tremely offended, and ascribing his boldness to envy, gave orders to carry him to the quarries; the common jail being so called. The whole court was afflicted upon this account, and solicited for the generous prisoner, whose release they obtained. He was enlarged the next day, and restored to favour.

At the entertainment made that day by Dionysius for the same guests, which was a kind of ratification of the pardon, and at which they were for that reason more than usually gay and cheerful; after they had plentifully regaled a great while, the prince did not fail to introduce his poems into the conversation, which were the most frequent subject of it. He chose some passages which he had taken extraordinary pains in composing, and conceived to be masterpieces, as was very discernible from the self-satisfaction and complacency he expressed whilst they were reading. But his delight could not be perfect without Philoxenus's approbation, upon which he set the greater value, as it was not his custom to be so profuse of it as the rest. What had passed the evening before was a sufficient lesson for the poet. When Dionysius asked his opinion of the verses, Philoxenus made no answer, but turning towards the guards, who stood round the table, he said in a serious, though humourous tone, without any emotion, "Carry me back to the quarries." The prince comprehended all the salt and spirit of that ingenious pleasantry, without being offended.' The sprightliness of the conceit atoned for its freedom, which at another time would have touched him to the quick, and made him excessively angry. He only laughed at it now, and was not displeased with the poet.

He did not act in the same way upon occasion of a gross jest of Antiphon's, which was indeed of a different kind, and was the result of a violent and brutal disposition. The prince in conversation asked, which was the best kind of brass. After the company had given their opinions, Antiphon said, that was the best of which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogiton were made. This witty expression, if it may be called so, cost him his life.

The friends of Philoxenus, apprehending that his too great frankness might be also attended with fatal consequences, represented to him in the most serious manner, that those who live with princes must speak their language; that they wish to have nothing said to them but what is agreeable; that whoever does not know how to dissemble, is not qualified for a court; that the favours and liberalities which Dionysius continually bestowed upon them, well deserved the return of some little complaisance; that, in a word, with his blunt freedom and plain truth, he was in danger of losing not only his fortune but his life. Philoxenus told them, that he would profit by their good advice, and for the future give such a turn to his answers as should satisfy Dionysius without injuring truth.

Accordingly, some time after, Dionysius having read a piece of his composing upon a very mournful subject, wherein he was to move compassion and draw tears from the eyes of the audience, he addressed himself again to Philoxenus, and asked him what he thought of his verses. Philoxenus gave him for answer one word, which in the Greek language has two different significations. In one of them it implies mournful, moving things, such as inspire sentiments of pity and compassion: in the other, it expresses something very mean, defective, pitiful, and miserable. Dionysius, who was fond of his verses, and believed that every body must have the same good opinion of them, took that word in the favourable construction and was extremely satisfied with Philo

xenus. The rest of the company were not mistaken, but understood it in the right sense, though without explaining themselves.

Nothing could cure his folly for versification. It appears from Diodorus Siculus, that having sent some of his poems a second time to Olympia, they were treated with the same ridicule and contempt as before. That news, which could not be kept from him, threw him into an excess of melancholy, which he could never get over, and turned soon after into a kind of madness and frenzy. He complained that envy and jealousy, the certain enemies of true merit, were always making war upon him, and that all the world conspired to ruin his reputation. He accused his best friends of having engaged in the same design; some of whom he put to death, and others he banished; amongst whom were Leptines his brother, and Philistus, who had done him such great services, and to whom he was indebted for his power. They retired to Thurium in Italy, from whence they were recalled some time after, and reinstated in all their fortunes and former favour: Leptines even married Dionysius's daughter.

To remove his melancholy occasioned by the ill success of his verses, it was necessary to find some employment; and with this his wars and buildings supplied him. He had formed a design of establish ing powerful colonies in that part of Italy which is situate upon the Adriatic sea facing Epirus; in order that his fleet might not want a secure retreat, when he should employ his forces on that side; and with this view he made an alliance with the Illyrians; and restored Alcetes, king of the Molossians, to his throne. His principal design was to attack Epirus, and to make himself master of the immense treasures which had been for many ages amassing in the temple of Delphi. Before he could set this project on foot, which required great preparations, he seemed to wish to make an essay of his abilities, by another of the same kind, though of much more easy execution. Having made a sudden irruption into Tuscany, under the pretence of pursuing pirates, he plundered a very rich temple in the suburbs of Agylla, a city of that country, and carried away a sum exceeding 4,500,000 livres. He had occasion for money to support his great expenses at Syracuse, as well in fortifying the port, and making it capable of receiving 200 galleys, as in enclosing the whole city with good walls, erecting magnificent temples, and building a place of exercise upon the banks of the river Anapus.

At the same time he formed the design of driving the Carthaginians entirely out of Sicily. A first victory which he gained, put him almost into a condition to accomplish his project; but the loss of a second battle, in which his brother Leptines was killed, put an end to his hopes, and obliged him to enter into a treaty, by which he gave up several towns to the Carthaginians, and paid them great sums of money to reimburse their expenses in the war. An attempt which he made upon them some years after, taking advantage of the desolation occasioned by the plague at Carthage, had no better success.

Another victory of a very different kind, though one which he had no less at heart, made him amends, or at least comforted him, for the ill success of his arms. He had caused a tragedy of his to be represented at Athens, for the prize in the celebrated feast of Bacchus, and was declared victor. Such a victory among the Athenians, who were the best judges of this kind of literature, seems to indicate, that the poetry of Dionysius was not so mean and pitiful; and it is very possible that the aversion of the Greeks for every thing which came from a tyrant, had a great share in the Contemptuous sentence passed upon his poems in

the Olympic games. Be this as it may, Dionysius received the news with inexpressible transports of joy. Public thanksgivings were made to the gods, the temples being scarce capable of containing the concourse of the people. Nothing was seen throughout the city but feasting and rejoicing; and Dionysius regaled all his friends with the most extraordinary magnificence. Self-satisfied to a degree that cannot be described, he believed himself at the summit of glory, and did the honours of his table with a gayety and ease, and at the same time with a grace and dignity, that charmed all the world. He invited his guests to eat and drink more by his example than expressions, and carried his civilities of that kind to such an excess, that at the close of the banquet he was seized with violent pains, occasioned by an indigestion, of which it was not dithcult to foresee the consequences.

Dionysius had three children by his wife Doris, and four by Aristomache, of which two were daughters, the one named Sophrosyne, the other Arete. Sophrosyne was married to his eldest son, Dionysius the younger, whom he had by his Locian wife; and Arete espoused her brother Theorides. But Theorides dying soon, Dion married his widow Arete, who was his own niece.

As Dionysius's distemper left no hopes of his life, Dion undertook to speak to him concerning his children by Aristomache, who were at the same time his brothers-in-law and nephews, and to insinuate to him, that it was just to prefer the issue of his Syracusan wife to that of a stranger. But the physicians, desirous of making their court to young Dionysius, the Locrian's son, for whom the throne was intended, did not give him an opportunity; for Dionysius having demanded a medicine to make him sleep, they gave him so strong a dose as quite stupified him, and laid him in a sleep that lasted him for the rest of his life. He had reigned thirty-eight years.

the temples; and as there was inscribed upon them, according to the custom of the Greeks, 19 THE GOOD GODS; he would (he said) take the benefit of their

GOODNESS.

As for less prizes, such as cups and crowns of gold, which the statues held in their hands, those he carried off, without any ceremony; saying, it was not taking, but merely receiving them; and that it was idle and ridiculous to ask the gods perpetually for good things, and to refuse them when they held out their hands themselves to present them to you. These spoils were carried by his order to the market and sold by public sale: and when he had got the money for them, he ordered proclamation to be made, that whoever had in their custody any things taken out of sacred places, were to restore them entire, within a limited time, to the temples from whence they were brought; adding in this manner to his impiety to the gods, injustice to man.

The amazing precautions that Dionysius thought necessary to secure his life, show to what anxiety and apprehension he was abandoned. He wore under his robe a cuirass of brass. He never harangued the people but from the top of a high tower; and thought he made himself invulnerable by being inaccessible. Not daring to confide in any of his friends or relations, his guard was composed of slaves and strangers. He went abroad as little as possible; fear obliging him to condemn himself to a kind of imprisonment. These extraordinary precautions are to be referred without doubt to certain periods of his reign, when frequent conspiracies against him rendered him more timid and suspicious than usual; for at other times we have seen that he conversed freely enough with the people, and was accessible even to familiarity. In those dark days of distrust and fear, he fancied he saw all mankind in arms against him. An expression which escaped his barber, who boasted, by way of jest, that he held a razor at the tyrant's throat every week, cost him his life. From thenceforth, not to abandon his life and head to the hands of a barber, he

As he was returning to Syracuse with a very favourable wind after plundering the temple of Proserpine at Locris, "See," said he to his friends with a smile of contempt, "how the immortal gods favour the navigation of the sacrilegious."

2

Having occasion for money to carry on the war against the Carthaginians, he rifled the temple of Jupiter, and took from that god a robe of solid gold, which ornament Hiero the tyrant had given him out of the spoils of the Carthaginians. He even jested upon that occasion, saying, that a robe of gold was much too heavy in summer, and too cold in winter; and at the same time ordered one of wool to be thrown over the god's shoulders; adding, that such a habit would be commodious in all seasons.

Another time he ordered the golden beard of Esculapius of Epidaurus to be taken off; giving for his reason, that it was very inconsistent for the son to have a beard," when the father had none.

He caused all the tables of silver to be taken out of

1 Plut. in Dion. p. 960.

Cic. de nat. deor. l. xv. n. 83, 84.

Apollo was represented without a beard.

despicable office; and when they were more advanced in years, he took the scissors and razors from them, and taught them to singe off his beard with walnutshells. He was at last reduced to do himself that office, not daring, it seems, to trust his own daughters any longer. He never went into the chamber of his wives at night, till they had been first searched with the utmost care and circumspection. His bed was surrounded with a very broad and deep trench, with a small drawbridge over it for the entrance. After having well locked and bolted the doors of his apartment, he drew up the bridge, that he might sleep in security. Neither his brother, nor even his sons, could be admitted into his chamber, without first changing their clothes, and being visited by the guards. Can he be said to reign, can he be said to live, who passes his days in such continual distrust and terror?

In the midst of all his greatness, possessed of riches, and surrounded with pleasures of every kind, during a reign of almost forty years, notwithstanding all his presents and profusion, he never was capable of making a single friend. He passed his life with none but trembling slaves and sordid flatterers; and never tasted the joy of loving, or of being beloved, nor the charms of social intercourse and reciprocal confidence. This he ingenuously owned himself upon an occasion not unworthy of being related.

Damon and Pythias had both been educated in the principles of the Pythagorean philosophy, and were united to each other in the strictest ties of friendship, which they had mutually sworn to observe with inviolable fidelity. Their faith was put to a severe trial.

Cic. Tusc. Quæst. 1. v. n. 57. 63.

Plut. de Garrul. p. 508.

Cic. de Offic. l. ii. n. 55.

7 Plut. in Dion. p. 961.

Cic. de Offic. l. iii. n. 43. Val. Max. l. iv. c. 7.

One of them being condemned to die by the tyrant, petitioned for permission to make a journey into his own country, to settle his affairs, promising to return at a fixed time, the other generously offering to be his security. The courtiers, and Dionysius in particular, expected with impatience the event of so delicate and extraordinary an adventure. The day fixed for his return drawing nigh, and he not appearing, every body began to blame the rash and imprudent zeal of his friend who had bound himself in such a manner. But he, far from expressing any fear or concern, replied with a tranquil air, and confident tone, that he was sure his friend would return; as he accordingly did upon the day and hour agreed. The tyrant, struck with admiration at so uncommon an instance of fidelity, and softened with the view of so amiable a union, granted him his life, and desired to be admitted as a third person into their friendship.

He cxpressed with equal ingenuousness on another occasion what he himself thought of his condition.' One of his courtiers named Damocles was perpetually extolling with rapture his treasures, grandeur, the number of his troops, the extent of his dominions, the magnificence of his palaces, and the universal abundance of all good things and enjoyments in his possession; always repeating, that never man was happier than Dionysius. "Since you are of that opinion," said the tyrant to him one day, "will you taste and make proof of my felicity in person ?" The offer was accepted with joy; Damocles was placed upon a golden couch, covered with carpets richly embroidered. The side-boards were loaded with vessels of gold and silver. The most beautiful slaves in the most splendid habits stood around, ready to serve him at the slightest signal. The most exquisite essences and perfumes had not been spared. The table was spread with proportionate magnificence. Damocles was all joy, and looked upon himself as the happiest man in the world; when unfortunately casting up his eyes, he beheld over his head the point of a sword, which hung from the roof only by a single horse-hair. He was immediately seized with a cold sweat; every thing disappeared in an instant: he could see nothing but the sword, nor think of any thing but his danger. In the height of his fear he desired permission to retire, and declared he would be happy no longer. A very natural image of the life of a tyrant. He of whom we are speaking, reigned as I have observed before, thirty-eight years.

CHAPTER II.

SECTION I.—DIONYSIUS THE YOUNGER SUCCEEDS HIS FATHER. DION ENGAGES HIM TO INVITE PLATO TO HIS COURT. SURPRISING ALTERATION OCCASIONED BY HIS PRESENCE. CONSPIRACY OF THE COURTIERS TO PREVENT THE EFFECTS OF IT.

2

father, as a patrimonial inheritance, notwithstanding the natural fondness of the Syracusans for liberty, which could not but revive upon so favourable an occasion, and the weakness of a young prince undistinguished by his merit, and void of experience. It seemed as if the last years of the elder Dionysius, who had applied himself towards the close of his life in making his subjects taste the advantages of his go vernment, had in some measure reconciled them to tyranny; especially after his exploits by sea and land had acquired him a great reputation, and infinitely exalted the glory of the Syracusan power, which he had found means to render formidable to Carthage itself, as well as to the most potent states of Greece and Italy. Besides which it was to be feared, that should they attempt a change in the government, the sad consequences of a civil war might deprive them of all those advantages: whereas the gentle and humane disposition of young Dionysius gave them reason to entertain the most favourable hopes with regard to the future. He therefore peaceably ascended his father's throne.

Something of this kind has been seen in England. The famous Cromwell died in his bed with as much tranquillity as the best of princes, and was interred with the same honours and pomp as a lawful sovereign. Richard his son succeeded him as protector, and for some time possessed equal authority with his father, though he had not any of his great qualities.

Dion, the bravest and at the same time the most prudent of the Syracusans, who was Dionysius's brother-in-law, might have been of great support to him had he known how to profit by his advice. In the first assembly held by Dionysius and all his friends, Dion spoke in so wise a manner upon what was necessary and expedient in the present conjuncture, as showed that the rest were infants in judgment in com parison with him, and in regard to a just boldness and freedom of speech, were no more than despicable slaves of the tyranny, solely employed in the abject endeavour of pleasing the prince. But what surprised and amazed them most was that Dion, at a time when the whole court was struck with terror at the prospect of the storm already formed on the side of Carthage, and just ready to break upon Sicily, should insist, that if Dionysius desired peace, he would embark immediately for Africa, and dispel this tempest to his satisfaction; or if he preferred making war, that he would furnish and maintain at his own expense fifty galleys of three benches completely equipped for service.

Dionysius, admiring and extolling so generous a magnanimity to the skies, professed the highest gratitude to him for his zeal and affection; but the courtiers, who looked upon Dion's magnificence as a reproach to themselves, and his great power as a lessening of their own, took immediate occasion from thence to calumniate him, and spared no expressions that might influence the young prince against him. They insinuated, that in making himself strong at sea, he would open his way to the tyranny; and that with his vessels he designed to transfer the sovereignty to his nephews, the sons of Aristomache.

It is surprising to see Dionysius the younger take quiet possession of the tyranny after the death of his

Cic. Tusc. Quæst. 1. v. n. 61, 62. 2 Diod. 1. xv. p. 385. VOL. I.-54

Id. 1. xvi. p. 410.

manner of shameful pleasures. In the beginning of his reign he made a riotous entertainment, which continued for three entire months, during all which time his palace, shut against all persons of sense and reason, was crowded with drunkards, and resounded we nothing but low buffocnery, obscene jests, lewd

Plut. in Dion. p. 960, 961. Athen. 1. x. p. 435.

songs, dances, masquerades, and every kind of gross and dissolute extravagance. It is therefore natural to believe, that nothing could be more offensive and disgusting to them than the presence of Dion, who gave in to none of these pleasures. For which reason, painting his virtues in such of the colours of vice as were most likely to disguise them, they found means to calumniate him with the prince, and to make his gravity pass for arrogance, and his freedom of speech for insolence and sedition. If he advanced any wise counsel, they treated him as a sour pedagogue, who took upon him to obtrude his lectures, and to school his prince, without being asked; and if he refused to share in the revels with the rest, they called him a man-hater, a splenetic, melancholy wretch, who from the fantastic height of virtue looked down with contempt on the rest of the world, and set himself up for the censor of mankind.

And indeed it must be confessed, that he had naturally something austere and rigid in his manners and behaviour, which seemed to denote a haughtiness of disposition, very capable not only of disgusting a young prince, nurtured from his infancy amidst flatteries and submission, but even his best friends, and those who were most closely attached to him. Full of admiration for his integrity, fortitude, and nobleness of sentiments, they represented to him, that for a statesman, who ought to know how to adapt himself to the different tempers of men, in order to apply them to his purposes, his humour was much too rough and forbidding.

Plato afterwards took pains to correct that defect in him, by making him intimate with a philosopher of a gay and polite turn of mind, whose conversation was well calculated to inspire him with more easy and insinuating manners. He reminds him also of that failing in a letter, wherein he thus addresses him: "Consider, I beg you, that you are censured as being deficient in good nature and affability; and imprint it on your mind, that the most certain means to ensure the success of affairs, is to be agreeable to the persons with whom we have to transact them. A haughty carriage keeps people at a distance, and reduces a man to pass his life in solitude." Notwithstanding this defect, he continued to be highly considered at court; where his superior abilities and transcendent merit made him absolutely necessary, especially at a time when the state was threatened with great danger and commotions.

As he believed, that all the vices of young Dionysius were the effect of his bad education and entire ignorance of his duty, he conceived justly, that the first step would be to associate him if possible with persons of wit and sense, whose solid but agreeable conversation might at once instruct and divert him: for the prince did not naturally want parts and genius. The sequel will show that Dionysius the younger had a natural propensity to what was good and virtuous, and a taste and capacity for arts and sciences. He knew how to set a value upon the merits and talents by which men are distinguished. He delighted in conversing with persons of ability, and from his correspondence with them, made himself capable of the highest improvements. He went so far as to familiarize the throne with those sciences which have not usually the privilege of approaching it; and by rendering them in a manner his favourites, he gave them courage to make their appearance in courts. His protection was the patent of nobility, by which he raised them to honour and distinction. Nor was he❘ insensible to the joys of friendship. In private he was a good parent, relation, and master, and acquired the affection of all that approached him. He was not

Plat. Epist. iv. p. 327, 328.

naturally inclined to violence or cruelty; and it might be said of him, that he was rather a tyrant by succes sion and inheritance, than by temper and inclination. All which demonstrates, that he might have made a very tolerable prince (not to say a good one,) had proper care been early taken to cultivate the happy disposition which he brought into the world with him. But his father, to whom all merit, even in his own children, gave umbrage, industriously suppressed in him all tendency to goodness, and every noble and elevated sentiment, by a base and obscure education, with the view of preventing his attempting any thing against himself. It was therefore necessary to find for him a person of the character before mentioned, or rather to inspire him with the desire of having such a one found.

This was what Dion laboured with wonderful ad. dress. He often talked to him of Plato, as the most profound and illustrious of philosophers, whose merit he himself had experienced, and to whom he was obliged for all he knew. He enlarged upon the bril liancy of his genius, the extent of his knowledge, the amiableness of his character, and the charms of his conversation. He represented him particularly as the man of all others most capable of forming him in the arts of governing, upon which his own and the people's happiness depended. He told him, that his subjects, governed for the future with lenity and indulgence, as a good father governs his family, would voluntarily render that obedience to his moderation and justice, which force and violence extorted from them against their will; and that by such a conduct he would, from a tyrant, become a just king, to whom all submission would be paid out of affection and gratitude.

It is incredible how much these discourses, introduced in conversation from time to time, as if by acci dent, without affectation, or the appearance of any premeditated design, inflamed the young prince with the desire of knowing and conversing with Plato. He wrote to him in the most importunate and obliging manner: he despatched couriers after couriers to hasten his voyage; whilst Plato, who apprehended the consequences, and had but small hopes of any good effect from it, protracted the affair, and, without absolutely refusing, sufficiently intimated, that he could not resolve upon it, without doing violence to himself. The obstacles and difficulties made to the young prince's request, were so far from disgusting him, tha they only served, as it commonly happens, to inflame his desire. The Pythagorean philosophers of Græcia Magna in Italy joined their entreaties with his and Dion's, who on his part redoubled his solicitation, and used the strongest arguments to conquer Plato's re pugnance. "This is not," said he, "the concern of a private person, but of a powerful prince, whose change of manners will have the same effect throughout his whole dominions, with the extent of which you are not unacquainted. It is he himself who makes all the advances; who importunes and solicits you to come to his assistance, and employs the interest of all your friends to that purpose. What more favourable conjuncture could we expect than that which Divine Providence now offers? Are you not afraid that your delays will give the flatterers, who surround the young prince, the opportunity of drawing him over to themselves, and of seducing him to change his resolution? What reproaches would you not make yourself, and what dishonour would it not be to philosophy, should it ever be said, that Plato, who by his counsels to Dionysius might have established a wise and equitable government in Sicily, abandoned it to all the evils of tyranny, from fear of undergoing the fatigues of a voyage, or from I know not what other imaginary dif ficulties?"

Plut. in Dion.

p. 962. Plat. Epist. vii. p. 327, 328.