Septem sapientium convivium

Gorgus then told us that his offering of the sacrifice had taken three days, and on the last day there was a dance and merry-making, lasting the whole night long, down by the shore. The moon was shining bright upon the sea; there was no wind, but a perfect calm and stillness, when, afar off, was seen a ripple coming towards land close by the promontory, attended by some foam and much noise from its rapid movement, so that they all ran down in amazement to the place where it was coming to shore. Before they could guess what was bearing down upon them so rapidly, dolphins were seen, some forming a dense encircling line, others leading the way to the smoothest part of the shore, and still others behind, forming, as it were, a rear-guard. In their midst,

uplifted above the sea, was a mass like a man’s body being borne along, but indistinct and ill-defined, until the dolphins drew near together, and with one accord came close to the shore, and deposited on land a human being, in whom was still the breath of life and power to move; then they themselves put forth again towards the promontory leaping even higher than before, and sporting and frolicking apparently for joy. Many of us, continued Gorgus, were panic-stricken, and fled from the sea-shore, but a few, including myself, grew bold enough to draw near, and they recognized Arion the harper, who pronounced his own name himself, and was easily recognizable by his dress; for he happened to be clad in the ceremonial robes which he had worn when he played and sang.

We accordingly conducted him to a tent, since there was really nothing the matter with him, save that he seemed somewhat unstrung and wearied by the swiftness and rush of his ride, and we heard from him a story, incredible to all men except to us who with our own eyes had seen its conclusion. Arion said that some time ago he had resolved to leave Italy, and the receipt of a letter from Periander had only stimulated his desire the more, and when a Corinthian merchant-vessel appeared there, he had at once embarked and sailed away from that land. For three days they were favoured by a moderate breeze, and there came over Arion the feeling that the sailors were plotting to make away with him, and later he learned from the pilot, who secretly gave him the information, that they were resolved to do the deed that night. Helpless and at his wits’ end, he put into execution an impulse, divinely inspired, to adorn

his person, and to take for his shroud, while he was still living, the elaborate attire which he wore at competitions, and to sing a final song to life as he ended it, and not to prove himself in this respect less generous than the swans. Accordingly he made himself ready, and, first saying that he was possessed by a desire to sing through one of his songs—the ode to Pythian Apollo—as a supplication for the safety of himself and the ship and all on board, he took his stand beside the bulwark at the stern, and, after a prelude invoking the gods of the sea, he began the ode. He had not even half finished it as the sun was sinking into the sea and the Peloponnesus becoming visible. The sailors therefore waited no longer for the night-time, but advanced to the murderous deed; whereupon Arion, seeing knives bared and the pilot already covering up his face, ran back and threw himself as far away from the ship as possible. But before his body was entirely submerged, dolphins swam beneath him, and he was borne upward, full of doubt and uncertainty and confusion at first. But when he began to feel at ease in being carried in this manner, and saw many dolphins gathering around him in a friendly way, and relieving one another as though such service in alternation were obligatory and incumbent upon all, and the sight of the ship left far behind gave a means to measure their speed, there came into his thoughts, as he said, not so much a feeling of fear in the face of death, or a desire to live, as a proud longing to be saved that he might be shown to be a man loved by the gods, and that he might gain a sure opinion regarding them. At the same time, observing that the sky was dotted with stars, and the moon was rising bright and clear, while the sea everywhere was without a wave as if a path were being opened for their course, he bethought himself that the eye of Justice is not a single eye only,[*](Possibly a reference to a line of an unknown tragedian found in Moralia, 1124 F.) but through all these eyes of hers God watches in every direction the deeds that are done here and there both on land and on the sea. By these reflections, he said, the weariness and heaviness which he was already beginning to feel in his body were relieved, and when at the last, as the jutting promontory, rugged and lofty, appeared in their path, they rounded it with great caution, and skirted close to the land as if they were bringing a boat safely into harbour, then he fully realized that his rescue had been guided by God’s hand.

When Arion had told all this, continued Gorgus, I asked him where he thought the ship would make harbour; and he replied that it would surely come to Corinth, but its arrival would be much later; for he thought that after he had thrown himself overboard in the evening, he had been carried a distance of not less than fifty or more miles, and a calm had fallen immediately. Gorgus went on to say that he had ascertained the name of the captain and of the pilot, and the ship’s emblem, and had sent out boats and soldiers to the landing-places to keep strict watch; moreover, he had brought Arion with him, carefully concealed, so that the guilty ones might not gain any premature information of his rescue from death, and make good their escape; and in fact the whole affair seemed like an event divinely directed, for his men were here just as he arrived, and he learned that the ship had been seized, and the traders and sailors arrested.

Accordingly Periander bade Gorgus to withdraw at once, and have these men put into prison where nobody should have access to them or tell them that Arion had been rescued.

Well! well! said Aesop, you all make fun of my jackdaws and crows if they talk with one another, and yet dolphins indulge in such pranks as this!

Let’s change the subject, Aesop, said I to him; more than a thousand years have elapsed since this dolphin story has been believed and committed to writing in Greek lands, even from the days of Ino and Athamas. [*](Ino also threw herself into the sea when the crazed Athamas was about to kill her, and was metamorphosed into the sea-goddess Leucothea.)

Solon here entered the conversation: Well, Diocles, let it be granted that these things are near to the gods and far beyond us; but what happened to Hesiod is human and within our ken. Very likely you have heard the story. [*](The story is referred to as early as Thucydides (iii. 96), and seems to have received some embellishments later. Of the many references to the story (which may be found in Wyttenbach’s note on the passage) perhaps the most interesting is in the Contest of Homer and Hesiod, lines 215-254 of Allen’s edition (in the Oxford Classical Texts, 1912), which also assigns names to the persons concerned in it.)

No, I have not, said I.

Well, it is really worth hearing, and so here it is. A man from Miletus, it seems, with whom Hesiod shared lodging and entertainment in Locris, had secret relations with the daughter of the man who entertained them; and when he was detected, Hesiod fell under suspicion of having known about the misconduct from the outset, and of having helped to conceal it, although he was in nowise guilty, but only the innocent victim of a fit of anger and prejudice. For the girl’s brothers killed him, lying in wait for him in the vicinity of the temple of Nemean Zeus in Locris, and with him they killed his servant whose name was Troilus. The dead bodies were

shoved out into the sea, and the body of Troilus, borne out into the current of the river Daphnus, was caught on a wave-washed rock projecting a little above the sea-level; and even to this day the rock is called Troilus. The body of Hesiod, as soon as it left the land, was taken up by a company of dolphins, who conveyed it to Rhium hard by Molycreia.[*](Cf.Moralia 984 D.) It happened that the Locrians’ periodic Rhian sacrifice and festal gathering was being held then, which even nowadays they celebrate in a noteworthy manner at that place. When the body was seen being carried towards them, they were naturally filled with astonishment, and ran down to the shore; recognizing the corpse, which was still fresh, they held all else to be of secondary importance in comparison with investigating the murder, on account of the repute of Hesiod. This they quickly accomplished, discovered the murderers, sank them alive in the sea, and razed their house to the ground. Hesiod was buried near the temple of Nemean Zeus; most foreigners do not know about his grave, but it has been kept concealed, because, as they say, it was sought for by the people of Orchomenos, who wished, in accordance with an oracle, to recover the remains and bury them in their own land. If, therefore, dolphins show such a tender and humane interest in the dead, it is even more likely that they should give aid to the living, and especially if they are charmed by the sound of flutes or some songs or other. For we are all well aware of the fact that these creatures delight in music and follow after it, and swim along beside men who are rowing to the accompaniment of song and flute in a calm, and they enjoy travelling in this way.[*](These were common beliefs in ancient times as is attested by many writers. It may suffice here to refer only to Plutarch Moralia, 704 F and 984 A-985 C.) They take delight also in children’s swimming, and vie with them in diving.[*](See preceiding note on page 438.) For this reason they profit also by an unwritten law of immunity; for nobody hunts them or injures them except when they get into the fishermen’s nets, and do havoc with the catch, and then they are punished with a whipping like naughty children. I remember also hearing from some men of Lesbos that the rescue of a certain maiden from the sea was effected by a dolphin, but, as I am not sure of the various details, it is only right that Pittacus, who does know them, should relate the tale.