This is the publication of the research of Herodotus of Halicarnassus, so that the actions of people shall not fade with time, so that the great and admirable monuments produced by both Greeks and barbarians shall not go unrenowned, and, among other things, to set forth the reasons why they waged war on each other.

Persian storytellers say that the Phoenicians were the cause of the dispute, for they came from the so-called Red Sea to our sea, inhabited the territory they now live in, and immediately set forth on long voyages. They shipped Egyptian and Assyrian merchandise to various places and they made a point of going to Argos. At that time, Argos was preeminent among the towns in the country which is now called Greece. Now, when the Phoenicians came to Argos, they laid out their cargo. On the fifth or sixth day after they arrived, when almost everything had been sold off, a large number of women — including the king's daughter —came down to the seashore. Her name (and the Greeks also agree in this) was Io, the daughter of Inachus. While the women stood at the stem of the boat, buying the goods that appealed to them, the Phoenicians urged each other on and rushed them. Most of the women ran away, but Io was captured, along with some others. The Phoenicians put them in the boat and sailed away, bound for Egypt.

Although the Greeks do not agree, that is how the Persians say Io came to Egypt; and this act was the beginning of the violations of law. After this, they say that some Greeks, whose names I am unable to give you, though they would probably have been from Crete, put into port at Phoenician Tyre and abducted Europa, the daughter of the king. This, though, was just a case of an eye for an eye, so the next crime, which the Greeks committed, was really the second in the series.

The Greeks sailed in a long warship to Colchian Aea, on the river Phasis. After taking care of the business they had come about, they abducted Medea, the daughter of the king. The Colchian king sent a messenger to Greece asking for his daughter back and demanding damages for the kidnapping. The Greeks answered that since the Phoenicians had not given damages for the kidnapping of Io, the girl from Argos, they would not give anything, either.

They say that two generations after this event, Alexander, the son of Priam, heard about it and hankered to abduct a Greek woman for himself, fully persuaded that he would not have to pay any penalty. After all, no one else had. After he kidnapped Helen, it seemed to the Greeks that the first thing to do was to send messengers asking for Helen back and demanding damages for the kidnapping. In the face of these demands, the Trojans brought up the kidnapping of Medea: the Greeks had given neither damages nor the girl when they had been asked, and now they wanted damages to be given to them by others!

So far, say the Persians, they had merely been stealing women from each other, but after this the Greeks were most greatly to blame because they began to lead armies into Asia before the Asians began to lead them into Europe. The Persians believe that raping women is the work of evil men, but that making a great to-do about vengeance after women have been raped is the work of fools. Prudent men are not concerned about women who have been raped, since it is perfectly plain that they could not be raped if they didn't really want to be. The Persians say that they paid no attention to the abduction of their women from Asia, while the Greeks, for the sake of a Lacedaemonian woman, assembled a huge army and then invaded Asia and destroyed the power of Priam. Because of this, the Persians have always considered the Greeks to be their enemies. You see, the Persians regard Asia and the barbarian people who live in it as their domain, while they think of Europe and the Greeks as separate.

That is how the Persians say it happened, and they trace the beginning of their hatred of the Greeks to the conquest of Troy. The Phoenicians, however, do not agree with the Persians about Io. They say that they did not have to resort to kidnapping to take her to Egypt, but that she had been having sex in Argos with the captain of the ship. When she found out that she was pregnant, she was so ashamed for the sake of her parents that she willingly sailed away with the Phoenicians to avoid discovery. That is what the Persians and the Phoenicians say.

I am not going to say that these events happened one way or the other. Rather, I will point out the man who I know for a fact began the wrongdoing against the Greeks, and then proceed with my story while giving detailed accounts of cities both great and small. Many that were great in the past have become small, and many that used to be small have become great in my lifetime, so I will mention both alike because I know very well that human prosperity never remains in the same place.

Croesus was a Lydian by birth, the son of Alyattes, and the ruler of the people who live on this side of the Halys River, which flows from the south between Syria and Paphlagonia toward the north wind and into what is known as the Euxine Sea. This Croesus was the first barbarian we know of to have subjected some Greeks to the payment of tribute and to have made friends with others. He conquered the Ionians, Aeolians, and Dorians in Asia, and befriended the Lacedaemonians. Before the reign of Croesus, all Greeks were free. (The Cimmerian army which invaded lonia before Croesus did not bring about the subjugation of the cities — it just engaged in hit-and-run raids.)

The Lydian kingship, which was originally Heraclid, devolved to the family of Croesus — known as the Mermnadae — in the following way. Candaules, whom the Greeks call Myrsilus, was the ruler of Sardis and the descendant of Alcaeus, the son of Heracles. Agron the son of Ninus, the son of Belus, the son of Alcaeus, was the first Heraclid king of Sardis, and Candaules was the last. The men who ruled over this land before Agron were descendants of Lydus, the son of Atys, after whom this whole people are called Lydian. Formerly, they had been called Maeonians. The Lydians entrusted power to the Heraclids, who then held on to it because of an oracle. The Heraclids were descended from Heracles and a slave girl belonging to Iardanus, and they ruled for twenty-two generations, or five hundred and five years, passing the kingdom from father to son down to Candaules, the son of Myrsus.

Now, this Candaules actually fell in love with his own wife, and, being in love, he thought that she was the most beautiful of all women. Candaules had a favorite bodyguard, Gyges the son of Dascylus, whom he talked to about his most important affairs, and — since Candaules had this opinion of his wife — he kept carrying on to Gyges about his wife's good looks. Before much time went by (because CandauIes was doomed to get into trouble), he said this to Gyges: "Gyges, since I don't think you believe me when I tell you about my wife's looks (after all, we trust our ears less than our eyes), I want you to work it so that you can look at her naked."

Gyges cried out and said, "Master, this is sick! Commanding me to look at my queen when she is naked! A woman takes off her modesty along with her underwear. They thought up some good advice for people long ago, and we ought to learn from it. Here's one piece of advice: let every man look to his own. I truly believe that your wife is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I beg you not to ask me to do something that is wrong."

So saying, he shied away from the proposal, fearing that something bad would come of it. But Candaules answered, "Don't worry, Gyges, and don't be afraid that I'm only saying this to test you or that some harm will come to you from my wife. In the first place, I'll fix things so that she won't even know that she is being seen by you. I'll stand you behind the open door of our bedroom. My wife will come in to bed after I enter. There is a chair near the entrance to the room. She lays her clothes on it one at a time as she takes them off, and you'll be able to look at her with ease. You'll be behind her back when she walks from the chair to the bed. Just make sure she doesn't see you as you go out the door."

Since he could not get out of it, then, Gyges got ready. When it was time for bed, Candaules led Gyges to the bedroom, and his wife came in shortly afterward. Gyges watched her come in and take off her clothes. When she turned her back to go to bed, he slipped out from behind the door and left. But the woman saw him leave. She realized what her husband had done and neither cried out for shame nor let on that she knew — she intended to make Candaules pay for what he had done. You see, for the Lydians, as for practically all the other barbarians, it is a great shame for even a man to be seen naked.

So she held her peace and did not let on, and as soon as it was day she readied the servants she knew to be most faithful to her and called for Gyges. He came at her summons, having no idea that she knew what had happened. He had long been accustomed to come to the queen whenever she called. When Gyges arrived, the woman said, "I'm going to let you choose now, Gyges, between two paths. Go down whichever one you want. You can either kill Candaules and have me and the kingdom of Lydia, or you must yourself immediately die so that you will not in the future obey Candaules in everything and see what you ought not to see. In any case, either he who planned this must perish, or you, who saw my nakedness and violated our customs."

For a while, Gyges was astonished by what she had said, but then he begged her not to force him to make such a choice. He simply could not persuade her, though, and saw that he would really either have to kill his master or himself be killed by others. He chose to live. He asked, "Come then, since you force me to kill my master against my will, let me hear how we are going to attack him."

She answered, "The attack will come from the same place from which he showed off my nakedness. We will kill him in his sleep." After they had made their plan and night fell, Gyges followed the woman into the bedroom, for he was not let off and there was no way out for him whatever-either he or Candaules must die. She gave him a dagger and hid him behind the very same door. Later, while Candaules was taking his rest, Gyges slipped out, killed him, and took over his wife and his kingdom. (Archilochus the Parian, who was a contemporary, mentions Gyges in some iambic trimeters.)

Gyges took over the kingdom, then, and consolidated his power through favorable oracles from Delphi. The Lydians, you see, were outraged over the death of Candaules and had taken up arms, but the supporters of Gyges made an agreement with them. If the oracle declared Gyges to be the king of Lydia, he would reign; if not, he would return the sovereignty to the Heraclids. The oracle answered in his favor, and Gyges became king. The Pythian priestess said, however, that the lineage of Gyges would extend only so far as the fifth generation, when vengeance would come for the Heraclids. The Lydians and their kings paid no attention to this prophecy, until, of course, it came to pass…
 

[Croesus assumes the throne of Lydia in the fifth generation after Gyges, and proceeds to extend Lydian rule over the Greek settlements on the coast of Asia Minor.]

Alyattes died, his son Croesus inherited the kingdom at the age of thirty-five, and the first Greeks that he attacked were the Ephesians. When the Ephesians were being besieged by him, they dedicated their city to Artemis by tying a rope from the temple to the wall of the city. It is nearly a mile from the old city, which was then under siege, to the temple. Croesus attacked the Ephesians first and later each of the cities of Ionia and Aeolia in turn. He made different accusations against each city. He made greater accusations against those he found to have given greater cause, but he accused others even on petty grounds.

Now, when all the Greeks in Asia had been subjected to the payment of tribute, he took it into his head to build ships and attack the islanders. Some say that Bias of Priene came to Sardis when everything was ready for shipbuilding — although others say that it was Pittacus of Mytilene — and that when Croesus asked him whether he had any news about Greece, he put an end to the shipbuilding by saying this: "The islanders are joining together to buy ten thousand horses, Your Majesty, with the intention of making war on you in Sardis."

Croesus, thinking that he was telling the truth, said, "If only the gods would put it into the heads of the islanders to come against the sons of Lydia with horses!" The other answered, "It's obvious to me, Your Majesty, that you pray for the chance to catch the islanders on horseback on the mainland, and you are right. And the islanders, ever since they found out that you intend to build ships against them, what do you think they are praying for but the chance to catch Lydians at sea so that they can get even with you for the mainland Greeks whom you have enslaved?"

Croesus was very pleased with this shrewedly argued object lesson, and he was in this way persuaded to stop building ships and to make an alliance with the Ionians who lived on the islands.

In the course of time, almost everybody living on this side of the Halys River was conquered. Except for the Cilicians and the Lycians, Croesus had subjected everyone else to himself — namely, the Lydians, the Phrygians, the Mysians, the Mariandynians, the Chalybes, the Paphlagoni ans, the Thynian and Bithynian Thracians, the Carians, the Ionians, the Dorians, the Aeolians, and the Pamphylians.

After Croesus added these conquered people to the Lydian empire, all the sages living in Greece at that time began to visit Sardis at the height of its wealth. Each came for his own reasons, especially Solon the Athenian, who had written laws for the Athenians at their command, and had then gone abroad for ten years. He sailed away on the pretext of seeing the world, but it was really so that he could not be compelled to repeal any of the laws he had laid down. That was something the Athenians were not able to do on their own, because they were bound by solemn oaths to obey for ten years whatever laws Solon had made for them.

So for these reasons — as well as to see the world — Solon left home to visit Amasis in Egypt and especially Croesus in Sardis. When he arrived, he was feasted in the palace by Croesus. Three or four days later, at Croesus' command, servants took Solon on a tour of the treasury and showed him how great and prosperous everything was. In due time, after Solon had observed and considered everything, Croesus asked, "Many stories have come to us, my Athenian guest, about your wisdom and your travels — how you have roamed around and seen so much of the world in your quest for knowledge. Well, this urge has come over me to ask you whether you have so far seen anybody you consider to be more fortunate than all other men."

He asked this expecting that the most fortunate of men would turn out to be himself. Solon did not use any delicate flattery, but told him the straight truth: "Tellus the Athenian, O King."

Croesus was amazed at what he said, and asked severely, "What makes you think that Tellus was so fortunate?"

Solon said, "In the first place, Tellus came from a thriving city and had honest, handsome sons. Also, he saw them all have children, all of whom survived. In the second place, he had a prosperous life, by our standards, and the end of that life was glorious. He came to the rescue during a battle between the Athenians and their neighbors in Eleusis and died nobly after breaking the enemy's ranks. The Athenians honored him highly and buried him at the public expense right where he fell."

Solon had piqued Croesus with all that he had said about Tellus' good fortune, but Croesus, fully believing that he would at least come in second, asked who the next most fortunate might be.

Instead, Solon said, "Cleobis and Biton. They were Argives who made a good living and in addition to that had great physical strength. They were both prizewinning athletes, and this is the story most often told about them. The Argives were celebrating the feast of Hera, and it was absolutely necessary for their mother to be brought to the temple in her oxcart. But the oxen did not arrive from the field in time. Seeing that they were running out of time, the young men slipped in under the yoke themselves and dragged the wagon along with their mother riding in it.  They arrived at the temple after covering over five and a half miles. Their action was seen by the entire congregation, and it was followed by the finest end a life can have. In it, god showed plainly through Cleobis and Biton that it is better for a man to die than to live.

"The Argive men gathered around congratulating the young men on their strength, while the women congratulated their mother. What sons she had! The mother was overjoyed both with the deed and with the praise. She stood before the statue of Hera and prayed that the goddess would give to her sons, Cleobis and Biton, who had honored her so highly, the very best thing that it was possible for a human being to have. After this prayer, while everyone was sacrificing and feasting, the young men lay down to sleep in that very same temple and never rose up again, transfixed in death. The Argives made the kind of statues of them that are made only for the very greatest men and dedicated them in Delphi."

Solon, then, gave the second prize for happiness to these two, and Croesus angrily said, "So then, my Athenian guest, as far as you are concerned, our prosperity amounts to nothing, and you do not even consider us on a par with private citizens!"

Solon said, "When you ask me about human affairs, you ask someone who knows how jealous and provocative god is. In the fullness of time, a man must see many things he doesn't want to see, and endure many things he doesn't want to endure. I'll set the limit of a person's life at seventy years. In those seventy years there are twenty-five thousand two hundred days, not counting any months thrown in. But if you make every other year longer by a month so that the seasons come around to the right place, then besides the seventy years there are thirty-five months, or one thousand and fifty days. All in all, then, these seventy years add up to twenty-six thousand two hundred and fifty days, and from one day to the next absolutely nothing happens the same way twice. Thus, my dear Croesus, humans are the creatures of pure chance.

"Now, you seem to me to be very rich and to be the monarch of many people, but I couldn't say anything about this question you keep asking me until I find out that you have ended your life well, because the rich man isn't any better off than the man who has enough for his everyday needs unless his luck stays with him and he keeps on having the best of everything until he dies happily. Many people who are super rich are unlucky, you know, while many lucky people are just moderately well-off. Now, the very rich but unlucky man has only two advantages over the lucky man, while the lucky man has many advantages over the unlucky rich man. First, the rich man is better able to gratify his desires, and second, he is able to afford the trouble they bring. The lucky man, on the other hand, is better off than the unlucky rich man in these ways: while he is not as able to afford desire and trouble, his good luck keeps these things away from him. He suffers no bodily harm, he doesn't get sick, he experiences no misfortunes, he has good children, and he is handsome. If, in addition to all this, he dies happily, then he is the one you are looking for-the man who deserves to be called happy. Until he dies, though, you must hold off and not call him happy — just lucky.

"Of course, it is impossible for a mere mortal to combine all these things, just as no country is completely sufficient unto itself. It will have this, but it will lack that. The one that has the most — that one is the best. Thus, no one person is self-sufficient: he will have one thing, but he will be lacking in another. To me, whoever has the most of these things, and keeps on having them, and then happily ends his life, he is the one, Your Highness, who rightly carries the title you seek. You have to see how everything turns out, for god gives a glimpse of happiness to many people, and then tears them up by the very roots."

Solon did not at all please Croesus with what he said, and Croesus dismissed him without ceremony, thinking that someone who set aside the present good and urged you to look at how things turned out was a comp ete ignoramus.

After Solon left, though, Croesus got his great comeuppance from god, I suppose because he thought that he was the happiest man in the world. As soon as he fell asleep that night, a dream came to him which showed him the truth about the disaster that would happen to his son. Croesus had two sons. One was a cripple — a deaf mute — and the other was by far the most outstanding young man of his generation. His name was Atys. Now, the dream showed Croesus that he would lose Atys through a wound from an iron spearhead. When he woke up, he gave his dreadful dream a great deal of thought. First, he chose a wife for his son. Also, Atys had been accustomed to command Lydian military forces, but Croesus no longer sent him anywhere on business of that kind. He took spears and javelins and all such weapons of war out of the men's living quarters and heaped them up in the women's bedrooms, lest one of them fall from a wall onto his son.

While Croesus was busy with the arrangements for his son's wedding, a man in the grip of a great misfortune came to Sardis, a man with blood on his hands. He was of Phrygian descent and belonged to the royal family. He came to Croesus' home and begged to be cleansed of his guilt according to the customs of the country; and Croesus purged his guilt away. The Lydian rite of purification is very similar to the Greek. After Croesus performed the customary ritual, he asked him who he was and where he came from, saying, "Who are you, stranger, and what part of Phrygia have you come from to be a supplicant at my hearth? What man or woman did you kill?"

He answered, "I am the son of Gordias, the son of Midas, Your Highness, and my name is Adrastus. I accidentally killed my own brother, and I am here because I was driven away and completely disinherited by my father."

Croesus replied: "You are descended from friends, and you have come among friends. Remain with us, where you shall want for nothing. You will gain all the more if you bear this misfortune as lightly as possible."

And so Adrastus lived with Croesus.

At the same time, a monster of a boar appeared on Mount Olympus, in Mysias. He kept coming down from the mountain and destroying the fields and crops of the Mysians. The Mysians often went after him, but they could never do him any harm — he harmed them instead. Finally, some Mysian messengers went to Croesus and said, "A monster boar has appeared on our land, Your Majesty, and destroys our crops. We have tried our hardest to catch him, but we can't. We beg you to send your son with some dogs and some handpicked young men back with us so that we can drive this animal from our land."

That is what they asked for, but Croesus remembered the message of the dream and said this to them: "Forget about my son  — I couldn't send him with you. He is newly married, and that's what's on his mind now. I will, though, send the picked men and my whole pack of hunting dogs, and I'll order everyone who goes with you to do his utmost to rid your land of this beast."

That was his answer, and the Mysians were satisfied with it, but Croe- sus' son went up to him after hearing their request. Because Croesus was refusing to send him with them, the young man said, "The finest and noblest thing I once had was my reputation for hunting and fighting. But now you keep me away from both of them, though you don't see any cowardice or lack of enthusiasm in me. What kind of face am I supposed to wear when I go in and out of the marketplace? How do you suppose I look to my fellow citizens — to my bride! What kind of man will she think she's living with? Now, you must either let me go out after this animal or give me a good reason why what you have done is better for me."

Croesus said, "Son, I'm not doing this because I see any cowardice or other fault in you. A dream vision hovered over me in my sleep and said that you would have a short life because you would be killed by an iron spearpoint. It was because of this vision that I hurried up your marriage and will not send you out on this mission. I'm protecting you so that maybe I can steal you away from death while I live. You are my only son — I don't count that cripple as mine."

The young man answered, "I excuse you for protecting me after seeing such a vision. But you didn't understand it — the dream's meaning escaped you, and it's right that I should explain it to you. Now, you say that the dream told you that I would die because of an iron spearpoint. But what kind of hands does a boar have, and what kind of iron spearpoint are you so afraid of? If the dream had said that I would be killed by a tusk or by something else that belongs to this animal, then you would have to do what you are doing. But it was by a spear! So since this is not a battle against men, let me go."

Croesus answered, "Somehow, son, you've gotten the best of me with your interpretation of this dream, and since I've lost, I'll change my mind and let you go on the hunt."

After saying this, though, Croesus sent for Adrastus the Phrygian, and when he arrived, Croesus told him, "Adrastus, when you were struck down by your terrible misfortune — for which I do not blame you — I purged your guilt, welcomed you into my home, and took care of all your expenses. Now you owe me a favor in return for the favor I did for you. I want you to be my son's bodyguard while he goes out on this hunt in case any highwaymen show up and try to do you any harm on the road. Besides, you ought to go where you, too, can shine by your deeds. That is your birthright, and, anyway, you have the strength for it."

Adrastus answered, "Ordinarily I would not go on this mission. It's not fitting for me, after my terrible experience, to go among successful men my own age. I don't want to — and there are many reasons why I'd keep myself away from it. But now, since you insist, and since I must please you (for I do have an obligation to return your favors), I am ready to do this, and you can expect that your son, whom you order me to guard, will return none the worse for my protection."

After he gave Croesus this answer, the party set out, provided with picked men and dogs. When they arrived at Mount Olympus, they started hunting for the beast, and when they found it, they stood around it in a circle and hurled their spears at it. At that moment the stranger, the one who had been purged of his homicide, the man called Adrastus, hurled his spear at the boar but missed it and hit the son of Croesus instead. Atys, struck with the point of the spear, fulfilled the prophecy of the dream.

Someone started running to Croesus to report the news. When he arrived in Sardis, this messenger told Croesus about the fight with the animal and the fate of his son. Croesus was utterly bewildered by his son's death and was especially outraged that the man who had killed him was the man he had purged of a homicide. He became so furious over the calamity that he bitterly invoked Zeus as "the Purifier," and called on him to witness what he had suffered from the stranger. Croesus also invoked the very same god under the epithets of "the God of Hospitality," and "the God of Friendship" — the God of Hospitality because he had unknowingly welcomed the stranger who was to be the killer of his son into his home and fed him, and the God of Friendship because he had sent that man as a protector and found him to be an enemy.

Later, the Lydians appeared bearing the corpse, with the killer following behind it. Then Adrastus stood in front of the body and with out-stretched hands tried to surrender himself to Croesus, demanding to have his throat cut over the corpse. He talked about his first misfortune, and how on top of that he had destroyed the man who had cleansed him, and how he was not fit to live. Even though he was in his own private grief, Croesus pitied Adrastus when he heard these words and said, "I have all the justice I want from you, stranger, since you have pronounced a sentence of death on yourself. Besides, you are not the  cause of my troubles; you just unwillingly brought them about. It was some god, who long ago foretold what the future would be." Croesus gave his son a fitting burial. Then, after people had left, when all was quiet around the tomb, Adrastus, the son of Gordias, the son of Midas, he who was the killer of his own brother and, in away, the killer of the man who had purged his guilt, believing himself to be the unluckiest man he had ever known, cut his own throat over the grave.

For two years, Croesus sat idle, in deep mourning over the loss of his son. Then, when the empire of Astyages, the son of Cyaxares, was destroyed by Cyrus, the son of Cambyses, the growing strength of the Persians put an end to Croesus' grief, and he began to ponder whether he could seize that growing Persian power before it became too great. As soon as he had formed this intention, he tested the oracles in Greece and the one in Libya. He sent messengers off in different directions — some to Delphi, some to Abae, in Phocis, some to Dodona. Some were sent to Amphiaraus and to Trophonius, and some to Branchidae in Milesia. Those were the Greek oracles to which Croesus sent off messengers for consultation, while he dispatched others to consult the oracle of Ammon in Libya. He sent them to test what the oracles knew, so that if he found that they gave true opinions he could send to them a second time to ask whether he should try to make war on Persia.

He sent the Lydians to test the oracles after giving them the following command: beginning with the day they set out fom Sardis, they should count the remaining days until they came to the hundredth day. Then they should consult the oracle, asking what Croesus, the son of Alyattes and king of the Lydians, happened to be doing. They should write down whatever prophecies each of the oracles gave and then bring them back to him. Now, no one can say what the other oracles prophesied, but at Delphi, as soon as the Lydians entered the temple to consult the god and ask the question they had been ordered to ask, the Pythian priestess, speaking in hexameters, said:

And I know the number of the sands and the dimensions of the sea,
and I understand the mute, and hear those who do not speak.
into my brain comes the smell of the strong-shelled tortoise
seething in bronze with the flesh of lambs,
bronze spread beneath it and covered with bronze above.

The Lydians wrote down the prophecy of the priestess and set off for Sardis. When all the others who had been sent abroad were present with their prophecies, Croesus unfolded each of the writing tablets and read over its contents. None of them pleased him, but when he heard the one fom Delphi, he immediately accepted it and said a prayer, in the belief that the only real oracle was the one in Delphi, because it had figured out what he had been doing. You see, after he had sent his messengers to consult the oracles, he came up with the following idea while waiting for the appointed day — it was something no one should be able to figure out or guess. He himself had chopped up a turtle and a lamb and then boiled them together in a bronze pot topped with a bronze lid.

That, then, is the oracle that was given to Croesus from Delphi. I can't say anything about the answer the oracle of Amphiaraus gave the Lydians after they performed the customary rites at the shrine (indeed, the answer wasn't even reported), except that in it, too, Croesus thought that he had found an undeceitful oracle. After this, Croesus propitiated the Delphic god with enormous sacrifices. He sacrificed three thousand of every kind of sacrificial animal. He piled up couches ornamented with gold and silver, along with golden bowls and crimson cloaks and undergarments, and burned them in a huge fire, all in the hope that in this way he might bring the god over to his side…

Those are the things he sent to Delphi… Croesus commanded those who were going to deliver the gifts to the shrines to ask the oracles whether he should make war on Persia and whether he should conclude a friendly alliance with any other army. When they came to the oracles to which they had been sent, the Lydians dedicated the offerings and consulted the oracles, saying, "Croesus, king of the Lydians and of other peoples, in the belief that you are mankind's only true oracles, has given you gifts to match the discoveries you made and now asks you whether he should make war on Persia and whether he should conclude an alliance with any other army."

That is what they asked, and the oracles were of one mind: they prophesied to Croesus that if he made war on Persia, he would destroy a great empire. They also advised him to find out who the most powerful Greeks were and to befriend them…

He learned that the Lacedaemonians and the Athenians were preeminent, and that the former were of Dorian descent while the latter were lonians. These were considered to be the two superior races, the lonians being originally a Pelasgic and the Dorians being a Hellenic people…

Now, as to the [Athenians], Croesus learned that after having been tom by civil strife, Attica was held in subjection by Pisistratus, son of Hippocrates, who was at that time the tyrant in Athens. It all began when a great omen came to Hippocrates when he was a private citizen attending the Olympic Games. While he was offering up the sacrificial animals, the pots, which were standing on their tripods and which were full of meat and water, began to bubble and boil over without a fire. Chilon the Lacedaemonian happened to be present and to see the omen, and he advised Hippocrates not to marry a fertile woman and bring her into his home, whereas if he was already married, he should divorce his wife and renounce his son, if he had one. Hippocrates refused to follow Chilon's advice. Later this Pisistratus was born.

When there was a struggle between the Athenians who lived near the sea, led by Megacles, the son of Alcmaeon, and those who lived on the plain, led by Lycurgus, the son of Aristolaides, Pisistratus formed a third party with the intention of setting up a tyranny. He got together his supporters, and after coming forward ostensibly on behalf of the people who lived in the hills, he concocted the following plot. He wounded himself and his mules and then drove his mule team into the marketplace as if he had just escaped from his enemies, who, so his story went, had tried to kill him while he was driving into the country. He asked the people to provide him with some sort of guard, since he had distinguished himself when he was a general in the campaign against Megara by taking Nisaea and performing other great deeds. The Athenian people were completely deceived and gave him a bodyguard of men selected from the citizenry. They were not the usual "spearmen" but his "club-men," since they walked behind him carrying wooden clubs. These men joined in a revolt with Pisistratus and took the Acropolis. Pisistratus became the ruler of the Athenians, but he did not shake up the system of government or change any of the laws — he governed according to the already established laws and administered the city fairly and well.

Not long afterward, the supporters of Megacles and Lycurgus entered into an alliance and deposed him. Thus, Pisistratus seized Athens the first time and then lost his supreme power before it was securely rooted. Meanwhile, those who had deposed Pisistratus started quarreling with one another all over again. Harried by the constant feuding, Megacles sent a message to Pisistratus asking whether he wanted to marry his daughter with a view of getting the tyranny back. Pisistratus accepted the proposal and agreed to the conditions, and then he and Megacles came up with what is far and away the most simpleminded plot to put him back in power that I have ever heard of, considering that from the very earliest times the Greeks have been distinguished from the barbarians by their intelligence and freedom from simpleminded foolishness — if, that  is, these two actually did play this trick on the Athenians, who are said to be the foremost Greeks when it comes to brains.

There was a woman in the village of Paeania whose name was Phya. She was tall — about five ten — and good-looking in other ways also. They decked this woman out in full battle gear, and after showing her how she should pose to seem her most beautiful, they put her in a chariot and drove toward the city with criers sent running on ahead. As they approached the city, the criers, as ordered, shouted, "Athenians! Give a warm welcome to Pisistratus! Athena has honored him above all other men and is herself bringing him back to her own acropolis!" The criers went from place to place saying this. Word immediately spread from village to village that Athena was bringing Pisistratus back, and even the city dwellers, in the belief that this woman was the goddess herself, worshiped a human being and welcomed Pisistratus.

 After retaking power in this way, Pisistratus married the daughter of Megacles in keeping with their agreement, but since he already had adolescent sons … Pisistratus did not want to have any children by his bride and had sex with her in unconventional ways. At first, the woman said nothing about this, but then she told her mother — who mayor may not have asked about it — and her mother told her father. Megacles was furious over this insult from Pisistratus, and in the heat of anger he settled his differences with his opponents.

When Pisistratus found out about the conspiracy against him, he left the country altogether, and when he arrived in Eretria, he had a meeting with his sons. The opinion of his son Hippias won out — that they should get their power back — and so they collected contributions from whatever cities were under any obligations to them… To make a long story short, time went by and everything was ready for their return: Argive mercenaries arrived from the Peloponnese, and a volunteer named Lygdamis came from Naxos bringing both money and men and generating a great deal of enthusiasm in everyone. The Pisistratids set out from Eretria during the eleventh year of their exile and made their way home.

The first place they took in Attica was Marathon. Their supporters in that city joined them while they were camped in the vicinity, and others streamed to them from the villages — everyone, that is, to whom tyranny was more welcome than freedom.

The Athenian citizens paid no attention to Pisistratus while he was collecting his war chest, and not even when he later took Marathon. But when they learned that he was making his way to their city from Marathon with a gathering force, then they marched out to attack him. They marched in full strength against the returning exiles, while the supporters of Pisistratus who had set out from Marathon marched on Athens. They met at the temple of Athena Pallenis and took up positions opposite each other. There, Amphilytus the Acarnanian, a fortune-teller, experienced a divine impulse. He went up to Pisistratus, stood beside him, and uttered this prophecy in hexameter verse:

The net has been cast— it is spread wide.
The tunas will dart through the moonlit night.

That is what he was inspired to prophesy. Pisistratus understood the prophecy, said that he accepted it, and led his army to the attack. The Athenians from the city were having their lunch just then, though some had finished lunch and were playing dice or taking a nap. Pisistratus and his supporters fell on the Athenians and routed them. While they were fleeing, Pisistratus thought of a very clever tactic to keep the widely scattered Athenians from regrouping. He got his sons on horseback and sent them on in advance. They caught up with the fugitives and repeated what Pisistratus had told them to say, commanding them not to be afraid and to go back to their homes. The Athenians obeyed, and so for the third time Pisistratus took Athens…

Thus, Croesus found out about the repression of the Athenians during that time. Meanwhile, he learned that the Lacedaemonians had just gotten over a very troubled period and had already gained the advantage in their war with the Tegeans…

During the earlier war, then, the Spartans had constantly come off badly in their struggle with the Tegeans, but by the time of Croesus… the Spartans had already gained the advantage, and they did it in the following way: because they were always being defeated in battle by the Tegeans, the Spartans sent ambassadors to Delphi to ask which god they should propitiate so that they could get the upper hand over the Tegeans. The priestess answered that they had to bring home the bones of Orestes, son of Agamemnon. When they could not find his grave, though, they again sent ambassadors to the god, asking what country Orestes might be resting in. After the ambassadors asked this, the Priestess said:

There is a place — Tegea — on a plain in Arcady,
where two winds are blown by mighty force,
where beat responds to beat and pain is heaped on pain.
There, the life-giving earth holds fast Agamemnon's son.
Bring him away, and be master of Tegea.

Although they looked everywhere, the Spartans were no closer to finding the tomb even after hearing this oracle until it was found by Lichas…through a combination of shrewdness and luck. At a time when there happened to be a truce with Tegea, he went to a blacksmith's shop where he observed iron being beaten out and was amazed at the process. When the blacksmith saw his amazement, he stopped working and said, "You may be amazed at the manufacture of iron, my Laconian friend, but you would be really amazed if you could see what I've seen. I wanted to dig myself a well in this very courtyard, so I began to dig and came on a coffin over ten feet long! Well I couldn't believe that people were ever taller than they are now, so I opened it and saw a corpse as long as the coffin. I measured the corpse and then filled the hole back up again."

After the blacksmith told him what he had seen, Lichas thought about what had been said, and figured out on the basis of the oracle that the corpse must be that of Orestes. He figured it out in this way: the blacksmith's two bellows were the winds; the hammer and the anvil were the "beat answering beat"; and the finished iron was the "pain heaped on pain," which he inferred from the fact that the discovery of iron had been harmful to humanity. After coming to these conclusions, he returned to Sparta and explained the whole thing. They pretended to indict him on a made-up charge and to send him into exile. He went to Tegea and tried to rent the courtyard, after explaining his "misfortune" to the blacksmith. At first, the blacksmith didn't want to rent it, but Lichas eventually persuaded him. He moved in, dug up the grave, collected the bones, and carried them back to Sparta. Whenever they fought with one another after that, the Spartans got the upper hand, and had by then conquered most of the Peloponnese.

When Croesus had found out all  this information, he sent ambassadors bearing gifts to Sparta to ask for an alliance, and he told them just what they should say. When they arrived, they said, "Croesus the king of the Lydians and of other nations sent us, and he says, 'Lacedaemonians! The god has commanded us through an oracle to make friends with the Greeks, and since I have learned that you are the leader of the Greeks, I call on you in conformity with the oracle, desiring to be your friend and ally without trickery or deceit.'" Croesus sent this message through his ambassadors, but the Lacedaemonians had already heard about the oracle to Croesus. They were very happy over the arrival of the Lydians, and they took oaths of amity and alliance.
 

[Confident in the oracle's claim that he would "destroy a great empire," Croesus attacks Cyrus, King of Persia, but with unexpected results. Croesus is defeated on the battlefield and subsequently trapped within the walls of Sardis, his capital city.]

This is how Sardis was taken: after Croesus had been under siege for fourteen days, Cyrus sent riders through his army, announcing that he would give a reward to the first man to climb the wall of the city. After this, the army tried to take the city by storm and didn't get anywhere. When the other men had pulled back, though, a Mardian man named Hyroeades started climbing the section of the acropolis where no guards had been stationed, because there was no fear that it could ever be taken. Here, the acropolis is so steep and impregnable that even Meles, the first king of Sardis, had not carried the lion that his concubine had given birth to around this section even after the Telmessian soothsayers had decided that, once the lion was carried around the wall, Sardis would be invincible. Meles had carried it around the rest of the wall — to those parts where the acropolis was vulnerable — but he thought it was absurd to carry it there, since it was so impregnable and so steep. It is on the side of the acropolis facing Mount Tmolus. The day before the battle, though, this Hyroeades the Mardian had seen a Lydian climb down this section of the acropolis to pick up a helmet which had rolled down from the top. He thought about it; it stuck in his mind. Then, of course, after he had climbed it, the other Persians followed suit and climbed it also. So many went up that Sardis was taken and the whole city plundered.

As far as Croesus himself is concerned, this is what happened. As I said earlier, Croesus had a son who was normal in every respect except that he was mute. In the days of his prosperity, Croesus had done everything possible and sought every remedy for him, to the point of consulting the Delphic oracle about him. The Pythian priestess said this:

O Lydian, King of many, great silly Croesus,
never seek to hear this prayed-for voice of a son crying out
in your home. So much better for you if that voice
holds back, for it will sound out first on an unlucky day.

After the city walls were taken, a Persian who thought Croesus was someone else went after him to kill him. Croesus saw him coming, but he was so overcome by his troubles that he didn't care. Though it made no difference to him if he was stabbed to death with a sword, his mute son burst into speech through grief and dread when he saw the Persian coming on and said, "Don't kill Croesus!" That was the first thing he ever said, and after this he talked for the rest of his life.

The Persians, therefore, captured Sardis and took Croesus alive. He had ruled for fourteen years and had been under siege for fourteen days and had, in keeping with the oracle, destroyed his own mighty empire. After capturing him, the Persians led him away to Cyrus, who piled up a huge heap of wood and mounted Croesus, bound in fetters, on top of it, along with fourteen Lydian boys beside him. Cyrus did this either because he had it in mind to make a burned offering of the firstfruits of his victory to one or another of the gods, or because he wanted to keep a vow — or maybe Cyrus mounted Croesus on the pyre because he had heard that Croesus was a religious man and he wanted to find out whether one of his gods would keep him from being burned alive.

That, anyway, is what Cyrus did, but they say that to Croesus, though standing in such terrible trouble on that pyre, there came the wisdom of Solon — spoken as if by the inspiration of a god — that no living man was ever truly happy. When this thought came into his head, he moaned and heaved a deep sigh, and after a moment of profound quiet called out the name Solon three times.

When Cyrus heard this, he commanded his interpreters to ask who Croesus was invoking. They approached him and asked. For a while, Croesus kept silent and would not answer the question, but they finally forced him to say, "A man I would give a great fortune to see talking with all the tyrants of the earth." Since his words made no sense to them, they again asked what he meant. They persisted and goaded until he told them how Solon, an Athenian, had visited him in the past, and how Solon had seen all of his prosperity and had belittled it in various ways. He told them everything had happened to him just as Solon had said, although it was as true for all of humanity as it was for him, and especially for those who thought that they themselves were happy. Croesus told them all this after the pyre was lit and the outer rims were burning. When Cyrus heard from his translators what Croesus had said, he changed his mind, realizing that he, a man, was about to bum another  man alive — a man who had been no less prosperous than himself. In addition, fearing retribution and reflecting that nothing was sure in human affairs, he ordered that the fire be put out immediately and that Croesus and those who were with him be brought down. His men tried, but they could no longer control the fire.

The Lydians say that when Croesus realized that Cyrus had changed his mind — when he saw everyone trying unsuccessfully to put out the fire — he shouted an invocation to Apollo saying that if ever the god had been pleased with any of the gifts he had been given, he should stand beside him and protect him from the danger he was in. He appealed to the god with tears in his eyes, and then, suddenly, in a clear and windless sky, storm clouds gathered and burst and extinguished the fire with the most savage rain. After this, Cyrus knew that Croesus was a good man and that the gods loved him, so he took him down from the pyre and said, "Croesus, what man persuaded you to make war on my country and be my enemy instead of my friend?"

Croesus said, "I did it, Your Majesty, and it has worked out to your benefit and to my harm, but the cause of it all was the god of the Greeks, who incited me to make war. No one is so stupid that he would prefer war to peace, for in the one sons bury their fathers while in the other fathers bury their sons. But for some reason, this is what the god wanted to come to pass."

After Croesus said this, Cyrus untied him, gave him a seat near himself, and treated him with special respect — both he and everyone around him marveled at the sight of the man. But Croesus was silent, deep in thought...