After the battle of Thymbra between Cyrus and Crœsus, which was
one of the most considerable events in antiquity, as it passed the
empire of Asia from the Assyrians of Babylon to the Persians, Cyrus,
the conqueror, marched directly upon Sardis, the capital of Lydia.
According to Herodotus, Crœsus did not believe that Cyrus meant to
shut him up in the city, and therefore marched out to give him battle.
He says the Lydians were the bravest people in Asia. Their principal
strength consisted in their cavalry; and Cyrus, in order to render this
force ineffective, caused his camels to advance against the horse; and
the latter animals, having an instinctive dread or dislike for the
former, would not face them. The horsemen dismounted and fought on
foot; after an obstinate contest, the Lydians were forced to retreat
into their capital city, Sardis, which Cyrus immediately besieged,
causing his engines to be brought up and his scaling-ladders to be
prepared, as if he meant to take it by assault. But this was a feint;
he had been made acquainted with a private way into the city by a
Persian slave, who had formerly been in the service of the governor,
and at night he quietly made himself master of the citadel. At break
of day, he entered the city without resistance. Perceiving that the
Chaldeans quitted their ranks and began to disperse themselves, his
first care was to prevent the city from being plundered. To effect
this required nothing less than the perfect ascendancy which Cyrus had
obtained over his troops. He informed the citizens that the lives of
themselves and their children, with the honour of their women, were
perfectly safe, provided they brought him all their gold and silver.
This condition they readily complied with, and Crœsus, the proverbially
richest man in the world, was one of the first to lay his wealth at the
foot of the conqueror.
The siege of Sardis has nothing remarkable in it, except the change of
empires which followed it; but there are several anecdotes connected
with it, which our young readers would not forgive us for omitting.
When Cyrus had given all proper directions concerning the city, he had
a private conversation with the king, of whom he asked what he now
thought of the oracle of Delphi, and of the god who presided over it,
whom Crœsus held in great veneration. Crœsus acknowledged that he had
justly incurred the indignation of that god, by having shown a distrust
of the truth of his answers, and by having put him to the trial by an
absurd and ridiculous question; and he then added, that he had still no
reason to complain of him, for that, having consulted him that he might
know what to do in order to lead a happy life, the oracle had given him
as answer, that he should enjoy a perfect and lasting happiness when
he had come to the knowledge of himself. “For want of this knowledge,”
said he, “and believing myself, through the excessive praises bestowed
upon me, to be something very different from what I am, I accepted the
title of generalissimo of the whole army, and unadvisedly engaged in
war against a prince infinitely my superior in all respects. But now
that I am instructed by my defeat, and begin to know myself, I believe
that I am going to be happy; and if you prove favourable to me,--and
my fate is in your hands,--I shall certainly be so.” Cyrus, touched
with compassion at the misfortunes of the king, who was fallen in a
moment from so great an elevation, and admiring his equanimity under
such a reverse of fortune, treated him with a great deal of clemency
and kindness, suffering him to enjoy both the title and authority of
king, under the restriction of not having the power to make war; which
was, as Crœsus said, relieving him of the great burden of royalty, and
leaving him the power of leading a happy life. Thenceforward Cyrus
took him with him upon all his expeditions, either out of esteem for
him, and to have the benefit of his counsels, or out of policy, and
to be more secure of his person. We consider this to have been a sad
realization of poor Crœsus’s dream of happiness.
There are other wonders connected with this event, about which we can
only say that great historians have related them. For our own parts,
we are not so sceptical regarding the remote events of history as some
readers and authors are. We see, constantly, matters that must some
day belong to history, put in as false a light by the passions and
interests of contemporaries, as if they were viewed through the mist of
past ages. Again, that which is wonderful is not necessarily untrue.
When Marco Paolo returned from his long pilgrimage, his accounts were
all received as fables; now, almost all of them prove to be bare
truth. We shall never reject a story told by a respectable historian,
on account of its being a little miraculous, provided it be amusing,
instructive, and elevating, and at the same time a thing with which
well-educated youth ought to be acquainted.
The only son Crœsus had living was dumb. This young prince, seeing
a soldier about to cut down the king, whom he did not know, with
his scimitar, made such a violent effort to save his father’s life,
that he broke the string which had confined his tongue, and cried
out,--“Soldier! spare the life of Crœsus!”
The account of Cyrus’s conversation, given above, is from Xenophon’s
Cyropædia; the following, which greatly differs from the circumstances
attending it, is from Herodotus.--How are we to choose? The Cyropædia
is by some writers looked upon as little more than a romance; and
Herodotus abounds in apocryphal stories.
Crœsus being a prisoner, was condemned by the conqueror to be burnt
alive. Accordingly, the funeral pile was prepared, and the unhappy
prince, having been laid thereon, and on the point of execution,
recollecting the conversation he had formerly had with Solon, was
wofully convinced of the truth of that philosopher’s admonition, and
in remembrance thereof, cried out three times,--“Solon! Solon! Solon!”
Cyrus, who with his court was present, was curious to know why Crœsus
pronounced the name of that philosopher with so much vehemence in his
extremity. “Mighty king,” replied Crœsus, “when Solon in search of
wisdom visited my court, I tried every means to dazzle him, and impress
upon him the immense extent of my wealth. When I had displayed it all
before him, I asked which man in all his travels he had found the
most truly happy, expecting, after what he had seen, he would name
me. But he replied, ‘One Tellus, a citizen of Athens, a very honest
and good man, who, after having lived all his days without indigence,
having always seen his country in a flourishing condition, has left
children who are universally esteemed, has had the satisfaction of
seeing those children’s children, and at last died gloriously in
fighting for his country.’ I was surprised to find that my gold and
silver had so little weight; but, supposing I at least might claim the
next rank, I asked him, ‘Who of all he had seen was most happy after
Tellus?’ Solon replied,--‘Cleobis and Biton, two brothers, of Argos,
who had left behind them a perfect pattern of fraternal affection, and
of the respect due from children to parents. Upon a solemn festival,
when their mother, a priestess of Juno, was to go to the temple, the
oxen that were to have drawn her not being ready, the two sons put
themselves into the yoke and drew their mother’s chariot thither,
a distance of five miles. The mothers of the place, ravished with
admiration, congratulated the priestess upon having such sons. She, in
the transports of her joy and thankfulness, earnestly entreated the
goddess to reward her children with the best thing Heaven can bestow.
Her prayers were heard. When the sacrifice was over, her two sons fell
asleep in the temple, and there died in a soft and sweet slumber. In
honour of their piety, the people of Argos consecrated statues to them
in the temple of Delphi.’ ‘What then,’ said I, in a tone of discontent,
‘you do not reckon me amongst the happy at all?’ Solon replied, calmly:
‘King of Lydia, the gods have given us Grecians a spirit of moderation
and reserve, which has produced amongst us a plain, popular kind of
philosophy, accompanied with a certain generous freedom, void of pride
or ostentation, and therefore not well suited to the courts of kings.
This philosophy, considering what an infinite number of vicissitudes
and accidents the life of man is liable to, does not allow us to glory
either in any prosperity we enjoy ourselves, or to admire happiness in
others, which perhaps may prove only transient or superficial. The life
of man seldom exceeds seventy years, which make up in all six thousand
two hundred and fifty days, of which no two are exactly alike; so that
the time to come is nothing but a series of various accidents which
cannot be foreseen. Therefore, in our opinion, no man can be esteemed
happy but he whose happiness the gods continue to the end of his life;
as for others, who are perpetually exposed to a thousand dangers,
we account their happiness as uncertain as the crown is to a person
engaged in battle who has not yet won the victory.’”
Upon hearing this, Cyrus reflected upon the uncertainty of sublunary
things, and was touched with compassion for the prince’s misfortunes.
He caused him to be taken from the pile, and treated him as long as he
lived with kindness and respect. Thus had Solon the honour of saving
the life of one king, and of giving a wholesome lesson of instruction
to another.