CHAPTER XXI. OF SPARTA AND ITS LESSONS.
SPARTA was built by Lacedaemon as early as 1487 years before Christ; but it did not become a republic until Lycurgus remodelled its laws, eight hundred and eighty-four years before Christ. Though a representative form of government, and therefore a republic, yet it was so different from any other government that ever existed before or since, it may well be called unique, singular, sui generis. Its citizens, for instance, ate at public tables; the children were regarded as belonging to the state rather than to parents; its money was made of iron and of such weight that no one man could carry a hundred dollars. Thus, and in other ways, the accumulation of wealth was discouraged—while instruction in the art of war was made pastime—meat, drink, and sleep, as it were, to all its male inhabitants. The labor of its farms, of its shops, of its merchants even, was all done by slaves; while the administration of government, the learning how to fight, and fighting, seems to have been the principal, if not the only, employment of its free citizens. Though existing at the same time with the Athenian Republic, and within one hundred and eighty-four years as old, the two governments were in no sense a type of each other. The Athenian found in his taste for pleasure constant employment; the Spartan's taste was only for war. The arts of Athens met with the highest encouragement; at Sparta, scarcely none at all. At Athens the luxury of the rich constantly employed the industry of the poor; at Sparta, luxury was regarded as almost criminal, and he who indulged in it was regarded with contempt, if not with execration. The sciences were also cultivated by Athenians with the same ardor as the arts; while Spartans cared nothing for science, except so far as it contributed to the efficiency of warfare. As another, in contrasting the two republics, has very aptly put it, "Sparta was altogether a military establishment; every other art was prohibited, industry among individuals was unknown, and domestic economy unnecessary—for all was in common. The Lacedaemonians were active only when at war. In peace, their manner of life was languid, uniform, indolent, and insipid. Taught to consider war as the sole honorable or manly occupation, they contracted a fierce and ferocious turn of mind, which distinguished them from all the other states of Greece. Despising the arts themselves, they despised all who cultivated them. Their constitution was fitted to form a small, a brave, and an independent state; but had no tendency to produce a great, a polished, or a conquering people."
Between our own and a republic so peculiarly constituted, we can hardly make comparisons; and yet we find, even in that, some features like in our own. Lysander was not only a great general, but, as Plutarch calls him, he was a fox as well. Richelieu, when told that his enemies called him a fox, said: "Fox!—Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch say of the Greek Lysander?"
Joseph. I forget.
Richelieu. That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it out with the fox's! A great statesman, Joseph, that same Lysander!
Martin Van Buren, both before and after he became President of the United States, was called a fox, because of his great slyness and shrewdness in pulling the wires for the Democratic party. He denounced that party before he died, however, and allowed himself to be run against their regular candidate for the Presidency; and, were he alive to-day, and knew of the secrets which this volume discloses, no man in the United States would be more free in denouncing that party for the part it took in the rebellion, and for the part it is still taking in helping Europeans in their designs to overthrow this government and the freedom of the press, than Martin Van Buren.
This republic, like that of Athens, had its ending with the battle of Chæronea, b.c. 338, after which the all-conquering Philip took possession of it and of all the states of Greece. The republic had existed after a fashion (for here, as at Athens, it was only "after a fashion" part of the time) through a period of five hundred and forty-six years; but finally died from the ambition of those within and the jealousy of those without.
Thebes was the last of the Grecian republics, but for a time shone with as much brilliancy as either of the others. It had its origin from fortuitous circumstances rather than from the genius of any lawmaker; but it produced and nurtured legislators as wise as Solon or Lycurgus, and soldiers as brave and as brilliant as Pericles or Lysander. When Athens and Sparta were visibly tending to decline, Thebes suddenly rose to a degree of splendor which eclipsed all her sister and contemporary states.
Long before b. c. 382, at which time the citadel of Thebes was seized by the Spartans, the government of the Thebans was called republican, but it was rather so in name than in fact. The oligarchic party at Thebes, corresponding with the Democratic party of this country, were all the while aiming at the establishment of an oligarchy, while the patriotic supporters of liberty and independence were just as determined not only to maintain the republic, but to make it so in fact as well as in name.
The last-named party of Thebes corresponded precisely with the Republican party of this country. When the contention between these two parties was at fever heat, it happened that Phoebidas, a Lacedaemonian general, was sent with an army to punish the people of Olynthus, a Thracian city, for an alleged infraction of a treaty of peace formed not long before. While Phoebidas was on this expedition, Leontiades, the head of the oligarchic party at Thebes, prevailed on him to second the attempts of his party against the liberties of their country. The Spartan general yielded to the suggestion, and, while the unsuspecting Thebans were celebrating the festival of Ceres, Phoebidas marched his army into the city and took possession of their citadel. When the republicans of Thebes protested against this, the Spartans acknowledged it an act of treason in Leontiades to have thus betrayed his country, and they reprobated the conduct of Phoebidas in giving his aid to a measure which was a direct infraction of a national treaty; but being now masters of Thebes, they did not choose to abandon their acquisition.
If through the influence and aid of Lord John Brewerton (the particulars of which are given in the fifth chapter of this volume) and others like him, the heads, the Leontiadeses, of the Democratic party of this country, could have betrayed our government into the hands of Great Britain, and thereby pleased every other kingly government of Europe, every Englishman would have acknowledged that somebody had played the traitor, and that it constituted not only a direct infraction of the treaty between their government and ours, but an infraction of the law of nations as well; yet, like the Spartans, they would have been unequal to the conflict between virtue and self-interest, and, like them, would have replied, Now that we have the country, we'll keep it!
But though the "mills of the gods grind slowly, they grind exceeding fine," and erelong the republicans of Thebes, headed by the brave Pelopidas, and seconded by the no less brave Epaminondas, shook off the Spartan yoke—shook off the oligarchy—and reëstablished a republican form of government, and from thenceforth the Theban Republic went forward in a career of glory equal to anything that Athens or Sparta could ever boast. The battle of Leuctra, in which six thousand Thebans, commanded by Epaminondas, entirely defeated twenty-five thousand Lacedaemonians, leaving four thousand, with their chief, Cleombrotus, dead upon the field, was but the beginning of a series of actions all of which reflected upon Thebes the highest glory. We have not room to relate these in detail, but one incident in the life of Epaminondas—at its close—we cannot omit. The full particulars of the incident may be found in Xenophon and Diodorus, but its gist is about as follows: At the battle of Mantinea, Epaminondas, too rashly pursuing his success, had advanced beyond the line of his troops, when, the enemy rallying, he was exposed to a whole shower of darts, and fell, pierced with numberless wounds. "His faithful Thebans," says Professor Tytler, "found means to rescue his body while life yet remained, and to bring him to his tent. A javelin stuck fast in his breast, and his physician declared that on extracting it he would immediately expire. In this extremity, breathless and fainting, while his friends stood weeping around him, he first inquired what had become of his shield, and being told that it was safe, he beckoned to have it brought to him, and kissed it. He then asked which side had gained the victory, and being told it was the Thebans, 'Then,' said he, 'all is well.' While some of his friends were lamenting his untimely fall, and regretting that he had left no children to perpetuate his memory, 'Yes,' said he, 'I have left two fair daughters, Leuctra and Mantinea (the names of battle-fields)—'these will perpetuate my memory;' so saying, with his own hands he drew forth the javelin from his breast, and instantly expired."
If the republic at that moment could have died with Epaminondas, it would have gone out in a blaze of glory; but, alas! alas! it yet contained traitors in its own bosom, and was yet to reap the fruits of treason.
Philip, King of Macedon, determined to subvert the liberties of all the Grecian republics. To him, as to European sovereigns of to-day, a representative form of government was hateful, as would have been the liberty of the press, had there been a press in those days. It was one of his favorite maxims that "no fortification was impregnable into which a mule could make its way with a bag of money!" as it was a maxim with the first Napoleon that "every man has his price?" In pursuance of this policy, Philip had his bribed emissaries in Thebes, as he had at Athens and Sparta. In Athens he had in his pay no less a man than Æschines, the great orator, and Aris-todemus and Neoptolemus, the two great comedians—all of whom were men of the highest influence in the public assemblies.
With such men at the capitals of the three largest republics—all constantly declaring themselves' to be the "stanchest of democrats"—it was only a question of time with Philip when he should have the republics within his grasp. Demosthenes thundered and lightened worse than the natural elements. His "Philippics" rolled over the heads and hearts of the people, and found responsive echoes in thousands of breasts; but the still, small voice of Philip's gold in the pockets of leading loud-mouthed so-called Democrats had more influence than all the thunders of a Demosthenes. Philip's far-reaching plan was first to introduce treachery in the heart of each republic, and then set them at variance with each other, that his alliance might be courted and an opportunity furnished for introducing Macedonian troops into Greece. He had not long to wait for the maturing of his plans. The Phocians, instead of paying a fine inflicted upon them by the Amphictyonic Council (corresponding to our Congress), seized the temple of Apollo at Delphos, with all its treasures. This set the republics at war with each other—some siding with the Council and some with the Phocians. At length the Thessalians implored Philip's assistance against their tyrant, Lycophron, whose government they felt to be intolerable. The tyrant sought aid of the Phocians to support him against his own subjects. They responded to Lycophron, and Philip, with an alacrity that knew no precedent, responded to the people. The result of all this was that Philip obtained a strong foothold in Greece, the very thing he had so long sought through his paid emissaries. This advantage Philip followed up with the keen scent and persistence of a bloodhound, and although Demosthenes still continued to thunder against him, Philip's gold in the pockets of sordid ignorance, under the guise of democratic patriots, overbalanced the warnings of eloquence, and thus matters went on, step by step, until the battle of Chæronea, when, at one fell swoop, not only the republic of Thebes, but all the other republics and states of Greece, fell into the hands of Philip.
Can you not see, my friend (the reader), in all this some striking points of resemblance between the rise, progress, and fall of the Theban Republic, and the rise, progress, and what threatened to be the fall of our own government in the late rebellion?
According to European notions, we had a sort of republic, a sort of representative form of government, prior to 1776; but it was rather an oligarchy than a republic, and Washington, Adams, John Hancock, and others, determined to have a real republic or die in the attempt. Seven years of terrible struggle and fearful sacrifice brought their wishes to a successful issue. From 1783 until 1822 the course of this republic was one blaze of glory, equal to anything that Thebes could ever boast. Meanwhile the jealous eyes of many European Philips had been looking on, and finally a Congress at Vienna, in 1822, entered into a solemn treaty with each other (two of the articles of which we have heretofore quoted) that representative governments, and the liberty of the press, were "incompatible" (that is the word) with "monarchical principles," and therefore ought to be abolished. In pursuance of this resolve the Philips of Europe began to send their gold into this country, of which no less than $612,656 were sent from a single city of France (Lyons) in four years, as we have heretofore shown from their own published reports. True, this was but a drop in the bucket, but it shows that the drops came from thick-lipped vials, and consequently were very large drops. Among the contributions made about that time, it was announced, with a great flourish of trumpets and as greatly to his credit, that the Emperor of Austria had contributed twenty thousand francs to "The Society for the Propagation of the Faith." For the propagation of what? Of the faith? God save the mark! Had the item read, For the propagation of the Democratic party, and, through it, monarchical principles, it would, in our humble judgment, have been nearer the truth. Of course we do not know—no one ever can know—what proportion of the money contributed in Europe and sent to this country (nominally to propagate the faith of the Catholic Church) went into the hands of State and National Democratic Executive Committees; but this we do know, as well as we know any conclusion drawn from known facts by deduction, that the money so sent had for its ultimate object (no matter into whose hands it first fell) more the destruction of the representative form of this government, and the liberty of the press, than the propagation of any religious faith.
And let us pause a moment just here to say, that the process of investigation and of reasoning by which we arrive at the above conclusion, and at other conclusions heretofore announced, is very near to certainty, nor is it at all mystical. As Professor Huxley very aptly says, when writing of the results of induction and deduction, "The vast results obtained by science are won by no mystical faculties, by no mental processes, other than those which are practised by every one of us in the humblest and meanest walks of life. A detective policeman discovers a burglar from the marks made by his shoe, by a mental process identical with that by which Cuvier restored the extinct animals of Montmartre from fragments of their bones. Nor does that process of induction and deduction by which a lady, finding a stain of a particular kind upon her dress, concludes that somebody has upset the inkstand thereon, differ in any way from that by which Adams and Leverrier discovered a new planet. The man of science, in fact, simply uses with scrupulous exactness the methods which we all habitually and at every moment use carelessly."
Though our present treatise is on history rather than on science, we have used the facts which have fallen in our way from a somewhat extensive reading and study of history with as much "scrupulous exactness" as though we had been writing upon science, and we feel within our own breast that the conclusions reached are very near, if not a dead, certainty. We did not make the facts that we have used. They have been parts of current history from time to time, extending through a period of nearly three thousand years. We have simply put the facts in logical form—in the form of proposition and proof—and then drawn therefrom such inferences as seemed natural and inevitable. Politicians will say, we know, that our conclusions are the result of preconceived opinions; bigots in religion will say that our conclusions are founded upon prejudice; but neither the one nor the other will be true. Take the same facts, and we defy any logician or rhetorician in the world to reach different conclusions, if honest with his own conscience before God.
