The Tyrants Of Corinth
We have already told what the word "tyrant" meant in Greece,--a despot
who set aside the law and ruled at his own pleasure, but who might be
mild and gentle in his rule. Such were the tyrants of Sicyon, spoken of
in our last tale. The tyrants of Corinth, the state adjoining Sicyon,
were of a harsher character. Herodotus, the gossiping old historian
tells some stories about these severe despots which seem worth telling
gain.
The government of Corinth, like most of the governments of Greece, was
in early days an oligarchy,--that is, it was ruled by a number of
powerful aristocrats instead of by a single king. In Corinth these
belonged to a single family, named the Bacchiadae (or legendary
descendants of the god Bacchus), who constantly intermarried, and kept
all power to themselves.
But one of this family, Amphion by name, had a daughter, named Labda,
whom none of the Bacchiadae would marry, as she had the misfortune to be
lame. So she married outside the family, her husband being named Aetion,
and a man of noble descent. Having no children, Aetion applied to the
Delphian oracle, and was told that a son would soon be borne to him,
and that this son "would, like a rock, fall on the kingly race and right
the city of Corinth."
The Bacchiadae heard of this oracle, and likewise knew of an earlier one
that had the same significance. Forewarned is forearmed. They remained
quiet, waiting until Aetion's child should be born, and proposing then
to take steps for their own safety.
When, therefore, they heard that Labda had borne a son, they sent ten of
their followers to Petra (the rock), where Aetion dwelt, with
instructions to kill the child. These assassins entered Aetion's house,
and, with murder in their hearts, asked Labda, with assumed
friendliness, if they might see her child. She, looking upon them as
friends of her husband, whom kindly feeling had brought thither, gladly
complied, and, bringing the infant, laid it in the arms of one of the
ruffianly band.
It had been agreed between them that whoever first laid hold of the
child should dash it to the ground. But as the innocent intended victim
lay in the murderer's arms, it smiled in his face so confidingly that he
had not the heart to do the treacherous deed. He passed the child,
therefore, on to another, who passed it to a third, and so it went the
rounds of the ten, disarming them all by its happy and trusting smile
from performing the vile deed for which they had come. In the end they
handed the babe back to its mother, and left the house.
Halting just outside the door, a hot dispute arose between them, each
blaming the others, and nine of them severely accusing the one whose
task it had been to do the cruel deed. He defended himself, saying that
no man with a heart in his breast could have done harm to that smiling
babe,--certainly not he. In the end they decided to go into the house
again, and all take part in the murder.
But they had talked somewhat too long and too loud. Labda had overheard
them and divined their dread intent. Filled with fear, lest they should
return and murder her child, she seized the infant, and, looking eagerly
about for some place in which she might conceal it, chose a cypsel, or
corn-bin, as the place least likely to be searched.
Her choice proved a wise one. The men returned, and, as she refused to
tell them where the child was, searched the house in vain,--none of them
thinking of looking for an infant in a corn-bin. At length they went
away, deciding to report that they had done as they were bidden, and
that the child of Aetion was slain.
The boy, in memory of his escape, was named Cypselus, after the
corn-bin. He grew up without further molestation, and on coming to man's
estate did what so many of the ancients seemed to have considered
necessary, went to Delphi to consult the oracle.
The pythoness, or priestess of Apollo, at his approach, hailed him as
king of Corinth. "He and his children, but not his children's children."
And the oracle, as was often the case, produced its own accomplishment,
for it encouraged Cypselus to head a rebellion against the oligarchy, by
which it was overthrown and he made king. For thirty years thereafter he
reigned as tyrant of Corinth, with a prosperous but harsh rule. Many of
the Corinthians were put to death by him, others robbed of their
fortunes, and others banished the state. Then he died and left the
government to his son Periander.
Periander began his reign in a mild spirit. But his manner changed after
he had sent a herald to Thrasybulus, the tyrant of Miletus, asking his
advice how he could best rule with honor and fortune. Thrasybulus led
the messenger outside the city and through a field of corn, questioning
him as they walked, while, whenever he came to an ear of corn that
overtopped its fellows, he broke it off and threw it aside. Thus his
path through the field was marked by the downfall of all the tallest
stems and ears. Then, returning to the city, he sent the messenger back
without a word of answer to his petition.
Periander, on his herald's return, asked him what counsel he brought.
"None," was the answer; "not a word. King Thrasybulus acted in the
strangest way, destroying his corn as he led me through the field, and
sending me away without a word." He proceeded to tell how the monarch
had acted.
Periander was quick to gather his brother tyrant's meaning. If he would
rule in safety he must cut off the loftiest heads,--signified by the
tall ears of corn. He took the advice thus suggested, and from that time
on treated his subjects with the greatest cruelty. Many of those whom
Cypselus had spared he put to death or banished, and acted the tyrant in
the fullest sense of the word.
He even killed his wife Melissa; just why, we do not know. But we are
told that she afterwards appeared to him in a dream and said that she
was cold, being destitute of clothes. The garments he had buried with
her were of no use to her spirit, since they had not been burned.
Periander took his own way to quiet and clothe the restless ghost. He
proclaimed that all the wives of Corinth should go to the temple of
Juno. This they did, dressed in their best, deeming it a festival. When
they were all within he closed the doors, and had them stripped of their
rich robes and ornaments, which he threw into a pit and set on fire,
calling on the name of Melissa as they burned. And in this way the
demand of the shivering ghost was satisfied.
Periander had two sons,--the elder a dunce, the younger, Lycophron (or
wolf-heart), a youth of noble nature and fine intellect. He sent them on
a visit to Proclus, their mother's father, and from him the boys
learned, what they had not known before, that their father was their
mother's murderer.
This story did not trouble the dull-brained elder, but Lycophron was so
affected by it that on his return home he refused to speak to his
father, and acted so surlily that Periander in anger turned him out of
his house. The tyrant, learning from his elder son the cause of
Lycophron's strange behavior, grew still more incensed. He sent orders
to those who had given shelter to his son that they should cease to
harbor him, And he continued to drive him from shelter to shelter, till
in the end he proclaimed that whoever dared to harbor, or even speak to,
his rebellious son, should pay a heavy fine to Apollo.
Thus, driven from every house, Lycophron took lodging in the public
porticos, where he dwelt without shelter and almost without food. Seeing
his wretched state, Periander took pity on him and bade him come home
and no longer indulge in such foolish and unfilial behavior.
Lycophron's only reply was that his father had broken his own edict by
coming and talking with him, and therefore himself owed the penalty to
Apollo.
Periander, seeing that the boy was uncontrollable in his indignation,
and troubled at heart by the piteous spectacle, now sent him by ship to
the island of Corcyra, a colony of Corinth. As for Proclus, the tyrant
made war upon him for his indiscreet revelation, robbed him of his
kingdom, Epidaurus, and carried him captive to Corinth.
And the years went on, and Periander grew old and unable properly to
handle his affairs. His elder son was incapable of taking his place, so
he sent to Corcyra and asked Lycophron to come to Corinth and take the
kingship of that fair land.
Lycophron, whose indignation time had not cooled, refused even to answer
the message. Then Periander sent his daughter, the sister of Lycophron,
hoping that she might be able to persuade him. She made a strong appeal,
begging him not to let the power pass away from their family and their
father's wealth fall into strange hands, and reminding him that mercy
was a higher virtue than justice.
Her appeal was in vain. Lycophron refused to go back to Corinth as long
as his father remained alive.
Then the desperate old man, at his wits' end through Lycophron's
obstinacy, sent a herald, saying that he would himself come to Corcyra,
and let his son take his place in Corinth as king. To these terms
Lycophron agreed. But there were others to deal with, for, when the
terrified Corcyrians heard that the terrible old tyrant was coming to
dwell in their island, they rose in a tumult and put Lycophron to death.
And thus ended the dynasty of Cypselus, as the oracle had foretold.
Though Periander revenged himself on the Corcyrians, he could not bring
his son to life again, and the children's children of Cypselus did not
come to the throne.