Having said this much, Solon paused a little,—then proceeded to say, that “the life of man seldom exceeds seventy years, which make up in all twenty-five thousand five hundred and fifty days, of which two are not exactly alike; so that the time to come is nothing but a series of various accidents, which cannot be foreseen. Therefore, in our opinion,” continued Solon, “no man can be esteemed happy, but he whose happiness God continues to the end of his life. As for others, who are perpetually exposed to a thousand dangers, we account their happiness as uncertain, as the crown is to a person that is still engaged in battle, and has not yet obtained the victory.”
It was not long before Crœsus experienced the truth of what Solon told him. Cyrus made war upon him, as we have already related: and he was now condemned to be burned. The funeral pile was prepared, and the unhappy king being laid thereon, and just on the point of execution, recollecting the conversation he had had with Solon some few years before, he cried aloud three times, “Solon! Solon! Solon!” When Cyrus heard him exclaim thus, he became curious to know why Crœsus pronounced that celebrated sage’s name with so much earnestness in the extremity to which he was reduced. Crœsus informed him. The conqueror instantly paused in the punishment designed; and, reflecting on the uncertain state to which all sublunary things are subject, he caused him to be taken from the pile, and ever afterwards treated him with honour and respect. This account is from Rollin, who has it from Herodotus and other ancient writers.
Crœsus is honourably mentioned by Pindar, in his celebrated contrast between a good sovereign and a bad one:—
When in the mouldering urn the monarch lies, His fame in lively characters remains, Or graved in monumental histories, Or deck’d and painted in Aonian strains. Thus fresh and fragrant and immortal blooms The virtue, Crœsus, of thy gentle mind; While fate to infamy and hatred dooms Sicilia’s tyrant[207], scorn of human kind; Whose ruthless bosom swelled with cruel pride, When in his brazen bull the broiling wretches died. Him, therefore, not in sweet society, The generous youth, conversing, ever name; Nor with the harp’s delightful melody Mingle his odious, inharmonious fame. The first, the greatest, bliss on man conferred, Is in the acts of virtue to excel; The second to obtain their high reward, The soul-exalting praise of doing well. Who both these lots attains is bless’d indeed; Since fortune here below can give no higher meed. Pindar. Pyth. i.—West.
On the division of the Persian monarchy into satrapies, Sardis became the residence of the satrap who had the government of the sea-coast.
In the third year of the war arising from the revolt of the Ionians against the Persian authority, the Ionians having collected all their forces together, set sail for Ephesus, whence, leaving their ships, they marched by land to Sardis. Finding that city in a defenceless state, they made themselves masters of it; but the citadel, into which the Persian governor Artaphernes had retired, they were not able to force. Most of the houses were roofed with reeds. An Ionian soldier therefore having, whether with intention or by accident was never ascertained, set fire to a house, the flames flew from roof to roof, and the whole city was entirely destroyed, almost in a moment. In this destruction the Persians implicated the Athenians; for there were many Athenians among the Ionians. When Darius, therefore, heard of the conflagration, he immediately determined on making war upon Greece; and that he might never forget the resolution, he appointed an officer to the duty of crying out to him every night at supper,—“Sir, remember the Athenians.” It is here, also, to be remembered, that the cause why the Persians afterwards destroyed all the temples they came near in Greece, was in consequence of the temple of Cybele, the tutelary deity of Sardis, having been, at that period, reduced to ashes.
Xerxes, on his celebrated expedition, having arrived at Sardis, sent heralds into Greece, demanding earth and water. He did not, however, send either to Athens or Lacedæmon. His motive for enforcing his demand to the other cities, was the expectation that they, who had before refused earth and water to Darius, would, from the alarm at his approach, send it now. In this, however, he was for the most part mistaken. Xerxes wintered at this city.
Alexander having conquered the Persians at the battle of the Granicus, marched towards Sardis. It was the bulwark of the Persian empire on the side next the sea. The citizens surrendered; and, as a reward for so doing, the king gave them their liberties, and permitted them to live under their own laws. He gave orders, also, to the Sardians to erect a temple to Olympian Jove.
After the death of Alexander, Seleucus, carrying on a war with Lysimachus, took possession of Sardis, B. C. 283. In 214 B. C. Antiochus the Great made himself master of the citadel and city. He kept possession of it twenty-five years, and it became his favourite place of retreat after having lost the battle of Magnesia. His taking it is thus described by Polybius:—“An officer had observed, that vultures and birds of prey gathered round the rock on which the citadel was placed, about the offals and dead bodies, thrown into a hollow by the besieged; and inferred that the wall standing on the edge of the precipice was neglected, as secure from attack. He scaled it with a resolute party, while Antiochus called off the attention both of his own army and of the enemy by a feint, marching as if he intended to attack the Persian gate. Two thousand soldiers rushed in at the gate opened for them, and took their post at the theatre, when the town was plundered and burned.”
Attalus Philomater, one of the descendants of the Antiochus just mentioned, bequeathed Sardis, with all his other possessions, to the Roman people; and, three years after his death, it was in consequence reduced to a Roman province.