Book 4, Letter 5, Part 2 of 2, To Cicero: On Sappho, Syrus and life under Caesar

You wrote to your friend Q Cornificius in October, 45BCE and with a sense of foreshadowing, I see the rising of Marc Antony, and of the tyrants who would follow after Caesar. But, as so often happens in this study of your letters, I discovered something else, hidden between the lines.

DCLXVII

In truth, this is always among the results of civil wars – that it is not only what the victor wishes is done : concessions have also to be made to those by whose aid that victory was won. For my part I have become so hardened that at our friend Caesar's games I saw T Plancus and listened to the poems of Laberius and Publilius with the utmost sangfroid. There is nothing I feel the lack of so much as of some one with whom to laugh at these things in a confidential and philosophical spirit.

So I asked myself, who were these men, Plancus, Laberius and Publilius?

Plancus was an exiled citizen who had been recalled by Caesar. There is a story there, but it is not the one I want to tell today. Laberius and Publilius however... Publilius, possibly better known as Syrus, was a poet and playwright. As the fortune of the centuries would have it, a collection of his sayings have survived through the writings of Petronius Arbiter, and Lucius Annaeus Seneca.

So Cicero, you described only briefly the scene in your letter to Q Cornificius, of being seated at the games hosted by Caesar, where the poetic contest was held. The book, The Moral Sayings of Publius Syrus – a Roman Slave, translated by D Lyman in 1856, sets the scene with far more detail, and I here quote from the introduction to the book. (Translated from the French of Th. Baudment)

Syrus traveled Italy for a long time, writing and playing by turns, every where applauded as a poet and as an actor. The fame of his success finally reached Rome, and an occasion offered for his

appearance there with honor to himself. When Caesar was elected dictator a second time, he resolved to give the enslaved Romans such shows and amusements as should surpass in splendor and duration every thing they had before seen. Many days were to be devoted to games, to contests of all kinds, to theatrical representations in all quarters of the city, and in all languages of the then known world ; conquered kings were to take part in them. To add to the success and splendor of the performances, Caesar had solicited the presence of the most celebrated writers and actors, and among others, called Syrus to Rome. The news of the exhibitions attracted such multitudes from the neighboring provinces, that, as the houses were full, it was necessary to pitch tents for them in the streets and open fields ; and many citizens, among the rest two senators, were crushed to death by the crowd.

Quite proud of his provincial success, when Syrus arrived in Rome, he had the courage to challenge to a trial of wits all the poets who adorned the stage. Every one accepted the challenge, and they were every one beaten. The caprice of Cassar brought out against him, however, a formidable competitor. The dictator had commanded Laberius, then sixty years of age, to perform in one of his own mimes, which was a disgrace for a freeman, and above all for a knight. Laberius submitted, but his vengeance was at hand. The day and hour of the contest came. Cassar was the judge, and all the senators and magistrates were its spectators, together with the whole order of knights, all the generals of the victorious army, all the strangers whom conquest or curiosity had made the guests of Rome, and last of all the people, that people whose highest desires were now comprised in bread and public shows —panem et circenses.

Laberius appeared on the stage, and began, in an admirable prologue, with deploring his compulsory appearance, as an actor, so little in keeping with his age and rank. " Behold me, then, who after having spent a life of sixty years without a stain on my honor, have left my house a knight, to return to it a mere actor. I have lived too long by one day." Then thinking of the talent of his young rival, and fearing a defeat, he added, to extenuate its possible disgrace, and gain the pity of the spectators — " what do I bring upon the stage to day ? I have lost every thing — beauty of form, grace of mien, energy of expression, and the advantage of a good utterance. Like a tomb, I bear on my person only a name." But he soon recovered his self-possession, and in his performance launched against tyranny a torrent of severe invective, the application of which was readily seen. Thus acting the part of a slave, escaping from the hands of his executioner, he fled shouting — " It is all over with us, Romans, liberty is lost I" " He who becomes a terror to multitudes, he added a moment after, has multitudes to dread" — while his gaze was continually fixed on the impassible dictator.

The performance ended, Caesar invited the audacious actor to take a seat among the spectators of his own rank. Syrus, whose turn to perform had now come, then approaching Laberius, said with

a modest air, " be so good as to receive with kindness as a spectator, him against whom you have contended as an actor." Laberius sought a place among the ranks of the knights, who however crowded to gether so as not to allow him a seat. Cicero, who was somewhat given to raillery, shouted to him from a distance, directing his irony at once against the actor and the new batch of senators : " I would cheerfully give you my place, if it were not too much crowded." " I am astonished," pertly replied Laberius, " to hear that from a man who is wont to sit so well on two seats at once ;" a witty allusion to the equivocal character of the orator, a friend at the same time of

Cassar and Pompey. He seated himself as he best could, to listen to his rival.

Syrus at length appeared, the crowd shouting their applause, and played the piece he had composed ; but we are ignorant even of its title.

Whether from resentment, or a sense of justice, Cassar awarding to Syrus the prize of the theatrical contest, immediately passed him the triumphal palm, saying to the knight, with a mocking smile,

"Although I was on your side, Laberius, a Syrian has beaten you."

" Such is the fate of man," answered the poet ; " to-day, every thing; to-morrow, nothing." Notwithstanding, to restore the honor of the knight, lost by compliance with his own orders, Caesar passed him a gold ring, the symbol of knightly rank, and added to it a present of five hundred thousand sesterces.

Oh Cicero, he who enters the tyrant's court is but the tyrant's slave, and tyranny enslaves even those who serve it. Even he who is master of that court, is but a slave to his own will. Caesar, having conquered, was made a slave to his own domination, and to the demands of those who helped him win power, and for all his deeds, whether good or ill, he was punished in the end.

But you Cicero, lived to see him fall, and to see the rise of another monster far worse than Caesar.

Happy he who died when death was desirable. - Publius Syrus.

You, Cicero, had more than once desired death, but you chose to live instead, and in those years of uneasy peace and bloody civil war, you produced great works of literature which have granted you a place among the immortals. Soon I will write to you on the death of Caesar, and then, on your speeches against Marc Antony.

But they are letters for another day, my dear friend.

With gratitude and respect,

Morgan.

Book 4, Letter 5, Part 1 of 2, To Cicero, on Poetry and Tyrants.

Dear Cicero,

It is morning, I sit in bed reading poetry, Sappho suits my mood, she is like the sunshine, like the shade of green trees on warm days, like chilled wine and sweat condensing on skin. I read poem after poem, but I am halted by fragment 27:

...you burn me...

… I swoon. Who was she to write such a line, and what crimes of decay have stolen from us the rest of the poem? Or perhaps that one line is all that mattered of the whole piece. That one line, so perfect in itself that even without the remainder, even without the other fragments and complete poems, Sappho might have kept her immortality on the strength of that one line alone.

You burn me.

I am getting away from myself. I wanted to write to you, Cicero, about those last days under Caesar, and as it happens, about a poetry recital you attended.

DCXXXII

To Atticus

2^nd July 45BCE

...And don't you see how truly philosophical this sentiment is - “that every man is bound not to depart a nail's breadth from the strict path of conscience.” Do you think that it is all for nothing that I am now engaged in these compositions? ... Do you suppose that I care for anything in the whole question except not to be untrue to my past?

These compositions you refer to are the books you wrote, Cicero, The Academia, and de Fininibus, neither of which I have read. This period of your life is written of as being one of extreme literary productivity, and in order to fully grasp the passions and philosophies that motivated your final great speeches, I shall have to read these books. You are accused by some modern scholars of cowardice, for not standing up in opposition to Caesar more strongly, and it seems that you accuse yourself as well. Your nephew, the young Quintus who was serving with Caesar in his camp, was commonly known to speak loudly against you, telling Caesar that you were not to be trusted, that you ought personally to be regarded with suspicion. You wrote to Atticus about this, expressing your unconcern at such accusations:

DCLIV

To Atticus

...this would have been truly terrible had I not perceived that our monarch knew that I had no courage left.

If you were cowardly and ignorant of it, I could criticise you, but self awareness is always laudable, and in your circumstance, what else could you have done? You had chosen to live, and so, life must continue in fear of the tyrant. Meanwhile you did what you could do with courage; you wrote books, you wrote letters, you poured yourself into the only life you had ever desired, that being one of service to Rome and to the Republic which you believed in. You did as your conscience demanded, and you lived up to your past, as much as that was possible in the shadow of your own achievements.

In such times, yours and mine, Cicero, what more can a man hope to do?

Book 4, Letter 4, Part 5 of 5, To Xenophon, on Love and War

Xenophon, I come now to the end of the story, and I feel that the tragedy of this royal romance, the pride and love and devotion you describe, must surely have been studied by the writers of tragedies every after. I have read that the tragic plays written by Seneca were studied by Shakespeare, and it seems now fair to assume that your book, Xenophon, was also on the shelf of that great Englishman for whom we owe so great an intellectual and emotional debt.

I pick up the story now as Cyrus addresses his men on the front lines:

[10] So he spoke, and sent the watchword down the lines, "Zeus our saviour, and Zeus our leader," and went forward. As he passed between the chariots and the cuirassiers, he would say to some, "My men, the look on your faces rejoices my heart," and to others, "You understand, gentlemen, that this battle is not for the victory of a day, but for all that we have won ere now, and for all our happiness to come." [11] And to others, "My friends, we can never reproach the gods again: to-day

they have put all blessings in our hands. [12] Let us show ourselves good men and true." Or else, "Gentlemen, can we invite each other to a more glorious feast than this? This day all gallant hearts are bidden; this day they may feast their friends." [13] Or again, "You know, I think, the prizes in this game: the victors pursue and smite and slay, and win wealth and fame and freedom and empire: the cowards lose them all. He who loves his own soul let him fight beside me: for I will have no disgrace." [14] But if he met soldiers who had fought for him before, he only said, "To you, gentlemen, what need I say? You know the brave man's part in battle, and the craven's." [15] And when he came to Abradatas, he halted, and Abradatas gave the reins to his charioteer and came up to him, and others gathered round from the infantry and the chariots, and Cyrus said:

"God has rewarded you, Abradatas, according to your prayer, you and yours. You hold the first rank among our friends. And you will not forget, when the moment for action comes, that those who watch you will be Persians, and those who follow you, and they will not let you bear the brunt alone."

[16] And Abradatas answered:

"Even so, Cyrus; and with us here, methinks, all looks well enough: but the state of our flanks troubles me: the enemy's wings are strong and stretch far: he has chariots there, and every kind of arm as well, while we have nothing else with which to oppose him. So that for myself," said he, "if I had not won by lot the post I hold, I should feel ashamed to be here in the safest place of all."

[17] "Nay," answered Cyrus, "if it is well with you, have no concern for the rest. God willing, I mean to relieve our flanks. But you yourself, I conjure you, do not attack until you see the rout of those detachments that you fear."

So much of boasting did Cyrus allow himself on the eve of action, though he was the last man to boast at other times.

"When you see them routed," he said, "you may take it that I am there, and then make your rush, for that is the moment when you will find the enemy weakest and your own men strongest. [18] And while there is time, Abradatas, be sure to drive along your front and prepare your men for the charge, kindle their courage by your looks, lift up their hearts by your hopes. Breathe a spirit of emulation into them, to make them prove themselves the flower of the chariot-force. Be assured if things go well with us all men will say nothing is so profitable as valour."

[19] Accordingly Abradatas mounted his chariot and drove along the lines to do as Cyrus bade.

*

The battle is described further, and I pick up the story again as Abradatus begins his charge:

*

At the same moment the war-chariots dashed in, right and left, so that many, flying from the chariots, were cut down by the troopers, and many, flying from these, were caught by the chariots.

[29] And now Abradatas could wait no longer. "Follow me, my friends," he shouted, and drove straight at the enemy, lashing his good steeds forward till their flanks were bloody with the goad, the other charioteers racing hard behind him. The enemy's chariots fled before them instantly, some not even waiting to take up their fighting-men. [30] But Abradatas drove on through them, straight into the main body of the Egyptians, his rush shared by his comrades on either hand. And then,

what has often been shown elsewhere was shown here, namely, that of all strong formations the strongest is a band of friends. His brothers-in-arms and his mess-mates charged with him, but the others, when they saw that the solid ranks of the Egyptians stood firm, swung round and pursued the flying chariots.

[31] Meanwhile Abradatas and his companions could make no further way: there was not a gap through the Egyptian lines on either hand, and they could but charge the single soldiers where they stood, overthrow them by the sheer weight of horse and car, and crush them and their arms beneath the hoofs and wheels. And where the scythes caught them, men and weapons were cut to shreds. [32] In the midst of indescribable confusion, the chariots rocking among the weltering mounds, Abradatas was thrown out and some of his comrades with him. There they stood, and fought like men, and there they were cut down and died. The Persians, pouring in after them, dealt slaughter

and destruction where Abradatas and his men had charged and shaken the ranks, but elsewhere the Egyptians, who were still unscathed, and they were many, moved steadily on to meet them.

*

Then after the battle, Cyrus goes looking for Abradatus:

*

Then Cyrus called some of his squires and said:

"Tell me, have any of you seen Abradatas? I wonder that he who used to come to me so often is nowhere to be found."

[3] Then one of the squires made answer, "My lord, he is dead: he fell in the battle, charging straight into the Egyptian ranks: the rest, all but his own companions, swerved before their close array. [4] And now," he added, "we hear that his wife has found his body and laid it in her

own car, and has brought it here to the banks of the Pactolus. [5] Her chamberlains and her attendants are digging a grave for the dead man upon a hill, and she, they say, has put her fairest raiment on him and her jewels, and she is seated on the ground with his head upon her

knees."

[6] Then Cyrus smote his hand upon his thigh and leapt up and sprang to horse, galloping to the place of sorrow, with a thousand troopers at his back. [7] He bade Gadatas and Gobryas take what jewels they could find to honour the dear friend and brave warrior who had fallen, and follow with all speed: and he bade the keepers of the herds, the cattle, and the horses drive up their flocks wherever they heard he was, that he might sacrifice on the grave.

[8] But when he saw Pantheia seated on the ground and the dead man lying there, the tears ran down his cheeks and he cried:

"O noble and loyal spirit, have you gone from us?"

Then he took the dead man by the hand, but the hand came away with his own: it had been hacked by an Egyptian blade. [9] And when he saw that, his sorrow grew, and Pantheia sobbed aloud and took the hand from Cyrus and kissed it and laid it in its place, as best she could, and said:

[10] "It is all like that, Cyrus. But why should you see it?" And presently she said, "All this, I know, he suffered for my sake, and for yours too, Cyrus, perhaps as much. I was a fool: I urged him so to bear himself as became a faithful friend of yours, and he, I know, he never thought once of his own safety, but only of what he might do to show his gratitude. Now he has fallen, without a stain upon his valour: and I, who urged him, I live on to sit beside his grave."

[11] And Cyrus wept silently for a while, and then he said:

"Lady, his end was the noblest and the fairest that could be: he died in the hour of victory. Take these gifts that I have brought and adorn him."

For now Gobryas and Gadatas appeared with store of jewels and rich apparel. "He shall not lack for honour," Cyrus said; "many hands will raise his monument: it shall be a royal one; and we will offer such sacrifice as befits a hero. [12] And you, lady," he added, "you shall not be left desolate. I reverence your chastity and your nobleness, and I will give you a guardian to lead you withersoever you choose, if you will but tell me to whom you wish to go."

[13] And Pantheia answered:

"Be at rest, Cyrus, I will not hide from you to whom I long to go."

[14] Therewith Cyrus took his leave of her and went, pitying from his heart the woman who had lost so brave a husband, and the dead man in his grave, taken from so sweet a wife, never to see her more. Then Pantheia bade her chamberlains stand aside "until," she said, "I have wept over him as I would." But she made her nurse stay with her and she said:

"Nurse, when I am dead, cover us with the same cloak." And the nurse entreated and besought her, but she could not move her, and when she saw that she did but vex her mistress, she sat down and wept in silence. Then Pantheia took the scimitar, that had been ready for her so long, and drew it across her throat, and dropped her head upon her husband's breast and died. And the nurse cried bitterly, but she covered the two with one cloak as her mistress had bidden her.

[15] And when Cyrus heard what Pantheia had done he rushed out in horror to see if he could save her. And when the three chamberlains saw what had happened they drew their own scimitars and killed themselves, there where she had bidden them stand. [16, 17] And when Cyrus came to that

place of sorrow, he looked with wonder and reverence on the woman, and wept for her and went his way and saw that all due honour was paid to those who lay there dead, and a mighty sepulchre was raised above them, mightier, men say, than had been seen in all the world before.

*

Xenophon, there is nothing I can say to highlight, or to praise your work. My own voice must fall silent in the face of such a story as this, the tragedy of Araspas, Pantheia and Abradatus.

Thank you,

with gratitude and respect,

Morgan.

*

A note: An important part of my study process, is in listening to many of these ancient books while I work. Many of these audio books were downloaded for free from Librivox.org, a volunteer audio book provider, with a focus on ancient literature. I highly recommend it. The book I have quoted from in this letter is the 1897 HG Daykins translation.

Book 4, Letter 4 Part 4 of 5 To Xenophon on Love and War

Picking up on the story again, Cyrus and his enemy, Croesus (who is a man of such fascinating and legendary status that I shall have to write another letter on him in the future), had drawn their two armies into close proximity, the battle now very near. Cyrus has ordered his men to intercept a cavalry scouting party from the enemy, but that if any of them should raise their hands as they approach, to not engage them in battle, for Cyrus was now expecting the return of Araspes:

[14] Accordingly Hystaspas went off and got under arms, while the bodyguard galloped to the spot. But before they reached the scouts, some one met them with his squires, the man who had been sent out as a spy, the guardian of the lady from Susa, Araspas himself. [15] When the news reached Cyrus, he sprang up from his seat, went to meet him himself, and clasped his hand, but the others, who of course knew nothing, were utterly dumbfounded, until Cyrus said:

"Gentlemen, the best of our friends has come back to us. It is high time that all men should know what he has done. It was not through any baseness, or any weakness, or any fear of me, that he left us; it was because I sent him to be my messenger, to learn the enemy's doings and bring us word. [16] Araspas, I have not forgotten what I promised you, I will repay you, we will all repay you. For, gentlemen, it is only just that all of you should pay him honour. Good and true I call him who

risked himself for our good, and took upon himself a reproach that was heavy to bear."

[17] At that all crowded round Araspas and took him by the hand and made him welcome. Then Cyrus spoke again:

"Enough, my friends, Araspas has news for us, and it is time to hear it. Tell us your tale, Araspas, keep back nothing of the truth, and do not make out the power of the enemy less than it really is. It is far better that we should find it smaller than we looked for rather than strong beyond our expectations."

[18] "Well," began Araspas, "in order to learn their numbers, I managed to be present at the marshalling of their troops." "Then you can tell us," said Cyrus, "not only their numbers but their disposition in the field." "That I can," answered Araspas, "and also how they propose to fight."

*

Araspes then tells all that he knows of the enemy, including a lot of very interesting military minutiae about the Egyptian forces, but which does not relate to the story of Pantheia. It seemed important in this re-telling, to acknowledge the return of Araspes, and of his reclaimed honour, having risked his life to serve his king.

The story of Pantheia and Abradatus continues as the battle lines are being drawn up and the senior officers are vying for their positions. Cyrus begins by speaking to them all:

*

[34] “Officers of the war-chariots, you will draw lots among yourselves, and he on whom the

lot falls will bring his hundred chariots in front of the fighting-line, while the other two centuries will support our flanks on the right and left."

[35] Such were the dispositions made by Cyrus; but Abradatas, the lord of Susa, cried:

"Cyrus, let me, I pray you, volunteer for the post in front."

[36] And Cyrus, struck with admiration for the man, took him by the hand, and turning to the Persians in command of the other centuries said:

"Perhaps, gentlemen, you will allow this?"

But they answered that it was hard to resign the post of honour, and so they all drew lots, and the lot fell on Abradatas, and his post was face to face with the Egyptians. Then the officers left the council and carried out the orders given, and took their evening meal and posted the pickets and went to rest.

[C.4] But early on the morrow Cyrus offered sacrifice, and meanwhile the rest of the army took their breakfast, and after the libation they armed themselves, a great and goodly company in bright tunics and splendid breastplates and shining helmets. All the horses had frontlets and chest-plates, the chargers had armour on their shoulders, and the chariot-horses on their flanks; so that the whole army flashed with bronze, and shone like a flower with scarlet. [2] The eight-horse chariot of Abradatas was a marvel of beauty and richness; and just as he was about to put on the linen corslet of his native land, Pantheia came, bringing him a golden breastplate and a helmet of gold, and armlets and broad bracelets for his wrists, and a full flowing purple tunic, and a hyacinth-coloured helmet-plume. All these she had made for him in secret, taking the measure of his armour without his knowledge. [3] And when he saw them, he gazed in wonder and said:

"Dear wife, and did you destroy your own jewels to make this armour for me?"

But she said, "No, my lord, at least not the richest of them all, for you shall be my loveliest jewel, when others see you as I see you now."

As she spoke, she put the armour on him, but then, though she tried to hide it, the tears rolled down her cheeks.

[4] And truly, when Abradatas was arrayed in the new panoply, he, who had been fair enough to look upon before, was now a sight of splendour, noble and beautiful and free, as indeed his nature was. [5] He took the reins from the charioteer, and was about to set foot on the car, when Pantheia bade the bystanders withdraw, and said to him, "My own lord, little need to tell you what you know already, yet this I say, if any woman loved her husband more than her own soul, I am of her company. Why should I try to speak? Our lives say more than any words of mine. [6] And yet, feeling for you what you know, I swear to you by the love between us that I would rather go down to the grave beside you after a hero's death than live on with you in shame. I have thought you worthy of the highest, and believed myself worthy to follow you. [7] And I bear in mind the great gratitude we owe to Cyrus, who, when I was his captive, chosen for his spoil, was too high-minded to treat me as a slave, or dishonour me as a free woman; he took me and saved me for you, as though I had been his brother's wife. [8] And when Araspas, my warder, turned from him, I promised, if he would let me send for you, I would bring him a friend in the other's place, far nobler and more faithful."

[9] And as Pantheia spoke, Abradatas listened with rapture to her words, and when she ended, he laid his hand upon her head, and looking up to heaven he prayed aloud:

"O most mighty Zeus, make me worthy to be Pantheia's husband, and the friend of Cyrus who showed us honour!"

[10] Then he opened the driver's seat and mounted the car, and the driver shut the door, and Pantheia could not take him in her arms again, so she bent and kissed the chariot-box. Then the car rolled forward and she followed unseen till Abradatas turned and saw her and cried, "Be strong, Pantheia, be of a good heart! Farewell, and hie thee home!"

[11] Thereupon her chamberlains and her maidens took her and brought her back to her own carriage, and laid her down and drew the awning. But no man, of all who was there that day, splendid as Abradatas was in his chariot, had eyes to look on him until Pantheia had gone.

Book 4, Letter 4, Part 3 of 5, To Xenophon, on Love and War.

The conversation between Cyrus and Araspes, which I have at length quoted from, is in fact only the beginning of the story that I want to share and discuss. It is the tragedy of Pantheia and Abradatus which has grabbed me by the heart, nestled as it is in the bloody heart of war. The woman whom Cyrus had set Araspes to guard, was Pantheia, and her absent husband, Abradatus. The tragic love story continues as Cyrus is preparing for war against the Assyrians. Cyrus calls upon Araspas to act as his spy:

Moreover, he decided to send a spy into Lydia to ascertain the movements of the king, and he thought that the right man for this purpose was Araspas, the officer in charge of the fair lady

from Susa. Matters had gone ill with Araspas: he had fallen passionately in love with his prisoner, and been led to entreat her to be his paramour.

[32] She had refused, faithful to her husband who was far away, for she loved him dearly, but she forbore to accuse Araspas to Cyrus, being unwilling to set friend at strife with friend. [33] But

when at length Araspas, thinking it would help him in his desires, began to threaten her, saying that if she would not yield he would have his will of her by force, then in her dread of violence she could keep the matter hid no longer, and she sent her eunuch to Cyrus with orders to tell him everything. [34] And when Cyrus heard it he smiled over the man who had boasted that he was superior to love, and sent Artabazus back with the eunuch to tell Araspas that he must use no violence against such a woman, but if he could persuade her, he might do so. [35] But Artabazus, when he saw Araspas, rebuked him sternly, saying that the woman was a sacred trust, and his conduct disgraceful, impious, and wicked, till Araspas burst into tears of misery and shame, and was half dead at the thought of what Cyrus would do. [36] Learning this, Cyrus sent for him, saw him alone, and said to him face to face:

"Araspas, I know that you are afraid of me and in an agony of shame. Be comforted; we are told that the gods themselves are made subject to desire, and I could tell you what love has forced some men to undergo, men who seemed most lofty and most wise. Did I not pass sentence on myself, when I confessed I was too weak to consort with loveliness and remain unmoved? Indeed it is I who am most to blame in the matter, for I shut you up myself with this irresistible power."

[37] But Araspas broke in on his words:

"Ah, Cyrus, you are ever the same, gentle and compassionate to human weaknesses. But all the rest of the world has no pity on me; they drown me in wretchedness. As soon as the tattlers got wind of my misfortune, all my enemies exulted, and my friends came to me, advising me to make away with myself for fear of you, because my iniquity was so great."

[38] Then Cyrus said, "Now listen: this opinion about you may be the means by which you can do me a great kindness and your comrades a great service."

"Oh, that it were possible!" said Araspas, "for me ever to be of service to you!"

[39] "Well," said the other, "if you went to the enemy, feigning that you had fled from me, I think they would believe you."

"I am sure they would," said Araspas, "I know even my own friends would think that of course I ran away."

[40] "Then you will come back to us," Cyrus went on, "with full information about the enemy's affairs; for, if I am right in my expectation, they will trust you and let you see all their plans, so that you need miss nothing of what we wish to know."

"I will be off this moment," said Araspas; "it will be my best credential to have it thought I was just in time to escape punishment from you."

[41] "Then you can really bring yourself to leave the beautiful Pantheia?"

"Yes, Cyrus," he answered, "I can; for I see now that we have two souls. This is the lesson of philosophy that I have learnt from the wicked sophist Love. If we had but a single soul, how could she be at once evil and good? How could she be enamoured at once of nobleness and baseness,

or at once desire and not desire one deed and the same? No, it is clear that we have two souls, and when the beautiful soul prevails, all fair things are wrought, and when the evil soul has the mastery, she lays her hand to shame and wickedness. But to-day my good soul conquers, because she has you to help her."

[42] "Well," said Cyrus, "if you have decided on going, it is thus you had better go. Thus you will win their confidence, and then you must tell them what we are doing, but in such a way as to hinder their own designs. It would hinder them, for example, if you said that we were preparing an attack on their territory at a point not yet decided; for this would check the concentration of their forces, each leader being most concerned for the safety of his own home. [43] Stay with them," he added, "till the last moment possible: what they do when they are close at hand is just what is most important for us to know. Advise them how to dispose their forces in the way that really seems the best, for then, after you are gone and although it may be known that you are aware of their order, they will be forced to keep to it, they will not dare to change it, and should they do so at the last moment they will be thrown into confusion."

[44] Thereupon Araspas took his leave, called together his trustiest attendants, said what he thought necessary for the occasion, and departed.

[45] Now Pantheia, when she heard that Araspas had fled, sent a messenger to Cyrus, saying:

"Grieve not, Cyrus, that Araspas has gone to join the foe: I will bring you a far trustier friend than he, if you will let me send for my husband, and I know he will bring with him all the power that he has. It is true that the old king was my husband's friend, but he who reigns now tried to tear us two asunder, and my husband knows him for a tyrant and a miscreant, and would gladly be quit of him and take service with such a man as you."

[46] When Cyrus heard that, he bade Pantheia send word to her husband, and she did so. Now when Abradatas saw the tokens from his wife, and learnt how matters stood, he was full of joy, and set out for Cyrus' camp immediately, with a thousand horsemen in his train. And when he came to the Persian outposts he sent to Cyrus saying who he was, and Cyrus gave orders that he should be taken to Pantheia forthwith. [47] So husband and wife met again after hope had well-nigh vanished, and were in each other's arms once more. And then Pantheia spoke of Cyrus, his nobleness, his honour, and the compassion he had shown her, and Abradatas cried:

"Tell me, tell me, how can I repay him all I owe him in your name and mine!" And she answered:

"So deal with him, my husband, as he has dealt with you."

[48] And thus Abradatas went to Cyrus, and took him by the hand, and said:

"Cyrus, in return for the kindness you have shown us, I can say no more than this: I give myself to you, I will be your friend, your servant, and your ally: whatever you desire, I will help you to win, your fellow-worker always, so far as in me lies."

[49] Then Cyrus answered:

"And I will take your gift: but for the moment you must leave me, and sup with your wife: another day you will let me play the host, and give you lodging with your friends and mine."

*

My dear Xenophon, please forgive my silence. The more I read of your work, the less I have to say, and I feel that the greatest honour I can do in recounting this tale of Araspes, Patheia and Abradatus, is to still my own opinions, and simply recite from your great work.

*

Book 4, Letter 4 Part 2 of 5 To Xenophon, on love and war

I don't feel like I need to comment here about the status of women as possessions in the ancient world. I think that it is well enough understood, that anything I might add to the topic will be redundant, so this letter is not going to be a comparative history discussion.

I want to talk about the nature of love and beauty and so I will begin here...

"So you think, Cyrus, that the beauty of any human creature can compel a man to do wrong against his will? Surely if that were the nature of beauty, all men would feel its force alike. [10] See how fire burns all men equally; it is the nature of it so to do; but these flowers of beauty, one man loves them, and another loves them not, nor does every man love the same.

The common expression, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which Araspas seems to be putting forth is a good place to begin. He suggests that if it were a force of nature, then it would affect all in a like fashion, but does not one man feel hunger while another is satisfied? Does one not feel cold while the other is warm? Natural forces are not felt alike by all creatures, and so while beauty is perhaps not as universal as rain, or cold, it is a force of nature. It seems acceptable to suggest that nature selects for beneficial adaptations, and that beauty, though experienced subjectively, is an adaptation of nature that serves the reproduction of the species. But that is not the only need that it serves. The beauty of nature makes me feel at peace, and there is nothing quite like the scattering of autumn leaves that puts me in a frame of mind to write poetry. Beauty moves the heart and the body and the mind, it inspires and motivates. Beauty can be ferocious as well, and we can stand in fearful awe of the beauty of another person. Beauty when seen can make us feel ugly by comparison, can make us feel hungry to explore, to navigate the unknown paths of a forest when the shadows and light are just so as to make inaudible music from drifting pollen in the sunlight.

I think that beauty is a universal force of nature, felt differently by all, but a force nonetheless.

But that is not the end of the discussion...

For love is voluntary, and each man loves what he chooses to love... ...each man loves to himself alone, and according as he chooses, just as he chooses his cloak or his sandals.

"Then," said Cyrus, "if love be voluntary, why cannot a man cease to love when he wishes? I have seen men in love," said he, "who have wept for very agony, who were the very slaves of those they loved, though before the fever took them they thought slavery the worst of evils.

Love makes slaves of us all, and yet we think slavery to be the worst of evils. I think that I live in an age driven by passions, and the value of one's felt experience is considered to be a moral pursuit, one that serves the highest functions of human destiny. To deny one's feelings is to deny human nature, the consequences of which are a mixture of stomach ulcers, mental illness and cancer. The link between the emotional body and the physical body is well understood: stress is the biggest killer, so the common wisdom goes.

But it is this notion that a man may choose what he loves that really makes me itch to talk this through. Of course there are the 'pray away the gay' religious groups who heartily believe that a person can deny the urges of their body and make themselves love what does not come to them naturally. They believe that love can be trained, and that some kinds of love are harmful, while others are natural. This is a notion I believe to be both fallacious and deeply harmful, but that isn't really what you're talking about are you Xenephon.

But the nobler type of man, the true gentleman, beautiful and brave, though he desire gold and splendid horses and lovely women, can still abstain from each and all alike, and lay no finger on them against the law of honour.

What you're talking about is greed, lust, an insatiable hunger that never knows satisfaction and will seek to feed it's starving heart regardless of law, honour, or even benefit. This I think is the place where a man can love ugliness, and come to love his own ugliness, his own pursuit of power justifying the harm caused along the way. This is the dark love, this is the slavery that does not free a man from the shackles of loneliness, as love should, but rather seeks only possession.

Perhaps I did need to talk about the state of women as possessions after all. However, I think it is plain that my topic covers much more than a man's love of women (or a woman's love of men, or whatever other combination of genders you care to name). This is about the love of possessions. Certainly in your day, Xenophon, humans were possessions all the time. The slave trade was not just a business, it was an every day part of everyone's life, there were no moral considerations to be made about a human being's status as a possession. That was the truth. Slaves were owned.

So, do we who love, and becomes slaves of love, become the possessions of that spirit?

Does LOVE own us?

Or is it true that a man can choose what he loves? Can he break his own heart, break the chains of his own desire, and love only what is virtuous? Love itself seems to have no patience for incarceration, and seeks only the liberty of its own free movement. Are we the slaves of freedom?

Actually, I wrote something recently that relates to this. It's part of a new story... 

https://zebulonstoryteller.bandcamp.com/album/the-creature-2020-home-studio-album

Can a slave ever love a master? I mean, I loved you, I lived for you...

You loved me, you wrote our names in the book love

on the bed of love

and in a better sort of heaven maybe we...

...angels of forgiveness and mercy that we were for each other, could have forgiven ourselves

There is something inside me, monstrous, something, irrational, untamable,

a part of me that can only live if it lives free, is only beautiful if it knows no boundaries, no borders, no fears, it is a wild horse, a proud lion, a two headed jackal

a story that only makes sense if it has no ending

*

There is a part of me that can only live, if it lives free, is only beautiful if it has no boundaries...

Is that part of me the Spirit of Love? Does that spirit live within me, sharing the body that I share with my children, my family, friends, my music, my writing, my art? Am I the slave of that spirit, or does it set me free to know happiness, balance, struggle and conflict? Is this a hint of what Araspas later describes as the theory of the twin soul, the two part contest within each person between virtue and vice?

I am a man, and these are the questions I ask you Xenophon.

I ask them as I read, and for your wisdom I am both grateful and humbled.

Book 4, Letter 4 Part 1 of 5 To Xenophon, on love and war

Dear Xenophon,

I have been re-reading Cyropaedia: the Education of Cyrus.

I've never needed to quote from such a long, complete section of anyone's work in order to discuss it, but your storyteller's nature strings one idea to another, and through the voices of your lively young characters, a powerful and peculiar philosophy is revealed.

So I will begin in Book V; in this part of your story, Cyrus has won a great battle, and is in the early stages of dividing up the booty, first of which is the women.

BOOK V

[C.1] Such were the deeds they did and such the words they spoke.

Then Cyrus bade them set a guard over the share chosen for Cyaxares, selecting those whom he knew were most attached to their lord, "And what you have given me," he added, "I accept with pleasure, but I hold it at the service of those among you who would enjoy it the most."

At that one of the Medes who was passionately fond of music said, "In truth, Cyrus, yesterday evening I listened to the singing-girls who are yours to-day, and if you could give me one of them, I would far rather be serving on this campaign than sitting at home."

And Cyrus said, "Most gladly I will give her; she is yours. And I believe I am more grateful to you for asking than you can be to me for giving; I am so thirsty to gratify you all."

So this suitor carried off his prize. [2] And then Cyrus called to his side Araspas the Mede, who had been his comrade in boyhood. It was he to whom Cyrus gave the Median cloak he was wearing when he went back to Persia from his grandfather's court. Now he summoned him, and asked him

to take care of the tent and the lady from Susa. [3] She was the wife of Abradatas, a Susian, and when the Assyrian army was captured it happened that her husband was away: his master had sent him on an embassy to Bactria to conclude an alliance there, for he was the friend and host of

the Bactrian king. And now Cyrus asked Araspas to guard the captive lady until her husband could take her back himself. [4] To that Araspas replied, "Have you seen the lady whom you bid me guard?"

"No, indeed," said Cyrus, "certainly I have not."

"But I have," rejoined the other, "I saw here when we chose her for you. When we came into the tent, we did not make her out at first, for she was seated on the ground with all her maidens round her, and she was clad in the same attire as her slaves, but when we looked at them all to discover the mistress, we soon saw that one outshone the others, although she was veiled and kept her eyes on the ground. [5] And when we bade her rise, all her women rose with her, and then we saw that she was marked out from them all by her height, and her noble bearing, and her grace, and the beauty that shone through her mean apparel. And, under her veil, we could see the big tear-drops trickling down her garments to her feet. [6] At that sight the eldest of us said, 'Take comfort, lady, we know that your husband was beautiful and brave, but we have chosen you a man to-day who is no whit inferior to him in face or form or mind or power; Cyrus, we believe, is more to be admired than any soul on earth, and you shall be his from this day forward.' But when the lady heard that, she rent the veil that covered her head and gave a pitiful cry, while her maidens lifted up their voice and wept with their mistress. [7] And thus we could see her face, and her neck, and her arms, and I tell you, Cyrus," he added, "I myself, and all who looked on her, felt that there never was, and never had been, in broad Asia a mortal woman half so fair as she. Nay, but you must see her for yourself."

[8] "Say, rather, I must not," answered Cyrus, "if she be such as you describe."

"And why not?" asked the young man.

"Because," said he, "if the mere report of her beauty could persuade me to go and gaze on her to-day, when I have not a moment to spare, I fear she would win me back again and perhaps I should neglect all I have to do, and sit and gaze at her for ever."

[9] At that the young man laughed outright and said:

"So you think, Cyrus, that the beauty of any human creature can compel a man to do wrong against his will? Surely if that were the nature of beauty, all men would feel its force alike. [10] See how fire burns all men equally; it is the nature of it so to do; but these flowers of beauty, one man loves them, and another loves them not, nor does every man love the same. For love is voluntary, and each man loves what he chooses to love. The brother is not enamoured of his own sister, nor the

father of his own daughter; some other man must be the lover. Reverence and law are strong enough to break the heart of passion. [11] But if a law were passed saying, 'Eat not, and thou shalt not starve; Drink not, and thou shalt not thirst; Let not cold bite thee in winter nor heat inflame thee in summer,' I say there is no law that could compel us to obey; for it is our nature to be swayed by these forces. But love is voluntary; each man loves to himself alone, and according as he chooses, just as he chooses his cloak or his sandals."

[12] "Then," said Cyrus, "if love be voluntary, why cannot a man cease to love when he wishes? I have seen men in love," said he, "who have wept for very agony, who were the very slaves of those they loved, though before the fever took them they thought slavery the worst of evils. I have seen them make gifts of what they ill could spare, I have seen them praying, yes, praying, to be rid of their passion, as though it were any other malady, and yet unable to shake it off; they were bound hand and foot by a chain of something stronger than iron. There they stood at the beck and call of their idols, and that without rhyme or reason; and yet, poor slaves, they make no attempt to run away, in spite of all they suffer; on the contrary, they mount guard over their tyrants, for fear these should escape."

[13] But the young man spoke in answer: "True," he said, "there are such men, but they are worthless scamps, and that is why, though they are always praying to die and be put out of their misery and though ten thousand avenues lie open by which to escape from life, they never

take one of them. These are the very men who are prepared to steal and purloin the goods of others, and yet you know yourself, when they do it, you are the first to say stealing is not done under compulsion, and you blame the thief and the robber; you do not pity him, you punish him.

[14] In the same way, beautiful creatures do not compel others to love them or pursue them when it is wrong, but these good-for-nothing scoundrels have no self-control, and then they lay the blame on love. But the nobler type of man, the true gentleman, beautiful and brave, though he desire gold and splendid horses and lovely women, can still abstain from each and all alike, and lay no finger on them against the law of honour. [15] Take my own case," he added, "I have seen this lady

myself, and passing fair I found her, and yet here I stand before you, and am still your trooper and can still perform my duty."

[16] "I do not deny it," said Cyrus; "probably you came away in time. Love takes a little while to seize and carry off his victim. A man may touch fire for a moment and not be burnt; a log will not kindle all at once; and yet for all that, I am not disposed to play with fire or look on beauty. You yourself, my friend, if you will follow my advice, will not let your own eyes linger there too long; burning fuel will only burn those who touch it, but beauty can fire the beholder from afar, until he

is all aflame with love."

[17] "Oh, fear me not, Cyrus," answered he; "if I looked till the end of time I could not be made to do what ill befits a man."

"A fair answer," said Cyrus. "Guard her then, as I bid you, and be careful of her. This lady may be of service to us all one day."

[18] With these words they parted. But afterwards, after the young man saw from day to day how marvellously fair the woman was, and how noble and gracious in herself, after he took care of her, and fancied that she was not insensible to what he did, after she set herself, through her attendants, to care for his wants and see that all things were ready for him when he came in, and that he should lack for nothing if ever he were sick, after all this, love entered his heart and took possession, and it

may be there was nothing surprising in his fate. So at least it was.

So, Xenophon, now I think I am ready to talk about your story,

though I hardly know where to start … … …