“My Athenian guest, the voice of fame speaks loudly of your wisdom. I have heard much of your travels; that you have been led, by a truly philosophic spirit, to visit a considerable portion of the globe. I am hence induced to inquire of you what man, of all whom you have beheld, seemed to you most happy?”
The expectation of being himself esteemed the happiest of mankind, prompted his inquiry. Solon proved by his reply, his attachment to truth, and abhorrence of flattery.
“I think,” said he, “O king, that Tellus the Athenian best deserved the appellation of happy.” Crœsus was astonished. “On what,” he asked, “were the claims of Tellus, to this distinction, founded?”
“Because,” answered Solon, “under the protection of a most excellent form of government, Tellus had many virtuous and amiable children; he saw their offspring, and they all survived him: at the close of a prosperous life we celebrated his funeral, with every circumstance of honour. In a contest with some of their neighbours, at Eleusis, he flew to the assistance of his countrymen: he contributed to the defeat of the enemy, and met death in the field of glory. The Athenians publicly buried him, in the place where he fell; and his funeral pomp was magnificently attended.”
Solon was continuing to make respectful mention of Tellus, when Crœsus anxiously interrupted him, and desired to know whom, next to Tellus, he esteemed most happy, not doubting but the answer would now be favourable to himself.
“Cleobis and Bito,” replied Solon; “they were Argives by birth, fortunate in their circumstances, and so remarkable for their bodily prowess that they had both of them been crowned as conquerors in their public games. It is further related of them, that on a certain festival of Juno their mother was to have been carried to the temple in a chariot drawn by oxen. The beasts were not ready for the purpose; but the young men instantly took the yokes upon themselves, and drew their mother in the carriage to the temple, through a space of forty-five furlongs. Having performed this in the presence of innumerable spectators, they terminated their lives in a manner which was singularly fortunate. In this event the deity made it appear that death is a greater blessing to mankind than life. The surrounding multitude proclaimed their praise; the men commended their prowess; the women envied their mother, who was delighted with the deed itself and the glory which attended it. Standing before the shrine, she implored the divinity, in whose honour her sons’ exertions had been made to grant them the greatest blessing man could receive. After her prayers, and when the succeeding sacrifice and festival was ended, the young men retired to rest within the temple; but they rose no more. The Argives have preserved at Delphi the figures of Cleobis and Bito, as of men deserving superior distinction. This, according to Solon’s estimate, was happiness in the second degree.”
Crœsus was still dissatisfied. “Man of Athens,” he resumed, “think you so meanly of my prosperity as to place me even beneath men of private and obscure condition?”
“Crœsus,” he replied, “you inquire of me my sentiments of human nature; of me, who consider the divine beings as viewing men with invidious and malignant aspects. In the space of a protracted life, how many things occur which we see with reluctance and support with anguish. I will suppose the term of human life to extend to seventy years; this period, if we except the intercalatory months, will amount to twenty-five thousand two hundred days: to make our computation regular and exact, suppose we add this month to each alternate year, we shall then have thirty-five additional months, or one thousand two hundred and fifty days. The whole seventy years will therefore consist of twenty-six thousand two hundred and fifty days, yet of this number every day will be productive of some new incident. Thus, Crœsus, our nature appears a continued series of calamity. I see you as the sovereign of many nations, and possessed of extraordinary affluence and power. But I shall not be able to give a satisfactory answer to the question you propose, till I know that your scene of life shall have closed with tranquillity. The man of affluence is not, in fact, more happy than the possessor of a bare sufficiency; unless, in addition to his wealth, his end of life be fortunate. We often discern misery in the midst of splendid plenty, whilst real happiness is found in humbler stations. The rich man, who knows not happiness, surpasses but in two things the humbler but more fortunate character, with whom we compare him. Yet there are a variety of incidents in which the latter excels the former. The rich man can gratify his passions, and has little to apprehend from accidental injuries. The poor man’s condition exempts him entirely from these sources of affliction. He, moreover, possesses strength and health; a stranger to misfortune, he is blessed in his children, and amiable in himself. If at the end of such a life his death be fortunate, this, O king, is the truly happy man; the object of your inquiry.
“Call no man happy till you know the nature of his death; he is at best but fortunate. All these requisites for happiness it is in no man’s power to obtain, for no one region can supply them; it affords, perhaps, the enjoyment of some, but it is remarkable for the absence of others. That which yields the more numerous sources of gratification, is so far the best: such also is the imperfection of man, excellent in some respects, weak and defective in others. He who possesses the most advantages, and afterwards leaves the world with composure, he alone, O Crœsus, is entitled to our admiration. It is the part of wisdom to look to the event of things; for the Deity often overwhelms with misery those who have formerly been placed at the summit of felicity.”