_PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE._
PHAEDO, _who is the narrator of the Dialogue to Echecrates of Phlius_.
SOCRATES. ATTENDANT OF THE PRISON. APOLLODORUS. SIMMIAS. CEBES. CRITO.
SCENE:—The Prison of Socrates.
PLACE OF THE NARRATION:—Phlius.
[Sidenote: _Phaedo._]
_Echecrates._ Were you yourself, Phaedo, in the prison =Steph.= 57
with Socrates on the day when he drank the poison?
_Phaedo._ Yes, Echecrates, I was.
_Ech._ I should so like to hear about his death. What did
he say in his last hours? We were informed that he died
by taking poison, but no one knew anything more; for no
Phliasian ever goes to Athens now, and it is a long time
since any stranger from Athens has found his way hither;
so that we had no clear account.
_Phaed._ Did you not hear of the proceedings at the trial? 58
_Ech._ Yes; some one told us about the trial, and we could
not understand why, having been condemned, he should
have been put to death, not at the time, but long afterwards.
What was the reason of this?
[Sidenote: The death of Socrates was deferred by the holy season of the
mission to Delos.]
_Phaed._ An accident, Echecrates: the stern of the ship
which the Athenians send to Delos happened to have been
crowned on the day before he was tried.
_Ech._ What is this ship?
[Sidenote: _The narrative of Phaedo._]
_Phaed._ It is the ship in which, according to Athenian
tradition, Theseus went to Crete when he took with him the
fourteen youths, and was the saviour of them and of himself.
And they are said to have vowed to Apollo at the time, that
if they were saved they would send a yearly mission to
Delos. Now this custom still continues, and the whole
period of the voyage to and from Delos, beginning when the
priest of Apollo crowns the stern of the ship, is a holy
season, during which the city is not allowed to be polluted
by public executions; and when the vessel is detained by
contrary winds, the time spent in going and returning is
very considerable. As I was saying, the ship was crowned
on the day before the trial, and this was the reason why
Socrates lay in prison and was not put to death until long
after he was condemned.
_Ech._ What was the manner of his death, Phaedo? What
was said or done? And which of his friends were with
him? Or did the authorities forbid them to be present—so
that he had no friends near him when he died?
_Phaed._ No; there were several of them with him.
[Sidenote: Phaedo is requested by Echecrates to give an account of the
death of Socrates.]
_Ech._ If you have nothing to do, I wish that you would
tell me what passed, as exactly as you can.
_Phaed._ I have nothing at all to do, and will try to gratify
your wish. To be reminded of Socrates is always the
greatest delight to me, whether I speak myself or hear
another speak of him.
_Ech._ You will have listeners who are of the same mind
with you, and I hope that you will be as exact as you
can.
[Sidenote: He describes his noble and fearless demeanour.]
_Phaed._ I had a singular feeling at being in his company.
For I could hardly believe that I was present at the death of
a friend, and therefore I did not pity him, Echecrates; he
died so fearlessly, and his words and bearing were so noble
and gracious, that to me he appeared blessed. I thought
that in going to the other world he could not be without
a divine call, and that he would be happy, if any man ever 59
was, when he arrived there; and therefore I did not pity
him as might have seemed natural at such an hour. But I
had not the pleasure which I usually feel in philosophical
discourse (for philosophy was the theme of which we spoke).
I was pleased, but in the pleasure there was also a strange
admixture of pain; for I reflected that he was soon to die, and
this double feeling was shared by us all; we were laughing
and weeping by turns, especially the excitable Apollodorus—you
know the sort of man?
[Sidenote: _The last morning: Xanthippè._]
_Ech._ Yes.
_Phaed._ He was quite beside himself; and I and all of us
were greatly moved.
_Ech._ Who were present?
[Sidenote: The Socratic circle:—the absence of Plato is noted.]
_Phaed._ Of native Athenians there were, besides Apollodorus,
Critobulus and his father Crito, Hermogenes, Epigenes,
Aeschines, Antisthenes; likewise Ctesippus of the
deme of Paeania, Menexenus, and some others; Plato, if I
am not mistaken, was ill.
_Ech._ Were there any strangers?
_Phaed._ Yes, there were; Simmias the Theban, and Cebes,
and Phaedondes; Euclid and Terpsion, who came from
Megara.
_Ech._ And was Aristippus there, and Cleombrotus?
_Phaed._ No, they were said to be in Aegina.
_Ech._ Any one else?
_Phaed._ I think that these were nearly all.
_Ech._ Well, and what did you talk about?
[Sidenote: The meeting at the prison.]
[Sidenote: The friends are denied admission while the Eleven are with
Socrates.]
_Phaed._ I will begin at the beginning, and endeavour to
repeat the entire conversation. On the previous days we
had been in the habit of assembling early in the morning at
the court in which the trial took place, and which is not far
from the prison. There we used to wait talking with one
another until the opening of the doors (for they were not
opened very early); then we went in and generally passed
the day with Socrates. On the last morning we assembled
sooner than usual, having heard on the day before when
we quitted the prison in the evening that the sacred ship
had come from Delos; and so we arranged to meet very
early at the accustomed place. On our arrival the jailer who
answered the door, instead of admitting us, came out and
told us to stay until he called us. ‘For the Eleven,’ he said,
‘are now with Socrates; they are taking off his chains, and
giving orders that he is to die to-day.’ He soon returned
and said that we might come in. On entering we found 60
Socrates just released from chains, and Xanthippè, whom
you know, sitting by him, and holding his child in her arms.
When she saw us she uttered a cry and said, as women will:
‘O Socrates, this is the last time that either you will converse
with your friends, or they with you.’ Socrates turned
to Crito and said: ‘Crito, let some one take her home.’
[Sidenote: Socrates, whose chains have now been taken off, is led by the
feeling of relief to remark on the curious manner in which pleasure and
pain are always conjoined.]
Some of Crito’s people accordingly led her away, crying out
and beating herself. And when she was gone, Socrates,
sitting up on the couch, bent and rubbed his leg, saying, as
he was rubbing: How singular is the thing called pleasure,
and how curiously related to pain, which might be thought
to be the opposite of it; for they are never present to a man
at the same instant, and yet he who pursues either is generally
compelled to take the other; their bodies are two, but they
are joined by a single head. And I cannot help thinking
that if Aesop had remembered them, he would have made a
fable about God trying to reconcile their strife, and how,
when he could not, he fastened their heads together; and
this is the reason why when one comes the other follows:
as I know by my own experience now, when after the pain
in my leg which was caused by the chain pleasure appears to
succeed.
[Sidenote: _Evenus the poet._]
Upon this Cebes said: I am glad, Socrates, that you have
mentioned the name of Aesop. For it reminds me of a
question which has been asked by many, and was asked of
me only the day before yesterday by Evenus the poet—he
will be sure to ask it again, and therefore if you would like
me to have an answer ready for him, you may as well tell me
what I should say to him:—he wanted to know why you, who
never before wrote a line of poetry, now that you are in
prison are turning Aesop’s fables into verse, and also composing
that hymn in honour of Apollo.
[Sidenote: Having been told in a dream that he should compose music, in
order to satisfy a scruple about the meaning of the dream he has been
writing verses while he was in prison.]
[Sidenote: _Philolaus of Thebes._]
[Sidenote: Evenus the poet had been curious to know why he had done so,
and Socrates gives him the explanation, bidding him be of good cheer, and
come after him. ‘But he will not come.’]
Tell him, Cebes, he replied, what is the truth—that I had
no idea of rivalling him or his poems; to do so, as I knew,
would be no easy task. But I wanted to see whether I could
purge away a scruple which I felt about the meaning of
certain dreams. In the course of my life I have often had
intimations in dreams ‘that I should compose music.’ The
same dream came to me sometimes in one form, and sometimes
in another, but always saying the same or nearly the
same words: ‘Cultivate and make music,’ said the dream.
And hitherto I had imagined that this was only intended to
exhort and encourage me in the study of philosophy, which
has been the pursuit of my life, and is the noblest and best 61
of music. The dream was bidding me do what I was already
doing, in the same way that the competitor in a race is
bidden by the spectators to run when he is already running.
But I was not certain of this; for the dream might have
meant music in the popular sense of the word, and being
under sentence of death, and the festival giving me a respite,
I thought that it would be safer for me to satisfy the scruple,
and, in obedience to the dream, to compose a few verses before
I departed. And first I made a hymn in honour of the god
of the festival, and then considering that a poet, if he is
really to be a poet, should not only put together words, but
should invent stories, and that I have no invention, I took
some fables of Aesop, which I had ready at hand and which
I knew—they were the first I came upon and turned them
into verse. Tell this to Evenus, Cebes, and bid him be of
good cheer; say that I would have him come after me if he
be a wise man, and not tarry; and that to-day I am likely
to be going, for the Athenians say that I must.
Simmias said: What a message for such a man! having
been a frequent companion of his I should say that, as far as
I know him, he will never take your advice unless he is
obliged.
Why, said Socrates,—is not Evenus a philosopher?