Read Ebook: Alkibiades a tale of the Great Athenian War by Bromby Charles Hamilton Bromby Mary Editor

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Ebook has 1002 lines and 133680 words, and 21 pages

'I think, Sokrates, I would do anything you asked.'

'But if, when you have got your wings, you know not how to fly with them: what then?'

'I would do still more for you if you will teach me how to use them.'

'But if the way to use them is so difficult it would take you days and nights to learn it, and require you to give up many things you love, and make you work and toil to get this learning, could you do all that, think you?'

'Indeed I do, if it be not too hard for me to learn.'

'Which, now, gives you greater pleasure to look upon--Perikles' marble statue of Apollo, or a heap of dirt?'

'Why, how could it be but to look upon the statue, Sokrates?'

'And you would rather gaze on Aspasia's face than on the wrinkled skin of your old paidagogos?'

'Of course I would.'

'Then tell me, is it not because in Aspasia's face and in the statue of Apollo you see more beauty than in Zopyros or in the dirt?'

'Yes, by Zeus, it is!'

'And for the soldier--is it more beautiful in him to die fighting for his country, or to run away and live?'

'To die, of course. I would gladly do that, if that is all.'

'And for the statesman--is it not more beautiful in him to endeavour to persuade the people to make wise laws, and to induce them to do wise things, though he knows they will not love him for it, but perhaps turn on him, and thrust him from his power, and destroy him? Or is it better to let them do those foolish things he knows they love, and will admire him for advising, and so perhaps keep him a long time in power?'

'And these things that seem beautiful, are they not good things too to do?'

'They must be good as well as beautiful. And if I had the power I would make the people do what is wise and beautiful.'

'Yet you have said the statesman who would rather lose his power than persuade the people to the worse course was good.'

'I know I did.'

'Then the beautiful and the good are one?'

'It seems so, Sokrates.'

'Now I will tell thee, son of Kleinias, the wings you long for only come to those who love and do the beautiful and good. And they give us pain and trouble as they try to burst forth from the body. If you would get these wings you must ever look upon the beautiful and do the good, and, as I think your wish will be to lead the people, and be chief among them, you should first learn what is the good, and how you may persuade them to it--and this is difficult. To do this you must get Wisdom first yourself, and she is hard to find. You must work at many toilsome things. Like Herakles, you must go through many labours, and give up much of what seems pleasant to you now, and be content at last if, after all this trouble, the foolish people turn you out of power, and banish you from Athens, and perhaps sentence you to death as a reward for all your pains.'

'Oh Sokrates, these things seem hard you tell me of. Is there no other way?'

'Yes, you can flatter and cajole them--you can tell them to make war when you see the war spirit swarming like a swarm of bees among them, though you know it is not for their good, and will end only in a disgraceful peace; you can advise them to ally themselves with states they happen to be fond of, though you know that others are the true friends of Athens. Then will the changing people love you, and look upon you as a wise counsellor, and for some time, perhaps, you will be chief man in Athens.'

The boy had risen up, and the two were walking by the river-side towards the town, a cloudy look of disappointment on the young one's face.

'Now I will ask you one thing more, Sokrates--a thing I have often thought about, but never spoken it to anyone. If I could get the wings you tell me can only be got by pain and suffering, and by giving up the things that I care most about, what would they do for me when I had got them?'

'Did you not say you longed to rise above the earth, and see the things beyond the sky? When I came to you were you not feeling tired of the earth, and yearning some day to reach the dwellings of the gods?'

'Yes, Sokrates, there it is, and this is what I mean. Who are these gods really, and where in heaven do they dwell? My teachers tell me of Zeus, father of Aiakos, and I am of the race of Aiakos. But they cannot tell me where he is, nor the old gods before him. And yet they were immortal too. I often wonder whither they are gone. Poems of Homer that I love to read and hear recited say Zeus dwells on Mount Olympos; why cannot men go there and find him, and see the banquets of the gods? I think these things be but idle tales, and only Homer's poetry, before men had our wisdom. And if Athene really lives in the Parthenon, why cannot I see her? Where are the great gods, Sokrates?'

'They dwell not in the clouds, nor on Olympos' top, lovely son of Kleinias! That was, but Homer's image. They dwell around us, and within us, all day long. And when you feel the strong desire to find them out, and a yearning of your soul to see and know the gods, it is the gods themselves within you struggling against your lower passions, striving to give you wings with which to fly above your small desires.'

'Oh, oh, oh! hah, hah, hah! So have we found you, Sokrates, alone with Alkibiades. And has your daim?n thus at length permitted you to speak to him, or is it that only now for the first time you have found an opportunity?'

'Hush, Kritias and Sikias, hush! See how you have angered Alkibiades, and sent him off blushing and frowning in a rage.'

'Oh, wisest of the Greeks, seek not to make it seem it was our coming that has angered Alkibiades. What were you telling him when we came up and interrupted you? We have been looking for you all the afternoon. Hippokrates has a great feast to-night. Harmonidas of Skios will be there, and a new flute-player from Delos, and we know not who besides--but all the greatest wits in Athens. He tells us to bid you to his house.'

'Oh, Sikias! I have feasted here already, and at a finer feast than your Hippokrates can make. But tell me, Kritias, or you, Sikias, son of Sikias, would not a feast of thistles seem more sumptuous to an ass than all the dainties of Hippokrates?'

'Doubtless it would, Sokrates.'

'And the harsh croaking of a frog, does not that seem more melodious to him than the flute-playing of Harmonidas?'

'Perhaps it does. Why do you ask such questions?'

'But one more. Tell me, Kritias, to the male frog does not his female seem more beautiful than the face and form of Alkibiades?'

'I believe it does, Sokrates.'

'Then are these things really beautiful, or do they only seem so according to the eyes with which we look, or the ears we listen to the sounds withal?'

'I should say, Sokrates, to the frog the ugly female seems more beautiful, because he is a frog; as to the ass, the thistle seems the better fare, because of his dull bestiality.'

'Just so, Kritias! To the dull asses who appear to us as men the converse of the soul with soul will ever seem a fitting theme for jest and ridicule.'

'Vivere, Lucili, militare est.'--SENECA.

DURING the fifty years which immediately preceded the period at which we now arrive Athens had risen from a level little higher than that of many of her neighbour towns to be the chief, the queen, of Hellas. Through an undiscoverable something in her people, through an innate power lying hid within her, through a succession of great men to lead her, through hard work and self-sacrifice, she had shot ahead of all her rivals. And while boundless enterprise, which sent her merchant vessels beyond Ionian and Aigaian Seas, enriched her coffers, she was protected seaward by a navy which had become a match for all the other Grecian states together, and landward by a solid force of soldiers, each of them a self-relying, self-governing citizen, believing the fate of home depended on his own peculiar strength, courage, and obedience; and all this compact mass by sea and land was led by Generals not unworthy of the warriors they commanded.

So Athens was become the head of numerous allied, almost dependent, towns and tributary states, whose help she could call upon at need, whose tribute flowed a constant stream to swell her treasury. And all the time that this material prosperity had been increasing, her intellectual, her artistic growth had been as wonderful. It is generally noticed that only in the decline of nations an aesthetic, or subtle, sense of beauty is obtained, and arts are seen to flourish. So true has this been found in other states and peoples that from the one the other may often be inferred. Was this so with Athens? Had not her arts grown with her growth, and flourished in their full perfection as she grew? Was it not peculiar to Athens that they had not to wait until she was decrepit? However this may be, we find that a small town, as it seems to us in our days of unwieldy cities, centres of overpeopled provinces, a fifth-rate municipality, with a population, even at its highest, not much greater than that of many a modern watering-place, had bred amongst her citizens the purest taste, and highest genius, that marks a people as superior to ordinary men. And not in some only of the higher occupations of the mind was she ahead of others: she excelled in all. Her sculptors, her painters, her architects, her orators, her tragedians, her comedians, her statesmen, her philosophers, at that time were the marvel of the world, as it seems they will remain that marvel for all time to come.

If it is hard to realize the pre-eminence of Athens in genius, who amongst us hath an imagination large enough to realize her outward show? Who is so vain as to attempt to picture it to others?

The city was placed just near enough to the sea to catch its breezes and the zest of life sea-breezes bring with them, under a sky hung higher overhead than ours in the North appears to be; her streets a maze of beauty with innumerable gold and marble statues wrought by the finest sculptors that the world has seen; her temples, public halls and colonnades at noontide giving shade, at evening shelter, at all times free to all; her groves and gardens perfumed by the rich scent of orange-trees and gayest flowers, beautiful by day and perhaps more lovely still on moonlit nights. And overshadowing was seen from every point of view the towering Akropolis, where the maiden goddess, sprung from the brain of Zeus, emblem and patroness of wisdom, her calm brow half covered by her Grecian helmet, her mighty spear in hand, stood guard over her beloved city, its silent sentinel.

But then the thronging concourse in the streets, the busy markets, workshops, arsenals! If outward Athens was chaste classic quietude, what a bustling stream of life she did contain! She had just reached the zenith of her day--everything was prosperous. Her rival states had been left far behind. The league of Delos, counterplot to the Peloponnesian confederacy, had placed Athens at its head, and Perikles was still in power.

Whenever a people has by self-restraint and long determined toil, patience, and courage, raised itself to wealth and greatness, the old and simple thoughts and ways soon begin to seem too small for them, the frugal practices of their forefathers all too poor. So life at Athens in the heyday of her splendour was very pleasant.

It was at this time that the son of Kleinias--the noble, duty-loving Kleinias, who kept aloof from politics, and let his abler comrades rule, while he was happy to obey the laws which others made, and give his strength and substance and, at last, his life for Athens--it was at this time the son of Kleinias approached the dawn of early manhood. Gifted with a greater power to enjoy the sensuous pleasures of the world than most others have been, he had a larger intellect to understand, a stronger will with which to keep others in subjection. He had, too, a loftier ambition, and every apparent means to gratify his pride.

His friends, his relations, were of the most powerful amongst the citizens. The chief man in Athens was the guardian to whose care his father had entrusted him. Scion of a line of frugal folk, whose wealth had long accumulated, he had enormous riches, and owned a vast and fertile territory. Thus he reached the golden age when every sense is keenest, when almost every experience brings a new delight, and each pulsation is a pleasure--an age we afterwards look back upon with fond regret, not quite unmixed with pride, and which we sadly recognise we shall never see again.

Small wonder, then, if Alkibiades threw himself without restraint into a whirl of pleasure. Vague longings of his boyhood were, if not forgotten, driven out of sight. The earnest hope of something higher lay buried underneath the intense enjoyment of the present.

He had seen little of the strange philosopher since they met, apparently by chance, on a sunny afternoon by the Ilissos. Sokrates was not a Puritan. He could make allowances. But he saw too plainly what the effect would be of constant excess and dissipation upon a mind like that of Alkibiades. He held aloof. He said his daim?n, that ever-present monitor, which told him what to do, and what to leave alone, prevented him. Alkibiades had many friends. Besides the sons of Perikles and other relatives of his own age with whom he associated, there were an abundance of parasites in Athens to pander to his wishes. He had his studies, too. These for the most part were in the military schools. Through his wealth he was bound, by the law of Athens, to serve as a knight in the cavalry of the Athenian army, so much of his time was taken up in learning the art of war and military tactics. If his ambition to excel in oratory, when he should be old enough to take his place upon the bema, in the great Assembly of the people, led him sometimes to the house of Protagoras, and to other Sophists, it was rather to learn the tricks of a quibbling debate than to gain a knowledge of that philosophy the Sophists pretended they were able to impart.

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