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Croesus
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Authored by Frank Redmond, 2012
Croesus Receiving Tribute from a Lydian Peasant
<blockquote>Croesus - Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be laughing at us, and calling us rude names; 'slaves' and 'garbage,' he says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out.- In short, he is a nuisance.\\</blockquote>
- Dialogues of the Dead II
Croesus, the ancient king of the Lydians, has had a fascinating afterlife. He is the first main character to appear in Herodotus and many of his anecdotes of Croesus are memorable. The conversation with Solon comes to mind. Croesus also had afterlife in the works of Lucian. See the quote above.
Croesus even lives on into today as a fabulously wealthy individual. Cite Wikipedia:
In Greek and Persian cultures the name of Croesus became a synonym for a wealthy man. Croesus' wealth remained proverbial beyond classical antiquity: in English, expressions such as “rich as Croesus” or “richer than Croesus” are used to indicate great wealth to this day.
As such, I think it will be interesting to trace Croesus' appearances in the works of Lucian in this post.
Timon the Misanthrope
<blockquote>Pl . Ah, those are special cases, Hermes. I do not go on my own feet on those occasions, and it is not Zeus who sends me, but Pluto, who has his own ways of conferring wealth and making presents; Pluto and Plutus are not unconnected, you see. When I am to flit from one house to another, they lay me on parchment, seal me up carefully, make a parcel of me and take me round. The dead man lies in some dark corner, shrouded from the knees upward in an old sheet, with the cats fighting for possession of him, while those who have expectations wait for me in the public place, gaping as wide as young swallows that scream for their mother’s return.
Then the seal is taken off, the string cut, the parchment opened, and my new owner’s name made known. It is a relation, or a parasite, or perhaps a domestic minion, whose value lay in his vices and his smooth cheeks; he has continued to supply his master with all sorts of unnatural pleasures beyond the years which might excuse such service, and now the fine fellow is richly rewarded. But whoever it is, he snatches me up, parchment included, and is off with me in a flash; he used to be called Pyrrhias or Dromo or Tibius, but now he is Megacles, Megabyzus, or Protarchus; off he goes, leaving the disappointed ones staring at each other in very genuine mourning-over the fine fish which has jumped out of the landing-net after swallowing their good bait.
The fellow who has pounced on me has neither taste nor feeling; the sight of fetters still gives him a start; crack a whip in his neighbourhood, and his ears tingle; the treadmill is an abode of awe to him. He is now insufferable — insults his new equals, and whips his old fellows to see what that side of the transaction feels like. He ends by finding a mistress, or taking to the turf, or being cajoled by parasites; these have only to swear he is handsomer than Nireus, nobler than Cecrops or Codrus, wiser than Odysseus, richer than a dozen Croesuses rolled into one; and so the poor wretch disperses in a moment what cost so many perjuries, robberies, and swindles to amass.\\</blockquote>
<blockquote>
Tim . Come, spade, show your mettle; stick to it; invite Thesaurus to step up from his retreat…. O God of Wonders! O mystic priests! O lucky Hermes! whence this flood of gold? Sure, ’tis all a dream; methinks ’twill be ashes when I wake. And yet — coined gold, ruddy and heavy, a feast of delight!
O gold, the fairest gift to mortal eyes! be it night, or be it day, Thou dost outshine all else like living fire.
Come to me, my own, my beloved. I doubt the tale no longer; well might Zeus take the shape of gold; where is the maid that would not open her bosom to receive so fair a lover gliding through the roof?
Talk of Midas, Croesus, Delphic treasures! they were all nothing to Timon and his wealth; why, the Persian King could not match it. My spade, my dearest smock-frock, you must hang, a votive offering to Pan. And now I will buy up this desert corner, and build a tiny castle for my treasure, big enough for me to live in all alone, and, when I am dead, to lie in. And be the rule and law of my remaining days to shun all men, be blind to all men, scorn all men. Friendship, hospitality, society, compassion — vain words all. To be moved by another’s tears, to assist another’s need — be such things illegal and immoral. Let me live apart like a wolf; be Timon’s one friend — Timon.
All others are my foes and ill-wishers; to hold communion with them is pollution; to set eyes upon one of them marks the day unholy; let them be to me even as images of bronze or stone. I will receive no herald from them, keep with them no truce; the bounds of my desert are the line they may not cross. Cousin and kinsman, neighbour and countryman — these are dead useless names, wherein fools may find a meaning. Let Timon keep his wealth to himself, scorn all men, and live in solitary luxury, quit of flattery and vulgar praise; let him sacrifice and feast alone, his own associate and neighbour, far from [Footnote: Reading, with Dindorf, hekas o‘n for ekseio‘n .] the world. Yea, when his last day comes, let there be none to close his eyes and lay him out, but himself alone.
Be the name he loves Misanthropus, and the marks whereby he may be known peevishness and spleen, wrath and rudeness and abhorrence. If ever one burning to death should call for help against the flames, let me help — with pitch and oil. If another be swept past me by a winter torrent, and stretch out his hands for aid, then let mine press him down head under, that he never rise again. So shall they receive as they have given. Mover of this resolution — Timon, son of Echecratides of Collytus. Presiding officer — the same Timon. The ayes have it. Let it be law, and duly observed.
All the same, I would give a good deal to have the fact of my enormous wealth generally known; they would all be fit to hang themselves over it…. Why, what is this? Well, that is quick work. Here they come running from every point of the compass, all dusty and panting; they have smelt out the gold somehow or other. Now, shall I get on top of this knoll, keep up a galling fire of stones from my point of vantage, and get rid of them that way? Or shall I make an exception to my law by parleying with them for once? contempt might hit harder than stones. Yes, I think that is better; I will stay where I am, and receive them. Let us see, who is this in front? Ah, Gnathonides the flatterer; when I asked an alms of him the other day, he offered me a halter; many a cask of my wine has he made a beast of himself over. I congratulate him on his speed; first come, first served.''\\</blockquote>
Dialogues of the Dead
II
<blockquote>Before Pluto: Croesus, Midas, and Sardanapalus v. Menippus
Cr . Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our neighborhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we are going to migrate.
Pl . Why, what harm does he do to your ghostly community?
Cr . Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be laughing at us, and calling us rude names; ‘slaves’ and ‘garbage,’ he says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out.— In short, he is a nuisance.
Pl . Menippus, what’s this I hear?
Me . All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I take a positive pleasure in annoying them.
Pl . Yes, but you mustn’t. They have had terrible losses; they feel it deeply.
Me . Pluto! you are not going to lend your countenance to these whimpering fools?
Pl . It isn’t that: but I won’t have you quarrelling.
Me . Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down.
Cr . Presumption!
Me . Not a bit of it. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men’s liberty, and forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of teeth: for all is lost!
Cr . Lost! Ah God! My treasure-heaps —
Mid . My gold —
Sar . My little comforts —
Me . That’s right: stick to it! You do the whining, and I’ll chime in with a string of GNOTHI-SAUTONS, best of accompaniments.
F.
</blockquote>
<blockquote>XX
Menippus. Aeacus. Various Shades
Me . In Pluto’s name, Aeacus, show me all the sights of Hades.
Aea . That would be rather an undertaking, Menippus. However, you shall see the principal things. Cerberus here you know already, and the ferryman who brought you over. And you saw the Styx on your way, and Pyriphlegethon.
Me . Yes, and you are the gate-keeper; I know all that; and I have seen the King and the Furies. But show me the men of ancient days, especially the celebrities.
Aea . This is Agamemnon; this is Achilles; near him, Idomeneus; next comes Odysseus; then Ajax, Diomede, and all the great Greeks.
Me . Why, Homer, Homer, what is this? All your great heroes flung down upon the earth, shapeless, undistinguishable; mere meaningless dust; ‘strengthless heads,’ and no mistake.— Who is this one, Aeacus?
Aea . That is Cyrus; and here is Croesus; beyond him Sardanapalus, and beyond him again Midas. And yonder is Xerxes.
Me . Ha! and it was before this creature that Greece trembled? this is our yoker of Hellesponts, our designer of Athos-canals?— Croesus too! a sad spectacle! As to Sardanapalus, I will lend him a box on the ear, with your permission.
Aea . And crack his skull, poor dear! Certainly not.
Me . Then I must content myself with spitting in his ladyship’s face.
Aea . Would you like to see the philosophers?
Me . I should like it of all things.
Aea . First comes Pythagoras.
Me . Good-day, Euphorbus, alias Apollo, alias what you will.
Py . Good-day, Menippus.
Me . What, no golden thigh nowadays?
Py . Why, no. I wonder if there is anything to eat in that wallet of yours?
Me . Beans, friend; you don’t like beans.
Py . Try me. My principles have changed with my quarters. I find that down here our parents’ heads are in no way connected with beans.
Aea . Here is Solon, the son of Execestides, and there is Thales. By them are Pittacus, and the rest of the sages, seven in all, as you see. Me . The only resigned and cheerful countenances yet. Who is the one covered with ashes, like a loaf baked in the embers? He is all over blisters.
Aea . That is Empedocles. He was half-roasted when he got here from Etna.
Me . Tell me, my brazen-slippered friend, what induced you to jump into the crater?
Em . I did it in a fit of melancholy.
Me . Not you. Vanity, pride, folly; these were what burnt you up, slippers and all; and serve you right. All that ingenuity was thrown away, too: your death was detected.— Aeacus, where is Socrates?
Aea . He is generally talking nonsense with Nestor and Palamedes.
Me . But I should like to see him, if he is anywhere about.
Aea . You see the bald one? Me . They are all bald; that is a distinction without a difference.
Aea . The snub-nosed one.
Me . There again: they are all snub-nosed.
Soc . Do you want me, Menippus?
Me . The very man I am looking for.
Soc . How goes it in Athens?
Me . There are a great many young men there professing philosophy; and to judge from their dress and their walk, they should be perfect in it.
Soc . I have seen many such.
Me . For that matter, I suppose you saw Aristippus arrive, reeking with scent; and Plato, the polished flatterer from Sicilian courts?
Soc . And what do they think about me in Athens?
Me . Ah, you are fortunate in that respect. You pass for a most remarkable man, omniscient in fact. And all the time — if the truth must out — you know absolutely nothing.
Soc . I told them that myself: but they would have it that that was my irony.
Me . And who are your friends?
Soc . Charmides; Phaedrus; the son of Clinias.
Me . Ha, ha! still at your old trade; still an admirer of beauty.
Soc . How could I be better occupied? Will you join us?
Me . No, thank you; I am off, to take up my quarters by Croesus and Sardanapalus. I expect huge entertainment from their outcries.
Aea . I must be off, too; or some one may escape. You shall see the rest another day, Menippus.
Me . I need not detain you. I have seen enough.
F.
</blockquote>
Menippus
<blockquote>When I saw all this, the life of man came before me under the likeness of a great pageant, arranged and marshalled by Chance, who distributed infinitely varied costumes to the performers. She would take one and array him like a king, with tiara, bodyguard, and crown complete; another she dressed like a slave; one was adorned with beauty, another got up as a ridiculous hunchback; there must be all kinds in the show. Often before the procession was over she made individuals exchange characters; they could not be allowed to keep the same to the end; Croesus must double parts and appear as slave and captive; Maeandrius, starting as slave, would take over Polycrates’s despotism, and be allowed to keep his new clothes for a little while. And when the procession is done, every one disrobes, gives up his character with his body, and appears, as he originally was, just like his neighbour. Some, when Chance comes round collecting the properties, are silly enough to sulk and protest, as though they were being robbed of their own instead of only returning loans. You know the kind of thing on the stage — tragic actors shifting as the play requires from Creon to Priam, from Priam to Agamemnon; the same man, very likely, whom you saw just now in all the majesty of Cecrops or Erechtheus, treads the boards next as a slave, because the author tells him to. The play over, each of them throws off his gold-spangled robe and his mask, descends from the buskin’s height, and moves a mean ordinary creature; his name is not now Agamemnon son of Atreus or Creon son of Menoeceus, but Polus son of Charicles of Sunium or Satyrus son of Theogiton of Marathon. Such is the condition of mankind, or so that sight presented it to me.</blockquote>
Charon
<blockquote>Her . That is Cyrus, son of Cambyses, who transferred to the Persians the ancient empire of the Medes. He has lately conquered Assyria, and reduced Babylon; and now it looks as if he meditated an invasion of Lydia, to complete his dominion by the overthrow of Croesus.
Ch . And whereabouts is Croesus?
Her . Look over there. You see the great city with the triple wall? That is Sardis. And there, look, is Croesus himself, reclining on a golden couch, and conversing with Solon the Athenian. Shall we listen to what they are saying?
Ch . Yes, let us.
Cr. Stranger, you have now seen my stores of treasure, my heaps of bullion, and all my riches. Tell me therefore, whom do you account the happiest of mankind ?
Ch . What will Solon say, I wonder?
Her . Trust Solon; he will not disgrace himself.
So . Croesus, few men are happy. Of those whom I know, the happiest, I think, were Cleobis and Biton, the sons of the Argive priestess .
Ch . Ah, he means those two who yoked themselves to a waggon, and drew their mother to the temple, and died the moment after. It was but the other day.
Cr . Ah. So they are first on the list. And who comes next ?
So . Tellus the Athenian, who lived a righteous life, and died for his country .
Cr . And where do I come, reptile ?
So . That I am unable to say at present, Croesus; I must see you end your days first. Death is the sure test;— a happy end to a life of happiness .
Ch . Bravo, Solon; you have not forgotten us! As you say, Charon’s ferry is the proper place for the decision of these questions.— But who are these men whom Croesus is sending out? And what have they got on their shoulders?
Her . Those are bars of gold; they are going to Delphi, to pay for an oracle, which oracle will presently be the ruin of Croesus. But oracles are a hobby of his.
Ch . Oh, so that is gold , that glittering yellow stuff, with just a tinge of red in it. I have often heard of gold, but never saw it before.
Her . Yes, that is the stuff there is so much talking and squabbling about.
Ch . Well now, I see no advantages about it, unless it is an advantage that it is heavy to carry.
Her . Ah, you do not know what it has to answer for; the wars and plots and robberies, the perjuries and murders; for this men will endure slavery and imprisonment; for this they traffic and sail the seas.
Ch . For this stuff? Why, it is not much different from copper. I know copper, of course, because I get a penny from each passenger.
Her . Yes, but copper is plentiful, and therefore not much esteemed by men. Gold is found only in small quantities, and the miners have to go to a considerable depth for it. For the rest, it comes out of the earth, just the same as lead and other metals.
Ch . What fools men must be, to be enamoured of an object of this sallow complexion; and of such a weight!
Her . Well, Solon, at any rate, seems to have no great affection for it. See, he is making merry with Croesus and his outlandish magnificence. I think he is going to ask him a question. Listen.
So . Croesus, will those bars be any use to Apollo, do you think?
Cr . Any use! Why there is nothing at Delphi to be compared to them.
So . And that is all that is wanting to complete his happiness, eh?— some bar gold?
Cr . Undoubtedly.
So . Then they must be very hard up in Heaven, if they have to send all the way to Lydia for their gold supply?
Cr . Where else is gold to be had in such abundance as with us?
So . Now is any iron found in Lydia?
Cr . Not much.
So . Ah; so you are lacking in the more valuable metal.
Cr . More valuable? Iron more valuable than gold?
So . Bear with me, while I ask you a few questions, and I will convince you it is so.
Cr . Well?
So . Of protector and protege, which is the better man?
Cr . The protector, of course.
So . Now in the event of Cyrus’s invading Lydia — there is some talk of it — shall you supply your men with golden swords? or will iron be required, on the occasion?
Cr . Oh, iron.
So . Iron accordingly you must have, or your gold would be led captive into Persia?
Cr . Blasphemer!
So . Oh, we will hope for the best. But it is clear, on your own admission, that iron is better than gold.
Cr . And what would you have me do? Recall the gold, and offer the God bars of iron?
So . He has no occasion for iron either. Your offering (be the metal what it may) will fall into other hands than his. It will be snapped up by the Phocians, or the Boeotians, or the God’s own priests; or by some tyrant or robber. Your goldsmiths have no interest for Apollo.
Cr . You are always having a stab at my wealth. It is all envy!
Her . This blunt sincerity is not to the Lydian’s taste. Things are come to a strange pass, he thinks, if a poor man is to hold up his head, and speak his mind in this frank manner! He will remember Solon presently, when the time comes for Cyrus to conduct him in chains to the pyre. I heard Clotho, the other day, reading over the various dooms. Among other things, Croesus was to be led captive by Cyrus, and Cyrus to be murdered by the queen of the Massagetae. There she is: that Scythian woman, riding on a white horse; do you see?</blockquote>
Sale of Creeds
<blockquote>First D . You would have been just the creed for Croesus’s son! But I have a tongue in my head; I have no ambition to be a statue. And after the five years’ silence?</blockquote>
Apology for the Dependant Scholar
<blockquote>Dear Sabinus,
I have been guessing how you are likely to have expressed yourself upon reading my essay about dependants. I feel pretty sure you read it all and had a laugh over it; but it is your running and general comment in words that I am trying to piece on to it. If I am any good at divination, this is the sort of thing: To think that a man can set down such a scathing indictment of the life, and then forget it all, get hold of the other end of the stick, and plunge headlong into such manifest conspicuous slavery! Take Midas, Croesus, golden Pactolus, roll them into one, multiply them, and could they induce him to relinquish the freedom which he has loved and consorted with from a child? He is nearly in the clutches of Aeacus, one foot is on the ferryman’s boat, and it is now that he lets himself be dragged submissively about by a golden collar. [Footnote: Omitting as a scholium, with Dindorf and Fritzsche, the words: hoia esti ton tryphonton plousion ta sphingia kai ta kourallia.] There is some slight inconsistency between his life and his treatise; the rivers are running up-hill; topsy-turvydom prevails; our recantations are new-fashioned; the first palinodist</blockquote>
Alexander
<blockquote>These directions were precisely followed; the lions swam across to the enemy’s bank, where they were clubbed to death by the barbarians, who took them for dogs or a new kind of wolves; and our forces immediately after met with a severe defeat, losing some twenty thousand men in one engagement. This was followed by the Aquileian incident, in the course of which that city was nearly lost. In view of these results, Alexander warmed up that stale Delphian defence of the Croesus oracle: the God had foretold a victory, forsooth, but had not stated whether Romans or barbarians should have it.</blockquote>
Defence of the Portrait Study
<blockquote>You used the word flattery. To dislike those who practise it is only what you should do, and I honour you for it. But I would have you distinguish between panegyric proper and the flatterer’s exaggeration of it. The flatterer praises for selfish ends, cares little for truth, and makes it his business to magnify indiscriminately; most of his effects consist in lying additions of his own; he thinks nothing of making Thersites handsomer than Achilles, or telling Nestor he is younger than any of the host; he will swear Croesus’s son hears better than Melampus, and give Phineus better sight than Lynceus, if he sees his way to a profit on the lie. But the panegyrist pure and simple, instead of lying outright, or inventing a quality that does not exist, takes the virtues his subject really does possess, though possibly not in large measure, and makes the most of them. The horse is really distinguished among the animals we know for light-footed speed; well, in praising a horse, he will hazard:
The corn-stalks brake not ‘neath his airy tread.
He will not be frightened of ‘whirlwind-footed steeds.’ If his theme is a noble house, with everything handsome about it,
Zeus on Olympus dwells in such a home,
we shall be told. But your flatterer would use that line about the swineherd’s hovel, if he saw a chance of getting anything out of the swineherd. Demetrius Poliorcetes had a flatterer called Cynaethus who, when he was gravelled for lack of matter, found some in a cough that troubled his patron — he cleared his throat so musically!</blockquote>
Zeus Cross-Examined
<blockquote>Cyn . Now even granting that you do, what is the use of knowing what one has to expect, when one can by no possibility take any precautions? Are you going to tell me that a man who finds out that he is to die by a steel point can escape the doom by shutting himself up? Not he. Fate will take him out hunting, and there will be his steel: Adrastus will hurl his spear at the boar, miss the brute, and get Croesus’s son; Fate’s inflexible law directs his aim. The full absurdity of the thing is seen in the case of Laius:
Seek not for offspring in the Gods’ despite; Beget a child, and thou begett’st thy slayer.
Was not this advice superfluous, seeing that the end must come? Accordingly we find that the oracle does not deter Laius from begetting a son, nor that son from being his slayer. On the whole, I cannot see that your prophecies entitle you to reward, even setting aside the obscurity of the oracles, which are generally contrived to cut both ways. You omitted to mention, for instance, whether Croesus —‘the Halys crossed’— should destroy his own or Cyrus’s mighty realm.’ It might be either, so far as the oracle goes.
Zeus . Apollo was angry with Croesus. When Croesus boiled that lamb and tortoise together in the cauldron, he was making trial of Apollo.</blockquote>
Zeus Tragoedus
<blockquote>Da. About oracles, friend, the less said the better; I shall ask you to choose your instances, you see. Will Apollo’s answer to the Lydian suit you? That was as symmetrical as a double-edged knife; or say, it faced both ways, like those Hermae which are made double, alike whether you look at front or back. Consider; will Croesus’s passage of the Halys destroy his own realm, or Cyrus’s? Tet the wretched Sardian paid a long price for his ambidextrous hexameter.</blockquote>
The Rooster
<blockquote>Lydian Croesus is troubled because his son is dumb; Persian Artaxerxes, because Clearchus is raising a host for Cyrus; Dionysius, because Dion whispers in Syracusan ears; Alexander, because Parmenio is praised. Perdiccas has no peace for Ptolemy, Ptolemy none for Seleucus. And there are other griefs than these: his favourite is cold; his concubine loves another; there is talk of a rebellion; there has been muttering among a half-dozen of his guards. And the bitterness of it is, that his nearest and dearest are those whom he is most called on to distrust; from them he must ever look for harm. One we see poisoned by his son, another by his own favourite; and a third will probably fare no better.</blockquote>
The Ship or Wishes
<blockquote>Ly . Why, it is not clear how long this life of affluence is to last. Who knows? You may be sitting one day at your solid gold table, just putting out your hand for a slice of that peacock or capon, when, at that very moment, off flies animula vagula , and Adimantus after her, leaving his all a prey to crows and vultures. Need I enumerate instances? There have been rich men who have died before they knew what it was to be rich; others have lived to be robbed of their possessions by some malign spirit who waits upon wealth. The cases of Croesus and Polycrates are familiar to you. Their riches were greater far than yours; yet at one stroke they lost all. But leaving them out of the case, do you consider that you have good security for the continuance of your health? Look at the number of rich men whose lives are made miserable by their infirmities: some are crippled, others are blind, others have internal diseases. Say what you will, I am sure that for double your wealth you would not consent to be a weakling like rich Phanomachus; not to mention the artful designs, the robberies, the envy, and the unpopularity that are inseparable from wealth. See what troubles your treasure will land you in!</blockquote>