There once was a king named Dionysius
who ruled in
Syracuse, the richest city in Sicily.
He lived in a fine palace
where there were many beautiful and
costly things, and he was
waited upon by a host of servants who
were always ready to do
his bidding.
Naturally, because Dionysius had so much
wealth and
power, there were many in Syracuse who
envied his good
fortune. Damocles was one of these.
He was one of Dionysius's
best friends, and he was always saying
to him, "How lucky you
are! You have everything anyone could
wish for. You must be
the happiest man in the world."
One day Dionysius grew tired of hearing
such talk. "Come
now," he said, "do you really think
I'm happier than everyone
else?"
"But of course you are," Damocles replied.
"Look at the great
treasures you possess, and the power
you hold. You have not a
single worry in the world. How could
life be any better?"
"Perhaps you would like to change places
with me," said
Dionysius.
"Oh, I would never dream of that," said
Damocles. "But if I could
only have your riches and your pleasures
for one day, I should
never want any greater happiness."
"Very well. Trade places with me for
just one day, and you shall
have them."
And so, the next day, Damocles was led
to the palace, and
all the servants were instructed to
treat him as their master.
They dressed him in royal robes, and
placed on his head a
crown of gold. He sat down at a table
in the banquet hall, and
rich foods were set before him. Nothing
was wanting that could
give him pleasure. There were costly
wines, and beautiful
flowers, and rare perfumes, and delightful
music. He rested
himself among soft cushions, and felt
he was the happiest man
in all the world.
"Ah, this is the life," he sighed to
Dionysius, who sat at the other
end of the long table. "I've never enjoyed
myself so much."
And as he raised a cup to his lips, he
lifted his eyes toward
the ceiling. What was that dangling
above him, with its point
almost touching his head?
Damocles stiffened. The smile faded from
his lips, and his
face turned ashy pale. His hands trembled.
He wanted no more
food, no more wine, no more music. He
only wanted to be out of
the palace, far away, he cared no where.
For directly above his
head hung a sword, held to the ceiling
by only a single
horsehair. Its sharp blade glittered
as it pointed right between
his eyes. He started to jump up and
run, but stopped himself,
frightened that any sudden move might
snap the thin thread and
bring the sword down. He sat frozen
to his chair.
"What is the matter, my friend?" Dionysius
asked. "You seem to
have lost your appetite."
"That sword! That sword!" whispered Damocles. "Don't you see it?"
"Of course I see it," said Dionysius.
"I see it every day. It always
hangs over my head, and there is always
the chance someone
or something may cut the slim thread.
Perhaps one of my own
advisors will grow jealous of my power
and try to kill me. Or
someone may spread lies about me, to
turn people against me.
It may be that a neighboring kingdom
will send an army to seize
this throne. Or I might make an unwise
decision that will bring
my downfall. If you want to be a leader,
you must be willing to
accept these risks. They come with the
power, you see."
"Yes, I do see," said Damocles. "I see
now that I was mistaken,
and that you have much to think about
besides your riches and
fame. Please take your place, and let
me go back to my own house."
And as long as he lived, Damocles never
again wanted to
change places, even for a moment, with
the king.
Retold by: James Baldwin