East presided over the trial of their subjects, from the Porch of Solomon' down to the Sublime Porte at Constantinople and the Tower of Justice in the Alhambra-there appeared in the presence of the Athenian people the fatal indictment, memorable for all future ages:- Socrates is guilty of crime, first, 'for not worshipping the gods whom the city worships, but introducing new divinities of his own; next, for corrupting 'the youth. The penalty due is—death.'

These two accusations at once concentrated upon Socrates the indefinite odium which had, perhaps for years, but certainly for months past, been gathering in the minds of the people. Three men only had spoken, Melitus, Anytus, and Lycon; but they spoke the feeling of hundreds. The charge of innovation on the national religion, as it was one which, especially at that moment, roused the 'too much super'stition' of that sensitive populace almost to madness, was one to which, however unjustly, his manner and his conversation eminently exposed him. It recalled, too, and Melitus the poet would not suffer the recollection to sleep, the great spectacle which twenty-four years ago had been exhibited in the Dionysiac Theatre, when Socrates had been held up to ridicule and detestation as the representative of the Sophist school in the Clouds' of Aristophanes ; and although many who had sat on the tiers of the theatre at that time were now in their graves, and, possibly, the long and blameless course which had followed might have cleared away some misunderstandings, yet the very appearance of Socrates would suggest the laughter which that hideous mask had called forth; the very words of the charge would bring before their minds the most striking of the Aristophanic scenes.

Still more sharply was the second count in the indictment pointed by the events of the time-' He has corrupted 2 Acts xvii. 22 (Greek).

1 See Lecture XXVI.

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the youth.' Two men, the most distinguished of the pupils of his earlier years, had just been cut off, in the very height of their fame and of their crimes. The two most hateful names at Athens at this moment were Alcibiades and Critias-Alcibiades, both for his individual licentiousness and insolence, and also for the public treason, which more than any one cause had precipitated the fatal termination of the war-Critias, as the chief director of the spoliations ' and atrocities committed by the Thirty.' And yet both these dreadful characters-for so they must have been regarded-had in former times been seen hanging on the lips of Socrates in public and in private; for Alcibiades his affection had been stronger than he had felt to any other man; of Critias it was enough to say that he was the uncle of the philosopher's most admiring disciple, Plato. And the odium which would be incurred by this connexion must have been enhanced by the presence of his accuser Anytus. Anytus had suffered with Thrasybulus during the late usurpationwith him had taken refuge in the mountain fastnesses of Phyle with him had shared the danger and the glory of the return. As the aged accuser and the aged prisoner stood before the Athenian court, the judges could hardly fail to be reminded that in one they saw the faithful supporter, through evil report and good report, of their greatest benefactor-in the other, the master and friend of the arch-traitor and the arch-tyrant.

It was to feelings such as these, added to the long-accumulated jealousy and suspicion which intellectual and moral eminence, when accompanied either by eccentricity or by hostility to existing opinions or practice, always provokes, that we must ascribe the unfavourable attitude assumed by the Judicial Assembly of Athens towards Socrates. Amongst the five hundred and fifty men of whom that assembly was composed there must have been ample room for the entrance

of all those irregular and accidental influences to which a numerous court of justice in such a case must always be exposed-there must have been many who had formerly smarted under his questions in the market-place--many who had been disturbed by the consciousness of something beyond their ordinary powers of understanding or appreciation.

It is due alike to him and to them to remember that by 276 out of that number he was acquitted. A majority of six turned the scale in the most momentous trial which down to that time the world had witnessed. There was still, however, a chance of escape. The penalty for which the Athenians had called was death. But, according to the form of the Athenian judicature, it was always in the power of the accused, after the verdict had been pronounced, to suggest some lesser penalty than had been proposed, such as fine, imprisonment, or exile. Had Socrates done this simply and purely, the very small majority by which the condemnation had been pronounced affords sufficient proof that the judges were not inclined to sanction the extreme penalty against him. But the lofty tone which he had assumed in the previous part of the trial, and which to many of the judges 'would appear to betray an insolence not without analogy to Alcibiades or Critias, with whom his accuser had compared ' him,' now rose to a still higher pitch. His own words must be given, as alone conveying an impression of the effect which must have been produced.

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• And what shall I propose on my part, O men of Athens ? Clearly that which is my due. And what is that which I 'ought to pay or to receive? What shall be done to the man 'who has never had the wit to be idle during his whole life; 'but has been careless of what the many care about-wealth, and family interests, and military offices, and speaking in 'the assembly, and magistracies, and plots, and parties? Reflecting that I was really too honest a man to follow in

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'this way and live, I did not go where I could do no good to 'you or to myself; but where I could do the greatest good 'privately to every one of you, thither I went, and sought to 'persuade every man among you that he must look to himself, and seek virtue and wisdom before he looks to his 'private interests, and look to the State before he looks to 'the interests of the State; and that this should be the order 'which he observes in all his actions. What shall be done 'to such an one? Doubtless some good thing, O men of Athens, if he has his reward; and the good should be of a 'kind suitable to him. What would be a reward suitable to a poor man who is your benefactor, who desires leisure that 'he may instruct you? There can be no more fitting reward 'than maintenance at the expense of the State in the Pry'taneum.'

It is easy to conceive the indignation with which this challenge must have been received by the judges, as a direct insult to the court-the bitter grief and disappointment with which it must have been heard by his friends, as throwing away the last chance of preserving a life to them so inestimably precious. To us, it invests the character of Socrates with that heroic dignity which would else perhaps have been wanting to his career, from its very simplicity and homely usefulness. At the same time it has a further and peculiar interest in enabling us to form a distinct conception of that determined disregard of time and place and consequences which constitutes so remarkable a feature of Socrates' individual character, and harmonises completely with that stern religious determination which recalls and illustrates so many a solitary career in the history we have traversed from Moses down to Malachi. It is the same intent devotion to his one object of life, as appeared when he remained transfixed in the camp at Potidea-as when he looked back with calm majesty on his pursuers at Delium—as when

he argued through long days and months in the public places of Athens—as when he refused in the raging assembly after the battle of Arginusæ to be turned one hair's breadth from the strict rule of law and duty.

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The closing scenes which Plato has invested with such His death. surpassing glory can never be forgotten. The Hebrew prophet, the Christian martyr, might well have couched their farewells to the audiences before which they, like him, often pleaded in vain, almost in the same words: The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways. I go to die, and 'you to live. Which is better God only knows.' Then ensue the long thirty days which passed in prison before the execution of the verdict-the playful equanimity and unabated interest in his habitual objects of life amidst the uncontrollable emotions of his companions, after they knew of the return of the sacred ship, whose absence had up to that moment suspended his fate. Then follows the gathering in of that solemn evening, when the fading of the sunset in all its variety of hues on the tops of the Athenian hills was the signal that the last hour was at hand.' Then the fatal hemlock enters; we see the immoveable countenance, the firm hand, the wonted' scowl' of stern defiance at the executioner; 2 we hear the burst of frantic lamentation from all his friends, as, with his habitual ease and cheerfulness,' he drained the cup to its dregs; we watch the solemn silence enjoined by himself the pacing to and fro-the cold palsy of the hemlock creeping from the extremities to the heart, and the gradual torpor ending in death.

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We trace also how he chose, or how his disciple has chosen for him, these last moments for some of his most characteristic arguments. Now comes out his ruling passion

1 ἀλλ ̓ οἶμαι ἔτι ἥλιον εἶναι ἐπὶ τοῖς

ὄρεσι καὶ οὔπω δεδυκέναι. Phaedo, e. 116.

ง

· ὥσπερ εἰώθει, ταυρηδὸν ὑπο

βλέψας. Ib. b. 117.

3 μάλα εὐχερῶς καὶ εἰ κίλως ἐξέπιε. 1b. c. 117.