A TRUTH SPEAKER

Retold by Grace H. Kupfer

There ruled in the city of Syracuse, in Sicily, many hundreds of years ago, a tyrant by the name of Dionysius. Not only was he sometimes ruthless in his actions, but he was vain of his own talents. His court was made up of flatterers, who were afraid to speak anything but praise to his face, though they spoke ill of him when there was no danger of being overheard.

*ruthless=having no compassion

*vain=proud

Dionysius, among other vanities, considered himself a great poet. On all occasions he wrote verses. And when he had composed them, he would assemble all his courtiers and read the lines aloud. Then they would all lift their hands and exchange glances, as though in admiration of his genius, and exclaim over the beauty of the poetry, until even Dionysius was satisfied.

*courtiers=people who seek favor through flattery

The most learned man in Syracuse at that time was a philosopher by the name of Philoxenus. Dionysius became so conceited, because of the flattery of all his courtiers, that he made up his mind to summon Philoxenus, so that he, too, might hear the poems and praise the poet.

Philoxenus came. The poems were read to him, and Dionysius eagerly awaited the critic’s words of praise and admiration. But none came; for, instead, to the amazement of all, the philosopher, in disdain, said the verses were so bad that they did not deserve the name of poetry, nor did their author deserve the name of poet. Dionysius, almost beside himself with rage at this unexpected frankness, called his guards and ordered Philoxenus to be removed, in chains, to a deep, underground dungeon, where only the worst criminals were sent.

When the news of this action reached the ears of the friends of Philoxenus, they were very angry. As weeks passed, and still their friend was kept a prisoner in that underground dungeon, they became much excited, and at last sent to Dionysius a letter begging for the philosopher’s release.

Perhaps Dionysius was afraid of rousing the anger of so many of his subjects, or possibly he had an entirely different reason, as you will presently see. At all events, he agreed to release the philosopher, provided he would come once more to dine with him.

Philoxenus came. After a great feast, at which all the courtiers were present, the king arose and read some new verses he had written. He wanted the truth-speaking Philoxenus to hear them, because he himself thought them uncommonly good. So, too, judging from their gestures and praises, did the fawning courtiers. Philoxenus alone sat silent, saying nothing and betraying nothing by the expression of his face.

This did not in the least suit Dionysius. He controlled his impatience as long as he could; but when Philoxenus continued silent, the king at length turned to him, and thinking he would not again dare to rouse his monarch’s anger, said, “Tell me, Philoxenus, your opinion of this latest poem of mine.”

You may be sure neither he nor his court expected the answer that was given. For, turning his back on the feast and the feasters, Philoxenus approached the guards of the banquet hall, and exclaimed, in a tone of disgust, “Take me back to my dungeon!” Nothing could more plainly have shown his opinion of the king’s bad verses. He knew that by expressing his view honestly he would incur certain punishment; so he chose the simpler method of going back to prison of his own free will.

The courtiers were very much startled at this plain speaking, and looked in terror to see what Dionysius would do. But even this king, vain as he was, seems to have had a sense of humor, and a respect for real moral courage. For, turning with a smile from his trembling courtiers to the calm and untroubled Philoxenus, he bade him depart in peace.