Volume 7 — CHAPTER LVI. FROM THE FESTIVAL OF OLYMPIAD NINETY DOWN TO THE BATTLE OF MANTINEIA. (continued 2)

As a matter of fact and practice, it is true that stronger states, in Greece and in the contemporary world, did habitually tend, as they have tended throughout the course of history down to the present day, to enlarge their power at the expense of the weaker. Every territory in Greece, except Attica and Arcadia, had been seized by conquerors who dispossessed or enslaved the prior inhabitants. We find Brasidas reminding his soldiers of the good sword of their forefathers, which had established dominion over men far more numerous than themselves, as matter of pride and glory:[167] and when we come to the times of Philip and Alexander of Macedon, we shall see the lust of conquest reaching a pitch never witnessed among free Greeks. Of right thus founded on simple superiority of force, there were abundant examples to be quoted, as parallels to the Athenian conquest of Mêlos: but that which is unparalleled is the mode adopted by the Athenian envoy of justifying it, or rather of setting aside all justification, looking at the actual state of civilization in Greece. A barbarous invader casts his sword into the scale in lieu of argument: a civilized conqueror is bound by received international morality to furnish some justification,—a good plea, if he can,—a false plea, or sham plea, if he has no better. But the Athenian envoy neither copies the contemptuous silence of the barbarian nor the smooth lying of the civilized invader. Though coming from the most cultivated city in Greece, where the vices prevalent were those of refinement and not of barbarism, he disdains the conventional arts of civilized diplomacy more than would have been done by an envoy even of Argos or Korkyra. He even disdains to mention, what might have been said with perfect truth as a matter of fact, whatever may be thought of its sufficiency as a justification, that the Melians had enjoyed for the last fifty years the security of the Ægean waters at the cost of Athens and her allies, without any payment of their own.

So at least he is made to do in the Thucydidean dramatic fragment,—Μήλου Ἅλωσις (The Capture of Melos),—if we may parody the title of the lost tragedy of Phrynichus “The Capture of Miletus.” And I think a comprehensive view of the history of Thucydidês will suggest to us the explanation of this drama, with its powerful and tragical effect. The capture of Mêlos comes immediately before the great Athenian expedition against Syracuse, which was resolved upon three or four months afterwards, and despatched during the course of the following summer. That expedition was the gigantic effort of Athens, which ended in the most ruinous catastrophe known to ancient history. From such a blow it was impossible for Athens to recover. Though thus crippled, indeed, she struggled against its effects with surprising energy; but her fortune went on, in the main, declining,—yet with occasional moments of apparent restoration,—until her complete prostration and subjugation by Lysander. Now Thucydidês, just before he gets upon the plane of this descending progress, makes a halt, to illustrate the sentiment of Athenian power in its most exaggerated, insolent, and cruel manifestation, by this dramatic fragment of the envoys at Mêlos. It will be recollected that Herodotus, when about to describe the forward march of Xerxês into Greece, destined to terminate in such fatal humiliation, impresses his readers with an elaborate idea of the monarch’s insolence and superhuman pride, by various conversations between him and the courtiers about him, as well as by other anecdotes, combined with the overwhelming specifications of the muster at Doriskus. Such moral contrasts and juxtapositions, especially that of ruinous reverse following upon overweening good fortune, were highly interesting to the Greek mind. And Thucydidês—having before him an act of great injustice and cruelty on the part of Athens, committed exactly at this point of time—has availed himself of the form of dialogue, for once in his history, to bring out the sentiments of a disdainful and confident conqueror in dramatic antithesis. They are, however, his own sentiments, conceived as suitable to the situation; not those of the Athenian envoy,—still less, those of the Athenian public,—least of all, those of that much-calumniated class of men, the Athenian sophists.