLE-AXE.]
[Illustration: PERSIAN FOOT SOLDIERS.]
Cyrus is described by the historians as being tall and handsome, and
excelling in all youthful exploits.
Xenophon describes the life of young Cyrus in the court of his father
Cambyses, king of Persia. The sons of all the nobles and officers
of the court were educated together in the royal palace. They were
not taught to read, as there were no books, but they had certain
teachers who explained to them the principles of right and wrong, and
described to them the various laws of the land, and the rules by which
controversies should be settled. These were put to practical use in
deciding the various cases which occurred among the boys themselves;
and judges were chosen from their number who should discuss and
decide these questions. Right decisions were rewarded, and wrong ones
punished. Cyrus himself was once punished for a wrong decision. The
case was this:—
A larger boy took away the coat of a smaller boy, whose coat was
bigger than his own, and gave him his own smaller coat. The smaller boy
appealed to Cyrus, who decided that each boy should keep the coat that
fitted him. The teacher condemned his decision in these words,—
“When you are called upon to consider a question of what fits best,
then you should determine as you have done in this case; but when
you are appointed to decide whose each coat is, and to adjudge it to
the proper owner, then you are to consider what constitutes right
possession, and whether he who takes a thing by force from one who
is weaker than himself, should have it, or whether he who made it or
purchased it, should be protected in his property. You have decided
against law and in favor of violence and wrong.”
The boys at this Persian court were taught many kinds of manly
exercises. They were trained to wrestle and run, and were instructed in
the use of all kinds of arms then known. Each one was furnished with
a bow and arrows, a shield, a sword, or dagger, which was worn at the
side in a scabbard, and two javelins, one of which they were to throw,
and the other to keep in the hand for use in close combat with the wild
beasts which they might encounter in their hunting expeditions. These
excursions were often long and fatiguing, which they took by turns with
the king in the neighboring forests.
They were subjected to long marches, to cold and hunger and storms,
and sometimes dangerous conflicts. These experiences were considered
necessary to fit them to become good soldiers in the future.
When Cyrus was about twelve years of age, he was invited by his
grandfather Astyages to make him a visit in Media. When Cyrus arrived
in Media with his mother Mandane, he was surprised at the magnificence
and pomp of the royal court; as the manners and habits of the Persians
were very simple, and as he had been sent to Persia as soon as his
royal rank had been discovered, he had not before had an opportunity of
seeing the splendor of his grandfather’s court.
[Illustration: PERSIAN KING SEATED ON HIS THRONE.]
In his first interview with Astyages, Cyrus displayed his great
tact and natural courtesy. When he came into the presence of his
grandfather, who wore a purple robe richly embroidered with gold and
covered with precious stones, and bracelets upon his arms, and a long,
flowing wig, while his face was painted and powdered, Cyrus exclaimed,—
“Why, mother, what a handsome man my grandfather is!”
Cyrus was dazzled by the great display around him, for in the Persian
court, Cambyses his father, and all his nobles, were clothed with great
simplicity. Mandane then said to Cyrus,—
“Which one do you think the handsomer man, your father or your
grandfather?”
It was a very unwise question to ask a child, but Cyrus was equal to
the emergency, and replied with great tact and politeness,—
“My father is the handsomest man in Persia, but my grandfather is the
handsomest of all the Medes.”
Astyages was much pleased with the aptness of this reply, and Cyrus
became a great favorite with his grandfather, who lavished upon him
costly garments, rich feasts, rare jewels, and the attentions of a
retinue of servants. But after the first novelty had passed away, Cyrus
preferred his more simple raiment and plainer food.
At one time, Astyages invited Cyrus and his mother to one of his
grand feasts in his palace, and ordered the rarest viands to be served
for Cyrus in the most elegant and costly dishes. Instead of being
flattered, Cyrus showed no particular pleasure or surprise, and when
Astyages asked him if he did not delight in such rich and delicate
food, and if the feast before him was not much finer than any he had
seen in Persia, Cyrus replied,—
“We manage much better in Persia; it is very troublesome to eat a
little of so many things.”
“How do you manage in Persia?” asked Astyages.
“When we are hungry, we eat plain meat and bread, and so we get health
and strength and have very little trouble,” answered Cyrus.
Astyages then told Cyrus that he might continue his plain fare in
Media, if he thought it was better for his health. Cyrus then asked his
grandfather if he would give him all the costly dishes before him to do
as he wished with them. To this Astyages consented, and Cyrus, calling
up one of the attendants after another, presented to them as gifts the
various elegant dishes with their contents. To one he said, “I give you
this because you serve the king faithfully”; to another, “I make you
this present because you are faithful to my mother”; and to another,
“Because you have taught me to throw the javelin.” Thus he went on
until all the gifts had been disposed of. Now the king had one servant,
whom he honored above all others, who held the office of cup-bearer.
In those days this was an important trust, for those despotic
monarchs possessed so many enemies that they were in constant danger
of assassination or of being poisoned. The king’s cup-bearer must
superintend the food of his master, and taste all wines himself before
offering them to the king.
Great dexterity and grace were necessary to perform the latter service
acceptably, as the king’s cup must not be placed to the lips of his
cup-bearer, but a small portion must be poured into the palm of his
hand, and lifted gracefully to his mouth.
Astyages’ cup-bearer was a Sacian; he was an officer of high rank,
tall and handsome, and magnificently dressed. In distributing his
gifts, Cyrus had neglected this officer, and when Astyages asked him
his reason, Cyrus replied that he did not like the Sacian. Astyages
inquired the cause of this dislike, and remarked, “Have you not
observed how gracefully and elegantly he pours out the wine for me, and
then hands me the cup?”
Cyrus replied that he could pour out the wine and offer the cup as well
as the Sacian, and requested his grandfather to allow him to try. To
this the amused king consented, and Cyrus, taking a goblet of wine in
his hand, retired from the room. He soon re-entered with the pompous
and dignified bearing of the Sacian, and so mimicked his manner of
gravity and self-importance as to occasion much mirth amongst the
assembled guests.
Cyrus, having advanced to the king, presented him with the cup,
neglecting not even one single motion of the usual ceremony, except
tasting the wine himself. Mandane and the king laughed heartily, and
the would-be cup-bearer, becoming the child again, jumped into his
grandfather’s arms, exclaiming, “Now, Sacian, you are ruined; I shall
get my grandfather to appoint me in your place. I can hand the wine as
well as you, and without tasting it myself at all.”
“But why did you not taste it?” asked his grandfather.
“Because the wine was poisoned,” replied Cyrus.
“What makes you think it is poisoned?” inquired Astyages.
“Because,” said Cyrus, “it was poisoned the other day when you made a
feast for your friends on your birthday. It made you all crazy. The
things that you do not allow us boys to do you did yourselves, for you
were very rude and noisy; you all bawled together so that nobody could
hear or understand what any other person said. Presently you went to
singing in a very ridiculous manner, and when a singer ended his song,
you applauded him, and declared that he had sung admirably, though
nobody had paid attention. You went to telling stories too, each one
of his own accord, without succeeding in making anybody listen to him.
Finally, you got up and began to dance, but it was out of all rule and
measure; you could not even stand erect and steadily. Then you all
seemed to forget who and what you were; the guests paid no regard to
you as their king, but treated you in a very familiar and disrespectful
manner, and you treated them in the same way; so I thought that the
wine that produced these effects must be poisoned.”
“But have not you ever seen such things before?” asked Astyages. “Does
not your father ever drink wine until it makes him merry?”
“No,” replied Cyrus, “indeed, he does not; he drinks only when he is
thirsty, and then only enough for his thirst, and so he is not harmed.”
He then added in a contemptuous tone, “He has no Sacian cup-bearer, you
may depend, about him.”
“But why do you dislike this Sacian so much, my son?” asked Mandane.
“Why, every time that I want to come and see my grandfather,” replied
Cyrus, “he always stops me, and will not let me come in. I wish,
grandfather, you would let me have the rule of him for just three
days.”
“What would you do?” asked Astyages.
“I would treat him as he treats me now,” answered Cyrus. “I would stand
at the door, as he does when I want to come in, and when he was coming
for his dinner, I would stop him and say, ‘You cannot come in now; he
is busy.’” Cyrus repeated these words in the tones and with the grave
manner of the Sacian.