Then rose the clap of hands, and every face
  Gaped into mine, in idiot vacancy.
  My Paphlagonian, seeing by what words
  The council best were pleased, thus uttered him:
  “Sirs, Gentlemen, ‘tis my good will and pleasure
  That for this kindly news, we sacrifice[100]
  One hundred oxen to our patron goddess.”
  Straight the tide turned, each head within the senate
  Nodded assent, and warm good will to Cleon.
  What! shall a little bull–flesh gain the day,
  Thought I within me: then aloud, and shooting
  Beyond his mark: I double, sirs, this vote;
  Nay, more, sirs, should to–morrow’s sun see sprats
  One hundred to the penny sold, I move
  That we make offering of a thousand goats[101]
  Unto Diana. Every head was raised,
  And all turned eyes on me. This was a blow
  He ne’er recovered: straight he fell to words
  Of idle import, and the officers
  Were now upon him. All meantime was uproar
  In th’ assembly—nought talked of but anchovies—
  How fared our statesman? he with suppliant tones
  Begged a few moments’ pause; Rest ye, sirs, rest ye
  Awhile—I have a tale will pay the hearing—
  A herald brings from Sparta terms of peace,
  And craves to utter them before you. “Peace!”
  Cried all (their voices one), “is this a time
  To talk of peace?—out, dotard! What, the rogues
  Have heard the price anchovies sell for! Peace!
  Who cares for peace now? let the war go on;
  And, chairman, break the assembly up.” ‘Twas done—
  On every side, one moment clears the rails!
  I the mean time steal privately away
  And buy me all the leeks and coriander
  In the market: these I straight make largess of,
  And gratis give, as sauce to dress their fish.
  Who may recount the praises infinite,
  And groom–like courtesies this bounty gained me!
  In short, you see a man, that for one pennyworth
  Of coriander vile, has purchased him
  An entire senate: not a man among them
  But is at my behest, and does me reverence.

  _Mitchell_, p. 217, 221.

So soon as the Chorus has expressed its high satisfaction, Cleon
enters, and the war of words is renewed with equal spirit, till he
calls upon Demus to appear, and see what ill treatment he suffers on
his account. Demus hears the candidates for his favour, and resolves
to call an assembly to decide on their claims; but he insists that
it shall be held in his proper seat, the Pnyx, to the dismay of the
sausage–seller, who exclaims that he is ruined; since Demus, though
a clever fellow anywhere else, is a gaping ninny when he gets on one
of those stone benches.[102] However, there is no help for it; the
scene changes to the Pnyx, and the sausage–seller makes a favourable
impression by presenting to Demus a cushion to keep him from the bare
stone, with a most pathetic reference to his exploits at Salamis;[103]
a subject in reference to which the Athenians would swallow any
amount of flattery. Having gained the ear of the court, he exposes
the mischievous tendency of Cleon’s warlike politics, all the gain of
which was his own, while the evil and inconvenience were the portion
of Demus. This produces an effect which all the protestations of Cleon
cannot remove. “You that profess such devotion,” continues his enemy,
“did you ever, out of all the hides you sell, give him so much as a
pair of shoes?” “Not he, indeed,” replies Demus. A pair is immediately
presented, and the provident donor receives the grateful assurance,
that of all men living he is the best friend to the people, the city,
“and to my toes.” This specimen will probably be sufficient: the
result is altogether favourable to the sausage–seller, who is put
in possession of Cleon’s signet of office. The latter still has a
resource: he appeals to his favourite oracles; but even here he meets
with his match. They both quit the stage, and return laden.

  _Demus._                      What may you bear?

  _Cleon._ Predictions, oracles.

  _Demus._                       What, all!

  _Cleon._                                  Now you
  Admire, and yet a chest filled to the brim
  Is left behind.

  _Saus._         I have a garret stored
  With them, and eke two dwelling–chambers whole.

  _Demus._ And who has worded these?

  _Cleon._                           Mine come from Bacis.[104]

  _Demus_ (_to Saus._) And yours?

  _Saus._                         From Glanis, sir, his elder brother.

  _Demus._ Now mould them for my ears.

  _Cleon._                             It shall be done, sir.

  (_Reads._) In Athens the sacred, a cry’s heard for help,
      A woman’s in labour—a lion her whelp.

For warfare he’s born, and will fight by the great, With the ants, and
the gnats, and the vermin of state. On gratitude rests it this wall to
environ With a wall of stout wood, and a turret of iron.

  _Demus._ Dost reach him? (_to Saus._)

  _Saus._                               Sir, not I.

  _Cleon._                                          And yet the god
  Speaks clear. I am the lion, and I claim
  Protection.

  _Demus._    Good; his words sure stand with reason.
  Who else may plead a lion’s teeth and claws![105]

  _Saus._ Aye, but he sinks the iron wall and wood,
  Where Phœbus wills that you hold guard of him;
  And thus he falsifies the exposition.

  _Demus._ And how do you expound it?

  _Saus._                             By the wood
  And iron wall, I understand the pillory:
  The oracle enjoins he takes his place there.

  _Demus._ And I subscribe me to its pleasure.

  _Cleon._                                     Nay,
  Not so, the envious crows are croaking round me.

  But another prediction awaits my lord’s ear,
  ‘Tis Phœbus that warns—“of Cyllene beware.”

  _Demus._ Cyllene,[106] Cyllene, how this understand? (_to Saus._)

  _Saus._ Cyllene is lameness, and means a lame hand,
  To Cleon’s apply it: as with bruise or with maim
  Still ‘tis bent with—your honour, drop gift in the same.

  _Cleon._ I have seen me a vision: I’ve dreamed me adream;
  Its author was Pallas, and Demus its theme;
  The cup arytœna[107] blazed broad in her hand,
  And plenty and riches fell wide o’er the land.

  _Saus._ I too have my visions and dreams of the night:
  Our lady[108] and owl stood confest to my sight;
  From the cup aryballus choice blessings she threw.

  (_To Cleon._) On him fell tan pickle, and nectar on you.
                (_to Demus._)

Here ends the contest of oracles; and Demus, after expresssing his
opinion that there never was a wiser man than Glanis, commits himself
to the guidance and instruction of the sausage–seller. He is induced to
pause, however, by the offers which Cleon makes, of supplying his table
with provisions, and finally comes to the resolution of “giving the
reins of the Pnyx” to which soever of the two candidates shall offer
the most acceptable bribes. They quit the stage, each endeavouring to
get the advantage in a false start; and the Chorus comes forward with
an address to Demus.

  _Chorus._ Honour, power, and high estate,
              Demus, mighty lord, hast thou;
            To thy sceptre small and great
              In obeisance lowly bow!

        Yet you’re easy to his hand, whoever cringes;
            Every fool you gape upon,
            Every speech your ear hath won,
            While your wits move off and on
                                            Their hinges.

  _Demus_ (_surlily_). Hinges in their teeth, who deem
              That Demus is an easy fool;
            If he yawn, and if he dream,
              If he tipple, ’tis by rule.
        ’Tis his way to keep in pay a knave to ease him;
            Him he keeps for guide and gull,
            But when once the sponge is full,
            To himself the knave he’ll pull,
                                             And squeeze him.[109]

  _Mitchell_, p. 250, 262.

They return laden with all sorts of eatables. “The sausage–seller
has the advantage of his rival for some time in his presents, till
Cleon awakens his fears by talking of a dish of hare, which he has
exclusively to present. His rival, disconcerted at first, has recourse
to a stratagem. ‘Some ambassadors come this way, _and their purses seem
well filled_.’ ‘Where are they?’ exclaims Cleon eagerly, and turns
about. The hare–flesh was immediately in the hands of his rival, who
presents the boasted dainty in his own name to Demus, and casts the old
affair of Pylos in the disappointed Cleon’s teeth.[110]

“While the sausage–seller piously refers the suggestion of this little
theft to Minerva, and modestly takes the execution only to himself,
Cleon resents the surprise very warmly. ‘I had all the danger of
catching the hare,’ says he. ‘I had all the trouble of dressing it,’
says his rival. ‘Fools,’ says Demus, ‘I care not who caught it, nor who
dressed it; all I regard is the hand which serves it up to table.’ The
sausage–seller proposes a new test of affection. ‘Let our chests be
searched; it will then be proved who is the better man towards Demus
and his stomach.’ This is accordingly done. That of the new candidate
for power is found empty. ‘He had given his dear little grandfather
every thing;’ and the person so benefited signifies his approbation.
‘This chest is well disposed towards Demus.’ In Cleon’s is found
abundance of all good things; and a tempting cheese–cake particularly
excites Demus’s surprise. ‘The rogue,’ says this representative of the
sovereign multitude, ‘to conceal such a prodigious cheese–cake as this,
and to cut me off with a mere morsel of it.’ Cleon in vain pleads, that
he stole it for the good of his country. He is ordered to lay down his
chaplet,[111] and invest his antagonist with it. Nay, says he, still
struggling for the retention of office.”

_Cleon._ I have an oracle: it came from Phœbus, And tells to whom Fate
wills I yield the mastery.

_Saus._ Declare the name; my life upon’t, the god Refers to me.

_Cleon._ Presumptuous! you! low scoundrel! To the proof;—where were you
schooled, and who the teacher That first imbued your infant mind with
knowledge?

_Saus._ The kitchen and the scullery gave me breeding; And teachers I
had none, save blows and cuffs.

_Cleon._ My mind misgives me. But pass we on; say further, what the
wrestling–master Instructed you?

_Saus._ To steal; to look the injured Full in the face, and then
forswear the theft.

_Cleon._ One only hope remains. Resolve me, practised you Within the
market–place, or at the gates?[112]

_Saus._ Nay, at the gates, among the men who deal In salted fish.

_Cleon._ All is accomplished: It is the will of heaven:—bear me within.
Farewell! a long farewell to all my greatness! Adieu, fair chaplet!
‘gainst my will I quit thee, And give thy matchless sweets to other
hands! There may be knaves more fortunate than I, But never shall the
world see thief more rascally.[113]

_Saus._ (_devoutly._) Thine be triumph, Jove Ellanian![114]

  p. 269–73.

The Chorus now enters upon an address, first in praise of the
equestrian order, and then proceeding to satirize individuals by name.
Meanwhile Demus is undergoing a thorough purgation under the hands
of the sausage–seller. He reappears “in his former splendour of the
days of Miltiades and Aristides,” delivers a recantation of his former
principles, and concludes the piece by confirming the appointment of
the sausage–seller to Cleon’s place, and investing Cleon solemnly with
the tray, and other implements of the sausage–seller.

To those who are disappointed in the specimen here given of the wit
and humour of Aristophanes, we have only to suggest in defence of
our author, that a large proportion of the most remarkable passages
have been omitted, on account of the impossibility of rendering them
intelligible, even by a prolix commentary, to those who cannot read the
original; and that our description of the ‘Knights’ is but a set of
fragments from a translation, which professes its inability to render
its original as a whole. And we may quote, as much more applicable
to this short attempt than to the work to which it is prefixed, the
singularly happy and modest motto of Mr. Mitchell’s translation,
applicable as it must be to all translations, but especially to those
of Aristophanes.

  Among the rest, he culled me out a root;
  The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it;
  And in another country, as he said,
  Bore a bright golden flower, _but not in this soil_.

  _Comus._

In the Parabasis to the Clouds, performed two years after the Knights,
the poet refers with pride to his attack on Cleon at his highest; but
though he returns to the charge once and again, he makes no mention
of any fine imposed upon him; which is in itself almost a sufficient
refutation of the story mentioned in a previous note. The play was
so relished as to gain the first prize, but there is not a jot of
evidence to show that Cleon’s popularity was overclouded by it. Happily
his reign only lasted for two years after it. His success at Pylus
flattered him into a belief in his talents for war, and he took the
command of the army in Thrace, opposed to Brasidas, the best Spartan
general of his day. His incapacity lost the Athenians a battle, but the
generals on both sides where slain; and the death of their greatest
nuisance at home, and their worst enemy abroad, was an ample recompense
for the injury incurred by his rashness. “When both Cleon and Brasidas
were slain, the which on either side were most opposite to the peace:
the one for that he had good success and honour in the war; the other,
because in quiet times his evil actions would the more appear, and
his calumniations be the less believed,”[115] peace, though of brief
duration, was almost immediately concluded.

That Cleon should have succeeded to the influence of Pericles may
well surprise the reader. But a very slight inequality will turn the
course of a rapid current to the undermining of its own banks; and in
like manner, when men’s minds are deeply moved, things in quiet times
contemptible may acquire influence and importance commensurate with
the force of that which they are enabled, by no intrinsic qualities,
to control. By no other considerations can we explain—to justify it
is impossible—the extravagance of terror and fury into which England
was once goaded by a man, who for knavery and impudence may match the
Athenian demagogue, and who, for some time, bore equal sway over the
minds of his countrymen, Titus Oates, the discoverer, and probably
the inventor of the Popish Plot. Some excuse is to be found in the
political circumstances of the times; in the belief that the King
adhered secretly to the Romish faith, as the Duke of York openly
professed it; and especially in the known fact that the sovereign
of Britain was pensioned by France, that he might dispense with
parliaments, and the more easily establish himself on an absolute
throne. The high character of many who promoted the inquiry is a
sufficient warrant that they were actuated by no unworthy motives.
But the revolting narrative of murders committed under form of law by
perjured witnesses and corrupt judges, will remain for ever a blot
in our history; a warning against adding gall to bitterness; against
aggravating political dissension by religious discord.

The first information of the plot was given by one Dr. Tongue,
in August, 1678; but the King, who was by no means deficient in
penetration, pronounced it to be a forgery, and it might have slept
for ever, had not the Duke of York, whose confessor was implicated,
judged an inquiry necessary to clear himself from all suspicion. Tongue
professed to have his information from Oates, and having brought the
principal actor on the stage, took no further part in the action of
the piece. On Michaelmas–eve Oates was examined before the council,
and deposed to the existence of a most extensive conspiracy among the
Jesuits to murder the King. He indicated Coleman, formerly secretary
to the Duke of York, and at that time to the Duchess, as being
acquainted with all the schemes under consideration. The effect of
this announcement is thus described by a most amiable and unprejudiced
contemporary.

“October 1, 1678. The parliament and the whole nation were alarmed
about a conspiracy of some eminent Papists, for the destruction of
the King, and introduction of Popery, discovered by one Oates and
Dr. Tongue, which last I knew. I went to see and converse with him
at Whitehall, with Mr. Oates, one that was lately an apostate to the
church of Rome, and now returned again with this discovery. He seemed
to be a bold man, and, in my thoughts, furiously indiscreet; but every
body believed what he said, and it quite changed the genius and motions
of the parliament, growing now corrupt, and interested with long
sitting and court practices: but with all this, Popery would not go
down. This discovery turned them all as one man against it, and nothing
was done but to find out the depth of this. Gates was encouraged, and
every thing he affirmed taken for gospel. The truth is, the Roman
Catholics were exceedingly bold and busy everywhere, since the Duke
forbore to go any longer to the chapel.”[116]

Coleman had notice of his danger, and secreted a part, but not the
whole, of his papers. The remainder were seized, and clearly proved
that he had maintained a correspondence with the confessor of Louis
XIV., the object of which was the reconversion of England. Besides
appearing before the council, Gates made oath to the truth of his
Narrative, which he published before Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, a zealous
Protestant, and active justice of peace, and yet one that lived
on good terms both with Non–conformists and Papists. Very shortly
afterwards Godfrey was murdered. He was found in a ditch, with his
own sword sticking in his body, which had not been plundered; and
marks of strangling were thought to be visible about his neck, and
some contusions on his breast. It has ever been a mystery by whom this
crime was perpetrated; it was of course charged on the Papists, and
retorted by them on the contrivers and assertors of the plot. But the
support given to Gates’s story by this event, conjointly with Coleman’s
papers, threw the whole country into a ferment. Vast crowds flocked to
behold the corpse; the funeral excited equal interest, and the wish of
its conductors to inflame the people is visible in some extraordinary
precautions said to have been taken against a danger which no man could
have apprehended seriously. The following account is taken from a
contemporary of high tory principles, and animated by a most especial
hatred of Gates.

 This medal appears to have been struck in ridicule of the notion that
 Godfrey had murdered himself; he is represented as walking with the
 halter about his neck, apparently towards Primrose Hill, seen in the
 distance with its double head. The legend, “Ergo pares sumus,”—Therefore
 we are alike,—intimates that those, and those only, who can believe the
 well–known story of St. Denys, could believe the Papistical account that
 Godfrey had killed himself.]

“The next and last act of this tragedy was the funeral of this poor
gentleman; and if it had been possible the rout could have been more
formidable than at the exposition of him, it must now have appeared.
For as about other party concerns, so here the time and place of the
assemblation was generally notified, as also what learned divine was to
preach the sermon. The crowd was prodigious, both at the procession and
in and about the church; and so heated, that any thing called Papist
had gone to pieces in an instant. The Catholics all kept close in their
houses and lodgings, thinking it a good composition to be safe there;
so far were they from acting violently at that time. But there was all
this time upheld among the common people an artificial fright, so as
almost every one fancied a Popish knife just at his throat. And at the
sermon, besides the preacher, two other thumping divines stood upright
in the pulpit, one on each side of him, to guard him from being killed
while he was preaching, by the Papists. I did not see this spectacle,
but was credibly told by some that affirmed they did see it; and though
I have often mentioned it, as now, with precaution, yet I never met
with any that contradicted it. A most portentous spectacle sure! Three
parsons in one pulpit! Enough of itself, on a less occasion, to strike
a terror into the audience.”[117]

This might perhaps be considered as party spleen: but the testimony of
Calamy, one of the most learned and amiable dissenting clergymen of his
day, and a believer in much, though not in all the details of the plot,
to the extravagancies committed, is unexceptionable.

“Though I was at that time but young (he was about nine years of age),
yet can I not forget how much I was affected with seeing several that
were condemned for this plot, go to be executed at Tyburn, and at the
pageantry of the mock processions on the 17th of November.[118] Roger
L’Estrange (who used to be called Oliver’s Fiddler), formerly in danger
of being hanged for a spy, and about this time the admired buffoon of
high–church, called them ‘hobby–horsing processions.’

“In one of them, in the midst of vast crowds of spectators, who made
great acclamations and showed abundance of satisfaction, there were
carried in pageants upon men’s shoulders through the chief streets of
the city, the effigies of the Pope, with the representation of the
devil behind him, whispering in his ear, and wonderfully soothing and
caressing him (though he afterwards deserted him, and left him to shift
for himself, before he was committed to the flames), together with the
likeness of the dead body of Sir Edmundbury Godfrey, carried before him
by one that rode on horseback, designed to remind the people of his
execrable murder. And a great number of dignitaries in their copes,
with crosses; monks, friars, and Jesuits; Popish bishops in their
mitres, with all their trinkets and appurtenances. Such things as
these very discernibly heightened and inflamed the general aversion of
the nation from Popery; but it is to be feared, on the other hand, they
put some people, by way of revulsion, upon such desperate expedients as
brought us even within an ace of ruin.”[119]

A few days after these events the parliament met. “All Oates’s evidence
was now so well believed, that it was not safe for any man to seem to
doubt of any part of it. He thought he had the nation in his hands,
and was swelled up to the highest pitch of vanity and insolence. And
now he made a new edition of his discovery before the bar of the House
of Commons.”[120] He now said that the Pope, having declared himself
entitled to the possession of England, in virtue of the heresy of
prince and people, had delegated the supreme power to the order of
Jesuits, and that in consequence commissions had been issued by the
general of that order, to various noblemen and gentlemen, investing
them with all the great offices of the state. He swore that Coleman,
and Sir George Wakeman, the Queen’s physician, were in the plot, and
that for 15,000_l._ the latter had engaged to poison the King. Success
emboldened him to soar still higher; and after declaring to the House
of Lords, that he had named all the persons of rank involved in the
plot, he had the effrontery to accuse the Queen of being concerned in
it, under circumstances the most improbable: besides that the charge
was discountenanced by the whole tenour of her life.

“It was plain, that postnate to the narrative of Oates, there was a
design formed for cutting off the Queen by a false accusation, and
thereupon this evidence was given, and Bedloe, another evidence for
the plot, chimed in. It seems the not venturing so high in Oates’s
narrative was thought to be an error to be retrieved by additional
swearing. It was not a cabal of ordinary authority could encourage
Oates to come to the bar of the House of Commons, and say, ‘Aye, Taitus
Oates, accause Catherine Quean of England of haigh traison.’ Upon which
the King immediately confined him, and it might have been worse, if
some people had not taken his part, who were considerable enough to
give umbrage that it would be more prudent to set him at liberty again,
which was done accordingly. The King was pleased to say, ‘They think I
have a mind to a new wife; but for all that I will not see an innocent
woman abused.’ This passage ought to be remembered to the honour of the
King’s justice: certainly if his Majesty had given way, the Queen had
been very ill used.”[121]

Oates’s exaltation was a tempting bait, and other witnesses of infamous
character began to appear. In November Coleman was tried, convicted,
and executed on the joint evidence of Oates and Bedloe. There was
sufficient disagreement between the statements made by the former upon
the trial and before the council, to cause them to be received with
much suspicion; but Chief Justice Scroggs, after manifesting throughout
a most scandalous bias against the prisoner, charged the jury in a
style of which this is a specimen: “The things the prisoner is accused
of are of two sorts: the one is to subvert the Protestant religion,
and to introduce Popery; the other was to destroy and kill the king.
The evidence likewise was of two sorts; the one by letters of his own
handwriting, and the other by witnesses _viva voce_. The former he
seems to confess, the other totally to deny.... You are to examine
what these letters import in themselves, and what consequences are
naturally to be deduced from them. That which is plainly intended is to
bring in the Roman Catholic, and subvert the Protestant religion. That
which is by consequence intended, is the killing the king, as being
the most likely means to introduce that which as it is apparent from
his letters, was designed to be brought in.”[122] It would be a waste
of words to point out the monstrous wickedness of this inference. The
nature of the letters has been already described; that they contained
schemes hostile to the constitution there is no doubt, though not,
it should seem, such as bore out a charge of treason, least of all
against the life of the king. And it is worthy of observation, that
after dwelling at length upon the letters, Scroggs says not one word
concerning the evidence of the witnesses. Justice Jones worthily
seconded his principal: “You must find the prisoner guilty, or bring in
two persons perjured.”

The next act of the tragedy was the trial of Ireland, Fenwick, and
Whitebread, three Jesuits; and Grove and Pickering, two servants in the
queen’s chapel. Oates and Dugdale swore that the priests had conspired
the death of the king, and at their instigation the latter had agreed
to shoot him, which they attempted three several times; but that on
one occasion the flint of their pistol was loose; on another there
was no priming; and on the third no powder in the barrel: with other
circumstances equally childish and improbable. Scroggs acknowledged
that the case had broken down against Whitebread and Fenwick, and in
defiance of all principles of justice, remanded them that further
evidence might be procured.[123] The other three were condemned and
executed. Whitebread, Fenwick, and three other Jesuits, afterwards
underwent the same fate.

In July Wakeman and others were tried. “Scroggs summed up very
favourably for the prisoners; far contrary to his former practice. The
truth is, that this was looked upon as the Queen’s trial, as well as
Wakeman’s. The prisoners were acquitted, and now the witnesses saw they
were blasted; and they were enraged on it, which they vented with much
spite against Scroggs.”[124]

“July 18, 1679. I went early to the Old Bailey sessions–house, to
the famous trial of Sir G. Wakeman, one of the Queen’s physicians,
and three Benedictine monks: the first (who I take to be a worthy
gentleman, abhorring such a fact) for intending to poison the King: the
others as accomplices to carry on the plot to subvert the government
and introduce Popery. The bench was crowded with the judges, the lord
mayor, justices, and innumerable spectators. The chief accusers,
Dr. Oates (as he called himself), and one Bedloe, a man of inferior
note. Their testimonies were not so pregnant, and I fear, much of
it upon hearsay; but swearing positively to some particulars which
drew suspicion upon their truth, nor did circumstances so agree as
to give either the bench or the jury so entire satisfaction as was
expected. After therefore a long and tedious trial of nine hours, the
jury brought them in not guilty, to the extraordinary triumph of the
Papists, and[125] without sufficient disadvantage and reflections on
the witnesses, especially Oates and Bedloe. This was a happy day for
the lords in the Tower, who, expecting their trial, had this day gone
against the prisoners at the bar, would all have been in the utmost
hazard. For my part I look upon Oates as a vain insolent man, puffed up
with the favour of the Commons for having discovered something really
true, more especially as detecting the dangerous intrigue of Coleman,
proved out of his own letters, and of a general design which the
Jesuitical party of the Papists ever had, and still have, to ruin the
church of England; but that he was trusted with those great secrets he
pretended, or had any solid ground for what he accused divers noblemen
of, I have many reasons to induce my contrary belief.”

This, the first acquittal, was indeed equivalent to a sentence of
perjury against the witnesses; whose credit began to be shaken by the
contradictions in their evidence, discoverable by any who would calmly
look for them; and by the constancy with which all the condemned met
death, disclaiming to the last the justice of their sentence. Several
trials followed with various success. Soon after the meeting of the
Parliament in 1678, Lord Stafford, with four other Popish lords, had
been committed to the Tower upon Oates’s depositions. The parliament
was dissolved in January, 1679. Another was called in March, and the
question of the Popish lords proceeded in; but this also was dissolved
in May, without the accused being brought to trial, and they remained
in confinement till a third parliament was called in October, 1680,
soon after which it was resolved, “That the House will proceed with
the prosecution of the lords in the Tower, and forthwith begin with
William, Viscount Stafford.” Oates, Dugdale, and Turbervile, two more
witnesses of the same class, gave evidence upon which he was condemned.
Stafford was an aged man, and of little estimation; yet he defended
himself, prisoners not being then allowed benefit of counsel, with
dignity and constancy, through a long trial of six days. He urged with
much force the infamy of Oates.

“Dec. 6, 1680. One thing my lord said, as to Oates, which I confess did
exceedingly affect me; that a person who during his depositions should
so vauntingly brag, that though he went over to the church of Rome,
yet he never was a Papist, nor of their religion, all the time that he
seemed to apostatize from the Protestant, but only as a spy; though
he confessed he took their sacraments, worshipped their images, went
through all their oaths, and discipline of their proselytes, swearing
secrecy and to be faithful, but with intent to come over again and
betray them; that such a hypocrite, that had so deeply prevaricated as
even to turn idolater (for so we of the church of England term it),
attesting God so solemnly that he was entirely theirs, and devoted to
their interests, and consequently (as he pretended) trusted; I say that
the witness of such a profligate wretch should be admitted against the
life of a peer, this my lord looked upon as a monstrous thing, and such
as must needs redound to the dishonour of our religion and nation. And
verily I am of his lordship’s opinion: such a man’s testimony should
not be taken against the life of a dog. But the merit of something
material which he discovered against Coleman, put him in such esteem
with the parliament, that now I fancy he stuck at nothing, and thought
every body was to take what he said for gospel. The consideration of
this in some other circumstances began to stagger me: particularly how
it was possible that one who went among the Papists on such a design,
and pretended to be intrusted with so many letters and commissions
from the Pope and the party, nay and delivered them to so many great
persons, should not reserve one of them to show, nor so much as one
copy of any commission, which he who had such dexterity in opening
letters might certainly have done, to the undeniable conviction of
those that he accused: but as I said he gained credit on Coleman;
but as to others whom he so madly flew upon, I am little inclined to
believe his testimony, he being so slight a person, so passionate,
ill–bred, and of such impudent behaviour; nor is it likely that such
piercing politicians as the Jesuits should trust him with so high and
so dangerous secrets.”[126]

Burnet gives his own words: “I asked him, what were the arguments which
prevailed on him to change his religion, and go over to the church of
Rome. He upon that stood up, and laid his hands on his breast and said,
‘God and his holy angels knew that he had never changed, but that he
had gone among them on purpose to betray them.’ This gave me such a
character of him, that I could have no regard to anything he either
said or swore after that.”[127]

Stafford died with dignity and calmness, such as to make a deep
impression on the spectators. Their behaviour was decent, and even
compassionate, and a general belief in his dying protestations of
innocence was expressed. He was the last victim, strictly speaking, of
this impudent and atrocious forgery, upon which fourteen other men had
been previously executed. Many Romish priests also were condemned, and,
in part at least, suffered death upon a statute of Elizabeth, making it
treason for such to be found within the realm.

It is not from any resemblance in the circumstances of the times, nor
from similarity of character, though indeed that is considerable,
that Cleon and Oates have been grouped together, so much as to show
that cruelty and credulity are equally the growth of ancient and
modern times, and that there have always been periods when it has been
easy for men, contemptible in rank, talent, and character, so they
be possessed of a certain low cunning and a plenitude of impudence,
to govern the public mind by availing themselves of its prejudices.
Diminish these prejudices in the smallest degree, in the same degree
is the liability to this degrading and mischievous bondage reduced. A
startling warning may be drawn from the comparison of the two periods.
Had England resembled in circumstances, and form of government, the
tyrant–democracy of Athens, there is strong reason to thing that
the fearful enormities committed by that profligate city against
her dependents might have been equalled in the extirmination of the
obnoxious sect; as we know that the accusation of non–conformity, and
the charge of conspiring to establish a tyranny,[128] formed equally
ready handles of insult and oppression. Happily the balanced and
complicated form of the constitution, and the impossibility of moving
with one accord a great nation, delivered our ancestors from this
extremity of guilt. May the hazard which they incurred serve as a
beacon, to warn men against suffering themselves to be hoodwinked and
goaded by their fears into forgetfulness alike of reason and charity.

It may be some consolation to any whose patriotism is shocked by
the ready belief of Oates’s narrative, to know that the proverbial
credulity of the English was fully equalled by the gullibility of
the acute and polished Athenians.[129] Gross as was the imposture,
it was yet not without some foundation in truth; and in the then
alarming crisis of public affairs, we may imagine how it was that eager
politicians greedily swallowed a story adapted to their prepossessions,
although candid and dispassionate observers, like Evelyn, saw
immediately how little of it was entitled to credit. Yet even Evelyn
was partly a believer, as also Dryden, whose party prejudices certainly
did not lead him to side with the whigs.

                    That plot, the nation’s curse,
  Bad in itself, but represented worse;
  Raised in extremes, and in extremes decried;
  With oaths affirmed, with dying vows denied;
  Not weighed and winnowed by the multitude,
  But swallowed in the mass, unchewed and crude.
  Some truth there was, but dashed and brewed with lies
  To please the fools and puzzle all the wise.
  Succeeding times did equal folly call,
  Believing nothing, or believing all.

  _Absalom and Achitophel, part I._

The following passages will probably amuse the reader, and convey a
good idea of the character of Oates himself:—

“Titus Oates was the son of an anabaptist teacher, who afterwards
conformed and got into orders, and took a benefice as this his son
did. He was proud and ill–natured, haughty but ignorant. He had been
complained of for some very indecent expressions concerning the
mysteries of the Christian religion. He was once presented for perjury.
But he got to be chaplain in one of the king’s ships, from which he was
dismissed upon charges of gross profligacy.... He seemed inclined to be
instructed in the Popish religion. One Hutchinson, a Jesuit, had that
work put upon him.... He told me that Oates and the Jesuits were always
on ill terms. They did not allow Oates above nine–pence a day, of which
he complained much; and Hutchinson relieved him often. They wished they
could be well rid of him, and sent him beyond sea, being in very ill
terms with him. This made Hutchinson conclude that they had not at that
time trusted Oates with their secrets; Oates was kept for some time at
St. Omers, and was thence sent through France into Spain, and was now
returned to England. He had been long acquainted with Tongue, and made
his first discovery to him.”[130]

“Oates was a low man, of an ill cut, very short neck, and his visage
and features were most particular. His mouth was the centre of his
face, and a compass there would sweep his nose, forehead, and chin
within the perimeter. In a word, he was a most consummate cheat,
blasphemer, vicious, perjured, impudent, and saucy foul–mouthed wretch;
and were it not for the truth of history and the great emotions in the
public which he was the cause of, not fit (so little deserving) to be
remembered.”[131]

“Oates would never say all that he knew, for that was not consistent
with the uncertainty of events. For he could not foresee what sort of
evidence there might be occasion for, nor whom (it might be thought
fit) to accuse. All which matters were kept in reserve to be launched
or not, as occasion, like fair weather, invited, or flaws discouraged.
And having once said, there was all he knew (if he had been so
overseen), it had ended the plot, and then there could have been no
further suspense or expectation, as was afterwards continually kept on
foot, in hopes that at length the bottom of the plot would come up. In
the mean time the faction could calumniate any person, as the Duke,
the Queen, and even the good King himself, as being in the plot, much
more any one that was loyal in the ministry and magistracy, and so keep
all in one. And all the while it went about in whispers, that strange
things would appear, if they could but once come to the bottom of the
plot, and each one’s evil imagination was to inform what that was, as
will fully appear afterwards. When Oates was examined in the House of
Commons, and was asked if he knew of any further designs against his
Majesty, &c., instead of answering that question, he told a tale of a
fox and a goose, that the fox, to see if the ice would bear him and his
goose, first carried over a stone as heavy as the goose. And neither
then nor ever after, during his whole life, would he be brought to say
he had told all that he knew.”[132]

“Oates was now (the author is speaking of a time soon after his first
examination before parliament) in his trine exaltation; his plot in
full force, efficacy, and virtue: he walked about with his guards
(assigned) for fear of the Papists murdering him. He had lodgings in
Whitehall, and 1200_l._ per annum pension. And no wonder, after he had
the impudence to cry to the House of Lords in plain terms, that if they
would not help him he must help himself. He put on an episcopal garb
(except his lawn sleeves), silk gown and cassock, great hat, satin
hatband and rose, and was called, or most blasphemously called himself,
‘the Saviour of the nation.’ Whoever he pointed at was taken up and
committed, so that many people got out of his way, as from a blast,
and glad that they could prove their last two years’ conversation. The
very breath of him was pestilential, and if it brought not imprisonment
or death over such on whom it fell, it surely poisoned reputation, and
left good Protestants arrant Papists; and, something worse than that,
in danger of being put in the plot as traitors.”[133]

“He threatened me indeed with a parliament, but that is a course
of speech he has got. If the prisoners but ask a new comer for his
garnish, the master of the prison shall be told of a parliament. A
bishop shall not suspend a minister for refusing to officiate according
to the canon, but he is presently threatened with a parliament. If
the university shall not think fit to allow Mr. Oates his degree, the
lawn sleeves are to be ruffled next parliament. I was walking awhile
since only over the outer court at Whitehall innocently about my
business, and because I did not cap him over the square, as the boys do
fellows at Cambridge, ‘Squire L’Estrange,’ says he, ‘we shall have a
parliament,’ twirling his hat about between his finger and thumb, with
a look and action not to be expressed.”[134]

The credit of the plot and of its author declined together. In 1681,
Oates appeared as a witness in defence of one Colledge, better known as
the “Protestant joiner,” a busy man and a zealot against Popery, who
was accused of treason upon no better grounds than had served his own
party for the destruction of so many Papists. The court was eager for
revenge, and by no means scrupulous concerning the means of obtaining
it; the witnesses, who had supported the plot, were indifferent which
way they perjured themselves, so long as perjury was profitable, and
swore against Colledge as readily as against the Jesuits. Oates,
therefore, who adhered to his old friends, be this one thing recorded
to his credit, was brought into collision with his former associates,
and a scene of abuse passed between him and them in open court which
is too long for quotation, but will satisfy any person of the infamy
of at least one, probably of both parties. (State Trials, vol. viii.
p. 628.) Towards the end of Charles’s reign, when the discontinuance
of parliaments threw all power into the hands of the court, and the
infamous Jefferies was a ready minister of oppression; Oates was
prosecuted by the Duke of York for libel, and damages assessed at
100,000_l._ This was but the beginning of his misfortunes. In 1688,
soon after the accession of James, he was convicted of perjury upon two
indictments: the one charging him with having sworn that he was at a
consultation of Jesuits in London, when he was really at St. Omers; the
other, with having deposed to Ireland’s presence in London at a time
when he was gone into Staffordshire. The sentence passed upon him was
most savage and illegal, and moreover executed with such severity as to
produce the belief that he was not meant to survive it. It is in itself
a curiosity, and as such, as well as for the instruction of any who do
not duly appreciate the blessings of an incorrupt judicature: though
long, it shall be given entire.

_Justice Wilkins._ “I hope I have not been thought a man of ill–nature,
and I confess nothing has been so great a regret to me in my place and
station as to give judgment and pronounce the sentence of law against
my fellow–subjects, my fellow–creatures—but as to you, Mr. Oates, I
cannot say my fellow–christian. Yet in this case when I consider your
offence, and the dismal effects that have followed upon it, I cannot
say I have any remorse in giving judgment upon you. And therefore
having told you my thoughts shortly about your crime, and how readily I
pronounce your sentence, I shall now declare the judgment of the court
upon you: and it is this:—

“First, the court does order for a fine, that you pay 1000 marks upon
each indictment.

“Secondly, that you be stripped of all your canonical habits.

“Thirdly, the court doth award, that you do stand upon the pillory, and
in the pillory here before Westminster Hall gate, upon Monday next, for
an hour’s time, between the hours of ten and twelve, with a paper over
your head (which you must first walk with round about to all the courts
in Westminster Hall) declaring your crime. And that is upon the first
indictment.

“Fourthly (on the second indictment), upon Tuesday you shall stand
upon and in the pillory at the Royal Exchange, in London, for the
space of an hour, between, the hours of twelve and two, with the same
inscription.

“You shall upon the next Wednesday be whipped from Aldgate to Newgate.

“Upon Friday you shall be whipped from Newgate to Tyburn by the hands
of the common hangman.

“But Mr. Oates, we cannot but remember there were several particular
times you swore false about, and therefore, as annual commemorations,
that it may be known, to all people as long as you live, we have taken
special care of you for an annual punishment.

“Upon the 24th of April, every year, as long as you live, you are to
stand upon the pillory, and in the pillory at Tyburn, just opposite to
the gallows, for the space of an hour, between the hours of ten and
twelve.

“You are to stand upon and in the pillory here, at Westminster Hall
gate, every 9th of August, in every year, so long as you live. And that
it may be known what we mean by it, it is to remember what he swore
about Mr. Ireland’s being in town between the 8th and 12th of August.

“You are to stand upon and in the pillory at Charing Cross, upon the
10th of August, every year during your life, for an hour, between ten
and twelve.

“The like over against the Temple gate upon the 11th.

“And upon the 2nd of September (which is another notorious time, which
you cannot but be remembered of) you are to stand upon and in the
pillory, for the space of one hour, between twelve and two, at the
Royal Exchange; all this you are to do every year during your life, and
to be committed close prisoner as long as you live.

“This I pronounce to be the judgment of the court upon you for your
offences. And I must tell you plainly that if it had been in my power
to have carried it further, I should not have been unwilling to have
given sentence of death upon you, for I am sure you deserve it.”[135]

Burnet says, “But now the sitting of the parliament of England came
on. And as a preparative to it, Oates was convicted of perjury upon
the evidence of the witnesses from St. Omers, who had been brought
over before to discredit his testimony. Now juries were so prepared
as to believe more easily than formerly. So he was condemned to have
his priestly habit taken from him, to be a prisoner for life, to be
set in the pillory in all the public places through the city, and ever
after that set in the pillory four times a–year, and to be whipped
by the common hangman from Aldgate to Newgate one day, and the next
from Newgate to Tyburn, which was executed with so much rigour that
his back appeared to be all over flead. This was thought too little
if he were guilty, and too much if he were innocent; and was illegal
in all the parts of it. For as the secular court, could not order
the ecclesiastical habit to be taken from him, so to condemn a man
to perpetual imprisonment was not in the power of the court. And the
extreme rigour of such whipping was without a precedent. Yet he, who
was an original in all things, bore this with a constancy that amazed
all those who saw it. So that this treatment did rather raise his
reputation than sink it.”[136]

So soon as the heat of the plot was over, Charles reduced his pension
one–half, and ultimately deprived him of it altogether. After the
Revolution he was pardoned, “redintegrated at court, and admitted to a
pension of 400_l._ per annum, at which he was very wroth, for Charles
gave him 600_l._, ‘and sure,’ he said, ‘William will give me more.’ He
sought by Act of Parliament to have his judgment for perjury reversed,
but he could never obtain a swearing capacity again. The Earl of
Danby (then Leeds) knew the danger of that, and would indeed have his
sentence reversed, that is, having been whipped from Newgate to Tyburn,
would fain have had him whipped back from Tyburn to Newgate. The power
of swearing is formidable to great and small, and his lordship was
within an ace of being put in the plot for Godfrey’s murder.”[137]
Here ends his public life; he died in 1705, having once more changed
his religion, and entered into the communion of the Baptists. To the
last many persons adhered to him, and considered him a martyr to the
Protestant cause. In conclusion, we subjoin his character, as drawn
by Calamy, whose temper and opinions alike free his testimony from
suspicion.

“Dr. Oates was a man of invincible courage and resolution, and endured
what would have killed a great many others. He occasioned a strange
turn in the nation, after a general lethargy, that had been of some
years’ continuance. By awakening us out of sleep he was an instrument
in the hand of God for our preservation. Yet after all, he was but a
sorry foul–mouthed wretch, as I can testify from what I once heard from
him in company.

 Medal of Oates. The reverse represents the pretended scheme to shoot
 Charles II. walking in St. James’s Park. Legend: The Popish Plott
 discovered by mee, T. Oates, D.D.]

“I have been informed at Westminster that Dr. Oates was a frequent
auditor of my predecessor, Mr. Alsop, and moved for leave to come
to the Lord’s table with his society, but that an honest man of the
congregation upon that occasion spoke freely against him, as one so
irregular in his life as to be very unfit for church communion. The
doctor afterwards meeting Mr. Alsop, told him that man had sadly
abused him, and upon that account he vehemently complained as one that
was injuriously dealt with. Mr. Alsop cried out, ‘Prove him a liar,
doctor! prove him a liar!’ which it would have been well for him if
he could have done. But he really bore an indifferent character at
Westminster, and notwithstanding all the service he had done, there
were so many things concurring to lessen his credit, as makes it very
hard to distinguish between what was true and what was false in his
depositions. For which reason I must own that I am the less surprised,
that the parliament after the Revolution should leave him under a
brand, and incapacitate him for being a witness for the future.”[138]

We may conclude the chapter with a short reference to that most
remarkable transaction, the mutilation of the Hermæ, which occurred
B.C. 415, just before the Sicilian expedition, and in its consequences
bears a striking analogy to the passage in history which we have just
related. The Hermæ were square pillars, surmounted by a head of the
god, Hermes, or Mercury, which, in compliance with an ancient custom,
were placed at the entrances of temples and houses. Most of these
throughout Athens were defaced in the course of one night. A great
sensation was excited in the city; for the circumstance was held to be
of evil omen to the important enterprise just about to be commenced,
and moreover to indicate the existence of a plot to overthrow the
democracy. Alcibiades was accused among others, but no evidence could
be obtained to bring home the offence to any one: the excitement passed
off for a time, and he was ordered with the army to Sicily. But men’s
minds were unsettled, and agitated by terrors of they knew not what,
aggravated by designing persons for party ends. “From the affair of
the Mercuries, a plot was inferred for the establishment of oligarchy
or tyranny, and the irritation was cherished by continual discourses
of what Athens had suffered through the Pisistratidæ. On the slightest
suspicion, on the most discreditable evidence, men, the most respected,
were imprisoned; alarm increased with the number of accusations, and
each found readier credit than the last. At length Andocides, one of
the imprisoned, seeing no other hope of escape, and hoping by the
sacrifice of a few to save the rest, and to tranquillize the city,
confessed the crime, and accused some others, whether truly or falsely
is not known. The people received the information with joy; and setting
free the informer, and those whom he had cleared, tried and executed
the others. The proof was very inadequate, and the condemnation most
unjust; but the panic was in great measure abated.”[139]

In this jealous temper, Alcibiades, though not included in the
accusation, was summoned home from Sicily. He fled to Sparta, and by
his powerful talents contributed very principally to produce those
reverses which subsequently overtook the Athenians. The account of this
remarkable transaction is given in Thucydides, vi. c. 27, 60, and most
completely in the speech of Andocides de Mysteriis, which is contained
in Bekker’s collection of the Greek orators.

CHAPTER XVI.

 Athenian expedition against Sicily—Siege of Syracuse—Retreat and
 destruction of the army—Retreat of Ney in Russia—Retreat of Sir John
 Hawkwood in Italy.

We now come to the Sicilian expedition, and request the reader’s
patience if we dwell longer than usual on the closing scene of an
undertaking, described by its historian as “the greatest that happened
in this war, or at all, that we have heard of, among the Grecians,
being to the victors most glorious, and most calamitous to the
vanquished.”[140] The total destruction of the army of Athens struck a
deadly blow at her greatness, though she struggled most energetically
to retrieve her loss, and, through the want of able leaders at Sparta,
nearly succeeded. But the scale was turned against her, and from this
time forwards she fought an uphill battle.

In the seventeenth year of the war, B.C. 415, the Athenians, at the
suggestion of Alcibiades, resolved to send a very powerful armament
to Sicily, nominally to protect the little republic of Egesta against
Selinus and Syracuse, but really to re–establish the Ionian interest
in the island. We may observe that Sicily was colonized partly by
Ionian, partly by Dorian Greeks, and that the former naturally favoured
the Athenians, the latter the Lacedæmonians, as the heads of their
respective races. At present the Dorian race, at the head of which
stood Syracuse, was by far the more powerful: and alarm was felt, or
at least pretended, that unless checked by a powerful diversion at
home, they might get all Sicily into their hands, and then unite with
their Peloponnesian kinsmen to pull down that object of universal
jealousy, the Athenian empire. Moved therefore by the entreaties of the
Egestans, by these political arguments, and most of all by the desire
of conquest, the Athenians “resolved to go again to Sicily, and if they
could, wholly to subdue it, being for the most part ignorant both of
the greatness of the island and of the multitude of people, as well
Greeks as Barbarians, that inhabited the same, and that they undertook
a war, not much less than the war against the Peloponnesians.”[141]

Nicias, of whose cautious and unenterprising temper we have before
spoken, saw and remonstrated against the impolicy of hazarding the
flower of the state in a distant and dangerous warfare, while many of
its revolted subjects remained unsubdued: but his warning was unheeded,
and he was required, in conjunction with Alcibiades and Lamachus,
to assume the command of this expedition, which he so entirely
disapproved. Nicias, a man of courage in the field, was too timid to
struggle against the popular will: he submitted, but still endeavoured
to damp the eagerness of his countrymen, by exaggerating the force
requisite to ensure success. A hundred triremes, he said, with 5000
heavy armed infantry, and archers and slingers in proportion, were
the least they could send. Here he rather overshot himself; the force
demanded was immediately voted, and no further pretext for dissuasion
or denial remained. The armament, including the crews of the triremes,
is estimated by Mitford to have contained at least 30,000 men.

Never was an enterprise undertaken with better will. Those who were
engaged in it vied with each other in the splendour of their armour and
equipment, and far from finding any difficulty to complete the levy,
the whole of the citizens would willingly have gone in a body; “the old
men, upon hope to subdue the place they went to, or that at least so
great a power could not miscarry; and the young men, upon desire to see
a foreign country, and to gaze, making little doubt but to return with
safety. As for the common sort, and the soldiers, they made account to
gain by it not only their wages for the time, but also so to amplify
the state in power as that their stipend should endure for ever. So
that, through the vehement desire thereunto of the most, they also that
liked it not, for fear, if they held up their hands against it, to be
thought evil affected to the state, were content to let it pass.”[142]

“The summer being now half spent, they put to sea for Sicily. The
Athenians themselves, and as many of their confederates as were at
Athens upon the day appointed, betimes in the morning came down into
Peiræus, and went aboard to take sea. With them came down in a manner
the whole multitude of the city, as well inhabitants as strangers: the
inhabitants, to follow after such as belonged unto them, some their
friends, some their kinsmen, and some their children: filled both
with hope and lamentations; hope of conquering what they went for,
and lamentation as being in doubt whether ever they should see each
other any more, considering what a way they were to go from their own
territory.

“And now when they were to leave one another to danger, they
apprehended the greatness of the same more than they had done before,
when they decreed the expedition. Nevertheless their present strength,
by the abundance of every thing before their eyes prepared for the
journey, gave them heart again in beholding it. But the strangers
and other multitude came only to see the show, as of a worthy and
incredible design. For this preparation, being the first Grecian power
that ever went out of Greece from one only city, was the most sumptuous
and the most glorious of all that ever had been set forth before it, to
that day.

“For the shipping, it was elaborate with a great deal of cost, both of
the captains[143] of galleys, and of the city. For the state allowed
a drachma[144] a day to every mariner, and gave of unequipped galleys
sixty swift ships of war and forty transports for the conveyance of
soldiers. And the captains of galleys both put into them the most able
servants,[145] and besides the wages of the state, unto the [uppermost
bank of oars, called the] Thranitæ,[146] and to the servants, gave
somewhat of their own; and bestowed great cost otherwise every one upon
his own galley, both in the badges[147] and other rigging, each one
striving to the utmost to have his galley, both in some ornament, and
also in swiftness, to exceed the rest.

“And for the land forces, they were levied with exceeding great
choice, and every man endeavoured to excel his fellow in the bravery
of his arms and utensils that belonged to his person. Insomuch as
amongst themselves it begat quarrel about whose office should be the
most bravely filled, but amongst other Grecians a conceit that it was
an ostentation rather of their power and riches, than a preparation
against an enemy. For if a man enter into account of the expense, as
well of the public as of private men that went the voyage; namely, of
the public, what was spent already in the business, and what was to be
given to the commanders to carry with them; and of private men, what
every one had bestowed and had still to bestow upon his person, and
every captain on his galley; and beside what every one was likely, over
and above his allowance from the state, to expend on provision for so
long a warfare; and what men carried with them on trading speculations,
both soldiers and merchants, he will find the whole sum carried out of
the city to amount to a great many talents. And the armament was no
less noised for the strange boldness of the attempt, and gloriousness
of the show, than for its superiority over those against whom it was to
go, for the length of the voyage, and for that it was undertaken with
so vast future hopes, in respect of their present power.

“After they were all aboard, and all things laid in that they meant to
carry with them, silence was commanded by the trumpet; and after the
wine had been carried about to the whole army, and all, as well the
generals as the soldiers, had poured libations out of gold and silver
cups, they made their prayers, such as by the law were appointed for
before their taking sea; not in every galley apart, but all together,
the herald pronouncing them: and the company from the shore, both of
the city and whosoever else wished them well, prayed with them. And
when they had sung the Pæan, and ended the health, they put forth to
sea.”[148]

For the actions and fortunes of the expedition, we must refer the
reader to the History of Greece, contenting ourselves with such a mere
outline as may render the termination of it, with which alone we are
concerned, intelligible. Alcibiades was recalled almost immediately,
in consequence of the jealousy excited by the mutilation of the Hermæ;
Lamachus was killed in battle, and thus Nicias was left in the sole
charge of an enterprise of which he disapproved and despaired. The
first campaign was wasted in inactivity. In the second, siege was laid
to Syracuse, a city of large extent and great natural strength; and
all promised fairly for success until Gylippus, a Spartan of the royal
blood, arrived with 700 Lacedæmonians, broke through the besiegers’
lines, and threw himself into the city. This reinforcement, and the
skill and enterprise of the Spartan general, turned the fortune of
the siege, which from thenceforth is a series of disasters. In the
following winter, Nicias, weary of his command and broken in health,
sent home to represent the unpromising situation of affairs, and to
request leave to resign; but he received in answer an injunction to
remain, with the assurance that powerful succours should be sent out.
Accordingly, early in the spring, Demosthenes, the victor at Pylos, was
despatched with a strong reinforcement, consisting of seventy–three
triremes and about 5000 heavy–armed infantry. That able general made
one powerful attempt to change the fortune of the siege, and on its
failure recommended an immediate retreat. But Nicias, who was brave
enough in the field, but very deficient in moral courage, dared not to
return unauthorized by the people. He retained his station, therefore,
though hopeless of success, except from the exertions of some
malcontent Syracusans with whom he maintained correspondence. Meanwhile
the army was wasting under sickness, arising from the low and marshy
ground on which it was encamped: and the Syracusans eagerly prosecuted
their success, and at last cut off from the besiegers the possibility
of retreating by sea, by utterly defeating the Athenian fleet. To act
any longer on the offensive was out of the question; the only hope of
safety was instantly to break up the siege and march into the interior,
where the army, yet powerful, might find among the friendly Sicels,
a native race who still occupied the interior of the island, a safe
and plentiful retreat until assistance could be sent them, or further
measures concerted.

“It was a lamentable departure, not only for one point of their
condition, that they marched away with the loss of their whole fleet,
and that instead of their great hopes, they had endangered both
themselves and the state, but also for the dolorous objects which were
presented both to the eye and mind of every of them in particular in
the leaving of their camp. For the dead lying unburied, when any one
saw his friend on the ground, it struck him at once both with fear and
grief. But the living that were sick or wounded, both grieved them
more than the dead, and were more miserable. For with entreaties and
lamentations they put them to a stand, pleading to be taken along by
whomsoever they saw of their followers or familiars, and hanging on the
necks of their comrades, and following as far as they were able. And if
the strength of any person failed him, it was not with few entreaties
or little lamentation that he was there left. Insomuch as the whole
army, filled with tears, and irresolute, could hardly get away, though
the place were hostile, and they had suffered already, and feared to
suffer in the future more than with tears could be expressed, but hung
down their heads and generally blamed themselves. For they seemed
nothing else but even the people of some great city expunged by siege,
and making their escape. For the whole number that marched were no
less one with another than 40,000 men. Of which not only the ordinary
sort carried every one what he thought he should have occasion to use,
but also the heavy infantry and horsemen, contrary to their custom,
carried their victuals under their arms, partly for want, and partly
for distrust of their servants,[149] who from time to time ran over to
the enemy; but at this time went the greatest number: and yet what they
carried was not enough to serve the turn. For not a jot more provision
was left remaining in the camp. Moreover the sufferings of others, and
that equal division of misery, which is some alleviation in that we
suffer with many, were not now thought to contain even thus much of
relief. And the rather, because they considered from what splendour
and glory which they enjoyed before, into how low an estate they were
now fallen: for never had so great a reverse befallen a Grecian army.
For whereas they came with purpose to enslave others, they departed in
greater fear of being made slaves themselves; and instead of prayers
and hymns of victory, with which they put to sea, they abandoned their
undertaking with sounds of very different signification; and whereas
they came out seamen, they departed landmen, and relied not upon their
naval forces, but upon their men of arms. Nevertheless, in respect of
the great danger yet hanging over them, these present miseries seemed
all but tolerable.

“Nicias perceiving the army to be dejected, and the great change that
was in it, came up to the ranks, and encouraged and comforted them, as
far as for the present means he was able. And as he went from part to
part, he exalted his voice more and more, both as being earnest in his
exhortation, and because also he desired that the benefit of his words
might reach as far might be.

“‘Athenians and confederates, we must hope still even in our present
estate. Men have been saved ere now from greater dangers than these
are. Nor ought you too much to accuse yourselves, either for your
losses past, or the undeserved miseries we are now in. Even I myself
that have the advantage of none of you in strength of body (for you
see under what sickness I now labour), nor am thought inferior to any
of you for prosperity past, either in respect of my own private person
or otherwise, am nevertheless now in as much danger as the meanest of
you. And yet I have worshipped the gods frequently, according to the
law, and lived justly and unblamably towards men. For which cause, my
hope is still confident of the future; though these calamities, as
being not according to the measure of our desert, do indeed make me
fear. But they may perhaps cease. For both the enemies have already had
sufficient fortune, and the gods, if any of them have been displeased
with our voyage, have already sufficiently punished us. Others have
invaded their neighbours as well as we; and as their offence, which
proceeded of human infirmity, so their punishment also hath been
tolerable. And we have reason now both to hope for more favour from
the gods (for our case deserveth their pity rather than their hatred),
and also not to despair of ourselves, seeing how good and how many men
of arms you are, marching together in order of battle. Make account
of this, that wheresoever you please to sit down, there presently of
yourselves you are a city, such as not any other city in Sicily can
easily sustain if you assault, or remove if you be once seated. Now for
your march, that it may be safe and orderly, look to it yourselves,
making no other account any of you, but what place soever he shall be
forced to fight in, the same if he win it will be his country and his
walls. March you must with diligence, both night and day alike, for our
victual is short; and if we can but reach some amicable territory of
the Siculi (for these are still firm to us for fear of the Syracusans),
then you may think yourselves secure. And notice has been sent to them
with directions to meet us, and to bring us forth some supplies of
victual. In sum, soldiers, let me tell you, it is necessary that you
be valiant; for there is no place near where, being cowards, you can
possibly be saved. Whereas, if you escape through the enemies at this
time, you may every one see again whatsoever anywhere he most desires,
and the Athenians may re–erect the great power of their city, how low
soever fallen. For the men, not the walls nor the empty galleys, are
the city.’

“Nicias, as he used this hortative, went withal about the army, and
restored order wherever he saw it straggling, or the ranks broken.
Demosthenes having spoken to the same or like purpose, did as much to
those soldiers under him; and they marched forward, those with Nicias
in a square battalion, and then those with Demosthenes in the rear.
And the men of arms received those that carried the baggage, and the
other multitude, within them. And when they were come to the ford of
the river Anapus, they there found certain of the Syracusans and their
confederates embattled against them on the bank, but these they put to
flight, and having won the passage, marched forward. But the Syracusan
horsemen pressed still upon them, and their light–armed plied them
with their darts in the flank. This day they marched forty furlongs,
and lodged that night at the foot of a certain hill. The next day, as
soon as it was light, they marched forwards, about twenty furlongs,
and descending into a certain champagne ground, encamped there with
intent both to get victual at the houses (for the place was inhabited),
and to carry water with them thence; for before them, in the way they
were to pass for many furlongs together, there was little to be had.
But the Syracusans in the mean time got before them, and cut off their
passage with a wall. This was at a steep hill, on either side whereof
was the channel of a torrent with steep and rocky banks, and it is
called Acræum Lepas.[150] The next day the Athenians went on. And the
horsemen and darters of the Syracusans and their confederates, being a
great number of both, pressed them so with their horses and darts, that
the Athenians after long fight, were compelled to retire again into the
same camp; but now with less victual than before, because the horsemen
would suffer them no more to straggle abroad.

“In the morning betimes they dislodged, and put themselves on their
march again, and forced their way to the hill which the enemy had
fortified, where they found before them the Syracusan foot embattled
in great depth above the fortification, for the place itself was but
narrow. The Athenians coming up, assaulted the wall, but the shot of
the enemy, who were many, and the steepness of the hill (for they could
easily cast home from above), making them unable to take it, they
retired again and rested. There happened withal some claps of thunder
and a shower of rain, as usually falleth out at this time of the year,
being now near autumn, which further disheartened the Athenians, who
thought that also this did tend to their destruction. Whilst they lay
still, Gylippus and the Syracusans sent part of their army to raise a
wall at their backs in the way they had come, but this the Athenians
hindered by sending against them part of theirs. After this the
Athenians retiring with their whole army into a more champagne ground,
lodged there that night, and the next day went forward again. And the
Syracusans, with their darts from every part round about, wounded many
of them; and when the Athenians charged they retired, and when they
retired the Syracusans charged; and that especially upon the hindmost,
that by putting to flight a few, they might terrify the whole army.
And for a good while the Athenians in this manner withstood them; and
afterwards being gotten five or six furlongs forward, they rested in
the plain; and the Syracusans went from them to their own camp.

“This night it was concluded by Nicias and Demosthenes, seeing
the miserable estate of their army, and the want already of all
necessaries, and that many of their men in many assaults of the enemy
were wounded, to leave as many fires lighted as they could, and
lead away the army,—not the road they purposed before, but toward
the sea, which was the contrary way to that which the Syracusans
guarded. Now this whole journey of the army lay not towards Catana,
but towards the other side of Sicily, Camarina and Gela, and the
cities, as well Grecian as Barbarian, that way. When they had made
many fires accordingly, they marched in the night, and (as usually
it falleth out in all armies, and most of all in the greatest, to be
subject to affright and terror, especially marching by night, and in
hostile ground, and the enemy near) were in confusion. The army of
Nicias leading the way, kept together and got far before; but that of
Demosthenes, which was the greater half, was both severed from the
rest, and marched more disorderly. Nevertheless, by the morning betimes
they got to the sea side, and entering into the Helorine way, they went
on towards the river Cacyparis, to the end when they came thither to
march upwards along the river side, through the heart of the country.
For they hoped that this way the Siculi, to whom they had sent, would
meet them. When they came to the river, here also they found a certain
guard of the Syracusans stopping their passage with a wall and with
piles. When they had quickly forced this guard they passed the river,
and again marched on to another river called Erineus, for that was the
way which the guides directed them.[151]

“In the mean time the Syracusans and their confederates, as soon as
day appeared, and that they knew the Athenians were gone, most of them
accusing Gylippus, as if he had let them go with his consent, followed
them with speed the same way, which they easily understood they were
gone, and about dinner–time overtook them. When they were come up to
those with Demosthenes, who were the hindmost, and had marched more
slowly and disorderly than the other part had done, as having been put
into disorder in the night, they fell upon them and fought. And the
Syracusan horsemen hemmed them in, and forced them up into a narrow
compass, the more easily now, because they were divided from the rest.
Now the army of Nicias was gone by this time one hundred[152] and fifty
furlongs further on. For he led away the faster, because he thought not
that their safety consisted in staying and fighting voluntarily, but
rather in a speedy retreat, and then only fighting when they could not
choose. But Demosthenes was both in greater and in more continual toil,
in respect that he marched in the rear, and consequently was pressed
by the enemy. And seeing the Syracusans pursuing him, he went not on,
but put his men in order to fight, till by his stay he was encompassed
and reduced, he and the Athenians with him, into great disorder. For
being shut up within a place enclosed round with a wall, through which
there was a road from side to side, and in it a considerable number of
olive–trees, they were charged from all sides at once with the enemies’
shot. For the Syracusans assaulted them in this kind, and not in
close battle, upon very good reason. For to hazard battle against men
desperate was not so much for theirs, as for the Athenians’ advantage.
And besides, their success being now manifest, they spared themselves
that they should not waste men, and thought by this kind of fight, to
subdue and take them alive.

“Whereupon after they had plied the Athenians and their confederates
all day long from every side with shot, and saw that with their
wounds and other annoyance, they were already tired, Gylippus and the
Syracusans and their confederates first made proclamation that if any
of the islanders would come over to them, they should be at liberty;
and the men of some few cities went over. And by and by they made
agreement with all the rest that were with Demosthenes, ‘that they
should deliver up their arms, and none of them be put to death, neither
violently nor by bonds, nor by want of the necessaries of life.’ And
they all yielded, to the number of 6000 men, and the silver they had
they laid it all down, casting it into the hollow of targets, and
filled with the same four targets. And these men they carried presently
into the city.

“Nicias and those that were with him attained the same day to the river
Erineus, which passing, he caused his army to sit down upon a certain
ground, more elevated than the rest; where the Syracusans the next
day overtook and told him, that those with Demosthenes had yielded
themselves, and willed him to do the like. But he, not believing it,
took truce for a horseman to inquire the truth. Upon return of the
horseman, and word that they had yielded, he sent a herald to Gylippus
and the Syracusans, saying that he was content to compound on the
part of the Athenians, to repay whatsoever money the Syracusans had
laid out, so that his army might be suffered to depart; and that
till payment of the money were made, he would deliver them hostages,
Athenians, every hostage rated at a talent. But Gylippus and the
Syracusans refusing the condition, charged them, and having hemmed them
in, plied them with shot, as they had done the other army, from every
side, till evening. This part also of the army, was pinched with the
want both of victual and other necessaries. Nevertheless, waiting for
the quiet of the night, they were about to march; but no sooner took
they their arms up, than the Syracusans perceiving it gave the alarm.
Whereupon the Athenians finding themselves discovered, sat down again,
all but 300, who, breaking by force through the guards, marched as far
as they could that night.

“And Nicias when it was day led his army forward, the Syracusans and
their confederates still pressing them in the same manner, shooting
and darting at them from every side. The Athenians hasted to get the
river Asinarus, not only because they were urged on every side by the
assault of the many horsemen, and other multitude, and thought to be
more at ease when they were over the river, but out of weariness also
and desire to drink. When they were come unto the river, they rushed
in without any order, every man striving who should first get over.
But the pressing of the enemy made the passage now more difficult; for
being forced to take the river in heaps, they fell upon and trampled
one another under their feet: and falling amongst the spears and
utensils of the army, some perished presently, and others, catching
hold of one another, were carried away together down the stream. And
not only the Syracusans standing along the farther bank, being a steep
one, killed the Athenians with their shot from above, as they were many
of them greedily drinking, and troubling one another in the hollow of
the river, but the Peloponnesians came also down and slew them with
their swords, and those especially that were in the river.[153] And
very soon the water was corrupted; nevertheless they drunk it, foul as
it was with blood and mire, and many also fought for it.

“In the end, when many dead lay heaped in the river, and the army was
utterly defeated, part at the river, and part (if any got away) by the
horsemen, Nicias yielded himself unto Gylippus (having more confidence
in him than in the Syracusans), ‘to be for his own person at the
discretion of him and the Lacedæmonians, and no further slaughter to
be made of the soldiers.’ Gylippus from thenceforth commanded to take
prisoners. So the residue, except such as they secreted[154] (which
were many), they carried alive into the city. They sent also to pursue
the 300, which had broken out from the camp in the night, and took
them. That which was left together of this army to the public was not
much; but they that were conveyed away by stealth were very many: and
all Sicily was filled with them, because they were not taken as those
with Demosthenes were, upon terms of capitulation. Besides, a great
part of these were slain; for the slaughter at this time was exceeding
great, none greater in all the Sicilian war. They were also not a few
that died in those other assaults in their march. Nevertheless many
also escaped, some then presently, and some by running away after
servitude, the rendezvous of whom was Catana.[155]

“The Syracusans and their confederates being come together, returned
with their prisoners, all they could get, and with the spoil, into
the city. As for all the other prisoners of the Athenians and their
confederates, they put themselves into the quarries, as the safest
custody. But Nicias and Demosthenes they killed against Gylippus’s
will. For Gylippus thought the victory would be very honourable, if,
over and above all his other success, he could carry home both the
generals of the enemy of Lacedæmon. And it fell out that the one of
them, Demosthenes, was their greatest enemy, for the things he had
done in the island,[156] and at Pylus; and the other, upon the same
occasion, their greatest friend. For Nicias had earnestly laboured
to have those prisoners which were taken in the island to be set at
liberty, by persuading the Athenians to the peace. For which cause the
Lacedæmonians were inclined to love him; and it was principally in
confidence of that that he surrendered himself to Gylippus. But certain
Syracusans (as it is reported), some of them for fear (because they
had been tampering with him), lest being examined upon this matter,
he should disclose something to disturb their present enjoyment; and
others (especially the Corinthians) fearing he might get away by
corruption of one or other (being wealthy), and work them some mischief
afresh, having persuaded their confederates to the same, killed him.
For these, or for causes near unto these, was he put to death; being
the man that, of all the Grecians of my time, had least deserved to
be brought to so great a degree of misery, on account of his regular
observance and respect towards the gods.

“As for those in the quarries, the Syracusans handled them at first but
ungently; for in this hollow place, first the sun and suffocating air
(being without roof), annoyed them one way; and on the other side, the
nights coming upon that heat, autumnal and cold, put them (by reason of
the alteration) into strange diseases. Especially because for want of
room they did all things in one and the same place, and the carcases of
such as died of their wounds, or vicissitudes of weather, or the like,
lay there in heaps. Also the smell was intolerable, besides that they
were afflicted with hunger and thirst. For for eight months together
they allowed them no more but to every man a cotyle[157] of water by
the day, and two cotyles of corn: and whatsoever misery is probable
that men in such a place may suffer, they suffered. Some seventy days
they lived thus thronged. Afterwards retaining the Athenians, and such
Sicilians and Italians as were of the army with them, they sold the
rest. How many were taken in all, it is hard to say exactly; but they
were seven thousand[158] at the fewest. And this, in my opinion, was
the greatest action that happened in all this war, or at all, that we
have heard of among the Grecians, being to the victors most glorious,
and most calamitous to the vanquished. For being wholly overcome in
every kind, and receiving small loss in nothing, their army and fleet,
and all that ever they had, perished (as they used to say) with an
universal destruction. Few of many returned home. And thus passed the
business concerning Sicily.”

A pleasing anecdote, related by Plutarch, relieves in part the fate of
these unhappy men. Many Athenians, who fell into the hands of private
masters, found the means of procuring kinder treatment by recitations
of the masterpieces of literature, with which the minds even of the
poorest Athenians were usually stored; especially the tragedies of
Euripides, the favourite dramatic poet of the Sicilian Greeks. Many are
said to have visited him on their return to Attica, to own themselves
indebted to him for liberty, granted as a recompense for communicating
what they recollected of his works. This is strong testimony to the
scarcity of manuscripts, and the consequent value of knowledge to its
possessor. The same cause enabled these captive Athenians to purchase
freedom, and the philosophers and sophists to reap such golden harvests
from their lectures; literature was entirely dependent upon oral
communication.

Forty thousand men, of whom a large proportion were veteran soldiers
of the second military power in Greece, ought to have made a better
defence. But they were dispirited, and commanded by a general unequal
to the emergency. Nicias possessed many admirable qualities; respect
for the gods, honesty, personal courage, and dignity of character when
not confronted with an Athenian assembly; and they shone perhaps
more brightly in the concluding than in any other scene of his life;
but his courage was of the passive rather than the active sort, and
he did not possess the power of rapid observation and decision which
mark the accomplished general, and are most especially required to
extricate an army from a false position. So far from pursuing the
plan laid down in his speech, the first day’s retreat did not exceed
five miles, the next was less than three; and when, after eight days
of marching and fighting, the Athenian army surrendered, it was not
twenty miles distant from Syracuse. Want of promptitude in the first
instance suffered the Syracusans to pre–occupy the passes. How far the
obstacles which Nicias had then to surmount may justify his tardiness
it is difficult to say. Superior numbers and discipline in the hands of
an able general might have done much to counterbalance the advantage of
position. The Athenians were placed in difficult circumstances; yet not
so difficult as the 10,000 in Persia, or many others who have yet lived
to laugh at their enemy.

It is not fair to estimate the character of this expedition by its
results, for no foresight could have anticipated that Athens, the
mistress of the sea, would be so completely foiled on her own element,
as that even the power of return should be denied to her defeated army.
But without judging things by their events, a method which renders
criticism of the past comparatively easy, there are ample grounds to
prove the impolicy of entering upon such a scheme of conquest at such
a time. The Athenians were already engaged in a war fully commensurate
with their strength, and which their utmost exertions had been unable
to bring to a happy close. Their wealth and power were derived
chiefly from colonies and subject cities, of which several were in
open revolt, and all more or less disaffected. Eubœa itself, the most
important, and from its situation the most easily controlled, of these
dependencies, was so discontented, that to prevent its defection was
the first care of the administration, as soon as news arrived of the
Sicilian defeat. It was under these circumstances that they undertook
a war, characterized by Thucydides as not much less than that against
the Peloponnesians,[159] and having for its object the conquest[160]
of an island about nine times as large as Attica, and inhabited not
by a rude or effeminate population, but by rich and powerful cities
of their own countrymen. The enterprise, hazardous in itself, was
rendered more so by the length of the voyage, according to the methods
of navigation then in use, which prevented succour being sent, or
remedy applied to any sudden reverse; and on this hazardous service,
at this critical time, a body of troops was sent, not too large for
its object, but far larger than the state could afford to lose. That
their destruction was believed to be a deathblow is evident from
Thucydides. “Everything from every place grieved them, and fear and
astonishment, the greatest that ever they were in, beset them round.
For they were not only grieved for the loss, which both every man
in particular and the whole city sustained, of so many men–at–arms,
horsemen and serviceable men, the like whereof they saw was not left:
but seeing they had neither galleys enough in their haven, nor money
in their treasury, nor able seamen[161] in their galleys, were even
desperate at that present of their safety, and thought the enemy
out of Sicily would come forthwith with their fleet into Piræus
(especially after vanquishing of so great a navy), and that the enemy
here would surely now, with double preparation in every kind, press
them to the utmost both by sea and land, and be aided therein by their
revolting confederates.”[162] Thanks to their own activity and to the
supineness of their enemy, this loss did not immediately prove fatal;
but the result of the war would probably have been very different,
had the lives and treasure wasted in Sicily been devoted for their
country in some better chosen cause.

“Nick, young Nick, the deacon used to say to me (his name was Nicol
as well as mine; sae folk ca’d us in their daffin’, young Nick and
auld Nick), Nick, said he, never put your arm out further than you can
easily draw it back again.” Baillie Jarvie’s maxim is as applicable to
political affairs as to commercial and good in both. He whose fortune
is already desperate may stake all on one cast; for the prosperous and
powerful to do so is madness. Had Napoleon’s ambition not blinded him
to this simple rule of caution, he might have died on the imperial
throne: he stretched his arm too far when he marched to Moscow. No
two persons could be more unlike than Napoleon and Nicias: and it is
worth observing that tempers diametrically opposite led these two
generals into the same error. Both tempted their fortune after the
hour of success was past, and, when active measures could no longer be
pursued, remained in idleness, from mere want of resolution to confess
a failure by their actions; Nicias, for want of moral courage to face
an unreasonable master, whose mortification was not likely to be
anywise lessened by being reminded that the defeated general had always
disapproved of his commission; Napoleon, from his sensitive pride,
which clung to any pretence, however thin, which could conceal from
himself, if not from others, that the victor of a hundred battles was
at length foiled. The celebrated campaign of 1812 bears indeed a nearer
resemblance to the Sicilian than to the Scythian war, and on that
account might better have been reserved for this place. But there is
one portion of it still unnoticed, which displays in their perfection
those military qualities, the want of which proved fatal to Nicias and
the Athenian army.

We allude to the remarkable skill, courage, and good fortune with
which Marshal Ney extricated himself from circumstances apparently as
hopeless as any that men could be placed in. It has already been stated
that the French army on quitting Smolensk was distributed into four
divisions, which marched on different days.[163] Ney commanded the
last. The Russian army lay in strength between that city and Oreza, but
their opposition was undecided, and the three first divisions forced
their way past, though with severe loss. When he had only the rear
guard to deal with, Kutusoff came to a resolution which if adopted
in the first instance might have ended at once the campaign and the
reign of Napoleon, and took post across the road, so as to bar all
passage, except such as should be cut through the centre of his army.
On the second afternoon after he left Smolensk, Ney came in view of
the Russians. They consisted of 80,000 men, with a powerful artillery.
The two armies were posted on opposite sides of a deep ravine, which
at this point intersected the plain. Kutusoff sent an officer to
summon Ney to surrender, stating the amount of his force, and offering
permission to send one of his officers to verify his representations
by inspection. While the envoy was still speaking, forty guns opened
their fire upon the French. Ney exclaimed in anger, “A marshal never
surrenders; neither do men treat under fire. You are my prisoner.” The
artillery redoubled their thunder; the hills, before cold and silent,
resembled volcanoes in eruption, and then, said the French soldiers,
enthusiastic in praise of their favourite leader, this man of fire
seemed to feel in his true element.

His whole force consisted of only 5000 men and six guns. Opposed were
80,000, well armed and well fed, and strong in cavalry and artillery.
The French vanguard of 1500 men passed along the road into the ravine,
and dashed gallantly up the opposite side; but the front line of the
Russians met them at the top, and at once shattered their feeble
column. Ney rallied them, and caused them to be formed in reserve,
while he led on in person the main body of 3000 men. He made no
speeches; he advanced at their head, which is worth all the oratorical
flourishes in the world. Meanwhile 400 Illyrians had been detached
to take the enemy in flank. The impetuosity of his charge broke and
scattered the first opposing line, and without stop or hesitation he
advanced upon the second; but ere they reached it, a tempest of cannon
and musket–balls whistled through the column: it staggered, broke, and
retreated.

Convinced that it was impossible to force his way, he returned to his
former position on the other side of the ravine, drew up what remained
of his troops, and awaited the attack. Russian inactivity (we cannot
call it caution) saved him, as it had saved those who went before. A
single corps might have forced Ney’s position against the weak body
who now defended it; but the enemy contented himself with maintaining
a murderous cannonade, to which the six guns feebly replied. Still the
soldiers, though falling thickly, remained constant at their posts,
deriving comfort and confidence from the tranquillity of their chief.

At nightfall Ney gave orders to retreat towards Smolensk. All who heard
it were struck with amazement. The Emperor, and their comrades, and
France, lay in front: he proposed to turn back into a country which
they had too much reason to detest and fly. Even the aide–de–camp to
whom the command was issued stood as if he could hardly believe his
ears, until it was repeated in a brief and decided tone. They marched
backwards for an hour, and then stopped; and the Marshal, who had
remained in the rear, rejoined them. Their situation may be thus summed
up. Between them and the Emperor lay an army, which they had tried
in vain to force. Guides they had none: on the left the country was
open, but there was little chance of turning unobserved the flank of
an enemy furnished with a numerous and active cavalry; besides that
the time consumed in such an operation would have left little hope of
ever rejoining the main body of the French. On the right the liberty of
movement was curtailed by the Dnieper, which flowed in that direction;
its precise situation and the possibility of crossing it being unknown.
Ney’s plan was already conceived. He descended into a ravine, and
caused the snow to be cleared away until the course of a rivulet was
exposed. “This,” he said, “must be one of the feeders of the Dnieper.
It will conduct us to the river, and on the further bank of that river
lies our safety.” They followed it as their guide, and about eight
o’clock in the evening arrived upon the bank of the Dnieper. Their
joy was complete on seeing the river frozen over. Above and below it
was still open, but just at the spot where they reached it a sharp
bend in its course had stopped the floating ice, which the frost
had connected into a continuous though a slight bridge. An officer
volunteered to try its strength. He reached the opposite bank, and
returned. “It would bear the men,” he said, “and some few horses. But
a thaw was commencing, and there was no time to be lost.” The fatigue
and difficulty of a nocturnal march had scattered the troops, as well
as the disorganized band of stragglers which attended on them; and Ney,
though pressed to cross at once, resolved to give three hours’ time for
rallying. This interval of repose, even at so critical a moment, he
spent, wrapped in his cloak, in deep and placid sleep upon the river
bank.

Towards midnight they began to pass. Those who first tried the ice
warned their companions that it bent under them, and sunk so low that
they were up to their knees in water. The deep, threatening sound of
cracks was heard on all sides, and those who still remained on the bank
hesitated to trust themselves to so frail a support. Ney ordered them
to pass one by one. Much precaution was necessary, for large chasms
had opened, doubly concealed by the darkness of night, and by the
general covering of water. Men hesitated, but they were driven on by
the impatient cries of those who remained on the bank, still ignorant
of the dangers of the passage, and goaded by the constant fear of the
enemy’s approach.

The carriages and cannon attendant on the army were of necessity left
behind, and those of the wounded who were unable to make their way
across. The chief of the hospital department tried the experiment of
sending some waggon–loads of sick and wounded men across the ice. A
scream of agony was heard when they had reached the middle of the
stream, succeeded by a deep silence. The ice had given way, and all
perished except one officer, severely wounded, who supported himself
upon a sheet of ice, and, crawling from one piece to another, reached
the bank.

Ney had now placed the river between himself and the Russian army by a
stroke of promptitude and courage rarely equalled. But his situation
was far from enviable. He was in a desert of forests, without roads and
without guides, two days’ march from Orcza, where he expected to meet
Napoleon. As the troops advanced, the foremost men observed a beaten
way; but there was little comfort to be derived from this, for they
distinguished the marks of artillery and horses proceeding in the same
direction as themselves. Ney as usual took the lion’s counsel, and
followed those menacing tracks to a village, which he surrounded and
assaulted, in which there were 100 cossacks, who were roused from their
sleep only to find themselves prisoners. Here the French found comforts
of which they had known little since their departure from Moscow; food,
clothes, comfortable quarters, and rest. What a blessed relief to men
who within the last twelve hours had been hopeless of escape from death
in battle, and then exposed to scarce less imminent danger of perishing
in a half–frozen river!

From hence it was two days’ march to Orcza, where Ney arrived on
November 20, his followers being reduced to 1500 men. He had baulked
the Russian regular troops; but he found Platoff and his cossacks
upon the right bank of the Dnieper, and suffered severely from their
marauding warfare. Napoleon had given him up for lost; when he heard
that he had rejoined the army he leaped for joy, as he exclaimed, “Then
I have saved my eagles! I have 200,000,000 in the Tuileries: I would
have given them all rather than lose such a man!”[164]

An anecdote of similar resolution and readiness, curious on account
of the nature of the danger to be avoided, is told by the Florentine
historians of the fourteenth century. At that time Italian warfare was
chiefly carried on by hired soldiers, men usually of profligate lives
and broken fortunes, unfitted by the licence of a camp for peaceful
industry, or driven to forsake it by the insecurity of property in
those calamitous times, when he who sowed the seed had no assurance
that he should reap the harvest. The long wars between France and
England under Edward III. swelled the numbers of these men to a fearful
extent; and the reader who will consult Froissart concerning the state
of France at this period, will there find a fearful picture of the
misrule and misery produced by men of this description, who, when there
was no regular war to occupy their swords, formed themselves into
troops, took possession by force or fraud of some castle or stronghold,
and lived by levying contributions on the peasantry, and plundering
all persons who came in their way. Such spirits readily flocked round
the banner of any soldier of repute who offered a price for their
services; nor were men of birth and reputation wanting to lead them
into the foreign market, who readily overlooked the character of their
followers in consideration of the wealth and consequence to be derived
from their support. Among the most distinguished, and also the most
honourable of this class, was an Englishman, named Sir John Hawkwood,
long practised in the Italian wars, and at the time we speak of, in the
service of Florence. In the year 1391, that city being at war with the
Duke of Milan, planned a double invasion of his dominions. The Count
d’Armagnac, a French nobleman of high military renown, was hired to
invade Milan from the west, while on the east Hawkwood advanced from
Vicenza, through Verona and Brescia. The two armies were intended to
unite and lay siege to Milan; but the scheme was deranged by the defeat
and total destruction of the Count d’Armagnac, and Hawkwood, who,
before he heard that news, had advanced within fifteen miles of the
city, on a sudden found himself in imminent danger.

On looking at a map, the reader will observe that all the country
between the Alps and Po is intersected by numerous rivers; which, like
those of Holland, for the most part flow at a higher level than the
neighbouring plains, and are kept within their course by lofty dikes.
Hawkwood had crossed the Adige, Mincio, and Oglio; and consequently
when Jacopo del Verme, the Milanese general, marched against him at
the head of a superior force elated with victory, his situation became
very uncomfortable. To give battle was hazardous, for a defeat with
three large rivers in his rear would have been utter destruction; and
it was scarcely less dangerous to attempt to cross them, without having
first gained some advantages, and struck terror into the enemy. In this
dilemma he remained quiet for a time, retained his soldiers strictly
within the camp, without regarding the insults and provocations of the
enemy, until this apparent timidity led them into an imprudent bravado,
which gave him an opportunity of attacking to advantage and routing
them with considerable slaughter.

He judged rightly that this blow would keep his adversary quiet for a
little while, and immediately broke up his camp and crossed the Oglio
without hindrance; the enemy following, but being too late, or too
much cowed to molest him. He passed the Mincio also, and was then in a
plain, enclosed by the dikes of the Po, Mincio, and Adige, and lying
below the level of those rivers. The last was still to be crossed; and
it presented greater difficulties than the Oglio and Mincio, both on
account of the greater volume and velocity of its stream, and because
the enemy had pre–occupied and fortified its dikes. Hawkwood was
encamped on a small eminence in the plain,—we may suppose rather at a
loss how to prosecute his retreat,—when suddenly the whole of the low
country was flooded. They had cut the dikes of the Adige, in hope of
drowning or starving the invader into submission. The inundation gained
ground every hour, and threatened the camp itself. As far as the eye
could reach all was water. Provisions began to fail; and Del Verme,
who with his troops shut up the only road to escape, sent Hawkwood
the enigmatical present of a fox in a cage. The Englishman received
the gift, and requested the messenger to carry back word that the fox
seemed nothing dismayed, and probably knew very well by what door he
should get out of his cage.

“It is generally confessed,” says Poggio, “that no other captain,
except Hawkwood, whose sayings and doings deserve to be commemorated
among the subtleties of ancient generals and orators, could have
overcome the difficulties and dangers in which the Florentine army
was now involved.” It is not every one assuredly that would have
nerve to adopt the measure which he adopted. In the middle of the
night he abandoned his camp, trusting himself and his army boldly to
the inundated plain, and shaped his course parallel to the dikes of
the Adige. He advanced all the next day, and part of the succeeding
night, through water up to the horses’ bellies; his progress delayed by
the deep mud, and by numerous trenches which intersected the fields;
and which, beneath the universal covering of water, could no longer
be distinguished from the solid ground. In this manner he traversed
all the valley of Verona; at length, opposite to Castel Baldo, he
crossed the dry bed of the Adige, there exhausted of its waters, and
found repose and refreshment for his exhausted army within the Paduan
frontier. The weaker horses, and a large part of the infantry, perished
in this march by suffocation, fatigue, and cold; some saved themselves
by clinging to the horses’ tails. But the bulk of the army was saved,
and Jacopo del Verme took care not to tempt the waters by engaging in
so hazardous a pursuit.[165]

CHAPTER XVII.

[Illustration: Prow of an ancient vessel found at Genoa.]

 Sketch of the interval which elapsed between the defeat in Sicily and
 the battle of Arginusæ—Battle of Arginusæ—Prosecution and death of the
 Athenian generals—Massacre of the De Witts—End of the Peloponnesian war.

The catastrophe of the Sicilian army was heard at Athens with
consternation. In that army, besides light–armed troops and slaves,
10,000 citizens were lost, the flower of the republic and its allied,
or rather dependent, states; and the private sorrow from which few
houses were exempt, was increased by the alarming perplexity how such
another force could be raised from the exhausted population, or such
a fleet rebuilt from the exhausted treasury of the state. It was
generally believed through Greece that the war would soon come to an
end; and if Sparta had been prepared to follow up with energy the blow
struck in Sicily, Athens probably would have fallen. But though the
project of wresting the dominion of the sea from her seemed no longer
visionary, as it had seemed earlier in the war, in which case, deprived
both of her territories at home and of her commerce and allies abroad,
she must have yielded, the Lacedæmonians at this critical juncture
possessed no fleet, and the autumn and winter, which they spent in
collecting one, were diligently employed by the Athenians in measures
suited to the present emergency. Thus at the close of the nineteenth
year of the war, each party, says Thucydides, seemed as it were
preparing for the beginning of a war. But at this time a third party
appeared in the contest. The King of Persia had discovered that to
supply the Greeks with the means of mutual destruction was much better
policy than uniting them against himself by measures of open hostility;
and Athens, from its restless spirit, as well as from the recollection
of former injuries, was the object of especial dislike and fear to that
monarchy. From henceforward the want of a public revenue, which had
more than anything cramped the exertions of Sparta, was obviated from
the inexhaustible riches of Persia.

The seven years which elapsed between the defeat in Sicily and the
battle of Arginusæ, are perhaps the busiest and most curious portion
of the war. Scarce two years passed before the hope of supplanting
the Lacedæmonians in the favour of Tissaphernes, satrap of Lydia,
and diverting to themselves the wealth which was animating their
enemies, induced the once proud people of Athens to divest themselves
of the sovereignty and establish an oligarchical government. After
a short existence of four months this government was overthrown and
a new one established, in which the supreme power was vested in an
assembly of 5000 citizens, of which all persons entitled to serve in
the heavy–armed infantry were constituted members. “And now for the
first time in my remembrance,” says Thucydides, “the Athenians appear
to have possessed a government of unusual excellence; for there was a
moderate intermixture of the few and the many. And this, after so many
misfortunes past, first made the city again to raise its head.”[166]
Alcibiades, who had been a main promoter of this counter–revolution,
was now recalled, and under his able guidance a series of victories
ensued which bade fair to raise the commonwealth to its former
splendour. In the twenty–fourth year of the war, and the sixth from
his banishment, he led home his victorious troops, and was received
with extraordinary favour, being appointed commander–in–chief, with
greater powers than had ever been intrusted to such an officer. But the
Athenians had not yet learnt steadiness. Within less than a year he was
dismissed, in consequence of an unimportant defeat sustained by one
of his subordinates, who, during his absence from the fleet, against
express orders, had ventured a battle; and command was given to a board
of ten generals, with Conon at their head.

In the twenty–fifth year of the war, as Conon was passing Lesbos with a
fleet of seventy triremes, the Spartan general, Callicratidas, obtained
an opportunity of attacking him with far superior forces, compelled
him to run for the harbour of Mitylene, took thirty of his ships, and
formed the siege of that town by land and sea. When this unpleasant
news reached Athens, every nerve was strained to effect their general’s
deliverance. In thirty days, 110 triremes were equipped and manned,
though 20,000 men are calculated to have been required for the purpose.
All persons of military age, both slaves and freemen, were pressed into
the service; many knights even, who were legally exempted from this
service, went on board. The fleet was increased by forty ships or more
from different allies, and then sailed for Mitylene to deliver Conon.

When Callicratidas heard that the Athenian fleet was at Samos, he left
fifty ships, commanded by Eteonicus, to maintain the siege, and put to
sea himself with 120. The Athenians spent that night at Arginusæ, a
cluster of islands between the southern promontory of Lesbos and the
main land. In the morning both parties put to sea: eight of the ten
Athenian generals were on board the fleet.

[Illustration:]

Xenophon tells us that the superiority in sailing, or rather rowing,
which had enabled the Athenians at the commencement of the war to gain
such distinguished successes under the command of Phormion and others,
was now reversed: and that from the greater swiftness of their ships,
the Lacedæmonians were more likely to profit by the rapid evolutions,
in which the naval science of that time was shown; especially that
called the diecplus, which seems to have consisted in dashing through
the enemy’s line, avoiding the direct shock of his beak, but sweeping
away his oars if possible by an oblique attack. To guard against
this danger the Athenians adopted the following disposition of their
fleet: in either wing were four squadrons, each of fifteen ships, and
each commanded by one of the generals, eight of whom were on board
the fleet, drawn up in a double line. The left of the centre was held
by ten Samian ships; then came ten Athenian ships, each containing a
military officer of rank, called taxiarch, which seems to correspond
in grade most closely to the rank of colonel; next to them, each in
his own ship, three navarchs or admirals, two of whom, Thrasybulus and
Theramenes, are names well known in the history of the time, and the
few allied ships, which were not elsewhere stationed. All these were in
single line. We have here a good illustration of the close connection
between the military and naval service, and may infer that officers
of distinction in the one were not expected to serve in inferior
situations in the other. The distribution of the fleet will be more
readily understood from the annexed diagram.

The Lacedæmonian fleet was formed in a single line.

Hermon of Megara, the pilot, or master rather of Callicratidas’s
ship, observed that the Athenians were much the most numerous, and
said that it would be well to retreat. Callicratidas answered, that
Sparta would not be worse inhabited if he were dead, but it was
shameful to run away. The battle lasted long; but when Callicratidas,
who led the Spartan right wing, was thrown overboard by the shock of
his own trireme against another, and the Athenian right wing gained
the advantage over their opponents, the Spartan fleet betook itself
to flight, with the loss of seventy ships or upwards. The victors
returned to their station at Arginusæ, their number diminished only by
twenty–five ships, but nearly all the crews of these had perished.

A double duty now claimed their attention: the one to save those of
their countrymen who still clung to life upon the floating wreck,
the other to relieve Conon and complete the destruction of the
Peloponnesian fleet by surprising the squadron left to maintain the
siege of Mitylene. We can detect no error in the course adopted, which
was to leave forty–six ships to collect the wreck, and sail direct
for Mitylene with the others. For some unexplained reason, however,
none of the eight generals remained to superintend the former service,
which was intrusted to Theramenes and Thrasybulus. But a violent
storm came on, and confined both divisions of the fleet at Arginusæ;
while Eteonicus, to whom a light vessel had conveyed the news of his
commander’s defeat, seized the interval for escape thus granted to him
with much readiness. Fearful of attack from Conon, now nearly equal
to him in naval force, if he manifested the necessity of retreat,
he bade the vessel which conveyed the news put back to sea without
communicating it to any but himself, and then return crowned and decked
with the symbols of victory, and shouting that Callicratidas had gotten
the victory of the Athenians. He then offered the usual thanks–offering
for good news, and that very night broke up the siege and departed. The
Athenians seem to have been deficient in activity, for their first
information of this was derived from the arrival of Conon at Arginusæ,
as they were preparing to leave it. They then sailed to Chios, whither
the Peloponnesians had repaired; and having done nothing, returned to
their usual station at Samos.

How it happened that so powerful a fleet, under able commanders, not
only did, but apparently attempted nothing, in prosecution of so signal
a success, is left entirely unexplained; and we might almost suspect
from the meagre statement of facts, without explanation or comment,
that Xenophon knew more of the matter than for some reason or other
he chose to tell. The Athenians, he continues, displaced their ten
generals, excepting Conon: but the cause of their dissatisfaction
is not stated. Six of the eight who had been in the battle returned
home at once. On their return, Erasinides was immediately accused by
Archidemus, who was at that time the popular leader, of embezzling
public property and of misconduct in his command. He was committed
to prison. Subsequently the other five were also committed to answer
to the people for their conduct; and at the first assembly several
persons, with Theramenes at their head, came forward to assert that the
generals ought to be brought to trial for not saving their shipwrecked
countrymen. The accused made a short answer (for they were not allowed
to speak at length, as they had a right to do), stating all that had
passed; how they had resolved themselves to follow up their advantage,
leaving Theramenes and Thrasybulus, men of military rank and confessed
ability, to perform the other service. “These, if any,” they said, “are
the persons to blame; yet though they accuse us, we will not bring a
false charge against them, of neglecting what the violence of the storm
rendered it impossible to do.”[167] And these statements they brought
forward witnesses to prove.

This short defence made a considerable impression, and many persons
offered to become sureties for the accused. But the evening had now
closed in, and it was said to be too dark to distinguish the show of
hands. The matter was therefore adjourned to the next assembly, and it
was voted that in the mean time the council should determine in what
manner the generals should be tried,—a precaution which shows that
they were not meant to have fair play, since the form of trial was as
distinctly settled in Athens as in England; but it gave the accused
full opportunity for making his defence, and therefore did not suit
the purpose of the prosecutors. In the mean time came on the festival
called Apaturia, at which members of the same family and the same tribe
met in social intercourse; and Theramenes took advantage of the kindly
feelings excited upon the occasion to raise a prejudice against his
intended victims, by sending about the city men dressed in black with
their heads shaven, in the character of relations of those who had been
lost at Arginusæ.

At the next general assembly Callixenus explained the scheme of trial
recommended by the council. “The people,” he said, “had already heard
the charge and the answer to it (an answer, be it remembered, which
had been limited to a few words), and might therefore proceed at once
to vote. Two vases therefore would be set apart to each tribe, and
those who thought the generals culpable for not saving the wrecked
crews, would cast their ball into the one, those who did not think them
culpable into the other. If the majority were of the former opinion,
the punishment would be death and confiscation of property.” At this
period a man came forward with a story that he had saved his own life
on a flour–barrel, and that his dying comrades charged him, if he
himself escaped, to tell the Athenians that the generals had abandoned
those citizens who had so well served their country. Euryptolemus,
a name which occurs in history only on this occasion, made a stand
in favour of the accused, and threatened to prosecute Callixenus for
submitting an illegal proposition to the assembly, and a part concurred
with him; but the majority cried, that it was a fine thing if anyone
should say that the people might not do as it liked: and Lyciscus
proposed, that all who interfered with the proceedings of the assembly
should be included in the same vote with the generals. Euryptolemus
therefore was compelled to let things take their course. Still the
presidents of the assembly refused to propose an illegal question; but
they were frightened and overborne by clamour, except the celebrated
Socrates, who steadily refused to act contrary to law. Euryptolemus
made another attempt to procure the generals leave to plead their own
cause, by moving an amendment to the proposition of Callixenus: but he
failed; the scheme of the council was agreed to, and by a majority of
votes sentence of death was passed upon the eight generals present at
Arginusæ. Those six who had been unlucky enough to return to Athens
were forthwith executed.

Not long after, Xenophon adds, the Athenians repented of what they
had done, and voted that those who had deceived the people should
be prosecuted, and find sureties for their appearance. Other civil
contests arose, which gave them an opportunity of escape. Callixenus,
at a later period, returned to Athens; lived for a time the object of
hate to all, and died of hunger in a time of famine.[168]

The Germans, by the report of Tacitus, held solemn and deep
drinking–bouts for the consideration of all important business, upon
the old maxim that in wine there is no deceit; but they took care to
reconsider their decision the next morning. Some court of temperate
review would have preserved the Athenians from many heinous crimes,
into which they were led by a temper unusually excitable, and when
ruled by prejudice and passion, less fitted to judge wisely and
equitably than the phlegmatic temper of the Germans, even under the
influence of strong drink. With Theramenes and the accusers this was
plainly a party measure, undertaken in total recklessness of right or
wrong. In these corrupt motives the people could have no share; on the
contrary, they seem to have been acted on at first by a right feeling
of indignation at the alleged abandonment of meritorious citizens.
Their fault lay in the readiness with which they discarded gratitude
to entertain suspicion; in the blind fury with which, overleaping all
law in jealously asserting the people’s omnipotence, they followed a
mere impulse, a delusion, which the least exercise of judicial calmness
would have dispelled. It is true that, when the reign of passion was
over, and they returned to their senses, they rendered such amends
for their precipitance as were then in their power. But such tardy
repentance could neither repair nor expiate the wrong committed; and
Athenian repentance generally came too late. Prompt in action, both
from temper and from the forms of the state, which required no revision
of a decree of the people, no assent from any concurring authority,
performance followed close upon resolve. Of the many cruel edicts,
repented or unrepented, uttered by the Athenian people, the revocation
of the decree against the Mitylenæans, by which all male citizens were
condemned to death, is the only one where repentance came in time. It
seems a fitting judgment that the signal victory of Arginusæ was the
last gained during the war; and that in the next year it was followed
by the still more signal defeat at Ægospotami, which laid Athens
prostrate at the feet of her haughty rival.

Not strictly analogous to the prosecution of the generals, but a still
more memorable example of the cruelty and ingratitude to which party
spirit can rouse even a phlegmatic people like the Dutch, the very
antipodes of the Athenians in temper, is the murder of the brothers De
Witt. Both illustrious, though not equally so, to the elder Holland
owes deeper obligations than to any other of her citizens, except those
great captains who burst the Spanish yoke. These obligations, and De
Witt’s high qualities, are best described by a writer qualified to do
justice to the subject by the affection of a friend, as well as the
penetration of a statesman—Sir William Temple.

“The chief direction of the affairs of Holland had, for eighteen years,
been constantly in the hands of their Pensionary De Witt, a minister
of the greatest authority and sufficiency, the greatest application and
industry, ever known in their state. In the course of his ministry,
he and his party had reduced not only all the civil charges of the
government in this province, but in a manner all the military commands
of the army, out of the hands of persons affectionate to the Prince
of Orange, into those esteemed more sure and fast to the interests of
their more popular state. And all this had been attended for so long
a course of years with the perpetual success of their affairs, by the
growth of their trade, power, and riches at home, and the consideration
of their neighbours abroad; yet the general humour of kindness in the
people to their own form of government under the Princes of Orange,
grew up with the age and virtues of the young Prince, so as to raise
the prospect of some unavoidable revolutions among them, for several
years before it arrived. And we have seen it grow to that height in
this present year, upon the Prince’s coming to the two–and–twentieth
year of his age (the time assigned him by their constitution for
entering upon the public charges of their milice), that though it had
found them in peace, it must have occasioned some violent sedition in
their state; but meeting with the conjuncture of a foreign invasion,
it broke out into so furious a rage of the people, and such general
tumults through the whole country, as ended in the blood of their
chief ministers; in the displacing all that were suspected to be of
their party throughout the government; in the full restitution of the
Prince’s authority to the highest point any of his ancestors had ever
enjoyed; but withal in such a distraction of their councils and their
actions, as made way for the easy successes of the French invasion; for
the loss of almost five of their provinces in two months’ time, and for
the general presages of utter ruin to their state.”[169]

At the early age of twenty–eight, the firmness and talents displayed
by John de Witt in public life had raised him to the chief magistracy
of the United Provinces, at a difficult period, when they were engaged
in war with England, then under the vigorous direction of Cromwell.
That honourable station De Witt held for twenty years, during which
that severe war between England and Holland broke out, which was
terminated, much to the glory of the latter country, by the expedition
up the Medway, and the burning of the English fleet at Sheerness. Of
this bold attempt he was himself the adviser. Republican by birth (for
his father had been imprisoned in consequence of his steady opposition
to the house of Orange), the whole bent of his policy was to frustrate
the attempts of the Orange party, who wished to reinstate the young
Prince, afterwards William III. of England, in the power and dignities
possessed of old times by his family; and as the interests of William
were espoused by Charles II. of England, De Witt was induced to seek a
counterpoise by cultivating the friendship of France. In consequence
of this predilection the war of 1665 broke out, which, after a series
of severely contested battles, was terminated by the expedition above
mentioned.

De Witt’s steady resistance to the elevation of the house of Orange
of course procured for him the sincere hatred of the Orange party,
who were powerful enough, at different periods, to embarrass his
government; still for fifteen years he held his high office of Grand
Pensionary of Holland, and at the end of that time was re–elected
for a further term of five years. But in the last year, in 1672, the
French and English united to declare war against Holland; a powerful
army invaded the United Provinces, and William, upon whom the chief
military command was conferred, was utterly unable to make head