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By Plutarch

(legendary, died 353 B.C.E.)

Translated by John Dryden

IF it be true, Sosius Senecio, that, as Simonides tells us-

"Of the Corinthians Troy does not complain" for having taken part
with the Achaeans in the siege, because the Trojans also had Corinthians
(Glaucus, who sprang from Corinth) fighting bravely on their side,
so also it may be fairly said that neither Romans nor Greeks can quarrel
with the Academy, each nation being equally represented in the following
pair of lives, which will give an account of Brutus and of Dion,-
Dion, who was Plato's own hearer, and Brutus, who was brought up in
his philosophy. They came from one and the self-same school, where
they had been trained alike to run the race of honour; nor need we
wonder that in the performance of actions often most nearly allied
and akin, they both bore evidence to the truth of what their guide
and teacher said, that, without the concurrence of power and success,
with justice and prudence, public actions do not attain their proper,
great, and noble character. For as Hippomachus the wrestling-master
affirmed, he could distinguish his scholars at a distance, though
they were but carrying meat from the shambles, so it is very probable
that the principles of those who have had the same good education
should appear with a resemblance in all their actions, creating in
them a certain harmony and proportion, at once agreeable and becoming.

We may also draw a close parallel of the lives of the two men from
their fortunes, wherein chance, even more than their own designs,
made them nearly alike. For they were both cut off by an untimely
death, not being able to accomplish those ends which through many
risks and difficulties they aimed at. But, above all, this is most
wonderful; that by preternatural interposition both of them had notice
given of their approaching death by an unpropitious form, which visibly
appeared to them. Although there are people who utterly deny any such
thing, and say that no man in his right senses ever yet saw any supernatural
phantom or apparition, but that children only, and silly women, or
men disordered by sickness, in some aberration of the mind or distemperature
of the body, have had empty and extravagant imaginations, whilst the
real evil genius, superstition, was in themselves. Yet if Dion and
Brutus' men of solid understanding, and philosophers, not to be easily
deluded by fancy or discomposed by any sudden apprehension, were thus
affected by visions that they forthwith declared to their friends
what they had seen, I know not how we can avoid admitting again the
utterly exploded opinion of the oldest times, that evil and beguiling
spirits, out of envy to good men, and a desire of impeding their good
deeds, make efforts to excite in them feelings of terror and distraction,
to make them shake and totter in their virtue, lest by a steady and
unbiased perseverance they should obtain a happier condition than
these beings after death. But I shall leave these things for another
opportunity, and in this twelfth book of the lives of great men compared
one with another, begin with his who was the elder. 

Dionysius the First, having possessed himself of the government, at
once took to wife the daughter of Hermocrates, the Syracusan. She,
in an outbreak which the citizens made before the new power was well
settled, was abused in such a barbarous and outrageous manner that
for shame she put an end to her own life. But Dionysius, when he was
re-established and confirmed in his supremacy, married two wives together,
one named Doris, of Locri, the other Aristomache, a native of Sicily,
and daughter of Hipparinus, a man of the first quality in Syracuse,
and colleague with Dionysius when he was first chosen general with
unlimited powers for the war. It is said he married them both in one
day, and no one ever knew which of the two he first made his wife;
and ever after he divided his kindness equally between them, both
accompanying him together at his table, and in his bed by turns. Indeed,
the Syracusans were urgent that their own countrywoman might be preferred
before the stranger; but Doris, to compensate her for her foreign
extraction, had the good fortune to be the mother of the son and heir
of the family, whilst Aristomache continued a long time without issue,
though Dionysius was very desirous to have children by her, and, indeed,
caused Doris's mother to be put to death, laying to her charge that
she had given drugs to Aristomache to prevent her being with child.

Dion, Aristomache's brother, at first found an honourable reception
for his sister's sake; but his own worth and parts soon procured him
a nearer place in his brother-in-law's affection, who, among other
favours, gave special command to his treasurers to furnish Dion with
whatever money he demanded, only telling him on the same day what
they had delivered out. Now, though Dion was before reputed a person
of lofty character, of a noble mind, and daring courage, yet these
excellent qualifications all received a great development from the
happy chance which conducted Plato into Sicily; not assuredly by any
human device or calculation, but some supernatural power, designing
that this remote cause should hereafter occasion the recovery of the
Sicilians' lost liberty and the subversion of the tyrannical government,
brought the philosopher out of Italy to Syracuse, and made acquaintance
between him and Dion. Dion was, indeed, at this time extremely young
in years, but of all the scholars that attended Plato he was the quickest
and aptest to learn, and the most prompt and eager to practise, the
lessons of virtue, as Plato himself reports of him and his own actions
sufficiently testify. For though he had been bred up under a tyrant
in habits of submission, accustomed to a life on the one hand of servility
and intimidation, and yet on the other of vulgar display and luxury,
the mistaken happiness of people that knew no better thing than pleasure
and self-indulgence, yet, at the first taste of reason and a philosophy
that demands obedience to virtue, his soul was set in a flame, and
in the simple innocence of youth, concluding, from his own disposition,
that the same reason would work the same effects upon Dionysius, he
made it his business, and at length obtained the favour of him, at
a leisure hour, to hear Plato. 

At this their meeting, the subject-matter of their discourse in general
was human virtue, but, more particularly, they disputed concerning
fortitude, which Plato proved tyrants, of all men, had the least pretence
to; and thence proceeding to treat of justice, asserted the happy
estate of the just and the miserable condition of the unjust; arguments
which Dionysius would not hear out, but, feeling himself, as it were,
convicted by his words, and much displeased to see the rest of the
auditors full of admiration for the speaker and captivated with his
doctrine, at last, exceedingly exasperated, he asked the philosopher
in a rage, what business he had in Sicily. To which Plato answered,
"I came to seek a virtuous man." "It seems, then," replied Dionysius,
"you have lost your labour." Dion, supposing that this was all, and
that nothing further could come of his anger, at Plato's request,
conveyed him aboard a galley, which was conveying Pollis, the Spartan,
into Greece. But Dionysius privately dealt with Pollis, by all means
to kill Plato in the voyage; if not, to be sure to sell him for a
slave: he would, of course, take no harm of it, being the same just
man as before; he would enjoy that happiness, though he lost his liberty.
Pollis, therefore, it is stated, carried Plato to Aegina, and there
sold him; the, Aeginetans, then at war with Athens, having made a
decree that whatever Athenian was taken on their coasts should forthwith
be exposed to sale. Notwithstanding, Dion was not in less favour and
credit with Dionysius than formerly, but was intrusted with the most
considerable employments, and sent on important embassies to Carthage,
in the management of which he gained very great reputation. Besides,
the usurper bore with the liberty he took to speak his mind freely,
he being the only man who, upon any occasion, durst boldly say what
he thought, as, for example, in the rebuke he gave him about Gelon.
Dionysius was ridiculing Gelon's government, and, alluding to his
name, said he had been the laughingstock of Sicily. While others seemed
to admire and applaud the quibble, Dion very warmly replied, "Nevertheless,
it is certain that you are sole governor here, because you were trusted
for Gelon's sake; but for your sake no man will ever hereafter be
trusted again." For, indeed, Gelon had made a monarchy appear the
best, whereas Dionysius had convinced men that it was the worst of

Dionysius had three children by Doris, and by Aristomache four, two
of which were daughters, Sophrosyne and Arete. Sophrosyne was married
to his son Dionysius; Arete, to his brother Thearides, after whose
death Dion received his niece Arete to wife. Now when Dionysius was
sick and like to die, Dion endeavoured to speak with him in behalf
of the children he had by Aristomache, but was still prevented by
the physicians, who wanted to ingratiate themselves with the next
successor, who also, as Timaeus reports, gave him a sleeping potion
which he asked for, which produced an insensibility only followed
by his death. 

Nevertheless, at the first council which the young Dionysius held
with his friends, Dion discoursed so well of the present state of
affairs that he made all the rest appear in their politics but children,
and in their votes rather slaves than counsellors, who timorously
and disingenuously advised what would please the young man, rather
than what would advance his interest. But that which startled them
most was the proposal he made to avert the imminent danger they feared
of a war with the Carthaginians, undertaking, if Dionysius wanted
peace, to sail immediately over into Africa, and conclude it there
upon honourable terms; but, if he rather preferred war, then he would
fit out and maintain at his own cost and charges fifty galleys ready
for the service. 

Dionysius wondered much at his greatness of mind, and received his
offer with satisfaction. But the other courtiers, thinking his generosity
reflected upon them, and jealous of being lessened by his greatness,
from hence took all occasions by private slanders to render him obnoxious
to the young man's displeasure; as if he designed, by his power at
sea, to surprise the government, and by the help of those naval forces
confer the supreme authority upon his sister Aristomache's children.
But, indeed, the most apparent and the strongest grounds for dislike
and hostility existed already in the difference of his habits, and
his reserved and separate way of living. For they, who, from the beginning
by flatteries and all unworthy artifices, courted the favour and familiarity
of the prince, youthful and voluptuously bred, ministered to his pleasures,
and sought how to find him daily some new amours and occupy him in
vain amusements, with wine or with women, and in other dissipations;
by which means, the tyranny, like iron softened in the fire, seemed,
indeed, to the subject, to be more moderate and gentle, and to abate
somewhat of its extreme severity; the edge of it being blunted, not
by the clemency, but rather the sloth and degeneracy of the sovereign,
whose dissoluteness, gaining ground daily, and growing upon him, soon
weakened and broke those "adamantine chains," with which his father,
Dionysius, said he had left the monarchy fastened and secured. It
is reported of him that, having begun a drunken debauch, he continued
it ninety days without intermission; in all which time no person on
business was allowed to appear, nor was any serious conversation heard
at court, but drinking, singing, dancing, and buffoonery reigned there
without control. 

It is likely then they had little kindness for Dion, who never indulged
himself in any youthful pleasure or diversion. And so his very virtues
were the matter of their calumnies, and were represented under one
or other plausible name as vices; they called his gravity pride, his
plain-dealing self-will, the good advice he gave was all construed
into reprimand, and he was censured for neglecting and scorning those
in whose misdemeanours he declined to participate. And to say the
truth, there was in his natural character something stately, austere,
reserved, and unsociable in conversation, which made his company unpleasant
and disagreeable not only to the young tyrant, whose ears had been
corrupted by flatteries; many also of Dion's own intimate friends,
though they loved the integrity and generosity of his temper, yet
blamed his manner, and thought he treated those with whom he had to
do less courteously and affably than became a man engaged in civil
business. Of which Plato also afterwards wrote to him; and, as it
were, prophetically advised him carefully to avoid an arbitrary temper,
whose proper helpmate was a solitary life. And, indeed, at this very
time, though circumstances made him so important, and in the danger
of the tottering government he was recognized as the only or the ablest
support of it, yet he well understood that he owed not his high position
to any good-will or kindness, but to the mere necessities of the usurper.

And, supposing the cause of this to be ignorance and want of education,
he endeavoured to induce the young man into a course of liberal studies,
and to give him some knowledge of moral truths and reasonings, hoping
he might thus lose his fear of virtuous living, and learn to take
pleasure in laudable actions. Dionysius, in his own nature, was not
one of the worst kind of tyrants, but his father, fearing that if
he should come to understand himself better, and converse with wise
and reasonable men, he might enter into some design against him, and
dispossess him of his power, kept him closely shut up at home; where,
for want of other company, and ignorant how to spend his time better,
he busied himself in making little chariots, candlesticks, stools,
tables, and other things of wood. For the elder Dionysius was so diffident
and suspicious, and so continually on his guard against all men, that
he would not so much as let his hair be trimmed with any barber's
or haircutter's instruments, but made one of his artificers singe
him with a live coal. Neither were his brother or his son allowed
to come into his apartment in the dress they wore, but they, as all
others, were stript to their skins by some of the guard, and, after
being seen naked, put on other clothes before they were admitted into
the presence. When his brother Leptines was once describing the situation
of a place, and took a javelin from one of the guard to draw the plan
of it, he was extremely angry with him, and had the soldier who gave
him the weapon put to death. He declared the more judicious his friends
were the more he suspected them; because he knew that, were it in
their choice, they would rather be tyrants themselves than the subjects
of a tyrant. He slew Marsyas, one of his captains whom he had preferred
to a considerable command, for dreaming that he killed him: without
some previous waking thought and purpose of the kind, he could not,
he supposed, have had that fancy in his sleep. So timorous was he,
and so miserable a slave to his fears, yet very angry with Plato,
because he would not allow him to be the valiantest man alive.

Dion, as we said before, seeing the son thus deformed and spoilt in
character for want of teaching, exhorted him to study, and to use
all his entreaties to persuade Plato, the first of philosophers, to
visit him in Sicily, and when he came, to submit himself to his direction
and advice; by whose instructions he might conform his nature to the
truths of virtue, and, living after the likeness of the Divine and
glorious Model of Being, out of obedience to whose control the general
confusion is changed into the beautiful order of the universe, so
he in like manner might be the cause of great happiness to himself
and to all his subjects, who, obliged by his justice and moderation,
would then willingly pay him obedience as their father, which now
grudgingly, and upon necessity, they are forced to yield him as their
master. Their usurping tyrant he would then no longer be, but their
lawful king. For fear and force, a great navy and standing army of
ten thousand hired barbarians are not, as his father had said, the
adamantine chains which secure the regal power, but the love, zeal,
and affection inspired by clemency and justice; which, though they
seem more pliant than the stiff and hard bonds of severity, are nevertheless
the strongest and most durable ties to sustain a lasting government.
Moreover, it is mean and dishonourable that a ruler, while careful
to be splendid in his dress, and luxurious and magnificent in his
habitation, should, in reason and power of speech, make no better
show than the commonest of his subjects, nor have the princely palace
of his mind adorned according to his royal dignity. 

Dion frequently entertaining the king upon this subject, and, as occasion
offered, repeating some of the philosopher's sayings, Dionysius grew
impatiently desirous to have Plato's company, and to hear him discourse.
Forthwith, therefore, he sent letter upon letter to him to Athens,
to which Dion added his entreaties; also several philosophers of the
Pythagorean sect from Italy sent their recommendations, urging him
to come and obtain a hold upon this pliant, youthful soul, which his
solid and weighty reasonings might steady, as it were, upon the seas
of absolute power and authority. Plato, as he tells us himself, out
of shame more than any other feeling, lest it should seem that he
was all mere theory, and that of his own good-will he would never
venture into action, hoping withal, that if he could work a cure upon
one man, the head and guide of the rest, he might remedy the distempers
of the whole island of Sicily, yielded to their requests.

But Dion's enemies, fearing an alteration in Dionysius, persuaded
him to recall from banishment Philistus, a man of learned education,
and at the same time of great experience in the ways of tyrants, and
who might serve as a counterpoise to Plato and his philosophy. For
Philistus from the beginning had been a great instrument in establishing
the tyranny, and for a long time had held the office of captain of
the citadel. There was a report that he had been intimate with the
mother of Dionysius the first, and not without his privity. And when
Leptines, having two daughters by a married woman who he had debauched,
gave one of them in marriage to Philistus, without acquainting Dionysius,
he, in great anger, put Leptines's mistress in prison, and banished
Philistus from Sicily. Whereupon, he fled to some of his friends on
the Adriatic coast, in which retirement and leisure it is probable
he wrote the greatest part of his history; for he returned not into
his country during the reign of that Dionysius. 

But after his death, as is just related, Dion's enemies occasioned
him to be recalled home, as fitted for their purpose, and a firm friend
to the arbitrary government. And this, indeed, immediately upon his
return he set himself to maintain; and at the same time various calumnies
and accusations against Dion were by others brought to the king: as
that he held correspondence with Theodotes and Heraclides, to subvert
the government; as, doubtless, it is likely enough, that Dion had
entertained hopes, by the coming of Plato, to mitigate the rigid and
despotic severity of the tyranny, and to give Dionysius the character
of a fair and lawful governor; and had determined, if he should continue
averse to that, and were not to be reclaimed, to depose him, and restore
the commonwealth to the Syracusans; not that he approved a democratic
government, but thought it altogether preferable to a tyranny, when
a sound and good aristocracy could not be procured. 

This was the state of affairs when Plato came into Sicily, who, at
his first arrival, was received with wonderful demonstration of kindness
and respect. For one of the royal chariots, richly ornamented, was
in attendance to receive him when he came on shore; Dionysius himself
sacrificed to the gods in thankful acknowledgment for the great happiness
which had befallen his government. The citizens, also, began to entertain
marvellous hopes of a speedy reformation, when they observed the modesty
which now ruled in the banquets, and the general decorum which prevailed
in all the court, their tyrant himself also behaving with gentleness
and humanity in all their matters of business that came before him.
There was a general passion for reasoning and philosophy, insomuch
that the very palace, it is reported, was filled with dust by the
concourse of the students in mathematics who were working their problems
there. Some few days after, it was the time of one of the Syracusan
sacrifices, and when the priest, as he was wont, prayed for the long
and safe continuance of the tyranny, Dionysius, it is said, as he
stood by, cried out, "Leave off praying for evil upon us." This sensibly
vexed Philistus and his party, who conjectured, that if Plato, upon
such brief acquaintance, had so far transformed and altered the young
man's mind, longer converse and greater intimacy would give him such
influence and authority that it would be impossible to withstand him.

Therefore, no longer privately and apart, but jointly and in public,
all of them, they began to slander Dion, noising it about that he
had charmed and bewitched Dionysius by Plato's sophistry, to the end
that when he was persuaded voluntarily to part with his power, and
lay down his authority, Dion might take it up, and settle it upon
his sister Aristomache's children. Others professed to be indignant
that the Athenians, who formerly had come to Sicily with a great fleet
and a numerous land army, and perished miserably without being able
to take the city of Syracuse, should now, by means of one sophister,
overturn the sovereignty of Dionysius; inveighing him to cashier his
guard of ten thousand lances, dismiss a navy of four hundred galleys,
disband an army of ten thousand horse and many times over that number
of foot, and go seek in the schools an unknown and imaginary bliss,
and learn by the mathematics how to be happy; while, in the meantime,
the substantial enjoyments of absolute power, riches, and pleasure
would be handed over to Dion and his sister's children. 

By these means, Dion began to incur at first suspicion, and by degrees
more apparent displeasure and hostility. A letter, also, was intercepted
and brought to the young prince which Dion had written to the Carthaginian
agents, advising them that, when they treated with Dionysius concerning
the peace, they should not come to their audience without communicating
with him: they would not fail to obtain by this means all that they
wanted. When Dionysius had shown this to Philistus, and consulted
with him, as Timaeus relates, about it, he overreached Dion by a feigned
reconciliation, professing, after some fair and reasonable expression
of his feelings, that he was at friends with him, and thus, leading
him alone to the seaside, under the castle wall, he showed him the
letter, and taxed him with conspiring with the Carthaginians against
him. And when Dion essayed to speak in his own defence, Dionysius
suffered him not; but immediately forced him aboard a boat, which
lay there for that purpose, and commanded the sailors to set him ashore
on the coast of Italy. 

When this was publicly known, and was thought very hard usage, there
was much lamentation in the tyrant's own household on account of the
women, but the citizens of Syracuse encouraged themselves, expecting
that for his sake some disturbance would ensue; which, together with
the mistrust others would now feel, might occasion a general change
and revolution in the state. Dionysius seeing this, took alarm, and
endeavoured to pacify the women and others of Dion's kindred and friends,
assuring them that he had not banished, but only sent him out of the
way for a time, for fear of his own passion, which might be provoked
some day by Dion's self-will into some act which he should be sorry
for. He gave also two ships to his relations, with liberty to send
into Peloponnesus for him whatever of his property or servants they
thought fit. 

Dion was very rich, and had his house furnished with little less than
royal splendour and magnificence. These valuables his friends packed
up and conveyed to him, besides many rich presents which were sent
him by the women and his adherents. So that, so far as wealth and
riches went, he made a noble appearance among the Greeks, and they
might judge, by the affluence of the exile, what was the power of
the tyrant. 

Dionysius immediately removed Plato into the castle, designing, under
colour of an honourable and kind reception, to set a guard upon him,
lest he should follow Dion, and declare to the world, in his behalf,
how injuriously he had been dealt with. And, moreover, time and conversation
(as wild beasts by use grow tame and tractable) had brought Dionysius
to endure Plato's company and discourse, so that he began to love
the philosopher, but with such an affection as had something of the
tyrant in it, requiring of Plato that he should, in return of his
kindness, love him only, and attend to him above all other men; being
ready to permit to his care the chief management of affairs, and even
the government, too, upon condition that he would not prefer Dion's
friendship before his. This extravagant affection was a great trouble
to Plato, for it was accompanied with petulant and jealous humours,
like the fond passions of those that are desperately in love; frequently
he was angry and fell out with him, and presently begged and entreated
to be friends again. He was beyond measure desirous to be Plato's
scholar, and to proceed in the study of philosophy, and yet he was
ashamed of it with those who spoke against it and professed to think
it would ruin him. 

But a war about this time breaking out, he sent Plato away, promising
him in the summer to recall Dion, though in this he broke his word
at once; nevertheless, he remitted to him his revenues, desiring Plato
to excuse him as to the time appointed, because of the war, but, as
soon as he had settled a peace, he would immediately send for Dion,
requiring him in the interim to be quiet, and not raise any disturbance,
nor speak ill of him among the Grecians. This Plato endeavoured to
effect, by keeping Dion with him in the academy, and busying him in
philosophical studies. 

Dion sojourned in the Upper Town of Athens, with Callippus, one of
his acquaintance; but for his pleasure he bought a seat in the country,
which afterwards, when he went into Sicily, he gave to Speusippus,
who had been his most frequent companion while he was at Athens, Plato
so arranging it, with the hope that Dion's austere temper might be
softened by agreeable company, with an occasional mixture of seasonable
mirth. For Speusippus was of the character to afford him this; we
find him spoken of in Timon's Silli, as "good at a jest." And Plato
himself, as it happened, being called upon to furnish a chorus of
boys, Dion took upon him the ordering and management of it, and defrayed
the whole expense, Plato giving him this opportunity to oblige the
Athenians, which was likely to procure his friend more kindness than
himself credit. Dion went also to see several other cities, visiting
the noblest and most statesmanlike persons in Greece, and joining
in their recreations and entertainments in their times of festival.
In all which, no sort of vulgar ignorance, or tyrannic assumption,
or luxuriousness was remarked in him; but, on the contrary, a great
deal of temperance, generosity, and courage, and a well-becoming taste
for reasoning and philosophic discourses. By which means he gained
the love and admiration of all men, and in many cities had public
honours decreed him; the Lacedaemonians making him a citizen of Sparta,
without regard to the displeasure of Dionysius, though at that time
he was aiding them in their wars against the Thebans. 

It is related that once, upon invitation, he went to pay a visit to
Ptoeodorus, the Megarian, a man, it would seem, of wealth and importance;
and when, on account of the concourse of people about his door, and
the press of business, it was very troublesome and difficult to get
access to him, turning about to his friends, who seemed concerned
and angry at it, "What reason," said he, "have we to blame Ptoeodorus,
when we ourselves used to do no better when we were at Syracuse?"

After some little time, Dionysius, envying Dion, and jealous of the
favour and interest he had among the Grecians, put a stop upon his
incomes, and no longer sent him his revenues, making his own commissioners
trustees of the estate. But, endeavouring to obviate the ill-will
and discredit which, upon Plato's account, might accrue to him among
the philosophers, he collected in his court many reputed learned men;
and ambitiously desiring to surpass them in their debates, he was
forced to make use, often incorrectly, of arguments he had picked
up from Plato. And now he wished for his company again, repenting
he had not made better use of it when he had it, and had given no
greater heed to his admirable lessons. Like a tyrant, therefore, inconsiderate
in his desires, headstrong and violent in whatever he took a will
to, on a sudden he was eagerly set on the design of recalling him,
and left no stone unturned, but addressed himself to Archytas, the
Pythagorean (his acquaintance and friendly relations with whom owed
their origin to Plato), and persuaded him to stand as surety for his
engagements, and to request Plato to revisit Sicily. 

Archytas, therefore, sent Archedemus and Dionysius, some galleys,
with divers friends, to entreat his return; moreover, he wrote to
himself expressly and in plain terms, that Dion must never look for
any favour or kindness if Plato would not be prevailed with to come
into Sicily; but if Plato as often declined, Aristippus, the Cyrenaean,
then present, said that received letters full of solicitations from
his sister and his wife, urging him to beg Plato to gratify Dionysius
in this request, and not give him an excuse for further ill-doing.
So that, as Plato says to himself, the third time he set sail for
the Strait of Scylla- 

"Venturing again Charybdis's dangerous gulf." This arrival brought
great joy to Dionysius, and no less hopes to the Sicilians, who were
earnest in their prayers and good wishes that Plato might get the
better of Philistus, and philosophy triumph over tyranny. Neither
was he unbefriended by the women, who studied to oblige him; and he
had with Dionysius that peculiar credit which no man else ever obtained,
namely, liberty to come into his presence without being examined or
searched. When he would have given him a considerable sum of money,
and, on several repeated occasions, made fresh offers, which Plato
did come Dion should be assured of whatever he desired. Dion also
Dionysius was very safe in his munificence, he gave little to those
who were ready to take all they could get, and a great deal to Plato,
who would accept of nothing. 

After the first compliments of kindness were over, when Plato began
to discourse of Dion, he was at first diverted by excuses for delay,
followed soon after by complaints and disgusts, though not as yet
observable to others, Dionysius endeavouring to conceal them, and,
by other civilities and honourable usage, to draw him off from his
affection to Dion. And for some time Plato himself was careful not
to let anything of this dishonesty and breach of promise appear, but
bore with it, and dissembled his annoyance. While matters stood thus
between them, and, as they thought, they were unobserved and undiscovered,
Helicon, the Cyzicenian, one of Plato's followers, foretold an eclipse
of the sun, which happened according to his prediction; for which
he was much admired by the tyrant, and rewarded with a talent of silver;
whereupon Aristippus, jesting with some others of the philosophers,
told them, he also could predict something extraordinary; and on their
entreating him to declare it, "I foretell," said he, "that before
long there will be a quarrel between Dionysius and Plato."

At length, Dionysius made sale of Dion's estate, and converted the
money to his own use, and removed Plato from an apartment he had in
the gardens of the palace to lodgings among the guards he kept in
pay, who from the first had hated Plato, and sought opportunity to
make away with him, supposing he advised Dionysius to lay down the
government and disband his soldiers. 

When Archytas understood the danger he was in, he immediately sent
a galley with messengers to demand him of Dionysius; alleging that
he stood engaged for his safety, upon the confidence of which Plato
had come to Sicily. Dionysius, to palliate his secret hatred, before
Plato came away, treated him with great entertainments and all seeming
demonstrations of kindness, but could not forbear breaking out one
day into the expression, "No doubt, Plato, when you are at home among
the philosophers, your companions, you will complain of me, and reckon
up a great many of my faults." To which Plato answered with a smile,
"The Academy will never, I trust, be at such a loss for subjects to
discuss as to seek one in you." Thus, they say, Plato was dismissed;
but his own writings do not altogether agree with this account.

Dion was angry at all this, and not long after declared open enmity
to Dionysius, on hearing what had been done with his wife; on which
matter Plato, also, had had some confidential correspondence with
Dionysius. Thus it was. After Dion's banishment, Dionysius, when he
sent Plato back, had desired him to ask Dion privately, if he would
be averse to his wife's marrying another man. For there went a report,
whether true, or raised by Dion's enemies, that his marriage was not
pleasing to him, and that he lived with his wife on uneasy terms.
When Plato therefore came to Athens, and had mentioned the subject
to Dion, he wrote a letter to Dionysius speaking of other matters
openly, but on this in language expressly designed to be understood
by him alone, to the effect that he had talked with Dion about the
business, and that it was evident he would highly resent the affront,
if it should be put into execution. At that time, therefore, while
there were yet great hopes of an accommodation, he took no new steps
with his sister, suffering her to live with Dion's child. But when
things were come to that pass, that no reconciliation could be expected,
and Plato, after his second visit, was again sent away in displeasure,
he then forced Arete, against her will, to marry Timocrates, one of
his favourites; in this action coming short even of his father's justice
and lenity; for he, when Polyxenus, the husband of his sister, Theste,
became his enemy, and fled in alarm out of Sicily, sent for his sister,
and taxed her, that, being privy to her husband's flight, she had
not declared it to him. But the lady, confident and fearless, made
him this reply: "Do you believe me, brother, so bad a wife, or so
timorous a woman, that having known my husband's flight, I would not
have borne his company, and shared his fortunes? I knew nothing of
it; since otherwise it had been my better lot to be called the wife
of the exile Polyxenus than the sister of the tyrant Dionysius." It
is said, he admired her free and ready answer, as did the Syracusans
also her courage and virtue, insomuch that she retained her dignity
and princely retinue after the dissolution of the tyranny, and when
she died, the citizens, by public decree, attended the solemnity of
her funeral. And the story, though a digression from the present purpose,
was well worth the telling. 

From this time, Dion set his mind upon warlike measures; with which
Plato, out of respect for past hospitalities, and because of his age,
would have nothing to do. But Speusippus and the rest of his friends
assisted and encouraged him, bidding him deliver Sicily, which with
lift-up hands implored his help, and with open arms was ready to receive
him. For when Plato was staying at Syracuse, Speusippus, being oftener
than he in company with the citizens, had more thoroughly made out
how they were inclined; and though at first they had been on their
guard, suspecting his bold language, as though he had been set on
by the tyrant to trepan them, yet at length they trusted him. There
was but one mind and one wish or prayer among them all, that Dion
would undertake the design, and come, though without either navy,
men, horse, or arms; that he would simply put himself aboard any ship,
and lend the Sicilians his person and name against Dionysius. This
information from Speusippus encouraged Dion, who, concealing his real
purpose, employed his friends privately to raise what men they could;
and many statesmen and philosophers were assisting him, as, for instance,
Eudemus the Cyprian, on whose death Aristotle wrote his Dialogue of
the Soul, and Timonides the Leucadian. They also engaged on his side
Miltas the Thessalian, who was a prophet, and had studied in the Academy.
But of all that were banished by Dionysius, who were not fewer than
a thousand, five and twenty only joined in the enterprise; the rest
were afraid, and abandoned it. The rendezvous was in the island Zacynthus,
where a small force of not quite eight hundred men came together,
all of them, however, persons already distinguished in plenty of previous
hard service, their bodies well trained and practised, and their experience
and courage amply sufficient to animate and embolden to action the
numbers whom Dion expected to join in Sicily. 

Yet these men, when they first understood the expedition was against
Dionysius, were troubled and disheartened, blaming Dion, that, hurried
on like a madman by mere passion and despair, he rashly threw both
himself and them into certain ruin. Nor were they less angry with
their commanders and muster-masters that they had not in the beginning
let them know the design. But when Dion in his address to them had
set forth the unsafe and weak condition of arbitrary government, and
declared that he carried them rather for commanders than soldiers,
the citizens of Syracuse and the rest of the Sicilians having been
long ready for a revolt, and when, after him, Alcimenes, an Achaean
of the highest birth and reputation, who accompanied the expedition,
harangued them to the same effect, they were contented. 

It was now the middle of summer, and the Etesian winds blowing steadily
on the seas the moon was at the full, when Dion prepared a magnificent
sacrifice to Apollo, and with great solemnity marched his soldiers
to the temple in all their arms and accoutrements. And after the sacrifice,
he feasted them all in the race-course of the Zacynthians, where he
had made provisions for their entertainment. And when here they beheld
with wonder the quantity and the richness of the gold and silver plate,
and the tables laid to entertain them, all far exceeding the fortunes
of a private man, they concluded with themselves that a man now past
the prime of life, who was master of so much treasure, would not engage
himself in so hazardous an enterprise without good reason of hope,
and certain and sufficient assurances of aid from friends over there.
Just after the libations were made, and the accompanying prayers offered,
the moon was eclipsed; which was no wonder to Dion, who understood
the revolutions of eclipses, and the way in which the moon is overshadowed
and the earth interposed between her and the sun. But because it was
necessary that the soldiers, who were surprised and troubled at it,
should be satisfied and encouraged, Miltas the diviner, standing up
in the midst of the assembly, bade them be of good cheer, and expect
all happy success, for that the divine powers foreshowed that something
at present glorious and resplendent should be eclipsed and obscured;
nothing at this time being more splendid than the sovereignty of Dionysius,
their arrival in Sicily should dim this glory, and extinguish this
brightness. Thus Miltas, in public, descanted upon the incident. But
concerning a swarm of bees which settled on the poop of Dion's ship,
he privately told him and his friends that he feared the great actions
they were like to perform, though for a time they should thrive and
flourish, would be of short continuance, and soon suffer a decay.
It is reported, also, that many prodigies happened to Dionysius at
that time. An eagle, snatching a javelin from one of the guard, carried
it aloft, and from thence let it fall into the sea. The water of the
sea that washed the castle walls was for a whole day sweet and potable,
as many that tasted it experienced. Pigs were farrowed perfect in
all their other parts, but without ears. This the diviners declared
to portend revolt and rebellion, for that the subjects would no longer
give ear to the commands of their superiors. They expounded the sweetness
of the water to signify to the Syracusans a change from hard and grievous
times into easier and more happy circumstances. The eagle being the
bird of Jupiter, and the spear an emblem of power and command, this
prodigy was to denote that the chief of the gods designed the end
and dissolution of the present government. These things Theopompus
relates in his history. 

Two ships of burden carried all Dion's men; a third vessel, of no
great size, and two galleys of thirty oars attended them. In addition
to his soldiers' own arms, he carried two thousand shields, a very
great number of darts and lances, and abundant stores of all manner
of provisions, that there might be no want of anything in their voyage;
their purpose being to keep out at sea during the whole voyage, and
use the winds, since all the land was hostile to them, and Philistus,
they had been told, was in Iapygia with a fleet, looking out for them.
Twelve days they sailed with a fresh and gentle breeze; on the thirteenth,
they made Pachynus, the Sicilian cape. There Protus, the chief pilot,
advised them to land at once and without delay, for if they were forced
again from the shore, and did not take advantage of the headland,
they might ride out at sea many nights and days, waiting for a southerly
wind in the summer season. But Dion, fearing a descent too near his
enemies, and desirous to begin at a greater distance, and further
on in the country, sailed on past Pachynus. They had not gone far,
before stress of weather, the wind blowing hard at north, drove the
fleet from the coast; and it being now about the time that Arcturus
rises, a violent storm of wind and rain came on, with thunder and
lightning; the mariners were at their wits' end, and ignorant what
course they ran, until on a sudden they found they were driving with
the sea on Cercina, the island on the coast of Africa, just where
it is most craggy and dangerous to run upon. Upon the cliffs there
they escaped narrowly of being forced and staved to pieces; but, labouring
hard at their oars, with much difficulty they kept clear until the
storm ceased. Then, lighting by chance upon a vessel, they understood
they were upon the Heads, as it is called, of the Great Syrtis; and
when they were now again disheartened by a sudden calm, and beating
to and fro without making any way, a soft air began to blow from the
land, when they expected anything rather than wind from the south,
and scarce believed the happy change of their fortune. The gale gradually
increasing, and beginning to blow fresh, they clapped on all their
sails, and, praying to the gods, put out again into the open seas,
steering right from Africa for Sicily. And, running steady before
the wind, the fifth day they arrived at Minoa, a little town of Sicily,
in the dominion of the Carthaginians, of which Synalus, an acquaintance
and friend of Dion's, happened at that time to be governor; who, not
knowing it was Dion and his fleet, endeavoured to hinder his men from
landing; but they rushed on shore with their swords in their hands,
not slaying any of their opponents (for this Dion had forbidden, because
of his friendship with the Carthaginians), but forced them to retreat,
and, following close, pressed in a body with them into the place,
and took it. As soon as the two commanders met, they mutually saluted
each other; Dion delivered up the place again to Synalus, without
the least damage done to any one therein, and Synalus quartered and
entertained the soldiers, and supplied Dion with what he wanted.

They were most of all encouraged by the happy accident of Dionysius'
absence at this nick of time; for it appeared that he was lately gone
with eighty sail of ships to Italy. Therefore, when Dion was desirous
that the soldiers should refresh themselves there, after their tedious
and troublesome voyage, they would not be prevailed with, but earnest
to make the best use of that opportunity, they urged Dion to lead
them straight on to Syracuse. Leaving, therefore, their baggage, and
the arms they did not use, Dion desired Synalus to convey them to
him as he had occasion, and marched directly to Syracuse.

The first that came in to him upon his march were two hundred horse
of the Agrigentines who were settled near Ecnomum, and, after them,
the Geloans. But the news soon flying to Syracuse, Timocrates, who
had married Dion's wife, the sister of Dionysius, and was the principal
man among his friends now remaining in the city, immediately despatched
a courier to Dionysius, with letters announcing Dion's arrival; while
he himself took all possible care to prevent any stir or tumult in
the city, where all were in great excitement, but as yet continued
quiet, fearing to give too much credit to what was reported. A very
strange accident happened to the messenger who was sent with the letters;
for being arrived in Italy, as he travelled through the land of Rhegium,
hastening to Dionysius at Caulonia, he met one of his acquaintance,
who was carrying home part of a sacrifice. He accepted a piece of
the flesh, which his friend offered him, and proceeded on his journey
with all speed; having travelled a good part of the night, and being,
through weariness, forced to take a little rest, he laid himself down
in the next convenient place he came to, which was in a wood near
the road. A wolf, scenting the flesh, came and seized it as it lay
fastened to the letter-bag, and with the flesh carried away the bag
also, in which were the letters to Dionysius. The man, awaking and
missing his bag, sought for it up and down a great while, and, not
finding it, resolved not to go to the king without his letters, but
to conceal himself, and keep out of the way. 

Dionysius, therefore, came to hear of the war in Sicily from other
hands, and that a good while after. In the meantime, as Dion proceeded
in his march, the Camarineans joined his forces, and the country people
in the territory of Syracuse rose and joined him in a large body.
The Leontines and Campanians, who, with Timocrates, guarded the Epipolae,
receiving a false alarm which was spread on purpose by Dion, as if
he intended to attack their cities first, left Timocrates, and hastened
off to carry succour to their own homes. News of which being brought
to Dion, where he lay near Macrae, he raised his camp by night, and
came to the river Anapus which is distant from the city about ten
furlongs; there he made a halt, and sacrificed by the river, offering
vows to the rising sun. The soothsayers declared that the gods promised
him victory; and they that were present, seeing him assisting at the
sacrifice with a garland on his head, one and all crowned themselves
with garlands. There were about five thousand that had joined his
forces in their march; who, though but ill-provided, with such weapons
as came next to hand, made up by zeal and courage for the want of
better arms; and when once they were told to advance, as if Dion were
already conqueror, they ran forward with shouts and acclamations,
encouraging each other with the hopes of liberty. 

The most considerable men and better sort of the citizens of Syracuse,
clad all in white, met him at the gates. The populace set upon all
that were of Dionysius's party, and principally searched for those
they called setters or informers, a number of wicked and hateful wretches,
who made it their business to go up and down the city, thrusting themselves
into all companies, that they might inform Dionysius what men said,
and how they stood affected. These were the first that suffered, being
beaten to death by the crowd. 

Timocrates, not being able to force his way to the garrison that kept
the castle, took horse, and fled out of the city, filling all the
places where he came with fear and confusion, magnifying the amount
of Dion's forces that he might not be supposed to have deserted his
charge without good reason for it. By this time, Dion was come up,
and appeared in the sight of the people; he marched first in a rich
suit of arms, and by him on one hand his brother, Megacles, on the
other, Callippus the Athenian, crowned with garlands. Of the foreign
soldiers, a hundred followed as his guard, and their several officers
led the rest in good order; the Syracusans looking on and welcoming
them, as if they believed the whole to be a sacred and religious procession,
to celebrate the solemn entrance, after an absence of forty-eight
years, of liberty and popular government. 

Dion entered by the Menitid gate, and having by sound of trumpet quieted
the noise of the people, he caused proclamation to be made, that Dion
and Megacles, who were come to overthrow the tyrannical government,
did declare the Syracusans and all other Sicilians to be free from
the tyrant. But, being desirous to harangue the people himself, he
went up through the Achradina. The citizens on each side the way brought
victims for sacrifice, set out their tables and goblets, and as he
passed by each door threw flowers and ornaments upon him, with vows
and acclamations, honouring him as a god. There was under the castle
and the Pentapyla a lofty and conspicuous sun-dial, which Dionysius
had set up. Getting up upon the top of that, he made an oration to
the people, calling upon them to maintain and defend their liberty;
who, with great expressions of joy and acknowledgment, created Dion
and Megacles generals, with plenary powers, joining in commission
with them, at their desire and entreaty, twenty colleagues, of whom
half were of those that had returned with them out of banishment.
It seemed also to the diviners a most happy omen that Dion, when he
made his address to the people, had under his feet the stately monument
which Dionysius had been at such pains to erect; but because it was
a sun-dial on which he stood when he was made general, they expressed
some fears that the great actions he had performed might be subject
to change, and admit some rapid turn and declination of fortune.

After this, Dion, taking the Epipolae, released the citizens who were
imprisoned there, and then raised a wall to invest the castle. Seven
days after, Dionysius arrived by sea, and got into the citadel, and
about the same time came carriages, bringing the arms and ammunition
which Dion had left with Synalus. These he distributed among the citizens;
and the rest that wanted furnished themselves as well as they could,
and put themselves in the condition of zealous and serviceable men-at-arms.

Dionysius sent agents, at first privately, to Dion, to try what terms
they could make with him. But he declaring that any overtures they
had to make must be made in public to the Syracusans as a free people,
envoys now went and came between the tyrant and the people, with fair
proposals, and assurances that they should have abatements of their
tributes and taxes, and freedom from the burdens of military expeditions,
all which should be made according to their own approbation and consent
with him. The Syracusans laughed at these offers, and Dion returned
answer to the envoys, that Dionysius must not think to treat with
them upon any other terms but resigning the government; which if he
would actually do, he would not forget how nearly he was related to
him, or be wanting to assist him in procuring oblivion for the past,
and whatever else was reasonable and just. Dionysius seemed to consent
to this, and sent his agents again, desiring some of the Syracusans
to come into the citadel and discuss with him in person the terms
to which on each side they might be willing, after fair debate, to
consent. There were, therefore, some deputed, such as Dion approved
of; and the general rumour from the castle was, that Dionysius would
voluntarily resign his authority, and rather do it himself as his
own good deed than let it be the act of Dion. But this profession
was a mere trick to amuse the Syracusans. For he put the deputies
that were sent to him in custody, and by break of day, having first
to encourage his men made them drink plentifully of raw wine, he sent
the garrison of mercenaries out to make a sudden sally against Dion's
works. The attack was quite unexpected, and the barbarians set to
work boldly with loud cries to pull down the cross-wall, and assailed
the Syracusans so furiously that they were not able to maintain their
post. Only a party of Dion's hired soldiers, on first taking the alarm,
advanced to the rescue; neither did they at first know what to do,
or how to employ the aid they brought, not being able to hear the
commands of their officers, amidst the noise and confusion of the
Syracusans, who fled from the enemy and ran in among them, breaking
through their ranks, until Dion, seeing none of his orders could be
heard, resolved to let them see by example what they ought to do,
and charged into the thickest of the enemy. The fight about him was
fierce and bloody, he being as well known by the enemy as by his own
party, and all running with loud cries to the quarters where he fought.
Though his time of life was no longer that of the bodily strength
and agility for such a combat, still his determination and courage
were sufficient to maintain him against all that attacked him; but,
while bravely driving them back, he was wounded in the hand with a
lance, his body armour also had been much battered, and was scarcely
any longer serviceable to protect him, either against missiles or
blows hand-to-hand. Many spears and javelins had passed into it through
the shield, and, on these being broken back, he fell to the ground,
but was immediately rescued, and carried off by his soldiers. The
command-in-chief he left to Timonides, and, mounting a horse, rode
about the city, rallying the Syracusans that fled; and, ordering up
a detachment of the foreign soldiers out of Achradina, where they
were posted on guard, he brought them as a fresh reserve, eager for
battle, upon the tired and failing enemy, who were already well inclined
to give up their design. For having hopes at their first sally to
take the whole city, when beyond their expectation they found themselves
engaged with bold and practised fighters, they fell back towards the
castle. As soon as they gave ground, the Greek soldiers pressed the
harder upon them, till they turned and fled within the walls. There
were lost in this action seventy-four of Dion's men, and a very great
number of the enemy. This being a signal victory, and principally
obtained by the valour of the foreign soldiers, the Syracusans rewarded
them in honour of it with a hundred minae, and the soldiers on their
part presented Dion with a crown of gold. 

Soon after, there came heralds from Dionysius bringing Dion letters
from the women of his family, and one addressed outside, "To his father,
from Hipparinus;" this was the name of Dion's son, though Timaeus
says, he was, from his mother Arete's name, called Aretaeus; but I
think credit is rather to be given to Timonides's report, who was
his father's fellow-soldier and confidant. The rest of the letters
were read publicly, containing many solicitations and humble requests
of the women; that professing to be from his son, the heralds would
not have them open publicly, but Dion, putting force upon them, broke
the seal. It was from Dionysius, written in the terms of it to Dion,
but in effect to the Syracusans, and so worded that, under a plausible
justification of himself and entreaty to him, means were taken for
rendering him suspected by the people. It reminded him of the good
service he had formerly done the usurping government, it added threats
to his dearest relations, his sister, son, and wife, if he did not
comply with the contents, also passionate demands mingled with lamentations,
and, most to the purpose of all, urgent recommendations to him not
to destroy the government, and put the power into the hands of men
who always hated him, and would never forget their old piques and
quarrels; let him take the sovereignty himself, and so secure the
safety of his family and his friends. 

When this letter was read, the Syracusans were not, as they should
have been, transported with admiration at the unmovable constancy
and magnanimity of Dion, who withstood all his dearest interests to
be true to virtue and justice, but, on the contrary, they saw in this
their reason for fearing and suspecting that he lay under an invincible
necessity to be favourable to Dionysius; and they began, therefore,
to look out for other leaders, and the rather because to their great
joy they received the news that Heraclides was on his way. This Heraclides
was one of those whom Dionysius had banished, a very good soldier,
and well known for the commands he had formerly had under the tyrant;
yet a man of no constant purpose, of a fickle temper, and least of
all to be relied upon when he had to act with a colleague in any honourable
command. He had had a difference formerly with Dion in Peloponnesus,
and had resolved, upon his own means, with what ships and soldiers
he had, to make an attack upon Dionysius. When he arrived at Syracuse,
with seven galleys and three small vessels, he found Dionysius already
close besieged, and the Syracusans high and proud of their victories.
Forthwith, therefore, he endeavoured by all ways to make himself popular;
and, indeed, he had in him naturally something that was very insinuating
and taking with a populace that loves to be courted. He gained his
end, also, the easier, and drew the people over to his side, because
of the dislike they had taken to Dion's grave and stately manner,
which they thought overbearing and assuming; their successes having
made them so careless and confident that they expected popular arts
and flatteries from their leaders before they had in reality secured
a popular government. 

Getting, therefore, together in an irregular assembly, they chose
Heraclides their admiral; but when Dion came forward, and told them
that conferring this trust upon Heraclides was in effect to withdraw
that which they had granted him, for he was no longer their generalissimo
if another had the command of the navy, they repealed their order,
and, though much against their wills, cancelled the new appointment.
When this business was over, Dion invited Heraclides to his house,
and pointed out to him, in gentle terms, that he had not acted wisely
or well to quarrel with him upon a punctilio of honour, at a time
when the least false step might be the ruin of all; and then, calling
a fresh assembly of the people, he there named Heraclides admiral,
and prevailed with the citizens to allow him a life-guard, as he himself

Heraclides openly professed the highest respect for Dion, and made
him great acknowledgments for this favour, attending him with all
deference, as ready to receive his commands but underhand he kept
up his dealings with the populace and the unrulier citizens, unsettling
their minds and disturbing them with his complaints, and putting Dion
into the utmost perplexity and disquiet. For if he advised to give
Dionysius leave to quit the castle, he would be exposed to the imputation
of sparing and protecting him; if, to avoid giving offence or suspicion,
he simply continued the siege, they would say he protracted the war
to keep his office of general the longer and overawe the citizens.

There was one Sosis, notorious in the city for his bad conduct and
his impudence, yet a favourite with the people, for the very reason
that they liked to see it made a part of popular privileges to carry
free speech to this excess of licence. This man, out of a design against
Dion, stood up one day in an assembly, and, having sufficiently railed
at the citizens as a set of fools that could not see how they had
made an exchange of a dissolute and drunken for a sober and watchful
despotism, and thus having publicly declared himself Dion's enemy,
took his leave. The next day he was seen running through the streets,
as if he fled from some that pursued him, almost naked, wounded in
the head, and bloody all over. In this condition, getting people about
him in the market-place, he told them that he had been assaulted by
Dion's men; and, to confirm what he said, showed them the wounds he
had received in his head. And a good many took his part, exclaiming
loudly against Dion for his cruel and tyrannical conduct, stopping
the mouths of the people by bloodshed and peril of life. Just as an
assembly was gathering in this unsettled and tumultuous state of mind,
Dion came before them, and made it appear how this Sosis was brother
to one of Dionysius's guard, and that he was set on by him to embroil
the city in tumult and confusion; Dionysius having now no way left
for his security but to make his advantage of their dissensions and
distractions. The surgeons, also, having searched the wound, found
it was rather raised than cut with a downright blow; for the wounds
made with a sword are, from their mere weight, most commonly deepest
in the middle, but this was very slight, and all along of an equal
depth; and it was not one continued wound, as if cut at once, but
several incisions, in all probability made at several times, as he
was able to endure the pain. There were credible persons, also, who
brought a razor, and showed it in the assembly, stating that they
met Sosis, running in the street, all bloody, who told them that he
was flying from Dion's soldiers, who had just attacked and wounded
him; they ran at once to look after them, and met no one, but spied
this razor lying under a hollow stone near the place from which they
observed he came. 

Sosis was now likely to come by the worst of it. But, when to back
all this, his own servants came in, and gave evidence that he had
left his house alone before break of day, with the razor in his hand,
Dion's accusers withdrew themselves, and the people by a general vote
condemned Sosis to die, being once again well satisfied with Dion
and his proceedings. 

Yet they were still as jealous as before of his soldiers, and the
rather because the war was now carried on principally by sea; Philistus
being come from Iapygia with a great fleet to Dionysius's assistance.
They supposed, therefore, that there would be no longer need of the
soldiers, who were all landsmen and armed accordingly; these were
rather, indeed, they thought, in a condition to be protected by themselves,
who were seamen, and had their power in their shipping. Their good
opinion of themselves was also much enhanced by an advantage they
got in an engagement by sea, in which they took Philistus prisoner,
and used him in a barbarous and cruel manner. Ephorus relates that
when he saw his ship was taken, he slew himself. But Timonides, who
was with Dion from the very first, and was present at all the events
as they occurred, writing to Speusippus the philosopher, relates the
story thus: that Philistus's galley running aground, he was taken
prisoner alive, and first disarmed, then stripped of his corselet,
and exposed naked, being now an old man, to every kind of contumely;
after which they cut off his head, and gave his body to the boys of
the town, bidding them drag it through the Achradina, and then throw
it into the Quarries. Timaeus, to increase the mockery, adds further,
that the boys tied him by his lame leg, and so drew him through the
streets, while the Syracusans stood by laughing and jesting at the
sight of that very man thus tied and dragged about by the leg, who
had told Dionysius that, so far from flying on horseback from Syracuse,
he ought to wait till he should be dragged out by the heels. Philistus,
however, has stated that this was said to Dionysius by another, and
not by himself. 

Timaeus avails himself of this advantage, which Philistus truly enough
affords against himself in his zealous and constant adherence to the
tyranny, to vent his own spleen and malice against him, They, indeed,
who were injured by him at the time, are perhaps excusable, if they
carried their resentment to the length of indignities to his dead
body; but they who write history afterwards, and were noways wronged
by him in his lifetime, and have received assistance from his writings,
in honour should not with opprobrious and scurrilous language upbraid
him for those misfortunes which may well enough befall even the best
of men. On the other side, Ephorus is as much out of the way in his
encomiums. For, however ingenious he is in supplying unjust acts and
wicked conduct with fair and worthy motives, and in selecting decorous
and honourable terms, yet when he does his best, he does not himself
stand clear of the charge of being the greatest lover of tyrants,
and the fondest admirer of luxury and power and rich estates and alliances
of marriage with absolute princes. He that neither praises Philistus
for his conduct, nor insults over his misfortunes, seems to me to
take the fittest course. 

After Philistus's death, Dionysius sent to Dion, offering to surrender
the castle, all the arms, provisions, and garrison soldiers, with
full pay for them for five months, demanding in return that he might
have safe conduct to go unmolested into Italy, and there to continue,
and also to enjoy the revenues of Gyarta, a large and fruitful territory
belonging to Syracuse, reaching from the seaside to the middle of
the country. Dion rejected these proposals, and referred him to the
Syracusans. They, hoping in a short time to take Dionysius alive,
dismissed his ambassadors summarily. But he, leaving his eldest son,
Apollocrates, to defend the castle, and putting on board his ships
the persons and the property that he set most value upon, took the
opportunity of a fair wind, and made his escape, undiscovered by the
admiral Heraclides and his fleet. 

The citizens loudly exclaimed against Heraclides for this neglect;
but he got one of their public speakers, Hippo by name, to go among
them, and make proposals to the assembly for a redivision of lands,
alleging that the first beginning of liberty was equality, and that
poverty and slavery were inseparable companions. In support of this,
Heraclides spoke, and used the faction in favour of it to overpower
Dion, who opposed it; and in fine, he persuaded the people to ratify
it by their vote, and further to decree that the foreign soldiers
should receive no pay, and that they would elect new commanders, and
so be rid of Dion's oppression. The people, attempting, as it were,
after their long sickness of despotism, all at once to stand on their
legs, and to do their part, for which they were yet unfit, of freemen,
stumbled in all their actions; and yet hated Dion, who, like a good
physician, endeavoured to keep the city to a strict and temperate

When they met in the assembly to choose their commanders, about the
middle of summer, unusual and terrible thunders, with other inauspicious
appearances, for fifteen days together, dispersed the people, deterring
them, on grounds of religious fear, from creating new generals. But,
at last, the popular leaders, having found a fair and clear day, and
having got their party together, were proceeding to an election, when
a draught-ox, who was used to the crowd and noise of the streets,
but for some reason or other grew unruly to his driver, breaking from
his yoke, ran furiously into the theatre where they were assembled,
and set the people flying and running in all directions before him
in the greatest disorder and confusion; and from thence went on, leaping
and rushing about, over all that part of the city which the enemies
afterwards made themselves masters of. However, the Syracusans, not
regarding all this, elected five-and-twenty captains, and, among the
rest, Heraclides, and underhand tampered with Dion's men, promising,
if they would desert him, and enlist themselves in their service,
to make them citizens of Syracuse, with all the privileges of natives.
But they would not hear the proposals, but, to show their fidelity
and courage, with their swords in their hands, placing Dion for his
security in the midst of their battalion, conveyed him out of the
city, not offering violence to any one, but upbraiding those they
met with their baseness and ingratitude. The citizens, seeing they
were but few, and did not offer any violence, despised them; and,
supposing that with their large numbers they might with ease overpower
and cut them off before they got out of the city, fell upon them in
the rear. 

Here Dion was in a great strait, being necessitated either to fight
against his own countrymen or tamely suffer himself and his faithful
soldiers to be cut in pieces. He used many entreaties to the Syracusans,
stretching out his hands towards the castle that was full of their
enemies, and showing them the soldiers, who in great numbers appeared
on the walls and watched what was doing. But when no persuasions could
divert the impulse of the multitude, and the whole mass, like the
sea in a storm, seemed to be driven before the breath of the demagogues,
he commanded his men, not to charge them, but to advance with shouts
and clashing of their arms; which being done, not a man of them stood
his ground; all fled at once through the streets, though none pursued
them. For Dion immediately commanded his men to face about, and led
them towards the city of the Leontines. 

The very women laughed at the new captains for this retreat; so, to
redeem their credit, they bid the citizens arm themselves again, and
followed after Dion, and came up with him as he was passing a river.
Some of the light-horse rode up and began to skirmish. But when they
saw Dion no more tame and calm, and no signs in his face of any fatherly
tenderness towards his countrymen, but with an angry countenance,
as resolved not to suffer their indignities any longer, bidding his
men face round and form in their ranks for the onset, they presently
turned their backs more basely than before, and fled to the city,
with the loss of some few of their men. 

The Leontines received Dion very honourably, gave money to his men,
and made them free of their city; sending envoys to the Syracusans,
to require them to do the soldiers justice, who, in return, sent back
other agents to accuse Dion. But when a general meeting of the confederates
met in the town of the Leontines, and the matter was heard and debated,
the Syracusans were held to be in fault. They, however, refused to
stand to the award of their allies, following their own conceit, and
making it their pride to listen to no one, and not to have any commanders
but those who would fear and obey the people. 

About this time, Dionysius sent in a fleet, under the command of Nypsius
the Neapolitan, with provisions and pay for the garrison. The Syracusans
fought him, had the better, and took four of his ships; but they made
very ill use of their good success, and for want of good discipline,
fell in their joy to drinking and feasting in an extravagant manner,
with so little regard to their main interest that, when they thought
themselves sure of taking the castle, they actually lost their city.
Nypsius, seeing the citizens in this general disorder, spending day
and night in their drunken singing and revelling, and their commanders
well pleased with the frolic, or at least not daring to try and give
any orders to men in their drink, took advantage of this opportunity,
made a sally, and stormed their works; and having made his way through
these, let his barbarians loose upon the city, giving up it and all
that were in it to their pleasure. 

The Syracusans quickly saw their folly and misfortune, but could not,
in the distraction they were in, so soon redress it. The city was
in actual process of being sacked, the enemy putting the men to the
sword, demolishing the fortifications, and dragging the women and
children, with lamentable shrieks and cries, prisoners into the castle.
The commanders, giving all for lost, were not able to put the citizens
in any tolerable posture of defence, finding them confusedly mixed
up and scattered among the enemy. While they were in this condition,
and the Achradina in danger to be taken, every one was sensible who
he was in whom all their remaining hopes rested, but no man for shame
durst name Dion, whom they had so ungratefully and foolishly dealt
with. Necessity at last forcing them, some of the auxiliary troops
and horsemen cried out, "Send for Dion and his Peloponnesians from
the Leontines." No sooner was the venture made and the name heard
among the people, but they gave a shout for joy, and, with tears in
their eyes, wished him there, that they might once again see that
leader at the head of them, whose courage and bravery in the worst
of dangers they well remembered, calling to mind not only with what
an undaunted spirit he always behaved himself, but also with what
courage and confidence he inspired them when he led them against the
enemy. They immediately, therefore, despatched Archonides and Telesides
of the confederate troops, and of the horsemen Hellanicus and four
others. These, traversing the road between at their horses' full speed,
reached the town of the Leontines in the evening. The first thing
they did was to leap from their horses and fall at Dion's feet, relating
with tears the sad condition the Syracusans were in. Many of the Leontines
and Peloponnesians began to throng about them, guessing by their speed
and the manner of their address that something extraordinary had occurred.

Dion at once led the way to the assembly, and the people being gathered
together in a very little time, Archonides and Hellanicus and the
others came in among them, and in short declared the misery and distress
of the Syracusans, begging the foreign soldiers to forget the injuries
they had received, and assist the afflicted, who had suffered more
for the wrong they had done than they themselves who received it would
(had it been in their power) have inflicted upon them. When they had
made an end, there was a profound silence in the theatre; Dion then
stood up, and began to speak, but tears stopped his words; his soldiers
were troubled at his grief, but bade him take good courage and proceed.
When he had recovered himself a little, therefore, "Men of Peloponnesus,"
he said, "and of the confederacy, I asked for your presence here,
that you might consider your own interests. For myself, I have no
interests to consult while Syracuse is perishing, and though I may
not save it from destruction, I will nevertheless hasten thither,
and be buried in the ruins of my country. Yet if you can find in your
hearts to assist us, the most inconsiderate and unfortunate of men,
you may to your eternal honour again retrieve this unhappy city. But
if the Syracusans can obtain no more pity nor relief from you, may
the gods reward you for what you have formerly valiantly done for
them, and for your kindness to Dion, of whom speak hereafter as one
who deserted you not when you were injured and abused, nor afterwards
forsook his fellow-citizens in their afflictions and misfortunes."

Before he had yet ended his speech, the soldiers leapt up, and with
a great shout testified their readiness for the service, crying out,
to march immediately to the relief of the city. The Syracusan messengers
hugged and embraced them, praying the gods to send down blessings
upon Dion and the Peloppnnesians. When the noise was pretty well over,
Dion gave orders that all should go to their quarters to prepare for
their march, and having refreshed themselves, came ready armed to
their rendezvous in the place where they now were, resolving that
very night to attempt the rescue. 

Now at Syracuse, Dionysius's soldiers, as long as day continued, ransacked
the city, and did all the mischief they could; but when night came
on, they retired into the castle, having lost some few of their number.
At which the factious ringleaders taking heart, and hoping the enemy
would rest content with what they had done and make no further attempt
upon them, persuaded the people again to reject Dion, and, if he came
with the foreign soldiers, not to admit him; advising them not to
yield, as inferior to them in point of honour and courage, but to
save their city and defend their liberties and properties themselves.
The populace, therefore, and their leaders, sent messengers to Dion
to forbid him to advance, while the noble citizens and the horse sent
others to him to desire to hasten his march; for which reason he slacked
his pace, yet did not remit his advance. And in the course of the
night, the faction that was against him set a guard upon the gates
of the city to hinder him from coming in. But Nypsius made another
sally out of the castle with a far greater number of men, and those
far more bold and eager than before, who quite ruined what of the
rampart was left standing, and fell in, pell-mell, to sack and ravage
the city. The slaughter was now very great, not only of the men, but
of the women, also, and children; for they regarded not so much the
plunder, as to destroy and kill all they met. For Dionysius, despairing
to regain the kingdom, and mortally hating the Syracusans, resolved
to bury his lost sovereignty in the ruin and desolation of Syracuse.
The soldiers, therefore, to anticipate Dion's succours, resolved upon
the most complete and ready way of destruction, to lay the city in
ashes, firing all at hand with torches and lamps, and at distance
with flaming arrows, shot from their bows. The citizens fled every
way before them; they who, to avoid the fire, forsook their houses,
were taken in the streets and put to the sword; they who betook themselves
for refuge into the houses were forced out again by the flames, many
buildings being now in a blaze, and many falling in ruins upon them
as they fled past. 

This fresh misfortune by general consent opened the gates for Dion.
He had given up his rapid advance, when he received advice that the
enemies were retreated into the castle, but, in the morning, some
horse brought him the news of another assault, and, soon after, some
of those who before opposed his coming fled now to him, to entreat
him he would hasten his relief. The pressure increasing, Heraclides
sent his brother and after him his uncle, Theodotes, to beg him to
help them; for that now they were not able to resist any longer; he
himself was wounded, and the greatest part of the city either in ruins
in or flames. When Dion met this sad news, he was about sixty furlongs
distant from the city. When he had acquainted the soldiers with the
exigency, and exhorted them to behave themselves like men, the army
no longer marched but ran forwards, and by the way were met by messengers
upon messengers entreating them to make haste. By the wonderful eagerness
of the soldiers, and their extraordinary speed, Dion quickly came
to the city, and entered what is called the Hecatompedon, sending
his light-armed men at once to charge the enemy, that, seeing them,
the Syracusans might take courage. In the meantime, he drew up in
good order his full-armed men and all the citizens that came in and
joined him; forming his battalions deep, and distributing his officers
in many separate commands, that he might be able to attack from many
quarters at once, and so be more alarming to the enemy. 

So, having made his arrangements and offered vows to the gods, when
he was seen in the streets advancing at the head of his men to engage
the enemy, a confused noise of shouts, congratulations, vows, and
prayers was raised by the Syracusans, who now called Dion their deliverer
and tutelar deity, and his soldiers their friends, brethren, and fellow-citizens.
And, indeed, at that moment, none seemed to regard themselves, or
value their safeties, but to be concerned more for Dion's life than
for all their own together, as he marched at the head of them to meet
the danger, through blood and fire and over heaps of dead bodies that
lay in his way. 

And indeed the posture of the enemy was in appearance terrible; for
they were flushed and ferocious with victory, and had posted themselves
very advantageously along the demolished works, which made the access
to them very hazardous and difficult. Yet that which disturbed Dion's
soldiers most was the apprehension they were in of the fire, which
made their march very troublesome and difficult; for the houses being
in flames on all sides, they were met everywhere with the blaze, and,
treading upon burning ruins and every minute in danger of being overwhelmed
with falling houses, through clouds of ashes and smoke they laboured
hard to keep their order and maintain their ranks. When they came
near to the enemy, the approach was so narrow and uneven that but
few of them could engage at a time; but at length, with loud cheers
and much zeal on the part of the Syracusans, encouraging them and
joining with them, they beat off Nypsius's men, and put them to flight.
Most of them escaped into the castle, which was near at hand; all
that could not get in were pursued and picked up here and there by
the soldiers, and put to the sword. The present exigency, however,
did not suffer the citizens to take immediate benefit of their victory
in such mutual congratulations and embraces as became so great a success;
for now all were busily employed to save what houses were left standing,
labouring hard all night, and scarcely so could master the fire. The
next day, not one of the popular haranguers durst stay in the city,
but all of them, knowing their own guilt, by their flight confessed
it, and secured their lives. Only Heraclides and Theodotes went voluntarily
and surrendered themselves to Dion, acknowledging that they had wronged
him, and begging he would be kinder to them than they had been just
to him, adding how much it would become him who was master of so many
excellent accomplishments to moderate his anger and be generously
compassionate to ungrateful men, who were here before him, making
their confession that, in all the matter of their former enmity and
rivalry against him they were now absolutely overcome by his virtue.
Though they thus humbly addressed him, his friends advised him not
to pardon these turbulent and ill-conditioned men, but to yield them
to the desires of his soldiers, and utterly root out of the commonwealth
the ambitious affectation of popularity, a disease as pestilent and
pernicious as the passion for tyranny itself. Dion endeavoured to
satisfy them, telling them that other generals exercised and trained
themselves for the most part in the practices of war and arms; but
that he had long studied in the Academy how to conquer anger, and
not let emulation and envy conquer him; that to do this it is not
sufficient that a man be obliging and kind to his friends, and those
that have deserved well of him, but, rather, gentle and ready to forgive
in the case of those who do wrong; that he wished to let the world
see that he valued not himself so much upon excelling Heraclides in
ability and conduct, as he did in outdoing him in justice and clemency;
herein to have the advantage is to excel indeed; whereas the honour
of success in war is never entire; fortune will be sure to dispute
it, though no man should pretend to have a claim. What if Heraclides
be perfidious, malicious. and base, must Dion therefore sully or injure
his virtue by passionate concern for it? For, though the laws determine
it juster to revenge an injury than to do an injury, yet it is evident
that both, in the nature of things, originally proceed from the same
deficiency and weakness. The malicious humour of men, though perverse
and refractory, is not so savage and invincible but it may be wrought
upon by kindness, and altered by repeated obligations. Dion, making
use of these arguments, pardoned and dismissed Heraclides and Theodotes.

And now, resolving to repair the blockade about the castle, he commanded
all the Syracusans to cut each man a stake and bring it to the works;
and then, dismissing them to refresh themselves, and take their rest,
he employed his own men all night, and by morning had finished his
line of palisade; so that both the enemy and the citizens wondered,
when day returned, to see the work so far advanced in so short a time.
Burying, therefore, the dead, and redeeming the prisoners, who were
near two thousand, he called a public assembly, where Heraclides made
a motion that Dion should be declared general, with full powers at
land and sea. The better citizens approved well of it, and called
on the people to vote it so. But the mob of sailors and handicraftsmen
would not yield that Heraclides should lose his command of the navy;
believing him, if otherwise an ill man, at any rate to be more citizen-like
than Dion, and readier to comply with the people. Dion therefore submitted
to them in this, and consented Heraclides should continue admiral.
But when they began to press the project of the redistribution of
lands and houses, he not only opposed it, but repealed all the votes
they had formerly made upon that account, which sensibly vexed them.
Heraclides, therefore, took a new advantage of him, and, being at
Messene, harangued the soldiers and ships' crews that sailed with
him, accusing Dion that he had a design to make himself absolute.
And yet at the same time he held private correspondence for a treaty
with Dionysius by means of Pharax the Spartan. Which, when the noble
citizens of Syracuse had intimation of, there arose a sedition in
the army, and the city was in great distress and want of provisions;
and Dion now knew not what course to take, being also blamed by all
his friends for having thus fortified against himself such a perverse
and jealous and utterly corrupted man as Heraclides was.

Pharax at this time lay encamped at Neapolis, in the territory of
Agrigentum. Dion, therefore, led out the Syracusans, but with an intent
not to engage him till he saw a fit opportunity. But Heraclides and
his seamen exclaimed against him, that he had delayed fighting on
purpose that he might the longer continue his command; so that, much
against his will, he was forced to an engagement and was beaten, his
loss, however, being inconsiderable, and that occasioned chiefly by
the dissension that was in the army. He rallied his men, and, having
put them in good order and encouraged them to redeem their credit,
resolved upon a second battle. But in the evening, he received advice
that Heraclides with his fleet was on his way to Syracuse, with the
purpose to possess himself of the city and keep him and his army out.
Instantly, therefore, taking with him some of the strongest and most
active of his men, he rode off in the dark, and about nine the next
morning was at the gates, having ridden seven hundred furlongs that
night. Heraclides, though he strove to make all the speed he could,
yet, coming too late, tacked and stood out again to sea; and, being
unresolved what course to steer, accidentally he met Gaesylus the
Spartan, who told him he was come from Lacedaemon to head the Sicilians,
as Gylippus had formerly done. Heraclides was only too glad to get
hold of him and fastening him as it might be a sort of amulet to himself,
he showed him to the confederates, and sent a herald to Syracuse to
summon them to accept the Spartan general. Dion returned answer that
they had generals enough, and, if they wanted a Spartan to command
them, he could supply that office, being himself a citizen of Sparta.
When Gaesylus saw this, he gave up all pretensions, and sailed in
to Dion, and reconciled Heraclides to him, making Heraclides swear
the most solemn oaths to perform what he engaged, Gaesylus himself
also undertaking to maintain Dion's right and inflict chastisement
on Heraclides if he broke his faith. 

The Syracusans then laid up their navy, which was at present a great
charge and of little use to them, but an occasion of differences and
dissensions among the generals, and pressed on the siege, finishing
the wall of blockade with which they invested the castle. The besieged,
seeing no hopes of succour and their provisions failing, began to
mutiny; so that the son of Dionysius, in despair of holding out longer
for his father, capitulated, and articled with Dion to deliver up
the castle with all the garrison soldiers and ammunition; and so,
taking his mother and sisters and manning five galleys, he set out
to go to his father, Dion seeing him safely out, and scarce a man
in all the city not being there to behold the sight, as indeed they
called even on those that were not present, out of pity, that they
could not be there, to see this happy day and the sun shining on a
free Syracuse. And as this expulsion of Dionysius is even now always
cited as one of the greatest and most remarkable examples of fortune's
vicissitudes, how extraordinary may we imagine their joy to have been,
and how entire their satisfaction, who had totally subverted the most
potent tyranny that ever was by very slight and inconsiderable means!

When Apollocrates was gone, and Dion coming to take possession of
the castle, the women could not stay while he made his entry, but
ran to meet him at the gate. Aristomache led Dion's son and Arete
followed after weeping, fearful and dubious how to salute or address
her husband, after living with another man. Dion first embraced his
sister, then his son; when Aristomache bringing Arete to him, "O Dion,"
said she, "your banishment made us all equally miserable; your return
and victory has cancelled all sorrows, excepting this poor sufferer's,
whom I, unhappy, was compelled to be another's while you were yet
alive. Fortune has now given you the sole disposal of us; how will
you determine concerning her hard fate? In what relation must she
salute you, as her uncle, or as her husband?" This speech of Aristomache's
brought tears from Dion, who with great affection embraced his wife,
gave her his son, and desired her to retire to his own house, where
he continued to reside when he had delivered up the castle to the

For though all things had now succeeded to his wish, yet he desired
not to enjoy any present advantage of his good fortune, except to
gratify his friends, reward his allies, and bestow upon his companions
of former time in Athens, and the soldiers that had served him, some
special mark of kindness and honour, striving herein to outdo his
very means in his generosity. As for himself, he was content with
a very frugal and moderate competency, and was indeed the wonder of
all men, that when not only Sicily and Carthage, but all Greece looked
to him as in the height of prosperity, and no man living greater than
he, no general more renowned for valour and success, yet in his guard,
his attendance, his table, he seemed as if he rather commoned with
Plato in the Academy than lived among hired captains and paid soldiers,
whose solace of their toils and dangers it is to eat and drink their
fill, and enjoy themselves plentifully every day. Plato indeed wrote
to him that the eyes of all the world were now upon him; but it is
evident that he himself had fixed his eye upon one place in one city,
the Academy, and considered that the spectators and judges there regarded
not great actions, courage, or fortune, but watched to see how temporately
and wisely he could use his prosperity, how evenly he could behave
himself in the high condition he now was in. Neither did he remit
anything of his wonted stateliness in conversation or serious charge
to the people; he made it rather a point to maintain it, notwithstanding
that a little condescension and obliging civility were very necessary
for his present affairs; and Plato, as we said before, rebuked him,
and wrote to tell him that self-will keeps house with solitude. But
certainly his natural temperament was one that could not bend to complaisance;
and, besides, he wished to work the Syracusans back the other way,
out of their present excess of license and caprice. 

Heraclides began again to set up against him, and, being invited by
Dion to make one of the Council, refused to come, saying he would
give his opinion as a private citizen in the public assembly. Next
he complained of Dion because he had not demolished the citadel, and
because he had hindered the people from throwing down Dionysius's
tomb and doing despite to the dead; moreover, he accused him for sending
to Corinth for counsellors and assistants in the government, thereby
neglecting and slighting his fellow-citizens. And indeed he had sent
messages for some Corinthians to come to him, hoping by their means
and presence the better to settle that constitution he intended; for
he designed to suppress the unlimited democratic government, which
indeed is not a government, but, as Plato calls it, a market-place
of governments, and to introduce and establish a mixed polity, on
a Spartan and Cretan model, between a commonwealth and a monarchy,
wherein an aristocratic body should preside, and determine all matters
of greatest consequence; for he saw also that the Corinthians were
chiefly governed by something like an oligarchy, and the people but
little concerned in public business. 

Now knowing that Heraclides would be his most considerable adversary,
and that in all ways he was a turbulent, fickle, and factious man,
he gave way to some whom formerly he hindered when they designed to
kill him, who, breaking in, murdered Heraclides in his own house.
His death was much resented by the citizens. Nevertheless, when Dion
made him a splendid funeral, followed the dead body with all his soldiers,
and then addressed them, they understood that it would have been impossible
to have kept the city quiet, as long as Dion and Heraclides were competitors
in the government. 

Dion had a friend called Callippus, an Athenian, who, Plato says,
first made acquaintance and afterwards obtained familiarity with him,
not from any connection with his philosophic studies, but on occasion
afforded by the celebration of the mysteries, and in the way of ordinary
society. This man went with him in all his military service, and was
in great honour and esteem; being the first of his friends who marched
by his side into Syracuse, wearing a garland upon his head, having
behaved himself very well in all the battles, and made himself remarkable
for his gallantry. He, finding that Dion's principal and most considerable
friends were cut off in the war, Heraclides now dead, and the people
without a leader, and that the soldiers had a great kindness for him,
like a perfidious and wicked villain, in hopes to get the chief command
of Sicily as his reward for the ruin of his friend and benefactor,
and, as some say, being also bribed by the enemy with twenty talents
to destroy Dion, inveigled and engaged several of the soldiers in
a conspiracy against him, taking this cunning and wicked occasion
for his plot. He daily informed Dion of what he heard or what he feigned
the soldiers said against him; whereby he gained that credit and confidence,
that he was allowed by Dion to consort privately with whom he would,
and talk freely against him in any company, that he might discover
who were his secret and factious maligners. By this means, Callippus
in a short time got together a cabal of all the seditious malcontents
in the city; and if any one who would be drawn in advised Dion that
he was tampered with, he was not troubled or concerned at it, believing
Callippus did it in compliance with his directions. 

While this conspiracy was afoot, a strange and dreadful apparition
was seen by Dion. As he sat one evening in a gallery in his house,
alone and thoughtful, hearing a sudden noise he turned about, and
saw at the end of the colonnade, by clear daylight, a tall woman,
in her countenance and garb like one of the tragical Furies, with
a broom in her hand, sweeping the floor. Being amazed and extremely
affrighted, he sent for some of his friends, and told them what he
had seen, entreating them to stay with him and keep him company all
night; for he was excessively discomposed and alarmed, fearing that
if he were left alone the spectre would again appear to him. He saw
it no more. But a few days after, his only son, being almost grown
up to man's estate, upon some displeasure and pet he had taken upon
a childish and frivolous occasion, threw himself headlong from the
top of the house and broke his neck. 

While Dion was under this affliction, Callippus drove on his conspiracy,
and spread a rumour among the Syracusans that Dion, being now childless,
was resolved to send for Dionysius's son, Apollocrates, who was his
wife's nephew and sister's grandson, and make him his heir and successor.
By this time, Dion and his wife and sister began to suspect what was
doing, and from all hands information came to them of the plot. Dion
being troubled, it is probable, for Heraclides's murder, which was
like to be a blot and stain upon his life and actions, in continual
weariness and vexation, he had rather die a thousand times, and open
his breast himself to the assassin, than live not only in fear of
his enemies but suspicion of his friends. But Callippus, seeing the
women very inquisitive to search to the bottom of the business, took
alarm, and came to them, utterly denying it with tears in his eyes,
and offering to give them whatever assurances of his fidelity they
desired. They required that he should take the Great Oath, which was
after this manner. The juror went into the sanctuary of Ceres and
Proserpine, where, after the performance of some ceremonies, he was
clad in the purple vestment of the goddess, and, holding a lighted
torch in his hand, took his oath. Callippus did as they required,
and forswore the fact. And indeed he so little valued the goddesses
that he stayed but till the very festival of Proserpine, by whom he
had sworn, and on that very day committed his intended murder; as
truly he might well enough disregard the day, since he must at any
other time as impiously offend her, when he who had acted as her initiating
priest should shed the blood of her worshipper. 

There were a great many in the conspiracy; and as Dion was at home
with several of his friends in a room with tables for entertainment
in it, some of the conspirators beset the house around, others secured
the doors and windows. The actual intended murderers were some Zacynthians,
who went inside in their under-dresses without swords. Those outside
shut the doors upon them and kept them fast. The murderers fell on
Dion, endeavouring to stifle and crush him; then, finding they were
doing nothing, they called for a sword, but none durst open the door.
There were a great many within with Dion, but every one was for securing
himself, supposing that by letting him lose his life he should save
his own, and therefore no man ventured to assist him. When they had
waited a good while, at length Lycon the Syracusan reached a short
sword in at the window to one of the Zacynthians, and thus, like a
victim at a sacrifice, this long time in their power and trembling
for the blow, they killed him. His sister, and wife big with child,
they hurried to prison, who, poor lady, in her unfortunate condition
was there brought to bed of a son, which, by the consent of the keepers,
they intended to bring up, the rather because Callippus began already
to be embroiled in troubles. 

After the murder of Dion, he was in great glory, and had the sole
government of Syracuse in his hands; and to that effect wrote to Athens,
a place which, next the immortal gods, being guilty of such an abominable
crime, he ought to have regarded with shame and fear. But true it
is, what is said of that city, that the good men she breeds are the
most excellent, and the bad the most notorious; as their country also
produces the most delicious honey and the most deadly hemlock. Callippus,
however, did not long continue to scandalize fortune and upbraid the
gods with his prosperity, as though they connived at and bore with
the wretched man, while he purchased riches and power by heinous impieties,
but quickly received the punishment he deserved. For, going to take
Catana, he lost Syracuse; whereupon they report he said, he had lost
a city and got a bauble. Then attempting Messene, he had most of his
men cut off, and, among the rest, Dion's murderers. When no city in
Sicily would admit him, but all hated and abhorred him, he went into
Italy and took Rhegium; and there, being in distress and not able
to maintain his soldiers, he was killed by Leptines and Polysperchon,
and, as fortune would have it, with the same sword by which Dion was
murdered, which was known by the size, being but short, as the Spartan
swords, and the workmanship of it very curious and artificial. Thus
Callippus received the reward of his villainies. 

When Aris