great, because there was freedom and friendship and communion of soul. But Cyrus, though a wise general, never troubled himself about the education of his family. He was a soldier from his youth upward, and left his children who were born in the purple to be educated by women, who humoured and spoilt them. “A rare education, truly!” Yes, such an education as princesses who had recently grown rich might be expected to give them in a country where the men were solely occupied with warlike pursuits. “Likely enough.” Their father had possessions of men and animals, and never considered that the race to whom he was about to make them over had been educated in a very different school, not like the Persian shepherd, who was well able to take care of himself and his own. He did not see that his children had been brought up in the Median fashion, by women and eunuchs. The end was that one of the sons of Cyrus slew the other, and lost the kingdom by his own folly. Observe, again, that Darius, who restored the kingdom, had not received a royal education. He was one of the seven chiefs, and when he came to the throne he divided the empire into seven provinces; and he made equal laws, and implanted friendship among the people. Hence his subjects were greatly attached to him, and cheerfully helped him to extend his empire. Next followed Xerxes, who had received the same royal education as Cambyses, and met with a similar fate. The reflection naturally occurs to us—How could Darius, with all his experience, have made such a mistake! The ruin of Xerxes was not a mere accident, but the evil life which is generally led by the sons of very rich and royal persons; and this is what the legislator has seriously to consider. Justly may the Lacedaemonians be praised for not giving special honour to birth or wealth; for such advantages are not to be highly esteemed without virtue, and not even virtue is to be esteemed unless it be accompanied by temperance. “Explain.” No one would like to live in the same house with a courageous man who had no control over himself, nor with a clever artist who was a rogue. Nor can justice and wisdom ever be separated from temperance. But considering these qualities with reference to the honour and dishonour which is to be assigned to them in states, would you say, on the other hand, that temperance, if existing without the other virtues in the soul, is worth anything or nothing? “I cannot tell.” You have answered well. It would be absurd to speak of temperance as belonging to the class of honourable or of dishonourable qualities, because all other virtues in their various classes require temperance to be added to them; having the addition, they are honoured not in proportion to that, but to their own excellence. And ought not the legislator to determine these classes? “Certainly.” Suppose then that, without going into details, we make three great classes of them. Most honourable are the goods of the soul, always assuming temperance as a condition of them; secondly, those of the body; thirdly, external possessions. The legislator who puts them in another order is doing an unholy and unpatriotic thing.
These remarks were suggested by the history of the Persian kings; and to them I will now return. The ruin of their empire was caused by the loss of freedom and the growth of despotism; all community of feeling disappeared. Hatred and spoliation took the place of friendship; the people no longer fought heartily for their masters; the rulers, finding their myriads useless on the field of battle, resorted to mercenaries as their only salvation, and were thus compelled by their circumstances to proclaim the stupidest of falsehoods—that virtue is a trifle in comparison of money.
But enough of the Persians: a different lesson is taught by the Athenians, whose example shows that a limited freedom is far better than an unlimited. Ancient Athens, at the time of the Persian invasion, had such a limited freedom. The people were divided into four classes, according to the amount of their property, and the universal love of order, as well as the fear of the approaching host, made them obedient and willing citizens. For Darius had sent Datis and Artaphernes, commanding them under pain of death to subjugate the Eretrians and Athenians. A report, whether true or not, came to Athens that all the Eretrians had been “netted”; and the Athenians in terror sent all over Hellas for assistance. None came to their relief except the Lacedaemonians, and they arrived a day too late, when the battle of Marathon had been already fought. In process of time Xerxes came to the throne, and the Athenians heard of nothing but the bridge over the Hellespont, and the canal of Athos, and the innumerable host and fleet. They knew that these were intended to avenge the defeat of Marathon. Their case seemed desperate, for there was no Hellene likely to assist them by land, and at sea they were attacked by more than a thousand vessels;—their only hope, however slender, was in victory; so they relied upon themselves and upon the Gods. Their common danger, and the influence of their ancient constitution, greatly tended to promote harmony among them. Reverence and fear—that fear which the coward never knows—made them fight for their altars and their homes, and saved them from being dispersed all over the world. “Your words, Athenian, are worthy of your country.” And you Megillus, who have inherited the virtues of your ancestors, are worthy to hear them. Let me ask you to take the moral of my tale. The Persians have lost their liberty in absolute slavery, and we in absolute freedom. In ancient times the Athenian people were not the masters, but the servants of the laws. “Of what laws?” In the first place, there were laws about music,
