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of this bloody overthrow, which affected so great a number of families, when it would have been no wonder, had the multitude, seized with terror and alarms, given way to an emotion of blind zeal, against the man whom they might have considered in some measure as the author of this dreadful calamity; even at this very instant, I say, the people submitted entirely to the counsels of Demosthenes.

153. The precautions that were taken to post guards, to raise the walls, and to repair the ditches, were all in consequence of his advice. He himself was appointed to supply the city with provisions, and to repair the walls, which latter commision he executed with so much generosity, that it acquired him the greatest honour; and for which at the request of Ctesiphon, a crown of gold was decreed him as a reward for his having presented the commonwealth with a sum of money out of his own estate, sufficient to defray what was wanting of the sums for repairing the walls.

154. On the present occasion, that is, after the battle of Charonea, such orators as opposed Demosthenes, having all risen up in concert against him, and having cited him to take his trial according to law, the people not only declared him innocent of the several accusations laid to his charge, but conferred more honours upon him than he had enjoyed before; so strong did the veneration they had for his zeal and fidelity overbalance the efforts of calumny and malice.

155. But the people did not stop here. The bones of such as had been killed in the battle of Charonea having been brought to Athens to be interred, they appointed Demosthenes to compose the eulogium of those brave men: a manifest proof that they did not ascribe to him the ill success of the battle, but to Providence only, who disposes of human events at pleasure.

156. It was in this year that Æschines drew up an accusation against Ctesiphon, or rather against Demosthenes, which was the most remarkable that ever appeared before any tribunal; not so much for the object of the contest, as for the greatness and ability of the speakers. Ctesiphon, a partisan and friend of Demosthenes, brought a cause before the assembly of the people, in which he urged that a decree should be passed, giving a gold crown to Demosthenes. This decree was strongly opposed by Æschines, the rival of Demosthenes, as well in eloquence as ambition.

157. No cause ever excited so much curiosity, nor was pleaded with so much pomp. People flocked to it from all parts, and they had great reason for so doing: for what sight could be nobler than a conflict between two orators, each of them excellent in his way, both formed by nature, improved by art, and ani

mated by perpetual dissensions, and an implacable animosity against each other.

158. The juncture seemed to favour Eschines very much, for the Macedonian party, whom he always befriended, was very powerful in Athens, especially after the ruin of Thebes. Nevertheless Æschines lost his cause, and was justly sentenced to ban ishment for his rash accusation. He thereupon went and set tled himself in Rhodes, where he opened a school of eloquence, the fame and glory of which continued for many ages.

159. He began his lectures with the two orations that had occasioned his banishment. Great encomiums were given to that of Eschines; but when they heard that of Demosthenes, the plaudits and acclamations were redoubled. And it was then he spoke these words so greatly laudable in the mouth of an enemy and a rival:-" Alas! what applauses would you not have bestowed, had you heard Demosthenes speak it himself."

160. Demosthenes thus become victor, made a good use of his conquest. For the instant Eschines left Athens, in order to embark for Rhodes, Demosthenes ran after him, and forced him to accept of a purse of money. On this occasion Eschines cried out, "How will it be possible for me not to regret a country in which I leave an enemy more generous, than I can hope to find friends in any part of the world."

161. In the mean time Philip had his ambition pleased, but not satisfied with his last victory; he had but one object long in view, and that he never lost sight of; this was to get himself appointed in the assembly of the Greeks, their chief general against the Persians. It had long been the object, not only of the confederate states, but also of the neighbouring Greek nations, to revenge upon the kingdom of Persia, the injuries they had sustained from it; and to work the total destruction of that empire. This was an object which had early inflamed the mind of Philip, and his late victory paved the way to it. He therefore got himself declared generalissimo of the Greek forces, and accordingly made preparations to invade that mighty empire.

162. But whilst Philip was thus successful in politics and war, the domestic divisions that reigned in his family, embittered his happiness, and at last caused his destruction. He had married Olympias, the daughter of the king of Epirus, and the early part of their union was crowned with happiness: but her ill temper soon clouded that dawn which promised so much felicity; she was naturally jealous, vindictive and passionate, and their dissensions were carried to such a degree that Philip was often heard to wish for death.

163. But his passion for Cleopatra, niece to Attalus, his gen

eral, completed their separation. As Cleopatra was no less amiable in her temper and accomplishments than in the extraordi nary graces of her person, Philip conceived that he should consult his own happiness most effectually, by forming an inviolable and perpetual union with this lady; and, without the least hesitation, resolved to separate himself for ever from the princess who had long appeared so great an enemy to his tranquillity.

164. In vain did Alexander his son remonstrate, that by divorcing Olympias, and engaging in a second marriage, he exposed him to the danger of contending with a number of competitors for the crown, and rendered his succession precarious. "My son," said the king, "if I create you a number of competitors, you will have the glorious opportunity of exerting yourself to surpass them in merit. Thus shall their rivalship by no means affect your title." His marriage with Cleopatra was now declared in form, and celebrated with all the grandeur and solemnity which the great occasion demanded.

165. The young prince, however dissatisfied, was yet obliged to attend on these solemnities, and sat in silent indignation at that feast which proclaimed the disgrace of his mother. In such circumstances, his youthful and impetuous mind could not but be susceptible of the slightest irritation. Attalus, the uncle of the new queen, forgetting that just caution which should have taught him to be scrupulously observant to avoid offending the prince, intoxicated by the honours paid to his kinswoman, as well as by the present festivity, was rash enough to call publicly on the Macedonian nobles to pour out their libations to the gods, that they might grant the king the happy fruits of the present nuptials, and legitimate heirs to his throne.

166. Wretch! cried Alexander, with his eyes sparkling with that fury and vexation which he had till now suppressed, dost thou then call me bastard? and instantly darted his goblet at Attalus, who returned the outrage with double violence. Clamour and confusion arose, and the king, in a sudden fit of rage, snatched his sword, and flew directly towards his son. His precipitation, his lameness, and the quantity of wine in which he had by this time indulged, happily disappointed his rash purpose; he stumbled and fell on the floor, while Alexander, with an unpardonable insolence, cried out, "Behold, ye Macedonians! this is the king who is preparing to lead you into Asia; see, where in passing from one table to another, he is fallen to the ground."

167. Philip, however, did not lose sight of the conquest of Asia. Full of the mighty project he revolved, he consulted the gods to know what would be the event of it; and the priestess

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replied, The victim is already crowned, his end draws nigh, and he will soon be sacrificed. Philip hearing this, did not hesitate a moment, but interpreted the oracle in his own favour; the ambiguity of which ought at least to have kept him in some suspense. In order, therefore, that he might be in a condition to apply entirely to his expedition against the Persians, and elevate himself solely to the conquest of Asia, he despatched with all possible diligence his domestic affairs.

168. After this he offered up a solemn sacrifice to the gods; and prepared to celebrate with incredible magnificence in Egæ, a city of Macedonia, the nuptials of Cleopatra his daughter, whom he gave in marriage to Alexander king of Epirus, and brother to Olympias his queen. He had invited to it the most considerable persons of Greece, and heaped upon them friendship and honours of every kind, by way of gratitude for electing him generalissimo of the Greeks.

169. The cities made their court to him in emulation of each other, by sending him gold crowns; and Athens distinguished its zeal above all the rest. Neoptolemus, the poet, had written purposely for that festival, a tragedy entitled Cinyras, in which, under borrowed names, he represented his prince as already victor over Darius, and master of Asia. Philip listened to these happy presages with joy; and, comparing them with the answer of the oracle, assured himself of conquest. The day after the nuptials, games and shows were solemnised.

170. As these formed part of the religious worship, there were carried in it, with great pomp and ceremony, twelve statues of the gods carved with inimitable art; a thirteenth that surpassed them all in magnificence, represented Philip as a god. The hour of his leaving the palace arrived; he went forth in a white robe; and advanced with an air of majesty, in the midst of acclamations, towards the theatre, where an infinite multitude of Macedonians, as well as foreigners, waited his coming with impatience.

171. But this magnificence only served to make the catastrophe more remarkable, and to add splendour to ruin. Some time before, Attalus, inflamed with wine at an entertainment, had insulted in the most shocking manner Pausanias, a young Macedonian nobleman. The latter had long endeavoured to revenge the cruel affront, and was perpetually imploring the king's justice. But Philip, unwilling to disgust Attalus, uncle to Cleopatra, whom, as was before observed, he had married after his divorcing Olympias his first queen, would never listen to Pausanias' complaints.

172. However, to console him in some measure, and to express the high esteem he had for, and the great confidence he reposed in him, he made him one of the chief officers of his life guard. But this

was not what the young Macedonian required, whose anger now swelling to fury against his judge, he formed the design of wiping out his shame, by imbruing his hands in the blood of his sovereign.

173. And now while this unhappy youth continued brooding over those malignant passions which distracted and corroded his mind, he happened to go into the school of one Hermocrates, who professed to teach philosophy; to whom he proposed the following question: "What shall that man do who wishes to transmit his name with lustre to posterity ?" Hermocrates, either artfully and from design, or the natural malignity of his temper, replied, "He must kill him who had achieved the greatest actions; thus shall the memory of the hero be joined with his who slew him, and both descend together to posterity."

174. This was a maxim highly agreeable to Pausanias, in the present disposition of his mind; and thus various accidents and circumstances, concurred to inflame those dangerous passions which now possessed him, and to prompt him to the dreadful purpose of satiating his revenge. The present solemnity was that which Pausanias chose to put his dreadful design into execution. Philip, clothed in a white flowing robe, waving in soft and graceful folds, the habiliments in which the Grecian deities were usually represented, moved forward with a heart filled with triumph and exultation, while the admiring crowds shouted forth their flattering applause.

175. His guards had orders to keep at a considerable distance from his person, to show that the king confided in the affections of the people, and had not the least apprehensions of danger amidst all this mixed concourse of different states and nations. Unhappily the danger was but too near him. The injured Pausanias had not yet forgot his wrongs, but still retained those terrible impressions which the sense of the indignity he had received, and the artful and interested representations of others, fixed deeply in his mind. He chose this fatal morning for the execution of his revenge on the prince who had denied reparation to his injured honour.

176. His design had been for some time premeditated, and now was the dreadful moment of effecting it. As Philip marched on, in all his pride and pomp, this young Macedonian slipped through the crowd, and with a desperate and malignant resolution, waited his approach in a narrow passage, just at the entrance into the theatre. The king advanced towards him, Pausanias drew his poignard, plunged it into his heart, and the conqueror of Greece, and terror of Asia, fell prostrate to the ground, and instantly expired.

177. The murderer flew towards the gates of the city, where there stood horses ready to favour his escape, which Olympias

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