PREFACE

My husband, although he completed the composition of this work in his lifetime, passed away before he had fully revised and prepared it for the press, and the privilege of finally revising and editing it has, consequently, devolved upon me. This, from the nature of the subject, has been a task of some difficulty, but I have spared no pains to accomplish it to the best of my ability.

As regards the orthography of Greek proper names, I have thought it right to adhere, in most cases, to the views of my husband, who was strongly of opinion that the original spelling of the words in Greek should, so far as practicable, be followed and reproduced when they were expressed in English characters.

I should also mention that his reasons for using the name of ‘the Great Athenian War’ to describe the long contest usually known as ‘the Peloponnesian viWar’ are given at the beginning of Chapter XXIX. at page 415 of the book.

It was a source of great delight to my husband to compose this story of the life and times of Alkibiades, and it is hoped that many of its readers will feel, at any rate in some degree, a like pleasure from perusing it.

It will remind many who loved him of that brilliant talk, that refined sensitiveness, that freshness of wit and humour which went to make up his unusual personality.

CHAPTER I

In the early morning of a spring day in Greece, under a heaven of such a blue as one can seldom see elsewhere, leaning from a window of one of the noblest houses in Athens, looking sometimes down on the town that lay beneath—awaking to its daily life of work and thought and happiness—or gazing up at the pure sky, with the just finished Parthenon standing out against it, imagine a boy of more than even Grecian beauty. His light and slightly curling hair was blown back from a lofty forehead, his clear-cut, perfect features, and the healthy hue upon his cheeks, resembling the pure white marble of the temple and the glow of the resplendent morning.

2He was only a boy, but in his gaze was something more than ordinary childish wonder. An earnest, wistful look, unsatisfied, told of a soul which already sought to penetrate the things to be, the mystery of the life that lay struggling in the city at his feet—a longing for wings with which to rise beyond the arching canopy above him, if he could not find an answer here.

His earliest recollection was of a high-born gentleman, a nobler man than any he met now, a stalwart warrior, his father Kleinias. He could just remember how that father used to tell him they traced their long descent up through a line of heroes—through Ajax, son of Telamon, who went with twelve great ships to the Siege of Troy, and was the strongest, biggest of all the leaders there. How Telamon was son of Aiakos, judge of those dark regions somewhere underground, in which the simple-minded soldier still believed; and Aiakos, as all men knew, was son of Zeus himself. Divine Achilles also, Peleus’s son, was of his blood, for Peleus too was son of Aiakos.

One day his father, dressed in the heavy armour of the Grecian soldier, had come to him, and having prayed the gods, with more than even his usual deep reverence, to watch over and protect his son, and make him worthy of 3their race, had left him sorrowfully, and the child heard soon afterwards an unwonted stir in the great courtyard, and then the sound as of tramping soldiers in the street, and the women took him to the window, and he saw his father marching at the head of them.

So Kleinias, honoured of all men, went to fight for Athens, and his son saw him again no more. He died by his general’s side at Koroneia, and oftentimes in after-years the fervent words of his last prayer came vividly before the mind of Alkibiades.

His mother Deinomaché at first took charge of him. She loved to tell him of the great men through whom she was descended; how Amphiaraos, who went with Jason on board the Argo to seek the fleece of gold, was her ancestor; of his son Alkmeon, who was married to the lovely nymph; and of the great ruler Megakles and his grandson, who, years ago, was crowned conqueror at the Pythian games.

Then of that Kleisthenes who raised the great temple at Delphi from its ruins, turned out the tyrant race of the Peisistratidai, and made Athens free for ever. How Megakles’ brother, Hippokrates, had two children: one of them, also called Megakles, was her father; the other, wife 4of the general Xanthippos, who beat the Persians at Mykale, was mother of the splendid Perikles.

Perikles was by the will of Kleinias appointed tutor to his son. So Alkibiades, when he was thirteen, was taken by his paidagogos, Zopyros, from his mother’s house to live in the bustle and excitement of the great establishment of Perikles.

The brave Deinomaché tried hard to shed no tear as her son went off. ‘Better,’ she said, ‘for you, my child, to learn to lead the people, or to be a soldier like your father, with such a one as my kinsman Perikles, than to waste your boyhood here amongst old women.’ And indeed it did seem time some stronger will than his fond mother’s should rule the ardent, sometimes overbearing, boy. If he was gentle to her at home, he was impatient at the stupidity of other boys and of the guidance of his feeble paidagogos, and apt to show a proud contempt for those he held to be the meaner sort.

Yet he felt somewhat shy and sad at first when he found himself alone in the great house of Perikles. His father’s house was large and strong, and somewhat gloomy, but it was his home. The days and nights were quiet there. 5Besides his mother’s female friends, and the slave women, and Zopyros, he had seen little of the world. One day had passed in the big empty house much in the same way as the day before it, and as he supposed the next would do. Here, in the home of the chief man in Athens—here was a change indeed. Hurry and bustle all day long. Busy politicians coming at all hours with their cumbrous suggestions. Troops of poor petitioners in want of something, and the important Generals and Ministers of State, followed by their slaves, as at the appointed time they came to take counsel with the chief on the affairs of Athens. Hurry and scurry all day long, scarce a moment to himself, except on holidays, could the great man get.

But when the busy day was done, and the boy was taken by Zopyros to the chambers set apart for him, he heard the sound of the long revelry deep into the night, the echo of the songs, the murmur of the merry arguments, the coming and going of the well-dressed slaves as they bore the costly viands, the garnished dishes, the golden vases of the old Greek wine, to the table of their lord. And when the sound of revelry, which often roused him from his sleep, was done, and the lights in his part of the court were all gone out, 6the boy saw others twinkling in that other part where Aspasia lived with all her women.

Aspasia! He had heard that name muttered in his mother’s house in such a way he thought it must be something bad—a name his mother’s women hardly dared to speak aloud. But here Aspasia, he found, when she deigned to grace the board of Perikles, was treated as a queen. A queen to him, indeed, she seemed to be—so fair, so tender, so generous; and as she looked with kind affection on the growing boy, son of the worthy Kleinias, who had left him the orphan pupil of her friend, he fell in love with her at once, and thought he had never seen so beautiful a lady.

‘What dost thou gaze at now, oh son of Kleinias?’ a strong voice said, as a firm hand was placed upon his shoulder, ‘and what art thou thinking of this bright holiday? Shall not thy paidagogos take thee to the palaistra, or wilt thou rather stay and talk with me a while? It is seldom I can see thee, child, or hear how thy books agree with thee.’

‘I was thinking, Perikles, of all the men and women there below. Art thou indeed their governor, and canst thou do whate’er thou wilt with them?’

7‘Not I, forsooth, my boy; all citizens are free and equal by the laws of Athens.’

‘Dost thou not make their laws?’

‘No; not so, indeed. They make their laws themselves. I do but counsel them, and, as long as they permit, I see the laws are carried out, and those are brought to trial and to punishment who may transgress them.’

‘But what dost thou mean by laws, Perikles?’

‘Whatsoever the people, met together in their Assembly, ordain, that we all must do.’

‘Do! whether good or bad?’

‘No; good, of course. Dost thou suppose the people would decree that we should do the bad?’

‘Has every state its own assembly, then?’

‘No; thou knowest well in Sparta, and in other states, a few great ones make the laws, and not the people. Hast thou not yet learnt that at school?’

‘Yes; I remember now. But what I want to know is this: supposing a few great ones decree what all must do, wouldst thou call that a law?’

‘Of course I should, if the oligarchy was in power.’

‘But, then, suppose a tyrant, such as my mother told me my great ancestor Kleisthenes of 8Sikyon was, one who took by force the power from the people—if such a one makes a decree, is that a law?’

‘Yes, in truth it is, since it is made by one who has the power to make it.’

‘But if a tyrant came and upset our laws, and then by force, and not by trying to persuade the people, decreed that they must obey his will, whether it was good or bad, would that be a law?’

‘No, child; that would be a breaking of the laws. I ought not to have said the orders of a tyrant were laws, if they were made by force, and not persuasion.’

‘If, then, some oligarchs should make decrees without consulting anyone, would they be laws?’

‘Whoever makes decrees, if they be founded upon force, and not persuasion, I call that rather an injustice than a law.’

‘Then, if the Athenians should impose their will upon the rich without consulting them, would not that be an injustice too, or would it be a law?’

‘Now, my good Alkibiades, go off and do thy exercises. Boys of your age are always asking questions. Where is Zopyros?’

‘Oh, Zopyros is a fool! he tells me nothing; and when I wish to talk to the wise men, who 9know the things I want to learn, he holds me back. Other boys talk to them after their exercises at the palaistra, and why not I?’

‘There is no reason why thou shouldst not, child.’

‘Thank you, Perikles! Thou art so busy all day long I can scarcely ever speak of these things to thee. And then there is that funny-looking man who always stares at me with his great eyes whenever I come near him; and sometimes nearly all day long he follows me about, but never speaks to me, and if I look at him Zopyros hurries me away. May I not talk to him? Other boys do, and they say, though he looks so ugly, with his small snub nose and big mouth, and his red face, if you hear him talk you forget how ugly he is; and he tells them everything they want to know, and they love to hear him talk.’

‘Dost thou mean Sokrates, the wisest man in Greece?—at least, so the Oracle at Delphi said he was.’

‘Yes, it is Sokrates I mean. When I was wrestling yesterday with Antiochos he sat and watched us all the time, but when I went to sit upon the bench by him, he got up and went away. Zopyros calls him a corrupter of the 10Grecian youths, and an evil-minded sophist, and I know not what besides. Something tells me I should love to talk to him.’

‘Oh son of Kleinias! that Sokrates can tell thee more than I have ever dreamt of, and when Perikles shall be no more, and all his care for Athens, and all the battles he has fought and won, forgotten, that strange philosopher will still be known, through all the ages that shall come—not here in Greece alone, but far away in other lands which he, and you, and I, know nothing of.’

CHAPTER II

‘For in my mind is fixed ... your dear and good paternal form, when in the world from time to time you taught me how man can make himself eternal.’

A year and a month have passed away. On a warm June afternoon, escaping from Zopyros, the boy we attempted to describe in the last chapter had wandered by himself a short way out of Athens. He was altered somewhat since we saw him last. The high forehead had a more thoughtful air, the look was more disdainful. The face, which had given one joy to look at from its perfect purity, now, if very slightly, had become a little sensual. But the wonder in the eyes was still the same—intensified. The questioning and baffled look was there. The desire, the determination to know, the strong 12will, shone out through them—‘If I don’t know now I will some day.’

Wrapt in admiration as he lay upon the grass, gazing up to heaven and the white clouds which passed slowly across the sky, half lulled to sleep by the gentle gurgling of the Ilissos, in a waking dream, a voice of deep and tender earnestness came suddenly upon his ears.

He half raised himself in haste, awakening from his reverie, and looking round, saw Sokrates. A deep flush came on the boy’s face when he found himself alone before the man he had so often, sometimes for fun indeed, but often in earnest, declared that he would know. As he felt his gaze fall full upon him—a look in which he saw love, pity, admiration, all together—he blushed with a sense of happiness, and felt a consciousness of shame he had never known before.

‘Oh, son of Kleinias and Deinomaché, have I thus come upon you wondering when you will get wings to fly away beyond the clouds, and thinking you can make them for yourself, and teach yourself to use them? Oh, foolish Daidalos, have I not found out your thoughts?’

‘Indeed you have, Sokrates!’

‘And if I tell you how you may make these wings to grow, what will you do for me?’

13‘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 14him 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?’

‘By Herakles! the first seems to me to be more beautiful.’

‘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.’

15‘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 16they 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 17whither 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 daimôn 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 18it 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.’