Dio. Well then, if Agamemnon was of the superior kind, he was right in his appraisal of the girl; but if he was no better than most men, it is not easy for a woman of low degree to please a man like him to the point of taking her to be noble. Well now, let us examine also the other points.
[3] Int. Why, what additional proof have you in Homer of the character of the woman? At any rate he has not depicted her as doing or saying anything, but rather as being silently handed over to her father.
Dio. What! Could one not deduce her faculties of mind from what took place in connexion with her, provided one were to consider the matter in a manner not wholly superficial and foolish?
Int. Perhaps.
Dio. Are we, then, to suppose that against the wishes of his daughter Chryses came into the camp, bearing the fillets of the god along with the ransom, and besought the assembly and the kings to release her, or, on the contrary, was it because she kept begging her father to aid her if he could? [4] For if Chryseïs was content with her situation and wished to live with Agamemnon, Chryses would never have chosen at one and the same time to grieve his daughter and to incur the malice of the king, not being unaware of the king’s feelings toward her. For it was no less to the interest of Chryses that Chryseïs should live with the king, so long as he was fond of her, since the priest’s country, his sanctuary, and he himself had come under the sway of the Achaeans, and Agamemnon was their sovereign. [5] And, besides, how is it that immediately after her capture, at a time when she might be expected to be in greater distress, Chryses neither came nor made any mention of ransom, but rather some time later, at a time when her grief had diminished and her intimacy with Agamemnon had increased? For the poet says these things took place in the tenth year of the siege — I mean the coming of the priest and the bringing of the ransom — while it is reasonable to suppose that the cities in the neighbourhood of Troy, and especially the smaller ones, would have been taken in the very beginning of the war, and it is to this group that Chrysa and its sanctuary belonged.
Int. Then this reasoning of yours attributes to Chryseïs very singular conduct, in that formerly she endured her lot as a captive, though newly robbed of her father and her country, but after ten years had passed she took it hard.
[6] Dio. Yes, at least if you listen to what else I have to say; for it is not pleasant for free women to abandon even an ordinary man, once he has become their lover, to say nothing of the most illustrious and wealthy man, king of all the Greeks, a man who held the greatest power of all among the men of that day, who had authority over not merely Chryseïs but her father and her country too, and who expected in a short time to become lord of Asia as well — for Ilium had long been in a bad way and its people were having difficulty in defending the city itself and no one went out for battle. And observe also that the king had no casual regard for her, but even openly admitted that he preferred her to his own wife. That she should spurn such numerous and exceptional advantages, and in particular a lover who was not only a great king and had few who vied with him in valour, but was also young and handsome, as Homer says in comparing him to Zeus, and that she should then go to her native land, now a prize of war, and live as the wife of one of Agamemnon’s slaves — that is, assuming that she would wed one of the men of the district — is not that singular? [7] For that she was a prisoner of war and for that reason did not care for the man who got her is not enough to explain her conduct. At any rate Briseïs apparently loved Achilles, and that although, as she declares, it was he who slew her husband and her brothers. But as for Agamemnon, nothing like that had been done regarding Chryseïs.
Int. Very good. Then from this line of reasoning it follows that Chryseïs did not wish to be parted from Agamemnon, but that Chryses was conducting these negotiations independently; or else, if indeed she did wish it, she would be rather foolish and the case you have made out it contrary to what you promised.
[8] Dio. Well now, as the saying goes, do not judge a case before you hear both sides. Of course you speak of Homer as being a man of wisdom?
Int. Possibly.
Dio. Then you should assume that he tells some things but leaves others to the perception of his readers. But this is not one of the very obscure instances. For Chryseïs at the outset apparently was content to remain with Agamemnon for the reasons I have named, and she was grateful to the gods that she had not been given to any of the less illustrious persons, but rather to the king of all, and also that he was not indifferent toward her; and so she made no move regarding ransom. [9] But when she heard what conditions were like in the house of Agamemnon, how disagreeable they were, and what she heard also about the cruelty of Clytemnestra and about her boldness, then she looked with dread to her arrival in Argos. Moreover, although she had hitherto remained with Agamemnon, possibly for love of him, still when the war was near its close and a report was current that the Trojans no longer would be able to hold out, she did not wait for the capture of Ilium. For she knew that in general men who are victorious grow arrogant, and that the time when religious scruples are more potent is when men are at war.
[10] For these reasons at that juncture she summoned her father and bade him entreat the Achaeans; for she learned, it would appear, that the Atreidae were dominated by their wives and that the wives felt themselves superior to these men, not alone because of their beauty, but also because they believed that the right to rule belonged rather to themselves. For the Atreidae were descendants of Pelops and newcomers in Greece, whereas they themselves were women of Achaia, daughters of Tyndareüs and Leda. Now Tyndareüs had been illustrious and king of Sparta, and so not only had Helen on this account been courted by the noblest among the Greeks, but they had sworn to render aid in case of need. [11] Besides, these women were sisters of Castor and Polydeuces, who had come to be regarded as sons of Zeus, and who to this day are deemed gods by all men because of the power they acquired at that time. For not only were they pre-eminent among the dwellers in the Peloponnese, but among those outside the Peloponnese the greatest power was that of Athens, and Castor and Polydeuces had overwhelmed that city in a campaign which they made in the reign of Theseus. Furthermore, Meleager, the noblest among the Greeks, had been a cousin of theirs.
Now though Chryseïs did not know these things, she did hear of the proud spirit of the women, and she learned how far above her husband Helen stood — so far that, when Helen heard of the great advantages of Asia, due alike to excellence of soil and size of population and abundance of riches, she came to scorn, not only Menelaüs, but Agamemnon too and Greece as a whole and she chose the one in preference to the other. [12] Now Menelaüs had been accustomed to yield to Helen in everything before her elopement, and also, when later he took her captive, he was kind to her in spite of all; but Agamemnon, puffed up because of his position as commander, had disparaged Clytemnestra, and so it was clear that they were not going to get along well together, but that instead there would be just about such actions as came to pass. Nor was Chryseïs pleased when Agamemnon said what he did, moreover publicly in the assembly of the Achaeans, namely, that he prized her more than his own wife and thought her not inferior to her, for Chryseïs knew that such talk breeds envy and jealousy. [13] Then too, she observed Agamemnon’s character and saw that he was not stable but arrogant and overbearing, and she calculated what he would do to her, a captive, when he ceased to desire her, seeing that he referred to his wife, queen though she was and the mother of his children, in such disparaging terms. For though foolish women delight in their lovers when they are seen to disparage all other women, those who are sensible discern the true nature of the man who acts or talks that way.
[14] And at the same time Chryseïs was aware that he was insolent too in his treatment of herself, and that too at a time when he was most in love with her. For example, that he should so roughly have driven off the father of his beloved, instead of sparing him on her account, to say nothing of his not having soothed the old man by saying that his daughter had nothing
to fear from him, but, on the contrary, not only threatening him but also speaking slightingly of Chryseïs by saying,
But I’ll not free her ere old age o’ertakes
Her far from home, at Argos, in our house,
Plying the loom and visiting my couch.
What overweening insolence! Why, what would he have done later on, seeing that while still in love he talks of her in such a fashion? Therefore, to guard again these things and to forecast them is the mark of a woman by no means ordinary. [15] However, to my way of thinking, what happened in Argos both to Cassandra and to Agamemnon himself revealed that Chryseïs was a sensible woman to have saved herself from these disasters. Accordingly, that neither passion nor kingly station nor those things which are deemed glorious and good turned her head, young though she was, and that she did not plunge into perilous ventures and a disordered house and envy and jealousy — these are the marks of a prudent woman, one truly worthy of being daughter of a priest, nurtured in the house of a god.
Int. How so? Do you mean that these are the reasons why Agamemnon thought her wise?
[16] Dio. By no means, for it is not likely that she said any such thing to him; rather that he formed his judgement on the basis of her conduct in general.
Int. Why, then, does not the poet say that she departed in gladness, just as he says that Briseïs departed in sorrow?
Dio. Because in this too she was showing her prudence, her aim being not to exasperate Agamemnon or drive him to contentiousness. However, the poet makes the situation plain in the passage in which he says she was restored by Odysseus to her father beside the altar:
Thus having said, he placed her in his arms,
And he rejoicing took his darling child.
For, methinks, if she were sorrowing, her father would not be receiving her “rejoicing”; nor, perchance, would the poet have called her “darling” unless she loved her father dearly for what had taken place.
[17] Int. Very well; yet why did Chryseïs reason thus rather than Chryses on his own account?
Dio. Because it was to be expected that what concerned Clytemnestra would hold greater interest for Chryseïs; but even if it was her father who reasoned thus and she agreed with him and followed his advice, that was no trifling feat either. At any rate most women in their folly are more devoted to their lovers than to their parents.
Int. Why, then, if she really was sensible, did she not try to prevent Chryses from appealing to Agamemnon publicly, in order that he might be less angry?
[18] Dio. Because she knew that, though in private lovers desire in every matter to gratify their passion, they are sometimes embarrassed in the presence of the crowd, and she believed that the fillets of the god had a certain power with the people, as proved to be the case.
Int. Still here is something that troubles me. How did it happen that Agamemnon not only fell in love with the priest’s daughter at the time in question, but afterwards with Cassandra too, a divinely inspired and holy maid?
Dio. Because this too is a sign of pride and wantonness — to desire the forbidden and rare rather than the easily obtainable.
Int. I do not gainsay that Chryseïs was prudent, if these things took place as you claim.
Dio. Would you rather hear how they assuredly did take place, or how it would be well for them to have taken place?
THE SIXTY-SECOND DISCOURSE: ON KINGSHIP AND TYRANNY
The complimentary address contained in §§ 1 and 3 of our Discourse could hardly have been intended for any one but Trajan. Yet the document is so abrupt in both beginning and ending and so brief when compared with the four treatises on kingship supposed to have been addressed to Trajan (Or. 1-4) that it is difficult to imagine that it ever was delivered as a distinct entity in the form in which we have it. It is of course conceivable that we are dealing with a fragment of a fifth speech on kingship addressed to the much-enduring Trajan, but it is more likely that we have before us a variant version of a portion of one of the addresses just mentioned. Dio himself makes it plain (Or. 57.10-12) that on occasion he took the liberty of repeating to other hearers speeches previously delivered before “the Emperor.” On such an occasion he doubtless felt free to modify the original wording, and such a procedure would explain the existence of certain doublets in his text. We may conjecture that his editor, finding the substance of Or. 62 imbedded in such a variant version of one of the four speeches to which we have referred and not wishing to discard it, gave it independent existence here. Finally, it may be noted that, though the second element in the title, tyranny, is not specifically mentioned in our document, it is dealt with in Or. , and also that there is a notable similarity between Or. . and Or. ..
The Sixty-second Discourse: On Kingship and Tyranny
And indeed, if a person is not competent to govern a single man, and that too a man who is very close to him, in fact his constant companion, and if, again, he cannot guide a single soul, and that his own, how could he be king, as you are, over unnumbered thousands scattered everywhere, many even dwelling at the ends of the earth, most of whom he has not even seen and never could see, and whose speech he will not understand? Why, it is as if one were to say of the man with vision so impaired that he cannot see even what lies at his feet but needs some one to lead him by the hand, that he can reach with his eyes the most distant objects, like those who at sea behold from afar both the mountains and the islands; or as if one were to say of the man who cannot make himself heard even by those who stand beside him, that he is able to speak so as to be heard by whole communities and armies. [2] In fact, the intellect has something comparable to vision — as vision, when it is ruined, can see nothing even of what is very near, although when in health it can reach sky and stars, just so the mind of the prudent man shows itself competent to direct all men whatsoever, whereas the mind of the fool cannot protect a single body, his own, or a single household.
Take, for example, most men who hold unbridled power — because they have the power to obtain every thing, they crave everything; because justice is lodged in their hands, for this reason they are unjust; because they do not fear the laws, they do not even believe in their existence; because they are not compelled to labour, they never cease their luxurious living; because no one defends himself when maltreated, they never cease maltreating; because they lack no pleasure, they never get their fill of it; because no one censures them openly, they miss no occasion for unjust criticism; because no one wishes to hurt their feelings, for this reason they display ill-temper toward everyone; because they have it in their power to do anything when enraged, for this reason they are continually in a rage. [3] On the other hand, the good ruler, such as you are, practises the opposite conduct — he covets nothing for the reason that he feels he has everything; he is sparing in his pleasures for the reason that he would lack for no pleasure he might crave; he is more just than any other man inasmuch as he provides justice for all; he delights in labour because he labours of his own accord; he cherishes the laws because he does not fear them.
Moreover, he is right in reasoning so. For who needs ampler wisdom than he who deliberates on so many matters? Who needs stricter justice than he who is superior to the laws? Who needs more steadfast self-control than he to whom anything is permissible? [4] Who needs greater courage than he who is the preserver of all? Furthermore, he who is to govern many others needs, not only very great outlay of wealth, but also armies, both infantry and cavalry, and in addition fortifications, ships, and engines of war, if he is to control his subjects, defend himself against the foe, and, should some one try to revolt from his authority, reduce him to subjection. However, to control one’s self is of all things least costly, least difficult, least dangerous; for neither costly nor laborious nor precarious is the life of the man of self-control; yet for all that, though so desirable, it is naturally the most difficult thing of all.
[5] For instance, the famous Sardanapallus, whose name is a by-word, held Nineveh and Babylon as well, the greatest cities t
hat had yet existed, and all the nations which occupy the second continent, as far as what are called the uninhabited parts of the earth, were subject to him; but to kingship he could lay no claim, no more than could some rotting corpse. For the fact is, he neither would nor could take counsel or give judgement or lead troops. [6] On the contrary, it was his custom to slip away into the women’s quarters in his palace and there sit with legs drawn up on a golden couch, sheltered by purple bed-hangings, just like the Adonis who is lamented by the women, his voice shriller than that of eunuchs, his neck lolling to one side, his face pale and twitching from indolence and living in the shade, his body livid, his eyes upturned as if he were being throttled — in short, one whom it would be impossible to distinguish from his concubines. And yet for a time, as it seemed, he maintained his empire, though it was drifting aimlessly, just as, for instance, a ship without a helmsman, roving on the sea, with no one in control, as fate directs, so long as fair weather holds; then, should a little sea arise, even a single wave easily swamps it. [7] Yes, and one may also see a chariot, with no one holding the reins, wobbling crazily in a race, a chariot which, while it could never win a victory, nevertheless throws into confusion and even works destruction in the mob of spectators near the course.
Nay, there will never be a foolish king any more than there could be a blind guide for a traveller; nor an unjust king any more than a crooked, uneven measuring-rod needing a second rod to set it straight; nor a timid king any more than a lion with the spirit of a deer, or than iron softer than wax or lead. On the contrary, to whom appropriately belongs a sterner self-control than to him who lives surrounded by the greatest number of pleasures, who administers the greatest number of affairs, who has the least leisure, and who is concerned over the greatest and most numerous problems?
THE SIXTY-THIRD DISCOURSE: ON FORTUNE (I)
Delphi Complete Works of Dio Chrysostom Page 75
