Callias: A Tale of the Fall of Athens

by Alfred John Church

Was the man telling the truth, or was he one of those historic liars that have made themselves famous or infamous for all time by the magnitude of the fictions that they have invented just at the critical time when men were most ready to accept them.[38]

Whether it was true or false, the story roused the people to absolute fury. Thousands stood up in their places and shook their fists at the accused, and at the orators who had spoken in their favor, while they screamed at the top of their voices, “Death to the generals! death to the murderers!”

A momentary silence fell upon the excited crowd when a well-known orator of the intense democratic party threw himself into the hustings.

“I propose that the names of Euryptolemus and of all those who have given notice of the indicting Callixenus be added to the names of the accused generals, and be voted upon in the same way for life and death.”

The speaker added no arguments; and the roars of approval that went up from the assembly showed sufficiently that no arguments were needed. The advocates of constitutional practice were cowed. It was only too plain that to persist would surely be to meet themselves the fate of the accused. Euryptolemus was a brave man, and as we shall soon see, did not intend to desert his friends; but for the present he gave way. “I withdraw my notice,” he cried, reflecting doubtless that he could renew it when the people should become more ready to listen to reason and justice. But there was still another constitutional bulwark to be thrown down. The presiding magistrates refused to put the motion to the assembly. Their chief (or chairman as we should call him) rose in his place. He was pale and agitated, and his voice could not be heard beyond the benches nearest to him when he said, “The motion of Callixenus is against the laws, and we cannot put it to the assembly.”

“They refuse! they refuse!” was the cry that went from mouth to mouth. Again the rage of the multitude rose to boiling point, and again the popular orator saw his opportunity.

“I propose,” he said, appearing again in the hustings, “that the names of the presiding magistrates be added to those of the accused in the voting for life and death.”

A shout of approval more vehement than ever greeted this announcement. Once more the policy of concession, or shall we say of cowardice prevailed. The magistrates conversed a few moments in hurried whispers, and then advanced to the railings in front of their seats. It was immediately seen that they had yielded, and loud applause followed. “Hail to the popular magistrates! Hail to the friends of the people!” was the universal cry. But one was still sitting in his place. His colleagues turned back to bring him. They talked, they gesticulated, they laid hold of him by the arms; they were trying to force him out of his seat. He heeded them not; to all persuasion he returned the same answer: “I am set to administer the laws, and will do nothing that is contrary to them.” The most of the house could, of course, hear nothing of what was being said; but they could see plainly what had happened. “Socrates refuses! Socrates refuses!” was now the cry, followed by shouts of “Death to Socrates!” “Death to the blasphemer! death to the atheist!”

The philosopher sat unmoved, and his colleagues made no further attempt to persuade him. They took what was, perhaps, the only possible course under the circumstances—for they had not all the martyr-like temper of Socrates—and put the question without him. It was carried by a large majority.

The presiding magistrate, having announced the result of the vote, went on: “Seeing that it has seemed good to the Athenian people to try the generals accused of negligence in saving the lives of citizens, the said generals are hereby put upon their trial. If they, or any citizen on their behalf, wish to address the assembly, let them or him speak.”