Dion

Dion, son of Hipparinus, a Syracusan, born of a noble family, was entangled in the tyranny of both the Dionysii. For the elder of them had in marriage Aristomache, the sister of Dion, by whom he begot two sons, Hipparinus and Nisaeus, and as many daughters, by name Sophrosyne and Arete, of whom he gave the former in marriage to his son Dionysius — the same to whom he left the kingdom — and the other, Arete, to Dion. Besides his noble kinship and the famed renown of his ancestors, Dion had many other gifts from nature, among them a teachable, courteous disposition, fitted for the best arts, great dignity of person, which commends a man not least, and besides great riches left him by his father, which he himself had increased by the gifts of the tyrant. He was most intimate with the elder Dionysius, no less on account of his character than of his kinship. For although the cruelty of Dionysius displeased him, yet he was zealous for his safety on account of their connection, and still more for the sake of his own kin. He was at hand in great affairs, and the tyrant was much moved by his counsel, except where some greater desire of his own had intervened. All embassies, indeed, that were of more note were managed through Dion; and these, by discharging diligently and administering faithfully, he softened by his own courtesy the most cruel name of the tyrant. The Carthaginians so looked up to this man, sent by Dionysius, that they never admired any Greek-speaking man more.

Nor indeed did these things escape Dionysius: for he perceived how great an ornament Dion was to him. Hence it came about that he indulged this one man most of all and loved him no otherwise than a son: who indeed, when report had been brought into Sicily that Plato had come to Tarentum, could not refuse the young man's request to send for him, since Dion burned with desire of hearing him. He therefore granted him this favour and brought Plato to Syracuse with great ceremony. Him Dion so admired and so loved that he gave himself wholly to him. Nor indeed was Plato himself less delighted with Dion. And so, although he had been cruelly outraged by the tyrant — who indeed had ordered him to be sold into slavery — yet he returned to the same place, drawn by the entreaties of the same Dion. Meanwhile Dionysius fell into a sickness. When he was being grievously afflicted by it, Dion asked of the physicians how he fared, and at the same time begged of them that, if perchance he were in greater danger, they should confess it to him: for he wished to confer with him about a division of the kingdom, since he thought that his sister's sons, born of him, ought to have a share of the kingdom. This the physicians did not keep silent, and reported the conversation to Dionysius the son. Disturbed by this, lest Dion should have the chance of acting, he forced the physicians to give his father a sleeping draught. The sick man, having taken it, was lulled to sleep and met his last day.

Such was the beginning of the enmity between Dion and Dionysius, and it was increased by many things. But nevertheless in the first times a feigned friendship between them lasted for some while. So it was when Dion did not cease to beseech Dionysius to summon Plato from Athens and to use his counsels: Dionysius, who in some matter wished to imitate his father, humoured him. And at the same time he brought back to Syracuse the historian Philistus, a man no more a friend to the tyrant than to tyranny. But of this more is set forth in that book which was written about the Greek historians. Plato, however, had such authority with Dionysius and so prevailed by his eloquence that he persuaded him to make an end of his tyranny and to restore liberty to the Syracusans. Frightened off from this purpose by the counsel of Philistus, he began to be somewhat more cruel.

When indeed he saw himself surpassed by Dion in talent, authority, and the love of the people, fearing lest, if he kept him with him, he should give some occasion of crushing himself, he gave him a trireme on which to be conveyed to Corinth, pretending that he did this for the sake of them both, lest, while they feared one another, one or the other should forestall the other. When many were indignant that this had been done, and it was a matter of great odium to the tyrant, Dionysius loaded all of Dion's movable property onto ships and sent it to him. For so he wished it to be thought that he had done this not out of hatred of the man, but for the sake of his own safety. But after he heard that Dion was gathering a band in the Peloponnese and was attempting to make war on him, he gave Arete, Dion's wife, in marriage to another, and ordered his son to be so reared that by indulgence he might be steeped in the basest desires. For boys were brought to the lad before he was of age, he was overwhelmed with wine and feasts, and no time was left him sober. He was so unable to bear the changed condition of his life, after his father returned to his country (for guardians had been set over him to draw him away from his former mode of living), that he flung himself down from the upper part of the house and so perished. But I return to my subject.

After Dion came to Corinth, and to the same place fled Heraclides, expelled by the same Dionysius, who had been commander of cavalry, they began by every means to prepare for war. But they made little progress, because the tyranny of so many years was thought to be of great resources; for which reason few were brought into the partnership of the danger. But Dion, relying not so much on his own forces as on hatred of the tyrant, with the greatest spirit set out with two transport ships to attack a dominion of fifty years, fortified with five hundred ships of war, ten thousand horse and a hundred thousand foot; and — what seemed marvellous to all nations — he so easily overthrew it that on the third day after he had touched Sicily he entered Syracuse. From this it can be understood that no dominion is safe unless fortified by good will. At that time Dionysius was away, and was awaiting the fleet of his adversaries in Italy, thinking that no one would come against him without great forces. This expectation deceived him. For Dion, by those very men who had been under the power of his adversary, beat down the royal pretensions and gained possession of all that part of Sicily which had been under the power of Dionysius, and in like manner of the city of Syracuse except the citadel and the island joined to the town; and he brought the matter to such a point that the tyrant wished to make peace on such terms as these: that Dion should hold Sicily, Dionysius Italy, and Apollocrates — the one man in whom he had the greatest trust — Syracuse. Dion.

So prosperous and so unlooked-for affairs were followed by a sudden change, because Fortune, by her own fickleness, set about plunging into ruin the man whom a little before she had exalted. First she exercised her power upon his son, of whom I made mention above. For when he had brought back his wife, who had been given to another, and wished to recall his son to virtue from a ruinous luxury, the father received a most grievous wound in the death of his son. Next, dissension arose between him and Heraclides, who, because Dion did not concede to him the leading place, got up a faction. And he was no less powerful among the aristocrats, by whose consent he commanded the fleet, while Dion held the land army. Dion did not bear this with an even mind, and quoted that verse of Homer from the second rhapsody, in which is this thought: that a commonwealth cannot be well managed under the rule of many. This saying was followed by great odium: for he seemed to have made plain that he wished everything to be in his own power. This odium he sought to allay not by complaisance but to crush by harshness, and saw to it that Heraclides, when he came to Syracuse, was put to death.

This deed struck the greatest fear into all: for when he had been slain, no one thought himself safe. But Dion, his adversary removed, more freely distributed among his soldiers the goods of those whom he knew to have been minded against him. When these had been distributed, since daily the greatest expenses were incurred, money quickly began to fail, nor was there anything on which he could lay his hand except the possessions of his friends. This was of such a kind that, when he had reconciled the soldiers, he lost the aristocrats. By the care of these matters he was troubled, and, unused to being ill spoken of, he did not bear with an even mind that he was thought ill of by those by whose praises he had a little before been exalted to the heavens. And the common people, the good will of the soldiers being turned against him, spoke more freely and kept saying that the tyrant was not to be endured.

Beholding these things, when he knew not how to allay them and feared to what end they would come, a certain Callicrates, an Athenian citizen, who had come with him from the Peloponnese into Sicily — a man both cunning and shrewd for fraud, without any scruple or good faith — approached Dion and said: that he was in great peril because of the displeasure of the people and the hatred of the soldiers, which he could by no means escape unless he gave the task to some one of his own followers, who should pretend to be his enemy; if he found a fitting man, he would easily learn the minds of all and remove his adversaries, because his enemies would lay open their feelings to one who dissented from Dion. This plan being approved, Callicrates himself took on this part, and armed himself with the imprudence of Dion. To kill him he sought out accomplices, gathered together his adversaries, and confirmed them by a conspiracy. The matter, with many privy to what was being done, came out and was reported to Aristomache, Dion's sister, and his wife Arete. They, terrified with fear, came together to him about whose peril they feared. But he denied that any plot was being made against him by Callicrates, but that what was being done was done by his own instruction. The women none the less led Callicrates into the temple of Proserpina and forced him to swear that no peril should come to Dion from him. He was not only not deterred by this oath, but was stirred to hasten, fearing lest his design be discovered before he had accomplished what he had planned.

With this intent, on the next festival day, when Dion, withdrawn from the gathering, was keeping at home and had lain down in an upper chamber, Callicrates hands over the more fortified places of the town to those privy to the deed, hems the house with guards, sets trusty men over the doors not to leave them, fits out an armed trireme and hands it over to his brother Philostratus, ordering it to be plied about in the harbour, as if he wished to exercise the rowers — thinking that, if perchance fortune should oppose his designs, he might have means of fleeing to safety. From the number of his own men he chooses certain young Zacynthians, both most daring and of the greatest strength, and gives them the task of going to Dion unarmed, so that they might seem to come for the sake of meeting him. On account of his acquaintance with them, they were admitted. But as soon as they had crossed his threshold, the doors being barred, they fell upon him as he lay on the couch and bound him. A noise arose, so loud that it could be heard outside. Here, as has often been said before, how hateful is sole power, and how pitiable the life of those who prefer to be feared rather than loved, was easy for anyone to understand. For those very guards, if their will had been prompt, could have broken in the doors and saved him, so long as the men held him alive while they demanded a weapon from outside. But since none came to his aid, a certain Lyco, a Syracusan, gave them a sword through the window, with which Dion was killed.

The murder accomplished, when the multitude had come in to see, some who were innocent were cut down by those who knew nothing. For, the rumour having quickly spread that violence had been done to Dion, many had run together to whom such a deed was displeasing. These, led by a false suspicion, killed the guiltless as though they were criminals. When his death was made public, marvellously was the will of the crowd changed. For those who, while he lived, had kept calling him tyrant, now proclaimed him the liberator of his country and the expeller of the tyrant. So suddenly had pity succeeded to hatred, that they longed, if they could, to ransom him with their own blood from Acheron. And so in the city, in a most frequented place, he was buried at public expense and honoured with a monumental tomb. He met his death at about fifty years of age, in the fourth year after he had returned from the Peloponnese into Sicily.