By Theseustoo

Long, long ago, in the ancient land of Lydia, there was once a king named Candaules, descended from Alcaeus the son of Heracles, whom the Greeks knew by the name of Myrsilus. The first king of this dynasty was Agron, son of Ninus, grandson of Belus, and great-grandson of Alcaeus; Candaules, son of Myrsus, was destined to be the last. The kings who had reigned before Agron were descendants of Lydus, son of Atys, from whom the people of the land, previously known as the Meonians, took the name of Lydians.
The Heraclides, descendants of Heracles and the slave-girl of Jardanus, had been entrusted by these princes with the management of affairs and eventually obtained the kingdom because of an oracle. Their rule endured for twenty-two generations of men, a space of five hundred and five years; during the whole of which period, from Agron to Candaules, the crown descended in a direct line from father to son.
Now, strange as it may seem, especially in an age where most royal marriages were often largely political arrangements, Candaules was actually head-over-heels in love with his own wife; in fact, he was so besotted by her that he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the whole world. Perhaps from a desire to have someone else witness his good fortune in having such a beautiful wife he conceived a desire to share his wife’s beauty with a friend. This peculiar fancy would have strange and far-reaching consequences.

In Candaules’ household guard there was a certain captain by the name of Gyges, the son of Dascylus, who was greatly favoured by the king. Candaules habitually entrusted all of his most important affairs to this man. To Gyges also, Candaules incessantly extolled the beauty of his wife. One day, when he had been elaborately describing the beauty of his queen, Candaules fancied he saw a sceptical look in Gyges’ eye and said,
“I see you do not believe what I tell you of my lady’s loveliness; but come now, since men’s ears are less credulous than their eyes, let us contrive some means whereby you may see her naked.”
Now, among the Lydians it is considered a great disgrace, even among men, to be seen naked. Gyges was shocked at the very thought of what his king was suggesting; he exclaimed,
“What you are saying is most unwise, master! You want me to behold my mistress naked? Do you think that a woman puts off her modesty with her clothes? Our fathers in ancient times distinguished right and wrong plainly enough and it is wisdom on our part, to submit to being taught by them. There is an old saying, ‘Let each look only on his own’. I’ll freely admit that your wife is the fairest of all woman-kind… Only I beg you, please do not ask me to do wickedly.”
Thus Gyges tried to decline the king’s proposal, trembling visibly at the thought of some dreadful evil which might befall him as a result, should he agree to the king’s wishes.
But the king was insistent; he replied,
“Courage, friend; I’m not trying to test your loyalty to me; and you need not fear that your mistress will do some mischief to you. I will arrange things so that she shall not even know that you have looked upon her. You must hide behind the open door of the chamber in which we sleep. When I enter to go to bed she will follow me. Near the entrance there is a chair on which she will lay her clothes one by one as she takes them off. You will thus be able to peruse her person at your leisure. Then, when she is moving from the chair toward the bed and her back is turned, you will be able to slip out before she sees you.”
Though they may seem like mere whims, the desires expressed by kings are not idle words but commands; feeling trapped, Gyges could only acquiesce. Reluctantly he agreed to carry out the king’s plan, hoping that everything would turn out just as Candaules had planned and that no harm would come of it.
Before he retired for the evening Candaules led Gyges to his hiding-place. At his usual bedtime, the king retired to his bed-chamber and he was followed a minute or so later, by his queen. Unaware that she was being watched, the queen casually undressed. Slipping off her garments one by one, she folded them and laid them on the chair, just as Candaules had said she would, while Gyges watched from behind the door, hardly daring to breathe. Finally the queen turned her back and moved toward the bed as Gyges seized his chance and stealthily slipped out through the door.
However, unbeknown to Gyges, the queen had seen him leave out of the corner of her eye, but, instantly divining what had happened, she decided that she would have her revenge upon the husband who had so shamed her… and so she made not the least sign that she had seen anything amiss.
In the morning, as soon as the sun rose, the queen chose her loyalest and most faithful companions from among her retinue and prepared them all for what she now planned to do. She had often had cause to summon Gyges to confer with him for some purpose or other, so when she summoned him into her presence that morning he obeyed unquestioningly, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary. But when she addressed him he was even more shocked than he had been at the thought of the previous night’s events.
“Take your choice, Gyges, of the two courses which are open to you. Either you must slay Candaules, and thereby become my lord, and gain the Lydian throne, or you must die this moment in his place. Thus you will never again behold what is not lawful for you, even at the command of your master! Either he must perish by whose counsel this thing was done, or you, who saw me naked, and so broke our customary laws, must die.”
Upon hearing these words, Gyges stood for awhile in mute astonishment. When he had recovered his wits sufficiently to speak he implored the queen not to force him to make so harsh a choice. But the queen was adamant. Realizing that he implored in vain, and that he must either kill or be killed, he chose life for himself, and replied to his queen with this question:
“If it must be so, and you compel me against my will to put my lord to death, come; let me hear how you will have me set on him.”
“Let him die,” she answered, “in the same room where he disgraced me and showed me naked to you… when he is asleep.”
When night fell, the queen led him into the royal bed-chamber, placed a dagger in his hand, and hid him behind the door just as he had done the previous night. When the king entered, Gyges waited until he was sure the king had fallen asleep, then silently crept towards the bed and struck him through the heart with his dagger.
As the famous poet, Archilochus the Parian, who lived about the same time, mentioned in a poem written in iambic trimeter verse, this was how the wife and kingdom of Candaules passed into the possession of Gyges and how the succession passed from the dynasty of the Heraclides to the Mermnadae.
The people of Lydia, however, were enraged at the slaughter of their king and flew to arms against the usurper; but after an uncomfortable civil struggle between the people and the followers of Gyges and the queen, they eventually allowed themselves to be persuaded that if the oracle at Delphi should confirm Gyges as king, then king he should remain; otherwise he would relinquish the throne to the Heraclides. The oracle, when consulted, decided in his favour and Gyges became king of Lydia. The Pythoness, however, added that, in the fifth generation after Gyges, vengeance would come for the Heraclides; but neither the Lydians nor their princes took much notice of this prophecy until it was fulfilled.

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