§;: ' iHIHAU) Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from University of Toronto http://www.archive.org/details/livesenglishedb01plut THE TUDOR TRANSLATIONS EDITED BY W. E. HENLEY VII 9\u-t^>fc.h, '^^■\^cr. ^z.-r^\^ ci[ LUTARCH'S LIVESOF THE NOBLE GRECIANS AND ROMANS ENGLISHED B Y SIR THOMAS NORTH ANNO 1579 With an Introduction by GEORGE WYNDHAM FIRST VOLUME LONDON Published by DAVID NUTT IN THE STRAND 1895 DE Pf6 M Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR THIS TRANSFIGURATION IN UNFADING ENGLISH OF AN IMMORTAL BOOK INTRODUCTION LUTARCH was bora at the little Theban town of Chasronea, somewhere about 50 A.D. The date of his birth marks no epoch in history ; and the place of it, even then, was remembered only as the field of three bygone battles. The name Chaeronea, cropping up in conversation at Rome, for the birthplace of a distinguished Greek lecturer, must have sounded strangely familiar in the eai-s of the educated Romans whom he taught, even as the name of Dreux, or of Tewkesbury, sounds strangely familiar in our own. But apart from such chance encounters, few can have been aware of its municipal existence ; and this same contrast, between the importance and the renown of Plutarch's birth- place, held in the caise of his country also. The Boeotian plain — once ' the scaffold of Mars where he held his games "" ^ — was but a lonely sheepwalk ; even as all Greece, once a Europe of several States, was but one, and perhaps the poorest, among the many provinces of the Empire. Born at such a time and in such a place, Plutarch was still a patriot, a student of politics, and a scholar, and was therefore bound by every tie of sentiment and learning to the ancient memories of his native land. Sometimes he brooded over her altered fortunes. Boeotia ' heretofore of old time resounded and ' rung again with Oracles ' ; but now all the land that from ^'Apews opxn'^'rpav. (Marcellus, 21.) This contrast has been noted by R. C. Trench, D.D., in his Plutarch. Five Lectures, 1874. An admirable volume full of suggestion. vii Plutarch and Plutarch's Greece His Athens and his Corinth LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- sea to sea had echoed the clash of arms and the cadence DUCTION of oratory was 'mute or altogether desolate and forlorn': . . . 'hardly able*" he goes on, ' to make three thousand ' men for the wars, which are now no more in number ' than one city in times past, to wit : Megara, set forth ' and sent to the battle of Plataea.' ^ At Athens, though Sulla had long since cut down the woods of the Academy, there were still philosophers ; and there were merchants again at Corinth, rebuilded by Julius Caesar. But Athens, even, and a century before, could furnish only three ships for the succour of Pompey ; while elsewhere, the cities of Greece had dwindled to villages, and the villages had vanished, 'The stately and sumptuous buildings which ' Pericles made to be built in the cittie of Athens "* were still standing after four hundred years, untouched by Time, but they were the sole remaining evidence of dignity. So that Plutarch, when he set himself to write of Greek worthies, found his material selected to his hand. Greek rhetoricians, himself among them, might lecture in every city of the South ; but of Greek soldiers and statesmen there was not one in a land left empty and silent, save for the statues of gods and the renown of great men. The cradle of war and statecraft was become a memory dear to him, and ever evoked by his personal contact with the triumphs of Rome. From this contrast flowed his inspiration for the Parallel Lives : his desire, as a man, to draw the noble Grecians, long since dead, a little nearer to the noonday of the living ; his delight, as an artist, in setting the noble Romans, whose names were in every mouth, a little further into the twilight of a more ancient romance. By placing them side by side, he gave back to the Greeks that touch which they had lost with the living in the death of Greece, and to the Romans that distinction from everyday life which they were fast beginning to lose. Then and ever since, an imaginative effort was needed to restore to Greece those trivialities of daily life which, in other countries, an imaginative effort is needed to destroy ; and hence her ' PlutarcKs Morals. Philemon Holland, 1657, p. 1078, in a letter addressed to Terentius Priscus, ' On oracles that have ceased to give answers.' viii His Inspira tion GRECIANS AND ROMANES hold on the imagination of every age. Plutarch, considering INTRO- his country, found her a solitude. Yet for him the desert DUCTION air was vibrant with a rumour of the mighty dead. Their memories loomed heroic and tremendous, through the dim- ness of the past ; and he carried them with him when he went to Rome, partly on a political errand, and partly to deliver Greek lectures. In JuvenaPs ' Greek city "* he needed, and indeed he had, in Flavian small Latin. ' I had no leisure to study and exercise the Rome ' Latin tongue, as well for the great business I had then to ' do, as also to satisfy them that came to learn philosophy of ' me ' : thus, looking back from Chaeronea, does he Avi'ite in his preface to the Demosthenes and Cicero, adding that he ' understood not matters so much by words, as he came to ' understand words by common experience and knowledge he ' had in things." We gather that he wrote many, if not all, of the Lives at his birthplace, the 'poor little town"" to which he returned : ' remaining there willingly lest it should ' become less.'' But it was in Flavian Rome, in the ' great ' and famous city thoroughly inhabited' and containing ' plenty ' of all sorts of books,' that, having taken upon him to write ' a history into which he must thrust many strange things ' unknown to his country,' he gathered his materials ' out of ' divers books and authorities,' or picked them up, as a part of ' common experience and knowledge,' in familiar converse with the cultured of his day. I have quoted thus, for the light the passage throws on the nature of his researches in Rome, although the word ' history ' may mislead. For his purpose His Purpose was not to write histories, even of individuals. He tells us so himself. ' I will only desire the reader,' he writes in his preface to the Alexander and Caesar, 'not to blame me ' though I do not declare all things at large , . . for they ' must remember that my intent is not to write histories but ' only lives. For the noblest deeds,' he goes on, ' do not ' always shew man's virtues and vices, but oftentimes a light ' occasion, a word, or some sport makes men's natural dispo- ' sitions and manners appear more plainly than the famous ' battles won, wherein are slain ten thousand men.' As ' painters do take the resemblance of the face and favour b ix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- ' of the countenance,'' making ' no accompt of other parts of DUCTION « the body,' so he, too, asks for ' leave to seek out the signs ' and tokens of the mind only/ That was his ambition : to paint a gallery of portraits ; to focus his vision on the spiritual face of his every subject, and for every Greek to hang a Roman at his side. To compass it, he set himself deliberately, as an artist, unconscious of any intention other than the choice of good subjects and, his choice once made, the rejection from each of all but the particular and the significant. He stood before men's souls to study ' the ' singularity each possessed,'^ as Velasquez in a later age before men's bodies ; and, even as his method was allied, so was his measure of accomplishment not less. His Effect But the Parallel Lives shows something different from this purpose, is something more than a gallery of portraits hung in pairs. Plutarch stands by his profession. His imme- diate concern is with neither history nor politics, but ^vith the ' disposition and manners ' of the great. He chooses his man, and then he paints his picture, with a master's choice of the essential. And yet, inasmuch as he chooses every subject as a matter of course on political grounds — as he sees all men in the State — it follows that his gallery is found, for all his avowed intention, to consist of political portraits alone. Thirteen, indeed, of his sitters belong not only to history but also to one chapter of history — a chapter short, dramatic, bloody, and distinctly political. This was the chance. When Plutarch, the lecturer, dropped into Roman society fresh from the contemplation of Greece ' depopulate ' and dispeopled,' he found its members spending their ample Some of his leisure in academic debate. After more than a hundred Sources years they were still discussing the protagonists in that greatest of political dramas which, 'for a sumptuous ' conclusion to a stately tragedy,' had ushered in the empire of the world. Predisposed by contrast of origin and affinity of taste, he threw himself keenly into their pastime, and he gives, by the way, some minute references to points at issue. For instance, when Pompey and the Senate had deserted Italy at Caesar's approach, a ^ Paulus yEini litis. GRECIANS AND ROMANES stern-chase of ships and swords had swept round three conti- INTRO- nents, and thereon had followed a campaign of words and DUCTION pens at Rome. In that campaign the chief attack and reply had been Cicero's Cato and Caesar's Anticaton; and these, he tells us,^ had 'favourers unto his day, ' some defending the one for the love they bare Caesar, ' and others allowing the other for Cato's sake/ We gather that he and his Roman friends argued of these matters over the dinner-table and in the lecture-halls, even as men argue to-day of the actors in the French Revolution. Now, to glance at the ' Table of the Noble Grecians and Romanes ' His Roman is to see how profoundly this atmosphere affected his selec- Lives tion of Roman lives. For, excluding the legendary founders and defenders, with the Emperors Galba and Otho (whose lives are interpolations from elsewhere), we find that thirteen of the nineteen left were party chiefs in the constitutional struggles which ended on the fields of Pharsalia and Philippi, The effect on the general cast of the Lives has been so momentous that a whole quarter covers only the political action which these thirteen politicians crowded into less than one hundred years. The society of idlers, which re- ceived Plutarch at Rome, was still debating the ideals for which these thirteen men had fought and died ; it was there- fore inevitable that, in seeking for foreign parallels, he should have found almost as many as he needed among the actors in that single drama. As it was, he chose for his greater portraitures all the chief actors, and a whole army of sub- sidiary characters for his groups in the middle distance : as Saturninus and Cinna from one act, Clodius and Curio from another. Nothing is wanting. You have the prologue of the Gracchi, the epilogue of Antony, and between the play from the triumph of Marius to Brutus in his despair : ' looking up to the firmament that was full of stars,' and ' sighing ' over a cause lost for ever. And yet it remains true that Plutarch did not make this selection from — or rather this clean sweep of — the politicians of a certain epoch in order to illustrate that epoch's history, still less to criticise any theory of constitutional government. The remaining ^ Casar. xi LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- Romans, howbeit engaged in several issues, and the Greeks, DUCTION though gathered from many ages and many cities, are all politicians, or, being orators and captains, are still in the same way chosen each for his influence on the for- tmies of a State. But they were not consciously chosen to illustrate history or to discuss politics. Thanks, not to a point of view peculiar to Plutarch but to an instinct pervading the world in which he lived, to a pre- possession then so universal that he is never conscious of its influence on his aim, they are all public men. For him- His Principle self, he was painting individual character ; and he sought of Selection it among men bearing a personal stamp. But he never sought it in a private person or a comedian ; nor even in a poet or a master of the Fine Arts. To look for distinction in such a quarter never occurred to him ; could never, I may say, have entered his head. He cannot conceive that any young ' gentleman nobly born "" should so much as wish to be Phidias or Polycletus or Anacreon ; ^ and this fi'om no vulgar contempt for the making of beautiful things, nor any mean reverence for noble birth, but because, over and above the making of beautiful things, there are deeds that are better worth the doing, and because men of noble birth are freer than others to choose what deeds they will set themselves to do. Why, then, he seems to ask, should they seek any service less noble than the service of their countrymen .? why pursue any ambition less exalted than the salvation of their State .? For his part, he will prefer Lycurgus before Plato ; for, while the one ' stablished and left behind him ' a constitu- tion, the other left behind him only ' words and written ' books.' ^ His preference seems a strange one now ; but it deserves to be noted the more nearly for its strangeness. At any rate, it was the preference of a patriot and a repub- lican, whose country had sunk to a simple province under an alien Emperor, and it governed the whole range of Plutarch's choice. This result has been rendered the more conspicuous by another cause, springing at first from an accident, but in ^ Preface to Pericles. ^ Lycurgus, xii GRECIANS AND ROMANES its application influenced by the political quality of Plutarch"'s INTRO- material. Lost sight of and scattered in the Dark Ages, the DUCTION Parallel Lives were recovered and rearranged at the revival of learning. But just as a gallery of historical portraits, being dispersed and re-collected, will in all probability be hung after some chronological scheme, so have the lives been shuffled anew under the influence of their political extrac- The New tion, in such a sort as to change not only the complexion Symmetry of but also the structure of Plutarch's design. They form ^gg^J.^^f'^^g no longer a gallery of political portraits, hung in pairs for arrangement' contrast's sake : they are grouped with intelligible reference to the history of Athens and of Rome. We know from Plutarch's own statements that he had no hand in their present arrangement. He was engrossed in depicting the characters of great men, and he wrote and dedicated each pair of lives to Socius Senecio, or another, as an mdepen- dent ' book,' ' treaty,' or ' volume.' It is clear from many passages that he gathered these ' volumes ' together without reference to their political bearing on each other. The Pericles and Fahius Maximus, which is now the Fifth ' book,' was originally the Tenth ; and the change has apparently been made to bring Pericles, so far as the Greeks are concerned, within the consecutive history of Athens : just as the Demosthenes and Cicero^ once the Fifth, is now by much removed so that Cicero may fall into place among the actors of the Roman drama. So, too, the Theseus, now standing First, as the founder of Athens, was written after the Demosthenes, now set well-nigh at the end of the series. And on the same grounds, evidently, to the Marius and the Pompey, written respectively after the Ccesar and the Brutus, there have been given such positions as were dictated by the development of the drama. The fact is, Plutarch's materials, being all political, have settled of themselves, and have been sorted in accordance with their political nature : until his work, pieced to- gether by humanists and rearranged by translators, bears within it some such traces of a new symmetry, imperfect yet complex, as we detect in the stratification of crystalline rocks. Little has been added in North's first edition to xiii LIVES OF THE NOBI,E INTRO- the substance of Plutarch's book ; ^ but its structure and, DUCTION as I hope to show, some of its colour and surface are the product, not only of the one mind which created it but, of the many who have preserved it, and of the ages it has outworn. The mere changes in the order of the ' books ' have neither increased nor diminished their contents ; but by evolving, as they do, a more or less symmetrical juxtaposi- tion of certain elements, they have discovered the extent to which the work is permeated by those elements. As the quartz dispersed through a rock strikes the eye, when it is crystallised, from the angles of its spar ; so the amount The Parallel of Plutarch's political teaching, which might have escaped Lives a Book notice when it was scattered through independent books, now of Gr^eece and ^^^^^^ °"^ f^°™ ^^^ grouping together of the Athenians who Rome made and unmade Athens, and of the Romans who fought for and against the Republican Constitution of Rome. For the Parallel Lives are now disposed in a rough chronological order ; in so far, at least, as this has been possible where the members of each pair belong severally to nations whose his- tories mingle for the first time, when the activity of the one ceases and the activity of the other begins. In earlier days they had but dim intimations of each other's fortunes : as when, in the Camillus^ ' the rumour ran to Greece incon- ' tinently that Rome was taken ' ; and it is only in the Philopoemen and Flaminius that their fates are trained into a single channel. So that, rather, there are balance and oppo- sition between the two halves of the whole : the latter por- tion being governed by the grouping in dramatic sequence of the thirteen Romans who took part in the constitutional drama of Rome ; whereas the earlier is as it were polarised about the history of Athens. Considering the governing lives in each case, and disregarding their accidental com- panions, you will find that in both the whole pageant is displayed. There are excursions, but in the latter half we live at Rome ; in the earlier we are taken to Athens : there 1 In North's edition of 1579 all is Plutarch, through Amyot, excepting the Annibal and the Scipio African, which were manufactured by Donate Acciaiuoli for the Latin translation of the Lives published at Rome by Campani in 1470. xiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES to be spectators of her rise, her glory, and her fall. We INTRO- listen to the prologue in the Solon ; and in the Themistocles^ DUCTION the Pericles, the Alcibiades, we contemplate the three acts of the tragedy. The tragedy of Athens, the drama of Home : these are the historic poles of the Parallel Lives ; while, about half-way between, in the book of Philopoemen and Flaminius, is the historic hinge, at the fusion of Greek with Roman story. For Philopoemen and Flaminius were con- temporaries : the one a Greek whom ' Greece did love pass- * ingly well as the last valiant man she brought forth in her ' age '' ; the other, a Roman whom she loved also, Plutarch tells us, because, in founding the suzerainty of Rome, he founded it on the broad stone of honour. In this book the balance of sustained interest shifts, and after it the Lives are governed to the end by the development of the single Roman drama. We may say to the end : since Plutarch may truly be said to end with the suicide of Brutus. The Aratus, though of vivid and, with the Sylla, of unique interest — for both are based on autobiographies ^ — belongs, it is thought, to another book.^ This, I have already said. Additions and is true of the Galba and the OtJio, dissevered as they are Omissions by the obvious division of a continuous nan'ative ; and of the Artaxeroces, which, of course, has nothing to do among the Greek and Roman lives ; while the Hannibal and Scipio (major), included by North, is not even Plutarch. These lives, then, were added, no doubt, to complete the defect of those that had been lost ; as, for instance, the Metellus pro- mised by Plutarch in his Marius, and the book of Eparni- nondas and Scipio (minor), which we know him to have written, on the authority of his son. If, then, ignoring these accretions, we study the physio- gnomy of the Parallel Lives as revealed in the ' Table,'' the national tragedy of Athens and the constitutional drama of Rome are seen to stand out in consecutive presentment from its earlier and latter portions. Each is at once apparent, because each has been reconstituted for us. But the fact ^ Freeman, Methods of Historic Study, p. 1 68. Mahaffy, Greek Life atid Thought. ^ A. H. Clough, Plutarch's Lives. 1883. XV INTRO- DUCTION The Person- ality and Significance of the Lives essentially Political LIVES OF THE NOBLE that such reconstitution has been possible — proving, as it does, how complete was the unsuspected influence of Plu- tarch's political temperament over his conscious selection of great men — puts us in the way of tracing this influence over his every preference. It gives a key to one great chamber in his mind, and a clue which we can follow through the windings of his book. It makes plain the fact that every one of his heroes achieved, or attempted, one of four political services which a man may render to his fellows. Their life-work con- sisted (1) in founding States ; (2) in defending them from foreign invasion ; (3) in extending their dominion ; or (4) in leading political parties within their confines. All are, there- fore, men who made history, considered each one in relation to his State. In dealing, for instance, with Demosthenes and Cicero, Plutarch ' will not confer their works and writings ' of eloquence,' but ' their acts and deeds in the government ' of the commonwealth.'' In this manner, also, does he deal even with his 'founders,' who can scarce be called men, being but figures of legend and dream. Yet they too were evolved under the spell of political prepossession in the nations which conceived their legends ; and the floating, shifting appearances, the ' mist and hum ' of them, are com- pacted by a writer in whom that prepossession was strongly present. That such airy creatures should figure at all as historical statesmen, having something of natural movement and bulk, in itself attests beyond all else to this habit of Plutarch's mind. Having ' set forth the lives of Lycurgus * (which established the law of the Lacedemonians), and of * King Numa Pompilius,' he thought he ' might go a little ' further to the life of Romulus,' and ' resolved to match him ' which did set up the noble and famous city of Athens, with * him which founded the glorious and invincible city of Rome.' He is dealing, as he says, with matter ' full of suspicion and ' doubt, being delivered us by poets and tragedy makers, * sometimes without truth and likelihood, and always with- ' out certainty.' He is dealing, indeed, with shadoAvs ; but they are shadows projected backward upon the mists about their origin by two nations which were above all things political ; and he lends them a further semblance of con- xvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES sistency and perspective, by regarding them from a political INTRO- point of view in the light of a later political experience. His DUCTION Theseus and his Romuhis are, indeed, a tissue woven out of folk-lore and the faint memories of a savage prime : you The Folk-lore shall find in them traces of forgotten customs ; marriage by of Politics capture,^ for instance, and much else that is frankly beyond belief; things which, he says, ' peradventure will please the ' reader better for their strangeness and curiosity, than offend ' or mislike him for their falsehood.'' But his Lycurgus^ saving the political glosses, and his PompiUus, are likewise all of legend and romance : of the days ' when the Aventine was ' not inhabited, nor inclosed within the walls of Rome, but ' was full of springs and shadowed groves,"* the haunt of Picus and Faunus, and of ' Lady Silence "* ; yet he contrives to cast a political reflection over even this noiseless dream- land of folk-lore. Lycurgus and Theseus, in the manner of their deaths, present vague images of the fate which in truth befell the most of their historic prototypes. Lycurgus kills Some Heroes himself, not because his constitution for Sparta is in danger of Legend but, lest any should seek to change it; and the bones of Theseus, the Athenian, murdered by his ungrateful country- men, are magically discovered, and are brought back to Athens ' with great joye, with processions and goodly sacri- ' fices, as if Theseus himself had been alive, and had returned ' into the city again."" As we read, we seem to be dreaming of Gator's death at Utica ; and of Alcibiades"' return, when the people who had banished him to the ruin of their country ' clustred all to him only and , . . put garlands of flowers ' upon his head.' The relation of the Lives in the three other categories to the political temper of Plutarch and his age is more obvious, if less significant of that temper and its prevalence in every region of thought. Of the Romans, Publicola and and Romance Coriolanus belong also to romance. But both were captains in the first legendary wars waged by Rome for supremacy in Italy ; and the lives of both are charged with the hues of party politics. Publicola is painted as the aristocrat who, * The marriage of Pirithous, p. 62, and the ravishment of the Sabines, c xvii INTRO- DUCTION Historic Rome and Historic Greece Contrasted LIVES OF THE NOBLE by patient loyalty to the Constitution, lives down the suspi- cions of the populace ; Coriolanus, as a type of caste at once noble for its courage and lamentable for its indomitable pride. Passing, after these four, out of fable into history, there remain six Romans besides the thirteen involved in the cul- minating drama. Three of these, Furius Camillus, Marcellus, and Quintus Fabius Maximus, were the heroes of Rome's successful resistance to foreign invasion, and two, T. Q. Flaminius and Paulus ^milius, the heroes of her equally successful foreign and colonial policy ; while one only, Marcus Cato, is chosen as a constitutional politician from the few untroubled years between the assurance of empire abroad and the constitutional collapse at home. Turning from Italy to Greece, we find, again, that after the two legendary founders and Solon, the more or less historical contriver of the Athenian constitution, the remainder Greeks without exception fall under one or more of the three other cate- gories : they beat back invasion, or they sought to extend a suzerainty, or they led political parties in pursuit of political ideals. Swayed by his political temperament, Plutarch exhibits men of a like stamp engaged in like issues. But, in passing from his public men of Italy to his public men of Greece, we may note that, while the issues which call forth the political energies of the two nations are the same, a difference merely in the order of event Avorks up the same characters and the same situations into another play with another and a more complicated plot. Rome had practi- cally secured the headship of the Italian States some years before the First Punic War. Her suzerainty was, therefore, an accomplished fact, frequently challenged but never de- feated, before the Italian races were called upon to face any foe capable of absorbing their country. But in Greece, neither before nor after the Persian invasion did any one State ever become permanently supreme. So that, whereas, in Italy, the issue of internal wars and jealousies was decided long before the danger of foreign domination had to be met ; in Greece, overshadowed in turn by the Persian, the Mace- donian, and the Roman, that issue was never decided at all. It follows that the history of Italy is the history of xviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES Rome, and not of the Latins or of the Samnites; but that INTRO- the history of Greece is, at first, the history of Athens, of DUCTION Sparta, and of Thebes in rivalry with one another, and, at last, of Macedon and Rome brooding over leagues and con- federacies between the lesser islands and States. The Roman Their drama is single. The City State becomes supreme in Italy ; ^?^^'^*^^^ rolls back wave after wave of Gauls and Carthaginians and ^ erences Teutons ; extends her dominion to the ends of the earth ; and then, suddenly, finds her Constitution shattered by the strain of world-wide empire. Plutarch gives the actors in all these scenes ; but it is in the last, which is the most essen- ^ tially political, that he crowds his stage with the living, and, afterwards, cumbers it with the dead. The Greek drama is complex, and affords no such opportunity for scenic concen- tration. Even the first and simplest issue, of repelling an in- vader, is made intricate at every step by the jealousy between Sparta and Athens. Plutarch tells twice over ^ that Them- istocles, the Athenian, who had led the allies to victory at Salamis, proposed to burn their fleets at anchor so soon as the danger was overpassed : for by this means Athens might seize the supremacy of the sea. The story need not be true: that it should ever have been conceived proves in what spirit the Greek States went into alliance, even in face of Persia. The lives of two other Athenians, Cimon and Aristides, complete Plutarch's picture of the Persian War ; and after that war he can never group his Greeks on any single stage. Each of them seeks, indeed, to extend the influence of his State, or to further his political opinions ; but in the tangle of combinations resulting from their efforts one feature remains unchanged among many changes. Through all the fighting and the scheming it is ever Greek against Greek. The history is a kaleidoscope, but the pieces are the same. That is the tragedy of Greece : the ceaseless duel of the few with the many, with a complication of racial rivalries between independent City States. There is no climax of development, there is no sudden failure of the heart ; but an agony of spasm twitches at every nerve in the body in turn. Extinction follows extinction of political power in ^ In the Themistocles and in the Aristides. xix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- one State after, and at the hands of, another; and in the DUCT I ON end there is a total edipse of national life under the shadow of Rome. It is customary to date the political death of Greece from the battle at Chseronea, in which the Macedonians overthrew the allied armies of Athens and Thebes. But Plutarch's to Plutarch, who had a better, because a nearer, point of Outlook upon view, the perennial virulence of race and opinion, which p ?.^. constituted so much of the political life of Greece, went after Chasronea as merrily as before. The combatants, on whose sky was but clouded by the empire of Alexander, fought on into the night of Roman rule ; and, when they relented, it was even then, according to Plutarch, only from sheer exhaustion. Explaining the lull in these rivalries during the old age of Philopoemen, he writes that ' like as ' the force and strength of sickness declineth, as the natural ' strength of the sickly body impaireth, envy of quarrel and ' war surceased as their power diminished.' Of these Greeks, other than the founders and the heroes of the Persian War, six were leaders in the rivalry, first, between Athens and Sparta and, then, between Sparta and Thebes. Of these, three were Athenians — Pericles, Nicias, and Alcibiades ; two were Spartans — Lysander and Agesilaus ; one was Pelopidas the Theban. These six lives complete Plutarch's picture of the Peloponnesian War. Then, still keeping to Greeks proper, he indulges in an excursion to Syracuse in the lives of Dion and Timoleon. Later, in the lives of Demosthenes and Phocion, you feel the cloud of the Macedonian Empire gathering over Greece. And, lastly, while Rome and Mace- don fight over her head for the substance of dominion and political reform, two kings of Sparta, Agis and Cleomenes, and two generals of the Achaean League, Aratus and Philo- poemen, are found still thwarting each other for the shadow. Plutarch shows four others, not properly to be called Greeks : the Macedonians Alexander and Demetrius, Pyrrhus the Molossian, and Eumenes, born a Greek of Cardia, but a Macedonian by his career. These four come on the stage as an interlude between the rivalries of the Peloponnesian War and the last futilities of the Achaean League. Alexander XX GRECIANS AND ROMANES for a time obliterates all lesser lights ; and in the lives of INT'RO- the other three we watch the flashing train of his successors. DUCTION All are shining figures, all are crowned, all are the greatest adventurers of the world ; and tumbling out of one kingdom into another, they do battle in glorious mellays for cities and diadems and Queens. Taking a clue from the late reconstitution of the most Forgeries and moving scenes at Athens and Rome, I follow it through Interpola- the Parallel Lives, and I sketch the political framework it ^^^^^ discovers. Into that framework, which co-extends with Plutarch's original conception, I can fit every life in North''s first edition, from the Theseus to the Aratits. 1 could not overlook so palpable and so significant a result of Plutarch's political temperament ; and I must note it because it has been overlooked, and even obscured, in later editions of Amyot and North. Amyofs first and second editions, of 1559 and 1565, both end with the Otho, which, although it does not belong to the Parallel Lives, was at least Plutarch. But to Amyot's third, of 1567, there were added the Annibal and the Scipion (major), first fabricated for the Latin trans- In Latin lation of 1470 by Donato Acciaiuoli and translated into French by Charles de TEscluse, or de la Since, as North prefers to call him. These two lives North received into his first edition : together with a comparison by Simon Goulards Senlisien, an industrious gentleman who, as ' S. G. S.,' supplied him with further material at a later date.^ For French indeed, once begun in the first Latin translation, this process of completing Plutarch knew no bounds for more than two hundred years. The Spanish historian, Antonio de Guevara, and Spanish had perpetrated a decade of emperors, Trajan, Hadrian, and eight more, and these, too, were translated into French by Antoine Allegre, and duly appended to the Amyot of 1567 by its publisher Vascosan. All was fish that came to Vascosan's net. The indefatigable S. G. S. concocted lives of Augustus and Seneca ; translated biographies from Cornelius Nepos ; ^ Professor Skeat, in his Shakespeare^ Plutarch, leaves the attribution of these initials in doubt. They have been taken by many French editors of Amyot to stand for B. de Girard, Sieur du Haillan, but M. de Blignieres shows in his Essai sur Amyot, p. 184, that they stood for Simon Goulard, the translator of Seneca. xxi INTRO- DUCTION North's Additions Rowe and Dacier Simon Goulard LIVES OF THE NOBLE and, with an excellent turn for symmetry, supplied unaided all the Comparisons which are not to be found in Plutarch. The Chseronean either wrote them, and they were lost ; or, possibly, he paused before the scaUng of Caesar and Alex- ander, content with the perfection he had achieved. But S. G. S. knew no such emban-assment ; and Amyofs publisher of 1583 accepted his contributions, as before, in the lump. North in his third edition of 1603 is a little, but only a little, more fastidious : he rejects all the Comparisons except, oddly enough, that between Caesar and Alexander ; but on the other hand, he accepts from S. G. S. the lives of ' worthy ' chieftains ' and ' famous philosophers ' ^ who — and this is a point — were not, as all Plutarch's exemplars were before everything, public men. Later, the international compli- ment was returned. The Abbe Bellenger translated into French eight lives — of ^Eneas, Tullus Hostilius, and so forth — concocted in English by Thomas Rowe ; and these in their turn were duly added, first to Dacier's Plutarch in 1734, and afterwards to the Amyot of 1783 : an edition you are not surprised to see filling a small bookcase. Cele- brities of all sorts were recruited, simply for their fame, from every age, and from every field of performance — Plato, Aristotle, Philip, even Charlemagne ! ^ And the process of obscuring Plutarch's method did not end with the interjection of spurious stuflF. Men cut down the genuine Lives to convenient lengths, for summaries and ' treasuries,"* The undefeated S. G. S. covered the margin of one edition after another ^vith reflections tending to edification. He and his kind epitomised Plutarch's matter and pointed his moral, grinding them to the dust of a classical dictionary and the ashes of a copybook headline. All these editions and epi- tomes and maxims, being none of Plutarch's, should not, of course, in reason have darkened his restriction on the choice of great men. Yet by their number and their vogue, they have so darkened it ; and the more easily, for that Plutarch, ^ Letter of dedication to Queen Elizabeth. Ed. 1631, p. 1108. 2 Fabricated also by Acciaiuoli for Campani's Latin edition of 1470, and attributed to Plutarch by an erudite calling himself Viscellius. Amyot himself fabricated the lives of Epaminondas and Scipio (minor) at the request of Marguerite of Savoye, but never published them as Plutarch. xxii GRECIANS AND ROMANES as I have shown, says nothing of the limit he observed. INTRO- Beneath these additions the political framework of the Lives DUCTION lay buried for centuries ; and even after they had been dis- carded by later translators, it was still shrouded in the mist they had exhaled. Banish the additions and their atmo- sphere— fit only for puritans and pedants — and once more the political framework emerges in all its significance and in all its breadth. From this effect we cannot choose but turn to the causa Plutarch's causans — the mind that achieved it. We want to know the Mind political philosophy of a writer who, being a student of human character, yet held it unworthy his study save in public men. And the curiosity will, as I think, be sharpened rather than rebated by the reflection that many of his com- mentators have, none the less, denied him any political insight at all.^ Their paradox plucks us by the sleeve. From a soil thus impregnated with the salt of political instinct one would have looked in the harvest for some savour of political truth ; yet one is told that the Lives, fruitful of all besides, are barren of this. For my part, I must believe that Plut- arch's commentators have been led to a false conclusion His Com- along one of two paths : either they have listened too mentators innocently to his avowed intention of portraying only char- acter, and have been confirmed in their error by the indis- criminate additions to his work ; or, perceiving his exclusive choice of politicians, they have still declined to recognise political wisdom in an unexpected shape. In a work which is constituted, albeit without intention, upon lines thus definitely political, one might have looked for many direct pronouncements of political opinion. Yet in that expecta- tion one is deceived — as I think, happily. For Plutarch's methods, at least in respect of politics and war, are not those ^ Plutarch. Five Lectures, p. 89. Paul-Louis Courier and many others have written to the same effect, questioning Plutarch's accuracy and insight. On the question of accuracy, I am content to quote Ste.-Beuve, Causeries du Lutidi, vi. 333 : ' Quand on a fait la part du rheteur et du pretre d'Apollon en lui, il reste une bien plus large part encore, ce me semble, au coUecteur attentif et consciencieux des moindres traditions sur les grands hommes, au peintre abondant et curieux de la nature humaine ' : and to refer to Freeman, Methods of Historical Study , pp. 167, 168, 184. xxiii LIVES OF THE NOBLE His Methods and Effects His Aspasia INTRO- of analysis or of argument, but of pageant and of drama, DUCTION with actors living and mo\ing against a background of processions that move and live. With all the world for his stage, he shakes oft' the habit of the lecture-hall, and it is only now and again that, stepping before the curtain, he ^vill speak a prologue in a preface, or turn chorus to comment a space upon the play. Mostly he is absorbed in presenting his heroes as they fought and as they fell ; in unfolding, in scene after scene, his theatriim of stirring life and majestical death, I cannot deny his many digressions on matters religious, moral, philosophical, and social ; and it may be that their very number, accentuating the paucity of his political pronouncements, has emphasised the view with which I cannot concur. Doubtless they are there ; nor can I believe that any would wish them away. It is interesting to hear the Pythagorean view of the solar system ; ^ and it is charming to be told the gossip about Aspasia ^ and Dion- ysius 2 after his fall. In the Pericles^ for instance, Plutarch pauses at the first mention of Aspasia's name : thinking it ' no great digression of our storie, to tell you ' by the way what manner of woman she was.'' So 'he tells you what manner, and, after the telling, excuses himself once more ; since, as he says, it came ' in my minde : and me thought I ' should have dealt hardly, if I should have left it unwritten,'' His Dionysius Who will resent such compassion? Vfho so immersed in aff'airs as to die in willing ignorance of the broken man who seemed to be a * starke nideotte,'' with a turn for low life and repartee ? Plutarch can'ies all before him when he says : ' methinks these ' things I have intermingled concerning Dionysius, are not ' impertinent to the description of our Lives, neither are they ' troublesome nor unprofitable to the hearei-s, unless they ' have other hasty business to let or trouble them,"* He is irresistible in this vein, which, by its lightness, leads one to believe that some of the lives, like some modern essays, were first delivered before popular audiences, and then collected with others conceived in a graver key. There are many such ^ Numa Pompilius : marred in North by a mistranslation. In the original it approximates to the Copernican rather than to the Ptolemaic theory. - Pericles. ^ Timoleon. xxiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES digressions. But, just because his heroes are all politicians, INTRO- of long political pronouncements there are few : even as of DUCTION comments on the art of war you shall find scarce one, for the reason that strategy and tactics are made plain on a hundred fields. His politicians and captains speak and fight for themselves. It is for his readers, if they choose, to gather political wisdom from (say) his lives of the aforesaid thirteen Romans ; even as, an they will, they may deduce from the Themistocles or the Pojiipey the completeness of his grasp upon the latest theories on the command of the sea. Yet there are exceptions, though rare ones, to his rule ; and in questioning the political bent of his mind we are not left to inference alone. In the Lycurgus^ for instance, where the actor is but a walking shadow, Plutarch must needs deal His Political with the system associated with Lycurgus"'s name : so in this Ideals life we have the theory of politics which Plutarch favoured, whereas in the Pericles we have the practice of a consummate politician. From the Lycurgus^ then, we are able to gauge the personal equation (so to say) of the mind which, in the Pericles, must have coloured that mind's presentment of political action and debate. Plutarch, like Plato before him, is a frank admirer of the laws which Lycurgus is said to have framed. He delights in that ' perfectest manner of ' a commonwealth '' which made the city of Lycurgus ' the ' chiefest of the world, in glory and honour of government, ' by the space of five hundred years."* He tells of the law- giver''s journey from Crete to Asia, to compare the ' policy ' of those of Crete (being then very straight and severe) with ' the superfluities and vanities of Ionia '' ; and you may gather from the context that the one appears to the historian 'whole ' and healthful,' the others 'sick and diseased.' He seems also to approve Lycurgus's indiscriminate contempt for all'super- ' fluous and unprofitable sciences "* ; for the devices of ' licorous ' cooks to cram themselves in corners,' of ' rhetoricians who ' teach eloquence and the cunning cast of lying,' of goldsmiths and fortune-tellers and panders. Again, it is Avith satisfac- tion that he paints his picture of Lycurgus returning ' home ' one day out of the fields . . . laughing ' as he ' saw the ' number of sheaves in shocks together and no one shock d XXV LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION bigger His Prefer- ence for the Born Ruler than another ' ; all Laconia being ' as it were an inheritance of many brethren, who had newly made parti- tion together/ But if Plutarch approves the suppression of luxury and the equal distribution of wealth as ideals, he does not approve the equal distribution of power. He is in favour of constitutional republics and opposed to hereditary monarchies ; though he will tolerate even these in coun- tries where they already exist.^ But he is for republics and against monarchies only that the man ' born to rule ' may have authority : such a man, for instance, as Lycurgus, ' born to rule, to command, and to give orders, as having in ' him a certain natural grace and power to draw men will- ' w?^^3/ to obey him.'' In any State, he postulates, on the one hand, an enduring Constitution and a strong Senate of proved men ; on the other, a populace with equal political rights of electing to the Senate and of sanctioning the laws that Senate may propose. Yet these in themselves are but preliminary conditions of liberty and order. Besides, for the preservation of a State there are needed rulers few and fit, armed with enough authority and having courage enough to wield it. It is essential that the few, who are fit, shall direct and govern the many, who are not. If authority be impaired, whether by incompetence in the few or through jealousy in the many, then must disaster follow. Now, many who hold this view are prone, when disaster does follow, to blame the folly of the many rather than the unfitness of the few. But Plutarch is distinguished in this : that, holding the view as firmly as any have held it — now preaching the gospel of authority and now exhibiting its proof at every turn — he yet imputes the His Theory of blame of failure, almost always, to incompetence or to cow- Culpability ardice in the few. ' He that directeth well must needs be ' well obeyed. For like as the art of a good rider is to make ' his horse gentle and ready at commandment, even so the ' chiefest point belonging to a prince is to teach his people ' to obey.' I take these words from the Lycurgus. They set forth Plutarch's chief political doctrine ; and the state- ment of fact is pointed with his favourite image. That the horse (or the many) should play the antic at will, is to him ^ Comparison of Demetrius with Antonitis. xxvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES plainly absurd : the horse must be ridden, and the many must INTRO- be directed and controlled. Yet, if the riding, or the govern- DUCTION ing, prove a failure, Plutarch"'s quarrel is with the ruler and the horseman, not with the people or the mount. For he knows well that ' a ragged colt oftimes proves a good horse, * specially if he be well ridden and broken as he should be.' ^ His Favourite This is but one of his innumerable allusions to horse-break- Image ing and hunting : as, for instance, in the Paulus JEmilius, he includes ' riders of horses and hunts of Greece ' among painters and gravers of images, grammarians and rhetoricians, as the proper Greek tutors for completing the education of a Roman moving with the times. And no one who takes note of these allusions can doubt that, as one of a chivalrous and sporting race, he was qualified to deal with images drawn from the manege and the chase. As little can any one who follows his political drama miss the application of these images. Sometimes, indeed, his constant theme and his favomite image almost seem fused : as when he describes the natural grace of his Cassar, ' so excellent a rider of horse from his youth, ' that holding his hands behind him, he would galop his ' horse upon the spur '' ; a governor so ever at one with those he governed, that he directed even his charger by an inflexion of his will rather than of his body. This need of autho- rity and the obligation on the few to maintain it — by a ' natural grace,' springing, on the one hand, from courage combined with forbearance ; and leading, on the other, to harmony between the rulers and the ruled — is the text which, given out in the Lycurgus, is illustrated thi'oughout the Parallel Lives. I have said that, apart from the Lycnrgus, Plutarch's His Philo- political pronouncements are to be found mostly in the sophy of prefaces to certain ' books ' and in scattered comments on Harmony such action as he displays. And of all these ' books ' the Pericles and Fahius Maximus is, perhaps, the richest in pronouncements, in both its preface and its body, all bearing on his theory of authority and on its maintenance by ' natural grace.' A ' harmony ' is to be aimed at ; but a harmony in the Dorian mode. Pericles is commended because in later ^ Themistodes. xxvii INTRO- DUCTION The Greatness of Pericles and Fabius Maximus A Result of this Harmony LIVES OF THE NOBLE life ' he was wont . . . not so easily to grant to ail the ' people's wills and desires, no more than as it were to * contrary winds.' In Plutarch's eyes he did well when ' he ' altered his over-gentle and popular manner of government ' ... as too delicate and effeminate an harmony of music, ' and did convert it into an imperious government, or rather ' a kingly authority.' He has nothing but praise for the in- dependence and fortitude by which Pericles achieved Caesar's policy of uniting within himself all the yearly offices of the State, ' not for a little while, nor in a gear (fashion) of ' favour,' but for ' forty years together.' He compares him to the captain of a ship ' not hearkening to the passengers' ' fearful cries and pitiful tears,' and holds him up for an example, since he ' neither would be persuaded by his friends' ' earnest requests and entreaties, neither cared for his enemies' ' threats and accusations against him, nor yet reckoned of all ' their foolish scoffing songs they sung of him in the city.' So, too, in the same book, when Plutarch comes to portray Fabius Maximus, he gives us that great man's view : that ' to be afeard of the wagging of every straw, or to regard ' every common prating, is not the part of a worthy man of ' charge, but rather of a base-minded person, to seek to please ' those whom he ought to command and govern, because ' they are but fools.' (Thus does bkmt Sir Thomas render Amyot's polite, but equally sound, ^ parce qiCils ne sont pas ' sages.'') But the independence and the endurance neces- sary in a ruler are not to be accompanied by irritation or contempt. "Wliile ' to flatter the common people ' is at best ' effeminate,' and at worst ' the broad high- way of them that ' practise tyranny,' ^ still, ' he is less to be blamed that seeketh ' to please and gratify his common people than he that de- ' spiseth and disdaineth them ' ; for here is no harmony at all, but discord. The words last quoted are from the Com- parison between Alcibiades and Coriolanus, two heroes out of tune with their countrymen, whose courage and independ- ence were made thereby of no avail. But in the Pericles and Fabius Maximus Plutarch shows us heroes after his o^vn heart, and in his preface to their lives he insists more ex- ^ Furius Camilhis. xxviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES plicitly than elsewhere on the need of not only courage and INTRO- independence but also forbearance and goodwill ; since with- DUCTION out these, their complements, the other virtues, are sterile. Pericles and Fabius, being at least as proud and brave as Three Alcibiades and Coriolanus, ' for tliat they would patiently Contrasts ' bear the follies of their people and companions that were ' in charge of government with them, were marvellous profit- ' able members for their country."' He returns to this theory of harmony in his preface to the Phocion and Cato. In every instance he assumes as beyond dispute, that the few must govern, working an obedience in the many ; but they are to work it by a 'natural grace' of adaptation to the needs and natures they command. In this very book he blames Cato of Utica, not for the ' ancient simplicity ' of his manner, which 'was indeed praiseworthy,"* but, simply be- cause it was ' not the convenientest, nor the fittest ' for him ; for that ' it ansAvered nor respected not the use and manners ' of his time."" How comes it to pass that Plutarch"'s heroes, being thus The Practice prone to compromise, yet fight and die, often at their own ^"^ Theory of hands, for the ideals they uphold ? The question is a fair ^lUf" ^ one, and the answer reveals a profound difference between the theory and the practice of politics approved by the ancient world and the theory and the practice of politics approved in the England of to-day. ' The good and ill,"* says Plutarch, ' do nothing differ but in mean and medio- ' crity."* We might therefore expect in his heroes a reluc- tance to sacrifice all for a difference of degree ; and especially might we suppose that, after deciding an equipoise so nice as that between 'authority and lenity,' his governors would stake little on their decision. But in a world of adjustment and doubt they are all for compromise in theory, while in action they are extreme. They are ready in spite, almost because, of that doubt, to seal with their blood such certainty as they can attain. His statesmen, inasmuch as they do respect ' the use and manners ' of their time, endure all things while they live, and at last die quietly, not for an abstract idea or a sublime emotion, but for the compromise of their day : though they know it for a compromise, and foresee its xxix INTRO- DUCTION Our Own Some Con- stants of the Problem LIVES OF THE NOBLE inevitable destruction. They have no enthusiasm, and no ecstasy. Uninspired from without, and self-gathered within, they live their lives, or lay them down, for the use and wont of their country. In reading their history an Englishman cannot but be struck by the double contrast between these tendencies of theory and action and the tendencies of theory and action finding favour in England now. Ever extreme in theory, we are all for compromise in fact; proud on the one score of our sincerity, on the other of our common- sense. We are fanatics, who yet decline to persecute, still less to suffer, for our faith. And this temperance of behaviour, following hard on the violent utterance of belief, is apt to show something irrational and tame. The actor stands charged, often unjustly, with a lack of both logic and courage. The Greeks, on the other hand, who found ' truth in a union of opposites and the aim of life in ' its struggle,' ^ and the Romans, who aped their philosophy and outdid their deeds, are not, in Plutarch^'s pages, open to this disparagement. They live or die for their faiths as they found them, and so appear less extravagant and more brave. The temper is illustrated again and again by the manner in which they observe his doctrine, that rulers must maintain their authority, and at the same time ' bear the ' follies of their people and companions that are in charge ' of government with them."* To read the Pericles or the Pompeius, the Julius CcBsar or the Cato, is to feel that a soldier may as well complain of bullets in a battle as a states- man of stupidity in his colleagues. These are constants of the problem. Only on such terms are fighting and ruling to be had. So, too, with 'the people "*: with the many, that is, who have least chance of understanding the game, least voice in its conduct, least stake in its success. If these forget all but yesterday's service, if they look only for to- morrow's reward, the hero is not therefore to complain. This short-lived memory and this short-sighted imagination are constants also. They are regular fences in the course he has set himself to achieve. He must clear them if he can, and fall if he cannot ; but he must never complain. They are con- ^ Tke Moral Ideal, Julia Wedgwood, p. 82. XXX GRECIANS AND ROMANES ditions of success, not excuses for failure; and to name INTRO- them is to be ridiculous. The Plutarchian hero never does DUCTION name them. He is obstinate, but not querulous. He cares only for the State ; he insists on saving it in his own way ; he kills himself, if other counsels prevail. But he never complains, and he offers no explanations. Living, he prefers action before argument ; dying, he chooses drama rather than defence. While he has hope, he acts like a great man ; and when hope ceases, he dies like a great actor. He and his fellows seek for some compromise between authority and lenity, and, having found it, they maintain it to the end. They are wise in taking thought, and sublime in taking action : whereas now, we are courageous in our theories, but exceeding cautious in our practice. Yet who among modern politicians will say that Plutarch's men were in the wrong .'' Who, hoarse ^vith shouting against the cataract of circum- stance, will dare reprove the dumb-show of their lives and deaths ? I have shown from the Li/curgus, from the prefaces to Plutarch's the Pericles and the PJiociOTi, and from scattered com- Political ments elsewhere, that Plutarch has something to say upon jyyJIliy politics which, whether we agree with him or not, is at least Ordered worthy our attention. There is yet an occasion of one other kind — which he takes, I think, only twice — for speaking his own mind upon politics. After the conclusion of a long series of events, ending, for instance, in the rule of Rome over Greece, or in the substitution of the Empire for the Republic, he assembles these conclusions, at first sight to him unreasonable and unjust, and seeks to interpret them in the light of divine wisdom and justice. Now, he was nearer than we are to the two great sequences I have denoted, by seven- teen centm'ies : he lived, we may say, in a world which they had created anew. And whereas he took in all political questions a general interest so keen that it has coloiu'ed the whole of a work not immediately addressed to politics, in these two sequences his interest was particular and personal : in the first because of his patriotism, and in the second be- cause of his familiar converse with the best in Rome. We are happy, then, in the judgment of such a critic on the two xxxi INTRO- DUCTION His Accept- ance of the Sovranty of Rome For the Sake of Roman Virtue LIVES OF THE NOBLE greatest political dramas enacted in the ancient world. The human — I might say the pathetic — interest of the treatment accorded by the patriotic Greek to the growth of Roman dominion and its final extension over the Hellenistic East, will absorb the attention of many. But it offers, besides, as I think, although this has been questioned, much of political wisdom. In any case, on the one count or upon the other, I feel bound to indicate the passages in which he comments on these facts. We are not in doubt as to his general views on Imperial aggression and a ' forward policy.' After noting that the Romans forsook the peaceful precepts of Numa, and ' filled all Italy with murder and blood,"" he imagines one saying : ' But hath not Rome excelled still, and prevailed ' more and more in chivalry .? "" And he replies : ^ ' This ques- ' tion requireth a long answer, and especially unto such men ' as place felicity in riches, in possessing and in the greatness ' of empire, rather than in quiet safety, peace and concord of ' a common weal.'' For his part he thought with Lycurgus,^ that a city should not seek to command many ; but that ' the ' felicity of a city, as of a private man, consisted chiefly in ' the exercise of virtue, and the unity of the inhabitants ' thereof, and that the citizens should be nobly minded ' (Amyot : francs de cueiirs), content with their own, and ' temperate in their doings {attrempez en tous leurs faicts\ ' that thereby they might maintain and keep themselves long ' in safety.' But, holding this general opinion, and biassed into the bargain by his patriotism, he cannot relate the stories of Aratus and Philopoemen on the one hand, or of Flaminius and Lucullus on the other, without accepting the conclusion that the rule of Rome was at last necessary for the rational and just government of the world ; and, therefore, was inevitably ordained by the Divine wisdom. Rome ' increased and grew strong by arms and continual ' wars, like as piles driven into the ground, which the more they ' are rammed in the further they enter and stick the faster^ ^ For it was by obedience and self-restraint, by a ' yielding ' unto reason and virtue "* that the * Romans came to com- Comparhon of Lycurgus with Numa Pompilius. Lycurgus. ^ Numa Pompilius. XXXll GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' mand all other and to make themselves the mightiest INTRO- ' people of the world/ ^ In Greece he finds nothing of this DUCTION obedience and this self-restraint ; nothing but rivalry be- tween leaders and jealousy between States. Cleomenes, the Spartan king, Aratus and Philopcemen, both leaders of the Achaean League, are among the last of his Greek heroes. He lingers over them lovingly ; yet it is Aratus who, in jealousy of Cleomenes, brings Antigonus and his Macedonians into Greece ; and it is Flaminius, the Roman, who expels them. In this act some modern critics have seen only one of many cloaks for a policy of calculated aggression, but it is well to remember for what it is worth that Plutarch, the Greek patriot, saw in it simply the act of a 'just and com-- As Opposed to ' teous gentleman,"* and that, according to him, the ' only the Selfish- ' cause of the utter destruction of Greece ' must be sought "^^^ ^"^ *^® earlier : when Aratus preferred the Macedonians before ofGreece ^^'^ allowing Cleomenes a first place in the Achaean League. In the Cimon and Lucullus^ even after Greece became a Roman province, he shows the same rivalries on a smaller scale. The * book "* opens with a story which, with a few changes, mostly of names, might be set in the Ireland of a hundred years ago. One Damon, an antique Rory of the Hills, after just provocation, collects a band of moonlighters who, with blackened faces, set upon and murder a Roman captain. The town council of Chaeronea condemns Damon and his companions to death, in proof of its own innocence, and is murdered for its pains. At last Damon himself is enticed into a bathhouse, and killed. Then the Orchome- nians, 'being near neighbours unto the Chaeroneans, and ' therefore their enemies,'' hire an ' informer "* to accuse all the Chaeroneans of complicity in the original murder ; and it is only the just testimony of the Roman general, Lucullus, who chances to be marching by, which saves the town from punishment. An image is set up to Lucullus which Plutarch has seen ; and even to his day ' terrible voices and cries "* are heard by the neighbours from behind the walled-up door of the bathhouse, in which Damon had died. He knows the whole story from his childhood, and knows that in this small ^ Paulus ALiniluis. e xxxiii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- matter Lucullus showed the same justice and courtesy which DUCTION Flaminius had displayed in a gi'eat one. For it is only the strong who can be just ; and therefore to the strong there falls in the end, without appeal, the reward, or the penalty, of doing justice throughout the world. That seems to be Plutarch's 'long answer "" to those who question the justice The Justice of the Roman Empire. He gives it most fully in the life of of the Roman Flaminius, taking, as I have said, a rare occasion in order to Lmpire comment on the conclusion of a long series of events. First, he sums up the results achieved by the noble Greeks, many of whose lives he has written. ' For Agesilaus,' he writes, ' Lysander, Nicias, Alcibiades, and all other the famous cap- ' tains of former times, had very good skill to lead an army, ' and to winne the battle, as well by sea as by land, but to ' turn their victories to any honourable benefit, or true honour ' among men, they could never skill of it "* ; especially as, apart from the Persian War, 'all the other wars and the ' battles of Greece that were made fell out against them- ' selves, and did ever bring them unto bondage : and all ' the tokens of ti'iumph which ever were set up for the ' same was to their shame and loss.^ Having summed up the tragedy of Greece in these words, he turns to the Roman lade, and ' The good deeds of the Romans and of Titus Quintus ' Flaminius,' he says, ' unto the Grecians, did not only reap this ' benefit unto them, in recompense that they were praised ' and honoured of all the world ; but they were cause also of ' increasing their dominions and empire over all nations.' So that ' peoples and cities . . . procured them to come, and did ' put themselves into their hands ' ; and ' kings and princes ' also (which were oppressed by other more mighty than ' themselves) had no other refuge but to put themselves ' under their protection, by reason whereof in a very short ' time ... all the world came to submit themselves under the ' protection of their empire.' Plutarch and In the same way, he, a republican, acquiesced in the neces- Caesar gj^-y fgj. Caesar. Having told the story of Brutus, the last of the thirteen Romans, he falls on the other of my two occasions, and ' Caesar's power and government,' he writes, ' when it came to be established, did indeed much hurt at xxxiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' his first entrie and beginning unto those that did resist INTRO- ' him : but afterwards there never followed any tyrannical nor DUCTION * cruel act, but contrarily, it seemed that he was a merciful ' Physician whom God had ordained of special grace to he ' Governor of the Empire of Rome, and to set all thing's again ' at quiet stay, the which required the counsel and authority ' of an absolute Prince.'' That is his epilogue to the longest and the mightiest di'ama in all history ; and in it we have for once the judgment of a playwright on the ethics of his play. Yet so great a dramatist was Plutarch that even One Effect of his epilogue has not saved him from the fate of his peers, liis Art While some, with our wise King James i., blame him for injustice to Caesar,^ yet others find him a niggard in his worship of Brutus and Cato. The fact is, each of his heroes is for the moment of such flesh and blood as to compel the pity of him that reads ; for each is in turn the brother of all men, in their hope and in their despair. If, then, the actor chances to be Brutus and the reader King James, Plutarch is damned for a rebel ; but again, if the reader be a republican, when Servilia's lover wraps him in his cloak and falls, why, then is Plutarch but the friend of a tyrant. Thus by the excellence of his art he forces us to argue that his creatures must reign in his affection as surely as for a moment they can seize upon our own. Take an early hero of the popular party — take Caius Gracchus. Caius We know him even to his trick of vehement speech ; and, Gracchus knowing him so intimately, we cannot but mourn over that parting from his wife, when he left her to meet death, and she, 'reaching after him to take him by the gown, fell to ' the ground and lay flatlings there a great while, speak- ' ing never a word."* Cato, again, that hero of the other Cato side, lives to be forbidding for his affectation ; yet who but remembers the clever boy making orations full of ' witt ' and vehemence,' with a ' certaine gravetie '' which ' de- ' lighted his hearers and made them laugh, it did so please ' them "* ? One harks back to the precocious youngster, once the hope of the winning party, when Cato, left alone in * In his interview with Casaubon. See Ste.-Beuve : Causeries du Lundi, xiv. 402. XXXV LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- Utica, the last soul true to a lost cause, asks the dis- DUCTION semblers of his sword if they 'think to keep an old ' man alive by force ? "" He takes kindly thought for the safety of his friends, reads the Phcedo, and dozes fitfully through the night, and behold ! you are in the room with a great man dying. You feel with him that chill disillusion of the dawn, when ' the little birds began ' to chirp'' •, you share in the creeping horror of his servants, listening outside the door ; and when they give a ' shriek ' for fear ' at the ' noise of his fall, overthrowing a little ' table of geometry hard by his bed," it is almost a relief to know that the recovered sword has done its work. Pompeius And who can help loving Pompey, Avith his ' curtesie in Magnus i conversation ; so that there was never man that requested ' anything with less ill icill than he, nor that more willingly ' did pleasure unto any man when he was requested. For ' he gave zaithout disdain and took with great honour ' ? ' The cast and soft moving of his eyes . . . had a certain ' resemblaunce of the statues and images of King Alexander.' Even ' Flora the curtisan "" — Villon"'s ' Flora la belle Romaine "' — pined away for love of him when he turned her over to a friend. He is all compact of courage and easy despair : now setting sail in a tempest, for ' it is necessity, I must go, but ' not to live '' ; and again, at Pharsalia, at the first reverse \fo7getting that he was Pompey the Great,"" and leaving the field to walk silently away. And that last scene of all : when on a desolate shore a single ' infranchised bondman ' who had ' remained ever "* by the murdered hero, ' sought upon the ' sands and found at the length a piece of an old fisher''s ' boat enough to serve to burn his naked body with ' ; and so a veteran Avho had been with him in his old wars happens upon the afflicting scene ; and you hear him hail the other lonely figure : ' O friend, what art thou that preparest the ' funerals of Pompey the Great ? . . . Thou shall not have ' all this honour alone ... to bury the only and most ' famous Captain of the Romans !' There is sorcery in Plutarch's presentments of these politi- cians, which may either blind to the import of the drama they enact, or beguile into thinking that he sympathises xxxvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES by turns with the ideal of eveiy leader he portrays. But INTRO- behind the glamour of their living and the glory of their DUCTION death, a relentless progression of political causes and effects conducts inevitably to Caesar's personal rule. In no other book do we see so full an image of a nation's life, because in no other is the author so little concerned to prove the truth of any one theory, or the nobility of any one sentiment. He is detached — indeed, absorbed — in another purpose. He Plutarch's exhibits his thirteen vivid personalities, holding, mostly by Impartiality birth, to one of two historic parties, and inheriting with those parties certain traditional aspirations and beliefs ; yet by showing men as they are, he contrives to show that truth and nobility belong to many divergent beliefs and to many conflicting aspirations. Doubtless he has his own view, his rooted abhorrence to the rule of one man ; and this persua- sion inclines him now to the Popular Party in its opposition to Sulla, and again to the Senate in its opposition to Caesar. But still, by the sheer force of his realism, he drives home, as no other writer has ever done, the great truth that theories and sentiments are in politics no more than flags and tuckets in a battle : that in fighting and in government it is, after all, the fighting and the governing which must somehow or another be achieved. And, since in this world govern- His Con- ing there must be, the question at any moment is : What elusion m the are the possible conditions of government ? In the latter ^^^^^jj^^ ^^^ days of the Republic it appears from the Lives that two sets of causes had led to a monstrous development of individuals, in whose shadow all lower men must wither away. So Sertorius sails for the ' Fortunate Islands ** ; Cato is juggled to Cyprus; Cicero is banished; while Lucullus, out-metalled by Pompey on his own side, ' lay still and took ' his pleasure, and would no more meddle with the common- ' wealth,' and the unspeakable Bibulus ' kept him close in his ' house for eight months' space, and only sent out bills,' At last you have the Triumvirate ; and then, with Crassus killed, the two protagonists face to face : ' whose names the strange ' and far nations understood before the name of Romans, so ' great were their victories.' Given the Roman dominion and two parties with the traditions of Marius and Sulla behind xxxvii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- them, there was nothing for it but that one or other should DUCTION prove its competence to rule; and no other way of achieving this than finding the man and giving him the power. The Marians found Caesar, and in him a man who could find power for himself. The political heirs of Sulla found Cato and Brutus, and Lucullus and Pompey ; but none of these was Caesar, and, such as they were, the Senate played them off the one against the other. Bemused with theories and senti- ments, they neither saw the necessity, nor seized the means, of governing a world that cried aloud for government. In Plutarch you watch the play ; and, whatever you may think of the actors — of Crassus or Cato, Pompey or Caesar — of the non-actors you can think nothing. Bibulus, with his ' bills,*" and the Senate, which bade Pompey disband his troops, stand for ever as types of formal incompetence. Plutarch shows The True that it is wiser and more righteous to win the game by Morality accepting the rules, even if sometimes you must strain and break them, than to leave the table because you dislike the rules. Instead of quarrelling with the rules and losing the game, the Senate should have won the game, and then have changed the rules. This Caesar did, as Plutarch the repub- lican allows, to the saving of his country and the lasting profit of mankind. Doubtless he shows the argument in action, and points the moral only in an epilogue. But living, as we do, after the politicians of so many ages and so many parties have laid competing claims to the glory of his chiefs, this is our gain. Brutus and Cato, heroes of the Renaissance and gods of liberty a hundred years ago, we are told by eminent historians, were selfish oligarchs : bunglers who, having failed to feed the city or to flush the drains, wrote ' sulky letters *" ^ about the one man who could do these things, and govern the world into the bargain. Between these views it skills not to decide. It is enough to take up the Lives and to rejoice that Plutarch, writing one hundred and fifty years after the foundering of the Republic, dwelt rather on its heroes who are for ever g-lorious than on its theories which were for ever shamed. In his book are three complete plays : the brief tragedy ^ Mommsen : he uses the phrase of Cicero. xxxviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES of Athens — that land of ' honey and hemlock,'' offering her cup I NTRO- of sweet and deadly elements to the dreamers of every age; DUCTION with the drama of the merging of Greece in the dominion of Rome and the drama of the overthrow of the Roman Republic. And the upshot of all three is that the playwright The Moral of insists on the culture of the individual for the sake of the *^.® Parallel State. The political teacher behind the political dramatist ^^^* inculcates, no theory of politics but, an attitude towards life. Good is the child of custom and conflict, not the reward of individual research ; so he shows you life as one battle in which the armies are ordered States. Every man, therefore, must needs be a citizen, and every citizen a soldier in the ranks. For this service, life being a battle, he must culti- vate the soldier's virtues of courage and courtesy. The word is North's, and smacks something more of chivalry than Amyofs humanite; yet both may be taken to point Plutarch's moral, not only that victory is impossible without kindness between comrades, and intolerable without forbear- ance between foes, but also, that in every age of man's progress to perfection through strife these qualities must be developed to a larger growth measured by the moral needs of war between nations and parties. He insists again and again on this need of courtesy in a world wherein all men are in Courtesy in duty bound to hold opposite opinions, for which they must Victory in honour live and die. For this his Sertorius, his Lucullus, and his Mummius, sketched in a passing allusion, are chiefly memorable ; while of Caesar he writes that ' amongst other * honours ' his enemies gave him ' he rightly deserved this, ' that they should build him a Temple of Clemency.' Caesar, lighting from his horse to embrace Cicero, the arch-instigator of the opposition he had overthrown, and walking with him * a great way a-foot ' ; or Demetrius, who, the Athenians having defaulted, gathers them into the theatre, and then, when they expect a massacre, forgives them in a speech — these are but two exemplars of a style which Plutarch ever praises. And if his standard of courtesy in victory be high, not lower is his standard of courage in defeat. Demosthenes and Courage is condemned for that ' he took his banishment unmanly,' i" Defeat while Phocion, his rival, is made glorious for his irony in xxxix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- death : paying, when the stock ran out, for his own hemlock, DUCTION ' sith a man cannot die at Athens for nothing.' In defeat Plutarch''s heroes sometimes doubted if Hfe were worth hving ; but they never doubted there were things in Hfe worth dying for. Even Demosthenes is redeemed in his eyes because, at the last, ' sith the god Neptune denied him the benefit of ' his sanctuary, he betook him to a greater, and that was ' Death.'' So often does Plutarch applaud the act of suicide, and so scornfully does he revile those who, like the last king of Macedon, forewent their opportunity, that we might easily misconceive his ethics. But ' when a man will willingly kill ' himself, he must not do it to be rid of pains and laboui', ' but it must have an honourable respect and action. For, ' to live or die for his own respect, that cannot but be dis- ' honourable. . . . And therefore I am of opinion that we ' should not yet cast off the hope we have to serve our ' country in time to come ; but when all hope faileth us, *• then we may easily make ourselves away when we list.' Thus, after Selasia, the last of the kings of Sparta, who re- called the saying of Lycurgus : that, with ' great personages ' . . . the end of their life should be no more idle and un- ' profitable then the rest of their life before." And this is the pith of Plutarch's political matter : that men may not with honour live unto themselves, but must rather live and die m respect to the State. Moralist or Painter .'' Plutarch's Art II Side by side, and in equal honour, with Plutarch the dramatist of politics there should stand, I think — not Plutarch the moralist but — Plutarch the unrivalled painter of men. Much has been written, and rightly written, of his perennial influence upon human character and human con- duct ; yet outside the ethics of citizenship he insisted on little that is not now a platitude. The interest of his morals springs from their likeness to our own ; the wonder of his portraitures must ever be new and strange. Indeed, we may speak of his art much as he writes, through North, of the ' stately and ' sumptuous buildings ' which Pericles ' gave to be built in xl GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' the cittie of Athens.' For ' it looketh at this daye as if it INTRO- ' were but newly done and finished, there is such a certainc DUCTION ' kynde of florishing freshnes in it, which letteth that the ' injurie of time cannot impaire the sight thereof: as if ' every one of those foresaid workes had some living spirite ' in it, to make it seeme young and freshe : and a soul that ' lived ever, which kept them in good continuing state/ Yet despite this 'florishing freshnes' the painter has been slighted for the preacher, and for this preference of the ethical before the aesthetic element in the Lives, and of both before their political quality, Plutarch has mostly himself to thank. Just as he masks a political framework under a professed His Profes- devotion to the study of individual souls, so, when he comes sion not Con- to the study of these souls, he puts you off by declaring v-^^^p*aSce a moral aim in language that may easily mislead. ' When ' first I began these lives,' he writes in the Paulus jEmilius, ' my intent was to profit other : but since, continuing and ' going on, I have much profited myself by looking into these ' histories, as if I looked into a glasse, to frame and facion ' my life, to the moold and patterne of these vertuous noble ' men, and doe as it were lodge them with me, one after ' another.' And again, ' by keeping allwayes in minde the ' acts of the most noble, vertuous and best geven men of former * age ... I doe teache and prepare my selfe to shake of and ' banishe from me, all lewde and dishonest condition, if by ' chaunce the companie and conversation of them whose com- ' panic I keepe . . . doe acquaint me with some unhapjne or ' ungratious touche.'' Now, as matter of fact, he does not keep always in mind these, and these only. Doubtless his aim was moral; yet assuredly he never did pursue it by denoting none save the virtuous acts of the ' most noble, ' vertuous, and best geven men.' On the contrary, his practice is to record their every act of significance, whether good or bad. I admit that he does this ever with a most happy and most gracious touch ; for his ' first study ' is to write a good man's ' vertues at large,' and if ' certaine faultes ' be there, ' to pass them over lightly 0/ reverent shame to the mere '' frayclty of marl's nature.''^ He lays the ruin of his ^ Preface to the Cimon and Luaillus. f xU LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- country at the door of Aratus alone; but 'this,"* he adds, DUCTION i ^i^jj^ ^yg have written of Aratus ... is not so much to ' accuse him as to make us see the frayelty and weakness of ' man's nature : the which, though it have never so excellent ' vertues, cannot yet bring forth such perfit frute, but that ' it hath ever some mayme and blemishe.' ^ That is his wont in portraying the ill deeds of the virtuous ; and, for their opposites, ' as I hope,' he writes in the preface to the Deme- trius and A ntonius, ' it shall not be reprehended in me if ' amongst the rest I put in one or two paier of suche, as ' living in great place and accompt, have increased their fame ' with infamy.' ' Phisicke,' he submits in defence of such a choice, ' dealeth Avith diseases, musicke with discordes, to ' thend to remove them, and worke their contraries, and the ' great Ladies of all other artes (Amyot : les plus parjaittes ' sciences de toutes\ Temperaunce, Justice, and Wisdom, doe ' not onely consider honestie, uprightness and profit : but ' examine withall, the nature and effects of lewdness, corrup- ' tion and damage ' ; for ' innocencie,' he goes on, ' which ' vaunteth her want of experience in undue practices : men ' call simplicitie (Amyot : uiie bestise) and ignoraunce of ' things that be necessary and good to be knowen.' His, then, is a moral standpoint ; and yet it is one from which he is impelled to study — (and that as closely as the keenest apostle of ' art for art ') — all matters having truth and significance ; whether they be evil or good. For the sake of what is good, he will neither distort truth nor disfigure beauty. Rather, by the exercise of a fine selection, he will create a harmony between the three ; so that, embracing everything except the trivial, his art reflects the world as it shows in the sight of sane and healthy-hearted men. His method naturally differs from the method of some His Canon of modern historians ; but his canon of evidence, too lax for Evidence their purpose, is admirably suited to his own. For instance, in telling of Solon's meeting with Croesus, he will not reject so famous an history on chronological grounds : because, in the first place, no two are agreed about chronology, and in the second, the story is ' very agreeable to Solon's manners * Agis and Cleomenes. xlii GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' and nature."* That is his chief canon ; and though the INTRO- results he attains by it are in no wise doubt-proof, they DUCTION yield a truer, because a completer, image than do the lean and defective outlines determined by excluding all but con- temporaiy evidence. These outlines belong rather to the science of anthropometry than to the art of portraiture ; and Plutarch the painter refuses such restraints. His ima- gination having taken the imprint of his hero, he will sup- plement it from impressions left in report and legend, so long, at any rate, as they tally with his own ideal. Nor is there better cause for rejecting such impressions than there is for rejecting the fossils of primeval reptiles whose carnal economy has perished. Given those fossils and a know- ledge of morphology, the palaeontologist will refashion the dragons of the prime ; and in the same way Plutarch, out of tradition and his knowledge of mankind, paints you the true Themistocles. His, indeed, is the surer warrant, since there have been no such changes in human nature as science shows in animal design ; so that the method is safe so long as a nation's legends have not been crushed out of shape by the superincumbent layers of a conquering race. Moreover, Plutarch makes no wanton use of his imagination : give him contemporary evidence, and he abides by it, rejecting all besides. In his account of Alexander's death, having the court journal before him, he repudiates later embellishments : ' for all these were thought to be written by some, for lyes ' and fables, because they would have made the ende of this ' great tragedie lamentable and pitifull.'' His results are, of course, unequal. He cannot always His Results revive the past, nor quicken the dead anew. Who can ? His gallery includes some pieces done on a faded conven- tion, faint in colour and angular in line, mere pretexts for a parade of legendary names : with certain sketches, as those of Cimon and Aristides, which are hack-work turned out to complete a pair. But first and last there stand out six or seven realisations of living men, set in an atmosphere, charged with a vivid intensity of expression, and striking you in much the same way as the sight of a few people scattered through a big room strikes you when you enter unawares. xliii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- And when you have done staring at these, you will note a DUCTION half-dozen more which are scarce less vigorously detached. The Plutarch''s first masterpiece is the Themistodes, and there Themistocles jg never a touch in it but tells. Even as you watch him at work, you are conscious, leaping out from beneath his hand, of the ambitious boy, ' sodainely taken with desire ' of glorie,' who, from his first entry into public life, ' stoode ' at pyke with the greatest and mightiest personnes/ But you soon forget the artist in his creation. You have eyes for nothing but Themistocles himself: now walking with his father by the seashore; now, after Marathon, 'a very ' young man many times solitary alone devising with him- ' self — in this way passing his boyhood, for ^ Miltiades ' victory would not let Mm sleep.'' Then the ambitious boy ' develops into the political artist ; rivals Aristides, as Fox rivalled Pitt ; and is found loving his art for its own sake, above his country, above his ambition even, wrapt as he is, through good fortune and ill, in the expert's delight in his own accomplishment. Knowing what all men should do, and swaying every several man to do it, he controls both individuals and nations with the inspired prescience of a master conducting his own symphony. He has all the devices at his fingers'' ends. In the streets he will ' speake ' to every citizen by his name, no man telling him their ' names'" :, and in the council he will manage even Eury- biades, with that ' Strike an thou wilt, so thou wilt heare ' me,"* which has been one of the world's words since its utterance. Now with ' pleasaunt conceits and answers,' now — with a large poetic appeal — ' pointing "" his countrymen ' the ' waye unto the sea ' ; this day, deceiving his friends, the next overawing his enemies ; with effi-ontery or chicane, with good-fellowship or reserve ; but ever with infinite dexterity, a courage that never falters, and a patience that never wearies : he keeps the shuttle of his thought quick-flying through the web of intrigue. And all for the fun of weaving ! Till, at the last, a banished man, being com- manded by his Persian master to fight against Greece, ' he ' tooke a wise resolution with himselfe, to make suche an ' ende of his life, as the fame thereof deserved.' After xliv GRECIANS AND ROMANES sacrificing to the gods, and feasting his friends, he drank INTRjO- poison, 'and so ended his dayes in the cittie of Magnesia, DUCTION ' after he had lived threescore and five yeres, and the ' most parte of them allwayes in office and great charge.' Plutarch produces this notable piece, not by comment and analysis but, simply by setting down his sitter's acts and words. It is in the same way that he paints his Alcibiades, The with his beauty and his lisp: 'the grace of his eloquence, -4/c?6jarfe* ' the strength and valiantness of his bodie ... his wis- ' dom and experience in marshall aft'ayres ' ; and again, \vith his insolence and criminal folly to the women who loved him as to the nations he betrayed. He fought, like the Cid, now for and now against his own. But 'he ' had such pleasaunt comely devises with him that no man ' was of so sullen a nature, but he left him merrie, nor so ' churlishe, but he would make him gentle."" And when he died, they felt that their country died with him ; for they ' had some little poore hope left that they were not altogether ' cast away so long as Alcibiades lived.' In the first rank of Plutarch's masterpieces come, with these two, the Mar ins, the Cato, the Alexander, the Deme- trius, the Antonius, and the Pompey. Modern writers have again and again repainted some of these portraits ; but their colour has all been borrowed from Plutarch. These heroes live for all time in the Parallel Lives. There you shall learn the fashion of their faces, and the tricks of their speech ; their seat on horseback and the cut of their clothes ; with every tone and every gesture, all the charms and all the foibles that made them the men they were. Marcus Cato is what we call The Marcus a ' character.' He hated doctors and, no doubt, schoolmasters; ^"'<> for did he not educate his own son, writing for him ' goodly ' histories, in great letters with Ms oune hande ' ? He taught the boy grammar and law, ' to throw a dart, to play at the ' sword, to vawt, to ride a horse, and to handle all sortes of ' weapons, ... to fight with fistes, to abide colde and ' heate, and to swimme over a swift runninge river.' A ' new man ' from a little village, his ideal was Manius Curius sitting 'by the fyer's side seething of perseneapes,' and he tried to educate everybody on the same lines. Being xlv LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION The Alexander Magnus Censor, he would proceed by way of imprisonment ; but at all times he was ready to instruct with apothegms and ' wise ' sayings,"" and ' he would taunte a marvelous fatte man ' thus : ' See, sayd he, what good can such a body do to the ' commonwealth, that from his chine to his coddepece is ' nothing but belly ? ' This is but one of many ' wise sayings ' reported of him, whereby ' we may the easilier conjecture his ' maners and nature.' ^ Even the Alexander seems a new thing still ; so clear is the colouring, so vigorous and expressive the pose. ' Naturally,"" you read, ' he had a very fayre white ' colour, mingled also with red,"" and ' his body had so sweete ' a smell of itself, that all the apparell he wore next unto his ' body took thereof a passing delightful savor, as if it had ' been perfumed."" This was his idea of a holiday : ' After ' he was up in the morning, first of all he would doe sacrifice ' to the goddes, and then would goe to diner, passing awaie ' all the rest of the daye, in hunting, writing something, ' taking up some quan'ell between soldiers, or els in studying. ' If he went any journey of no hastie busines, he would ' exercise himselfe by the waie as he went, shooting in his ' bowe, or learning to get up or out of his chaiTet sodenly, ' as it ranne. Oftentimes also for his pastime he would hvmt ' the foxe, or ketch birdes, as appeareth in his booke of ' remembrances for everie daie. Then when he came to his ' lodging, he would enter into his bath and rubbe and nointe ' himselfe : and would aske his pantelers and carvers if his ' supper were ready. He would ever suppe late, and was ' very curious to see, that every man at his bourde were a ' like served, and would sit longe at the table, bycause he ' ever loved to talke."" But take him at his work of leading others to the uttermost parts of the earth. Being parched with thirst, in the desert, ' he tooke the helmet with water, ' and perceiving that the men of amies that were about him, ' and had followed him, did thrust out their neckes to look ' upon this water, he gave the water back againe unto them ' that had geven it him, and thanked them but drank none ' of it. For, said he, if' I drink alone all tliese men here will ^ Plutarch's Cato is accepted bodily by Mommsen for a typical ' Roman ' burgess.' History of Rome, vol. ii. pp. 429-432. xlvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES ^Jhint.'' What a touch ! And what wonder if his men INTRO- ' beganne to spurre their horses, saying that they were DUCTION * not wearie nor athirst, nor did think tliernselves mortally * so long as they had such a king '' ! There is more of self- restraint in Pkitarch's portrait than appears in later copies. Alexander passes by the ladies of Persia ' without any sparke * of affection towardes them . . . preferring the beautie * of his continencie, before their swete faire faces/ But he was ever lavish of valour, loving ' his honour more then * his kingdome or his life ' ; and it is with a ' marvelous faier * white plume ' in his helmet that he plunges first into the river at Granicus, and single-handed engages the army on the further bank. Centuries later at Ivry, Henri-Quatre, who learned Plutarch at his mother's knee, forgot neither the feather nor the act. But the dead Alexander never lacked understudies. All the kings, his successors, ' did but ' counterfeate ' him ' in his purple garments, and in numbers ' of souldiers and gardes about their persones, and in a certaine * facion and bowing of their neckes a little, and in uttering ' his speech with a high voyce."' One of them is Demetrius, The ' the Fort-gainer," with ' his wit and manners . . . that were Demetrius ' both fearefull and pleasaunt unto men that frequented him*"; his ' sweete countenance . . . and incomparable majestic '; ' more wantonly geven to follow any lust and pleasure than ' any king that ever was ; yet alwayes very careful and ' diligent in dispatching matters of importance.'' A leader of forlorn hopes and lewd masquerades, juggling with king- doms as a mountebank with knives ; the lover of innumer- able queens and the taker of a thousand towns ; in his defeat, 'not like unto a king, but like a common player ' when the play is done ' ; drinking himself to death for that he found ' it was that maner of life he had long desired "" — this Poliorcetes, I say, has furnished Plutarch with the matter for yet another masterpiece, which indeed is one of the greater feats in romantic realism. Of the Antonius with his ' Asiatic phrase," it is enough to say that it is Shakespeare's Antony ; and at the Pompey I have already glanced. The Coesar is only less wonderful The Ctesar than these because the man is lost in the leader. Julius xlvii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- travels so fast, that you catch but ghmpses as he races in DUCTION liis litter through the night; ever dictating to his secre- taries, and writing by the way. But now and again you see him plainly — 'leane, white and soft-skinned, and often 'subject to head-ache''; filling his soldiers with awe, not ' at his valiantnesse at putting himself at every instant in ' such manifest danger, since they knew 'twas his greedy ' desire of honor that set him a fire' . . . but because he ' continued all labour and hardnesse more than his bodie ' could beare/ A strange ruler of the world, this epileptic, ' fighting always with his disease ' ! He amazes friends and enemies by the swiftness of his movements, while Pompey journeys as in state from land to land". Pompey was of plebeian extraction, Julius was born into one of the sixteen surviving patrician gentes ; yet Julius burns with the blast- ing heat of a new man's endeavour, Pompey as with the banked fires of hereditary self-esteem. And through all the commotion and the coil he is still mindful of the day of his youth ' when he had been acquainted with Servilia, who was ' extreamilie in love with him. And because Brutus was ' boorne in that time when their love was hottest he per- ' suaded himself that he begat him.'^ What of anguish does this not add to the sweep of the gesture wherewith the hero covered his face from the pedant's sword ! With the Cassar The Sulla may stand the Marius, and the Sylla : Sulla the lucky man, filix^ Epaphroditus, beloved of all women and the victor in every fight, who ' when he was in his chiefest authoritie would ' commonly eate and drinke with the most impudent j casters ' and scoffers, and all such rake helles, as made profession ' of counterfeate mirth.' He laughed his way to complete political success; he was fortunate even in the weather for his funeral ; and, as he epitaphed himself, ' no man did ever passe ' him, neither in doing good to his friends, nor in doing mis- The Lucullus ' chief to his enemies.' Plutarch's Lucullus, being young and ambitious, marches further into the unknown East than any Roman had ventured. He fords the river on foot with the countless hosts of Tigranes on the farther shore, ' himselfe the ' foremost man,' and marches ' directly towardes his enemy, ^ Brutus. xlviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES 'armed with an "anima" of Steele, made with scalloppe INTRO- ' shelles, shining like the sunne/ He urges on through DUCTION summer and winter, till the rivers are ' congealed with ice,"" so that no man can ' passe over by forde : for they did no ' sooner enter but the ise brake and cut the vaines and * sinews of the horse legges.' His men murmur, but he presses on : till ' the country being full of trees, woddes ' and forestes,"* they are ' through wet with the snow that ' fell upon them,"* and at last they mutiny and flatly refuse to take another step into the unknown. This is a Lucullus we forget. Plutarch gives the other one as well, and the two together make for him ' an auncient comedy ,"* the beginning whereof is tedious, but the latter end — with its ' feasts and ' bankets,"" ' masks and mummeries,' and ' dauncing with ' torches,"* its ' fine built chambers and high raised turrets ' to gaze a farre, environed about with conduits of water "* ; its superlative cook, too, and its ' library ever open to all ' comers'* — is a matter to rejoice the heart of man. Crassus and Cicero complete his group of second-bests : Cicero ' dogge ieane,"* and ' a little eater,** ' so earnest and vehement ' in his oration that he mounted still with his voyce into the ' highest tunes : insomuch that men were affrayed it would ' one day put him in hazard of his life.' Here I may pause to Oratory note that Plutarch's references to public speaking are all ob- served. He writes from experience, and you might compile a manual of the art from him. Well did he know the danger of fluent earnestness. His Caius Gracchus ' had a servant * . , . who, with an instrument of musicke he had . . . ever ' stoode behind him ; and when he perceived his Maistcr"'s ' voyce was a little too lowde, and that through choller he ' exceeded his ordinary speache, he played a soft stoppe be- ' hind him, at the sonde whereof Caius immediately fell from ' his extreamitie and easilie came to himself againe."* Thus, too, his Demosthenes and Cicero sets forth full instructions for removing every other blemish of delivery.^ The painter of incident is scarce less great than the The Painter painter of men. Plutarch''s picture of Cicero is completed of Incident by a presentment of his death, in which the artist'*s imagi- ^ See also his account of the several manners of Cleon and Pericles. g xlix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION and his Devices nation rises to its full height. Hunted down by Antony's swordcrs, the orator is overtaken at night in a by-lane ; Baclcgrounds Restraint Instancy Peculiar Alaaric he stretches out his head from the litter to look his murderers in the face ; and ' his head and his beard ' being all white, and his face leane and wrinckled, for ' the extreame sorrowes he had taken, divers of them that ' were by held their handes before their eyes, whilest Heren- * nius did cruelly murder him."* Then the head was set up by Antony ' over the pulpit for orations,** and ' this was a ' fearefull and horrible sight unto the Romanes, who thought ' they saw not Ciceroes face, hut an image of Antonius life * and dispositions "" (Amyot : une image de Vame et de la nature d' Antonius). This gift, at times almost appalling, of imaginative presentment, is the distinctive note of Plutarch''s art. He uses it freely in his backgrounds, which are ani- mated as are those in certain pictures of a bygone mode ; so that behind his heroes armies engage, fleets are sunk, towns are sacked, and citadels escaladed. Sometimes his effect is produced by a rare restraint. In the Alcibiades, for instance, he tells how the Sicilian expedition was mooted which was to ruin both the hero and his country ; and, as Carlyle might have done, at the corner of every street he shows you the groups of young men bragging of victory, and drawing plans of Syracuse in the dust. Sometimes the touch of terror is more immediate. Take his description of the Teutons fi;om the Marius. Their voices were 'wonderful both straunge ' and beastly ' ; so Marius kept his men close till they should grow accustomed to such dreadful foes. Meanwhile the Teutons ' were passing by his campe six dayes continually * together ** : ' they came raking by,' and ' marching all to- ' gether in good array ; making a noyse with their harness ' all after one sorte, they oft rehearsed their own name, ^ Ambrons, Ambrons, Ambrons'' ; and the Romans watched them, listening to the monotonous, unhuman call. Here and elsewhere Plutarch conveys, with a peculiar magic, the sense of great bodies of men and of the movements thereof. Now and then he secures his end by reporting a word or two from those that are spying upon others from afar. This is how he gives the space and silence that precede a GRECIANS AND ROMANES battle. Tigranes, with his innumerable host, is watching INTRO- Lucullus and the Romans, far away on the farther shore DUCT I ON of the river. ' They seemed but a handful,"* and kept ' following the streame to meete with some forde. . . . ' Tigranes thought they had marched away, and called Tigranes and ' for Taxiles, and sayd unto him, laughing : " Dost thou LucuUus ' " see, Taxiles, those goodly Roman legyons, whom thou ' " praisest to be men so invincible, how they flie away now ? ''"' ' Taxiles answered the king againe : " I would your good ' " fortune (O king) might work some miracle this day : for ' " doubtless it were a straunge thing that the Romanes ' " should flie. They are not wont to wear their brave cotes ' " and furnitm-e uppon their armour, when they meane onely ' " but to marche in the fieldes : neither do they carie their ' " shieldes and targets vmcased, nor their burganets bare ' " on their heades, as they do at this present, having throwen ' " away their leather cases and coveringes. But out of ' " douiit, this goodly furniture we see so bright and giitter- ' " i7ig in our Jhces, is a manifest sign that they intend to ' " fight, and that they marche towardes us." Taxiles had ' no sooner spoken these loorcles, but Liicidhis^ in tlie vieio ' of his enernies, made his ensign bearer to turne sodainely ' that carried the Jirst Eagle, and the bands tooke their ' places to passe the river in order of battell.'' The propor- tion of the two armies, and the space between ; the sun flashing on the distant shields ; the long suspense ; the king's laugh breaking the silence, which yet gi'ows tenser, till suddenly the Romans wheel into line : in truth, they have been few between Plutarch and Tolstoi to give the scale and perspective of battles by observing such proportion in their art ! Here LucuUus and a handful of Romans, like Clive and his Englishmen, overthrew a nation in arms ; elsewhere Plutarch gives the other chance, and renders with touches equally subtle and direct the deepening nightmare of Crassus' march into the desert. He tells of Crassus in the Parthian 'kettle di'ommes, hollow within,"" and hung Parthia about with ' little bells and copper rings,"* with which ' they ' all made a noise everywhere together, and it is like a dead ' sounde.' Does it not recall the Aztec war-drums on the li LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- Noche Triste ? Intent, too, on creating his impression of DUCT I ON terror, this rare artist proceeds from the sense of hearing to the sense of sight. ' The Romanes being put in feare with this ' dead sounde, the Parthians straight threw the clothes and ' coverings from them that hid their armour, and then ' showed their bright helmets and cui'aces of Margian ' tempered steele, that glared like fire ; and their horses ' barbed with steele and copper.' They canter round and round the wretched enemy, shooting their shafts as they go ; and the ammunition never fails, for camels come up ' loden with quivers full of arrowes.' The Romans are shot through one by one ; and when Crassus ' prayed and be- ' sought them to charge . . . they showed him their handes ' fast nailed to their targets with arrowes, and their feete ' likewise shot thorow and nailed to the ground : so as they ' could neither flie, nor yet defende themselves.' Thus they died, one before the other, ' a cruell lingring death, crying ' out for anguish and paine they felt ' ; and ' turning and ' tormenting themselves upon the sande, they broke the ' arrowes sticking in them."* The realism of it ! And the pathos of Crassus' speech, when his son's head is shown to him, which ' killed the Romanes hartes ' ! ' The grief and sorrow ' of this losse (my fellowes),' said he, ' is no man's but mine, ' mine only ; but the noble successe and honor of Rome ' remaineth still invincible, so long as you are yet living.' After these two pictures of confidence and defeat I should After Pydna like to give that one of the Romans after Pydna, where Paulus ^milius was thought to have lost his son. It is a wonderful resurrection of departed life. There are the groups round the camp-fires ; the sudden clustering of torches towards the one dark and silent tent ; and then the busy lights crossing and recrossing, and scattering over the field. You hear first the droning songs of the tired and happy soldiers ; then silence ; then cries of anxiety and mournful echoes ; then, of a sudden, comes the reappearance, ' all ' bloudied with new bloude like the swift-running grey ' hound fleshed with the bloude of the hare,' of him, the missing youth, ' that Scipio which afterwards destroyed * both the citties of Carthage and Numantium.' hi GRECIANS AND ROMANES It is hard to analyse the art, for the means employed are INTRO- of the simplest ; yet it is certain that they do recall to such DUCTION as have known, and that they must suggest to others who have not, those sights and sounds and sensations which combine into a special enchantment about the time of the fall of darkness upon bodies of men who have drunk excite- ment and borne toil together in the day. How intense, too, the flash of imagination with which the coming Afri- canus is projected on the canvas ! And the book abounds in such lightning impressions. Thus, Hannibal cracks a soldier"'s joke before Cannae ; he pitches the quip into his Hannibal's host, like a pebble into the pond ; and the broken still- "^^^^ ness ripples away down all the ranks in widening rings of laughter.^ Sometimes the sketch is even slighter, and is yet convincing : as when the elder Scipio, being attacked by Cato for his extravagant administration, declares his ' intent to go to the wars with full sayles.'' These are not chance effects but masterstrokes of imagination ; yet that imagination, vivid and vivifying as it is, never leads Plu- tarch to attempt the impossible. He remains the supreme artist, and is content with suggesting — what is incapable of representation — that sense of the portentous, the over- powering, which is apparent immediately before, or im- mediately behind, some notable conjunction. Alexander Alexander at sounds the charge which is to change the fortunes of the Arbela world, and Arbela is rendered in a few lines. But up till the instant of his sounding it, you are told of his every act. Plutarch, proceeding as leisurely as his hero, creates suspense out of delay. You are told that Alexander slept soundly far into the morning, and that he was called three times. You are told how carefully he dressed, and of each article of armour and apparel he put on : his ' Sicilian ' cassocke,"* his ' brigandine of many foldes of canvas,' ' his * head peece bright as silver,' and ' his coller sute like to ' the same all set full of precious stones."" The battle has begun between the outposts, and he is still riding down the lines on a hack : ' to spare Bucephal, because he was ' then somewhat olde.' He mounted the great horse ' always ^ Fabius Maxinius. liii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION Suspense out of Delay After the Rubicon Leuctra ' at the last moment ; and as soone as he was gotten up on ' his backe, the trumpet sounded, and he gave charge.' To- day it is made to seem as if that moment would never come ; but at the last all things being ready, ' he tooke his launce ' in his left hande and, holding up his right hande unto ' heaven, besought the goddes . . . that if it were true, he ' was begotten of Jupiter, it would please them that day ' to helpe him and to incorage the Graecians. The sooth- ' sayer Aristander was then a-horsebacke hard by Alex- * ander apparelled all in white, and a croune of gold on ' his head, who shewed Alexander when he made his ' prayer, an Eagle flying over his head, and pointing ' directly towards his enemies. This marvellously en- ' couraged all the armie that saw it, and with this joy, * the men of armes of Alexander's side, encouraging one * another, did set spurres to their horse to charge upon the ' enemies.' Until the heroic instant you are compelled to note the hero's every deliberate movement. He and the little group of gleaming figures about him are the merest specks in the plain before the Macedonian army, itself but a handful in comparison to the embattled nations in front. The art is perfect in these flash-pictures of great moments in time : in the Athenians map-drawing in the dust, in the Romans watching the Ambrons raking by, in Tigranes' laugh, in Hannibal's joke, in Alexander's supreme gesture ; and how instant in each the imaginative suggestion of drag- ging hours before rapid and irreparable events ! Equally potent are the effects which Plutarch contrives by revealing all the consequences of a disaster in some swift, far-reach- ing glimpse. Thus, when Caesar crossed the Rubicon, ' Rome itself was filled up with the flowing repaire of all ' the people who came thither like droves of cattell.'' And thus does Sparta receive the news of her annihilation : — ' At ' that time there was by chance a common feast day in the ' citie . . . when as the messenger arrived that brought the * news of the battell lost at Leuctres. The Ephori knowing ' then that the rumor ranne all about ; that they were all * undone, and how they had lost the signorie and com- ' maundement over all Grece : would not suffer them for liv GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' all this to breake off tiieir daunce in the Theater, nor the INTRO- ' citie in anything to chaunge the forme of their feast, but DUCTION * sent unto the parentes to everie man"'s house, to let them ' understande the names of them that were slaine at the ' battell, they themselves remaining still in the Theater to ' see the daunces and sportes continued, to judge who ' carried the best games away. The next morning when ' everie man knew the number of them that were slaine, and ' of those also that escaped : the parentes and frendes of ' them that were dead, met in the market place, looking ' cheerfully of the matter, and one of them embraced ' another. On thother side the parentes of them that ' scaped, kept their houses with their wives, as folk that ' mourned. . . . The mothers of them, that kept their ' sonnes which came from the battell, were sad and sorrow- ' full, and spake not a word. Contrairily, the mothers of ' them that were slaine, wcmt friendly to visite one another, ' to rejoyce together.'' ^ There is no word of the fight. As Thackeray gives you Waterloo in a picture of Brussels, so Plutarch gives you Leuctra, and with more of beauty and pathos, in a picture of Sparta. Of the Roman defeat at Cannae and Cannae there is a full and wonderful account ; but what an After effective touch is added when ' the Consul Terentius Varro ' returning backe to Rome, with the shame of his extreame ' misfortune and overthrowe, that he durste not looke upon ' any man : the Senate notwithstanding, and all the peoj)le ^Jbllowing them, tvent to the gates of the cittie to mecte Mm, ' and dyd honourably receyve him '' ! In these passages Plutarch, following the course of Greek His Choice tragedy, and keeping the action off the stage, gives the of Occasions reverberation and not the shock of fate ; but in many others the stark reality of his painting is its own sufficient charm. He abounds in unfamiliar aspects of familiar places : places he invests with (as it were) the magic born of a wan- dering son''s return. Here is his Athens in her decrepitude. 'The poore citie of Athens which had escaped from so ' many warres, tyrannies and civil dissensions,"' is now besieged by Sulla without, and oppressed by the tyrant ^ Agesilaus. Iv INTRO DUCTION Sulla before Athens Marcellus before Syracuse Breathless Moments LIVES OF THE NOBLE Aristion within ; and in his presentment of her condition there is, surely, a foreshadowing of those dark ages when historic sites became the scenes of new tragedies that were merely brutal and insignificant. At Athens ' men were driven * for famine to eate feverfew that grew about the castell ' ; also, they ' caused old shoes and old oyle pots to be sodden ' to deliver some savor unto that which they did eate,"* Meanwhile 'the tyrant himselfe did nothing all day long ' but cramme in meat, drinke dronke, daunce, maske, scoiF ' and flowte at the enemies (suffering the holy lampe of * Minerva to go out for lacke of oyle)."" Is there not a grimness of irony about this picture of the drunken and sinister buffoon sitting camped in the Acropolis, like a toad in a ruined temple, ' magnifying the dedes of Theseus ' and insulting the priestes "* ? At last the Roman enters ' the city about midnight with a wonderfull fearefuU order, ' making a marvellous noise with a number of homes and ' sounding of trompets, and all his army with him in ' order of battell, crying, " To the sack, to the sack : ' " Kill, kill." ' ^ A companion picture is that of a Syra- cuse Thucydides never knew.^ Archimedes is her sole de- fence ; and thanks to him, the Roman ships are ' taken ' up with certaine engines fastened within one contrary to ' an other, which made them turne in the ayer like a ' whirlegigge, and so cast them upon the rockes by the ' towne walles, and splitted them all to fitters, to the ' great spoyle and murder of the persons that were within ' them."' Elsewhere the Mediterranean pirates, polite as our own highwaymen, are found inviting noble Romans to walk the plank ; ^ for Plutarch never misses a romantic touch. Some of his strongest realisations are of moments when fate hangs by a ' hair : as that breathless and de- sperate predicament of Aratus and his men on their ladders against the walls of Sicyon ; with the ' curste curres ' that would not cease from barking ; the captain of the watch ' visiting the soldiers with a little bell ' ; ' the number of 'torches and a great noyse of men that followed him'; the great greyhound kept in a little tower, which began to answer ^ Sylla. * Marcellus. ^ Pompey. Ivi GRECIANS AND ROMANES the curs at large 'with a soft girning: but when they came INTRO- ' by the tower where he lay, he barked out alowde, that all DUCTION ' the place thereabouts rang of his barking ' ; the ladders shaking and bowing ' by reason of the weight of the men, ' unless they did come up fayer and softly one after another,' till at last, ' the cocks began to crowe, and the country folke ' that brought things to the market to sell, began to come apace ' to the townie out of every quarter,'' ^ Later in the same life you have the escalading of the Acrocorinthus : when Aratus and the storming party, with their shoes off, being lost on the slopes, ' sodainely, even as it had been by miracle, ' the moone appearing through the clowdes, brought them to ' that part of the wall where they should be, and straight the ' moone was shadowed againe ' ; so they cut down the watch, but one man escaped, and ' the trompets forthwith ' sounded the alarom ... all the citie was in an uprore, ' the streets were straight full of people running up and ' downe, and of lights in every comer."" Plutarch's manage- ment of light, I should remark, is always astonishingly real ; Light in he never leaves the sun or the moon out of his picture, nor Plutarch the incidence of clouds and of the dust of battle. Thus varied his smishine leaps and wavers on distant armour, or glares at hand from Margian steel ; or his moonlight glints on a spear, and fades as the wrack races athwart the sky. It is all the work of an incomparable painter ; there is any amount of it in the Parallel Lives •^'^ and, like his portraits and his landscapes,^ it has an aesthetic value which sets it far The Value of in front of his moral reflections. For value depends, in part, his Art on supply ; and of this kind of art there is less in literature than there is of ethical disquisition. Moreover, in the Parallel Lives the proportions are reversed, and the volume ^ Aratus. ^ See the rousing of Greece in the Philopamen ; the declaration of Uberty in the Flaminius ; the squadron of the Lacedemonians at Plataea in the Aristides ; the glimpse of Philip at Chaeronea gazing at the ' Holy Band ' of Thebans all dead on the grounde ' in the Pelopidas ; the first ride of Alexander on Bucephalus in the Alexander ; the Macedonians at Pydna in the Pauhts ^milius. * See the country of the Cimbri in the Marius, and the campaigns of Lucullus and Crassus. h Ivii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION The Plutarchian World of Pliitarch''s paintinrij is very much crreater than the vokime of Plutarch's moraHties. And in addition to vokune, there is charm. His pictures have kept their ' flourishing fresh- ' ness "* untarnished through the ages ; whereas his moral say- ings, being sound, have long since been accepted, and, as I said, are grown stale. His morality is ours ; but he had an unique opportunity for depicting the politics, the person- alities, and the activity of a world which had passed away. A little earlier, and he might have laboured like Thucy- dides, but only at a part of it. A little later, and much would have perished which he has set down and saved. He paints it as a whole, and on that account is some- times slighted for a compiler of legends ; yet he had the advantage of personal contact with those legends while they were still alive ; and again and again, as you read, this contact strikes with a pleasant shock. To illustrate his argument he will refer, by the way, to the statue of The- mistocles in the Temple of Artemis ; to the effigies of Lucullus at Chaeronea ; to the buildings of Pericles in their divinely protracted youth. The house of Phocion at Melita, and the ' cellar "■ in which Demosthenes practised his oratory, were ' whole even to my time.' The descendants of the soldier who slew Epaminondas are, ' to this day," known and dis- tinguished by the name ' machceriones."' ^ On the battle- field of Chaeronea ' there was an olde oke seene in my time ' which the country men commonly called Alexander's oke, ' bicause his tent or pavilion was fastened to it.' ^ His grandfather Nicarchus had told him how the defeat of Antony relieved his natal city from a requisition for corn.^ From his other grandfather, Lamprias, he heard of a physician, his friend, who, ' being a young man desirous to ' see things,' went over Cleopatra's kitchen with one of Antony's cooks ; and there, among ' a world of diversities of ' meates,' encountered with the 'eight wild boares, rosted ' whole,' which have passed bodily into Shakespeare. This contact was rarely immediate ; but it was personal, and it is therefore quickening. At its touch a dead world lived again for Plutarch, and by his art that dead world lives for us ; ' A,^esilaus. * Alexander. ^ Aiitovius. Iviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES SO that in the Lives^ as in no other book, all antiquity, alike in INTRO- detail and in expanse, lies open and revealed to us, ' flat as to an DUCTION ' eagle"'s eye/ We may study it closely, and see it whole ; and to do so is to dispossess the mind of many illusions fostered by books of a narrower scope. Juvenal, the satirist, Juvenal and and Petronius, the arbiter of a mode, do not even pretend to Petronius show forth the whole of life ; yet from their works, and from others of a like purview, men have constructed a fanciful world of unbounded cruelty and immitigable lust. This same disproportion between premise and conclusion runs through the writing of many moderns : j ust as from the decoration of a single chamber at Pompeii there have been evoked whole cities, each in the image of a honeycomb whose cells are hipanaria. Even so some archaeologist of the future might take up an obscene gurgoyle, and transfigure Christianity to its image ! This antiquity of cruelty and lust has been evolved for censure by these, and by those for praise ; yet if Plutarch be not the most collossal, taking, and ingenious among the world's liars, we cannot choose but hold that it never existed. For, apart from the coil of politics and the clamour and romance of adventure, his book discovers us the religious and the home lives of old-time Italy and Greece ; and we find them not dissimilar from our own. We see them, it is true, with the eyes of a kindly and a moderate man. Yet he was no apologist, with a case to plead ; and if we may be sure that he was never uncharitable, we may be equally sure that he extenuated nothing. He censures freely conduct which, according to the extreme theory of ancient immorality, should scarce have excited his surprise ; and he alludes, by the way, in a score of places, to a loving-kindness, extending even to slaves and animals, of which, according to the same theory, he could have known nothing, since its very existence is denied. The State was The State and more than it is now ; but you cannot glean that the Family the Family was less, even in Sparta. Shakespeare took from Plu- tarch the love of Coriolanus for his mother, and found in it a sufficient motive for his play. But Veturia^ is by no means the only beloved mother in the Lives, nor is Corio- * Shakespeare's Volumnia. lix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- lanus the only adoring son. Epaminondas thought himself DUCTION 'most happy and blessed' because his father and mother had lived to see the victoiy he won ; ^ and Sertorius, making The Mother overtures for peace, said he had ' rather be counted the ' meanest citizen in Rome, than being a banished man to be ' called Emperor of the world,' and the ' chiefest cause . . . ' was the tender love he bare unto his mother.'^ When Antipater submitted to Alexander certain well-founded accusations against Olympiads misgovemment : ' " Loe,"" said ' he, " Antipater knoweth not, that one teare of the mothers ' " eye will wipe out tenne thousande such letters." ' ^ In face of the parting between Cratesiclea and her son Cleomenes, one may doubt if in Sparta itself the love between mother and son was more than dissembled ; for, on the eve of his sailing, ' she took Cleomenes aside into the temple of ' Neptune and imbracinge and kissinge him ; perceivinge ' that his harte yerned for sorrowe of her departure, she ' sayed unto him : " O kinge of Lacedaemon, lette no man see ' " for shame when we come out of the temple, that we have ' " wept and dishonoured Sparta."" ' Indeed, the national love of Spartans for all children born to Sparta seems to have been eked out by the fonder and the less indifferent affec- tion of each parent for his own. If in battle Henri Quatre played Alexander, in the nursery his model was Agesilaus, The Child ' who loved his children deerely : and would play with ' them in his home when they were little ones, and ride ' upon a little cocke horse or a reede, as a horseback.' * Paulus ^milius being ' appointed to make warre upon ' King Perseus, all the people dyd honorably companie him ' home unto his house, where a little girl (a daughter of his) ' called Tertia, being yet an infant, came weeping unto her ' father. He, making muche of her, asked her why she ' wept. The poore girl answered, colling him about the ' necke, and kissing him : — " Alas, father, wot you what ? ' " our Perseus is dead." She merit by it a litle wJielpe so ' called, which was her playe fillowe.'' Plutarch had lost his own dauo-hter, and he wrote a letter of consolation to his ' Coriolanus. Ix Sertorius. ^ Alexander. Agesilaus. GRECIANS AND ROMANES wife, which Montaigne gave to his wife when she was stricken INTRO- with the same sorrow : ' bien marry,"" as he says, ' de quoy la DUCTION ' fortune vous a rendu ce present si propre." ^ In the Lives he is ever most tender towards children, acknowledging the mere possibility of their loss for an ever-abiding terror. ' Novve,"' he writes in the Solon, ' we must not arme ourselves with poverty ' against the grief of losse of goodes; neither with lack of aftec- ' tion against the losse of our friendes ; neither with want of ' mariage against the death of children ; but we must be ' armed with reason against misfortune. "* Over and over again you come upon proof of the love and the compassion children had. At the triumph of the same ^milius, through three days of such magnificence as Mantegna has displayed, the eyes of Rome were all for Perseus'" children : ' when ' they sawe the poore little infants, that they knewe not the * change of their hard fortune . . . for the compassion they ' had of them, almost let the father passe without looking The Father ' upon him." Of J^milius"* own sons, one had died five days before, and the other three days survived, that triumph for which the father had been given four hundred golden diadems by the cities of Greece. But he pronounced their funeral orations himself ' in face of the whole cittie . . . not ' like a discomforted man, but like one rather that dyd com- ' forte his sorrowfuU countrymen for his mischance. He ' told them ... he ever feared Fortune, mistrusting her ' change and inconstancy, and specially in the last warre.*" But Rome had won ; and all was well, ' saving that ' Perseus yet, conquered as he is, hath this comforte left ' him : to see his children living, and that the conqueror ' iEmylius hath lost his."* This love between children and parents might be expected in any picture of any society ; yet it is conspicuous in the Parallel Lives as it is not, 1 believe, in any reconstruction of the Plutarchian world. Note, too, the passionate devotion between brothers, dis- The Brother played even by Cato of Utica,^ to the scandal of other Stoics ; and note everywhere the loyal comradeship between ' Cruserius, who translated the Lives into Latin (1561), by a strange co- incidence, mourned his daughter's loss and found consolation in his task. ^ Cato Utican. Ixi INTRO- DUCTION The Wife Animals and Slaves LIVES OF THE NOBLE husbands and wives. To Plutarch wedlock is so sacred that he is fierce in denouncing a certain political marriage as being ' cruell and tyrannicall, fitter for Sylla's time, rather ' than agreable to Pompey's nature.' ^ Perhaps the com- monest view of antique morality is that which accepts a family not unlike the family we know, but at the same time denies the ancients all consideration for their domestic animals and slaves. This tendency, it is thought, is a pro- duct of Christianity ; and the example of the elder Cato is sometimes quoted in proof of the view. But in Plutarch*'s Cato, the Roman's habit of selling his worn-out slaves is given for an oddity, for the exceptional practice of an eccentric old man ; and Plutarch takes the occasion to expound his own feeling. ' There is no reason,' he writes, ' to use livinge ' and sensible thinges as we would use an old shooe or a ' ragge : to cast it out upon the dongehill when we have ' worn it and it can serve us no longer. For if it were for no ' respect els but to use us alwayes to humanitie, we must ever ' showe ourselves kinde and gentle, even in such small poyntes ' of pitie. And as for me, I coulde never finde in my heart to ' sell my drawt oxe that hadde ploughed my land a long time, ' bicause he coulde plowe no longer for age.' Here we have a higher standard of humanity than obtains in living England, and it is a mistake to suppose, as some have done, that it was peculiar to Plutarch. On the contrary, his book is alive with illustrations of the same consideration for domestic pets and beasts of service. A mule employed in building a temple at Athens, used to ' come of herselfe to ' the place of labour ' : a docility, ' which the people liked so ' well in the poore beast, that they appointed she shoulde be ' kept whilest she lived, at the charge of the town.' How many corporations, I wonder, would lay a like load on the rates to-day ? In a score of passages is evidence of the belief that ' gentleness goeth farther than justice.' ^ When the Athenians depart from Attica, the most heartrending picture is of the animals they leave deserted on the sea-coast. ' There was besides a certen pittie that made men's harts to ' yerne, when they saw the poore doggs, beasts, and cattell ^ Pompey. ^ Cato. Ixii GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' ronne up and dounc bleating, mouing, and howling out INTRO- ' alowde after their masters in token of sorrow when they DUCTION ' dyd imbark.'' Xantippus' dog, ' that swam after them to ' Salamis and dyed presently,' is there interred ; and ' they ' saye at this daye the place called the Doggs Grave is the ' very place where he was buried.' ^ With like honour the mares of Cimon, who was fond of racing, are buried at his side. Indeed, the ancients, far from being callous, were, as some would now think, over-sentimental about their horses and dogs. Having no slaves of our own, it is easy for us to denounce slave-owning. But this is noteworthy : that while Plutarch, the ancient, in dealing with the revolt of Spartacus and his fellow-slaves, speaks only of ' the wickedness of their ' master,' and pities their hard lot, North, the modern, dubs them ' rebellious rascalls^ ^ without a word of warrant either in the nearer French or in the remoter Greek. It is, indeed, far easier to pick up points of resemblance Plutarch's than to discover material differences between the social life ^V'orld and depicted by Plutarch and our own ; and the likeness extends '^'"^ even to those half- shades of feeling and illogical sentiment which often seem peculiar to a generation. To turn from contemporary life to the Parallel Lives, is to find everywhere the same natural but inconsequent deference to birth amid democratic institutions ; ^ the same belief that women have recently won a freedom unknown to their grandmothers ; the same self-satisfaction in new developments of culture ; the same despair over the effects of culture on a pristine morality. There are even iiTesistible appeals to the good old days. Numa, for instance, ' enured women to speak little by for- ' bidding them to speak at all except in the presence of their ' husbands,' and with such success, that a woman ' chauncing ' one daye to pleade her cause in persone before the judges ' the Senate hearing of it, did send immediately unto the ' oracle of Apollo, to know what that did prognosticate to ' the cittie.' * Here was a beginning ; and the rest soon ^ Themistocles. - Crassus. '* See Themistocles as the rival of Cimon. * Comparison of Au»ia Fompilitis with Lycutgus. LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION Culture The Greek Influence followed. Just as Greek historians had branded the first murderers and parricides by name, even so ' the Romanes doe ' note . . . that the wife of one Pinarius, called Thaloea, was ' the first which ever brauled or quarrelled with her mother- ' in-law.' 1 That was in the days of Tarquin. By Pompey"'s time — though he, indeed, was fortunate in a wife unspoiled by her many accomplishments — the revolution is complete. His Cornelia ' could play well on the harpe, was skilfull in ' musicke and geometric, and tooke great pleasure also in ' philosophic, and not vainly without some profit "" ; yet was she ' very modest and sober in behaviour, without braul- ' ing and foolish curiosity, which commonly young women ' have, that are indued with such singular giftes."* Such a woman was the product of the Greek culture, and for that Plutarch has nothing but praise.^ It was first introduced, he tells you, after the siege of Syracuse ; for Marcellus it was who brought in ' fineness and curious tables,' ' pic- ' tures and statues,' to supplant the existing ' monu- ' ments of victories ' : things in themselves ' not pleasant, but ' rather fearfull sightes to look upon, farre unfit for femi- nine eyes.' ^ In all this there is little that differs from the life we know : you have the same facts and the same re- flexions— especially the same reflexions. For our own age is akin to the age of Plutarch, in so far as both are certain centuries in rear of an influx of Hellenic ideas. Those ideas reconquered the West in the fifteenth century ; and since this second invasion the results of the first have been re- peated in many directions. Certain phases, indeed, of thought and feeling in Plutarch's age are re-echoed to-day still more distinctly than in the world of his Renaissance translators. For in remoteness from the point of first con- tact with Greek influence, and in the tarnish of disillusion which must inevitably discolour any prolonged development, this century of ours is more nearly allied to Plutarch's than the sixteenth was, with its young hope and unbounded enthu- siasm. The older activity reminds you of the times which ^ Comparison of Numa Pompilius with Lycurgus. ^ See his defence of it in Cicero^ his attack on Cato for opposing it, and passim. ^ Marcellus. Ixiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES Plutarch painted ; the modern temper, of the times in which INTRO- he wrote. DUCTION But in the frail rope which the mind of man is ever weav- ing, that he may cling to something in the void of his ignorance, there is one strand which runs through all the Plutarchian centuries ; which persists in his own age and on A Difference into the age of his early translators ; but which in England has been fretted almost through. Nobody can read the Parallel Lives without remarkino; the signal change which has fallen upon man's attitude towards the supernatural. Everywhere in Plutarch, by way of both narrative and comment, you find a confirmed belief in omens, portents, and ghosts : not a pious opinion, but a conviction bulking huge in everyday thought, and exerting a constant influence on the ordinary conduct of life. Death and disaster, good fortune and victory, never come without forewarning. Before Omens great Caesar fell there were ' fires in the element . . . spirites ' running up and downe in the nighte "" and ' solitary birdes ' to be scene at noone dayes sittinge in the great market- ' place.' ^ Nor only before a great event, but also after it, occur these sympathetic perturbations in the other world : ' the night being come, such things fell out, as maye be ' looked for after so terrible a battle.' ^ The w^ood quaked, and a voice criod out of heaven ! AlHed to and alongside of this belief in an Unseen in touch with the living: world at every hour of the day-time and night, you have the solemn practice of obscure rites and the habitual observance Rites and of customs half-insignificant. Some of these are graceful ; Customs others embaiTassing. The divination, for instance, of the Spartan Ephors must often, at least in August and Novem- ber, have shaken public confidence in the State; for they ' did sit downe in some open place, and beheld the stars in ' the element, to see if they saw any starre shoote from one * place to another,' and ' if they did, then they accused tJwir ' king.'' 3 To us, this giving of the grotesque and the terrible in the same breath, without distinction or comment, is strangely incongruous. Sulla's bloody entry into Rome was doubly foreshadowed : there was the antic disposition of 1 Julius CcBsar. - Publicola. ^ Agis and Cleomenes. i Ixv LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- certain rats, which first gnawed 'some juells of golde in a DUCTION ' church,'' and then, being trapped by the 'sexton,** ate up their young ; and again, ' when there was no cloude to be ' seen in the element at all, men heard such a sharp sound ' of a trompet, as they were almost out of their wits at so ' great a noise." ^ No scientific explanation, even if one were forthcoming, could suffice to lull suspicion in a pious mind. iEmilius understood as well as any the cause of the moon's eclipse : ' nevertheless, he being a godly devout man, so soon ' as he perceyved the moone had recovered her former bright- Dies nefasti ' ness againe,he sacrificed eleven calves/^ To add to the incon- venience of this habit of mind, there were more unlucky days in the year than holidays in the mediaeval calendar. It was such a day that marred the prospect of Alcibiades"" return : for ' there were some that misliked very much the time of ' his landing : saying it was very unluckie and imfortunate. ' For the very day of his returne, fell out by chaunce on the ' feast which they call Plynteria, as you would saye, the ' washing day.'^ Such feasts, with their half-meaningless Festivals customs, accompanied the belief in portents and ghosts and the ordinary forms of ritual, being but another fruit of the same intellectual habit. Some of them seem absm'd ana- chronisms in the Rome of Julius Caesar, At the Lupercal, for instance, even in Caesar's day, as every one knows from Shakespeare, young men of good family still ran naked through the streets, touching brides at the request of their husbands.* Again, on the feast of the goddess Matuta, ' they cause a chamber mayde to enter into her temple, and ' there they boxe her about the eares. Then they put her ' out of the temple, and do embrace their brothers' children ' rather than their own.' ^ There is no end to these customs : customs which are as it were costumes of the mind, partly devised to cover its nakedness, and partly expressed in fancy. Plutarch tries sometimes to explain their origin ; but he can only hazard a guess. Nobody remembers what they mean. They are, rather, a picturesque means of asserting that there really is an undercurrent of meaning in the world. Ixvi Sylla. " Patilus ^miliiis. * Julius CcEsar. ' Alcibiades. Furius Camillus. GRECIANS AND ROMANES Beyond and above these mummeries, now so strange, in a INTRO- loftier range of Plutarch''s thought is much that is famihar DUCTION and near. Of some miracles he writes almost as an apologist. It is said that ' images . . . have been heard to sighe : that they ' have turned : and that they have made certen signes with ' their eyes.' These reports ' are not,' he adds, ' incredible, ' nor lightly to be condemned. But for such matters it is ' daungerous to give too much credit to them, as also to dis- ' credit them too much, by reason of the weaknes of man's ' nature, which hath no certen bomides, nor can rule itself, ' but ronneth sometimes to vanitie and superstition, and ' otherwhile also despiseth and condemneth holy and divine ' matters.' ^ On such points of belief, as on the immediate inspiration of individuals, ' the waye is open and large ' : ^ each must decide for himself, remembering that religion is God in the mean between superstition and impiety. On the other Plutarch hand, never once does Plutarch admit a doubt of the Divine Government of the world. He approves his Alexander's saying : 'that God generally was father to all mortall men.'^ And in a magnificent passage of North's English which might almost have come out of the book of Common Prayer, he upholds the view of Pythagoras : ' who thought that God was ' neither sensible nor mortall, but invisible, incorruptible and only intelligible.' ^ III In substance, then, the book stands alone. Its good Two Trans- fortune has been also unexampled. By a chance this lators singular image of the ancient world has been happy beyond others in the manner of its transmission to our time. To ^ Furins Camilliis. " Ntima Ponipilius. ^ Alexander, Cf. Plutarch's Morals, Phil. Holland, 1657 : the eighth book of Symposiaques ; the first question, p. 628. ■* In the Brutus North credits its hero with a declaration of belief in another life. But this is a mistranslation of Amyot's French. We know, how- ever, with what passionate conviction Plutarch held this belief in ' a better ' place, and a happier condition,' from the conclusion of his ' consolatory ' letter, sent unto his own wife, as touching the death of her and his ' daughter.' — Morals^ Phil. Holland, 1657, p. 442. Ixvii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- quote a Quarterly Reviewer:^ 'There is no other case of an DUCTION ' ancient writer — whether Greek or Latin — becoming as well ' known in translations as he was in the classical world, or as ' great modern writers are in the modern one '' ; and for this chance we have to thank one man, Jaques Amyot. But for his version we should have received none from North ; and without these two, Plutarch must have remained sealed to all but Greek scholars. For the Daciers and the Langhornes could never have conquered in right of their own impoverished prose. They palmed it off on a public still dazzled by the fame wherewith their forerunners had illuminated the Lives \ and when these were ousted from recollection, their own fate became a simple matter of time. Jaques The son of a butcher,^ or a draper,^ Jaques Amyot was Amyot born at Melun in 1513, and was sent as a boy by his parents to study at Paris. You find him there at fifteen, at Cardinal Lemoine''s college, and two yeai's later following the lectures of Thusan and Danes. For the University, still hide-bound in scholastic philosophy, was nothing to his purpose of mastering Greek. It was hard in those years, even for the rich, to find books in Greek character,* and Amyot must live on the loaves his mother sent him by the river barges, and wait for a pittance on his fellow-students. Yet he toiled on with romantic enthusiasm, reading by the firelight for lack of candles ; till at last he knew all they could teach him, and left Paris to become a tutor at Bourges. There, thanks to Marguerite de NavaiTe,^ he obtained a chair in the University, whence he lectm'ed twice a day on Greek and Latin letters during twelve years. It was in these years that he began his great work as a translator : completing in all probability the Ethiopian History,^ and the more famous ^ Vol. ex., No. 220, p. 459, Oct. 1861. Apparently Archbishop Trench. ^ Brantome. ^ Blignieres. According to another, parentibus honestis fnagis qjia??i copiosis. ■* Before 1530 only a few Homeric Hymns and some essays of Plutarch had been published. ^ The Marguerite of The Hcptameron. ^ Published in 1547 with an interesting passage in the proem : ' Et n'avoit ' ce livre jamais este imprime, sinon depuis que la librairie du roi Matthias Ixviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES Daphnis and Chloe} But, at the instance of Marguerite''s INTRO- brother, Francois i., he also began the Lives, receiving by DUCTION way of incentive the Abbacy of Bellozane ;^ and to prosecute this purpose, soon after the king''s death, he made a scholar's pilgrimage to Italy. In the Library of St. Mark at Venice he rediscovered the Lives of Diodorus Siculus ; ^ in the Library of the Vatican a more perfect ms. of the Ethiopian History. But search as he might during his two years' stay at Rome, he could never recover the missing lives of Plutarch. He laboured on the text, but those which /' injurie du temps nous avoit enviSes,^ were gone past retrieving. On his return the scholar became a courtier, in the castles of the Loire, and something of a diplomat; for he acted as the emissary of Henri ii. at the Council of Trent, playing an inconspicuous part grossly exaggerated by De Thou. In 1554 he was appointed tutor to the young princes who were to rule as Charles ix. and Henri iii. In 1559 he published the Lives ; First Edition the next yeai-, on the accession of his elder pupil, he was made of the Vies Grand Almoner of France ; and in 1570 he became Bishop of Auxerre. In 1572 he published the Morals:, but this book, like the Frangiade, published in the same year, fell comparatively dead. The halcyon days of scholars and poets ended with the St. Bartholomew ; and thenceforward the darkness deepened over these two and all the brilliant company which had gathered round Catherine and Diane de Poictiers. In 1588 the full fury of the Catholic League fell upon Amyot, for standing by his king after the murder of the Guise. His diocese revolted at the instigation of Claude Trahy, a truculent monk ; and the last works he published are his Apology and Griefs des Plaintes. In August 1589 he wrote to the Due de Nivernais : ' Je suis le plus afflige, ' Corvin fut saccagee, au quel sac il se trouva un soldat allemant qui mit la ' main dessus pour ce qu'il le vit richement estofe, et le vendit a celuy qui ' depuys le fit imprimer en Allemaigne. ' ^ Published without his name as late as 1559. As tutor to the young princes he seems to have entertained a certain scruple, which even led him to suppress one passage in his translation. ^ 1546. The last benefice bestowed by Frangois. 2 Of which he translated and published seven in 1554. ■* Amyot : Atix Ledeiirs. Ixix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- ' destruit et ruine pauvre prebstre qui, comme je crois, soit en DUCTION ' France'; in 1591 he was divested of his dignities ;i and in 1593 he died. His long life reflects the changing features of his time. In youth he was a scholar accused of scepticism, in old age a divine attacked for heresy, and for some pleasant years between, a courtier pacing with poets and painters the long galleries of Amboise and Chenonceaux : as we may think, well within earshot of those wide bay-^vindows where the daughters of France 'entourees de leurs gouvernantes et ' filles d'honneur, s'edifioient grandement aux beaux dits des ' Grecs et des Romains, rememoriez par le doulx Plutarchus.' ^ He was, then, a scholar touched with the wonder of a L^' time which saw, as in Angelo's Last Judgment^ the great works of antiquity lifting their limbs from the entombing dust of oblivion ; and he was a courtier behind the scenes in His Accuracy a great age of political adventure. Was he also an accurate translator ? According to De Thou, he rendered his original 'majore elegantia quam fide'; according to Meziriac,^ he was guilty of two thousand blunders.* The verdict was agreeable to the presumption of the seventeenth century, and was, of course, confirmed by the eighteenth ; but it has been revised. Given the impossibility of finding single equivalents in the young speech of the Renaissance, for the literary and philosophic connotations of a language labom-ed during six hundred years ; and given the practice of choosing without comment the most plausible sense of a corrupted passage, the better opinion seems to be that Amyot lost little in truth, and gained ever}i;hing in charm. ' It is sur- ' prising,' says Mr. Long,^ and his word shall be the last, ' to ' find how correct this old French translation generally is.' His Style The question of style is of deeper importance. Upon this Ste.-Beuve acutely remarks^ that the subtlety of Plutarch, as of Augustine, and the artless good-nature of Amyot belong each to its age ; and, further, are more apparent to us than ^ Grand Almoner and Librarian of the Royal Library. - Brantome. ^ Who undertook to translate Plutarch, but failed to do so. * Discours de la Traduction, 1635 (cf. Blignieres, p. 435). 5 Plutarch's Lives', Aubrey Stewart, M.A., and the late George Long, M.A., 18S0, vol. i. p. xvii. ^ Causeries du Lundi, iv, 469. Ixx GRECIANS AND ROMANES real in their authors. We may say, indeed, without extrava- INTRO- gance, that the youth of Amyofs style, modifying the age DUCTION of Plutarch's, achieves a mean in full and natural harmony with Plutarch's matter. In Amyot's own opinion, so great a work must appeal to all men of judgment ' en quelque style ' qu'il soit mis, pourveu qu'il s'entende ' ; ^ yet his preoccupa- tion on this point was punctilious. He found in Plutarch a ' scabreuse asperite ' — ' epineuse et ferree ' are Montaigne's epithets — ^yet set himself ' a representer aucunement et a His Aim in ' adumbrer la forme de style et maniere de parler d'iceluy ' : ^ Translation apologising to any who on that account should find his language less ' coulant ' than of yore. But Amyot was no pedant ; he would render his original, not ape him ; he would write French, and not rack it. He borrowed at need from Greek and Italian, but he was loyal to his own tongue. ' Nous prendrons,' said he — and the canon is unimpeachable — 'les mots qui sont les plus propres pour signifier la chose ' dont nous voulons parler, ceux qui nous sembleront plus ' doux, qui sonneront le mieux a Toreille, qui seront cou- ' tumierement en la bouche des bien parlants, qui seront ' bons fran^ois et non etrangers."" To render late Greek into early French is not easy ; so he takes liis time. Not a word is there save to further his conquest of Plutarch's meaning ; but all his words are marshalled in open order, and they pace at leisure. For his own great reward Montaigne wTote: ' Je donne His Results ' la palme avecque raison, ce me semble, a Jaques Amyot, sur ' tons nos escripvains Francois ' ; and he remains the earliest classic accepted by the French Academy. But for our delight he found Plutarch a language which could be translated into Elizabethan English. If Amyot was the right man for Plutai'ch, North was the Sir Thomas right man for Amyot. He was born the second and yoimgest ^^^h son of Edward, first Baron North, about the year 1535, and educated, in all probability, at Peterhouse, Cambridge.^ His father was one of those remarkable men of law who, through all the ranging political and religious vicissitudes under ^ Dedication to Henri il. - Aux Lecieurs, " See Dictionary of National Biography, which gives fuller information than I have found elsewhere. Ixxi LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- Henry vii., Henry viii., Edward vi., Queen Jane, Mary, and DUCTION Elizabeth — so disastrous to the older nobility — ever con- trived to make terms with the winning side ; until, dying in 1564, a peer of the realm and Lord Lieutenant of Cambridge- shire and the Isle of Ely, he was buried in Kirtling Church, where his monumental inscription may still be read in the chancel. His son Thomas was also entered a student at Lincoln's Inn Lincoln's Inn (1557), but he soon prefeiTed letters before law. He was generally, Leicester wrote to Burghley, 'a ' very honest gentleman, and hath many good things in him, ' which are drowned only by poverty.' In particular, we are told by his great-nephew, the fourth Baron, he was ' a man ' of courage,' and in the days of the Ai'mada we find him taking command, as Captain, of three hundred men of Ely. Fourteen years before (in 1574) he had accompanied his brother Roger, the second Baron, in his Embassy-Extra- Frauce ordinary to Henri iii. : a mission of interest to us, as it cannot but have encountered him with Amyot, and may have determined him to translate the Lives. He was already an author. In December 1557 he had published, with a dedication to Queen Mary, his translation of Guevara's Lihro Aureo^ a Spanish adaptation of the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius; and in 1570 The Morall PhilosopMe of Doni . . . ' a worke first compiled in the Indian tongue.' ^ For the rest, his immortal service to English letters brought him little wealth, but much consideration from his neighbours, his kinsmen, and his sovereign. In 1568 he was presented with Rewards the freedom of the city of Cambridge. In 1576 his brother gave him the 'lease of a house and household stuff.' He was knighted about 1591 ; he received the Commission of the Peace in Cambridgeshire in 1592 ; in 1601 he got a pension of ,£40 from the Queen, duly acknowledged in his dedication of the lives added to the Plutarch of 1603. He died, it is likely, before this edition saw the light: a valiant and courteous gentleman, and the earliest master of gi'eat English prose. ^ Subsequent editions, 1568, 1582, 1619. - Second edition, 1601. Reprinted as T/ie Fables of Bidpai, with an Introduction by Joseph Jacobs, 1888. Ixxii GRECIANS AND ROMANES He also thought the Lives a book 'meete to be set forth INTRO- * in English.' i Truly : but in what English ? He writes of DUCTION a Muse 'called Tacita,^ as ye would saye, ladye Silence.' Should we ? Turning to a modem translation, I find ' Tacita, ' which means silent or dumb.' The glory has clearly departed : but before seeking it again in North's unrivalled language, I must ask of him, as I have asked of Amyot, Was HisAccuracy he an accurate translator ? I do not believe there are a score of passages throughout his 1175 folio pages ^ in which he impairs the sense of his original. And most of these are the merest slips, arising from the necessity imposed on him of breaking up Amyot's prolonged periods, and his subse- quent failure in the attribution of relatives and qualifica- tions. They are not of the slightest consequence, if the reader, on finding an obscui'ity, will rely on the general sense of the passage rather than on the mles of syntax ; and of such obscm-ities I will boldly say that there are not ten in the whole book. Very rarely he mistakes a word — as ' real ' for ' royal ' — and very rarely a phrase. For instance, in the Pericles he writes : ' At the beginning there was but a little Blunders and ' secret grudge only between these two factions, as an arti- L-iberties ^ Jicial Jiower set in the blade of a sworde^ which stands for ' comme une feuille superficielle en une lame de fer.' In the Solon he writes : * his familier friendes above all rebuked ' him, saying he was to be accompted no better than a beast,"" for ' qu il seroit bien beste.' Some of his blunders lend power to Amyot and Plutarch both : as in that fine passage of the Publicola, wherein the conspirators' ' great and horrible ' othe, drinking the blood of a man and shaking hands in ' his bowels,' stands for ' touchant des mains aux entrailles.' There is one such error of unique interest. It stands in Shakespeare that ' in his mantle muffling up his face. Even at the base of Pompey's statua. Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell ' ; ^ Dedication to Elizabeth. ^ In the Numa. ' The first edition of 1559, compared by me with Amyot's second edition of 1565. I had not the third, of 1567, from which North translated ; but on several points I have referred to the copy in the British Museum. Ar Ixxiii INTRO- DUCTION His Use of Earlier Versions His Use of Amyot LIVES OF THE NOBLE and we read in North, 'against the base, whereupon Pom- ' pey"'s image stoode, which ranne all of a goare bloude'' ; but Amyot simply writes, ' qui en fust toute ensanglantee. The blunder has enriched the world : that is, if it was truly a blunder, and not a touch of genius. For North will sometimes, though very rarely of set purpose, magnify with a word, or transfigure a sentence. * Le deluge,"" for example, is always ' Noe''s flood ' ; and in one celebrated passage he bowdierises without shame, turning Flora's parting caress to Pompey into a ' sweete quippe or pleasant taunte.' ^ Such are the discrepancies which can by any stretch be called blunders ; and the sum of them is insignificant in a work which echoes its original not only in sense but also in rhythm and form. North had the Greek text, or perhaps a Latin translation, before him. In the Sertoi-ius he speaks of ' Gaule Narbonensis,' with nothing but ' Languedoc ' in Amyot ; in the Pompey he gives the Greek, unquoted by Amyot, for ' let the dye be cast ' ; in dealing with Demos- thenes' quinsy, he attempts an awkward pun, which Amyot had disdained ; and in the Cicero he gives in Greek char- acter the original for Latin terms of philosophy, whereas Amyot does not. These are the only indications I have found of his having looked beyond the French. But on Amyot he set a grip which had its bearing on the develop- ment of Tudor prose. It may even be that, in tracing this development, we have looked too exclusively to Italian, Spanish, and classical sources. Sidney read North's book ; Shakespeare rifled it ; and seven editions ^ were published, within the hundred years which saw the new birth of Eng- lish prose and its glorious fulfilment. In acknowledging our debt, have we not unduly neglected the Bishop of AuxeiTe ? Sentence for sentence and rhythm for rhythm, in all the great passages North's style is essentially Amyot's.^ There are differences, of course, which catch the eye, and ^ Greek dSiyKTwy: Lat., Ed. Princeps (1470), 'sine morsu.' Long has another reading and translation, but most will agree that Amyot's is not a blunder but an emendation. "" 1579 ; 1595 ; 1603 ; 1612 ; 1631 ; 1657 ; 1676. ^ Cf. for instance, in the Antonius, Cleopatra on the Cydnus ; the death of Antonius ; and the death of Cleopatra. Ixxiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES have, therefore, as I think, attracted undue attention, the INTRO- more naturally since they are all in North''s favour. His DUCTION vigorous diction puts stuff into the text : he stitches it with sturdy locutions, he tags it with Elizabethan braveries. But the woof and the design are still Amyot's ; and the two ver- sions may be studied most conveniently abreast. In neither writer is the verse of any account. Indeed, Differences when North comes to an incident of the Gymnopoedia — ' the ^^^ Resem- * which Sophocles doth easily declare by these verses : auces ' The song which you shall sing shall be the sonnet sayde ' By Hermony lusty lasse, that strong and sturdy mayde ; ' Which trust her peticote about her middle short ' And set to show her naked hippes in frank and friendly sort ' — you feel that the reference to Sophocles is not only remote but also grotesque. It is very different with their prose. And first, is North''s version — the translation of a transla- tion— by much removed from Plutarch ? In a sense, yes. It is even truer of North than of Amyot, that he offers Plutarch neither to philosophers nor to grammarians, but to all who would understand life and human nature.^ But for these, and for all lovers of language, Plutarch loses little in Amyot, saving in the matter of literary allusion ; and Amyot loses nothing in North, save for the presence of a score of whims and obscurities. On the other hand, we recapture in North an English equivalent for those 'gascon- isms' which Montaigne retained in French, but which Amyot rejected from it. The Plutarchian hues are never lost — they are but doubly refracted ; and by each refraction they are broadened in surface and deepened in tone. The sunlight of his sense is sometimes subdued by a light mist, or is caught in the fantastic outline of a little cloud. But the general effect is touched with a deeper solemnity and a more splendid iridescence ; even where the vapoui's lie thickest, the red rays throb through. But the proof of the pudding is the eating. Let us take North and his a passage at random, and compare the sixteenth century Successors renderings with the cold perversions of a later age. For ^ Gustave Lanson, La littirature fran^aise (1894), p. 223. Ixxv LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION The Lang- hornes Dryden example, Amyot writes ^ that Pythagoras ' apprivoisa une ' aigle, qu'il feit descendre et venir a luy par certaines voix, ' ainsi comme elle volait en Tair dessus sa teste "■ ; in North this eagle is ' so tame and gentle, that she would stoupe, and ' come down to him by certaine voyees, as she flewe in the ' ayer over his head ' ; while in an accurate modern, Pytha- goras merely ' tamed an eagle and made it alight on him.' The earlier creature flies like a bird of Jove, but the later comes down like a brick. The Langhornes' eagle is still more precipitate, their Pythagoras still more peremptory. * That philosopher ,"* as they naturally call the Greek, ' had ' so far tamed an eagle that by pronoimcing certain words ' he could stop it in its flight, or bring it down.' Perhaps I may finish at once with the Langhomes by referring to their description of Cleopatra on the Cydnus. They open that pageant, made glorious for ever by Amyot, North, and Shakespeare, in these terms : * Though she had received ' many pressing letters of invitation from Antony and his ' friends, . . . she by no means took the most expeditious * mode of travelling.' Thus the Langhornes ; and they denounce the translation called Dryden's ^ for ' tame and ' tedious, without elegance, spirit, or precision ' ! Now, it was a colossal impertinence to put out the Lives among the Greeklings of Grub Street, in order to ' complete the ' whole in a year ' ; but it must be noted that, after North's, this^ is still the only version that can be read without impatience. Dryden's hacks were not artists, but neither were they prigs : the vocabulary was not yet a charnel of decayed metaphor ; and if they missed the rapture of six- teenth century rhythm, they had not bleached the colour, carded the texture, and ironed the surface of their language to the well-glazed insignificance of the later eighteenth century. Their Plutarch is no longer ^Tapped in the royal robes of Amyot and North ; but he is spared the cheap ^ Niima Pompilius. - Corrected and revised by A. H. Clough, 1883. ^ Dryden, in his dedication to the Duke of Ormonde (1683), spoke of North as ungrammatical and ungraceful. The version he signed was * exe- ' cuted by several hands ' ; but with his name on the title-page it displaced North's, which is now for the first time since republished. Ixxvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES though formal tailoring of Dacier and the Langhomes. In INTRO- our own time there have been translations by scholars : they DUCTION are useful as cribs, but they do not pretend to charm. Here, for instance, is North'^s funeral of Philopoemen : ' The soul- * diers were all crowned "with garlandes of Laiu-ell in token ' of victory, not withstanding the teares ranne downe their * cheekes in token of sorrowe, and they led their enemies ' prisoners shackled and chained. The funeral pot in which ' were Philipoemenes ashes, was so covered with garlands of ' flowers, nosegaies, and laces that it could scant be scene or ' discerned/ And here is the crib : ' There one might see ' men crowned with garlands but weeping at the same time, A Latter-day ' and leading along his enemies in chains. The vun itself, ^^^^ ' which was scarcely to be seen for the garlands and ribbons ' with which it was covered,' etc. Here, too, is North's Demetrius : ' He took pleasure of Lamia, as a man would ' have delight to heare one tell tales, when he hath nothing ' else to doe, or is desirous to sleep : but indeede when he ' was to make any preparation for warre, he had not then ' ivey at his darfs end, nor had his helmet perfumed, nor ' came not out of ladies closets, pricked and princt to go to ' battell : but he let all dauncing and sporting alone, and ' became as the poet Euripides saith, ' The souldier of Mars, cruell and bloodie. ' And here is the crib : ' He only dedicated the supei-fluity of his ' leisure to enjoyment, and used his Lamia, like the mythical ' nightmare, only when he was half asleep or at play. When ' he was preparing for war, no ivy wreathed his spear, no ' perfume scented his helmet, nor did he go from his bed- ' chamber to battle covered with finery.' ' Dedicated the ' superfluity of his leisure ! ' At such a jewel the Langhornes must have turned in envy in their graves ! But, apart from style, modern scholars have a fetish which they worship to A Latter-day the ruin of any literary claim. Amyot and North have been Fetish ridiculed for writing, in accordance with their method, of nuns and churches, and not of vestals and temples. Yet the opposite extreme is far more fatiguing. AVhere is the sense Ixxvii INTRO- DUCTION The German Unchained French and English : the Question of Form LIVES OF THE NOBLE of putting ' chalkaspides ' in the text and ' soldiers who had ' shields of brass "" in the notes ? Is it not really less dis- tracting to read, as in North, of soldiers ' marching with ' their copper targets ' ? So, too, with the Parthian kettle- drums. It is an injury to write ' hollow instruments' in so splendid a passage ; and an insult to add in a note ' the con- ' text seems to show that a drum is meant.' Of course ! And ' kettle-drums ' is a perfect equivalent for poirrpa, ' made ' of skin, and hollow, which they stretch round brass sounders.' But if these things are done in England, you may know what to expect of Germany. In the picture of Cato's suicide there is one supreme touch, rendered by Plutarch i]Br} S'opvcOe^i ■^Sov ; by Amyot les petits oyseauw commengoient desja a chanter ; by North, tlie little birds began to chirpe. But Kalt- wasser turns the little birds into crowing cocks ; and main- tains his position by a learned argument. It was still, says he, in the night, and other fowls are silent until dawn.^ If the style of the eighteenth century be tedious, the scholar- ship of the nineteenth is intolerable. The truth is that in the sixteenth alone could the Lives be fitly translated. For there were passages, as of the arming of Greece, in the Philopaemen, which could only be rendered in an age still accustomed to armour. Any modern rendering, be it by writer or by don, must needs be archaistically mediaeval or pedantically antique. Turning, then, to Amyot and North, the strangest thing to note, and the most important, is that the English, although without a touch of foreign idiom, is modelled closely upon the French. Some explanation of this similarity in form may be found in the nature of the matter. The narration, as op- posed to the analysis, of action ; the propounding, as opposed to the proof, of philosophy — these are readily conveyed from one language into another, and Joshua and Ecclesiastes are good reading in most versions of the Bible. But North is closer to Amyot than any two versions of the Bible are to each other. The French runs into the English five times out of six, and in all the great passages, not only word for word but almost cadence for cadence. There is a trick of redun- Ixxviii ^ See Plutarch's Lives : Stewart and Long, in. 572. GRECIANS AND ROMANES dancy in Tudor prose that makes for emphasis and melody. INTRO- We account it English, and find it abounding in our Bible. DUCTION It is wholly alien from modem French prose — wholly alien, too, from French prose of the seventeenth century. Indeed, I would go further, and say that it is largely characteristic of Amyot the wTiter, and not of the age in which he wrote. Amyot's You do not find it, for instance, in the prose of Joachim du Manner Bellay.^ But now take North's account of the execution ^^^ North s before Brutus of his two eldest sons ; ^ ' which,' you read, ' was such a pitieful sight to all people, that they could not ' find it in their hearts to beholde it, but turned themselves ' another waye, bicause they would not see it.' That effec- tive repetition is word for word in the French : ' qu'ilz ' n'avoient pas le cueur de les regarder, ains se tournoient ' d'un austre coste pom' n'en rien veo'ir.'' But, apart from re- dundancy, the closeness is at all times remarkable. Consider Points of the phrase : ' but to go on quietly and joyfully at the sound Contrast * of these pipes to hazard themselves even to death.' ^ You would swear it original, but here is the French : ' ains aller ' posement et joyeusement au son des instruments, se hazarder ' au peril de la mort.' The same effect is produced by the same rhythm. Or, take the burial of unchaste vestals : * when the muffled litter passes, the people ' follow it moum- ' ingly with heavy looks and speake never a word ' ; ' avec une ' chere basse, et morne sans mot dire '; and so on, in identical rhythm, to the end of that magnificent passage. I will give one longer example, from the return of Alcibiades. You read in North : ' Those that could come near him dyd welcome ' and imbrace him : but all the people wholly followed him : * And some that came to him put garlands of flowers upon his ' head : and those that could not come neare him, sawe him ' afarre off", and the olde folkes dyd poynte him out to the ' younger sorte.' And in Amyot : ' Ceulx qui en pouvoient ' approcher le saluoient et I'embrassoient, mais tous 1' accom- * pagnoient ; et y en avoient aucuns qui s'approchans de luy, ' luy mettoient des chappeaux de fleurs siu" la teste et ceulx ' qui n'en pouvoient approcher, le regardoient de loing, et les ^ Deffense et illustration de la Langue franfoise. ^ Publicola. ^ Lycurgus. * Numa. Ixxix INTRO- DUCTION Amyot's Influence on Elizabethan English Antithesis Majesty and Music LIVES OF THE NOBLE ' vieux le monstroient aux jeunes.' Here is the very manner of the Authorised Version : flowing but not prolix, full but not turgid. Is it, then, fanciful to suggest that Amyot's style, evolved from the inherent difficulty of his task, was accepted by North for its beauty, and used by the translators of the Bible for its fitness to an undertaking hard for similar reasons and in a similar way ? Amyot piles up his epithets, and links one varied cadence to another : yet his volume is not of extravagant utterance, but of extreme research. He was endeavouring to render late Greek into French of the Renaissance ; and so he sought for perfect expression not — as to-day — in one word but in the resultant of many. And this very volume of utterance, however legitimate, im- posed the necessity of rhythm. His innumerable words, if they were not to weary, must be strung on a wire of undulating gold. North copied this cadence, and gave a storehouse of expression to the writers of his time. It seems to me, therefore, not rash to trace, through North, to Amyot one rivulet of the many that fell into the mighty stream of rhythm flowing through the classic version of the English Bible. But North and Amyot are not men of one trick : they can be terse and antithetical when they will. You read that Themistocles advanced the honour of the Athenians, making them ' to overcome their enemies by force, and their ' friends and allies with liberality ' ; in Amyot : ' Vaincre ' leurs ennemies en prouesse, et leiurs alhez et amis en ' bonte ' ! North can play this tune as well as any : e.g.^ ' If they,' Plutarch's heroes, ' have done this for heathen ' Kings, what should we doe for Christian Princes "i If they ' have done this for glorye, what shoulde we doe for religion "i ' If thev have done this without hope of heaven, what should ' we doe that looke for immortalitie ? ' ^ But he can play other tunes too. Much is now \vi'itten of the development of the sentence ; and no doubt since the decadence advances have been made. Yet, in the main, they are to recover a territory wilfully abandoned. In North and Amyot there are sentences of infinite device — sentences numerous and har- Ixxx ^ Dedication to Elizabeth. GRECIANS AND ROMANES monic beyond the dreams of Addison and Swift. I will INTRO- give some examples. Amyot: ' S'eblouissant a regarder une DUCTION ' telle splendeur, et se perdant a sonder un tel abysme.'' That is fine enough, but North beats it : ' Dazeled at the ' beholding of such brightnesse, and confounded at the gaging ' of so bottomlesse a deepe.'' ^ Amyot : ' Ne plus ne moins ' que si c'eust este quelque doulce haleine d\ui vent salubre ' et gracieu qui leur eust souffle du coste de Rome pour ' les rafreshir.' And North : ' As if some gentle ayer had North's ' breathed on them by some gracious and healthful! wind, Superiority * blowen from Rome to refresh them.'^ No translation could ^^^ be closer ; yet in the first example North's English is stronger than the French, and in the second it flows, like the air, with a more ineffable ease. Take, again, the account of the miracle witnessed during the battle of Salamis. Here is Amyot : ' que Von ouit une haulte voix et grande clameur ' par toute la plaine Thrasiene jusques a la mer, comme s'il y ' eust eu grand nomhre dliommes qui ensemble eussent a haulte ' voix chante le sacre cantique de lacchus, et semhloit que de ' la multitude de ceidx qui chantoient il se levast petit a petit ' tme nuee en Fair, laquelle partant de la terre venoit a ''Jondre et tumher sur les galeres en la mer.'' And here is North : ' that a lowde voyce was heard through all the ' plaine of Thriasia unto the sea, as if there had bene a ' number of men together, that had songe out alowde, the ' holy songe of lacchus. And it seemed by litle and litle ' that there rose a clowde in the ayer from those which ' sange : that left the land, and came and lighted on the ' gallyes in the sea.** I have put into italics so much of Amyot as North renders word for word. His fidelity is beyond praise ; but the combination of such fidelity Avith perfect and musical expression is no less than a miracle of artistry. North, in this passage as elsewhere, not only writes more beautiful English : he gives, also, a descrip- tion of greater completeness and clarity than you will find in any later version of Plutarch. The elemental drama transfigures his prose ; but every fact is realised, every sensuous impression is set down, and set down in its order. ^ Amyot : Atix Lecteurs. - Nittna. I Ixxxi LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- So much may be said, too, of Amyot; but in his rendering DUCTION you are aware of the words and the construction — in fact, of the author. In North's there is but the pageant of the sky ; there is never a restless sound to disturb the illusion ; the cadence is sublimated of all save a delicate alliteration, tracing its airy rhythm to the ear. The work is full of such effects, some of simple melody, and others of more than contrapuntal involution ; for he commands his English as a His Mastery skilled organist his organ, knowing the multitude of its re- of English sources, and drawing at need upon them all. Listen to his rendering of Pericles' sorrow for his son : ' Neither saw they ' him weepe at any time nor mourne at the funeralles of any ' of his kinsmen or friendes, but at the death of Paralus, his ' younger and lawful begotten sonne : for, the losse of him ' alone dyd only melt his harte. Yet he dyd strive to ' showe his naturall constancie, and to keepe his accustomed ' modestie. But as he woulde have put a garland of flowers ' upon his head, sorrowe dyd so pierce his harte when he ' sawe his face, that then he burst out in teares and cryed ' amaine ; which they never saw him doe before all the ' dayes of his life.'' Yes, the pathos of the earth is within his compass ; but he can also attain to the sublimity of heaven : ' The everlasting seate, which trembleth not, and ' is not driven nor moved with windes, neither is darkened ' with clowdes, but is allwayes bright and cleare, and at all ' times shyning with a pure bright light, as being the only ' habitation and mansion place of the eternall God, only ' happy and immortall." ^ These two passages from the last movement of the Pericles can only be spoken of in North's own language : they are ' as stoppes and soundes of the soul played upon with the ' fine fingered hand of a conning master.' ^ Yet they are His Debt to modelled on Amyot's French. It seems scarce credible ; Amyot and indeed, if the mould be the same, the metal has been transmuted. You feel that much has been added to the form so faithfully followed ; that you are listening to an English master of essentially English prose. For these 1 Amyot : ' Comme estant telle habitation et convenable a la nature ' souverainement heureuse et immortelle.' " Pericles. Ixxxii GRECIANS AND ROMANES passages are in tlie tradition of our tongue: the first gives INTRO- an echo of Malory's stately pathos, and the second an earnest DUCTION of our Apocalypse. In building up these palaces of music North has followed the lines of Amyofs construction ; but his melody in the first is sweeter, his harmony in the second peals out with a loftier rapture. I have dwelt upon the close relation of North's style to Amyot's, because it is the rule, and because it has a bearing on the development of Tudor prose. This rule of likeness seems to me worthier of note than any exceptions ; both for the strangeness and the importance. But, of course, there are exceptions : there are traits, of attitude and of expres- Exceptions to sion, personal to North the man and the writer. He has a North's Rule national leaning towards the sturdy and the bluff". In a sonnet written some twenty years earlier, Du Bellay, giving every nation a particular epithet, labels our forefathers for ' les Anglais mutins."" The epithet is chosen by an enemy ; but there was ever in the English temper, above all, in the roaring days of great Elizabeth, a certain jovial froward- ness, by far removed both from impertinence and from bluster, which inclined us, as we should put it, to stand no nonsense from anybody. This national characteristic is His Sturdi- strongly marked in North. For him Spartacus and his ness slaves are 'rebellious rascals.' When Themistocles boasts of being able to make a small city great, though he can- not, indeed, tune a viol or play of the psalterion, Amyot calls his words 'un peu haultaines et odieuses': they are re- pugnant to the cultured prelate, and he gives a full equi- valent for the censure of Plutarch, the cultured Greek.^ But North will not away with this censure of a bluff' retort : having his bias, he deliberately betrays his original, making Themistocles answer ' with great and stout words.' There His Sense of is also in North's character a strain of kindness, almost of Pathos softness, towards women and children and the pathetic side of life. In the wonderful passage describing the living burial of unchaste vestals,^ where almost every other word is liter- ^ The Greek epithet is rendered by the word arrogant in Clough's revised Dryden, and by the word vulgar in Mr. Stewart's translation. * Nutna. Ixxxiii LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- ally translated, North turns 'la criminelle"' into 'the seely DUCTION ' offendour ' : as it were with a gracious reminiscence of Chaucer's ' ne me ne list this seely woman chide.' And in the Solon^ where a quaint injunction is given for preserving love in wedlock, Amyot writes that so courteous a custom, being observed by a husband towards his wife, ' garde que ' les courages et vouluntez ne s'alienent de tout poinct les ' uns des autres.' (The phrase is rendered in a modern version 'preventing their leading to actual quarrel.') But North lifts the matter above the level of laughter or puritanical reproach : it ' keepeth,' as he writes, ' love and ' good will waking, that it die not utterly between them.' The beauty and gentleness of these words, in so strange a context, are, you feel, inspired by chivalry and a deep rever- ence for women. These two strains in North's character find vent in his expression ; but they never lead him far from the French. There is an insistence, but no more, on all things gentle and brave ; and this insistence goes but to further a tendency already in Amyot. For in that age the language of gentlemen received a like impress in both countries from their common standards of courage Amyot, Northland courtesy; and among gentlemen, Amyot and North and Plutarch seem to have been drawn yet closer to each other by a common kinship with the brave and gentle soul of Plutarch. These two qualities which are notable in Plutarch and Amyot in all such passages, lead in North to a distinct exaggeration of phrase, though ever in the direction of their true intent. He makes grim things grimmer, and sweet things more sweet. So that the double translation from the Greek gives the effect of a series of contours traced the one above the other, and ever increasing the curve of the lowest outline. His Vigour But North, being no sentimentalist, finds occasion for fifty of Phrase stout words against one soft saying. The stark vigour of his diction is, indeed, its most particular sig-n. The profit to the Greeks of a preliminary fight before Salamis is thus declared by Amyot : it proved ' que la grande multitude des ' vaisseaux, ny la pompe et magnificence des parements ' d'iceulx, ny les cris superbes et chants de victoire des Bar- Ixxxiv GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' bares, ne servent de rien a Tencontre de ceulx qui ont le INTRO- ' cueur de joindre de pres, et combattre a coups de main leur DUCTION ' ennemy, et qiiil ne fault pointjaire compte de tout cela, ains ' aller droit affronter les hommes et s'attacher hardiment a ' eulx.'' North follows closely for a time, but in the last sentence he lets out his language to the needs of a maxim so pertinent to a countryman of Drake. The Greeks saw, says and Lusti- he, ' that it was not the gTeat multitude of shippes, nor the "ess of ' pomp and sumptuous setting out of the same, nor the Sentiment ' prowde barbarous showts and songes of victory that could ' stand them to purpose, against noble hartes and valliant ' minded souldiers, that durst grapple with them, and come ' to hand strokes with their enemies : and that they should ' viake no reckoning of all that bravery and hragges, but ' should sticke to it like men, and laye it on the jacks of them.'' The knight who was to captain his three hundred men in the Armada year, has the pull here over the bishop ; and on occasion he has always such language at command. 'Les ' autres qui estoient demourez a Rome '' instead of marching to the war ^ are ' the home-taiTiers and house-doves ' : up- braided elsewhere ^ because they ' never went from the smoke ' of the chimney nor can'ied away any blowes in the field."* When Philopoemen, wounded with a dart that ' pierced both ' thighes thi'ough and through, that the iron was scene on ' either side," saw ' the fight terrible," and that it ' woulde ' soon be ended,"' you read in Amyot ' qu'il perdoit patience ' de despit,"' but in North that ' it spited him to the guttes, ' he would so faine have bene among them."" The phrase is born of sympathy and conviction. North, too, has a fine impatience of fools. Hannibal, discovering the error of his guides, ' les feit pendre "■ in Amyot ; in North he ' roundely ' trussed them up and honge them by the neckes."' ^ And he is not sparing in his censure of ill-livers. Phcea, you read in the Theseus, ' was surnamed a sowe for her beastly brutishe ' behavioui", and wicked life.'' He can be choleric as well as kindly, and never minces his words. Apart from those expressions which spring fi'om the idiosyncrasy of his temperament, North's style shares to the ^ Cotiolanus. - Fabius Maximus. ^ Ibid. Ixxxv LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- DUCTION His Vocabu- lary Proverbs and Images full in the general glory of Elizabethan prose. You read of 'fretised seelings,"*^ of words that 'dulce and soften the ' hardened harts of the multitude ' ; ^ of the Athenians ' being set on a jolitie to see themselves strong.' Heads are 'passhed in peces,' and men 'ashamed to cast their ' honour at their heeles' (Amyot: 'd'abandonner leur gloire '). Themistocles"' father shows him the ' shipwracks and ribbes ' (Amyot : ' les corps "*) of olde gallyes cast here and there.' You have, ' pluck out of his head the worm of ambition ' ^ for ' oster de sa fantasie Tambition "" ; and Caesar on the night before his death hears Calpurnia, ' being fast asleep, * weepe and sigh, and put forth many fumhling lamentable ' speeches.'' But in particular, North is richer than even his immediate followers in homespun images and proverbial locutions. Men who succeed, ' bear the bell ' ; * ' tenter la ' fortune le premier "* is 'to breake the ise of this enter- ' prise.' ^ Coriolanus by his pride ' stirred coales emong the ' people.' The Spartans who thwailed Themistocles ' dyd ' sit on his skirtes ' ; and the Athenians fear Pericles because in voice and manner ' he was Pisistratus up and downe.' The Veians let fall their ' peacockes bravery ' ; ^ and a man when pleased is 'as merry as a pye.'*^ Raw recruits are 'fresh- ' water souldiers.' A turncoat carries ' two faces in one ' hoode ' ; ^ and the Carthaginians, being outwitted, are ' ready to eate their fingers for spyte.' The last locution occurs also in North's Morall PhilosopMe of 1570 : he habitually used such expressions, and yet others which are truly proverbs, common to many languages. For instance, he wi'ites in the Camillus, ' these words made Brennus mad as ' a March Hare that out went his blade ' ; in Cato Utican ' to set all at six and seven ' ; in Solon ' so sweete it is ' to rule the roste ' ; in Pelopidas ' to hold their noses to ' the gryndstone ' ; in Cicero, with even greater incongruity, of his wife Terentia ' wearing her husbandes breeches.' In the Alcibiades, the Athenians ' upon his persuasion, ' built castles in the ayer ' ; and this last has been referred to ^ Lycurgus. - Publicola. * The old prize for a racehorse. « Camillus. 7 jhid, Ixxxvi ' Solon. ^ Piiblicola. * Tinioleon. GRECIANS AND ROMANES Sidney's Apologue ; but the first known edition of the INTRO- Apologie is dated 1595, and it is supposed to have been DUCTION written about 1581 ; North has it not only in the Lives (1579), but in his Morall Philosophie of 1570.1 To North, too, we may perhaps attribute some of the popularity in England of engaging jingles, ' Pritle pratle ' and ' topsie His Jingles ' turvie ' occur both in the Lives and the Morall Philosophie. And in the Lives you have also ' spicke and spanne newe "" ; ^ with ' hurly burly "" and ' pel mel,' adopted by Shakespeare in Macbeth and Richard III. Since North takes the last from Amyot and explains it — ' fled into the camp pel mel or hand ' over heade' — and since it is of French derivation — pelle- mesle = ' to mix with a shovel ' — it is possible that the phrase is here used for the first time. Gathered together, these peculiarities of style seem His Style many ; and yet in truth they are few. They are the merest and its accidents in a great stream of rhythm. That stream flows Accidents steadily and superbly through a channel of another man's digging. For North's style is Amyofs, divided into shorter periods, strengthened with racy locutions, and decked with Elizabethan tags. In English such division was necessary : the rhythm, else, of the weightier language had gained such momentum as to escape control. But even so North's English is neither cramped nor pruned : it is still unfettered by antithesis and prodigal of display. His periods, though shorter than Amyot's, in themselves are leisurely and long. There is room in them for fine words and lofty phrases ; and these go bragging by, the one following a space after the other, like cars in an endless pageant. The movement of his procession rolls on : yet he halts it at pleasure, to soften sorrow with a gracious saying, or to set a flourish on the bravery of his theme. IV The earliest tribute to the language of Amyot and North was the highest that has ever, or can ever, be paid ; both for ^ Fables of Bidpai, 1888, p. II. - Paidiis ^milius ; in a gorgeous description of the Macedonian phalanx ; from spick = a spike, and span = a splinter. Ixxxvii INTRO- DUCTION North's Debtor-in- Chief The Roman Plays Coriolanus LIVES OF THE NOBLE its own character and the authority of those who gave it. For Montaigne, the greatest literary genius in France during the sixteenth century, wrote thus of Aymot : ' Nous ' estions perdus, si ce livre ne nous eust tires du bourbier : ' sa mercy, nous osons a cette heure parler et escrire "* ; ^ and Shakespeare, the first poet of all time, borrowed three plays almost wholly from North. I do not speak of A Midsummer Niglifs Dream and The Two Noble Kinsmen^ for each of which a little has been gleaned from North''s Theseus \ nor of the Timon of Alliens^ although here the debt is larger.^ The wit of Apemantus, the Apologue of the Fig-tree, and the two variants of Timon's epitaph, are all in North. Indeed, it was the ' rich conceit '' of Timon's tomb by the sea-shore which touched Shakespeare's imagi- nation, as it had touched Antony's ; so that some of the restricted passion of North's Antonms^ which bursts into showers of meteoric splendour in the Fourth and Fifth Acts of Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra^ beats too, in the last lines of his Timon, with a rhythm as of billows : ' yet rich conceit Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye On thy low grave, on faults forgiven, ' But in Antony and Cleopatra, as in Coriolanus and in Julius Ccesar, Shakespeare's obligation is apparent in almost all he has written. To measure it you must quote the bulk of the three plays. ' Of the incident,' Trench has said, ' there is ' almost nothing which he does not owe to Plutarch, even ' as continually he owes the very wording to Sir Thomas ' North' ;^ and he follows up this judgment with so detailed an analysis of the Julius Casar that I shall not attempt to labour the same ground. As regards the Coriolanus, it was noted, even by Pope, 'that the whole history is exactly ' followed, and many of the principal speeches exactly copied, ' from the life of Coriolanus in Plutarch.' This exactitude, apart from its intrinsic interest, may sometimes assist in 1 Essais, II. iv, - It is founded on one passage in the Alcibiades and another in the Antony. ' Plutarch. Five Lectures, p. 66. Ixxxviii GRECIANS AND ROMANES restoring a defective passage. One such piece there is in INTRO- II. iii. 231 of the Cambridge Shakespeare, 1865 : DUCTION ' The noble hoiise o the Marcians, from whence came That Ancus Marcius, Numa's daughter s son, Who, after great Hostilius, here wa^ king ; Of the same house Fublius and Quintus were. That our best water brought by conduits hither. ' The Folios here read : ' And Nobly nam'd^ so twice being Censor, Was his great Ancestor.' It is evident that, after ' hither,' a line has been lost, and A Lost Line Rowe, Pope, Delius, and others have tried their best to recapture it. Pope, knowing of Shakespeare'*s debt and founding his emendation on North, could suggest nothing better than 'And Censorinus, darling of the people'; while Delius, still more strangely, stumbled, as I must think, on the right reading, but for the inadequate reason that ' darling of the people ' does not sound like Shakespeare. I have given in italics the words taken from North : and, applying the same method to the line suggested by Delius, you read : ' And Censorinus that was so surnamed,'' then, in the next line, by merely shifting a comma, you read on : ' And nobly named so, twice being CensorS Had Delius pointed out that he got his line simply by following Shakespeare's practice of taking so many of North's words, in their order, as would fall into blank verse, his emendation must surely have been accepted, since it involves no change in the subsequent lines of the Folios ; whereas the Cambridge Shakespeare breaks one line into two, and achieves but an awkward result : ' And [Censorinus] nobly named so, Twice being [by the people chosen] censor. ' The closeness of Shakespeare's rendering, indicated by this The Sum of use of italics, is not particular to this passage, but is universal Shakespeare's throughout the play. Sometimes he gives a conscious turn ^^^* to North's unconscious humour : as when, in the Parable of the Belly and the Members, North writes, ' And so the bellie, "* Ixxxix LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- ' all this notwithstanding laughed at their follie ' ; and Shake- DUCTION spcarc writes in i. i., 'For, look you, I may make the belly ' smile As well as speak.' At others his fidelity leads him into an anachronism. North writes of Coriolanus that ' he ' was even such another, as Cato would have a souldier and a ' captaine to be : not only temble and fierce to laye aboute ' him, but to make the enemie afeard with the sound of his ' voyce and grimness of his countenance.*" And Shakespeare, An Aiiachron- with a frank disregard for chronology, gives the speech, Cato ism and all, to Titus Lartius (i. iv. 57) : ' Thou wast a soldier Even to Cato's wish, not fierce and terrible Only in strokes ; but with thy grim looks and The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds^, Thou mad'st thine enemies shake/ But perhaps the most curious evidence of the degree to which Shakespeare steeped himself in North is to be found in passages where he borrowed North's diction and applied it A Borrowed to new purposes. For instance, in North ' a goodly horse Palette t with a capparison ' is offered to Coriolanus ; in Shakespeare, at the same juncture, Lartius says of him : ' O General, Here is the steed, we the caparison. ' Shakespeare, that is, not only copies North's pictm-e, he also uses North's palette. Throughout the play he takes the incidents, the images, and the very words of North. You read in North : ' More over he sayed they nourished against ' themselves, the naughty seede and cockle of insolencie and ' sedition, which had been sowed and scattered abroade ' amongst the people.' And in Shakespeare, iii. i. 69 : ' In soothing them we nourish 'gainst our senate The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd and scatter' d.' Of course it is not argued that Shakespeare has not contri- buted much of incalculable worth : the point is that he found a vast deal which he needed not to change. When Shake- speare adds, IV. vii. 33 : xc GRECIANS AND ROMANES ' I think he '11 be to Rome INTRO- As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it DUCTION By sovereignty of nature/ he is turning prose into poetry. When he creates the character of Menenius Agrippa from North's allusion to ' certaine of the plesauntest olde men,' he is turning narra- tive into drama, as he is, too, in his development of Volumnia, Transfigura- from a couple of references and one immortal speech. But ^i^" these additions and developments can in no way minimise the fact that he takes from North that speech, and the two others which are the pivots of the play, as they stand. There is the one in which Coriolanus discovers himself to Aufidius. I take it from the Cambridge Shakespeare, and print the actual borrowings in italics (iv. v. 53) : ' Cob. (Unmuffling) If, Tullus, Not yet thou knowest me, and, seeing me, dost not Think me for the man I am, necessity Commands me to name myself, ... My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces, Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may My surname, Coriolanus : the painful service. The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood Shed for my thankless country, are requited But with that surname ; a good memory. And witness of the malice and displeasure Which thou shouldst bear me : only that name remains ; The cruelty and envy of the people. Permitted by our dastard nobles, who Have allybrsook me, hath devour'd the rest ; And suifer'd me by the voice of slaves to be Whoop'd out of Rome. Now, this extremity Hath brought me to thy hearth : not out of hope — Mistake me not — to save my life, for if I hadfear'd death, of all men i' the world I would have voided thee ; but in mere spite To be full quit of those my banishers. Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight. And make my misery serve thy turn : so use it That my revengeful services may prove As benefits to thee ; for I will fight xci INTRO- DUCTION Parallels and Correspond- ences LIVES OF THE NOBLE Against my canker'd country with the spleen Of all the under fiends. But if so be Thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes Thou 'rt tired, then, in a word, / also am Longer to live most weary.' The second, which is Volumnia's (v. iii. 94), is too long for quotation. It opens thus : ' Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither ' ; and here, to illustrate Shakespeare's method of rhythmical condensation, is the corresponding passage in North. ' If ' we helde our peace (my sonne) and determined riot to speake, ' the state of our poore bodies, and present sight of our rai- ' ment, would easily bewray to thee what life we have led at ' home, since thy exile and abode abroad. But thinJce now ' with thyself howe much more unfortunately, then all the ' women livinge we are come hether.'' I have indicated by italics the words that are common to both, but even so, I can by no means show the sum of Shakespeare's debt, or so much as hint at the peculiar glory of Sir Thomas's prose. There is no mere question of borrowed language ; for North and Shakespeare have each his own excellence, of prose and of verse. Shakespeare has taken over North's vocabulary, and that is much ; but it is more that behind that vocabulary The Essential he should have found such an intensity of passion as would in North fill the sails of the highest drama. North has every one of Shakespeare's most powerful effects in his version of the speech : ' Trust unto it, thou shalt no sorter marcJie forward to ' assault thy countrie, but thy foote shall treade upon thy ' mothers xoombe, that brought thee first into this world''; 'Doest ' thou take it honourable for a nobleman to remember the ' wrongs and injuries done him'; ' Tlwu hast not hitherto ' shewed thy poore mother any courtesy ' : these belong to North, and they are the motors of Shakespeare's emotion. The two speeches, dressed, the one in perfect prose, the other in perfect verse, are both essentially the same under their xcii GRECIANS AND ROMANES faintly yet magically varied raiment. The dramatic tension, INTRO- the main argument, the turns of pleading, even the pause DUCTION and renewal of entreaty, all are in North, and are expressed by the same spoken words and the same gap of silence. In the blank verse a shorter cadence is disengaged from the ampler movement of prose ; here and there, too, a line is added. 'To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air," could only have been written by an Elizabethan dramatist ; even as * Wheu she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has clucked thee to the wars, and safely home,' could only have been written by Shakespeare. The one is Shakespeare extravagant, the other beautiful ; but the power and the pathos are complete without them, for these reside in the substance and the texture of the mother's entreaty, which are wholly North's. It is just to add that, saving for some North crucial touches, as in the substitution of ' womb "■ for ' corps,' they belong also to Amyot. To the mother's immortal entreaty there follows the son's immortal reply : the third great speech of Shakespeare's play. It runs in Amyot ; ' " O Amyot " mere, que m'as tu fait ? " et en luy serrant estroittement la main droitte : " Ha," dit-il, " mei-e, tu as vaincu une vic- "toire heureuse pour ton pais, mais bien malheureuse et " mortelle pour ton filz : car je m'en revois vaincu, par toi " seule." ' In North : ' " Oh mother, what have you done " to me ? " And holding her hard by the right hand, " Oh " mother," sayed he, " you have wonne a happy victorie for " your countrie, but mortall and unhappy for your sonne ; " for I see myself vanquished by you alone." ' North accepts An Heirloom the precious jewel from Amyot, without loss of emotion or addition of phrase : he repeats the desolate question, the singultus of repeated apostrophe, the closing note of un- paralleled doom. Shakespeare, too, accepts them in turn fi'om North ; and one is sorry that even he should have added a word. What, it may be asked, led Shakespeare, amid all the The Reason of power and magnificence of North's Plutarch^ to select his Shakespeare's CoriolaiiuSy his Julius Cccsar^ and his Antonius ? The answer, Choice xciii 1 Colour LIVES OF THE NOBLE INTRO- I think, must be that in Volumnia, Calpurnia and Portia, DUCTION and Cleopatra, he found woman in her three-fold relation to man, of mother, wife, and mistress. I have passed over Shakespeare's Julius Ccesar ; but I may end by tracing in his Antony the golden tradition he accepted from Amyot and North. It is impossible to do this in detail, for throughout the first three acts all the colour and the inci- dent, throughout the last two all the incident and the passion, are taken by Shakespeare from North, and by North from Amyot. Enobarbus's speech (ii. ii. 194), depicting the pageant of Cleopatra"'s voyage up the Cydnus to meet Antony, is but North's ' The manner how he fell in love with ' her was this.' Cleopatra's harge with its poop of gold and purple sails, and its oars of silver, which ' kept stroke, ' after the sound of the musicke qfjlutes ' ; her own person in her pavilion, cloth of gold of tissue, even as Venus is pictured ; her pretty boys on each side of her, like Cupids, with their fans ; her gentlewomen like the Nereides, steering the helm and handling the tackle ; the ' wonderful passing ' sweete savor of perfumes that perfumed the ay/iar/^-side ' ; all down to Antony ' left post alone in the market-place in ' his Imperiall seate,' are translated bodily from the one book to the other, with but a little added ornament of Elizabethan fancy. Shakespeare, indeed, is saturated with North's language and possessed by his passion. He is haunted by the story as North has told it, so that he even fails to eliminate matters which either are nothing to his purpose or are not susceptible of di'amatic presentment : as in I. ii. of the Folios, where you find Lamprias, Plutarch's grandfather, and his authority for many details of Antony's career, making an otiose entry as Lamprius, among the characters who have something to say. Everywhere are touches whose colour must remain comparatively pale unless they glow again for us as, doubtless, they glowed for Shake- speare, with hues reflected from the passages in North that shone in his memory. For instance, when his Antony says (i. i. 53) : ' To-night we '11 wander through the streets and note The qualities of people/ xciv Shakespeare Possessed by North GRECIANS AND ROMANES you need to know from North that 'sometime also when he INTRO- ' would goc up and downe the citie disguised like a slave in DUCTION ' the night, and would peere into poore men's windowes and ' their shops, and scold and brawl with them within the ' house ; Cleopatra would be also in a chamber- maides an'ay, ' and amble up and down the streets with him ' ; for the fantastic rowdyism of this Imperial masquerading is all but To the Point lost in Shakespeare's hurried allusion. During his first three ^^ ^^^^}^^^^ Acts Shakespeare merely paints the man and the woman who are to suffer and die in his two others ; and for these por- traits he has scraped together all his colour from the many such passages as are scattered through the earlier and longer portion of North's Antonius. Antony's Spartan endurance in bygone days, sketched in Caesar's speech (i. iv. 59) — ' Thou didst driuk The stale of horses and the gilded puddle Which beasts would cough at : thy palate then did deign The roughest berry on the rudest hedge ; Yea, like a stag when snow the pasture sheets^ The barks of trees thou brousedst. On the Alps It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh, Which some did die to look on ' — is thus originated by North : * It was a wonderful example ' to the souldiers, to see Antonius that was brought up in * all fineness and superfluity, so easily to drink puddle water, * and to eate wild fruits and rootes : and moreover, it ' is reported that even as they passed the Alpes, they did * eate the barks of trees, and such beasts as never man tasted ' their flesh before.' For his revels in Alexandria, Shake- Colour speare has taken 'the eight wild boars roasted whole' (ii. ii. 183) ; for Cleopatra's disports, the diver who ' did hang a ' salt fish on his hook ' (ii. v. 17). In iii. iii. the dialogue with the Soothsayer, with every particular of Antony's Demon overmatched by Caesar's, and of his ill luck with Caesar at dice, cocking, and quails ; in iii. x. the galley's name, Antoniad ; and in iii. vi. Caesar's account of the coronation on a ' tribunal silver''d,'' and of Cleopatra's ' giving audience ' in the habiliment of the Goddess Isis, are other such colour patches. And this, which is true of colour, is true also of xcv INTRO- DUCTION Incident Antony and Cleopatra, iv. and V. LIVES OF THE NOBLE incident in the first three Acts. The scene near Misenum in II. vi.,with the light tallc between Pompey and Antony, is hardly intelligible apart from North : * Whereupon Antonius ' asked him (Sextus Pompeius), " And where shall we sup ? " ' "There,"''' sayd Pompey; and showed him his admiral ' galley ..." that," said he, " is my father"'s house they ' " have left me."" He spake it to taunt Antonius because he ' had his father"'s house."* On the galley in the next scene, the offer of Menas, 'Let me cut the cable,"* and Pompey''s reply ' Ah, this thou shouldst have done and not have spoke ' on''t ! "' may be read almost textually in North : ' " Shall I ' " cut the gables of the ankers ? "'"' Pompey having paused a ' while upon it, at length answered him : " thou shouldst ' " have done it and never told it me."'"' ' In in. vii. the old soldier"'s appeal to Antony not to fight by sea, with all his arguments ; in ii. xi. Antony"'s offer to his friends of a ship laden with gold ; in in. xii. his request to Caesar that he may live at Athens ; in in. xiii. the whipping of Thyreus, with Cleopatra's announcement, when Antony is pacified, that ' Since my lord Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra — "* ^ all these incidents are compiled from the many earlier pages of North^'s A ntonius. But in the Fourth Act Shakespeare changes his method : he has no more need to gather and arrange. Rather the concentrated passion, born of, and contained in, North''s serried narrative, expands in his verse — nay, ex- plodes from it — into those flashes of immortal speech which have given the Fourth Act of Antony and Cleopatra its place apart even in Shakespeare. Of all that may be said of North''s Plutarch^ this perhaps is of deepest significance : that every dramatic incident in Shakespeare"'s Fourth Act is contained in two, and in his Fifth Act, in one and a half folio pages of the Antonius. Let me rehearse the incidents. The Fourth Act opens with Antony ""s renewed challenge to Caesar, and is somewhat marred by Shakespeare"'s too faithful following of an error in North"'s translation. ' Let the old ruffian know I have many other ways to die ' ^ One of North's mistranslations : she kept Antony's birthday, not her own. xcvi GRECIANS AND ROMANES is taken from North; but North has mistaken Amyot, INTRO- who correctly renders Plutarch's version of the repartee, DUCTION that * he (Antony) has many other ways to die ' : (' Cesar ' luy feit response, qiCil avoit beaucoup cTautre moiens de ' mourir que celuy la.'') In North, this second challenge comes after (1) the sally in which Antony drove Cassar''s horsemen back to their camp (iv, vii.) ; (2) the passage in which he ' sweetly kissed Cleopatra, armed as he was,"" and commended to her a wounded soldier (iv. viii.) ; (3) the subse- quent defection of that soldier, which Shakespeare, harking back to the earlier defection of Domitius, described by North before Actium, develops into Enobarbus's defection and Antony's magnanimity (iv. v.), with Enobarbus's re- pentance and death (iv. vi. and ix.). In North, hard after the challenge follows the supper at which Antony made his followers weep (iv. ii.) and the mysterious music portending the departure of Hercules (iv. iii.). The latter passage is so full of awe that I cannot choose but quote. Furthermore,' says North, ' the self same night within little ' 'Tis the god of midnight, when all the citie was quiet, full of feare, and Hercules ' sorrowe, thinking what would be the issue and end of this warre : it is said that sodainly they heard a marvelous sweete harmonie of sundrie sortes of instruments of musicke, with the crie of a multitude of people, as they had beene dauncing, and had song as they use in Bacchus feastes, with movinges and turninges after the manner of the satyres, and it seemed that this daunce went through the city unto the gate that opened to the enemies, and that all the troupe that made this noise they heard went out of the city at that gate. Now, such as in reason sought the interpretation of this wonder, thought that it was the god unto whom Antonius bare singular devotion to counterfeate and resemble him, that did forsake them.' ^ The incident is hardly susceptible of dramatic representation, but Shakespeare, as it were spellbound by his material, must even try his hand at a ^ Translated word for word from Amyot. Any one who cares to pursue this tradition of beauty still further towards its sources will find that in the Anionius Amyot was in turn the debtor of Leonardus Aretinus, who did the life into Latin for the editio princeps (1470) of Campani. n xcvii LIVES OF THE NOBLE Plutarch's Realism INTRO- miracle. Follows, in North, the treachery of Cleopatra's DUCTION troops ; Antony's accusation of Cleopatra (iv. x. xi. and xii.); Cleopatra's flight to the monument and the false message of her death (iv. xiii.); Antony's dialogue with Eros, the suicide of Eros, and the attempt of Antony (iv. xiv.) ; and the death of Antony (iv. xv.). Every incident in Shakespeare's Act is contained in these two pages of North ; and not only the incidents but the very passion of the speeches. 'O ' Cleopatra,' says Antonius, ' it grieveth me not that I have ' lost thy companie, for I will not be long from thee ; but I ' am Sony, that having bene so great a captaine and em- ' perour, I am in deede condemned to be judged of less ' corage and noble minde then a woman.' Or take, again, the merciless realism of Cleopatra's straining to draw Antony up into the monument : — ' Notwithstanding Cleopatra would ' not open the gates, but came to the high windowes, and ' cast out certaine chaines and ropes, in the which Antony was ' trussed : and Cleopatra her oune selfe, with two women only, ' which she had suffered to come with her into these monu- ' ments, trised Antonius up. They that were present to ' behold it, said they never saw so pitiefull a sight. For ' they plucked poore Antonius all Isloody as he was, and ' drawing on with pangs of death, who holding up his hands ' to Cleopatra, raised up him selfe as well as he could. It ' was a hard thing for these women to do, to lift him up : ' but Cleopatra stooping downe with her head, putting to ' all her strength to her uttermost power, did lift him up ' v/ith much adoe, and never let goe her hold, with the helpe ' of the women beneath that bad her be of good corage, and ' were as sorie to see her labour so, as she her selfe. So ' when she had gotten him in after that sorte, and layed ' him on a bed : she rent her garments upon him, clapping ' her breast, and scratching her face and stomake. Then she ' dried up his blood that herayed his face, and called him her ' Lord, her husband, and Emperor, forgetting her miserie and ' calam,itie,Jor tJie pitie and compassion she took of him.'' In all this splendour North is Amyot, and Amyot is Plutarch, while Plutarch is but the reporter of events within the re- collection of men he had seen living ; so that Shakespeare's xcviii A Traditiou of Passion GRECIANS AND ROMANES Fourth Act is based on old-world realism made dynamic by INTRO- North's incomparable prose. Then come Antony ""s call for DUCTION wine and his last speech, which Shakespeare has taken with scarce a change : 'And for himself, that she should not lament ' nor son'owe for the miserable chaunge of his fortune at the ' end of his dayes : but rather that she should thinke him ' the more fortunate, for the former triumphe and honors he ' had received, considering that while he lived he was the * noblest and gi*eatest prince of the world, and that now he ' was overcome not cowardly, but valiantly, a Romane by ' another Romane.** In Shakespeare : ' Please your thoughts Its Supreme In feeding them with those my former fortunes Expression Wherein I liv'd : the greatest prince o' the world. The noblest : and do now not basely die. Not cowardly put off my helmet to My countryman, a Roman by a Roman Valiantly vanquished.' To the end of the play the poet's fidelity is as close ; and North's achievement in narrative prose is only less signal than Shakespeare's in dramatic verse. Every characteristic touch, even to Cleopatra's outburst against Seleucus, is in North. Indeed, in the Fifth Act I venture to say that Shake- speare has not transcended his original. There is in North An Over- a speech of Cleopatra at the tomb of Antony, which can ill looked be spared ; since it is only indicated in Shakespeare (v. ii. 303) Apostrophe by a brief apostrophe — ' O, couldst thou speak, That I might hear thee call great Csesar ass Unpolicied ' — which is often confused with the context addressed to the asp. In North you read : ' She was carried to the place where his * tombe was, and there falling downe on her knees, imbracing ' the tombe with her women, the teares running doune her ' cheekes, she began to speake in this sorte : " O my deare Lord ' " Antonius, not long sithence I buried thee here, being a free ' " woman : and now I offer unto thee the fiuierall sprinklinges ' " and oblations, being a captive and prisoner, and yet I am ' " forbidden and kept from tearing and murdering this captive xcix INTRO- DUCTION The Last Splendour LIVES OF THE NOBLE " body of mine with blowes, which they carefully gard and " keepe, only to triumphe of thee : looke therefore hence- " forth for no other honors, oferinges, nor sacrifices from " me, for these are the last which Cleopatra can geve thee, " sith nowe they carie her away. Whilest we lived together " nothing could sever our companies : but now at our death, " I feare me they will make us chaunge our countries. For " as thou being a Romane, hast been buried in Mgypt : even " so wretched creatm'e I, an -Egyptian, shall be buried in " Italic, which shall be all the good that I have received " of thy contrie. If therefore the Gods where thou art now " have any power and authoritie, sith our gods here have for- " saken us : suffer not thy true friend and lover to be caried " away alive, that in me, they triumphe of thee : but receive " me with thee, and let me be burned in one selfe tombe with " thee. For though my griefes and miseries be infinite, yet " none hath grieved me more, nor that I could lesse beare " withall : then this small time, which I had been driven to " live alone without thee." ' Her prayer is granted. The countryman comes in with his figs ; and then, ' Her death was very sodaine. For those whom Caesar sent unto her ran thither in all hast possible, and found the souldiers standing at the gate, mistrusting nothing, nor understand- ing of her death. But when they opened the dores, they found Cleopatra starke dead, layed upon a bed of gold, attired and araied in her royall robes, and one of her two women, which was called Iras, dead at her feete ; and her other woman called Charmion halfe dead, and trembling, trimming the Diademe which Cleopatra ware upon her head. One of the souldiers seeing her, angrily sayd unto her : " Is " that well done, Charmion .? " " Verie well," sayd she againe, " and meet for a Princes discended from the race of so many " noble kings." She sayd no more, but fell doune dead hard by the bed."* I doubt if there are many pages which may rank with these last of North's Antonius in the prose of any language. They are the golden crown of his Plutarch^ but their fellows are all a royal vesture wrapping a kingly body. For the Parallel Lives is a book most sovereign in its dominion over c GRECIANS AND ROMANES the minds of great men in every age. Henri iv,, in a love- INTRO- letter, written between battles, to his young wife, Marie de DUCTION Medicis, speaks of it as no other such hero has spoken of any other volume, amid such dire surroundings and in so dear a context. But if it has armed men of action, it has urged men of letters. Macaulay claimed it for his ' forte ... to ' give a life after the manner of Plutarch,'' and he tells us that, between the writing of two pages, when for weeks a solitary at his task, he would ' ramble five or six hours over ' rocks and through copsewood with Plutarch."" Of good English prose there is much, but of the world''s greatest books in great English prose there are not many. Here is one, worthy to stand with Malory''s Morte Darthur on either side the English Bible. GEORGE WYNDHAM. 01 'W NOTE This text is reprinted from the Editio Princeps of 1579 THE LIVES OF THE NOBLE GRECIANS AND ROMANES COMPARED TOGETHER BY THAT GRAVE LEARN- ED PHILOSOPHER AND HISTORIOGRAPHER PLUTARKE OF CHiERONEA TRANSLATED OUT OF GREEKE INTO FRENCH BY JAMES AMYOT ABBOT OF BELLOZANE, BISHOP OF AUXERRE, OXE OF THE KINGS PRIVY COUXSEL, AXD GREAT AMXER OF FRAUXCE AND OUT OF FRENCH INTO ENGLISHE BY THOMAS NORTH 1579 TO THE MOST HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCESSE ELIZABETH BY THE GRACE OF GOD, OF ENGLAND, FRAUNCE AND IRELAND QUEENE DEFENDER OF THE FAITH *. ETC. NDER hope of your highnes gratious and accustomed favor, I have presumed to present here unto your Majestie, Plutarkes lyves translated, as a booke fit to be protected by your highnes, and meete to be set forth in Englishe. For who is fitter to give countenance to so many great states, than such an highe and mightie Princesse ? who is fitter to revive the dead memorie of their fame, than she that beareth the lively image of their vertues ? who is fitter to authorize a worke of so great learning and wisedome, than she whome all do honor as the Muse of the world? Therefore I humbly beseech your Majestie, to suffer the J3 THE EPISTLE DEDICA- TORY LIVES OF THE NOBLE simplenes of my translation, to be covered under the amplenes of your highnes protection. For, most gracious Sovereigne, though this booke be no booke for your INIajesties selfe, who are meeter to be the chiefe storie, than a student therein, and can better understand it in Greeke, than any man can make it Englishe : yet I hope the common sorte of your subjects, shall not onely profit them selves hereby, but also be animated to the better service of your Majestic. For amonge all the profane bookes, that are in reputacion at this day, there is none (your highnes best knowes) that teacheth so much honor, love, obedience, rever- ence, zeale, and devocion to Princes, as these lives of Plutarke doe. Howe many examples shall your subjects reade here, of severall persons, and whole armyes, of noble and base, of younge and olde, that both by sea and lande, at home and abroad, have strayned their wits, not regarded their states, ventured their persons, cast away their lives, not onely for the honor and safetie, but also for the pleasure of their Princes ? Then well may the Readers thinke, if they have done this for heathen Kings, what should we doe for Christian Princes ? If they have done this for glorye, what shoulde we doe for religion ? If they have done this without hope of heaven, what GRECIANS AND ROMANES should we doe that looke for immortalitie ? And the so adding the encouragement of these exsamples, DEDiCi" to the forwardnes of their owne dispositions : TORY what service is there in warre, what honor in peace, which they will not be ready to doe, for their worthy Queene ? And therefore that your highnes may give grace to the booke, and the booke may doe his service to your Majestic : I have translated it out of French, and doe here most humbly present the same unto your highnes, beseeching your Majestic with all humilitie, not to reject the good meaning, but to pardon the errours of your most humble and obedient subject and servaunt, who prayeth God long to multiplye all graces and blessings upon your Majestic. Written the sixteene day oflanuary. 1579. Your Majesties most humble and obedient servaunt, THOMAS NORTH. GRECIANS AND ROMANES 1 i TO THE READER HE profit of stories, and the prayse of the Author, are sufficiently declared by Amiot, in his Epistle to the Reader: So that I shall not neede to make many wordes thereof. And in deede if you will supply the defects of this translation, with your owne diligence and good understanding : you shall not neede to trust him, you may prove your selves, that there is no prophane studye better then Plutarke. All other learning is private, fitter for Universities then cities, fuller of contemplacion than experi- ence, more commendable in the students them selves, than profitable unto others. Whereas stories are fit for every place, reache to all persons, serve for all tymes, teache the living, revive the dead, so farre excelling all other bookes, as it is better to see learning in noble mens lives, than to reade it in Philosophers writings. Nowe for the Author, I will not denye but love may deceive me, for I must needes love him with whome I have taken so much payne : but I beleve I might be bold to affirme, that he hath written the profit- ablest story of all Authors. For all other were fayne to take their matter, as the fortune of the contries whereof they wrote fell out : But this man being excellent in wit, learning, and experience, hath chosen the speciall actes of the best persons, of the famosest nations of the world. But I will leave the judgement to your selves. My onely purpose is to desire you to excuse the faults of my translation, with your owne gentlenes, and with the opinion of my diligence and good entent. And so I wishe you all the profit of the booke. Fare ye well. The foure and twenty day of January. 1579. THOMAS NORTH. 7 LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT TO THE READERS HE reading- of hookes which bring but a vayne and unprojitable pleasure to the Reader, is justly misliked of wise and grave men. Againe, the reading of such as doe but onely bring profit, and make the Reader to be in love therewith, and doe not ease the payne of the reading by some pleasauntnes in the same : doe seeme some- what harshe to divers delicate wits, that can not tary long iipon them. But such bookes as yeeld pleasure and projit, and doe both delight and teache, have all that a man can desire why they should be universally liked and allowed of all sortes of men, according to the common saying of the Poet Horace: That he which matcheth profit with delight, Doth winne the price in every poynt aright. Eyther of these yeeld his effect the better, by reason the one runneth with the other, profiting the more bicause of the delight, and deliting the more bicause of the projit. This commendacion {iri my opinion) is most proper to the reading of stories, to have pleasure and profit matched together, which kind of delight and teaching, meeting in this wise arvie in arme, hath more allowance than any other kind of writing or invention of man. In respect whereof it may be reasonably avowed, that men are more beholding to such good wits, as by their grave and wise writing have deserved the name qj Historiographers, then they are to any otlier kind of writers : bicause an historic is an orderly register of notable things sayd, done, or happened in tyme past, to mainteyne the con- tinuall remembraunce of them, and to serve for the instruction of them to come. 8 GRECIANS AND ROMANES And like as memorie is as a storehouse of mens conceits and AMIOT devises, without the which the actions of the other two partes TO THE shoidd he imperfect; and xvelneare unprofitable: So may it READERS also he sai/d, that an historic is the very treasury of mans life, whereby the notable doings and sayings of men, and the wonderjidl adventures and straunge cases {which the long contijiuance of time bringeth forth) are preserved from the death oj forgetfalnes. Hereuppon it riseth, that Plato the wise sayth, that the name of historic was given to this record- ing of ^natters, to stay the fleeting of our memorie, which otherwise would be soone lost, and retayne litle. And we may well perceive how greatly we be beholding unto it, if we doe no more bid consider in how horrible darkoies, and in hoxv beastly and pestilent a quamyre qfignoraunce we should be phmged: if the remembraunce of' all the thinges that have bene done, and have happened before we xoere borne, ivere utterly droxvned and forgotten. Now therefore I xvill overpasse the excellencie and worthines of the thing it selfe, forasmuch as it is not onely of more antiquitie then any other kind of writing that ever was in the worlde, bid also was used among men, before there was any use of letters at all : bicause that men in those dayes delivered in their lifetimes the remembrance of things past to their successors, in songes, which they caused their children to learne by hart, J'rom hand to hand, as is to be scene yet in our dayes, by thexample of the barbarous people that inhabite the new found landcs in the West, who without any records of writings, have had the knowledge of thinges past, welneare eyght hundred yeares afore. Likewise I leave to discourse, that it is the surest, scifest, and durablest monu- ment that men can leave of their doings in this world, to con- secrate their names to immortalitye. For there is nether picture, nor image of marble, nor arch of triumph, nor piller, nor sumptuous sepidchre, that can match the durablenes of an eloquent history, furnished with the properties which it ought to have. Again, I mind not to stand much upon this, that it hath a certain troth in it, in that it alwaies professeth to spedke truth, and for that the proper ground thereof is to treate of the greatest and highest thinges that are done in the world : insomuch that {to my seming) the great projit thereof B 9 LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT is as Horace saith, that it is commonly called the viother of TO THE troth and uprightnes, which commcndeth it so greatly, as it READERS needeth not elswhere to seeke any authority, or ornament of' dignitie, but of her very selfe. For it is a cei'taine ride and. instruction, ivhich by examples past, teacheth us to Judge of thinges present, and to ^foresee things to come: so as we may know what to like of, and what to follow, what to mislike, and what to eschew. It is a picture, xohich (as it were in a table) setteth before our eies the things worthy of rem£mhrance that have bene done in olde time by mighty nations, noble kings and Princes, wise governors, valiant Captaines, and persons renowmed for some notable qualitie, representing unto us the maners of straunge nations, the lawes and customs of old time, the particular affaires qf men, their considtations and enterprises, the meanes that they have used to compasse them withall, and their demeaning of them selves when they were comen to the highest, or throwen down to the lowest degre of state. So as it is not possible for any case to rise either in peace or warre, in publike or private affayres, but that the person which shall have diligently red, well conceived, and throughly remembred histories, shall find matter in them xvhereat to take light, and counsell whereby to resolve him selfe to take a part, or to give advise wito others, how to choose in doubtfidl and daungerous cases that, which may be for their most profit, and in time to find out to what poynt the matter will come fit be well handled : and how to moderate him sefe in prosperitie, and how to cheere up and beare him sefe in adversitie. These things it doth with much greater grace, efficacie, and speede, than the bookes of morall Philo- sophic doe: forasmuch as examples are of more force to move and instruct, than are the arguments and proqfes of reason, or their precise precepts, bicause examples be the very formes of our deedes, and accompanied with all circumstances. Whereas reasons and demonstrations are generall, and tend to the proof e of things, and to the becding of them into under- standing: and examples tende to the shewing of them in practise and execution, bicause they doe not onely declare what is to be done, but also worke a desire to doe it, as well in respect of a certaine naturall inclination which all men have 10 GRECIANS AND ROMANES tojhlloic i'd-mnples, as also for the beautie of vertue, which is of such pOiCer, that ^wheresoever she is seene, she maketh her selfe to be loved and liked. Againe, it doth thinges xvith greater weight and gravitie, than the inventiojis and devises of the Poets : bicause it helpeth not it selfe with any other thing than xvith the plaine truth, whereas Poetry doth com- monly inrich things by commending them above the starrs and their deserving, bicause the chiefe intent thereof is to delight. Moreover, it doth tliinges zoith more grace and modestie than the civill leaves and ordinances doe : bicause it is more grace for a man to teach and instruct, than to chastise or punish. And yet for all this, an historic also hath his maner of pun- ishing the ivicked, by the reproch of everlasting irtfamie, wherewith it dcfaceth their remembrance, zvhich is a great meane to xvithdraw them from vice, who otherwise would be lewdly and wickedly disposed. Likewise on the contrary parte, the immortall praise and glorye wherezvith it rewardeth zvell doers, is a very lively and sharpe spurrefor men of noble corage and gentlemanlike nature, to cause them to adventure upon all mancr of noble ami great thinges. For bookes are full of examples of men of high courage and wisedom, who for desire to continue the remembraunce of their name, by the sxire and certaine recorde of histories, have willingly yeelded their lyves to the service of the common zveale, spent their goods, susteyned infinite peynes both of body and mind in defence of the oppressed, in making common buildings, in stablishing of lawes and governments, and in the finding out ofartes and sciences necessary Jbr the maintenance and orna- ment of mans life : for the faithfull registring whereof, the thanke is due to histories. A nd although true vertue seeke no reward of her commendable doinges like a hyreling, but con- tenteth her selfe zvith the conscience of her zvell doing : yet notwithstanding I am of opinion, that it is good and meete to drazo men by all meanes to good doing, and good men ought not to be forbidden to hope for the honor of their vertuous deedes, seeing that honor doth naturally accompany vertue, as the shadowe doth the bodye. For we commonly see, not to feele the sparkes of desire of honor, is an i) fallible signe of a base, vile, and cloynish nature : and that such as account it 11 AMIOT TO THE HEADERS LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT an unnecessary, needelesse, or unseemely thing to he praysed, TO THE are likewise no doers of any thinges worthy of pray se, hut are READERS commonly men oj faint corage, whose thoughtes extende no further than to their lives, whereof also they have no further remembraunce, than is hefore their eyes. But if the counsell of olde men he to be greatly esteemed, hicause they must needes have scene much hy reason of their longe Ife : and if they that have travelled longe in straunge contries, and have had the managing of many affayres, and have gotten great ex- perience of the doings of this xoorlde, are reputed for sage, and xmrthy to have the reynes of greate governments put into their handes : howe greatly is the reading of histories to he esteemed, zvhich is able to furnishe us with moe examples in one daye, than the whole course of the longest Ife of any man is able to doe. Insomuch that they which exercise them selves in reading" as they ought to doe, although they he hut young, become such in respect of understanding of the affayres of this world, as if they were olde and grayheaded, and of long experience. Yea though they never have removed out of their houses, yet are they advertised, informed, and satisfied of all things in the world, as zvell as they that have shortned their lives by innumerable travells and hifinite daungers, in ronning over the whole earth that is inhabited : whereas on the contrary part, they that are ignorant of the things that were done and come to passe before they were borne, continue stil as children, though they be never so aged, and are hut as straungers in their owne native contries. To he short, it may he truely sayd, that the reading of histories is the schole of zvisedom, to facion mens understa^iding, hy considering advisedly the state of the world that is past, and by marking diligently by what lawes, maners, and discipline, Empires, kingdoms and dominions, have in old time bene stahlished, and afterward mainteyned and increased : or contrarizvise chaunged, diminished, and overthrowen. Also we reade, that whensoever the right sage and vertuous Emperour of Rome, Alexander Severus, was to consult of any matter of great importance, whether it con- cerned warres or government: he alwayes called such to counsell, as were reported to he well scene in histories. Not- zvithstanding, I know there are that will stand against me in 12 GRECIANS AND ROMANES this poynt, and uphold that the reading' of histories can serve to small purpose, or none at all, towards the getting of skill : hicause skill consisteth in action, and is ingendred by the very experience and practise of things, when a man doth xvel marke and throughly beare away the things that he hath scene tvith his eyes, and found true by proof e, according to the saying of the aundent Poet Afranius : My name is skill, my Syre Experience hyght, And memorie bred and brought me forth to lyght. Which thing was ment likewise by the Philosopher that sayd, that the hand is the instrimient of skill. By reason whereof it comes to passe (say they) that stich as speake of matters of government and state, but specially of matters of warre by the booke, speake but as booke knights, as the Frenche proverbe termeth them, after the manner of the Grcecians, who call him a booke Pilot, zohich hath not the sure and certaine knowledge of the things that he speakes of : meaning thereby, that it is not for a man to trust to the understanding which he hath gotten by reading, in things that consist in the deede doing, where the hand is to be set to the xoorke : no more then the often hearing of men talke and reasoii of paynting, or the disputing uppon colors, without taking of the pensill in hand, can stand a man in any stead at all to make him a good paynter. But on the contrary piart, many have pi'oved wise men and good Captaines, zohich could neither zvrite nor reade. Besides this, they alleage further, that in matters of warre, all things alter from yeare to yeare : by meanes whereof the slights and policies that are to be learned out of bookes, will serve the turne no more than mynes that are blozaen up. According whereunto Cambyses telleth his sonyie Cyrus in Xenophon, that like as in Musicke the nezvest songs a?'e com- mmdy best liked of for once, bicause they zoere never heard afore : So in the war res, those policies that never were practised afore, are those that take best successe, and commonly have the best effect, bicause the enemies doe least doubt of them. Neverthelesse I am not he that will mainteyne that a wise governor of a common weale, or a great Captaine can be made of such a person, as hath never travelled out of his study, and 13 AMIOT TO THE READERS AMIOT TO THE READERS Three things necessary for a Magistrate, or Captaine. LIVES OF THE NOBLE from his bookes : howbeit that which Cicero writeth of Lucius LucuUus^ is true^ that when he departed out of Rome as Captaine gene7-all and Lieuetenant of the Romanes, to make warre against kinge Mithridates, he had no experience at all of the loarres, and yet afterward he bestowed so great diligence in the reading of histories, and in conferring- uppon every •poynt with the olde Captaines and men of longe experience, whome he caried with him, that by the tyme of his comming into Asia, where he xvas in deede to put his matters in execu- tion, he was found to be a very sufficient Captaine, as appeared by his deedes : insomuch that by those wayes, cleane contrary to the common oi'der of warre, he discomfited two of the most puyssant, and greatest Princes that were at that time in the East. For his understanding was so guicke, his care so vigilant, and his courage so greate, that he needed no longe trayning, nor grosse instruction by experience. And although I graimt there have beene diverse Governors and Captaynes, which by the onely force of nature {furthered by longe con- tinewed experience) have done goodly and greate exploytes : yet can it not be denyed me, hit that if they had matched the gftes of nature with the knowledge of learning, and the reading of histories, they might have done much greater thinges, and they might have becomen much more perfect. For like as in every other cunning and skill wherein a man intendeth to excell : so also to become a perfect and sufficient person to governe in peace and warre, there are three thinges of necessitie I'eguired, namely, nature, art, and practise. Nattire {in the case that we treate of) must furnishe us with a good moother wit, with a bodie well disposed to indm-e all maner of travell, and with a good will to advaunce our selves : Art must geve us judgement and kyioxoledge, gotten by the examples and wise discourses that we have read and double read in good histories : and practise will get us readinesse, assurednesse, and the ease how to put thinges in execution. For though skill be the ruler of doing the deede, yet it is a vertue of the minde which teacheth a man the meane poynt, betweene the two faultie extremities of too much and too title, wherein the commendation of all doinges consisteth. And whosoever he is that goeth about to attaine to it by the onely 14 GRECIANS AND ROMANES triall of expeneywe^ and had lever to learne it at his oxvne cost, AMIOT than at an other mans: he may well be of' the number of' those TO THE that are touched by this aunc'ient proverbe, which sayth, READERS Experience is the schoolcmistresse qfj'ooles : bicause mans life Proverbe. is so short, and experience is hard and daitngerons, specially in matters of xvarrc, xchere'in {according- to the saying of Tamachus the Athenian Captaine) a man can not fault tzcice, bicause the faidtes are so great, that most commonly they bring w'lth them the overthrow of the state, or the losse of the lives of those that do them. Therefore we must not tary for this wit that is ivon by experience, xchich costeth so deere, and is so long a comming, that a man is oftt'imes dead in the seeking of it before he have attained it, so as he had neede of a seconde life to imploy it in, bicause of the overlate comming by it. But we must make speede by our diligent and con- tinuall reading- of histories both old and new, tJiat we may enjoy this happinesse zvhich the Poet speaketh of: A happie wight is he that by mishappes Of others, doth beware of afterclappes. By the way, as concerning those that saye that paper will beare all things : if there be any that unworthily take upon them the name of histor'iographers, and deface the dignity cyf the story for hatred or foivor, by mingling any untrueth with it: that is not the foiult of the historic, but of the men that are partial!, xcho abuse that name iinxoorthily, to cover and cloke their oxvne passions withall, xchich thing shall never come to passe, if the xcriter of the stor'ie have the properties that are necessarily required in a stor'ie xoriter, as these : That he set aside all qffect'wn, be voyde of envy, hatred and flattery : that he be a man experienced in the affa'ires of the xcorld, of good utterance, and good judgement to discerne xchat is to be sayd, and what to be left unsay d, and xchat xcoidd do more harme to have it declared, than do good to have it 7-eproved or condemned : forasmuch as his chiefe drift ought to be to serve the common weale, and that he is but as a register to set downe the judgements and definitive sentences of Gods Court, whereof some are geven according to the oj'd'inar'ic course and capacitie of our weake naturall reason, and other some goe according to 15 LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT Gods infinite power and incomprehensible wisedom, above and TO THE against all discourse of mans understanding, who being unable READERS to reach to the bottome of his judgements, and to Jiiide out the first motions and groundes thereof, do impute the cause of them to a cei-taine fortune, which is nought else but a fained device of mans xvit, dazeled at the beholding of such bright- nesses and confounded at the gaging of so bottomlesse a deepe, howbeit nothing commeth to passe nor is done withoict the leave of him that is the verie right and tru£th it selfe, with whom nothing is past or to come, and who hnoweth and under- standeth the very origiyiall causes of all necessitie. The con- sideration whereof teacheth men to humble them selves under his mightie hande by acTinoxvledging that there is one first cause which ovemdeth nature, whereof it commeth, that neither hardinesse is alwaies happie, nor wisedom alwaies sure of good successe. These so notable commodities are every where accom- panied with singular delight, which proceedeth chiefly of diversitie and novelty wherein our nature delighteth and is greatly desiroiis of: bicause ive having an earnest inclination towards our best prosperity and advauncement, it goeth on still, seeking it in every thing which it taJceth to be goodly, or good in this woi'ld. But forasmuch as it findeth not where- % with to content it selfe under the cope of heaven, it is soone weary of the things that it had earnestly desired aff^ore, and so goeth on wandring in the unsJcilfulnes of her likings wherqf site never ceasseth to make a continuall chaunging untill she have fully satisfied her desires, by attaining to the last end, which is to be knit to her chief e felicity, whei'e is the full perfection of cdl goodlines and goodnes. This liking of varietie can not be better releeved, than by that zvhich is the finder out and the preserver of time, the father of all noveltie, and messenger of antiguitie. For if we Jinde a certaine singidar pleasure, in hearkening to such as be returned from some long voyage, and doe report things which they have scene in straunge contries, as the maners qf people, the natures of places, and the fashions qf lives, differing from ours : and (f we be sometime so ravished zvith delight and pleasure at the hearing of the talke of some raise, discreete, and well spoken old man, from whose mouth there Jloweth a streame qf 16 GRECIANS AND ROMANES speech szveeter than honnie, in rehearsing the adventures which he hath had in his greene and youthfull yeares, the paines that he hath indured, and the perills that he hath overpassed^ so as zee perceive not how the time goeth away : how much more (night we he ravished with delight and wondring, to behold the state of' manlcind, and the tnie successe of' things, which antiguitie hath and doth bring forth Jrom the heginn'ing of the world, as the setting up of Empires, the overthrow of Monarchies, the r'ls'ing and fall'ing of Kingdoms, and all things else worthie adviiration, and the same lively set forth in the fair e, rich, and true table of eloqtience? And that so lively, as in the very reading of them zee feele our mindes to be so touched by them, not as though the thinges were alreadie done and past, but as though they zoere even then presently in doing, and zcefinde our selves caried azvay zcith gladnesse and grief'e thrmigh feare or hope, well neere as though we were then at the do'ing of them : whereas notwithstand'ing we be not in any paine or daicnger, bid only conceive in mir mindes the adversities that other folkes have indured, our selves sitting safe with our contentcd'ion and ease, according to these verses of the Poet Lucretiiis : It is a pleasure for to sit at ease Upon the land, and safely thence to see How other folkes are tossed on the seaes, That with the hlustring windes turmoyled he. Not that the sight of others miseries Doth any way the honest hart delight, But for bicause it liketh well our eyes. To see harmes free that on our selves might light. / Also it is scene that the reading of histories doth so holde ^ and allure good wits, that divers t'lmes it not only maJceth them to forget all other pleasures, bid also serveth very jittely to turne azoay their griefes, and somtimes also to i-emed'ie their diseases. As for example, zee find it zoritten of Alphonsus King of Naples, that Prince so greatly renowmed in Chronicles for his zoisedom and goodnesse, that being sore sicJce in the citie of Capia, when his Phisitions had spent all the cunning that they had to recover him his health, and he saw that nothing- prevailed: he determined zv'ith Mm selfe to take no C 17 AMIOT TO THE READERS LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT mo medicines, hutjbr his recreacion caused the storie of Quintus TO THE Curtius, concernirig the deedes of Alexander the great, to he READERS red before him : at the hearing whereof he tooke so wonderjull pleasure, that nature gathered strength hy it, and overcame the waywardnes of his disease. Whereicpon having soone recovered his helth, he discharged his Phisitions with such words as these : Feast me no more with your Hippocrates and Galene, sith they can no skill to helpe me to recover my helth : hut well fare Quintus Curtius that coidd so good skill to helpe me to recover my helth. Now f the reading and knowledge of histories he deUghtfidl and profitable to all other kind of folke : I say it is much more for great Princes and Kings, bicause they have to do with charges of greatest weight aiul difficultie, to be best stored zoith gftes and knowledge for the discharge of their dueties : seeing the ground of stories is, to treate of all maner of high matters of state, as war-res, battells, cities, contries, treaties of peace and alliances, and therefore it seemeth more fit for them, than for any other kiride of degrees of men : bicause they being bred and brought up tenderly, and at their ease, by reasoji of the great regard arid care that is had cf their persons, (as meete is for so great states to have) they take not so great paines in their youth for the learning of things as behoveth those to take lohich will learne the noble aimcient languages, and the pahfull doctrine comprehended in Philosophic. Againe, when they come to mans state, their charge calleth them to deale in great affaires, so as there remaineth no exercise cf wit more coiivenient for them, than the reading of histories in their ozone tunge, which without paine is able to teache them even zoith great pleasure and ease, xohatsoever the painfull zoorkes of the Philosophers concerning the government of common weales can shewe them, to make tJiem skilful in the well riding and governing of the people and contries that God hath put under their subjection. But the worst is, that they ever {or for the most part) have such maner of persons about them as seeke nothing els but to please them by all the wayes they can, and there are very fezo that dare tell them the truth freely in all things : whereas on the contrary part, an history fiattereth them not, but layeth open before their eyes the faults and vices of mch as were like them 18 GRECIANS AND ROMANES hi greatnesse of degree. And therefore Demetrius Phalereus {a man renoiomed asxvelljbr his skill in the good government of a common loeale, as for his excellent knowledge otherwise) coicnselled Ptolomy, first king of j^gypt after the death of Alexander the great^ that he should often and diligently reade the bookes that treated of the government qfkingdomes^ bicause {sayd he) thou shall Jinde many things there, which thy ser- vaunts and familiar friendes dare not tell thee. Moreover, this is another thinge, that suche great personages can not easily travell out of the bounds of their dominions, to goe view straunge contries as private persons doe : bicause the jelousie of their estate, and the regarde of their dignitie, 7-equires that they should never be in place where another man might commaund them. And often times for xvant of having scene the contries, and knowen the people and Princes that are their neighbours, they have adventured uppon attempts without good ground: to avoyde the which, the instruction they may have by the reading of histories, is one of the easiest and fittest remedies that can be found. And though there were none otlier cause then onely this last, surely it ought to induce Princes to the often and diligent reading of histories, wherein are written the heroicall deedes of wise and valiant men, speci- ally of kings that have bene before them, the considering xvliereqf may cause them to be desirous to become like them, specially which were of stately and iwble courage : bicause the seedes of Princely vertues that are bred zvith them selves, doe tlien quicken them up with an emulacion towards those that have beiw or are equall in degree with them, aswell in respect qfnoblenes of bloud, as of greatnes of state, so as tlwy be loth to give place to any person, and much lesse can find in their harts to be outgone in glory of vertuous doinges. Whereof innumerable examples might be allcaged, if the thing were not so wel knowen of it self that it were much more against reason to doubt of it, than needefidl to prove it. Therefore a man may truely conclude, that an historic is the scholemistresse of Princes, at zohose hand they may without payne, in zvay of pastyme, and with singular pleasure learne the most part oj the things that belonge to their office. Now, mcording to the diversitie of the matter that it treat cth of, or the order and 19 AMIOT TO THE READERS LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT manner of writing that it tiseth, it hath sondry names given TO THE unto it : But yet among the rest there are two chiefe kinds. READERS The one which setteth downe mens doings arid adventures at length, is called by the common name of an historic : the other which declareth their natures, sayings, and maners, is properly named their lives. And altlwugh the ground of them both doe cloze very neare in one, yet doth the one respect more the things, and the otJier the persons: the one is more common, and the other more private : the one concerneth more the things that are zvithout the man, and the other the things thai proceede from within : tlie one the events, the other the con- sultacions : betwene the zvhich there is oftentymes great oddes, according to this aunswer of the Persian Siramnes, to such as marvelled how it came to passe, that his devises being so politike had so unhappy successe : It is {quod he) bicause my devises are wholly from my own ijivention, but the effects of them are in the disposition of fortune and the king. And surely amonge all those that ever have taken uppon them to xorite the lives of famous men, the chiefe prerogative, by the judgeme7it of such as are clearest sighted, is justly given to the Greeke Philosopher Plutarke, borne in the citie of Choeronea in the contry of Bceotia, a noble man, perfect in all rare know- ledge, as his workes may well put men out of doubt, if they lyst to read tliem through, wlio all his life long even to his old age, had to deale in affayres of the common zveale, as he him selfe witnesseth in divers places, specially in the treatise which he intitled, Whether an olde man ought to meddle with the government of a common weale or not : and who had the hap and Jionor to be schoolemaster to the Emprour Trajan, as is commonly beleeved, and as is expressely pretended by a certaitie Epistle set before the Latin translation of his matter's of state, zvhich (to say the truth) seemeth in my judge- ment to be somewhat suspicious, bicause I find it not among his workes in Greeke, besides that it speaketh as though the booke zvere dedicated to Trajan, zvhich thinge is manifestly disproved by the beginning of the booke, and by divers other reasons. Yet notzvithstanding, bicause me thinkes it is sagely and gravely written, and well beseeming him : I have set it downe here in this place. ' Plutarke unto Trajan sendeth 20 GRECIANS AND ROMANES greeting". I hww icell that the modestie of your nature zvas not desirous of Sovereintie^ though you have ahcayes inde- vored to deserve it by your honorable conversation : by reason •wliereqf you have bene thought so much the worthier of it, as you have bene ^faunde the Jurther erf from all am.bitio7i. And there/ore I do now rejoice in yo\ir vertue and my for- tune, if it be so great as to cause you to administer that thing icith justice, xvhich you have obtained by desert. For otherwise I am sure you have put your selfe in hazard of great daungers, and vie in perill of slaunderous tongues, bicause Rome can not cnvay with a zcicked Emperour, and the common voyce of the people is alwaies wont to cast the faultes of the schollers in the teeth of their schoolemaisters : as for example : Seneca is railed upon by slaunderous tonges, for the faultes of his scholler Nero : the scapes of Quintilians young sdwllers are impided to Quintilian him selfe : and Socrates is blamed, for being too myld to his hearers. But as for you, thei'e is hope you shall doe all things well enough, so you keepe you as you are. If you first set your selfe in order, and tlien dispose all other things according to vertue, all things shall Jail out according to your desire. I have set you downe the meanes in icriting, which you must observe for the well governing of your common weale, and have shelved yo\L of how great force your behaviour may be in that behalfe. If you thinke good to follow those thinges, you have Plutarke for the directer and guider of your Ife: f not, I protest unto you by this Epistle, that your falling into daunger to tJie overthrow of the Empire, is not by tlie doctrine of Plutarke.'' This Epistle witnesseth plainly that lie was tlie schoolemaister of Trajan, which thing seemeth to be avowed by this writing of Suidas : Plutarke being borne in the citie of Chccronea in Boeotia, was in the time of the Emperour Trajan, and somichat affore. But Trajan honored him icith the dignitie of Consul- ship, and commaunded the officers and Magistrates that were throughout all the contrie of Illyria, that they should not do any thing zoithout his counsell and aidhoritie. So doth Suidas write of him. And I am of opinion, that Trcjan being so wise an Emperour, would never liave done him so great honor, if he had not thought him selfe greatly beholding to him for 21 AMIOT TO THE READERS LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT some speciall cause. But the thing that maketh me most to beleve TO THE it true, is, that the same goodnesse ayid Justice appeared to be READERS naturally imprinted in most of Trajans sayings and doings, whereof the paterne and mozvld (as a man might terme it) is cast and set downe in Plutarkes Moi-alls, so as men may per- ceive expressely, that the one coxdd well skill to performe rightly, that which the other had taught wisely. For Dion writeth, that among other honors which the Senate of Rome gave hy decree unto Trajan, they gave him the title of the Good Emperour. And Eutropius reporteth that even unto his time, when a new Emperour came to he received of the Senate, among the cries of good hansell, and the wishes of good lucke that were made unto him, one was: Happier be thou than Augustus, and better than Trajan. Howsoever the case stoode, it is very certaine that Plutarke dedicated the collec- tion of his Apothegmes unto him. But when he had lived a long time at Rome, and was come home againe to his ozone house, he Jell to writing of this excellent worke of Lives, which he calleth Parallelon, as much to say, as a cupling or matching togetJier, bicause he matcheth a Grecian with a Romane, setting doivne their lives ech after other, and comparing them together, as hejbunde any likenesse of nature, condicions, or adventw'es betwext them, and examining what the one of them had better or worser, greater or lesser than the other : which things he doth with so goodly and grave discourse every where, taken out of the deepest and most hidden secrets of morall and naturall Philosophic, zoith so sage precepts and frutefull instructions, with so effectuall commendation of vertue, and detestation of vice, with so many goodly allegacions of other authors, with so many Jit comparisons, and zoith so many high inventions : that the booke may better be called by the name of tlie Treasorie of all rare and perfect learning, than by any other name. Also it is sayd, that Thcodorus Gaza, a Grecian of singidar learning, and a worthie of the aiincient Greece, being asked on a time by his familiar frendes {which saw him so earnestly given to his studie, that lie forgate all other things) zohat author he had leverest to choose, if he were at that poynt that he must needes choose some one to holde him to alone, did aunswere that he would choose Plutarke: bicause 22 GRECIANS AND ROMANES that if they were all put together, there was no one both so profitable, and so plea^aunt to read, as he. Sosius Senecio to xohom he dedicateth his xoorke, zcas a Senator of Home, as witnesseth Dion, who writeth that the three persons zohom Trajan most loved and hoyiored, were Sosins, Parma, and Celsiis, insomuch that he caused images of them to be set up. True it is that he tvrote the lives of' many other men, which the spitefulnes of time hath bereft us of, among which he him- selfe maketh mention of the lives of Scipio Africanus, and Metellus Numidicus. And I have red a litle Epistle of a Sonne of his, whose name is not expressed, copied out of an olde copie in the LiHrarie of S. Marke in Venice, wherein he writeth to afrende of his, a register of all the bookes that his father made : and there among the cupples of lives he setteth downe the lives of Scipio and Epaminondas, and lastly the lives of Augustus Cccsar, of Tiberius, of Caligula, of Claudius, of Nero, of Galba, of Vitellius, and of Otho. But having used all the diligence that I could in serching the chiefe Libraries of Venice, and Rome, I could never find them out. Onely I drew out certaine diversities of readinges, and many corrections by conferring the old xmitten copies with the printed bookes: which have stoode me in great stead to the under- standing of many hard places : and there are a great number of them which I have restored by conjecture, by the judgement and lielpe of such men of this age, as are of greatest know- ledge in humane learning. Yet for all this, there remaine some places unamended, hoxcbeit very Jewe, bicause some lines were wanting in the originall copies, wliereqf (to my seeming) it was better Jbr vie to witnesse the want by marking it zoith some starre : than to gesse at it with all adventure, or to adde any thing to it. Now finally, if I have overshot my selfe in any thing, as it is verie easie to do in so hard arid long a zcorke, specially to a man of so small abilitie as I am : I beseeche the Readers to wou£hsafe for my discharge, to admit the excuse which the Poet Horace giveth me, where he sayth : A man may well be overseene In workes that long and tedious bene. Specially sith that of so many good men, and men of skill 23 AMIOT TO THE READERS LIVES OF THE NOBLE AMIOT as have heretofore set hand to the translating of it, there was TO THE Tiever yet any one found that went through with it in any READERS language, at least zoise tliat I have seene or heard of: and that such as have enterprised to translate it, specially into Latin, have evidently witnessed the hardnesse thereof, as they may easely perceive which list to coivferre their translations with mine. Neverthelesse if it so fortune that men find not the speech of this translation so fioioing, as they have found some other of mine, that are abroad in mens hands : I beseech the readers to consider, that the office of a fit translater, con- sisteth not onely in the Jaithfull expressing of his authors meaning, but also in a certaine resembling and shadowing out of the forme of his style and the maner of his speaking: unlesse he zvill commit the errour of some painters, who having taken upon them to draxo a man lively, do paint him long where he shoidd be shoi't, and grosse lohere he should be slender, and yet set out the resemblance of his countenance naturally. For Jww harsh or rude soever my speech be, yet am I sure that my translation will be much easier to my contriemen, than the Greeke copie is, even to such as are best practised in the Greeke tonge, by reason of Plutarkes peculiar inaner of inditing, which is rather sharpe, learned, and short, than plaine, polished, and easie. At the hardest, although I have not compassed my matters so happily as ye coulde have xcished and desired: yet do I hope that your Loidships in reading it will hold the parties good will excused, which hath taken such paines in doing of it to profit you. And if my labor be so happie, as to content you : God be praised for it, which hath given me the grace to finish it. 24 THE TABLE OF THE NOBLE GRECIANS AND ROMANES compared by PLUTARKE of CHJERONEA VOLUME I THESEUS . ROMULUS . LYCURGUS . NUMA POMPILIUS SOLON . PUBLICOLA . THEMISTOCLES . FURIUS CAMILLUS PAGE 29) 68) compared page 112 ! compared 199 207 249) 282 320 y compared „ 277 D THE LIVES OF THE NOBLE GRECIANS AND ROMANES compared together by that grave learned Philosopher and Historiographer PLUTARCHE OF CHiERONEA THE LIFE OF THESEUS IKE as historiographers describing the world (frende Sossius Senecio) doe of purpose Sossius Sene- referre to the uttermost partes of their cio a Senator mappes the farre distant regions whereof ^^ ^o^^- they be ignoraunt, with this note : these contries are by meanes of sandes and drowthes unnavigable, rude, full of veni- mous beastes, Scythian ise, and frosen seas. Even so may I (which in comparinge noble mens lives have already gone so farre into antiquitie, as the true and certaine historic could lead me) of the rest, being thinges past all proofe or chalenge, very well say : that beyonde this time all is full of suspicion and dout, being delivered us by Poets and Tragedy makers, sometimes without trueth and likelihoode, and alwayes without certainty. Howbeit, having heretofore set foorth the lives of Lycurgus (which established the lawes of the Lacedaemonians) and of king Numa Pom- pilius : me thought I might go a litle further to the life of Romulus, sence I was come so nere him. But considering my selfe as the Poet ^Eschilus did : What champion may with such a man compare ? or who (thinke I) shalbe against him set ? Who is so bold ? or who is he that dare defend his force^ in such encounter met ? In the end I resolved to match him which did set up the noble and famous city of Athens, with him which founded the glorious and invincible city of Rome. Wherein I would wishe that the inventions of Poets, and the traditions of fabulous antiquitie, would suffer them selves to be purged 29 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS and reduced to the forme of a true and historicall reporte : but when they square too much from likelyhode, and can not be made credible, the readers will of curtesie take in good parte that, which I could with most probability wryte of Theseus and such antiquities. Now surely me thinkes, that Theseus in Romulus very many thinges was much like unto Romulus. For being ^^" both begotten by stealth, and out of lawful matrimony : both were reputed to be borne of the seede of the goddes. Both valiant were^ as all the world doth know. Both joyned valiancy with government. The one of them built Rome, and the other, by gathering into one dispersed people, erected the citie of Athens : two of the most noble cities of the worlde. The one and the other were ravishers of women : and neither thone nor thother coulde avoyde the mischiefe of quarrell and contention with their frendes, nor the reproch of staining them selves with the blood of their nearest kinsemen. Moreover, they say that both the one and the other in the end did get the hate and ill will of their citizens : at the least if we will beleve that reporte of The linage of Theseus, which carieth greatest show of trueth. Theseus of Theseus. his fathers side, was descended of the right linage of Erictheus the great, and of the first inhabitants which occupied the contrie of Attica, the which since were called Autocthones, as much to say, as borne of them selves. For there is no memorie, or other mention made, that they came out of any other contry then that. And of his mothers side he came of Pelops, king Pelops, who was in his time the mightiest king of all the ofPelopon- contrie of Peloponnesus, not so much for his goodes and nesus. richesse, as for the number of children which he had. For his daughters which were many in number, he bestowed on the greatest Lordes of all the contrie : his sonnes also, which likewise were many, he dispersed into diverse cities and free townes, findinge meanes to make them governors and heades Pitheus the of the same. Pitheus, grandfather to Theseus on the mothers grandfather side, was one of his sonnes, and founded the litle city of of Theseus. TrcEzen, and was reputed to be one of the wisest men of his time. But the knowledge and wisedom, which onely caried estimacion at that time, consisted altogether in grave 30 \ \ GRECIANS AND ROMANES sentences, and morall sayinges. As those are which wanne THESEUS the Poet Hesiodus such fame for his booke intituled, The The wisedom workes and dayes : in the which is read even at this present, ^^ Pitheus. this goodly sentence, which they father upon Pitheus : Thou shalt performe, thy promise and thy pay : to hyred merij and that without delay. And this doth Aristotle the Philosopher himselfe testifie : and the Poet Euripides also, calling Hippolytus the scholler of the holy Pitheus, doth sufficiently declare of what estima- cion he was. But iEgeus desiring (as they say) to know how Jilgeus the he might have children, went unto the city of Delphes to father of the oracle of Apollo : where by Apolloes Nunne that notable ^eseus. prophecy was geven him for an aunswer. The which did for- bid him to touch or know any woman, untill he was returned againe to Athens. And bicause the words of this prophecy were somewhat darke, and hard : he tooke his way by the city of Troezen, to tell it unto Pitheus. The wordes of the prophecy were these : O thou which art a gemme of perfect grace, plucke not the tappe, out of thy trusty toonne : Before thou do, returne unto thy place, in Athens towne, from whence thy race doth roonne. Pitheus understanding the meaning, perswaded him, or rather cunningly by some devise deceived him in such sorte, that he made him to lye with his daughter called ^Ethra. ^thra the ^Egeus after he had accompanied with her, knowing that she daughter of was Pitheus daughter with whom he had lyen, and douting ^'"^g' Pitheus, that he had gotten her with child : left her a sword and a mother of payer of shoes, the which he hidde under a great hollow Theseus, stone, the hollownes wherof served just to receive those things which he layed under it, and made no living creature privy to it but her alone, straightly charging her, that if she happened to have a sonne, when he were come to mans state, and of strength to remove the stone, and to take those things from under it which he left there : that she should then sende him unto him by those tokens, as secretly as she could, that no body els might knowe of it. For he did The Pallan- greatly feare the children of one called Pallas, the which tides. 31 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS laye in wayte and spyall by all the meanes they could to kill him, only of despight bicause he had no children, they Pallas had being fiftie brethern, and all begotten of one father. This fiftie souues, done, he departed from her. And JEthra within fewe moneths after was delivered of a goodly sonne, the which from that Why Theseus time was called Theseus : and as some say, so called, bicause was so called, of the tokens of knowledge his father had layed under the stone. Yet some others write, that it was afterwardes at Athens when his father knewe him, and avowed him for his Sonne. But in the meane time, during his infancie and childehood, he was brought up in the house of his grand- father Pitheus, under the government and teaching of one Connidas called Connidas, his schoolemaster : in honour of whom the Theseus Athenians to this daye doe sacrifice a weather, the daye schoole- before the great feaste of Theseus, having more reason to honour the memorye of this governour, then of a Silanion and of a Parrhasius, to whom they doe honour also, bicause they paynted and caste mowldes of the images of Theseus. A custome to Now there was a custome at that time in Grece, that the offer heares yong men after their infancie and growth to mans state, at Delphes. ^yent unto the cittie of Delphes, to offer parte of their heares in the temple of Apollo. Theseus also went thither as other did : and some saye that the place where the ceremonie of this offering was made, hath ever sence kept the olde name, Theseia, (and yet continueth) Theseia. Howbeit he dyd not shave Theseus man- his head but before only, as Homer sayeth, like the facion of er of shaving. i}iq Abantes in olde time : and this manner of shaving of heares, was called for his sake, Theseida. And as concerning The Abantes. the Abantes, in trothe they were the very first that shaved them selves after this facion : nevertheles they learned it not of the Arabians as it was thought of some, neither dyd they it after the imitation of the Missians. But bicause they were warlike and valliant men, which did joyne neere unto their enemie in battell, and above all men of the worlde were skilfuUest in fight hande to hande, and woulde keepe their grounde : as the Poet Archilochus witnesseth in these verses : They use no slynges in foughten fields to have, nor bended bowes : but swords and trenchant blades. 32 GRECIANS AND ROMANES For when fierce Mars beginneth for to rave, THESEUS in bloody field : then every man invades His fiercest foe, and fighteth hand to hand. then doe they deeds, right cruell to reconpt. For in this wise, the brave and warlike bande do shew their force which come from Negrepont. The cause why they were thus shaven before, was, for that The cause of their enemies should not have the vauntage to take them by shaving their the heares of the head while they were fighting. And for ^^^'"^^ ^^^"''^• this selfe same consideration, Alexander the great com- Alexander maunded his captaines to cause all the Macedonians to ^^^8?,"^ m&de shave their beards : bicause it is the easiest holde (and ^j^^^ shave" readiest for the hande) a man can have of his enemie in ^heir beardes. fighting, to holde him fast by the same. But to retume to Theseus. iEthra his mother had ever unto that time kept it secret from him, who was his true father. And Pitheus also had geven it out abroade, that he was begotten of Theseus said Neptune, bicause the Troezenians have this god in great ^^ "® Nep- ^,. jj 1. 1. , °j i, tunes Sonne, veneration, and doe worshippe him as patron and protector of their cittie, making offerings to him of their first fruites : and they have for the marke and stampe of their money, the The Troeze- three picked mace, which is the signe of Neptune, called his ^tamned^wi^h Trident. But after he was comen to the prime and lustines Neptunes of his youth, and that with the strength of his bodie he three picked shewed a great courage, joyned with a naturall wisedome, and niace. stayednes of wit : then his mother brought him to the place where this great hollowe stone laye, and telling him truely the order of his birth, and by whom he was begotten, made Theseus him to take his fathers tokens of knowledge, which he had y^^^he. hidden there, and gave him counsell to goe by sea to Athens unto him. Theseus easilye lyft up the stone, and tooke his fathers tokens from under it : Howbeit he answered playnely, that he would not goe by sea, notwithstanding that it was a great deale the safer waye, and that his mother and grand- father both had instantly intreated him, bicause the waye by lande from Troezen to Athens was very daungerous, all Great robbing the wayes being besett by robbers and murderers. For the J? Theseus worlde at that time brought forth men, which for strong- ^^t. i. nesse in their armes, for swyftnes of feete, and for a generall E 33 Hercules a destroyer of theeves. LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS strength of the whole bodye, dyd farre passe the common force of others, and were never wearie for any labour or travell they tooke in hande. But for all this, they never employed these giftes of nature to any honest or profitable thing, but rather delighted villanously to hurte and wronge others : as if all the fruite and profit of their extraordinary strength had consisted in crueltye, and violence only, and to be able to keepe others under and in subjection, and to force, destroye, and spoyle all that came to their handes. Thinck- ing that the more parte of those which thincke it a shame to doe ill, and commend justice, equitie, and humanitie, doe it of fainte cowardly heartes, bicause they dare not wronge others, for feare they should receyve wronge them selves : and therefore, that they which by might could have vauntage over others, had nothing to doe with suche quiet qualities. Nowe Hercules, travailling abroade in the worlde, drave awaye many of those wicked thevishe murderers, and some of them he slewe and put to death, other as he passed through those places where they kept, dyd hide them selves for feare of him, and gave place : in so much as Hercules, perceyving they were well tamed and brought lowe, made no further reckoning to pursue them any more. But after that by fortune he had slayne Iphitus with his owne handes, and that he was passed over the seas into the countrye of Lydia, Hercules serv- where he served Queene Omphale a long time, condemning eth Omphale. him selfe unto that voluntarie payne, for the murder he had committed. All the Realme of Lydia during his abode there, remained in great peace and securitie from such kynde of people, Howbeit in Grece, and all thereabouts, these olde mischiefes beganne againe to renue, growing hotter and violenter then before : bicause there was no man that punished them, nor that durst take upon him to destroye them. By which occasion, the waye to goe from Pelopon- nesus to Athens by lande was very perillous. And therefore Pitheus declaring unto Theseus, what manner of theeves there were that laye in the waye, and the outrages and villanies they dyd to all travellers and wayefaring men, sought the rather to perswade him thereby to take his voyage alonge the seas. Howbeit in mine opinion, the fame and glorie of 34 GRECIANS AND ROMANES Hercules noble dedes, had long before secretly sett his hearte THESEUS on fire, so that he made reckoning of none other but of him, Theseus and lovingly hearkened unto those which woulde seeme to foloweth describe him what manner of man he was, but chiefly unto Hercules, those which had scene him, and bene in his companye, when he had sayed or done any thing worthy of memorye. For then he dyd manifestly open him selfe, that he felt the like passion in his hearte, which Themistocles long time after- wardes endured, when he sayed : that the victorie and triumphe of Miltiades would not lett him sleepe. For even Desire of so, the wonderfull admiration which Theseus had of Hercules fame pricketh corage, made him in the night that he never dreamed but of '"^^ forward his noble actes and doings, and in the daye time, pricked p^jfes* forwardes with emulation and envie of his glorie, he deter- mined with him selfe one daye to doe the like, and the rather, bicause they were neere kynsemen, being cosins re- moved by the mothers side. For ^thra was the daughter Theseus and of Pitheus, and Alcmena (the mother of Hercules) was the Hercules nere daughter of Lysidices, the which was halfe sister to Pitheus, *^ynsemen. bothe children of Pelops and of his wife Hippodamia. So he thought he should be utterly shamed and disgraced, that Hercules travelling through the worlde in that sorte, dyd seeke out those wicked theeves to rydde both sea and lande of them : and that he, farre otherwise, should flye occasion that might be offered him, to fight with them that he should meete on his waye. Moreover, he was of opinion he should greately shame and dishonour him, whom fame and common bruite of people reported to be his father : if in shonning occasion to fight, he should convey him selfe by sea, and should carie to his true father also a paire of shooes, (to make him knowen of him) and a sworde not yet bathed in bloude. Where he should rather seeke cause, by manifest token of his worthie deedes, to make knowen to the worlde, of what noble bloude he came, and from whence he was descended. With this determination, Theseus holdeth on his purposed jorney, with intent to hurte no man, yet to defende him selfe, and to be revenged of those which woulde take upon them to assault him. The first there- fore whom he slewe within the territories of the cittie 35 THESEUS Periphetes Corinetes, a famous rob- ber, slayne of Theseus. Theseus caried the clubbe he wanne of Pe- riphetes, as Hercules did the lions skin. Sinnis Pityo- camtes, a cruel mur- therer slaine. Perigouna Sinnis daugh- ter. Theseus be- gatte Mena- lippus of Perigouna. loxus, Mena- lippus Sonne. loxides. LIVES OF THE NOBLE of Epidaurum, was a robber called Periphetes. This robber used for his ordinarie weapon to carie a clubbe, and for that cause he was commonly surnamed Corynetes, that is to saye, a clubbe caryer. So he first strake at Theseus to make him stande : but Theseus fought so lustely with him, that he killed him. Whereof he was so glad, and chiefly for that he had wonne his clubbe, that ever after he caryed it him selfe about with him, as Hercules dyd the lyons skynne. And like as this spoyle of the lyon dyd witnesse the greatnes of the beast which Hercules had slayne : even so Theseus went all about, shewing that this clubbe which he had gotten out of anothers hands, was in his owne handes invincible. And so groinff on further, in the streightes of Peloponnesus he killed another, called Sinnis surnamed Pityocamtes, that is to saye, a wreather, or bower of pyne apple trees : whom he put to death in that selfe cruell manner that Sinnis had slayne many other travellers before. Not that he had experience thereof, by any former practise or exercise : but only to shewe, that cleane strength coulde doe more, then either arte or exercise. This Sinnis had a goodly fayer daughter called Perigouna, which fled awaye, when she sawe her father slayne : whom he followed and sought all about. But she had hydden her selfe in a grove full of certen kyndes of wilde pricking rushes called Stoebe, and wilde sparage, which she simplye like a childe intreated to hyde her, as if they had heard and had sense to vmder- stand her : promising them with an othe, that if they saved her from being founde, she would never cutt them downe, nor burne them. But Theseus fynding her, called her, and sware by his faith he would use her gently, and doe her no hurte, nor displeasure at all. Upon which promise she came out of the bushe, and laye with him, by whom she was conceyved of a goodly boye, which was called Menalippus. Afterwardes Theseus maried her unto one Deioneus, the Sonne of Euritus the Oechalian. Of this Menalippus, the Sonne of Theseus, came loxus : the which with Ornytus brought men into the countrye of Caria, where he buylt the cittie of loxides. And hereof cometh that olde auncient ceremonie, observed yet unto this daye by those of loxides, 36 GRECIANS AND ROMANES never to burne the bryars of wilde sparage, nor the Stoebe, THESEUS but they have them in some honour and reverence. Touch- ino- the wilde savage sowe of Crommyon, otherwise surnamed Phaea the Phaea, that is to saye, overgrowen with age : she was not a wUde sowe of beast to be made light account of, but was very fierce, and i'9"^"^yon terrible to kyll. Theseus notwithstanding taryed for her, and kylled her in his jorney, to the ende it shoulde not appeare to the worlde, that all the valliant deedes he dyd, were done by compulsion, and of necessitie : adding thereto his opinion also, that a valliant main should not onely fight with men, to defend him selfe from the wicked : but that he should be the first, to assaulte and slaye wilde hurtefuU beastes. Nevertheles others have written, that this Phaea Phaea a wo- was a woman robber, a murderer, and naught of her bodye, "^^^ theefe. which spoyled those that passed by the place called Crom- myonia, where she dwelt : and that she was surnamed a sowe, for her beastly brutishe behaviour, and wicked life, for the which in the ende she was also slayne by Theseus, After her he kylled Sciron, entring into the territories of Megara, Sciron a not- bicause he robbed all travellers by the waye, as the common ^^^® robber, reporte goeth : or as others saye, for that of a cruell, wicked, (jo^ng tjjg and savage pleasure, he put forth his feete to those that rocks by passed by the sea side, and compelled them to washe them. Theseus, And then when they thought to stowpe to doe it, he still spurned them with his feete, till he thrust them hedlong into the sea : so Theseus threw him hedlong downe the rockes, Howbeit the writers of Megara impugning this common reporte, and desirous (as Simonides sayeth) to over- throwe it that had continued by prescription of time : dyd mainteine that this Sciron was never any robber, nor wicked persone, but rather a pursuer and punisher of the wricked, and a friend and a kynseman of the most honest, and j ustest men of Grece, For there is no man but will confesse, that iEacus was the most vertuous man among the Grecians in ^acus, his time, and that Cychreus the Salaminian is honoured and Cychreus. reverenced as a god at Athens : and there is no man also but knoweth, that Peleus and Telamon were men of singular vertue, Nowe it is certeine, that this Sciron was the sonne in lawe of Cychreus, father in lawe of ^acus, and grand- 37 THESEUS Cercyon the Arcadian slaine of Theseus by wrestling. Damastes Procrustes a cruel mur- therer, slaine of Theseus. Hercules doings. Termerus evill. Cephisus, a ri- ver of Boeotia. The Phy- talides the first men that feasted Theseus in their houses. This sacrifice Plutarchecall- eth Milichia. LIVES OF THE NOBLE father of Peleus and of Telamon, the which two were the children of Endeida, the daughter of the sayed Sciron, and of his wife Charielo. Also it is not very likely, that so many good men would have had affinitie with so naughty and wicked a man : in taking of him, and geving him that, which men love best of all things in the worlde. And therefore the Historiographers saye, that it was not the first time, when Theseus went unto Athens, that he killed Sciron : but that it was many dayes after, when he tooke the cittie of Eleusin, which the Megarians helde at that time, where he deceyved the governour of the cittie called Diodes, and there he slewe Sciron. And these be the objec- tions the Megarians alledged touching this matter. He slewe also Cercyon the Arcadian, in the cittie of Eleusin, wrestling with him. And going a litle further, he slewe Damastes, otherwise surnamed Procrustes, in the cittie of Hermionia : and that by stretching on him out, to make him even with the length and measure of his beddes, as he was wont to doe unto straungers that passed by. Theseus dyd that after the imitation of Hercules, who punished tyrannes with the selfe same payne and torment, which they had made others suffer. For even so dyd Hercules sacrifice Busiris. So he stifled Antheus in wrestling. So he put Cycnus to death, fighting with him man to man. So he brake Termerus heade, from whom this proverbe of Termerus evill came, which continueth yet unto this daye : for this Termerus dyd use to put them to death in this sorte whom he met : to jolle his head against theirs. Thus proceeded Theseus after this selfe manner, punishing the wicked in like sorte, justly compelling them tabyde the same payne and torments, which they before had unjustly made others abyde. And so he helde on his jorney untill he came to the river of Cephisus, where certaine persones of the house of the Phytalides were the first which went to meete him, to honour him, and at his request they purified him according to the ceremonies used at that time : and afterward es having made a sacrifice of propitiation unto their goddes, they made him great chere in their houses : and this was the first notable enterteinment he founde in all his jorney. It is supposed 38 GRECIANS AND ROMANES he arrived in the cittie of Athens, the eight daye of the THESEUS moneth of June, which then they called Cronius. He found the comon wealth turmoyled with seditions, factions, and divisions, and perticularly the house of ^Egeus in very ill termes also, bicause that Medea (being banished out of the cittie of Corinthe) was come to dwell in Athens, and remained with iEgeus, whom she had promised by vertue of certaine medicines to make him to get children. But when she heard tell that Theseus was comen, before that the good king iEgeus (who was nowe becomen olde, suspitious, and affrayed of sedition, by reason of the great factions within the cittie at that time) knewe what he was, she perswaded him to Medea per- poyson him at a feaste which they woulde make him as a swaded^Egeus straunger that passed by. Theseus failed not to goe to this ji^^^^T^ prepared feaste whereunto he was bydden, but yet thought it not good to disclose him selfe. And the rather to geve JEgeus occasion and meane to knowe him : when they brought the meate to the borde, he drewe out his sworde, as though he woulde have cut with all, and shewed it unto him. ^geus ^Egeus ac- seeing it, knewe it straight, and forthwith overthrewe the knowledgeth cuppe with poyson which was prepared for him : and after v/gfnnp ^^ he had inquired of him, and asked thinges, he embraced him as his Sonne. Afterwardes in the common assembly of the inhabitants of the cittie, he declared, howe he avowed him for his Sonne. Then all the people receyved him with exceeding joye, for the ^eno^vne of his valiantnes and manhoode. And some saye, that when JEgeus overthrewe the cuppe, the poyson which was in it, fell in that place, where there is at this pre- sent a certen compasse inclosed all about within the temple, which is called Delphinium. For even there in that place, in the olde time, stoode the house of vEgeus : in witnes whereof, they call yet at this present time the image of Mercurye (which is on the side of the temple looking towardes the rising of the sunne) the Mercurye gate of iEgeus. But the Pallan- tides, which before stoode allwayes in hope to recover the realme of Athens, at the least after ^Egeus death, bicause he had no children : when they sawe that Theseus was knowen, and openly declared for his sonne and heir, and successour to the Realme, they were not able any lenger to beare it, seeing 39 THESEUS The Pallan- tides take armes against ^geus aud Theseus. Leos an Her- auld bewray- eth their treason to Theseus. Theseus killeth the Pallantides. The bull of Marathon taken alive by Theseus. Apollo Delphias. lupiter Hecalian. LIVES OF THE NOBLE that not onely iEgeus (who was but the adopted sonne of Pandion, and nothing at all of the bloude royall of the Erictheides) had usurped the Kingdome over them, but that Theseus also should enjoye it after his death. Whereupon they determined to make warre with them both, and dividing them selves into two partes, the one came openly in armes with their father, marching directly towardes the cittie : the other laye close in ambushe in the village Gargettus, meaning to geve charge upon them in two places at one instant. Nowe they brought with them an Heraulde borne in the towne of Agnus, called Leos, who bewrayed unto Theseus the secret and devise of all their enterprise. Theseus upon this intelligence went forth, and dyd set on those that laye in ambushe, and put them all to the sworde. The other which were in Pallas companie understanding thereof, dyd breake and disparse them selves incontinently. And this is the cause (as some saye) why those of Pallena doe never make affinitie nor mariadge with those of Agnus at this daye. And that in their towne when any proclamation is made, they never speake these words which are cryed every where els through out the whole countrye of Attica, Acouete Leos^ (which is as muche to saye, as Hearken, O people) they doe so extreamely hate this worde Leos, for that it was the Herauldes name which wrought them that treason. This done, Theseus who woulde not live idelly at home and doe nothing, but desirous there withall to gratifie the people, went his waye to fight with the bull of Marathon, the which dyd great mischieves to the inhabitants of the countrye of Tetrapolis. And having taken him alive, brought him through the citie of Athens to be scene of all the inhabitants. Afterwardes he dyd sacrifice him unto Apollo Delphias. Nowe concerning Hecale, who was reported to have lodged him, and to have geven him good enterteinment, it is not altogether untrue. For in the olde time, those townes and villages thereaboutes dyd assemble together, and made a common sacrifice which they called Hecalesion, in the honour of lupiter Hecalian, where they honoured this olde woman, calling her by a diminutive name, Hecalena : bicause that when she receyved Theseus into her house, being then but 40 GRECIANS AND ROMANES very younge, she made muche of him, and called him by THESEUS many prety made names, as olde folkes are wont to call younge children. And forasmuche as she had made a vowe to lupiter to make him a solemne sacrifice, if Theseus returned safe from the enterprise he went about, and that she dyed before his returne : in recompence of the good chere she had made him, she had that honour done unto her by Theseus commaundement, as Philochorus bathe written of it. Shortely after this exployte, there came certaine of King Minos am- bassadours out of Creta, to aske tribute, being nowe the thirde time it was demaunded, which the Athenians payed The Athe- for this cause. Androgens, the eldest sonne of king Minos, nians payed was slayne by treason within the countrye of Attica : for tribute to which cause Minos pursuing the revenge of his death, made r^^^ for^he very whotte and sharpe warres upon the Athenians, and dyd death' of them greate hurte. But besides all this, the goddes dyd Audrogeus sharpely punishe and scourge all the countrye, aswell with ^i^ sonne. barrennes and famine, as also with plague and other mis- chieves, even to the drying up of their rivers. The Athenians perceyving these sore troubles and plagues, ranne to the oracle of Apollo, who aunswered them that they shoulde appease Minos : and when they had made their peace with him, that then the wrathe of the goddes woulde cease against them, and their troubles should have an ende. Whereupon the Athenians sent immediately unto him, and intreated him for peace : which he graunted them, with condition that The manner they should be bounde to sende him yerely into Creta, seven of the tribute younge boyes, and as many younge gyrles. Nowe thus farre, conditioned. all the Historiographers doe very well agree : but in the reste not. And they which seeme furdest of from the trothe, doe declare, that when these yonge boyes were delivered in Creta, they caused them to be devowred by the Minotaure within the Laberinthe : or els that they were shut within this Laberinthe, wandring up and dowTie, and coulde finde no The Mino- place to gett out, untill suche time as they dyed, even taure what it famished for hunger. And this Minotaure, as Euripides the ^*^' Poet sayeth, was A corps combynd, which monstrous might be deemd ; A Boye^ a Bull; both man and beast it seemd. F 41 taines. LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS But Philochorus writeth, that the Cretans doe not con- The Labe- fesse that, but saye that this Laberinthe was a gayle or rmthe a pri- prisone, in the which they had no other hurte, saving that re a. ||^gy which were kept there under locke and keye, coulde not flye nor starte awaye : and that Minos had, in the memorye of his sonne Androgeus, instituted games and playes of prise, where he gave unto them that wanne the victorie, those younge children of Athens, the which in the meane time notwithstanding were carefully kept and looked unto in the prisone of the Laberinthe : and that at the first games that were kept, one of the Kings captaines called Taurus one of Taurus, who was in best creditt with his master, wanne the Minoes cap- prise. This Taurus was a churlishe, and naughtie natured man of condition, and very harde and cruell to these children of Athens. And to verifie the same, the philosopher Aris- totle him selfe, speaking of the common wealth of the Of the Bot- Bottieians, declareth very well, that he never thought that tieians. Plin. Minos dyd at any time cause the children of Athens to be . 4. cap. 2. p^^ ^Q death : but sayeth, that they poorely toyled in Creta even to crooked age, earning their living by true and paine- fuU service. For it is written, that the Cretans (to satisfie an olde vowe of theirs which they had made of auncient time) sent somtimes the first borne of their children, unto Apollo in the cittie of Delphes : and that amongest them they also mingled those, which were descended of the auncient prisoners of Athens, and they went with them. But bicause they coulde not live there, they directed their jorney first into Italic, where for a time they remained in the realme of Puglia, and afterwardes from thence went into the confines of Thracia, where they had this name of Bot- tieians. In memory whereof, the daughters of the Bottieians in a solemne sacrifice they make, doe use to singe the foote of this songe : Lett us to Athens goe. But thereby we maye see howe perilous a thing it is, to fall in displeasure and enmitie with a cittie, which can speake well, and where King ^iJios learning and eloquence dothe florishe. For ever sence that PoetTin the ^ ^^"^^5 Minos was allwayes biased and disgraced through out theaters at ^^ the Theaters of Athens. The testimonie of Hesiodus, Athens, who calleth him the most worthie King, dothe nothing 42 GRECIANS AND ROMANES helpe him at all, nor the prayse of Homer, who nameth him THESEUS lupiters famillier friende : bicause the tragicall Poets gott the upper hande in disgracing liim, notwithstanding all these. And upon their stages where all the tragedies were played, they still gave forth many ill favored wordes, and fowle speaches of him : as against a man that had bene most cruell and unnaturall. Yet most men thincke, that Minos was the King which established the lawes : and Radaman- Radaman- thus the judge and preserver of them, who caused the same thus. also to be kept and observed. The time nowe being comen about for payment of the thirde tribute, when they came to The thirde compell the fathers which had children not yet maried, to ^^'^V^/i^' geve them to be put forth to take their chaunce and lotte : tribute the citizens of Athens beganne to murmure against ^geus, alledging for their grieves, that he who onely was the cause of all this evill, was onely alone exempted from this griefe. And that to brins: the government of the Realme, to fall • Til into the handes of a straunger his bastard : he cared not though they were bereft of all their naturall children, The Atheni- and were unnaturally compelled to leave and forsake them, ^'^^/^^^^^^th These just sorrowes and complaintes of the fathers, whose their children, children were taken from them, dyd pearce the harte of Theseus, who willing to yelde to reason, and to ronne the selfe same fortune as the cittizens dyd : willingly offered him Theseus offer- selfe to be sent thither, without regarde taking to his happe ^,^-'^T''xif^\-i or adventure. For which, the cittizens greatly esteemed of ^^^^ ^^^^ his corage and honorable disposition, and dearely loved him Creta. for the good affection, he seemed to beare unto the comun- altye. But ^geus having used many reasons and per- swasions, to cause him to turne, and staye from his purpose, and perceyving in the ende there was no remedye but he woulde goe : he then drue lottes for the children which Lotts drawen should goe with him. Hellanicus notwithstanding dothe ^"'^ ^^^h^?^^" write, that they were not those of the cittie which drewe ^^^^^^^ g^g^ lottes for the children they should sende, but that Minos him selfe went thither in persone and dyd chuse them, as he chose Theseus the first, upon conditions agreed betwene them : that is to wit, that the Athenians shoulde furnishe them with a shippe, and that the children should shippe and THESEUS The Atheni- ans sent their children into Creta in a shippe with a blacks sayle. vEgeus geveth the master of the shippe a white sayle, to signifie the safe returne of Theseus. Cybernesia games. Hiceteria oflFering. Theseus tak- eth shippe with the tri- bute children, the sixt of Marche, and savleth into Creta, LIVES OF THE NOBLE imbarke with him, carying no weapons of warre : and that after the death of the Minotaure, this tribute should cease. Nowe before that time, there was never any hope of returne, nor of safetie of their children : therefore the Athenians all- wayes sent a shippe to convey their children with a blacke sayle, in token of assured losse. Nevertheles Theseus put- ting his father in good hope of him, being of a good corage, and promising boldly that he woulde sett upon this Mino- taure : ^geus gave unto the master of the shippe a white sayle, commaunding him that at his returne he should put out the white sayle if his sonne had escaped, if not, that then he should sett up the blacke sayle, to shewe him a farre of his unlucky and unfortunate chaunce. Simonides notwith- standing doeth saye, that this sayle which ^geus gave to the master, was not white, but redde, dyed in graine, and of the culler of scarlett : and that he gave it him to signifie a farre of, their deliverie and safety. This master was called Phereclus Amarsiadas, as Simonides sayeth. But Philo- chorus writeth, that Scirus the Salaminian gave to Theseus a master called Nausitheus, and another marriner to tackle the sayles, who was called Phseas : bicause the Athenians at that time were not greatly practised to the sea. And this did Scirus, for that one of the children on whom the lott fell was his nephewe : and thus muche the chappells doe testifie, which Theseus buylt afterwardes in honoui* of Nausi- theus, and of Phaeas, in the village of Phalerus, joyning to the temple of Scirus. And it is sayed moreover, that the feaste which they call Cybernesia, that is to saye, the feaste of Patrons of the shippes, is celebrated in honour of them. Nowe after the lotts were drawen, Theseus taking with him the children allotted for the tribute, went from the pallace to the temple called Delphinion, to offer up to Apollo for him and for them, an offering of supplication which they call Hiceteria : which was an olyve boughe hallowed, wreathed about with white wolle. After he had made his prayer, he went downe to the sea side to imbarke, the sixt daye of the moneth of Marche : on which daye at this present time they doe sende their younge girles to the same temple of Del- phinion, there to make their prayers and petitions to the 44 GRECIANS AND ROMANES goddes. But some saye, that the oracle of Apollo in the THESEUS cittie of Delphes had aunswered him, that he should take Venus for his guyde, and that he should call upon her to conduct him in his voyage : for which cause he dyd sacrifice a goate unto her upon the sea side, which was founde sodainly turned into a ramme, and that herefore they surnamed this goddesse Epitragia, as one would saye, the goddesse of the Venus Epi- ramme. Furthermore, after he was arrived in Creta, he tragic, slewe there the Minotaure (as the most parte of auncient Theseus slewe authors doe write) by the meanes and helpe of Ariadne : who the Mino- beinff fallen in fansie with him, dyd geve him a clue of *^"^^ "V threede, by the helpe whereof she taught him, howe he might Ariadne kinff easely winde out of the turnings and cranckes of the Laby- Minoes rinthe. And they saye, that having killed this Minotaure, daughter, he returned backe againe the same Avaye he went, bringing Theseus re- with him those other younge children of Athens, whom with turne out of Ariadne also he caried after wardes awaye. Pherecides sayeth '-^^^'•^* moreover, that he brake the keeles or bottomes of all the shippes of Creta, bicause they should not sodainely sett out after them. And Demon writeth, that Taurus (the captaine Taurus over- of Minos) was killed in a fight by Theseus, even in the very come of The- haven mowthe as they were readye to shippe awaye, and ^^"^' ^^^^ ^ hoyse up sayle. Yet Philochorus reporteth, that king IVIinos having sett up the games, as he was wont to doe yerely in the honour and memorye of his sonne, every one beganne to envye captaine Taurus, bicause they ever looked that he should carye awaye the game and victorie, as he had done other yeres before : over and that, his authoritye got him much ill will and envye, bicause he was proude and stately, and had in suspition that he was great with Queene Pasi- Taurus sus- phae. Wherefore when Theseus required he might encounter pected with with Taurus, Minos easely graunted it. And being a solemne P^^^P^^.^j custome in Creta that the women shoulde be present, to see ^^j^g ' these open sportes and sights, Ariadne being at these games amongest the rest, fell further in love with Theseus, seeing How Ariadne him so goodly a persone, so stronge, and invincible in wrest- fell in love ling, that he farre exceeded all that wrestled there that ^^^^h Theseus, daye. King Minos was so glad that he had taken awaye the honour from captaine Taurus, that he sent him home francke 45 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS and free into his countrye, rendring to him all the other Minos send- prisoners of Athens : and for his sake, clearely released and eth Theseus forgave the cittie of Athens the tribute, which they should home with his j^g^yg payed him yerely. Howbeit Clidemus searchins; out prisoners and ^ . . ^ *^ , .1 releaseth'the ^^ beginning of these things to thutmost, reciteth them Athenians of very particularly, and after another sorte. For he sayeth, their tribute, about that time there was a generall restraint through out A marine all Grece, restrayning all manner of people to beare sayle in lawe. Qj^y vessell or bottome, wherein there were above five per- sones, except only lason, who was chosen captaine of the great shippe Argus, and had commission to sayle every where, to chase and drive awaye rovers and pyrates, and to Daedalus scoure the seas through out. About this time, Daedalus flight. being fled from Creta to Athens in a litle barke : Minos contrarie to this restraint, woulde needes followe him with a fleete of divers vessels with owers, who being by force of King Minos weather driven to the coaste of Sicile, fortuned to dye there, dyed in Sicile. Afterwardes his sonne Deucalion, being marvellously of- Deucalion fended with the Athenians, sent to summone them to deliver king Minoes Dagdalus unto him, or els he woulde put the children to Sonne sent to death, which were delivered to his father for hostages. But ^T D- ^ Theseus excused him selfe, and sayed he coulde not forsake dalus. Daedalus, considering he was his neere kynseman, being his cosin germaine, for he was the sonne of Merope, the daughter of Erichtheus. Howbeit by and by he caused many vessels secretly to be made, parte of them within Attica selfe in the village of Thymetades, farre from any highe wayes : and parte of them in the cittie of Troezen, by the sufferance of Pitheus his grandfather, to the ende his purpose shoulde be kept the secretly er. Afterwardes when all his shippes were readye, and rygged out, he tooke sea before the Cretans had any knowledge of it : in so much as when they sawe them a farre of, they dyd take them for the barkes of their friends. Theseus sayl- Theseus landed without resistaunce, and tooke the haven. ed into Creta, Xhen having Daedalus, and other banished Cretans for guydes, th ^t?r of ^^ entred the cittie selfe of Gnosus, where he slewe Deucalion Gnosus and in a fight before the gates of the Labyrinthe, with all his slewe Deuca- garde and officers about him. By this meanes the kingdome lion- of Creta fell by inheritance into the handes of his sister 46 GRECIANS AND ROMANES Ariadne. Theseus made league with her, and caryed away THESEUS the yong children of Athens, which were kept as hostages, and concluded peace and amytie betweene the Athenians and the Cretans : who promised, and sware, they woulde never make warres against them. They reporte many other things also touching this matter, and specially of Ariadne : but there is Divers opin- no trothe nor certeintie in it. For some saye, that Ariadne ^^^^ of honge her selfe for sorowe, when she sawe that Theseus had -^"^^"^• caste her of. Other write, that she was transported by mariners into the He of Naxos, where she was maryed unto CEnarus, the priest of Bacchus : and they thincke that The- seus lefte her, bicause he was in love with another, as by these verses shoulde appeare. ^gles the Nyniphe, was loved of Theseus, which was the daughter of Panopeus. Hereas the Megarian sayeth, that these two verses in olde time were among the verses of the Poet Hesiodus, howbeit Pisistratus tooke them awaye : as he dyd in like manner adde these other here in the description of the helles in Homer, to gratifie the Athenians. Bolde Theseus^ and Pirithous stowte, descended both, from godds immortall race. Triumphing still, this wearie worlde aboute in feats of armes, and many a comly grace. Other holde opinion, that Ariadne had two children by Theseus : the one of them was named (Enopion, and the (Enopion, and other Staphylus. Thus amongest others the Poet Ion Staphylus writeth it, who was borne in the He of Chio, and speaking ^^^^s^us of his cittie, he sayeth thus : sonnes. CEnopiou which was the sonne, of worthy Theseus did cause men buylde, this stately towne which nowe triumpheth thus. Nowe what things are founde seemely in Poets fables, there is none but dothe in manner synge them. But one Paenon borne in the cittie of Amathunta, reciteth this cleane after another sorte, and contrarie to all other : saying, that Theseus by tempest was driven with the He of Cyprus, 47 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS Theseus leav- eth Ariadne in Cyprus. Ariadne dieth with childe in Cyprus. The cere- monie of the sacrifice done to Ariadne in Cyprus. Venus Ariadne. Two Minoes and two Ariadnees. Corcyna Ariadnes Theseus re- turneth out of Creta into the lie of Delos. having with him Ariadne, which was great with childe, and so sore sea sycke, that she was not able to abide it. In so muche as he was forced to put her a lande, and him selfe afterwards returning abourde hoping to save his shippe against the storme, was forthwith compelled to loofe into the sea. The women of the countrye dyd curteously receyve and intreate Ariadne : and to comforte her againe, (for she was marveilously oute of harte, to see she was thus forsaken) they counterfeated letters, as if Theseus had wrytten them to her. And when her groninge time was come, and she to be layed, they did their best by all possible meanes to save her: but she dyed notwithstanding in labour, and could never be delivered. So she was honorably buried by the Ladies of Cyprus. Theseus not long after returned thither againe, who tooke her death marvelous heavily, and left money with the inhabitantes of the countrie, to sacrifice unto her yearely : and for memorie of her, he caused two litle images to be molten, the one of copper, and the other of silver, which he dedicated unto her. This sacrifice is done the seconde day of September, on which they doe yet observe this ceremonie : they doe lay a young childe upon a bed, which pitiefully cryeth and lamenteth, as women travellinge with childe. They saye also, that the Amathusians doe yet call the grove where her tombe is sette up, the wodde of Venus Ariadne. And yet there are of the Naxians, that reporte this otherwise : saying, there were two Minoes, and two Ariadnees, whereof the one was maried to Bacchus in the lie of Naxos, of whome Staphylus was borne : and the other the youngest, was ravished and caried away by The- seus, who afterwardes forsooke her, and she came into the He of Naxos with her nurce, called Corcyna, whose grave they doe shewe yet to this day. This seconde Ariadne dyed there also, but she had no such honour done to her after her death, as to the first was geven. For they celebrate the feaste of the first with all joye and mirthe : where the sacrifices done in memorie of the seconde, be mingled with mourninge and sorowe. Theseus then departing from the He of Creta, arrived in the He of Delos, where he did sacri- fice in the temple of Apollo, and gave there a litle image of 48 GRECIANS AND ROMANES Venus, the which he had gotten of Ariadne. Then with THESEUS the other young boyes that he had delivered, he daunced a kinde of daunce, which the Dehans keepe to this day, as they say : in which there are many turnes and returnes, much after the turninges of the Labyrinthe. And the Delians call this manner of daunce, the crane, as Dicoearcus Theseus sayeth. And Theseus daunced it first about the altar, daunce called which is called Ceraton, that is to saye, hornestaffe : bicause t^^ Crane, it is made and builded of homes onely, all on the left hande well and curiously sette together without any other bindinge. It is sayed also that he made a game in this He of Delos, in which at the first was geven to him that overcame, a braunche of palme for reward of victorie. But when they Palme a token drewe neere the coast of Attica, they were so j oy full, he and ^^ victory, his master, that they forgate to set up their white sayle, by Theseus mas- which they shoulde have geven knowledge of their healthe ter of his and safetie to iEgeus. Who seeinge the blacke savle a farre ^"^PP^ formate t% » • . to spt out tnP of, being out of all hope evermore to see his sonne againe, ^-i^j^g savle tooke such a griefe at his harte, that he threw him selfe headlong from the top of a clyff'e, and killed him selfe. So ^geus death, soone as Theseus was arrived at the porte named Phalerus, Theseus arriv- he performed the sacrifices which he had vowed to the goddes eth safe with at his departure : and sent an Herauld of his before unto the tribute the city, to carie newes of his safe arrivall. The Heraulde ^.j^g haven of founde many of the citie mourning the death of king JEgeus. Phalerus. Many other received him with great joy, as may be supposed. They would have crowned him also with a garlande of flowers, for that he had brought so good tidinges, that the children of the citie were returned in safetie. The Heraulde was content to take the garlande, yet would he not in any wise put it on his head, but did winde it about his Heraulds rodde he bare in his hande, and so returneth foorthwith to The Herauld the sea, where Theseus made his sacrifices. Who perceiv- bare a rodde inge they were not yet done, did refuse to enter into the ^^ "^^ hand, temple, and stayed without for troubling of the sacrifices. After wardes all ceremonies finished, he went in and tolde him the newes of his fathers death. Then he and his company mourning for sorowe, hasted with speede towardes the citie. And this is the cause, why to this day, at the feast called G 49 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS The feast Oscophoria. October called Pya- nepsion, in the Atticau tongue. Herod, of Ire- sione in the life of Homer, and Suidas. Theseus went into Creta with the tri- bute children, in the galliot of 30. owers. Disputation about in- crease. Oscophoria (as who woulde say at the feast of boughes) the Herauld hath not his heade but his rod onely crowned with flowers, and why the assistantes also after the sacrifice done, doe make suche cryes and exclamations : Ele, leuf^ iou, iou : whereof the first is the crye and voyce they commonly use one to an other to make haste, or else it is the foote of some songe of triumphe : and the other is the crye and voyce of men as it were in feare and trouble. After he had ended the obsequies and funeralls for his father, he performed also his sacrifices unto Apollo, which he had vowed the seventh day of the moneth of October, on which they arrived at their returne into the citie of Athens. Even so the custome which they use at this day, to seeth all manner of pulse, commeth of this : that those which then returned with Theseus, did seeth in a great brasse potte all the remaine of their pro- vision, and therewith made good chere together. Even in such sorte as this, came up the custome to carie a braunch of olyve, wreathed about with wolle, which they call Iresione : bicause at that time they caried boughes of supplication, as we have told ye before. About which they hang all sortes of fruites : for then barrennesse did cease, as the verses they sang afterwards did witnesse. Bring him good bread, that is of savry tast, with pleasaunt figges, and droppes of dulcet mell. Then sowple oyle, his body for to bast, and pure good wine, to make him sleepe full well. Howbeit there are some which will say, that these verses were made for the Heraclides, that is to say, those that descended from Hercules : which flying for their safety and succour unto the Athenians, were entertained and much made of by them for a time. But the most parte holde opinion, they were made upon the occasion aforesaid. The vessell in which Theseus went and returned, was a galliot of thirtie owers, which the Athenians kept untill the time of Demetrius the Phalerian, alwayes taking away the olde peeces of wodde that were rotten, and ever renewing them with new in their places. So that ever since, in the disputa- tions of the Philosophers, touching things that increase, to 50 GRECIANS AND ROMANES wit, whether they remaine alwayes one, or else they be made THESEUS others : this galliot was alwayes brought in for an example The galliot of doubt. For some mainteined, that it was still one vessell : alleaged for a others to the contrarie defended it was not so. And they ^10""^. holde opinion also, that the feast of boughes which is cele- brated at Athens at this time, was then first of all instituted by Theseus. It is sayed moreover, that he did not carye all the wenches upon whome the lotts did fall, but chose two fayer young boyes, whose faces were swete and delicate as maydens be, that otherwise were hardie, and quicke sprighted. But he made them so oft bathe them selves in whotte bathes, and kepe them in from the heate of the sunne, and so many times to washe, anointe, and rubbe them selves with oyles which serve to supple and smoothe their skinnes, to keepe freshe and fayer their colour, to make yellowe and bright their heares : and withall did teache them so to counterfeate their speache, countenaunce and facion of young maydes, that they seemed to be like them, rather then young boyes. For there was no manner of difference to be perceived out- wardly, and he mingled them with the girles, without the knowledge of any man. Afterwards when he was returned, he made a procession, in which both he and the other young boyes, were apparelled then as they be nowe, which carie boughes on the day of the feast in their handes. They carie them in the honor of Bacchus and Ariadne, following the fable that is tolde of them : or rather bicause they returned home just, at the time and season, when they gather the fruite of those trees. There are women which they call Deipnophores, that is to say, supper caryers, which are assis- tantes to the sacrifice done that day, in representing the mothers of those, upon whom the lottes did fall, bicause they in like sorte brought them both meate and drinke. There they tell tales, for so did their mothers tattle to their children, to comforte and encorage them. All these parti- cularities were written by Demon the historiographer. There was moreover a place chosen out to build him a temple in, and he him selfe ordained, that those houses which had payed tribute before unto the king of Creta, should nowe yearely thenceforth become contributories towardes the 51 m THESEUS Theseus thankefullnes to the Phyta- lides who were the first that feasted him in their houses. Theseus brought the inhabitants of the contrie of Attica into one city. Asty, the towne house of the Athe- The feastes Panathenaea, and Metoecia. LIVES OF THE NOBLE charges of a solemne sacrifice, which shoulde be done in the honor of him : and he did assigne the order and administra- tion of the same, unto the house of the Phytalides, in recom- pence of the curtesie which they showed him when he arrived. Furthermore, after the death of his father ^Egeus, he under- tooke a marvelous great enterprise. For he brought all the inhabitantes of the whole province of Attica, to be within the citie of Athens, and made them all one corporation, which were before dispersed into diverse villages, and by reason thereof were very hard to be assembled together, when occasion was offered to establish any order concerning the common state. Many times also they were at variance to- gether, and by the eares, making warres one upon an other. But Theseus tooke the paines to goe from village to village, and from family, to familie, to let them understand the reasons why they should consent unto it. So he found the poore people and private men, ready to obey and foUowe his will : but the riche, and such as had authoritye in every village, all against it. Nevertheles he wanne them, promis- ing that it should be a common wealth, and not subject to the power of any sole prince, but rather a populer state. In which he woulde only reserve to him selfe the charge of the warres, and the preservation of the lawes : for the rest, he was content that every citizen in all and for all should beare a like swaye and authoritye. So there were some that will- ingly graunted thereto. Other who had no liking thereof, velded notwithstanding for feare of his displeasure and power which then was very great. So they thought it better to consent with good will, unto that he required : then to tary his forcible compulsion. Then he caused all the places where justice was ministred, and all their halles of assembly to be overthrowen and pulled downe. He removed straight all j udges and officers, and built a towne house, and a coun- saill hall, in the place where the cittie now standeth, which the Athenians call Asty, but he called the whole corporation of them, Athens. Afterwardes he instituted the greate feast and common sacrifice for all of the countrye of Attica, which they call Panathenaea. Then he ordeined another feaste also upon the sixtenth daye of the raoneth of June, for all strangers 52 GRECIANS AND ROMANES which should come to dwell in Athens, which is called Metoe- THESEUS cia and is kept even to this daye. That done, he gave over his regall power according to his promise, and beganne to sett Theseus re- up an estate or policye of a common wealth, beginning first f'F"^*^ ^'^ with the service of the goddes. To knowe the good successe '",^ "'"ke'th of his enterprise, he sent at the very beginning to the oracle Athens a com- of Apollo in Delphes, to enquire of the fortune of this cittye : mon wealth. from whence this aunswer was brought unto him : O thou which arte^ the sonue of iEgeus, ^^^ oracle or begott by him, on Pitheus daughter deare. Apollo at The mightie love, my father glorious, Delphes. by his decree, hath sayed there shall appeare, a fatall ende, of every cittie here. ^V^hich ende he will, shall also come adowne, within the walles, of this thy stately towne. Therefore shewe thou, a valliant constant minde, and let no care, nor carke thy harte displease. For like unto a bladder blowen with winde thou shalt be tost, upon the surging seas. Yet lett no dynte, of dolours the disease. For why.-* thou shalt, nor perishe nor decaye, nor be orecome, nor yet be cast awaye. It is founde written also that Sibylla afterwardes gave out such a like oracle over the cittye of Athens. The bladder blowen maye flete upon the fludde, but cannot synke, nor sticke in filthie mudde. Moreover, bicause he woulde further yet augment his people, and enlarge his cittie, he entised many to come and dwell there, by offering them the selfe same freedome and priviledges, which the naturall borne citizens had. So that many judge, that these wordes which are in use at this daye in Athens, when any open proclamation is made, All people. Come ye hither : be the selfe same which Theseus then caused to be proclaymed, when he in that sorte dyd gather Theseus mak- a people together of all nations. Yet for all that, he suffered ^f /f fa^nd^ not the great multitude that came thither tagge and ragge, degreerin"his to be without distinction of degrees and orders. For he first common divided the noble men, from husbandmen and artificers, weale. 53 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS appointing the noblemen as judges and magistrates to judge upon matters of Religion, and touching the service of the godds : and of them also he dyd chuse rulers, to beare civill office in the common weale, to determine the lawe, and to tell all holy and divine things. By this meanes he made the noble men and the two other estates equall in voyce. And as the noblemen dyd passe the other in honour : even so the artificers exceeded them in number, and the husbandmen them in profit. Nowe that Theseus was the first who of all Theseus the others yelded to have a common weale or populer estate (as first that gave Aristotle sayeth) and dyd geve over his regall power : Homer over regall ggjf semeth to testifie it, in numbring the shippes which were framed rSopu- ^" ^^^ Grsecians armie before the cittie of Troia. For ler state. amongest all the Graecians, he only calleth the Athenians people. Moreover Theseus coyned money, which he marked An oxe stamp- with the stampe of an oxe, in memorye of the buUe of Mara- ed in Theseus thon, or of Taurus the captaine of Minos, or els to provoke coyne. j^jg citizens to geve them selves to labour. They saye also Hecatom- that of this money they were since called Hecatomboeon, boeon, Deca- and Decabceon, which signifieth worth a hundred oxen, and boeon. worth tenne oxen. Furthermore having joined all the territorie of the cittie of Megara, unto the countrie of Attica, he caused that notable foure square piller to be sett up for their confines within the straight of Peloponnesus, and engraved thereuppon this superscription, that declareth the separation of both the countries which confine there together. The superscription is this. Where Titan doth beginne, his beames for to displaye even that waye stands lonia^ in fertile wise allwaye : And where againe he goeth^ a downe to take his rest, there stands Peloponnesus lande, for there I compt it west. It was he also which made the games called Isthmia, after Olympia. the imitation of Hercules, to the ende that as the Grecians dyd celebrate the feast of games called Olympia, in the Theseus erect- honour of lupiter, by Hercules ordinance : so, that they Isthmia in the should also celebrate the games called Isthmia, lay his order honour of and institution, in the honour of Neptune. For those that Neptune. were done in the straights in the honour of Melicerta, were 54 GRECIANS AND ROMANES done in the night, and had rather forme of sacrifice or of a THESEUS mvsterie, then of games and open feast. Yet some will save, that these games of Isthmia were instituted in the honour and memorie of Sciron, and that Theseus ordained them in satisfaction of his death : bicause he was his cosin germaine, being the sonne of Canethus, and of Heniocha the daughter of Pitheus. Other save that it was Sinnis and not Sciron, and that for him Theseus made these games, and not for the memorie of the other. Howsoever it was, he speciallv willed the Corinthians, that they should geve unto those that came from Athens to see their games of Isthmia, so much place to sit downe before them (in the most honorable parte of the feast place) as the saile of their shippe should cover, in the which they came from Athens : thus doe Hellanicus and Andron Halicamasseus write hereof. Touching the vovage he made by the sea Major, Philochorus, and some other Theseus jor- holde opinion, that he went thither with Hercules against ^y^_ ^^^o mare the Amazones : and that to honour his valiantnes, Hercules -*^^Jor- gave him Antiopa the Amazone. But the more parte of the other Historiographers, namely Hellanicus, Pherecides, and Herodotus, doe write, that Theseus went thither alone, after Hercules voyage, and that he tooke this Amazone Antiopa the prisoner, which is likeliest to be true. For we doe not finde Amazone that any other who went this jomey with him, had taken ^t^^* ^, ^ any Amazone prisoner besides him selfe. Bion also the Historiographer, this notwithstanding sayeth, that he brought her away by deceit and stealth. For the Amazones (saveth he) naturally loving men, dyd not flie at all when thev sawe them lande in their countrye, but sente them presents, and that Theseus entised her to come into his shippe, who brought him a present : and so sone as she was aborde, he hoysed his sayle, and so caried her awav. Another Historio- grapher Menecrates, who wrote the historic of the cittie of Nicea, in the countrye of B}i:hinia, saveth : that Theseus having this Amazone Antiopa with him, remained a certaine time upon those coasts, and amongest other he had in his companie three younger brethem of Athens, Euneus, Thoas, Solois fell in and Solois. This last, Solois, was marveilouslv in love 'with love with Antiopa, and never be\\Tayed it to any of his other com- -■^tiopa. 55 Solois drown- ed him selfe for love. Pythopolis built by Theseus, Solois fl. LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS panions, saving unto one with whom he was most familiar, and whom he trusted best : so that he reported this matter unto Antiopa. But she utterly rejected his sute, though otherwise she handled it wisely and curteously, and dyd not complaine to Theseus of him. Howbeit the younge man despairing to enjoy e his love, tooke it so inwardly, that desperately he lept into the river, and drowned him selfe. Which when Theseus understoode, and the cause also that brought him to this desperation and ende : he was very sorye, and angrie also. Whereupon he remembred a cer- teine oracle of Pythia, by whom he was commaunded to buyld a cittie in that place in a straunge countrye, where he should be most sorye, and that he should leave some that were about him at that time, to governe the same. For this cause therefore he built a cittie in that place, which he named Pythopolis, bicause he liad built it only by the com- maundement of the Nunne Pythia. He called the river in the which the younge man was drowned, Solois, in memorye of him : and left his two brethern for his deputies and as governours of this newe cittie, with another gentleman of Athens, called Hermus. Hereof it commeth, that at this daye the Pythopolitans call a certen place of their cittie, Hermus house. But they fayle in the accent, by putting it upon the last syllable : for in pronouncing it so, Hermu signifieth Mercuric. By this meanes they doe transferre the honour due to the memorie of Hermus, unto the god Mercuric. Now heare what was the occasion of the warres of the Amazones, which me thinckes was not a matter of small moment, nor an enterprise of a woman. For they had not placed their campe within the very cittie of Athens, nor had not fought in tlie very place it selfe (called Pnyce) adjoyning to the temple of the Muses, if they had not first conquered or subdued all the countrye thereabouts : neither had they all comen at the first, so valiantly to assaile the cittie of Athens. Now, whether they came by lande from so farre a countrye, or that they passed over an arme of the sea, which is called Bosphorus Cimmericus, being frosen as Hellanicus sayeth : it is hardely to be credited. But that they camped within the precinct of the very cittie it selfe, the names of 56 The cause of the warres of the Amazones against the Athenians. Bosphorus Cimmericus, an arme of the sea. GRECIANS AND ROMANES the places which contmewe yet to this present daye doe THESEUS witnesse it, and the graves also of the women which dyed there. But so it is, that both armies laye a great time one in the face of the other, ere they came to battell. Howbeit at the length Theseus having first made sacrifice unto Feare the goddesse, according to the counsaill of a prophecie he Theseus fight- had receyved, he gave them battell in the moneth of August, ^^^ ^ battell on the same daye, in the which the Athenians doe even at ^'j^^^^ \. this present solemnise the feast, which they call Boedromia. But Clidemus the Historiographer, desirous particularly to write all the circumstances of this encownter, sayeth that the left poynte of their battell bent towards the place which The order of they call Amazonion : and that the right poynte marched by the Amazones the side of Chrysa, even to the place which is called Pnyce, battell. upon which, the Athenians comming towards the temple of the Muses, did first geve their charge. And for proofe that this is true, the graves of the women which dyed in this first encounter, are founde yet in the great streete, which goeth towards the gate Piraica, neere unto the chappell of the litlc god Chalcodus. And the Athenians (sayeth he) were in this place repulsed by the Amazones, even to the place where the images of Eumenides are, that is to saye, of the furies. But on thother side also, the Athenians comming towards the quarters of Palladium, Ardettus, and Lucium, drave backe their right poynte even to within their campe, and slewe a great number of them. Afterwards, at the ende of foure moneths, peace was taken betwene them by meanes of one Peace con- of the women called Hyppolita. For this Historiographer eluded at calleth the Amazone which Theseus maried, Hyppolita, and endTJlJ'"^ not Antiopa. Nevertheles, some saye that she was slayne meanes of (fighting on Theseus side) with a darte, by another called Hypolita. Molpadia. In memorie whereof, the piller which is joyning to the temple of the Olympian ground, was set up in her honour. We are not to marvell, if the historie of things so auncient, be founde so diversely written. For there are also that write, that Queene Antiopa sent those secretly which were hurte then into the cittie of Calcide, where some of them recovered, and were healed : and others also dyed, which were buried neere to the place called Amazonion. K 67 "1 THESEUS Orcomosion, the name of a place. Auncient tombes of los- enge facion. Thermodon, nowe called Haemon fl. Hippolytus Theseussoune by Antiopa. Phaedra Theseus wife, and Minos daughter king of Creta. Theseus manages. LIVES OF THE NOBLE Howsoever it was, it is most certain that this warre was ended by agreement. For a place adjoyning to the temple of Theseus, dothe beare recorde of it, being called Orcomo- sium : bicause the peace was there by solemne othe con- cluded. And the sacrifice also dothe truely verifie it, which they have made to the Amazones, before the feast of Theseus, long time out of minde. They of Megara also doe shewe a tumbe of the Amazones in their cittie, which is as they goe from the market place, to the place they call Rhus : where they finde an auncient tumbe, cut in facion and forme of a losenge. They saye that there died other of the Amazones also, neere unto the cittie of Chaeronea, which were buried all alongest the litle broke passing by the same, which in the olde time, (in mine opinion) was called Thermodon, and is nowe named Haemon, as we have in other places written in the life of Demosthenes. And it semeth also, that they dyd not passe through Thessalie, without fighting : for there are seene yet of their tumbes all about the cittie of Scotusa, hard by the rocks, which be called the doggs head. And this is that which is worthy memorie (in mine opinion) touching the warres of these Amazones. How tlie Poet telleth that the Amazones made warres with Theseus to revenge the injurie he dyd to their Queene Antiopa, refusing her, to marye with Phaedra : and as for the murder which he telleth that Hercules dyd, that me thinckes is altogether but devise of Poets. It is very true, that after the death of Antiopa, Theseus maried Phaedra, having had before of Antiopa a sonne called Hippolytus, or as the Poet Pindarus writeth, Demophon. And for that the Historiographers doe not in any thing speake against the tragicall Poets, in that which concerneth the ill happe that chaunced to him, in the persons of this his wife and of his sonne : we must needes take it to be so, as we finde it written in the tragedies. And yet we finde many other reportes touching the manages of Theseus, whose beginnings had no great good honest ground, neither fell out their endes very fortunate : and yet for all that they have made no tragedies of them, neither have they bene played in the Theaters, For we reade that he tooke away Anaxo the Troezenian, and that after he had killed 58 GRECIANS AND ROMANES Sinnis and Cercyon, he tooke their daughters perforce : and THESEUS that he dyd also marye Peribsea, the mother of Ajax, and afterwards Pherebaea, and loppa the daughter of Iphicles. And they blame him much also, for that he so lightly for- sooke his wife Ariadne, for the love of JEgles the daughter of Panopaeus, as we have recited before. Lastely, he tooke awaye Hellen : which ravishement filled all the Realme of Attica with warres, and finally was the very occasion that forced him to forsake his countrye, and brought him at the length to his ende, as we will tell you hereafter. Albeit in his time other princes of Grece had done many goodly and notable exploits in the warres, yet Herodotus is of opinion, that Theseus was never in any one of them : saving that he Theseus was at the battell of the Lapithae against the Centauri. battels. Others saye to the contrarie,' that he was at the jomey of Cholchide with lason, and that he dyd helpe Meleager to kill the wilde bore of Calydonia : from whence (as they saye) this proverbe came : ' Not without Theseus."* Meaning that Proverbe. suche a thing was not done without great helpe of another. ^ Not without Howbeit it is certaine that Theseus self dyd many actes, eseus. without ayde of any man, and that for his valiantnes this proverbe came in use, which is spoken : ' This is another Proverbe. ' Theseus.' Also he dyd helpe Adrastus kino- of the Arrives, 'This is ano-^ to recover the bodyes of those that were slayne in the battell, neseus. before the cittie of Thebes. Howbeit it was not, as the poet Euripides sayeth, by force of amies, after he had overcome the Thebans in battell : but it was by composition. And thus the greatest number of the most auncient writers doe declare it. Furthermore, Philochorus writeth, that this was the first treatie that ever was made to recover the dead bodyes slayne in battell : nevertheles we doe reade in the histories and gestes of Hercules, that he was the first that ever suffered his enemies to carye awaye their dead bodyes, after they had bene put to the sword. But whosoever he was, at this daye in the village of Eleutheres, they doe showe the place where the people were buried, and where princes tumbes are seene about the cittie of Eleusin, which he made at the request of Adrastus. And for testimonie hereof, the tragedie iEschilus made of the Eleusinians, where he causeth 59 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS Theseus val- liantnes the cause of Piri- thous friend- shippe with him. Pirithous and Theseus sworne bre- thern in the field. Pirithous maried Dei- damia. The Lapithae overcomenthe Centauri. Theseus and Hercules met at Trachina. it to be spoken even thus to Theseus himself, dothe clerely overthrowe the petitioners in Euripides. Touching the friendshippe betwixt Pirithous and him, it is sayed it beganne thus. The renowne of his valliancy was marvelously blowen abroade through all Grece, and Pirithous desirous to knowe it by experience, went even of purpose to invade his countrye, and brought awaye a certaine bootie of oxen of his taken out of the countrye of Marathon. Theseus being advertised therof, armed straight, and went to the rescue. Pirithous hearing of his comming, fled not at all, but returned backe sodainly to mete him. And so sone as they came to see one another, they both wondred at eche others beawtie and corage, and so had they no desire to fight. But Pirithous reaching out his hande first to Theseus, sayed unto him. I make your selfe judge of the damage you have susteined by my invasion, and with all my harte I will make suche satisfac- tion, as it shall please you to assesse it at. Theseus then dyd not only release him, of all the damages he had done, but also requested him he would become his friend, and brother in armes. Hereupon they were presently sworne brethren in the fielde : after which othe betwixt them, Pirithous maried Deidamia, and sent to praye Theseus to come to his mariage, to visite his countrye, and to make merye with the Lapithas. He had bidden also the Centauri to the feast : who being druncke, committed many lewde partes, even to the forcing of women. Howbeit the Lapithae chasticed them so well, that they slewe some of them pre- sently in the place, and drave the rest afterwards out of all the countrye by the helpe of Theseus, who armed him selfe, and fought on their side. Yet Herodotus writeth the matter somewhat contrarie, saying that Theseus went not at all untill the warre was well begonne : and that it was the first time that he sawe Hercules, and spake with him neere unto the cittie of Trachina, when he was then quiet, having ended all his farre voyages, and greatest troubles. They reporte that this meeting together was full of great cheere, much kindnes, and honorable entertainement betwene them, and howe great curtesie was offred to eache other. Never- theles me thincks we should geve better credit to those 60 GRECIANS AND ROMANES writers that saye they mett many times together, and that THESEUS Hercules was accepted and receyved into the brotherhed of the mysteries of Eleusin, by the meanes of the countenaunce and favour which Theseus showed unto him : and that his purification also was thereby allowed of, who was to be purged of necessitie of all his ill deedes and cruelties, before he could enter into the companie of those holy mysteries. Furthermore, Theseus was fiftie yeres olde when he tooke Theseus fiftie awaye Hellen and ravished her, which was very younge, and y^re olde not of age to be maried, as Hellanicus sayeth. By reason ^"^" "^ •/ •/ r3,visiii*fl whereof, some seeking to hyde the ravishcment of her as a Hellen haynous facte, doe reporte it was not he, but one Idas and Lynceus that caryed her awaye, who left her in his custodie and keeping : and that Theseus would have kept her from them, and would not have delivered her to her brethern Castor and Pollux, which afterwardes dyd demaunde her againe of him. Others againe save it was her owne father Tyndarus, who gave her him to keepe, for that he was afFrayed of Enarsphorus the sonne of Hippocoon, who would have had her away by force. But that which commeth nearest to the trothe in this case, and which in deede by many authors is testified, was in this sorte. Theseus and Pirithous went The manner together to the cittie of Lacedaemon, where they tooke awaye of Hellens Hellen (being yet very younge) even as she was dauncing in ravishement. the temple of Diana surnamed Orthia : and they fled for life. Diana Orthia. They of Lacedaemon sent after her, but those that followed went no further then the cittie of Tegea. Now when they were escaped out of the countrye of Peloponnesus, they agreed to drawe lots together, which of them two should have her, with condition that whose lot it were to have her, he should take her to his wife, and should be bound also to helpe his companion to get him another. It was Theseus happe to light upon her, who caryed her to the cittie of Theseus lefte Aphidnes, bicause she was yet to younge to be maried. Hellen in the Whether he caused his mother to come to bring her up, and "^V^? ^^ gave his friend called Aphidnus the charge of them both, " ^ ' "*^"^" recommending her to his good care, and to kepe it so secretly, that no bodye should knowe what was become of her. Bicause he would doe the like for Pirithous (according to 61 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS Theseus went withPirithous into Epirus, to steale Proserpina Aidoneus daughter. Pirithous tome in peces with Cerberus. Theseus close prisoner. The warre of the Tyndari- des against the Athe- nians. th' agrement made betwext them) he went into Epirus with him to steale the daughter of Aidoneus, king of the Molos- sians, who had surnamed his wife Proserpina, his daughter Proserpina, and his dogg Cerberus : with whom he made them fight which came to aske his daughter in mariage, promising to geve her to him that should overcome his Cerberus. But the King understanding that Pirithous was come, not to request his daughter in mariage, but to steale her away, he tooke him prisoner with Theseus : and as for Pirithous, he caused him presently to be torne in peces with his dogge, and shut Theseus up in close prison. In this meane time there was one at Athens called Menestheus, the Sonne of Peteus : which Peteus was the sonne of Orneus, and Orneus was the sonne of Erictheus. This Menestheus was the first that beganne to flatter the people, and did seeke to winne the favour of the communaltie, by sweete entising words : by which devise he stirred up the chiefest of the cittie against Theseus (who in deede long before beganne to be wearie of him) by declaring unto them howe Theseus had taken from them their royalties and signiories, and had shut them up in suche sorte within the walles of a cittie, that he might the better keepe them in subjection and obedience in all things, after his will. The poor inferiour sorte of people, he dyd stirre up also to rebellion, persuading them that it was no other then a dreame of libertie which was promised them : and howe contrariwise they were clearely dispossest and throwen out of their own houses, of their temples, and from their naturall places where they were borne, to thend only, that in liewe of many good and loving lordes which they were wont to have before, they should now be compelled to serve one onely hedde, and a straunge lorde. Even as Menestheus was very hotte about this practise, the warre of the Tyndarides fell out at that instant, which greatly furthered his pretence. For these Tyndarides (to wit the children of Tyndarus) Castor and Pollux, came downe with a great armie, against the cittie of Athens : and some suspect sore that Menestheus was cause of their comming thither. Howbeit at the first entrie they dyd no hurte at all in the eountrye, but only demaunded restitution of their sister. 62 GRECIANS AND ROMANES To whom the citizens made aunswer, that they knewe not THESEUS where she was left : and then the brethern beganne to make spoyle, and offer warre in deede. Howbeit there was one called Academus, who having knowledge (I can not tell by what meane) that she was secretly hidden in the cittie of Aphidnes, revealed it unto them. By reason whereof the Tyndarides did alwayes honour him very much, so long as he lived, and afterwards the Lacedaemonians, having ofte burnt and destroyed the whole countrye of Attica through- out, they would yet never touch the Academy of Athens for Academus sake. Yet Dicearchus sayeth, that in the armie of the Tyndarides there were two Arcadians, Echedemus, and Marathus, and howe of the name of one of them, it was then called the place of Echedemie, which sithence hath bene Academia called Academia : and after the name of the other, there why so called, was a village called Marathon, bicause he willingly offered Marathon, him self to be sacrificed before the battell, as obeying the order and commandement of a prophecie. So they went and Aphidnes pitched their campe before the cittie of Aphidnes, and wonne and having wonne the battell, and taken the cittie by assault, E?*^^^ by the they raced the place. They saye that Alycus, the sonne of ^ Sciron was slaine at this field, who was in the hoaste of the Tyndarides, and that after his name, a certaine quarter of Alycus Sci- the territorie of Megara was called Alycus, in the which his ^^^^ sonne bodye was buried. Howbeit Hereas writeth that Theseus batSo? self dyd kill him before Aphidnes : In witnes whereof he Aphidnes. alledgeth certain verses which speake of Alycus. While as he sought with all his might and mayue (in thy defence, fayer Hellen for to fight) 111 Aphidnes, upon the pleasauiit playne, bold Theseus to cruell deathe him dight. Howbeit it is not likely to be true, that Theseus being there, the cittie of Aphidnes, and his mother also were taken. But when it was wonne, they of Athens beganne to quake for feare, and Menestheus counselled them to receyve the Tyndarides into the cittie, and to make them good chere, so they would make no warres but upon Theseus, which was the first that had done them the wrong and injurie : and that 63 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THESEUS to all other els they should showe favour and good will. And so it fell out. For when the Tyndarides had all in their power to doe as they listed, they demaunded nothing els but that they might be received into their corporation, and not to be reckoned for straungers, no more then Hercules was : the which was graunted the Tyndarides, and Aphidnus dyd adopt them for his children, as Pylius had adopted Hercules. Moreover they dyd honour them as if they had bene godds, calling them Anaces. Either bicause they ceased the warres, or for that they ordered them selves so well, that their whole armie being lodged within the cittie, there was not any hurte or displeasure done to any persone : but as it became those that have the charge of any thing, they did carefully watche to preserve the good quiet thereof. All which this Greke word Anacos doth signifie, wherof per- chaunce it comes that they call the kings Anactes. There are others also who holde opinion that they were called Anaces, bicause of their starres which appeared in the ayer. For the Attican tongue sayeth, Anacas, and Atiecathen : where the comon people saye Ano, and Anotlien^ that is to saye, above. Nevertheles ^thra, Theseus mother, was caried prisoner to Lacedaemon, and from thence to Troia with Hellen, as some saye : and as Homer him self doth witnesse in his verses, where he speaketh of the women that followed Hellen. iEthra the daughter deare of Pitheus aged Syre, and with her fayer Clymene she, whose eyes most men desire. Yet there are other who aswell reject these two verses, and mainteine they are not Homers : as also they reprove all that is reported of Munychus. To wit, that Laodice ' '^""^''* being prively conceived of him by Demophon, he was brought up secretly by ^thra within Troia. But Hister the his- torien in his thirtenth of his histories of Attica, maketh a recitall farre contrary to other, saying: that some hold opinion, that Paris Alexander was slayne in battell by Achilles, and Patroclus in the countrye of Thessalie, neere Sperchius fl. to the river of Sperchius, and that his brother Hector tooke the cittie of Troezen, from whence he brought awaye iEthra : 64 The Tynda- rides honour- ed as godds, and called Anaces. Cicero de Nat. dear. lib. 3. Kings called Anactes. Anaces why so called. iTlthra taken prisoner, and caried to Lacedaemon. Divers opinions of Homers GRECIANS AND ROMANES in which there is no manner of apparance or likelihodde. THESEUS But .-Edoneus king of the Molossians, feasting Hercules one daye as he passed through his realme, descended by chaunce into talke of Theseus and of Pirithous, howe they came to steale away his daughter secretly : and after told how they were also punished, Hercules was marvellous sorye to understand that one of them was now dead, and the other in daunger to dye, and thought with him self that to make his mone to -iEdoneus, it would not helpe the matter : he be- sought him only that he would deliver Theseus for his sake. And he graunted him. Thus Theseus being delivered of Theseus deli- this captivitie, returned to Athens, where his friends were ^^f^d out of not altogether kept under by his enemies : and at his returne c^es^meanes' he dyd dedicate to Hercules all the temples, which the cittie had before caused to be built in his owne honour. And where first of all they were called Thesea, he did now surname them all Herculea, excepting foure, as Philochorus writeth. Nowe when he was arrived at Athens, he would immediately have commaunded and ordered things as he was wont to doe: but he found him self troubled much with sedition, bicause those who had hated him of long time, had added also to their old canckered hate, a disdain and contempt to feare The Athe- him any more. And the comon people now were become niansdisdaine so stubborn, that where before they would have done all that ^^ ^^ they were commanded, and have spoken nothing to the con- trarie : now they looked to be borne with, and flattered. Whereupon Theseus thought at the first to have used force, but he was forced by the faction and contention of his enemies to let all alone, and in the end, despairing he should ever bring his matters to passe to his desire, he secretly sent away his children into the He of Eubcea, to Elphenor the Sonne of Chalcodus. And him self, after he had made many wishes and curses against the Athenians, in the village of Gargettus, in a place which for that cause to this daye is called Araterion : (that is to saye, the place of cursings) he did take the seas, and went into the He of Sciros, where he Tlieseus fled had goods, and thought also to have founde friends, f'"^"^ Athens Lycomedes raigned at that time, and was king of the He, 3^*^08^^ "^ unto whom Theseus made request for some lande, as intend- I 65 THESEUS Theseus cruelly slayue by Lycome- des. Menestheus king of Athens. Theseus sonnes. Cimon taketh the He of Sciros and bringethThe seus bones to Athens. LIVES OF THE NOBLE ing to dwell there : albeit some saye that he required him to give him ayde against the Athenians. Lycomedes, were it that he douted to entertaine so great a personage, or that he dyd it to gratifie Menestheus : caried him up to the high rocks, faining as though he would from thence have shewed him all his countrye round about. But when he had him there, he threw him downe hedlong from the toppe of the rocks to the bottome, and put him thus unfortunately to death. Yet other write, that he fell down of him self by an unfortunate chaunce, walking one daye after supper as he was wont to doe. There was no man at that time that dyd foUowe or pursue his death, but Menestheus quietly remained king of Athens : and the children of Theseus, as private souldiers followed Elphenor in the warres of Troia. But after the death of Menestheus, who died in the jorney to Troie, Theseus sonnes returned unto Athens, where they recovered their state. Sithence there were many occasions which moved the Athenians to reverence and honour him as a demy god. For in the battell of Marathon, many thought they sawe his shadow and image in armes, fighting against the barbarous people. And after the warres of the Medes (the yere wherein Phaedon was governour of Athens) the nunne Pithia answered the Athenians, who had sent to the oracle of Apollo : that they should bring backe the bones of Theseus, and putting them in some honorable place, they should preserve and honour them devoutely. But it was a harde matter to finde his grave : and if they had founde it, yet had it bene a harder thing to have brought his bones awaye, for the malice of those barbarous people which in- habited that He : which were so wild and fierce, that none could trade or live with them. Notwithstanding Cimon having taken the Hand (as we have written in his life) and seeking his grave : perceived by good happe an eagle pecking with her beake, and scraping with her clawes in a place of some prety height. Straight it came into his minde (as by divine inspiration) to searche and digge the place : where was founde the tumbe of a great bodye, with the head of a speare which was of brasse, and a sword with it. All which things were brought to Athens bv Cimon in the admirall m GRECIANS AND ROMANES gallic. The Athenians received them with great joye, with THESEUS processions and goodly sacrifices, as if Theseus him self had Theseus bene a live, and had returned into the cittie againe. At this tumbe. daye all these relicks lye yet in the middest of the cittie, neere to the place where the younge men doe use all their - exercises of bodye. There is free libertie of accesse for all slaves and poore men, (that are afflicted and pursued, by any mightier then themselves) to pray and sacrifice in remem- braunce of Theseus : who while he lived was protectour of the oppressed, and dyd curteously receive their requests and petitions that prayed to have ayde of him. The greatest and most solemne sacrifice they doe unto him, is on the eight daye of October, in which he returned from Creta, Avith the other younge children of Athens. Howbeit they doe not leave to honour him every eight daye of all other moneths, either bicause he arrived from Troezen at Athens the eight daye of lune, as Diodorus the Cosmographer writeth : or for that they thought that number to be meetest for him, bicause the bruite ranne he was begotten of Neptune. They doe sacrifice also to Neptune, the eight Neptune why daye of every moneth, bicause the number of eight is the c^Hed Aspha- first cube made of even number, and the double of the first G!L1(fc'hus square : which dothe represent a stedfastnes immoveable, properly attributed to the might of Neptune, whom for this cause we surname Asphalius, and Gseiochus, which by interpretation dothe signifie : the safe keeper, and the stayer of the earthe. THE ENDE OF THESEUS LIFE 67 LIVES OF THE NOBLE THE LIFE OF ROMULUS Divers opin- ions about the name of Rome. Tybris fl. HE Historiographers doe not agree in their writings, by whom, nor for what cause, the great name of the cittie of Rome (the glorie wherof is blowen abroad through all the worlde) was first geven unto it. For some thincke that the Pelasgians, after they had overcome the greatest parte of the world, and had inhabited and subdued many nations, in the ende dyd staye them selves in that place where it was newe buylded : and for their great strength and power in armes, they gave the name of Rome unto the cittie, as signifying power in the Greeke tongue. Other saye, that after the taking and destruction of Troy a, there were certain Troyans which saving them selves from the sworde, tooke suche vessells as they founde at adventure in the haven, and were by winds put with the Thuscane shore, where they anckred neere xmto the river of Tyber. There their wives being so sore sea sicke, that possibly they could not any more endure the boisterous surges of the seas : it happened one of them among the rest (the noblest and wisest of the companie) called Roma, to counsaill the other women of her com- panions to set their shippes a fire, which they dyd accord- ingly. Wherewith their husbands at the first were mar- velously offended. But afterwards, being compelled of necessitie to plant them selves neere unto the cittie of Pallantium, they were appeased when they sawe things prosper better then they hoped for, finding the soyle there fertile, and the people their neighbours civill and gentle in entertaining them. Wherefore amongest other honours they dyd to requite this lady Roma, they called their cittie after her name, as from whom came the originall cause of the building and foundation thereof. They saye that from thence came this custome continuing yet to this daye at Rome, that the women saluting their kinsefolkes and hus- 68 GRECIANS AND ROMANES bands doe kisse them in the mouthe, for so dyd these ROMULUS Troyan ladyes to please their husbands, and to winne them The begin- againe, after they had lost their favours, and procured their ningofkissiug displeasures with burning of their shippes. Other saye that fof^^s i^^the Roma was the daughter of Italus, and of Lucaria, or els of mouthe came Telephus the sonne of Hercules, and of the wife of iEneas : from the Tro- other saye of Ascanius, the sonne of iEneas, who named the ian women, cittie after her name. Other holde opinion that it was Romanus (the sonne of Vlysses and of Circe) that first founded Rome : other will saye that it was Romus the sonne of Emathion, whom Diomedes sent thither from Troya. Other write that it was one Romis a tyranne of the Latines, who drave the Thuscans out of those partes : which depart- ing out of Thessaly went first of all into Lydia, and after- wards from Lydia into Italic. And furthermore, they who thincke that Romulus (as in deede it carieth best likelyhod) was he that gave the name to the cittie, doe not agree about his auncesters. For some of them write, that he was the Fables of Ro- sonne of ^Eneas and of Dexithea the daughter of Phorbus, mulusbyrthe. and that he was brought into Italic of a litle childe with his brother Remus : and that at that time the river of Tyber being overflowen, all other shippes were cast awaye, saving the shippe in which the two litle boyes were, which by great good happe came to a staye upon a very plaine even grounde on the bancke, and bicause the children be- yond all hope were saved by this meanes, therefore the place was afterwardes called Roma. Other saye that Roma the daughter of the first Troian ladye was maried unto Latinus the Sonne of Telemachus, by whom she had Romulus. Other write, that it was Emilia, the daughter of Mneas and of Lavinia, which was gotten with childe by the god Mars. Other tell a tale of Romulus birth, nothing true nor likely. For it is sayed that there was sometime a king of Alba named Tarchetius, a very wicked and cruell man, in whose house through the permission of the goddes appeared such a like vision : that there rose up in the harthe of his chymney the forme and facion of a mans privie member, which con- tinued there many dayes. And they saye, that at that time there was in Thuscane an oracle of Thetis, from whom they 69 Thetis in Thuscaue. LIVES OF THE NOBLE ROMULUS brought unto this wicked king Tarchetius suche an aunswer : All oracle of that he should cause his daughter yet unmaried to have camall companie with the straunge thing, for she should beare a sonne, that should be famous for his valliancie, for strength of bodye, and his happie successe wherein he should exceede all men of his time. Tarchetius tolde this oracle imto one of his daughters, and willed her to entertaine this straunge thing: but she disdaining to doe it, sent one of her waiting women to undertake the entertainement. But Tarchetius was so mad at this, that he caused them both to be taken to put them to death : howbeit the goddesse Vesta appeared to him in his sleepe in the night, and charged him he should not doe it. Whereupon he dyd commaund them to make him a pece of clothe in the prisone, with promise that they should be maried when they had finished it. These poore maydes toyled at it all the live longe daye, but in the night there came other (by Tarchetius com- maundement) that dyd undoe all they had done the daye before. In the meane time, this waiting woman that was gott with childe by this straunge thing, was delivered of two goodly boyes or twynnes : whom Tarchetius gave unto one Teratius, with expresse commaundement he should cast them awaye. This Teratius caryed them unto the bancke of the river : thither came a shee woulfe and gave them sucke, and certaine byrdes that brought litle crommes and put them in their mouthes, untill a swyneheard perceyving them, and wondring at the sight, dyd boldly goe to the children, and tooke them awaye with him. These infantes being thus preserved after they were come to mans state, dyd set upon Tarchetius and slewe him. One Promathion an Italian writer, delivereth this storie thus. But the reporte that carieth best credit of all, and is allowed of by many writers : commeth from Diodes Peparethian (whome Fabius Pictor followeth in many thinges), who was the first that put forth this storie among the Grecians, and specially the chiefest poynts of it. Though this matter be somewhat diversely taken, yet in effect the storie is thus. The right line and bloude of the kings of Alba descended from iEneas, by succession from the father to the sonne, 70 GRECIANS AND ROMANES and the Kingdome fell in the ende betweene two brethern, ROMULUS Numitor and Amulius. They agreed by lotte to make See the frag- division betweene them, whereof the one to have the King- ??^°.*^ ^^. dome, and the other all the golde, sylver, readye money, and^of Cato""' goodes, and juells brought from Troia. Numitor by his lotte chose the Realme for his portion : Amulius having See also Ha- all the golde and treasure in his handes, dyd finde him selfe Hcarnasseus, thereby the stronger, and so dyd easely take his Realme a^n