and the like, doing more than all the eight kings before him put together."

Though the progress of the country toward civilization was seriously retarded by the ten years of anarchy that followed this reign, and the various wars that intervened to disturb the succeeding reigns of Amyntas (389-369 B. C.), Alexander II (369-368), Ptolemæus (368-365), and Perdiccas III (365-359), the trend of events was ever toward bringing the country into closer, though often hostile, contact with central Greece.

It was an occurrence of no slight significance for the history of the land which he was afterward to rule when Philip, the son of Amyntas, was held three years (368-365) a hostage at Thebes-at a time, too, when Thebes, at the height of its political importance, was the leading military power of the day, and the home of Epaminondas, the greatest leader and military strategist that Greece had yet produced. The tendency of Macedonian politics for a century and a half before Philip had followed, as we have seen, the twofold inclination of the kings, first, to raise Macedonia to the rank of a Greek state and secure it participation in Hellenic affairs and Hellenic culture, and, second, to antagonize orientalism as expressed in the power of Persia. With Philip the course of events brought it about that these two inclinations naturally blended into one. After a peculiar combination of occurrences in the year 352 had given him a foothold in Thessaly and made him a party to the controversies of central Greece, he saw his way to a larger ambition, which combined all the ambitions of his predecessors, and more than fulfilled them. He and his people should become Greek in leading Greece, and in leading it against the East.

Philip ascended the throne in 359 B. C. Three years later Alexander was born prince and heir. We have seen the soil and the root from which he sprang. All his life is true to its source. In fresh, wild vigor he is a son of Macedon, in impulsive idealism the son of Olympias, in sagacity and organizing talent the son of Philip. But he was born to a throne, and, in his father's foresight, to a greater throne than that of little landlocked Macedonia, with its shepherds and peasants and country squires. Philip doubtless prided himself on being a "self-made" man; but his boy was to have an education that no Greek could despise.

While it would be evidently amiss in estimating the influence of Alexander's

VOL. LVII.-2.

education upon his character to compare inherited traits as subtrahend against the finished product as a minuend, the data which we fortunately possess concerning his early training, and our knowledge of the ideas and system of his later teacher Aristotle, afford, when combined with the clear picture history has left us of our hero's personality, an opportunity unparalleled in all the story of olden time of seeing what education can do for a man. Let the plain story of his boyhood yield its own lesson.

As was usual in all well-to-do Greek families, Alexander was first committed to the care of a nurse. Her name was Lanice, probably the familiar form of Hellanice. The first six years of his life were spent under her care, and a feeling of attachment developed toward her that lasted throughout his life. "He loved her as a mother," says an ancient writer. One of her children, Proteas, whom she nursed and brought up in company with the young prince, remained in after life one of his most intimate associates. All her sons afterward gave their lives in battle for him, and her one brother, Clitus, who was also a faithful friend, and at Granicus rescued him from death, was killed by his hand in a pitiful quarrel at a drinking-bout, a deed which brought him instant regret and fearful remorse. As he lay in his tears on the bed of repentance, the graphic account of Arrian tells how "he kept calling the name of Clitus, and the name of Lanice, Clitus's sister, who nursed and reared him-Lanice, the daughter of Dropides. 'Fair return I have made in manhood's years for thy nurture and carethou who hast seen thy sons die fighting in my behalf; and now I have slain thy brother with mine own hand!'"

During these first six years we have no reason to suppose that our young hero's education differed essentially from that of other Greeks. The methods of the nursery are usually those of plain tradition, and are the last strongholds to be reached by the innovations of any newfangled systems of education. He grew up in the retirement of the women's quarters, in the company of other children, and with the customary solace of top and hoop, puppet and ridinghorse, cradle-songs and nurses' tales. Of men he saw little, least of all during those militant years of his father, Philip. He was, through and through, a mother's boy. To her he had the stronger attachment, and from her he inherited the predominating traits of his spiritual character.

With the beginning of his seventh year a Greek boy of the better class was usually intrusted to the care of a special male servant, called the paidagogos, or pedagogue. He was usually a slave, not necessarily one of much education, but a trustworthy, respectable, and generally elderly person, capable of teaching boys their "manners and keeping them out of mischief. He accompanied the boy wherever he went, attended him to school, carrying his cither, or little harp, his books, tablets, etc., and remained there in waiting until the schoolmaster, the didaskalos, was through with him. In Alexander's case more than this was done. The general oversight of his education was intrusted to a man of distinction and royal birth, one Leonidas, a relative of Alexander's mother, who, though he did not spurn the title "pedagogue" in so good a cause, was properly known as "educator" or "professor." He was, in reality, what we should call the prince's tutor. The position of pedagogue proper was held by an Acharnanian named Lysimachus, a man whose witless mediocrity has been rescued from total oblivion by one happy "classical allusion." "Because," says Plutarch, "he named himself Phoenix, and Alexander Achilles, and Philip Peleus, he was esteemed and held the second rank [i. e., among the educators of Alexander]."

Leonidas was essentially a harsh, stern disciplinarian. Alexander received under his tutelage an excellent physical education, and was trained to endure hardships and privations, and to abhor luxury. A passage in Plutarch's life of Alexander is in point here: "He was extremely temperate in eating and drinking, as is particularly well illustrated by what he said to Ada-the one whom he dignified with the title 'mother,' and established as Queen of Caria. She, as a friendly attention, used, it seems, to send him daily not only all sorts of meats and cakes, but went so far, finally, as to send him the cleverest cooks and bakers she could find. These, however, Alexander said he had no use for. Better cooks he had already those which his pedagogue Leonidas had given him; namely, as breakfast-cook one named All-night-tramp, and as a dinner-cook one Light-weight-breakfast. 'Why, sir,' said he, 'that man Leonidas would go and unlock my chests where I kept my blankets and clothes, and look in them to see that my mother had not given me anything that I did not really need, or that conduced to luxury and indulgence."" Another reference to Leoni

das (Plutarch, chap. xxv) harmonizes reasonably with the foregoing. It again represents the tutor as a rigid inspector of details, and gives to his sternness a complementary shade of the petty economical. This is the story: "As he [Alexander] was sending off to Olympias and Cleopatra and his friends great quantities of the booty he had taken [from the sack of Gaza], he sent along with it, for his pedagogue Leonidas, five hundred talents of frankincense and a hundred talents of myrrh, in memory of a boyish dream of his youth. For it so happened once at a sacrifice that, as Alexander seized both hands full of the incense and threw it upon the fire, Leonidas called to him, and said: 'Sometime, if you get to be master of the land of spices, you can throw incense on lavishly like this, but for the present be economical in the use of what you have.' So now Alexander took the occasion to write to him: 'We send you frankincense and myrrh in abundance, so that you may make an end of economizing with the gods.""

We may do the old tutor an injustice in attributing to him, on the basis of this incident alone, anything like smallness or meanness in character. The tendency of Alexander was naturally toward lavishness and recklessness. Leonidas sought, doubtless, to check this, and was remembered most distinctly by his former pupil in his favorite rôle of brakeman. And yet Leonidas cannot escape wholly the charge, which later opinion laid at his doors, of having carried his severity and martinetism too far, and of being thus in some measure responsible for certain faults, particularly of harshness, imperiousness, and arbitrariness, which showed themselves later in the bearing and temper of his pupil. Philip early recognized that a character of such strength as Alexander's was not to be controlled and trained in the school of arbitrary authority. He needed guidance, and not authority. He must be convinced and led, not driven. Thus Plutarch says: "Philip recognized that while his was a nature hard to move when once he had set himself to resist, he could yet be easily led by reason to do what was right. So he always himself tried to influence him by argument rather than command, and as he was unwilling to intrust the direction and training of his son to the teachers of music and the culture-studies, considering this to be a task of extraordinary importance and difficulty, or, as Sophocles has it, 'a job at once for many a bit and many a helm,' he sent for Aristotle, the most famous and learned of the philoso

phers, to come to him." It does not by any means necessarily follow, from what Plutarch says, that Leonidas was dispossessed of his position as supervisor of the prince's education by the coming of Aristotle. He probably remained in at least nominal control, but it is certainly to be inferred from all that we hear about the later course of training that the all-important personal factor in it was Aristotle. The pedagogue proper, i. e., Lysimachus, undoubtedly continued to act in the function of personal attendant, and we hear of him as still in the company of Alexander during the campaign in Syria, and when the latter was over twenty-three years old. The story which Plutarch tells about him in the "Vita" illustrates not only his amiable eccentricity of temper, but also, at the same time, the tenderness, generosity, and unselfish loyalty to friendship which were such marked features in Alexander's character. "During the progress of the siege of Tyre, on a foray-expedition which he made against the Arabs dwelling by Antilibanon, he came into great danger through his pedagogue Lysimachus. Lysimachus, namely, had insisted on following him everywhere, claiming that he was no less fit and no older than Homer's Phoenix. When now, on entering the mountain regions, they were obliged to leave their horses and go afoot, Lysimachus became exhausted and was unable to advance. The rest of the company was far in advance, but Alexander could not bring himself to leave his old friend there alone, with the night coming down and the enemy close at hand. So he stayed by him, and kept cheering him on and trying to help him forward, until, without its being noticed, he, with a few attendants, became separated from the army, and found himself obliged to bivouac there in the darkness and the bitter cold, and that, too, in a grimly disagreeable and dangerous position. After a while he descried at some distance from him various scattered campfires of the enemy. Relying upon his fleetness of foot, and with his usual fondness for encouraging his people by personal participation in toil and peril, he made a dash against the company at the nearest watch-fire. Two barbarians who were sitting there by the fire he despatched with his knife, and then, seizing a firebrand, made off with it to his own people. Then they built a great fire, so that some of the enemy were frightened and fled. Others who essayed to attack them they repulsed. Thus they spent the night in safety. This is the story as Chares tells it." To return now to the boy Alexander. We

have good reason to justify the opinion of his father, Philip, that the training of such a fellow demanded the best coöperative steering endeavors of "many a bit and many a helm." He was not at all what is ordinarily called the "bad boy "-rather the contrary. But he was restless, energetic, fearless, headstrong, and self-willed, though his selfwill was that of an intelligent, inventive independence, rather than pure stubbornness. The famous story of the taming of Bucephalus contains a full body of doctrine on this subject, and, as its accord with later developments in the character of Alexander is too unmistakable to admit of any doubt as to its authenticity, we give it in full as Plutarch tells it. From the context in which the narrative appears, we infer with reasonable certainty that Alexander at the time was about twelve years old.

"Philonicus of Thessaly had offered to sell Philip his horse Bucephalus for thirteen talents. So they all went down into the plain to try the animal. He proved, however, to be balky and utterly useless. He would let no one mount him, and none of the attendants of Philip could make him hear to him, but he violently resisted them all. Philip, in his disgust, ordered the horse led away as being utterly wild and untrained. Whereat, Alexander, who was present, said: "That is too good a horse for those men to spoil that way, simply because they have n't the skill or the grit to handle him right.' At first Philip paid no attention to him, but as he kept insisting on being heard and seemed greatly disturbed about the matter, his father said to him: 'What do you mean by criticizing your elders, as if you were wiser than they, or knew so much more about handling a horse than they do?' 'Well, this horse, anyway, I would handle better than any one else, if they would give me a chance.' 'In case you don't succeed,' rejoined his father, 'what penalty are you willing to pay for your freshness?' 'I'll pay, by Jove, the price of the horse!' Laughter greeted this answer, but after some bantering with his father about the money arrangements, he went straight to the horse, took him by the bridle, and turned him around toward the sun. This he did on the theory that the horse's fright was due to seeing his own shadow dance up and down on the ground before him. He then ran along by his side awhile, patting and coaxing him, until, after a while, seeing he was full of fire and spirit and impatient to go, he quietly threw off his coat, and swinging himself up, sat securely

astride the horse. Then he guided him about for a while with the reins, without striking him or jerking at the bit. When now he saw that the horse was getting over his nervousness and was eager to gallop ahead, he let him go, driving him on with a sterner voice and with kicks of his foot. In the group of onlookers about Philip there prevailed, from the first, the silence of intensely anxious concern. But when the boy turned the horse and came galloping up to them with pride and joy in his face, they all burst out into a cheer. His father, they say, shed tears for very joy, and, as he dismounted, kissed him on the head, and said: 'My son, seek thee a kingdom suited to thy powers; Macedonia is too strait for thee.'"

Bucephalus became from this time the property and the inseparable companion of Alexander. He accompanied him on his campaigns, "sharing many toils and dangers with him," and was generally the horse ridden by him in battle. No one else was ever allowed to mount him, as Arrian says, "because he deemed all other riders unworthy." He is reported to have been a magnificent black charger of extraordinary size, and to have been marked with a white spot on the forehead.

From boyhood on, nothing is more characteristic of Alexander than his restless passion for reshaping and subduing. He bore no marks of indolence of will. Action was almost a mania with him. A naïve remark of his boyhood shows how the child was father of the man. "Whenever news was brought of Philip's victories, the capture of a city or the winning of some great battle, he never seemed greatly rejoiced to hear it; on the contrary, he used to say to his playfellows: Father will get everything in advance, boys; he won't leave any great task for me to share with you.' . . . He deliberately preferred as his inheritance, not treasures, not luxury and pleasures, but toils, wars, and ambitions."

By nature he was fervently passionate and impulsive, and it was only a magnificent force of will that enabled him to hold rein upon his passions. The struggle for self-control began in his boyhood. "Even in boyhood," the ancient biographer says, "he showed a tendency to moderation and self-control, in that, though naturally violent and easily swayed by passion, he was not readily inflamed in the enjoyment of bodily pleasures, and handled them mildly." Self-subduing was only a manifestation of the supreme passion for bringing his environment under

the control of his personality; he merely treated self as part of his environment. Appetites fared with him much as Bucephalus did.

This greed of achieving early showed, however, its bent toward things political. "He had not," Plutarch says, "like his father, Philip, an undiscriminating fondness for all kinds of fame. Thus Philip, for instance, used to plume himself on his cleverness in oratory, as much as if he had been a professional rhetorician, and his chariot-race victories he commemorated on his coins. Alexander, however, when his companions were trying to find out whether he would be willing to compete in the foot-race at Olympia, for he was swift of foot, said: "Yes, certainly, if I can have kings as antagonists."" We should do Alexander great injustice if we interpreted this remark as monarchical snobbishness. Alexander, our author implies, was no lover of fame in itself and for its own sake. The winning of a foot-race, for instance, would have little value for him, except he could win it from a prince, i. e., except as the victory could take on a political color and assume a political meaning. Not that he felt it unbecoming to his station or beneath his dignity to contend with common men, but that a mere athletic victory would be to him only a sham victory, a meaningless achievement. This interpretation of our passage is supported not only by the context, but by all that we know else of the boy's character.

It is in harmony with this earnestness of purpose, and the tendency of his ambition to concentrate itself upon a single aim, that we find him, while yet a stripling, profoundly interested, with a naïvely boyish seriousness, in everything which concerned the imperial dreams and plans of his house. Once when, in his father's absence, a body of special ambassadors from the Persian Shah came to the capital, he is said to have attracted much remark by the skill with which he entertained them, and by the sober craft with which he exploited the opportunity of their presence. He showed them such distinguished attention and kindness that he directly placed himself upon a confidential footing with them. The questions he asked them were, to their surprise, not about trifling topics such as a boy would be expected to be interested in, but "about the length of the roads, and the methods of inland travel; about the Shah, and what sort of a man he was in a military way; how strong the Persian army was, and what constituted the strength of