Stories from Thucydides

by Thucydides

In the previous debate Cleon had been the chief promoter of the murderous sentence passed against Mytilene; and when the question was brought forward again, he made a vehement harangue, the substance of which has been preserved by Thucydides. In this speech he appears as a practised rhetorical bravo, whose one object is to vilify his opponents, and throw contempt on their arguments, by an unscrupulous use of the weapons of ridicule, calumny, and invective. He reproaches the magistrates for convening a second assembly, in a matter which had already been decided; and this was, in fact, strictly speaking, a breach of the constitution. He laughs at the Athenians as weak sentimentalists, always inclined to mercy, even when mercy was suicidal. Of the subject communities he speaks as if they were mere slaves and chattels, outside the pale of humanity, to be kept down with the scourge and the sword. "Let the law prevail," cries this second Draco. "The law is sacred, and must not be moved. You are so clever that you will not live, by fixed rule and order, and you deride the approved principles of political wisdom. Every one of you wants to be a lawgiver, a statesman, and a reformer, and to manage the public affairs in his own way. We, who understand your true interests, are bound to resist this mood of lawless extravagance, and keep you in the right path, whether you will or no."

Then preserving the same tone, as of one who is exposing an outrageous paradox, Cleon proceeds to deal with the actual subject of debate. To massacre a whole population, was, in his view, a commonplace and ordinary proceeding; and, in the present instance, the only course consistent with prudence and common sense. Those who maintained the contrary were either flighty enthusiasts, whose opinion was not worth considering, or venal orators, who had sold their country for a bribe. "Will you suffer yourselves," asked the indignant moralist, "to be blinded by these corrupt advocates, who amuse you with their eloquence, and then pocket the price? But it is your own fault: you have no sense of public responsibility—you are like clever children, playing at a game of politics. While you sit here, listening to your favourite speakers, and sharpening your wits against theirs, your empire is going to ruin. Plain fact is too simple a diet for your pampered appetites; you must have it hashed and served up with a fine flavouring of fancy and wit. In short, you have lost all hold upon reality, you live in an intellectual Utopia, and treat grave matters of public interest as though they were mere themes in a school of declamation."

In drawing this remarkable picture of Athenian character, which, though strangely out of place, really contained a large element of truth, Cleon overreached himself, and was caught in his own snare. It was he, and not his opponents, who was diverting attention from facts, and involving a plain issue in a cloud of wordy rhetoric. He has no arguments, worthy of the name, but tries to carry his case by playing on the passions of the people, and blowing up the flames of their anger, which was beginning to cool. But though the more discerning among his audience must have seen through his sophistries, to a large proportion of his hearers his speech no doubt seemed a masterpiece of eloquence. The Athenians, who, like all people of lively talent, were fond of laughing at themselves, would be especially amused by his humorous description of their own besetting weakness, their restless vanity, and inordinate love of change.

The chief advocate for mitigating the sentence against Mytilene was a certain Diodotus, who had taken a leading part in the previous debate, and now stood up again to oppose the blood-thirsty counsels of Cleon. The speech of Diodotus is calm, sober, and business-like. After a dignified remonstrance against the vile insinuations of Cleon, by whom all who differed from him were decried as fools or knaves, Diodotus proceeded to argue the question from the point of view of expediency. He was not there, he said, to plead the cause of the Mytilenaeans, or to discuss abstract questions of law and justice. What they had to consider was what course would be most conducive to the interests of Athens. According to Cleon, those interests would be best served by a wholesale massacre of the inhabitants of Mytilene, which would strike terror into the other subjects of Athens, and prevent them from yielding to the same temptation. But, reasoned Diodotus, experience had shown that intending criminals were not deterred from wrongdoing by the increased severity of penal statutes. For a long time lawgivers had framed their codes in this belief, thinking to drive mankind into the path of rectitude by appealing to their terrors. Yet crime had not diminished, but rather increased. And what was true of individuals, was still more true of cities, where each man hoped to be concealed among the crowd of transgressors. Criminals, whether they acted singly, or in large numbers, were only rendered desperate, if all degrees of crime were confounded in one common penalty of death.

Such were the enlightened principles of jurisprudence set forth by an Athenian of the fifth century before Christ—principles which were first recognised in modern Europe within the memory of men still living. Then, bringing his theories to a practical test, he pointed out the gross impolicy of driving a revolted city to desperation, by excluding all rebels from the hope of pardon. This, he said, would be the effect on the subjects of Athens, if they passed the same sentence on the Mytilenaeans, without distinction between the innocent and the guilty. At present the commons in every city were loyal to Athens; and though they might be beguiled or coerced into rebellion, they would, if assured of fair treatment, take the first opportunity of returning to their allegiance, as the commoners of Mytilene had done. "Do not, therefore," concluded Diodotus, "destroy this, the strongest guarantee of your security, but punish the ringleaders of the revolt, after due deliberation, and leave the rest in peace."

The arguments of Diodotus were unanswerable, and it might have been supposed that the Athenians, in their relenting mood, would have carried the amendment by a large majority. But this was not the case. The debate was keenly contested, and when the president called for a show of hands, the more merciful decree was only passed by a few votes. There was no time to be lost, for the first trireme was already a day and a night on her voyage, and the fate of Mytilene hung by a hair. A second trireme was launched with all speed, and the Mytilenaeans present in Athens promised large rewards to the crew if they arrived in time. With such inducements the rowers toiled day and night, taking their meals, which consisted of barley-meal kneaded with wine and oil, at the oar, and sleeping and rowing by turns. Happily there was no contrary wind to retard their progress, and the crew of the first vessel, bearing that savage mandate, made no efforts to shorten their passage. As it was, they were not an hour too soon: for when they arrived, Paches had already received the decree, and was preparing to carry it out. Thus Mytilene escaped destruction by a hair's-breadth, and Athens was saved from committing a great crime. But even the modified sentence, which was passed directly afterwards on the motion of Cleon, condemning more than a thousand Mytilenaean citizens to death, was sufficiently ferocious, and was remembered against the tyrant city in the days of her humiliation.

ESCAPE OF TWO HUNDRED PLATAEANS FALL OF PLATAEA

I

The siege of Plataea had now lasted for more than a year, and the brave garrison began to be in sore straits, for their supplies were giving out, and they had no hope of rescue from outside. In this desperate situation they resolved to make an attempt to break through the besieging lines, and make their escape to Athens. All were to take part in the adventure, leaving the Peloponnesians in possession of an empty town. But when the time came for carrying out this bold design, half of the garrison drew back, thinking the risk too great. The other half, numbering about two hundred and twenty, persisted in their purpose, and forthwith fell to work on their preparations. They began by making ladders for scaling the enemy's wall; and in order to ascertain the proper length of the ladders, they counted the courses of bricks in a part of the wall facing the town, which happened to have been left unplastered. Many counted the courses together, and by repeating the process over and over again, and comparing the result, they at last hit upon the right number. When once this was known, they could easily calculate the length of their ladders, for the bricks were all of the same dimensions, and they knew the thickness of a single brick.

The Peloponnesians had built a double line of wall round Plataea, the two lines being separated by a distance of sixteen feet. The whole of the space within this double wall was covered by a flat roof, so as to present the appearance of a single thick wall, with battlements on either side; and this covered space, which was divided into rooms by partition-walls, served as barracks for the besiegers. Along the top were high towers, with intervals of ten battlements between them, and built flush with the wall on both sides, so as to leave no passage, except through the middle of the tower. These served as guard-rooms, where the soldiers on duty took shelter on wet and stormy nights. For the distance between the towers was very small, and they could rush out and man the walls at a moment's notice.