The Death of Socrates

The servant of the Eleven arrives. He tells Socrates it is time, and says — weeping, turning away — that he finds Socrates the noblest, gentlest, and best man who has ever been in this place. Socrates looks at him and says: "I return your good wishes, and I'll do as you ask." Then to the friends: "How charming the man is. The whole time I've been here, he's visited me often. And now look how generously he grieves for me." He tells Crito to bring the cup if the poison is ready. Crito asks him to wait — the sun is still on the hilltops, others take time, there is still the chance to eat and drink and sit with those they love. Socrates declines. He would only look foolish to himself, he says, clinging to a life already forfeit.

The cup is brought. Socrates asks the attendant if he may pour a libation from it. The man says there is only enough for the single dose. Socrates accepts this without complaint and prays that his journey from this world to the next may be fortunate. He raises the cup to his lips and drinks the poison with perfect calm — without a change of color or expression, looking the man full in the eyes as was his way. Until that moment most of the room had held themselves together. When they saw him drink — saw that he had finished — they could no longer hold back. Apollodorus burst into loud, passionate sobs. Crito had already gotten up, unable to watch. Phaedo covered his face and wept, not for Socrates but for himself, at the thought of losing such a friend.

Socrates walked about until his legs grew heavy, then lay down as instructed. The attendant pressed his foot hard and asked if he could feel it. No. The man pressed his legs, and so upward, showing them all that the cold was climbing. When it had nearly reached his heart, Socrates uncovered his face — he had drawn the cloth over himself — and spoke his last words: "Crito, I owe a rooster to Asclepius. Will you remember to pay the debt?" "It shall be paid," said Crito. "Is there anything else?" There was no answer. After a moment, a slight movement. The attendants uncovered him. His eyes were fixed. Crito closed his eyes and mouth. Phaedo, ending his account to Echecrates, gives his verdict: of all the men of his time he had known, Socrates was the wisest, the most just, and the best.