Volume 3 — CHAPTER XI. SOLONIAN LAWS AND CONSTITUTION. (continued 2)

Besides his visit to Egypt and Cyprus, a story was also current of his having conversed with the Lydian king Crœsus, at Sardis; and the communication said to have taken place between them, has been woven by Herodotus into a sort of moral tale, which forms one of the most beautiful episodes in his whole history. Though this tale has been told and retold as if it were genuine history, yet, as it now stands, it is irreconcilable with chronology,—although, very possibly, Solon may at some time or other have visited Sardis, and seen Crœsus as hereditary prince.[248]

But even if no chronological objections existed, the moral purpose of the tale is so prominent, and pervades it so systematically, from beginning to end, that these internal grounds are of themselves sufficiently strong to impeach its credibility as a matter of fact, unless such doubts happen to be outweighed—which in this case they are not—by good contemporary testimony. The narrative of Solon and Crœsus can be taken for nothing else but an illustrative fiction, borrowed by Herodotus from some philosopher, and clothed in his own peculiar beauty of expression, which on this occasion is more decidedly poetical than is habitual with him. I cannot transcribe, and I hardly dare to abridge it. The vainglorious Crœsus, at the summit of his conquests and his riches, endeavors to win from his visitor Solon an opinion that he is the happiest of mankind. The latter, after having twice preferred to him modest and meritorious Grecian citizens, at length reminds him that his vast wealth and power are of a tenure too precarious to serve as an evidence of happiness,—that the gods are jealous and meddlesome, and often make the show of happiness a mere prelude to extreme disaster,—and that no man’s life can be called happy until the whole of it has been played out, so that it may be seen to be out of the reach of reverses. Crœsus treats this opinion as absurd, but “a great judgment from God fell upon him, after Solon was departed,—probably (observes Herodotus) because he fancied himself the happiest of all men.” First, he lost his favorite son Atys, a brave and intelligent youth,—his only other son being dumb. For the Mysians of Olympus, being ruined by a destructive and formidable wild boar which they were unable to subdue, applied for aid to Crœsus, who sent to the spot a chosen hunting force, and permitted, though with great reluctance, in consequence of an alarming dream,—that his favorite son should accompany them. The young prince was unintentionally slain by the Phrygian exile Adrastus, whom Crœsus had sheltered and protected;[249] and he had hardly recovered from the anguish of this misfortune, when the rapid growth of Cyrus and the Persian power induced him to go to war with them, against the advice of his wisest counsellors. After a struggle of about three years he was completely defeated, his capital Sardis taken by storm, and himself made prisoner. Cyrus ordered a large pile to be prepared, and placed upon it Crœsus in fetters, together with fourteen young Lydians, in the intention of burning them alive, either as a religious offering, or in fulfilment of a vow, “or perhaps (says Herodotus) to see whether some of the gods would not interfere to rescue a man so preëminently pious as the king of Lydia.”[250] In this sad extremity, Crœsus bethought him of the warning which he had before despised, and thrice pronounced, with a deep groan, the name of Solon. Cyrus desired the interpreters to inquire whom he was invoking, and learned in reply the anecdote of the Athenian lawgiver, together with the solemn memento which he had offered to Crœsus during more prosperous days, attesting the frail tenure of all human greatness. The remark sunk deep into the Persian monarch, as a token of what might happen to himself: he repented of his purpose, and directed that the pile, which had already been kindled, should be immediately extinguished. But the orders came too late; in spite of the most zealous efforts of the bystanders, the flame was found unquenchable, and Crœsus would still have been burned, had he not implored with prayers and tears the succor of Apollo, to whose Delphian and Theban temples he had given such munificent presents. His prayers were heard, the fair sky was immediately overcast, and a profuse rain descended, sufficient to extinguish the flames.[251] The life of Crœsus was thus saved, and he became afterwards the confidential friend and adviser of his conqueror.

Such is the brief outline of a narrative which Herodotus has given with full development and with impressive effect. It would have served as a show-lecture to the youth of Athens, not less admirably than the well-known fable of the Choice of Hêraklês, which the philosopher Prodikus,[252] a junior contemporary of Herodotus, delivered with so much popularity. It illustrates forcibly the religious and ethical ideas of antiquity; the deep sense of the jealousy of the gods, who would not endure pride in any one except themselves;[253] the impossibility, for any man, of realizing to himself more than a very moderate share of happiness; the danger from reactionary nemesis, if at any time he had overpassed such limit; and the necessity of calculations taking in the whole of life, as a basis for rational comparison of different individuals; and as a practical consequence from these feelings, a constant protest on the part of the moralists against vehement impulses and unrestrained aspirations. The more valuable this narrative appears, in its illustrative character, the less can we presume to treat it as a history.

It is much to be regretted that we have no information respecting events in Attica immediately after the Solonian laws and constitution, which were promulgated in 594 B. C., so as to understand better the practical effect of these changes. What we next hear respecting Solon in Attica refers to a period immediately preceding the first usurpation of Peisistratus in 560 B. C., and after the return of Solon from his long absence. We are here again introduced to the same oligarchical dissensions as are reported to have prevailed before the Solonian legislation: the pedieis, or opulent proprietors of the plain round Athens, under Lykurgus; the parali of the south of Attica, under Megaklês: and the diakrii, or mountaineers of the eastern cantons, the poorest of the three classes, under Peisistratus, are in a state of violent intestine dispute. The account of Plutarch represents Solon as returning to Athens during the height of this sedition. He was treated with respect by all parties, but his recommendations were no longer obeyed, and he was disqualified by age from acting with effect in public. He employed his best efforts to mitigate party animosities, and applied himself particularly to restrain the ambition of Peisistratus, whose ulterior projects he quickly detected.

The future greatness of Peisistratus is said to have been first portended by a miracle which happened, even before his birth, to his father Hippokratês at the Olympic games. It was realized, partly by his bravery and conduct, which had been displayed in the capture of Nisæa from the Megarians,[254]—partly by his popularity of speech and manners, his championship of the poor,[255] and his ostentatious disavowal of all selfish pretensions,—partly by an artful mixture of stratagem and force. Solon, after having addressed fruitless remonstrances to Peisistratus himself, publicly denounced his designs in verses addressed to the people. The deception, whereby Peisistratus finally accomplished his design, is memorable in Grecian tradition.[256] He appeared one day in the agora of Athens in his chariot with a pair of mules: he had intentionally wounded both his person and the mules, and in this condition he threw himself upon the compassion and defence of the people, pretending that his political enemies had violently attacked him. He implored the people to grant him a guard, and at the moment when their sympathies were freshly aroused both in his favor and against his supposed assassins, Aristo proposed formally to the ekklesia,—the pro-bouleutic senate, being composed of friends of Peisistratus, had previously authorized the proposition,[257]—that a company of fifty club-men should be assigned as a permanent body-guard for the defence of Peisistratus. To this motion Solon opposed a strenuous resistance,[258] but found himself overborne, and even treated as if he had lost his senses. The poor were earnest in favor of it, while the rich were afraid to express their dissent; and he could only comfort himself, after the fatal vote had been passed, by exclaiming that he was wiser than the former and more determined than the latter. Such was one of the first known instances in which this memorable stratagem was played off against the liberty of a Grecian community.

The unbounded popular favor which had procured the passing of this grant, was still farther manifested by the absence of all precautions to prevent the limits of the grant from being exceeded. The number of the body-guard was not long confined to fifty, and probably their clubs were soon exchanged for sharper weapons. Peisistratus thus found himself strong enough to throw off the mask and seize the acropolis. His leading opponents, Megaklês and the Alkmæônids, immediately fled the city, and it was left to the venerable age and undaunted patriotism of Solon to stand forward almost alone in a vain attempt to resist the usurpation. He publicly presented himself in the market-place, employing encouragement, remonstrance, and reproach, in order to rouse the spirit of the people. To prevent this despotism from coming, he told them would have been easy; to shake it off now was more difficult, yet at the same time more glorious.[259] But he spoke in vain; for all who were not actually favorable to Peisistratus listened only to their fears, and remained passive; nor did any one join Solon, when, as a last appeal, he put on his armor and planted himself in military posture before the door of his house. “I have done my duty, he exclaimed at length; I have sustained to the best of my power my country and the laws:” and he then renounced all farther hope of opposition,—though resisting the instances of his friends that he should flee, and returning for answer, when they asked him on what he relied for protection, “On my old age.” Nor did he even think it necessary to repress the inspirations of his Muse: some verses yet remain, composed seemingly at a moment when the strong hand of the new despot had begun to make itself sorely felt, in which he tells his countrymen: “If ye have endured sorrow from your own baseness of soul, impute not the fault of this to the gods. Ye have yourselves put force and dominion into the hands of these men, and have thus drawn upon yourselves wretched slavery.”

It is gratifying to learn that Peisistratus, whose conduct throughout his despotism was comparatively mild, left Solon untouched. How long this distinguished man survived the practical subversion of his own constitution, we cannot certainly determine; but according to the most probable statement he died the very next year, at the advanced age of eighty.

We have only to regret that we are deprived of the means of following more in detail his noble and exemplary character. He represents the best tendencies of his age, combined with much that is personally excellent; the improved ethical sensibility; the thirst for enlarged knowledge and observation, not less potent in old age than in youth; the conception of regularized popular institutions, departing sensibly from the type and spirit of the governments around him, and calculated to found a new character in the Athenian people; a genuine and reflecting sympathy with the mass of the poor, anxious not merely to rescue them from the oppressions of the rich, but also to create in them habits of self-relying industry; lastly, during his temporary possession of a power altogether arbitrary, not merely an absence of all selfish ambition, but a rare discretion in seizing the mean between conflicting exigencies. In reading his poems we must always recollect that what now appears common-place was once new, so that to his comparatively unlettered age, the social pictures which he draws were still fresh, and his exhortations calculated to live in the memory. The poems composed on moral subjects, generally inculcate a spirit of gentleness towards others and moderation in personal objects; they represent the gods as irresistible, retributive, favoring the good and punishing the bad, though sometimes very tardily. But his compositions on special and present occasions are usually conceived in a more vigorous spirit; denouncing the oppressions of the rich at one time, and the timid submission to Peisistratus at another,—and expressing, in emphatic language, his own proud consciousness of having stood forward as champion of the mass of the people. Of his early poems hardly anything is preserved; the few lines which remain seem to manifest a jovial temperament, which we may well conceive to have been overlaid by the political difficulties against which he had to contend,—difficulties arising successively out of the Megarian war, the Kylonian sacrilege, the public despondency healed by Epimenidês, and the task of arbiter between a rapacious oligarchy and a suffering people. In one of his elegies, addressed to Mimnermus, he marked out the sixtieth year as the longest desirable period of life, in preference to the eightieth year, which that poet had expressed a wish to attain;[260] but his own life, as far as we can judge, seems to have reached the longer of the two periods, and not the least honorable part of it—the resistance to Peisistratus—occurs immediately before his death.

There prevailed a story, that his ashes were collected and scattered around the island of Salamis, which Plutarch treats as absurd,—though he tells us at the same time that it was believed both by Aristotle, and by many other considerable men: it is at least as ancient as the poet Kratinus, who alluded to it in one of his comedies, and I do not feel inclined to reject it.[261] The inscription on the statue of Solon at Athens described him as a Salaminian: he had been the great means of acquiring the island for his country,—and it seems highly probable that among the new Athenian citizens who went to settle there, he may have received a lot of land and become enrolled among the Salaminian demots. The dispersion of his ashes in various parts of the island connects him with it as in some sort the œkist; and we may construe that incident, if not as the expression of a public vote, at least as a piece of affectionate vanity on the part of his surviving friends.[262]

We have now reached the period of the usurpation of Peisistratus (B. C. 560), whose dynasty governed Athens—with two temporary interruptions during the life of Peisistratus himself—for fifty years. The history of this despotism, milder than Grecian despotism generally, and productive of important consequences to Athens, will be reserved for a succeeding chapter.

APPENDIX.

The explanation which M. von Savigny gives of the Nexi and Addicti under the old Roman law of debtor and creditor (after he has refuted the elucidation of Niebuhr on the same subject), while it throws great light on the historical changes in Roman legislation on that important subject, sets forth at the same time the marked difference made in the procedure of Rome, between the demand of the creditor for repayment of principal, and the demand for payment of interest.

The primitive Roman law distinguished a debt arising from money lent (pecunia certa credita) from debts arising out of contract, delict, sale, etc., or any other source: the creditor on the former ground had a quick and easy process, by which he acquired the fullest power over the person and property of his debtor. After the debt on loan was either confessed or proved before the magistrate, thirty days were allowed to the debtor for payment: if payment was not made within that time, the creditor laid hold of him (manûs injectio) and carried him before the magistrate again. The debtor was now again required either to pay or to find a surety (vindex); if neither of these demands were complied with, the creditor took possession of him and carried him home, where he kept him in chains for two months; during which interval he brought him before the prætor publicly on three successive nundinæ. If the debt was not paid within these two months, the sentence of addiction was pronounced, and the creditor became empowered either to put his debtor to death, or to sell him for a slave (p. 81), or to keep him at forced work, without any restriction as to the degree of ill usage which might be inflicted upon him. The judgment of the magistrate authorized him, besides, to seize the property of his debtor wherever he could find any, within the limits sufficient for payment: this was one of the points which Niebuhr had denied.

Such was the old law of Rome, with respect to the consequences of an action for money had and received, for more than a century after the Twelve Tables. But the law did not apply this stringent personal execution to any debt except that arising from loan,—and even in that debt only to the principal money, not to the interest,—which latter had to be claimed by a process both more gentle and less efficient, applying to the property only and not to the person of the debtor. Accordingly, it was to the advantage of the creditor to devise some means for bringing his claim of interest under the same stringent process as his claim for the principal; it was also to his advantage, if his claim arose, not out of money lent, but out of sale, compensation for injury, or any other source, to give it the form of an action for money lent. Now the nexum, or nexi obligatio, was an artifice—a fictitious loan—whereby this purpose was accomplished. The severe process which legally belonged only to the recovery of the principal money, was extended by the nexum so as to comprehend the interest; and so as to comprehend, also, claims for money arising from all other sources (as well as from loan), wherein the law gave no direct recourse except against the property of a debtor. The debitor nexus was made liable by this legal artifice to pass into the condition of an addictus, either without having borrowed money at all, or for the interest as well as for the principal of that which he had borrowed.

The Lex Pœtelia, passed about B. C. 325, liberated all the nexi then under liability, and interdicted the nexi obligatio forever afterwards (Cicero, De Republ. ii, 34; Livy, viii, 28). Here, as in the seisachtheia of Solon, the existing contracts were cancelled, at the same time that the whole class of similar contracts were forbidden for the future.

But though the nexi obligatio was thus abolished, the old stringent remedy still continued against the debtor on loan, as far as the principal sum borrowed, apart from interest. Some mitigations were introduced: by a Lex Julia, the still more important provision was added, that the debtor by means of a cessio bonorum might save his person from seizure. But this cessio bonorum was coupled with conditions which could not always be fulfilled, nor was the debtor admitted to the benefit of it, if he had been guilty of carelessness or dishonesty. Accordingly, the old stringent process, and the addiction in which it ended, though it became less frequent, still continued throughout the course of Imperial Rome, and even down to the time of Justinian. The private prison, with adjudicated debtors working in it, was still the appendage to a Roman money-lender’s house, even in the third and fourth centuries after the Christian era, though the practice seems to have become rarer and rarer. The status of the addictus debitor, with its peculiar rights and obligations, is discussed by Quintilian (vii, 3); and Aulus Gellius observes: “Addici namque nunc et vinciri multos videmus, quia vinculorum pœnam deterrimi homines contemnunt,” (xx, 1.)

If the addictus debitor was adjudged to several creditors, they were allowed by the Twelve Tables to divide his body among them. No example was known of this power having been ever carried into effect, but the law was understood to give the power distinctly.

It is useful to have before us the old Roman law of debtor and creditor, partly as a point of comparison with the ante-Solonian practice in Attica, partly to illustrate the difference drawn in an early state of society between the claim for the principal and the claim for the interest.

See the Abhandlung of Von Savigny in the Transactions of the Berlin Academy for 1833, pp. 70-103; the subject is also treated by the same admirable expositor, in his System des heutigen Römischen Rechts, vol. v, sect. 219, and in Beilage xiv, 10-11 of that volume.

The same peculiar stringent process, which was available in the case of an action for pecunia certa credita, was also specially extended to the surety, who had paid down money to liquidate another man’s debt; the debtor, if solvent, became his addictus,—this was the actio depensi. I have already remarked in a former note, that in the Attic law, a case analogous to this was the only one in which the original remedy against the person of the debtor was always maintained. When a man had paid money to redeem a citizen from captivity, the latter, if he did not repay it, became the slave of the party who had advanced the money.

Walter (Geschichte des Römischen Rechts, sects. 583-715, 2d ed.) calls in question the above explanation of Von Savigny, on grounds which do not appear to me sufficient.

How long the feeling continued, that it was immoral and irreligious to receive any interest at all for money lent, may be seen from the following notice respecting the state of the law in France even down to 1789:—

“Avant la Révolution Française (de 1789) le prêt à intérêt n’était pas également admis dans les diverses parties du royaume. Dans les pays de droit écrit, il était permis de stipuler l’intérêt des déniers prêtés: mais la jurisprudence des parlemens resistait souvent à cet usage. Suivant le droit commun des pays coutumiers, on ne pouvait stipuler aucun intérêt pour le prêt appelé en droit mutuum. On tenait pour maxime que l’argent ne produisant rien par lui-même, un tel prêt devait être gratuit: que la perception d’intérêts était une usure: à cet égard, on admettait assez généralement les principes du droit canonique. Du reste, la législation et la jurisprudence variaient suivant les localités et suivant la nature des contrâts et des obligations.” (Carette, Lois Annotées, ou Lois, Décrets, Ordonnances, Paris 1843; Note sur le Décret de l’Assemblée Nationale concernant le Prêt et Intérêt. Août 11, 1789.)

The National Assembly declared the legality of all loans on interest, “suivant le taux déterminé par la loi,” but did not then fix any special rate. “Le décret du 11 Avril, 1793, défendit la vente et l’achat du numéraire.” “La loi du 6 floréal, an III, déclara que l’or et l’argent sont marchandises; mais elle fut rapportée par le décret du 2 prairial suivant. Les articles 1905 et 1907 du Code Civil permettent le prêt à intérêt, mais au taux fixé ou autorisé par la loi. La loi du 3 Sept. 1807 a fixé le taux d’intérêt à 5 per cent. en matière civile et à 6 per cent. en matière commerciale.”

The article on Lending-houses, in Beckmann’s History of Inventions (vol. iii, pp. 9-50), is highly interesting and instructive on the same subject. It traces the gradual calling in question, mitigation, and disappearance, of the ancient antipathy against taking interest for money, an antipathy long sanctioned by the ecclesiastics as well as by the jurists. Lending-houses, or Monts de Piété, were first commenced in Italy about the middle of the fifteenth century, by some Franciscan monks, for the purpose of rescuing poor borrowers from the exorbitant exactions of the Jews: Pope Pius the Second (Æneas Silvius, one of the ablest of the popes, about 1458-1464), was the first who approved of one of them at Perugia, but even the papal sanction was long combated by a large proportion of ecclesiastics. At first, it was to be purely charitable; not only neither giving interest to those who contributed money, nor taking interest from the borrowers,—but not even providing fixed pay to the administrators: interest was tacitly taken, but the popes were a long time before they would formally approve of such a practice. “At Vicenza, in order to avoid the reproach of usury, the artifice was employed of not demanding any interest, but admonishing the borrowers that they should give a remuneration according to their piety and ability,” (p. 31.) The Dominicans, partisans of the old doctrine, called these establishments Montes Impietatis. A Franciscan monk Bernardinus, one of the most active promoters of the Monts de Piété, did not venture to defend, but only to excuse as an unavoidable evil, the payment of wages to the clerks and administrators: “Speciosius et religiosius fatebatur Bernardinus fore, si absque ullo penitus obolo et pretio mutuum daretur et commodaretur libere pecunia, sed pium opus et pauperum subsidium exiguo sic duraturum tempore. Non enim (inquit) tantus est ardor hominum, ut gubernatores et officiales, Montium ministerio necessarii, velint laborem hunc omnem gratis subire: quod si remunerandi sint ex sorte principali, vel ipso deposito, seu exili Montium ærario, brevi exhaurietur, et commodum opportunumque istud pauperum refugium ubique peribit.” (p. 33.)

The Council of Trent, during the following century, pronounced in favor of the legality and usefulness of these lending-houses, and this has since been understood to be the sentiment of the Catholic church generally.

To trace this gradual change of moral feeling is highly instructive,—the more so, as that general basis of sentiment, of which the antipathy against lending money on interest is only a particular case, still prevails largely in society and directs the current of moral approbation and disapprobation. In some nations, as among the ancient Persians before Cyrus, this sentiment has been carried so far as to repudiate and despise all buying and selling (Herodot. i, 153). With many, the principle of reciprocity in human dealings appears, when conceived in theory, odious and contemptible, and goes by some bad name, such as egoism, selfishness, calculation, political economy, etc: the only sentiment which they will admit in theory, is, that the man who has, ought to be ready at all times to give away what he has to him who has not; while the latter is encouraged to expect and require such gratuitous donation.