Pelopidas

From the cities, too, when tidings of these things reached them, came the magistrates, accompanied by youths and boys and priests, to take up the body, and they brought trophies and wreaths and suits of golden armour. And when the body was to be carried forth for burial, the most reverend of the Thessalians came and begged the Thebans for the privilege of giving it burial themselves. And one of them said: Friends and allies, we ask of you a favour which will be an honour to us in our great misfortune, and will give us consolation.

We men of Thessaly can never again escort a living Pelopidas on his way, nor pay him worthy honours of which he can be sensible; but if we may be permitted to compose and adorn his body with our own hands and give it burial, you will believe, we are persuaded, that this calamity is a greater one for Thessaly than for Thebes. For you have lost only a good commander; but we both that and freedom. For how shall we have the courage to ask another general from you, when we have not returned Pelopidas? This request the Thebans granted.

Those funeral rites were never surpassed in splendour, in the opinion of those who do not think splendour to consist in ivory, gold, and purple, like Philistus, who tells in wondering strains about the funeral of Dionysius, which formed the pompous conclusion of the great tragedy of his tyranny.

Alexander the Great, too, when Hephaestion died, not only sheared the manes of his horses and mules, but actually took away the battlements of the city-walls, in order that the cities might seem to be in mourning, assuming a shorn and dishevelled appearance instead of their former beauty. These honours, however, were dictated by despots, were performed under strong compulsion, and were attended with envy of those who received them and hatred of those who enforced them; they were a manifestation of no gratitude or esteem whatever, but of barbaric pomp and luxury and vain-glory, on the part of men who lavished their superfluous wealth on vain and sorry practices.

But that a man who was a commoner, dying in a strange country, in the absence of wife, children, and kinsmen, none asking and none compelling it, should be escorted and carried forth and crowned by so many peoples and cities eager to show him honour, rightly seemed to argue him supremely fortunate.

For the death of men in the hour of their triumph is not, as Aesop used to say, most grievous, but most blessed, since it puts in safe keeping their enjoyment of their blessings and leaves no room for change of fortune. Therefore the Spartan’s advice was better, who, when he greeted Diagoras, the Olympian victor, who had lived to see his sons crowned at Olympia, yes, and the sons of his sons and daughters, said; Die now, Diagoras; thou canst not ascend to Olympus.

But one would not deign, I think, to compare all the Olympian and Pythian victories put together with one of the struggles of Pelopidas; these were many, and he made them successfully, and after living most of his life in fame and honour, at last, while boeotarch for the thirteenth time, performing a deed of high valour which aimed at a tyrant’s life, he died in defence of the freedom of Thessaly.