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- Herausgeber: DigiCat
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
Xenophon's 'Anabasis' is a seminal work of classical literature that recounts the extraordinary journey of Greek mercenaries who fought for Cyrus the Younger in his ill-fated campaign against the Persian king Artaxerxes II. Written in an immersive, first-person narrative style, the text intricately blends military history, travelogue, and philosophical reflection. The work details the harrowing experiences of the 'Ten Thousand,' illuminating themes of leadership, survival, and the nature of adversity. In its historical context, 'Anabasis' stands out not only as a military memoir but also as a vital commentary on Greek identity and imperial ambitions during a period of political fragmentation and social upheaval. Xenophon, a student of Socrates, was himself a soldier, historian, and philosopher, which profoundly influenced his portrayal of the complexities faced by his fellow Greeks in foreign territories. His unique blend of personal experience and rigorous inquiry provided him with a distinctive lens through which to explore the interplay of power, loyalty, and human resilience. His writing reflects a deep concern for moral virtue and governance, evident in the nuanced depiction of both leaders and soldiers. Readers interested in historical narratives, military strategies, and the exploration of personal and collective identity will find 'Anabasis' an indispensable text. This work invites reflection not only on the trials faced by the 'Ten Thousand' but also on overarching questions about human ambition and survival. Through Xenophon's eloquent prose, readers are transported into a world where courage is tested, and the human spirit shines, making this a profound addition to both the literary and historical canon. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - An Author Biography reveals milestones in the author's life, illuminating the personal insights behind the text. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Anabasis
Table of Contents
Introduction
In the stark light of a foreign sunrise, a band of Greek soldiers, strangers in a vast empire, learn that the hardest road is not measured only in miles but in councils held under pressure, loyalties strained by cold and hunger, and the fragile miracle of order maintained when home lies far behind, allies are few, and every path forward seems to lead through unfamiliar tongues, forbidding landscapes, and the ceaseless test of courage that demands prudence as fiercely as it prizes strength.
Anabasis is the most famous work of Xenophon, the Athenian soldier and writer who studied with Socrates and lived through the upheavals that followed the Peloponnesian War. Composed in the fourth century BCE and arranged in seven books, its title names a march inland, and it recounts the advance of a Greek mercenary army at the invitation of a Persian prince. When imperial politics turn, the expedition finds itself far from the coast and must rely on its own organization, practical intelligence, and resourcefulness to navigate an immense and often hostile world.
From antiquity onward, readers have recognized Anabasis as a classic for the quick, lucid movement of its prose and the vividness with which it carries the reader from council tent to mountain pass. Xenophon writes with economical clarity, favoring action, dialogue, and concrete observation over ornament, a manner that became an exemplar for historical narrative in Greek. The book’s balance of pace and reflection, its steady interest in character under strain, and its ability to make logistics and deliberation as gripping as battle have secured its place on reading lists for centuries.
Historically, the narrative arises from a moment when Greek hoplites increasingly sought employment abroad as mercenaries, and when Persian imperial succession could draw in ambitious allies from the Aegean world. The expedition’s composition—independent citizens serving under contract—inflects everything that follows: they carry their city-born habits of voting, bargaining, and public speech into unfamiliar territory. The story thereby reveals a two-way encounter, as Greek military practice meets the vast administrative and geographic realities of the empire, and as local communities respond to the arrival of a disciplined but foreign armed column.
Xenophon’s technique blends history, memoir, and travel writing. He adopts a third-person stance even when he appears as a participant, a choice that both asserts a degree of objectivity and invites scrutiny of the narrator’s role. The pages are studded with speeches that expose competing priorities, with after-action assessments that dissect decisions, and with compact portraits of leaders and units in motion. This fusion of eyewitness detail and crafted storytelling gives the book its extraordinary immediacy while preserving a reflective distance that encourages readers to weigh causes, motives, and consequences.
Equally striking is the book’s geography. Rivers, highlands, plains, and winter weather shape tactics as forcefully as any opposing army, and Xenophon attends to the schemes by which men find food, cross water, and keep formation on treacherous ground. He records encounters with communities of the interior and the littoral, noticing customs, supplies, and terrain with the eye of a commander who must turn observation into action. The result is an early, influential model of campaign narrative that treats landscape and culture as active pressures rather than a static backdrop.
Leadership, more than mere command, is the central art on display. The soldiers argue, elect, obey, and sometimes resist, and the narrative turns repeatedly to the mechanics of persuasion: who speaks, by what authority, with what mixture of courage, tact, and practical foresight. Xenophon’s earlier education with Socrates, though not foregrounded as philosophy, echoes in the habits of questioning, self-scrutiny, and attention to virtue and usefulness that shape the book’s ethic. The march becomes a proving ground for civic character adapted to emergency, where prudence and courage must learn to work together.
Endurance in Anabasis is never merely physical. The army survives by calculating rations, negotiating passage, adjusting tactics to climate and ground, and maintaining morale through rituals, promises, and fair division of hardship. The narrative’s interest in sacrifice, omen-reading, and customary law reveals how religious practice and shared norms functioned as social technology, enabling cooperation when institutions were far away. Xenophon’s pages therefore illuminate the invisible labors of logistics and governance that keep bodies moving and loyalties intact, rendering them as dramatic, in their quiet way, as the clash of shields.
Later writers took both the title and the method as models. Arrian named his account of Alexander’s campaigns an Anabasis and, like Xenophon, wove speeches and operational detail into a clear, propulsive chronicle. Roman and modern historians alike have found in Xenophon a touchstone for depicting campaigns as a sequence of practical problems solved by judgment under uncertainty. Beyond historiography, the very idea of an anabasis—an ascent into the interior, a testing journey away from the shore—has resonated in literature and criticism, signaling the book’s reach beyond military narrative into the realm of metaphor.
Anabasis has enjoyed an unusually robust transmission and readership. Its compact sentences and concrete vocabulary made it a staple of Greek instruction, and its narrative grip recommended it to general audiences in many languages. Translators have long sought to convey the brisk cadence and unpretentious intelligence of Xenophon’s prose, while editors have mined the text for evidence about warfare, economy, and intercultural contact in the classical world. That combined accessibility and depth—easy to enter, rewarding to revisit—has kept the book alive across eras that otherwise read ancient prose only at a distance.
For new readers, the book offers a sequence of clear waypoints. Watch how assemblies are convened and decisions ratified; notice the shift from bravado to caution as terrain and supply tighten; follow the ledger of obligations between leaders and followers. The drama often lies in the margins—how a foraging party returns, how a river is crossed, how a rumor is tested—because the stakes of survival concentrate meaning in small acts. Xenophon invites you to inhabit those choices without sentimentality, trusting the reader to infer character from action and consequence.
To approach Anabasis today is to meet an enduring study of collective action under pressure. Its pages speak to the problems of leadership and trust, to the ethics of power exercised among equals, and to the difficulties and possibilities of encounter across cultures. In an age that tests organizations with distance, scarcity, and uncertainty, Xenophon’s calm attention to deliberation, logistics, and morale feels freshly instructive. The march he describes remains compelling not only for the adventure it chronicles but for the disciplined hope it models—a resilient search for order on unfamiliar ground.
Synopsis
Anabasis, by Xenophon, is a classical Greek prose narrative composed in the fourth century BCE. It offers a participant’s account of a long expedition by a mercenary force of Greek hoplites and light troops serving in a Persian dynastic struggle. The work, often known as The March of the Ten Thousand, combines campaign chronicle, travel narrative, and reflection on leadership. Xenophon presents himself within the story yet aims at a clear, matter-of-fact record. Across its episodes, the text examines the practice of command, the power of collective deliberation, and the pressures of supply, terrain, and diplomacy when operating far from one’s home cities.
The story begins with Cyrus the Younger assembling Greek contingents in western Asia Minor under the pretext of routine operations. The army musters at Sardis and includes units led by figures such as Clearchus, Proxenus, and Menon, representing diverse regional traditions and command styles. As the force moves through Phrygia and across the Cilician Gates, logistical arrangements, pay, and provisions occupy constant attention. The presence of Persian allies and escorts both facilitates movement and heightens suspicion about strategic intentions. Xenophon traces the mechanics of marching, bargaining for supplies, and maintaining discipline, highlighting the army’s reliance on organized formations and explicit agreements with local authorities.
With the army committed beyond the mountain barrier, Cyrus reveals an ambition that leads the expedition ever deeper into the Persian interior. The Greeks traverse great distances along major rivers and royal roads, their column shadowed by imperial forces and regional contingents. Rumors, reconnaissance, and the reading of intentions become tactical necessities. Xenophon emphasizes councils of war, the role of interpreters and scouts, and the delicate protocol of meeting Persian nobles. The march’s objective shifts from punitive raids to a decisive confrontation near the heartlands of imperial power, where morale, cohesion, and the balance between hoplite strength and cavalry mobility will prove critical.
A major engagement near the Euphrates places the Greeks on one wing, where their heavy infantry achieves local success under tight formation and disciplined advance. Yet events occurring away from their line of sight abruptly change the strategic picture, depriving the campaign of its initial rationale. In the aftermath, the army negotiates amid uncertainty, dealing with satraps such as Tissaphernes while guarding its supplies. The narrative lingers on camp councils, careful marches, and the danger of foraging in hostile territory. Xenophon underscores how information gaps and political maneuvering can be as perilous as open battle to an army deep in foreign lands.
A severe crisis follows when the expedition’s senior leadership suffers a sudden, devastating loss brought about through deception. At this turning point, the Greeks reorganize under newly chosen commanders, with Xenophon coming to the fore as one member of a collectively elected staff. Through speeches and practical measures, the narrative shows how consent, procedure, and shared oaths sustain cohesion. The army sets a new goal oriented toward survival and return, adopting a defensive posture and adapting tactics to a fighting withdrawal. Emphasis falls on disciplined marching order, capable rearguards, and the prudence of negotiating when advantageous yet moving decisively when threatened.
The retreat becomes a test of endurance through harsh and unfamiliar terrain. In the mountains inhabited by independent peoples such as the Carduchians, ambushes, narrow passes, and precipitous ravines demand ingenuity and strict coordination between hoplites, peltasts, and archers. River crossings and winter marches present additional ordeals, particularly in Armenia, where cold, snow, and scarcity strain the troops. Xenophon records the army’s use of scouts, guides, and engineering improvisations to overcome obstacles. He also notes the routine of sacrifices and omens before key movements, presenting the army’s religion, discipline, and assemblies as intertwined supports for steadiness under continual pressure.
As the column presses toward regions with Greek-speaking communities along the northern littoral, questions of provisioning, pay, and transport dominate deliberations. The men interact with coastal cities and local rulers, sometimes securing hospitality and markets, sometimes facing contention over ship hire and distribution of spoils. Xenophon details debates about lawfulness, restraint, and the dangers of disorder, showing how the lure of plunder can imperil the whole. Sea travel alternates with overland marches, and the army’s cohesion is repeatedly tested by fatigue and the differing agendas of soldiers, officers, and civic authorities encountered along the route.
Later stages of the narrative focus on reorganization and shifting alliances as the troops seek stable employment and a path home. Some contingents enter temporary service under regional rulers, while negotiations with Spartan commanders offer another avenue for pay and purpose. These episodes reveal the intricate web of Greek interstate politics and Persian provincial power, as well as the practicalities of demobilizing or redirecting a seasoned force. Xenophon attends to disputes over honor and arrears, to the temptations facing mercenaries, and to his own responsibilities within the councils, balancing personal reputation with the army’s collective needs.
Across its arc, Anabasis offers more than a record of marches and skirmishes. It examines the resilience of a citizen-soldier ethic applied far from home, where law must be recreated through consent, ritual, and prudent leadership. The narrative’s steady attention to logistics, terrain, and negotiation makes it a foundational military text, while its ethnographic glimpses and political reflections broaden its scope. Without depending on surprise, Xenophon demonstrates how clear procedures and shared purpose can steady a force amid reversals. The work endures for its plain style, practical intelligence, and meditation on self-command in uncertain circumstances.
Historical Context
Xenophon’s Anabasis is set in the late fifth and early fourth centuries BCE, when the Achaemenid Empire dominated the Near East and the Greek world reeled from the Peloponnesian War. The Persian state, stretching from Anatolia to Central Asia, governed through satrapies overseen by royal appointees and sustained by tribute, royal roads, and long-distance communications. Across the Aegean, independent poleis competed for power, with Sparta briefly hegemonic after 404 BCE. Ionian Greek cities on the Anatolian coast lay under Persian suzerainty yet retained Hellenic institutions. This political mosaic frames a narrative in which Greek soldiers enter Persian dynastic affairs, revealing the interwoven fortunes of both spheres.
A central historical backdrop is the Persian succession crisis after the death of Darius II around 404 BCE. Artaxerxes II ascended the throne, while his younger brother Cyrus—already powerful in western Anatolia—sought to increase his influence. Court rivalries and regional tensions shaped events, as did the role of their mother, Parysatis, known from Greek sources as a supporter of Cyrus. To press his claim, Cyrus gathered forces that included Greek mercenaries. Anabasis records how a Persian internal struggle could mobilize transregional resources, drawing in Greeks whose skills and cohesion made them valuable within imperial politics.
The Greek world had just emerged from the Peloponnesian War (431–404 BCE), which ended with Athens’ defeat, the brief rule of the Thirty Tyrants, and Spartan garrisons placed across the Aegean. Warfare disrupted economies and civic life, creating displaced veterans and limiting opportunities at home. In this context, military service for pay became attractive to many soldiers from various poleis. Xenophon’s account reflects that postwar reality: men of differing city backgrounds, leaders seeking advancement, and networks formed during the war now reappearing in new combinations as Greeks entered employment under a Persian prince.
Mercenary service had long existed, but its scale grew in the late fifth and early fourth centuries BCE. Greeks had previously served in Egypt and under Persian satraps; their heavy infantry discipline was prized. Payment in reliable coin—especially Persian gold darics—made such service feasible, enabling soldiers to support households or pursue prospects unavailable in their home cities. Anabasis offers a detailed view of a composite force with hoplites, light infantry, and specialists, enlisted by intermediaries and leaders with personal ties. It captures the mix of ambition, necessity, and professional reputation that sustained a trans-Mediterranean market for armed labor.
The Achaemenid imperial system underpins the expedition. Satrapal administrations collected revenue, provisioned troops, and managed diplomacy. The famous Royal Road linked Sardis with Susa, facilitating rapid couriers and predictable stages. Storehouses, ferries, and bridges at strategic rivers exemplified Persian logistical sophistication, while local elites balanced loyalty to the king with regional interests. Anabasis repeatedly encounters this infrastructure: formal audiences, provisioning points, and satrapal negotiations shape the Greeks’ progress. The narrative highlights the empire’s breadth and administrative reach, yet also shows how provincial rivalries and court intrigues could endanger even well-organized operations.
Geography is protagonist and obstacle. The march traverses western Anatolia, the plateau interior, and the river systems of northern Mesopotamia. Seasonal changes—summer heat on plains, winter snows in uplands—affect movement and supply. Rivers such as the Euphrates and Zab required engineering improvisations and local knowledge for crossing. The climactic set-piece near Babylonian territory, where Cyrus sought decision against Artaxerxes II, had consequences that left Greek forces cut off far from the Aegean. Anabasis thus mirrors the practical difficulties of campaigning across vast, culturally diverse regions where terrain and climate could determine success or ruin.
Greek military culture appears within a mercenary framework. Many soldiers had citizen backgrounds, accustomed to assemblies and collective decision-making. When crises struck, they convened to debate strategy, elect officers, and enforce discipline. Religious practice structured these choices: sacrifices and the consultation of seers preceded major actions, and oaths bound the group. Anabasis documents this portable polis, transplanted into a field army, where arguments, speeches, and votes could legitimize command. It illuminates how Greek political habits shaped military resilience, even when separated from home institutions and operating under foreign paymasters.
The narrative emphasizes tactical contrasts. Greek hoplites excelled in close-order combat, with shield, spear, and disciplined cohesion. Persian forces relied more on cavalry, archers, and skirmishers, exploiting open terrain and mobility. Anabasis shows both the strengths of the phalanx in set-piece fighting and its vulnerabilities when harassed by missiles or deprived of cavalry support. The experience encouraged Greek commanders to integrate peltasts, archers, and horsemen more systematically, a trend visible in fourth-century warfare. It also displays the importance of flexible leadership able to adapt formations, use terrain, and coordinate diverse troop types in unfamiliar conditions.
War demanded logistics. Soldiers depended on grain, livestock, and fodder, acquired through markets, negotiated contributions, or forcible requisition. Coin facilitated transactions across linguistic and political borders, with darics and Greek silver enabling purchases from local communities. Pack animals, wagons, and portable cooking gear made camps mobile, while shortages compelled rationing and strategic bargaining. Anabasis records encounters with satrapal depots and the varied availability of food in fertile valleys versus upland zones. The text exposes the constant negotiation between military necessity and local economies, where supply lines were as decisive as battlefield valor.
Cultural encounters are continual. The army meets Anatolian villagers, Persian administrators, and highland groups with distinct customs. Interpreters, hostages, and gift exchanges mediate relations, while misunderstandings spark conflict. The narrative notes local practices such as hospitality, tribute expectations, and guides’ roles, illustrating a spectrum from alliance to resistance. Greek stereotypes and curiosities appear, yet Anabasis also preserves practical ethnography: dress, armament, and subsistence patterns observed en route. What emerges is a granular view of imperial contact zones, where negotiations were tested by language barriers, shifting loyalties, and the hard facts of movement and supply.
The Black Sea world forms a crucial safety net and market. Greek colonization since the Archaic period had created cities like Sinope and Trapezus, which sustained extensive grain and timber trade. These poleis maintained ties to the Aegean and could provision travelers, hire ships, and offer religious festivals familiar to Greeks far from home. Anabasis benefits from this network, showing how older colonial patterns structured fourth-century mobility. The coastal route, harbors, and merchant connections enabled regrouping and onward travel, highlighting the economic interdependence between mainland Greece and Pontic communities during and after major military ventures.
Spartan-Persian relations contextualize the campaign. During the Peloponnesian War, Persian satraps financed Spartan fleets against Athens, and Cyrus supported Spartan commander Lysander. After Cyrus’s failure, Sparta and Persia alternated between confrontation and accommodation. In the early 390s BCE, King Agesilaus II campaigned in Asia Minor, and veterans of earlier expeditions, including some from the Ten Thousand, served under various banners. Anabasis thus sits within fluid diplomacy, where Greek states leveraged Persian rivalries, and Persia in turn played Greek factions against one another. The book’s events illuminate how cash, ships, and mercenaries reshaped Aegean power after 404 BCE.
Xenophon himself provides another layer of context. An Athenian born in the late 430s BCE and known as a student of Socrates, he joined the expedition through personal connections. His subsequent association with Sparta, service under Agesilaus, and residence near Olympia at Scillus under Spartan patronage marked him as atypical among Athenians. Ancient sources report that he was exiled from Athens, likely in the early fourth century BCE; the circumstances remain debated. These experiences positioned him to narrate the expedition with practical military insight and a perspective shaped by cross-polis loyalties and prolonged exposure to Spartan and Persian spheres.
The intellectual climate of the early fourth century BCE encouraged reflection on leadership, ethics, and the management of households and states. Xenophon’s wider corpus—Memorabilia, Oeconomicus, Cyropaedia, and Hellenica—explores these themes. Anabasis, likely composed some decades after the events, presents itself in a plain style with a third-person narrator “Xenophon,” reporting speeches, councils, and outcomes. The work can be read alongside contemporary developments in Greek prose that valued didactic clarity and exemplary narratives. Rather than speculate on motives, the text grounds its lessons in observable choices under pressure, offering a pragmatic philosophy of command and cooperation.
Religious and ideological frameworks inform behavior across cultures. Greek participants invoked Zeus and other gods, took omens, and honored local sanctuaries to secure favor and legitimacy. Persian kings, as known from royal inscriptions, credited Ahura Mazda with their rule, while the empire accommodated diverse cults among subject peoples. Anabasis reflects this plural world: sacrifices punctuate decisions, and sacred spaces influence routes and diplomacy. Attention to ritual was not mere ornament; it disciplined armies, resolved disputes, and justified negotiations. The narrative thus reveals how piety intersected with policy from Anatolian temples to border shrines on the empire’s edges.
Communications technology and information constraints shaped outcomes. The Persian courier system and road stations enabled the king to coordinate distant satrapies, while local guides, translators, and envoys conveyed intentions across cultural frontiers. The Greeks, lacking maps in the modern sense, relied on itineraries, estimates of stages, and intelligence drawn from merchants or captives. Rumor and deliberate deception turned information into a weapon. Anabasis repeatedly shows decisions made under uncertainty, with councils weighing fragmentary reports. The contrast between imperial communications and ad hoc field knowledge underscores why diplomacy, reconnaissance, and trusted intermediaries were as vital as arms.
Everyday technology frames survival. Iron weapons and bronze armor, leather tents, pack saddles, and cooking pots were the mundane tools of endurance. River crossings used ferries where available; elsewhere, men improvised rafts and floats from inflated skins, practices known in Mesopotamian travel. In the Iranian plateau and surrounding regions, irrigation works, including underground channels, sustained settlements that could supply or resist armies depending on season and politics. Coinage standardized exchange across these zones. Anabasis records how such technologies, humble or sophisticated, often decided pace and path more than grand strategy did, binding warfare to local material conditions and know-how at every step.
Author Biography
Xenophon of Athens (c. 430–354 BCE) was a soldier, historian, and writer whose works shaped classical and later understandings of leadership, politics, and ethics. A contemporary and associate of Socrates, he combined firsthand military experience with reflective prose, producing narratives that are both practical and philosophical. Best known for the Anabasis, his account of Greek mercenaries marching home through hostile territory, he also continued Greek historiography after Thucydides in the Hellenica and explored ideal rulership in the Cyropaedia. His clear, unadorned Attic style, interest in institutions—especially Spartan ones—and attention to character made him a central figure in ancient education and a lasting voice in political thought.
Raised in Athens during the late fifth century BCE, Xenophon experienced the intellectual ferment that followed the Peloponnesian War. He is widely documented as a follower of Socrates, and his writings preserve a distinctive, practical Socratic outlook emphasizing self-mastery, piety, and the cultivation of virtue through action. His education reflected the repertoire of classical Athens—athletics, rhetoric, and engagement with poetry and history—while his later interests indicate a long-standing concern for horsemanship, command, and civic order. Xenophon’s prose shows the imprint of earlier historians such as Herodotus and Thucydides, yet it favors accessible narrative and exempla, aiming to instruct readers in judgment, leadership, and the management of public and private affairs.
Xenophon’s military career gave him material and authority as a writer. In 401 BCE he joined the expedition of Cyrus the Younger into the Persian Empire, serving among the Greek mercenaries later known as the Ten Thousand. After Cyrus fell at Cunaxa, Xenophon emerged as a leading figure during the perilous retreat north to the Black Sea, an experience he narrated in the Anabasis. Returning to the Greek world, he campaigned with Spartan forces and fought under King Agesilaus II, including at Coronea. His service on Sparta’s side contributed to his exile from Athens. The Spartans settled him on an estate at Scillus, near Olympia, where he hunted, farmed, and wrote for many years.
Xenophon’s historical writings span narrative, encomium, and reflective history. The Anabasis recounts the Ten Thousand’s march with vivid detail and sustained attention to leadership under stress. The Hellenica continues the story left by Thucydides, covering events from 411 to 362 BCE; though often criticized for partiality, especially toward Sparta, it remains a principal source for the late Peloponnesian War and its aftermath. His Agesilaus celebrates the Spartan king’s character and deeds. The Cyropaedia (Education of Cyrus) blends history and didactic fiction to portray the making of a ruler, using the figure of Cyrus the Great to explore discipline, persuasion, organization, and the education of elites in a complex empire.
Xenophon’s Socratic works preserve a pragmatic ethics. The Memorabilia offers a sustained defense of Socrates, depicting him as a teacher of virtue grounded in usefulness and self-control. The Apology of Socrates gives Xenophon’s concise account of the philosopher’s steadfastness at trial. In the Symposium he stages a literary banquet that ranges over beauty, friendship, and skill, while maintaining a light, orderly tone. The Oeconomicus presents a dialogue on household management and stewardship, linking economic prudence with ethical formation. In Hiero, a conversation between the tyrant Hiero and the poet Simonides, Xenophon probes whether power brings happiness, contrasting the burdens of tyranny with the satisfactions of just rule.
Alongside history and dialogue, Xenophon wrote influential technical and political treatises. On Horsemanship and the Hipparchicus (The Cavalry Commander) offer practical counsel on training horses, equipping riders, and leading cavalry—among the earliest sustained works on these subjects to survive. The Constitution of the Lacedaemonians describes Spartan institutions, praising their formative power while noting signs of decline. In the Ways and Means (Poroi), he proposes revenue measures for Athens, emphasizing lawful commerce and administrative efficiency. Across these works, Xenophon’s priorities are clarity, usefulness, and moral purpose: he treats expertise—whether in stables, households, or states—as inseparable from character and education.
Xenophon’s later years were marked by displacement after Spartan power waned; he left Scillus following regional upheavals and subsequently lived in the Peloponnese. He is commonly reported to have resided in Corinth and to have died in the mid-fourth century BCE. His writings were widely read in antiquity: the Anabasis became a staple school text; Arrian consciously echoed it in his Anabasis of Alexander. In the Renaissance, thinkers such as Machiavelli engaged closely with the Cyropaedia and other works. Modern scholars rely on Xenophon for events and institutions of his age, and his reflections on leadership, ethics, and civic order continue to inform historical study and political thought.
Anabasis
BOOK I
I
Darius and Parysatis had two sons: the elder was named Artaxerxes, and the younger Cyrus. Now, as Darius lay sick and felt that the end of life drew near, he wished both his sons to be with him. The elder, as it chanced, was already there, but Cyrus he must needs send for from the province over which he had made him satrap, having appointed him general moreover of all the forces that muster in the plain of the Castolus. Thus Cyrus went up, taking with him Tissaphernes as his friend, and accompanied also by a body of Hellenes, three hundred heavy armed men, under the command of Xenias the Parrhasian1.
Now when Darius was dead, and Artaxerxes was established in the kingdom, Tissaphernes brought slanderous accusations against Cyrus before his brother, the king, of harbouring designs against him. And Artaxerxes, listening to the words of Tissaphernes, laid hands upon Cyrus, desiring to put him to death; but his mother made intercession for him, and sent him back again in safety to his province. He then, having so escaped through peril and dishonour, fell to considering, not only how he might avoid ever again being in his brother's power, but how, if possible, he might become king in his stead. Parysatis, his mother, was his first resource; for she had more love for Cyrus than for Artaxerxes upon his throne. Moreover Cyrus's behaviour towards all who came to him from the king's court was such that, when he sent them away again, they were better friends to himself than to the king his brother. Nor did he neglect the barbarians in his own service; but trained them, at once to be capable as warriors and devoted adherents of himself. Lastly, he began collecting his Hellenic armament, but with the utmost secrecy, so that he might take the king as far as might be at unawares.
The manner in which he contrived the levying of the troops was as follows: First, he sent orders to the commandants of garrisons in the cities (so held by him), bidding them to get together as large a body of picked Peloponnesian troops as they severally were able, on the plea that Tissaphernes was plotting against their cities; and truly these cities of Ionia had originally belonged to Tissaphernes, being given to him by the king; but at this time, with the exception of Miletus, they had all revolted to Cyrus. In Miletus, Tissaphernes, having become aware of similar designs, had forestalled the conspirators by putting some to death and banishing the remainder. Cyrus, on his side, welcomed these fugitives, and having collected an army, laid siege to Miletus by sea and land, endeavouring to reinstate the exiles; and this gave him another pretext for collecting an armament. At the same time he sent to the king, and claimed, as being the king's brother, that these cities should be given to himself rather than that Tissaphernes should continue to govern them; and in furtherance of this end, the queen, his mother, co-operated with him, so that the king not only failed to see the design against himself, but concluded that Cyrus was spending his money on armaments in order to make war on Tissaphernes. Nor did it pain him greatly to see the two at war together, and the less so because Cyrus was careful to remit the tribute due to the king from the cities which belonged to Tissaphernes.
A third army was being collected for him in the Chersonese, over against Abydos, the origin of which was as follows: There was a Lacedaemonian exile, named Clearchus, with whom Cyrus had become associated. Cyrus admired the man, and made him a present of ten thousand darics2. Clearchus took the gold, and with the money raised an army, and using the Chersonese as his base of operations, set to work to fight the Thracians north of the Hellespont, in the interests of the Hellenes, and with such happy result that the Hellespontine cities, of their own accord, were eager to contribute funds for the support of his troops. In this way, again, an armament was being secretly maintained for Cyrus.
Then there was the Thessalian Aristippus, Cyrus's friend3, who, under pressure of the rival political party at home, had come to Cyrus and asked him for pay for two thousand mercenaries, to be continued for three months, which would enable him, he said, to gain the upper hand of his antagonists. Cyrus replied by presenting him with six months' pay for four thousand mercenaries—only stipulating that Aristippus should not come to terms with his antagonists without final consultation with himself. In this way he secured to himself the secret maintenance of a fourth armament.
Further, he bade Proxenus, a Boeotian, who was another friend, get together as many men as possible, and join him in an expedition which he meditated against the Pisidians 4, who were causing annoyance to his territory. Similarly two other friends, Sophaenetus the Stymphalian 5, and Socrates the Achaean, had orders to get together as many men as possible and come to him, since he was on the point of opening a campaign, along with Milesian exiles, against Tissaphernes. These orders were duly carried out by the officers in question.
1 Parrhasia, a district and town in the south-west of Arcadia.
3 Lit. "guest-friend." Aristippus was, as we learn from the "Meno" of Plato, a native of Larisa, of the family of the Aleuadae, and a pupil of Gorgias. He was also a lover of Menon, whom he appears to have sent on this expedition instead of himself.
4 Lit. "into the country of the Pisidians."
5 Of Stymphalus in Arcadia.
II
But when the right moment seemed to him to have come, at which he should begin his march into the interior, the pretext which he put forward was his desire to expel the Pisidians utterly out of the country; and he began collecting both his Asiatic and his Hellenic armaments, avowedly against that people. From Sardis in each direction his orders sped: to Clearchus, to join him there with the whole of his army; to Aristippus, to come to terms with those at home, and to despatch to him the troops in his employ; to Xenias the Arcadian, who was acting as general-in-chief of the foreign troops in the cities, to present himself with all the men available, excepting only those who were actually needed to garrison the citadels. He next summoned the troops at present engaged in the siege of Miletus, and called upon the exiles to follow him on his intended expedition, promising them that if he were successful in his object, he would not pause until he had reinstated them in their native city. To this invitation they hearkened gladly; they believed in him; and with their arms they presented themselves at Sardis[1q]. So, too, Xenias arrived at Sardis with the contingent from the cities, four thousand hoplites; Proxenus, also, with fifteen hundred hoplites and five hundred light-armed troops; Sophaenetus the Stymphalian, with one thousand hoplites; Socrates the Achaean, with five hundred hoplites; while the Megarion Pasion came with three hundred hoplites and three hundred peltasts 1. This latter officer, as well as Socrates, belonged to the force engaged against Miletus. These all joined him at Sardis.
But Tissaphernes did not fail to note these proceedings. An equipment so large pointed to something more than an invasion of Pisidia: so he argued; and with what speed he might, he set off to the king, attended by about five hundred horse. The king, on his side, had no sooner heard from Tissaphernes of Cyrus's great armament, than he began to make counter-preparations.
Thus Cyrus, with the troops which I have named, set out from Sardis, and marched on and on through Lydia three stages, making two-and-twenty parasangs[1]2, to the river Maeander. That river is two hundred feet 3 broad, and was spanned by a bridge consisting of seven boats. Crossing it, he marched through Phrygia a single stage, of eight parasangs, to Colossae, an inhabited city 4, prosperous and large. Here he remained seven days, and was joined by Menon the Thessalian, who arrived with one thousand hoplites and five hundred peltasts, Dolopes, Aenianes, and Olynthians. From this place he marched three stages, twenty parasangs in all, to Celaenae, a populous city of Phrygia, large and prosperous. Here Cyrus owned a palace and a large park 5 full of wild beasts, which he used to hunt on horseback, whenever he wished to give himself or his horses exercise. Through the midst of the park flows the river Maeander, the sources of which are within the palace buildings, and it flows through the city of Celaenae. The great king also has a palace in Celaenae, a strong place, on the sources of another river, the Marsyas, at the foot of the acropolis. This river also flows through the city, discharging itself into the Maeander, and is five-and-twenty feet broad. Here is the place where Apollo is said to have flayed Marsyas, when he had conquered him in the contest of skill. He hung up the skin of the conquered man, in the cavern where the spring wells forth, and hence the name of the river, Marsyas. It was on this site that Xerxes, as tradition tells, built this very palace, as well as the citadel of Celaenae itself, on his retreat from Hellas, after he had lost the famous battle. Here Cyrus remained for thirty days, during which Clearchus the Lacedaemonian arrived with one thousand hoplites and eight hundred Thracian peltasts and two hundred Cretan archers. At the same time, also, came Sosis the Syracusian with three thousand hoplites, and Sophaenetus the Arcadian 6 with one thousand hoplites; and here Cyrus held a review, and numbered his Hellenes in the park, and found that they amounted in all to eleven thousand hoplites and about two thousand peltasts.
From this place he continued his march two stages—ten parasangs—to the populous city of Peltae, where he remained three days; while Xenias, the Arcadian, celebrated the Lycaea 7 with sacrifice, and instituted games. The prizes were headbands of gold; and Cyrus himself was a spectator of the contest. From this place the march was continued two stages—twelve parasangs—to Ceramon-agora, a populous city, the last on the confines of Mysia. Thence a march of three stages—thirty parasangs—brought him to Caystru-pedion 8, a populous city. Here Cyrus halted five days; and the soldiers, whose pay was now more than three months in arrear, came several times to the palace gates demanding their dues; while Cyrus put them off with fine words and expectations, but could not conceal his vexation, for it was not his fashion to stint payment, when he had the means. At this point Epyaxa, the wife of Syennesis, the king of the Cilicians, arrived on a visit to Cyrus; and it was said that Cyrus received a large gift of money from the queen. At this date, at any rate, Cyrus gave the army four months' pay. The queen was accompanied by a bodyguard of Cilicians and Aspendians; and, if report speaks truly, Cyrus had intimate relations with the queen.
From this place he marched two stages—ten parasangs—to Thymbrium, a populous city. Here, by the side of the road, is the spring of Midas, the king of Phrygia, as it is called, where Midas, as the story goes, caught the satyr by drugging the spring with wine. From this place he marched two stages—ten parasangs—to Tyriaeum, a populous city. Here he halted three days; and the Cilician queen, according to the popular account, begged Cyrus to exhibit his armament for her amusement. The latter being only too glad to make such an exhibition, held a review of the Hellenes and barbarians in the plain. He ordered the Hellenes to draw up their lines and post themselves in their customary battle order, each general marshalling his own battalion. Accordingly they drew up four-deep. The right was held by Menon and those with him; the left by Clearchus and his men; the centre by the remaining generals with theirs. Cyrus first inspected the barbarians, who marched past in troops of horses and companies of infantry. He then inspected the Hellenes; driving past them in his chariot, with the queen in her carriage. And they all had brass helmets and purple tunics, and greaves, and their shields uncovered 9.
After he had driven past the whole body, he drew up his chariot in front of the centre of the battle-line, and sent his interpreter Pigres to the generals of the Hellenes, with orders to present arms and to advance along the whole line. This order was repeated by the generals to their men; and at the sound of the bugle, with shields forward and spears in rest, they advanced to meet the enemy. The pace quickened, and with a shout the soldiers spontaneously fell into a run, making in the direction of the camp. Great was the panic of the barbarians. The Cilician queen in her carriage turned and fled; the sutlers in the marketing place left their wares and took to their heels; and the Hellenes meanwhile came into camp with a roar of laughter. What astounded the queen was the brilliancy and order of the armament; but Cyrus was pleased to see the terror inspired by the Hellenes in the hearts of the Asiatics.
From this place he marched on three stages—twenty parasangs—to Iconium, the last city of Phrygia, where he remained three days. Thence he marched through Lycaonia five stages—thirty parasangs. This was hostile country, and he gave it over to the Hellenes to pillage. At this point Cyrus sent back the Cilician queen to her own country by the quickest route; and to escort her he sent the soldiers of Menon, and Menon himself. With the rest of the troops he continued his march through Cappadocia four stages—twenty-five parasangs—to Dana, a populous city, large and flourishing. Here they halted three days, within which interval Cyrus put to death, on a charge of conspiracy, a Persian nobleman named Megaphernes, a wearer of the royal purple; and along with him another high dignitary among his subordinate commanders.
From this place they endeavoured to force a passage into Cilicia. Now the entrance was by an exceedingly steep cart-road, impracticable for an army in face of a resisting force; and report said that Syennesis was on the summit of the pass guarding the approach. Accordingly they halted a day in the plain; but next day came a messenger informing them that Syenesis had left the pass; doubtless, after perceiving that Menon's army was already in Cilicia on his own side of the mountains; and he had further been informed that ships of war, belonging to the Lacedaemonians and to Cyrus himself, with Tamos on board as admiral, were sailing round from Ionia to Cilicia. Whatever the reason might be, Cyrus made his way up into the hills without let or hindrance, and came in sight of the tents where the Cilicians were on guard. From that point he descended gradually into a large and beautiful plain country, well watered, and thickly covered with trees of all sorts and vines. This plain produces sesame plentifully, as also panic and millet and barley and wheat; and it is shut in on all sides by a steep and lofty wall of mountains from sea to sea. Descending through this plain country, he advanced four stages—twenty-five parasangs—to Tarsus, a large and prosperous city of Cilicia. Here stood the palace of Syennesis, the king of the country; and through the middle of the city flows a river called the Cydnus, two hundred feet broad. They found that the city had been deserted by its inhabitants, who had betaken themselves, with Syennesis, to a strong place on the hills. All had gone, except the tavern-keepers. The sea-board inhabitants of Soli and Issi also remained. Now Epyaxa, Syennesis's queen, had reached Tarsus five days in advance of Cyrus. During their passage over the mountains into the plain, two companies of Menon's army were lost. Some said they had been cut down by the Cilicians, while engaged on some pillaging affair; another account was that they had been left behind, and being unable to overtake the main body, or discover the route, had gone astray and perished. However it was, they numbered one hundred hoplites; and when the rest arrived, being in a fury at the destruction of their fellow soldiers, they vented their spleen by pillaging the city of Tarsus and the palace to boot. Now when Cyrus had marched into the city, he sent for Syennesis to come to him; but the latter replied that he had never yet put himself into the hands of any one who was his superior, nor was he willing to accede to the proposal of Cyrus now; until, in the end, his wife persuaded him, and he accepted pledges of good faith. After this they met, and Syennesis gave Cyrus large sums in aid of his army; while Cyrus presented him with the customary royal gifts—to wit, a horse with a gold bit, a necklace of gold, a gold bracelet, and a gold scimitar, a Persian dress, and lastly, the exemption of his territory from further pillage, with the privilege of taking back the slaves that had been seized, wherever they might chance to come upon them.
