The Public Orations of Demosthenes/On the Embassy

Introduction
The principal events with which a reader of this Speech ought to be acquainted have already been narrated (see especially the Introductions to the last two Speeches). The influence of the anti-Macedonian party grew gradually from the time of the Peace onwards. In 346, within a month after the return of the Second Embassy, the ambassadors presented their reports before the Logistae or Board of Auditors (after a futile attempt on the part of Aeschines to avoid making a report altogether); and Timarchus, supported by Demosthenes, there announced his intention of taking proceedings against Aeschines for misconduct on the Second Embassy. But Timarchus' own past history was not above reproach: he was attacked by Aeschines for the immoralities of his youth, which, it was stated, disqualified him from acting as prosecutor, and though defended by Demosthenes, was condemned and disfranchised (345 B.C.). But early in 343 Hypereides impeached Philocrates for corruption as ambassador, and obtained his condemnation to death—a penalty which he escaped by voluntary exile before the conclusion of the trial; and, later in the same year, Demosthenes brought the same charge against Aeschines.

In the meantime (since the delivery of Demosthenes' Second Philippic) Philip had been making fresh progress. The Arcadians and Argives (for the Athenian envoys to the Peloponnese in 344 seem to have had little success) were ready to open their gates to him. His supporters in Elis massacred their opponents, and with them the remnant of the Phocians who had crossed over to Elis with Phalaecus. At Megara, Perillus and Ptoeodorus almost succeeded in bringing a force of Philip's mercenaries into the town, but the attempt was defeated, by the aid of an Athenian force under Phocion. In Euboea Philip's troops occupied Porthmus, where the democratic party of Eretria had taken refuge, owing to an overthrow of the constitution (brought about by Philip's intrigues) which resulted in the establishment of Cleitarchus as tyrant. In the course of the same year (343) occurred two significant trials. The first was that of Antiphon, who had made an offer to Philip to burn the Athenian dockyards at the Peiraeus. He was summarily arrested by order of Demosthenes (probably in virtue of some administrative office): Aeschines obtained his release, but he was re-arrested by order of the Council of Areopagus and condemned to death. The other trial was held before the Amphictyonic Council on the motion of the people of Delos, to decide whether the Athenians should continue to possess the right of managing the Temple of Delos. The Assembly chose Aeschines as counsel for Athens; but the Council of Areopagus, which had been given power to revise the appointment, put Hypereides in his place. Hypereides won the case. Early in 343 (or at all events before the middle of the year), Philip sent Python of Byzantium to complain of the language used about him by Athenian orators, and to offer to revise and amend the terms of the Peace of Philocrates. In response, an embassy was sent, headed by Hegesippus, a violent opponent of Macedonia, to propose to Philip (1) that instead of the clause 'that each party shall retain possession of what they have', a clause, 'that each party shall possess what is their own,' should be substituted; and (2) that all Greek States not included in the Treaty of Peace should be declared free, and that Athens and Philip should assist them, if they were attacked. These proposals, if sanctioned, would obviously have reopened the question of Amphipolis, Pydna, and Poteidaea, as well as of Cardia and the Thracian towns taken by Philip in 346. Hegesippus, moreover, was personally objectionable, and the embassy was dismissed with little courtesy by Philip, who even banished from Macedonia the Athenian poet Xenocleides for acting as host to the envoys. The feeling against Philip in Athens was evidently strong, when the prosecution of Aeschines by Demosthenes took place.

The trial was held before a jury (probably consisting of 1,501 persons), presided over by the Board of Auditors. Demosthenes spoke first, and Aeschines replied in a speech which is preserved. There is no doubt, on a comparison of the two speeches, that each, before it was published, received alterations and insertions, intended to meet the adversary's points, or to give a better colour to passages which had been unfavourably received. Probably not all the refutations 'in advance' were such in reality. But there is no sufficient reason to doubt that the speeches were delivered substantially as we have them. Aeschines was acquitted by thirty votes.

The question of the guilt or innocence of Aeschines will probably never be finally settled. A great part of his conduct can be explained as a sincere attempt to carry out the policy of Eubulus, or as the issue of a genuine belief that it was best for Athens to make terms with Philip and stand on his side. Even so the wisdom and the veracity of certain speeches which he had made is open to grave question; but this is a different thing from corruption. Moreover, to some of Demosthenes' arguments he has a conclusive reply. It is more difficult to explain his apparent change of opinion between the 18th and 19th of Elaphebolion, 346 (if Demosthenes' report of the debates is to be trusted); and some writers are disposed to date his corruption from the intervening night. Nor is it easy to meet Demosthenes' argument that if Aeschines had really been taken in by Philip, and believed the promises which he announced, or if he had actually heard Philip make the promises, he would have regarded Philip afterwards as a personal enemy, and not as a friend. But even on these points Aeschines might reply (though he could not reply so to the Athenian people or jury) that though he did not trust the promises, he regarded the interest of Athens as so closely bound up with the alliance with Philip, that he considered it justifiable to deceive the people into making the alliance, or at least to take the risk of the promises which he announced proving untrue. In any case there is no convincing evidence of corruption; and it may be taken as practically certain that he was not bribed to perform particular services. It is less certain that he was not influenced by generous presents from Philip in forming his judgement of Philip's character and intentions. The standard of Athenian public opinion in regard to the receipt of presents was not that of the English Civil Service; and the ancient orators accuse one another of corruption almost as a matter of course. (We have seen that Demosthenes began the attack upon Eubulus' party in this form as early as the Speech for the Rhodians; it appears in almost every subsequent oration: and in their turn, his opponents make the same charge against him.) It is, in any case, remarkable that at a time when the people was plainly exasperated with the Peace and its authors, and very ill-disposed towards Philip, a popular jury nevertheless acquitted Aeschines; and the verdict is not sufficiently explained either by the fact that Eubulus supported Aeschines or by the jurors' memory of Demosthenes' own part in the earlier peace-negotiations, though this must have weakened the force of his attack. That Demosthenes himself believed Aeschines to have been bribed, and could himself see no other explanation of his conduct, need not be doubted; and although the speech contains some of those misrepresentations of fact and passages of irrelevant personal abuse which deface some of his best work, it also contains some of his finest pieces of oratory and narrative.

The second part of the speech is more broken up into short sections and less clearly arranged than the first; earlier arguments are repeated, and a few passages may be due (at least in their present shape) to revision after the trial: but the latter part even as it stands is successful in leaving the points of greatest importance strongly impressed upon the mind.

The following analysis of the speech may enable the reader to find his way through it without serious difficulty:—

INTRODUCTION (§§ 1-28)

(i) Exordium (§§ 1, 2). Impartiality requested of the jury, in view of Aeschines' attempt to escape by indirect means.

(ii) Points of the trial (§§ 3-8). An ambassador must (1) give true reports; (2) give good advice; (3) obey his instructions; (4) not lose time; (5) be incorruptible.

(iii) Preliminary exposition of the arguments (§§ 9-28).


 * (1) The previous anti-Macedonian zeal of Aeschines suddenly collapsed after the First Embassy.


 * (2) In the deliberations on the Peace, Aeschines supported Philocrates.


 * (3) After the Second Embassy, Aeschines prevented Athens from guarding Thermopylae and saving the Phocians, by false reports and  promises.


 * (4) Such a change of policy is only explicable by corruption.

PART 1 (§§ 29-178)

The five points of Introduction (ii) are treated as three, or in three groups.

(i) The reports made by Aeschines on his return from the Second Embassy, and his advice, especially as to the ruin of the Phocians (§§ 29-97).


 * (1) The reports (a) to the Senate, (b) to the People, and their reception (§§ 29-46).


 * (2) Evidence that Aeschines conspired with Philip against the Phocians, whose ruin is described (§§ 47-71).


 * (3) Refutation of three anticipated objections, beginning at § 72, § 78, § 80 respectively (§§ 72-82).


 * (4) The danger to Athens from Aeschines' treachery (§§ 83-7).


 * (5) Request to confine the trial strictly to relevant points (§§ 88-97).

(ii) The corruption of Aeschines by the bribes of Philip (§§ 98-149).


 * (1) Arguments (beginning § 102, § 111, § 114, § 116) showing the corruption of Aeschines (§§ 98-119).


 * (2) Refutation of anticipated objections (beginning at § 120, § 134, § 147) (§§ 120-49).

(iii) Aeschines' loss of time, by which Philip profited, and disobedience to his instructions (§§ 150-77).


 * (1) Narrative of the Second Embassy (§§ 150-62).


 * (2) Comparison of the two Embassies (§§ 163-5).


 * (3) Comparison of Demosthenes' own conduct with that of the other ambassadors (§§ 167-77). Recapitulation of the points established  (§§ 177, 178).

PART II (§§ 179-343)

(i) The injury done to Athens—


 * (a) by the loss of Thrace and the Hellespont;


 * (b) generally, by false reports from ambassadors (§§ 179-86).

(ii) Refutation of anticipated objections—


 * (a) 'It is not Philip's fault that he has not satisfied Athens' (§ 187).


 * (b) 'Demosthenes has no right to prosecute' (§§ 188-220): including a digression (§§ 192-200) on Aeschines' character and incidents in  his life.

(iii) Demosthenes' object in prosecuting, passing into reproof of the laxity of Athens towards traitors (§§ 221-33).

(iv) Warning against any attempt by Aeschines to confuse the dates and incidents of the two Embassies (§§ 234-6.)

(v) Criticism of Aeschines' brothers and his prosecution of Timarchus (§§ 237-58).

(vi) The increasing danger from traitors, and the traditional attitude of Athens towards them (§§ 259-87).

(vii) Attack upon Eubulus for defending Aeschines (§§ 288-99).

(viii) Philip's policy and methods; proofs of Aeschines' complicity repeated (§§ 300-31).

(ix) Warnings to the jury against Aeschines' attempts to mislead them; and conclusion (§§ 331-43).]

Text
How much interest this case has excited, men of Athens, and how much canvassing has taken place, must, I feel sure, have become fairly evident to you all, after the persistent overtures just now made to you, while you were drawing your lots. Yet I will make the request of you all—a request which ought to be granted even when unasked—that you will not allow the favour or the person of any man to weigh more with you than justice and the oath which each of you swore before he entered the court. Remember that what I ask is for your own welfare and for that of the whole State; while the entreaties and the eager interest of the supporters of the accused have for their aim the selfish advantage of individuals: and it is not to confirm criminals in the possession of such advantages that the laws have called you together, but to prevent their attainment of them. Now I observe that while all who enter upon public life in an honest spirit profess themselves under a perpetual responsibility, even when they have passed their formal examination, the defendant Aeschines does the very reverse. For before entering your presence to give an account of his actions, he has put out of the way one of those who appeared against him at his examination; and others he pursues with threats, thus introducing into public life a practice which is of all the most atrocious and most contrary to your interests. For if one who has transacted and managed any public business is to render himself secure against accusation by spreading terror round him, rather than by the justice of his case, your supremacy must pass entirely out of your hands.

I have every confidence and belief that I shall prove the defendant guilty of many atrocious crimes, for which he deserves the extreme penalty of the law. But I will tell you frankly of the fear which troubles me in spite of this confidence. It seems to me, men of Athens, that the issue of every trial before you is determined as much by the occasion as by the facts; and I am afraid that the length of time which has elapsed since the Embassy may have caused you to forget the crimes of Aeschines, or to be too familiar with them. I will tell you therefore how, in spite of this, you may yet, as I believe, arrive at a just decision and give a true verdict to-day. You have, gentlemen of the jury, to inquire and to consider what are the points on which it is proper to demand an account from an ambassador. He is responsible first for his report; secondly, for what he has persuaded you to do; thirdly, for his execution of your instructions; next, for dates; and, besides all these things, for the integrity or venality of his conduct throughout. And why is he responsible in these respects? Because on his report must depend your discussion of the situation: if his report is true, your decision is a right one: if otherwise, it is the reverse. Again, you regard the counsels of ambassadors as especially trustworthy. You listen to them in the belief that they have personal knowledge of the matter with which they were sent to deal. Never, therefore, ought an ambassador to be convicted of having given you any worthless or pernicious advice. Again, it is obviously proper that he should have carried out your instructions to him with regard to both speech and action, and your express resolutions as to his conduct. Very good. But why is he responsible for dates? Because, men of Athens, it often happens that the opportunity upon which much that is of great importance depends lasts but for a moment; and if this opportunity is deliberately and treacherously surrendered to the enemy, no subsequent steps can possibly recover it. But as to the integrity or corruption of an ambassador, you would all, I am sure, admit that to make money out of proceedings that injure the city is an atrocious thing and deserves your heavy indignation. Yet the implied distinction was not recognized by the framer of our law. He absolutely forbade all taking of presents, thinking, I believe, that a man who has once received presents and been corrupted with money no longer remains even a safe judge of what is to the interest of the city. If then I can convict the defendant Aeschines by conclusive proofs of having made a report that was utterly untrue, and prevented the people from hearing the truth from me; if I prove that he gave advice that was entirely contrary to your interests; that on his mission he fulfilled none of your instructions to him; that he wasted time, during which opportunities for accomplishing much that was of great importance were sacrificed and lost to the city; and that he received presents in payment for all these services, in company with Philocrates; then condemn him, and exact the penalty which his crimes deserve. If I fail to prove these points, or fail to prove them all, then regard me with contempt, and let the defendant go.

I have still to charge him, men of Athens, with many atrocious acts in addition to these—acts which would naturally call forth the execration of every one among you. But I desire, before all else that I am about to say, to remind you (though most of you, I know, remember it well) of the position which Aeschines originally took up in public life, and the speeches which he thought it right to address to the people against Philip; for I would have you realize that his own actions, his own speeches at the beginning of his career, are the strongest evidence of his corruption. According to his own public declaration at that time, he was the first Athenian to perceive that Philip had designs against the Hellenes and was corrupting certain leading men in Arcadia. With Ischander, the son of Neoptolemus, to second him in his performance, he came before the Council and he came before the people, to speak on the subject: he persuaded you to send envoys in all directions to bring together a congress at Athens to discuss the question of war with Philip: then, on his return from Arcadia, he reported to you those noble and lengthy speeches which, he said, he had delivered on your behalf before the Ten Thousand at Megalopolis, in reply to Philip's spokesman, Hieronymus; and he described at length the criminal wrong that was done, not only to their own several countries, but to all Hellas, by men who took bribes and received money from Philip. Such was his policy at that time, and such the sample which he displayed of his sentiments. Then you were induced by Aristodemus, Neoptolemus, Ctesiphon, and the rest of those who brought reports from Macedonia in which there was not an honest word, to send ambassadors to Philip and to negotiate for peace. Aeschines himself is appointed one of them, in the belief, not that he was one of those who would sell your interests, or had placed confidence in Philip, but rather one who would keep an eye on the rest. The speeches which he had already delivered, and his antipathy to Philip, naturally led you to take this view of him. Well, after this he came to me and tried to make an agreement by which we should act in concert on the Embassy, and urged strongly that we should both keep an eye upon that abominable and shameless man Philocrates; and until we returned to Athens from the First Embassy, I at least, men of Athens, had no idea that he had been corrupted and had sold himself. For (not to mention the other speeches which, as I have told you, he had made on former occasions) at the first of the assemblies in which you debated about the Peace, he rose and delivered an exordium which I think I can repeat to you word for word as he uttered it at the meeting. 'If Philocrates,' he said, 'had spent a very long time in studying how he could best oppose the Peace, I do not think he could have found a better device than a motion of this kind. The Peace which he proposes is one which I can never recommend the city to make, so long as a single Athenian remains alive. Peace, however, we ought, I think, to make.' And he made a brief and reasonable speech in the same tone. But though he had spoken thus at the first meeting, in the hearing of you all, yet at the second meeting, when the Peace was to be ratified; when I was upholding the resolution of the allies and working for a Peace on just and equitable terms; when you in your desire for such a Peace would not even listen to the voice of the despicable Philocrates; then, I say, Aeschines rose and spoke in support of him, using language for which he deserves, God knows, to die many deaths, saying that you must not remember your forefathers, nor tolerate speakers who recalled your trophies and your victories by sea; and that he would frame and propose a law, that you should assist no Hellene who had not previously assisted you. These words he had the callous shamelessness to utter in the very presence and hearing of the ambassadors whom you had summoned from the Hellenic states, in pursuance of the advice which he himself had given you, before he had sold himself.

You elected him again, men of Athens, to receive the oaths. How he frittered away the time, how cruelly he injured all his country's interests, and what violent mutual enmity arose between myself and him in consequence of his conduct and of my desire to prevent it, you shall hear presently. But when we returned from this Embassy which was sent to receive the oaths, and the report of which is now under examination; when we had secured nothing, either small or great, of all that had been promised and expected when you were making the Peace, but had been totally deceived; when they had again acted without regard to their instructions, and had conducted their mission in direct defiance of your decree; we came before the Council: and there are many who have personal knowledge of what I am about to tell you, for the Council-Chamber was crowded with spectators. Well, I came forward and reported to the Council the whole truth: I denounced these men: I recounted the whole story, beginning with those first hopes, aroused in you by the report of Ctesiphon and Aristodemus, and going on to the speeches which Aeschines delivered during the time of the Peace- negotiations, and the position into which they had brought the city: as regards all that remained to you—I meant the Phocians and Thermopylae—I counselled you not to abandon these, not to be victims once more of the same mistake, not to let yourselves be reduced to extremities through depending upon a succession of hopes and promises: and I carried the Council with me. But when the day of the Assembly came, and it was our duty to address you, the defendant Aeschines came forward before any of his colleagues—and I entreat you, in God's name, to follow me, and try to recollect whether what I tell you is true; for now we have come to the very thing which so cruelly injured and ruined your whole cause. He made not the remotest attempt to give any report of the results of the Embassy— if indeed he questioned the truth of my allegations at all—but instead of this, he made statements of such a character, promising you benefits so numerous and so magnificent, that he completely carried you away with him. For he said that, before his return, he had persuaded Philip upon all the points in which the interests of the city were involved, in regard both to the Amphictyonic dispute and to all other matters: and he described to you a long speech which he professed to have addressed to Philip against the Thebans, and of which he reported to you the substance, calculating that, as the result of his own diplomacy, you would within two or three days, without stirring from home or taking the field or suffering any inconvenience, hear that Thebes was being blockaded, alone and isolated from the rest of Boeotia, that Thespiae and Plataeae were being repeopled, and that the debt due to the god was being exacted not from the Phocians, but from the Thebans who had planned the seizure of the temple. For he said that he gave Philip to understand that those who planned the act were no less guilty of impiety than those whose hands executed the plan; and that on this account the Thebans had set a price upon his head. Moreover, he said that he heard some of the Euboeans, who had been thrown into a state of panic and confusion by the friendly relations established between Athens and Philip, saying to the ambassadors, 'You have not succeeded, gentlemen, in concealing from us the conditions on which you have made your Peace with Philip; nor are we unaware that while you have given him Amphipolis, he has undertaken to hand over Euboea to you.' There was, indeed, another matter which he had arranged as well, but he did not wish to mention this at present, since even as it was some of his colleagues were jealous of him. This was an enigmatical and indirect allusion to Oropus. These utterances naturally raised him high in your estimation; he seemed to be an admirable speaker and a marvellous man; and he stepped down with a very lofty air. Then I rose and denied all knowledge of these things, and at the same time attempted to repeat some part of my report to the Council. But they now took their stand by me, one on this side, one on that—the defendant and Philocrates; they shouted, they interrupted me, and finally they jeered, while you laughed. You would not hear, and you did not wish to believe anything but what Aeschines had reported. Heaven knows, your feelings were natural enough; for who, that expected all these marvellous benefits, would have tolerated a speaker who said that the expectation would not be realized, or denounced the proceedings of those who made the promise? All else, of course, was of secondary importance at the time, in comparison with the expectations and the hopes placed before you; any contradiction appeared to be nothing but sheer obstruction and malignity, while the proceedings described seemed to be of incredible importance and advantage to the city.

Now with what object have I recalled these occurrences to you before everything else, and described these speeches of his? My first and chief object, men of Athens, is that none of you, when he hears me speak of any of the things that were done and is struck by their unparalleled atrocity, may ask in surprise why I did not tell you at once and inform you of the facts; but may remember the promises which these men made at each critical moment, and by which they entirely prevented every one else from obtaining a hearing; and that splendid pronouncement by Aeschines; and that you may realize that in addition to all his other crimes, you have suffered this further wrong at his hands—that you were prevented from learning the truth instantly, when you ought to have learned it, because you were deluded by hopes, deceits and promises. That is my first and, as I have said, my chief object in recalling all these occurrences. But there is a second which is of no less importance than the first, and what is this? It is that you may remember the policy which he adopted in his public life, when he was still uncorrupted—his guarded and mistrustful attitude towards Philip; and may consider the sudden growth of confidence and friendship which followed; and then, if all that he announced to you has been realized, if the results achieved are satisfactory, you may believe that all has been done out of an honest interest in the welfare of Athens; but if, on the other hand, the issue has been exactly the opposite of that which he predicted: if his policy has involved the city in great disgrace and in grave perils, you may then be sure that his conversion was due to his own base covetousness and to his having sold the truth for money.

And now, since I have been led on to this subject, I desire to describe to you, before everything else, the way in which they took the Phocian question entirely out of your hands. And let none of you, gentlemen of the jury, when he looks at the magnitude of the transactions, imagine that the crimes with which the defendant is charged are on a grander scale than one of his reputation could compass. You have rather to observe that any one whom you would have placed in such a position as this—a position in which, as each critical moment arrived, the decision would be in his hands—could have brought about disasters equal to those for which Aeschines is responsible, if, like Aeschines, he had wished to sell his services, and to cheat and deceive you. For however contemptible may be the men whom you frequently employ in the public service, it does not follow that the part which the world expects this city to play is a contemptible one. Far from it! And further, though it was Philip, of course, who destroyed the Phocian people, it was Aeschines and his party who seconded Philip's efforts. And so what you have to observe and consider is whether, so far as the preservation of the Phocians came within the scope of their mission, these men deliberately destroyed and ruined that whole cause. You have not to suppose that Aeschines ruined the Phocians by himself. How could he have done so?

(To the clerk.) Now give me the draft-resolution which the Council passed in view of my report, and the deposition of the clerk who wrote it. (To the jury.) For I would have you know that I am not repudiating to-day transactions about which I held my peace at the time, but that I denounced them at once, with full prevision of what must follow; and that the Council, which was not prevented from hearing the truth from me, neither voted thanks to the ambassadors, nor thought fit to invite them to the Town Hall. From the foundation of the city to this day, no body of ambassadors is recorded to have been treated so; nor even Timagoras, whom the people condemned to death. But these men have been so treated. (To the clerk.) First read them the deposition, and then the resolution.

[The deposition and resolution are read.]

Here is no expression of thanks, no invitation of the ambassadors to the Town Hall by the Council. If Aeschines asserts that there is any, let him point it out and produce it, and I give way to him. But there is none. Now on the assumption that we all fulfilled our mission in the same way, the Council had good reason not to thank any of us, for the transactions of all alike were in that case atrocious. But if some of us acted uprightly, while others did the reverse, it must, it seems, have been owing to the knavery of their colleagues that the virtuous were forced to take their share of this dishonour. How then can you all ascertain without any difficulty who is the rogue? Recall to your minds who it is that has denounced the transaction from the outset. For it is plain that it must have been the guilty person who was well content to be silent, to stave off the day of reckoning for the moment, and to take care for the future not to present himself to give an account of his actions; while it must have been he whose conscience was clear to whom there occurred the thought of the danger, lest through keeping silence he might be regarded as a partner in such atrocious villany. Now it is I that have denounced these men from the outset, while none of them has accused me. Such then was the resolution of the Council. The meeting of the Assembly took place when Philip was already at Thermopylae: for this was the first of all their crimes, that they placed Philip in command of the situation, so that, when you ought first to have heard the facts, then to have deliberated, and afterwards to have taken such measures as you had resolved upon, you in fact heard nothing until he was on the spot, and it was no longer easy to say what steps you ought to take. In addition to this, no one read the resolution of the Council to the people, and the people never heard it; but Aeschines rose and delivered the harangue which I just now described to you, recounting the numerous and important benefits which he said he had, before his return, persuaded Philip to grant, and on account of which the Thebans had set a price upon his head. In consequence of this, appalled though you were at first at the proximity of Philip, and angry with these men for not having warned you of it, you became as mild as possible, having now formed the expectation that all your wishes would be realized; and you would not hear a word from me or from any one else. After this was read the letter from Philip, which Aeschines had written when we had left him behind, a letter which was nothing less than a direct and express defence in writing of the misconduct of the ambassadors. For in it is stated that Philip himself prevented them, when they were anxious to go to the several cities and receive the oaths, and that he retained them in order that they might help him to effect a reconciliation between the peoples of Halus and Pharsalus. He takes upon his own shoulders the whole of their misconduct, and makes it his own. But as to the Phocians and Thespiae, and the promises contained in Aeschines' report to you—why, there is not the slightest mention of them! And it was no mere accident that the proceedings took this form. For the failure of the ambassadors to carry out or give effect to any of the instructions imposed upon them by your resolution—the failure for which you were bound to punish them—Philip makes himself responsible in their stead, and says that the fault was his; for you were not likely, of course, to be able to punish him. But the points in regard to which Philip wished to deceive you and to steal a march upon the city were made the subject of the defendant's report, in order that you might be able to find no ground of accusation or reproach against Philip, since these points were not mentioned either in his letter or in any other part of the communications received from him. But (to the clerk) read the jury the actual letter—written by Aeschines, sent by Philip; and (to the jury) do you observe that it is such as I have described. (To the clerk.) Read on.

[The letter is read.]

You hear the letter, men of Athens; you hear how noble and generous it is. But about the Phocians or the Thebans or the other subjects of the defendant's report—not a syllable. Indeed, in this letter there is not an honest word, as you will very shortly see for yourselves. He says that he retained the ambassadors to help him reconcile the people of Halus: and such is the reconciliation that they have obtained, that they are exiles from their country, and their city is laid waste. And as to the prisoners, though he professed to be wondering what he could do to gratify you, he says that the idea of procuring their release had not occurred to any one. But evidence has, as you know, been laid before you many times in the Assembly, to the effect that I myself went to ransom them, taking a talent for the purpose; and it shall now be laid before you once more. It follows, therefore, that it was to deprive me of my laudable ambition that Aeschines persuaded Philip to insert this statement. But the strongest point of all is this. In his former letter—the letter which we brought back—he wrote, 'I should have mentioned expressly the great benefits that I propose to confer upon you, if I felt sure that you would grant me the alliance as well.' And yet when the alliance has been granted, he says that he does not know what he can do to gratify you. He does not even know what he had himself promised! Why, he must obviously have known that, unless he was trying to cheat you! To prove that he did write thus and in these terms, (to the clerk) take his former letter, and read the very passage, beginning at this point. Read on.

[An extract from the letter is read.]

Thus, before he obtained the Peace, he undertook to set down in writing the great benefits he would confer on the city, in the event of an alliance also being granted him. But as soon as he had obtained both his wishes, he says that he does not know what he can do to gratify you, but that if you will inform him, he will do anything that will not involve any disgrace or stigma upon himself. Such are the excuses in which he takes refuge, to secure his retreat, in case you should actually make any suggestion or should be induced to ask any favour.

It would have been possible to expose this whole proceeding at the time— and a great deal more—without delay; to inform you of the facts, and to prevent you from sacrificing your cause, had not the thought of Thespiae and Plataeae, and the idea that the Thebans were on the very point of paying the penalty, robbed you of the truth. While, however, there was good reason for mentioning these prospects, if the city was to hear of them and then be cheated, it would have been better, if their realization was actually intended, that nothing should have been said about them. For if matters had already reached a stage at which the Thebans would be no better off, even if they perceived the design against them, why was the design not fulfilled? But if its fulfilment was prevented because they perceived it in time, who was it that betrayed the secret? Must it not have been Aeschines? Its fulfilment, however, was not in fact intended, nor did the defendant either desire or expect it; so that he may be relieved of the charge of betraying the secret. What was intended was that you should be hoodwinked by these statements, and should refuse to hear the truth from me; that you should not stir from home, and that such a decree should carry the day as would involve the destruction of the Phocians. Hence this prodigality in promises, and their proclamation in his speech to the people.

When I heard Aeschines making all these magnificent promises, I knew perfectly well that he was lying; and I will tell you how I knew. I knew it first, because when Philip was about to take the oath in ratification of the Peace, the Phocians were openly excluded from it. This was a point which it would have been natural to pass over in silence, if the Phocians were really to be saved. And secondly, I knew it because the promises were not made by Philip's ambassadors or in Philip's letter, but by the defendant. Accordingly, drawing my conclusions from these facts, I rose and came forward and attempted to contradict him; but as you were not willing to hear me, I held my peace, with no more than these words of solemn protest, which I entreat you, in Heaven's name, to remember. 'I have no knowledge of these promises,' I said, 'and no share in making them; and,' I added, 'I do not believe they will be fulfilled.' This last expression roused your temper, and I proceeded, 'Take care, men of Athens, that if any of these things comes to pass, you thank these gentlemen for it, and give your honours and crowns to them, and not to me. If, however, anything of an opposite character occurs, you must equally vent your anger on them: I decline all responsibility.' 'No, no!' interrupted Aeschines, 'do not decline responsibility now! Take care rather that you do not claim credit, when the time comes.' 'Indeed, it would be an injustice if I did so,' I replied. Then Philocrates arose with a most insolent air, and said, 'It is no wonder, men of Athens, that I and Demosthenes should disagree; for he drinks water, I drink wine.' And you laughed.

Now consider the decree which Philocrates proposed and handed in. An excellent resolution it sounds, as you hear it now. But when you take into account the occasion on which it was proposed, and the promises which Aeschines was then making, you will see that their action amounts to nothing less than a surrender of the Phocians to Philip and the Thebans, and that, practically, with their hands tied behind their backs. (To the clerk.) Read the decree.

[The decree is read.]

There, men of Athens, is the decree, overflowing with expressions of gratitude and auspicious language. 'The Peace,' it says, 'which is granted to Philip shall be granted on the same terms to his descendants, and also the alliance.' Again, we are 'to thank Philip for his promised acts of justice'. Yet Philip made no promises: so far was he from making promises that he said he did not know what he could do to gratify you. It was Aeschines who spoke in his name, and made the promises. Then Philocrates took advantage of the enthusiasm which Aeschines' words aroused in you, to insert in the decree the clause, 'and unless the Phocians act as they are bound, and surrender the temple to the Amphictyons, the Athenian people will render their assistance against those who still stand in the way of such surrender.' Thus, men of Athens, at a time when you were still at home and had not taken the field, when the Spartans had foreseen the deception and retired, and when none of the Amphictyons were on the spot but the Thessalians and Thebans, he proposes in the most innocent-sounding language in the world that they shall deliver up the temple to these. For he proposes that they shall deliver it up to the Amphictyons. But what Amphictyons? for there were none there but the Thessalians and Thebans. He does not propose that the Amphictyons should be convoked, or that they should wait until the Amphictyons met or that Proxenus should render assistance in Phocis, or that the Athenians should take the field, or anything of the sort. Philip did indeed actually send two letters to summon you. But he did not intend you really to march from Athens. Not a bit of it! For he would not have waited to summon you until he had seen the time go by in which you could have set out; nor would he have tried to prevent me, when I wished to set sail and return hither; nor would he have instructed Aeschines to speak to you in the terms which would be least likely to cause you to march. No! he intended that you should fancy that he was about to fulfil your desires, and in that belief should abstain from any resolution adverse to him; and that the Phocians should, in consequence, make no defence or resistance, in reliance upon any hopes inspired by you, but should put themselves into his hands in utter despair. (To the clerk.) Read to the jury the letters of Philip.

[The letters are read.]

Now these letters summon you, and that, forsooth, instantly; and it was surely for Aeschines and his party, if the proceeding was in any way genuine, to support the summons, to urge you to march, and to propose that Proxenus, whom they knew to be in those parts, should render assistance at once. Yet it is plain that their action was of precisely the opposite character; and naturally so. For they did not attend to the terms of the letter, but to the intention with which Philip wrote it. With this intention they co-operated, and to this they strove to give effect. As soon as the Phocians had learned the news of your proceedings in the Assembly, and had received this decree of Philocrates, and heard the defendant's announcement and his promises, everything combined to effect their doom. Consider the circumstances. There were some of them who had the wisdom to distrust Philip. These were induced to trust him. And why? Because they believed that even if Philip were trying to deceive them ten times over, the ambassadors of Athens, at least, would never dare to deceive their own countrymen. This report which Aeschines had made to you must therefore be true: it was the Thebans, and not themselves, whose hour had come. There were others who advocated resistance at all hazards; but these too were weakened in their resolution, now that they were persuaded that they could count upon Philip's favour, and that, unless they did as they were bidden, you, whose assistance they were hoping for, would march against them. There was also a third party, who thought that you repented of having made the Peace with Philip; but to these they pointed out that you had decreed that the same Peace should hold good for posterity also; so that on every ground, all assistance from you was despaired of. That is why they crowded all these points into one decree. And in this lies, I think, the very greatest of all their crimes against you. To have made a Peace with a mortal man, whose power was due to the accidents of the moment—a Peace, whereby they covenanted that the disgrace brought upon the city should be everlasting; to have robbed the city, not only of all beside, but even of the benefits that Fortune might hereafter bestow: to have displayed such superabundant villany as to have done this wicked wrong not only to their countrymen now living, but also to all those who should ever thereafter be born—is it not utterly atrocious? And this last clause, by which the Peace was extended to your descendants, you would certainly never have allowed to be added to the conditions of peace had you not then placed your trust in the promises announced by Aeschines, as the Phocians placed their trust in them and perished. For, as you know, they delivered themselves up to Philip; they gave their cities into his hands; and the consequences which befell them were the exact opposite of all that Aeschines had predicted to you.

That you may realize plainly that this calamity was brought about in the manner that I have described, and that they are responsible for it, I will go through the dates at which each separate event occurred; and if any one can contradict me on any point, I invite him to rise and speak in the time allotted to me. The Peace was made on the 19th of Elaphebolion, and we were away on the mission which was sent to receive the oaths three whole months. All this time the Phocians remained unharmed. We returned from that mission on the 13th of Scirophorion. Philip had already appeared at Thermopylae, and was making promises to the Phocians, none of which they believed—as is proved, when you consider that otherwise they would not have appealed to you. Then followed the Assembly, at which, by their falsehoods and by the deception which they practised upon you, Aeschines and his party ruined the whole cause. That was on the 16th of Scirophorion. Now I calculate that it was on the fifth day that the report of your proceedings reached the Phocians: for the Phocian envoys were here on the spot, and were deeply concerned to know what report these men would make, and what your resolution would be. That gives us the 20th as the date on which, as we calculate, the Phocians heard of your proceedings; for, counting from the 16th, the 20th is the fifth day. Then followed the 21st, the 22nd, and the 23rd. On the latter day the truce was made, and the ruin of the Phocians was finally sealed. This can be proved as follows. On the 27th you were holding an Assembly in the Peiraeus, to discuss the business connected with the dockyards, when Dercylus arrived from Chalcis with the news that Philip had put everything into the hands of the Thebans, and that this was the fifth day since the truce had been made. 23rd, 24th, 25th, 26th, 27th—the 27th is the fifth day precisely. Thus the dates, and their reports and their proposals— everything, in short, convicts them of having co-operated with Philip, and of sharing with him the responsibility for the overthrow of the Phocians. Again, the fact that none of the towns in Phocis was taken by siege or by an attack in force, and that the utter ruin of them all was the direct consequence of their truce with Philip, affords the strongest evidence that it was the belief inspired in the Phocians by these men, that they would be preserved from destruction by Philip, which was the cause of their fate. Philip himself they knew well enough. (To the clerk.) Bring me our treaty of alliance with the Phocians, and the decrees under which they demolished their walls. (To the jury.) You will then realize what were the relations between themselves and you, upon which they relied, and what nevertheless was the fate which befell them through the action of these accursed men. (To the clerk.) Read.

[The Treaty of Alliance between the Athenians and Phocians is read.]

These, then, were the things for which they relied upon you—friendship, alliance, and assistance. Now listen to what befell them, because Aeschines prevented your going to their assistance. (To the clerk.) Read.

[The Agreement between Philip and the Phocians is read.]

You hear it, men of Athens. 'An Agreement between Philip and the Phocians,' it runs—not between the Thebans and the Phocians, nor the Thessalians and the Phocians, nor the Locrians, nor any one else who was there. Again, 'the Phocians shall deliver up their cities to Philip'—not to the Thebans or Thessalians or any one else. And why? Because the defendant's report to you was that Philip had crossed the Pass with a view to the preservation of the Phocians. Thus it was Aeschines in whom all their trust was placed; it was with him in their minds that they considered the whole situation; it was with him in their minds that they made the Peace. (To the clerk.) Now read the remainder. (To the jury.) And do you observe for what they trusted him, and what treatment they received. Does it show any resemblance or similarity to what Aeschines predicted in his report? (To the clerk.) Read on.

[The decrees of the Amphictyons are read.]

Men of Athens, the horror and the immensity of this calamity have never been surpassed in our day in the Hellenic world, nor even, I believe, in the time before us. Yet these great and dreadful events a single man has been given power to bring about, by the action of these men, while the city of Athens was still in being—Athens, whose traditional policy is to stand as the champion of the Hellenic peoples, and not to suffer anything like this to take place. The nature of the ruin which the unhappy Phocians have suffered may be seen, not only from these decrees, but also from the actual results of the action taken, and an awful and piteous sight it is, men of Athens. For when recently we were on our way to Delphi we could not help seeing it all—houses razed to the ground, cities stripped of their walls, the land destitute of men in their prime—only a few poor women and little children left, and some old men in misery. Indeed, no words can describe the distress now prevailing there. Yet this was the people, I hear you all saying, that once gave its vote against the Thebans, when the question of your enslavement was laid before them. What then, men of Athens, do you think would be the vote, what the sentence, that your forefathers would give, if they could recover consciousness, upon those who were responsible for the destruction of this people? I believe that if they stoned them to death with their own hands, they would hold themselves guiltless of blood. Is it not utterly shameful—does it not, if possible, go beyond all shame—that those who saved us then, and gave the saving vote for us, should now have met with the very opposite fate through these men, suffering as no Hellenic people has ever suffered before, with none to hinder it? Who then is responsible for this crime? Who is the author of this deception? Who but Aeschines?

Of all the many reasons for which Philip might be congratulated with good cause upon his fortune, the chief ground of congratulation is a piece of good fortune, to which, by every Heavenly Power, I cannot find any parallel in our days. To have captured great cities, to have reduced a vast expanse of territory to subjection, and all similar actions, are, of course, enviable and brilliant achievements—undeniably so. But many other persons might be mentioned who had achieved as much. The good fortune of which I am about to speak is peculiar to Philip, and has never been given to any other. It is this—that when he needed scoundrels to do his work for him, he found even greater scoundrels than he wanted. For as such we have surely good reason to think of them. For when there were falsehoods which Philip himself, in spite of the immense interests which he had at stake, did not dare to utter on his own behalf—which he did not set down in any of his letters, and which none of his envoys uttered—these men sold their services for the purpose, and undertook your deception. Antipater and Parmenio, servants of a master as they were, and unlikely ever to find themselves in your presence again, none the less secured for themselves that they should not be the instruments in your deception, while these men, who were Athenians, citizens of the most free city, and held an official position as your ambassadors—though they would have to meet you and look you in the face, and pass the remainder of their lives among you, and render before you an account of their actions—they, I say, undertook the task of deceiving you. How could vileness or desperation go further than this?

But I would have you understand further that he is under your curse, and that you cannot, without violation of religion and piety, acquit him, when he has thus lied to you. (To the clerk.) Recite the Curse. Take it from me, and read it out of the law.

[The Curse is read.]

This imprecation is pronounced in your name, men of Athens, by the herald, at every meeting of the Assembly, as the law appoints; and when the Council sits, it is pronounced again there. Nor can Aeschines say that he did not know it well. He was your under-clerk and servant to the Council, and used himself to read this law over to the herald. Surely, then, you will have done a strange and monstrous thing, men of Athens, if to-day, when you have it in your power, you should fail to do for yourselves the thing which you enjoin upon the gods, or rather claim from them as your due; and should acquit a man whom you pray to the gods to destroy utterly—himself, his race and his house. You must not do this. You may leave it to the gods to punish one whom you cannot yourselves detect; but when you have yourselves caught the criminal, you must no longer lay the task of punishing him upon the gods.

Now I am told that he intends to carry his shamelessness and impudence so far, as to avoid all mention of his own proceedings—his report, his promises, the deception he has practised upon the city—as though his trial were taking place before strangers, instead of before you, who know all the facts; and that he intends to accuse first the Spartans, then the Phocians, and then Hegesippus. That is mere mockery; or rather, it is atrocious shamelessness. For all that he will allege to-day against the Phocians or the Spartans or Hegesippus—their refusal to receive Proxenus, their impiety—let him allege what he will—all these allegations refer, as you know, to actions which were already past when these ambassadors returned to Athens, and which were no obstacle to the preservation of the Phocians—the admission is made by whom? By the defendant Aeschines himself. For what was his report on that occasion? Not that if it had not been for their refusal to receive Proxenus, nor that if it had not been for Hegesippus, nor that if it had not been for such and such things, the Phocians would have been saved. No! he discarded all such qualifications, and stated expressly that before he returned he had persuaded Philip to save the Phocians, to repeople Boeotia, and to arrange matters to suit your convenience; that within two or three days these things would be accomplished facts, and that for this reason the Thebans had set a price upon his head. Refuse then, to hear or to tolerate any mention of what had already been done, either by the Spartans or by the Phocians, before he made his report; and do not let him denounce the rascality of the Phocians. It was not for their virtue that you once saved the Spartans, nor the Euboeans, that accursed people! nor many others; but because the interests of the city demanded their preservation, as they demanded that of the Phocians just now. And what wrong was done either by the Phocians or by the Spartans, or by yourselves, or by any one else in the world after he made those declarations, to prevent the fulfilment of the promises which he then made? Ask him that: for that is what he will not be able to show you. It was within five days—five days and no more—that Aeschines made his lying report, that you believed him, that the Phocians heard of it, surrendered themselves and perished. This, I think, makes it as plain as it can possibly be, that the ruin of the Phocians was the result of organized deceit and trickery, and of nothing else. For so long as Philip was unable to proceed to Phocis on account of the Peace, and was only waiting in readiness to do so, he kept sending for the Spartans, promising to do all that they wished, in order that the Phocians might not win them over to their side by your help. But when he had arrived at Thermopylae, and the Spartans had seen the trap and retired, he now sent Aeschines in advance to deceive you, in order that he might not, owing to your perceiving that he was playing into the hands of the Thebans, find himself once more involved in loss of time and war and delay, through the Phocians defending themselves and your going to their assistance, but might get everything into his power without a struggle; and this is what has in fact happened. Do not, then, let the fact that Philip deceived the Spartans and Phocians as well as yourselves enable Aeschines to escape his punishment for deceiving you. That would not be just.

But if he tells you that, to compensate for the Phocians and Thermopylae and all your other losses, you have retained possession of the Chersonese, do not, in Heaven's name, accept the plea! Do not tolerate the aggravation of all the wrong that you have suffered through his conduct as ambassador, by the reproach which his defence would bring upon the city—the reproach of having sacrificed the existence of your allies, in an underhand attempt to save part of your own possessions! You did not act thus; for when the Peace had already been made, and the Chersonese was no longer in danger, there followed four whole months during which the Phocians remained unharmed; and it was not until after this that the lying statements of Aeschines brought about their ruin by deceiving you. And further, you will find that the Chersonese is in much greater danger now than it was then. For when do you think that we had the greater facilities for punishing Philip for any trespass against the Chersonese?—before he stole any of these advantages from the city, or now? For my part, I think we had far greater facilities then. What, then, does this 'retention of the Chersonese' amount to, when all the fears and the risks which attended one who would have liked to attack it have been removed?

Again, I am told that he will express himself to some such effect as this— that he cannot think why he is accused by Demosthenes, and not by any of the Phocians. It is better that you should hear the true state of the case from me beforehand. Of the exiled Phocians, the best, I believe, and the most respectable, after being driven into banishment and suffering as they have suffered, are content to be quiet, and none of them would consent to incur an enmity which would fall upon himself, on account of the calamities of his people: while those who would do anything for money have no one to give it to them. For assuredly I would never have given any one anything whatever to stand by my side here and cry aloud how cruelly they have suffered. The truth and the deeds that have been done cry aloud of themselves. And as for the Phocian people, they are in so evil and pitiable a plight, that there is no question for them of appearing as accusers at the examination of every individual ambassador in Athens. They are in slavery, in mortal fear of the Thebans and of Philip's mercenaries, whom they are compelled to support, broken up into villages as they are and stripped of their arms. Do not, then, suffer him to urge such a plea. Make him prove to you that the Phocians are not ruined, or that he did not promise that Philip would save them. For the questions upon which the examination of an ambassador turns are these: 'What have you effected? What have you reported? If the report is true, you may be acquitted; if it is false, you must pay the penalty.' How can you plead the non- appearance of the Phocians, when it was you yourself, I fancy, that brought them, so far as it lay in your power, into such a condition that they could neither help their friends nor repel their enemies.

And further, apart from all the shame and the dishonour in which also these proceedings are involved, it is easy to show that in consequence of them the city has been beset with grave dangers as well. Every one of you knows that it was the hostilities which the Phocians were carrying on, and their command of Thermopylae, that rendered us secure against Thebes, and made it impossible that either Philip or the Thebans should ever march into the Peloponese or into Euboea or into Attica. But this guarantee of safety which the city possessed, arising out of the position of Thermopylae and the actual circumstances of the time, you were induced to sacrifice by the deceptions and the lying statements of these ambassadors—a guarantee, I say, fortified by arms, by a continuous campaign, by great cities of allies, and by a wide tract of territory; and you have looked on while it was swept away. Fruitless has your first expedition to Thermopylae become—an expedition made at a cost of more than two hundred talents, if you include the private expenditure of the soldiers—and fruitless your hopes of triumph over Thebes! But of all the wicked services which he has done for Philip, let me tell you of that which is in reality the greatest outrage of all upon Athens and upon you all. It is this —that when Philip had determined from the very first to do for the Thebans all that he has done, Aeschines, by reporting the exact opposite to you, and so displaying to the world your antagonism to Philip's designs, has brought about for you an increase in the enmity between yourselves and the Thebans, and for Philip an increase in their gratitude. How could a man have treated you more outrageously than this?

(To the clerk.) Now take and read the decrees of Diophantus and Callisthenes ; (to the jury) for I would have you realize that when you acted as you ought, you were thought worthy to be honoured with public thanksgivings and praises, both at home and abroad; but when once you had been driven astray by these men, you had to bring your children and wives in from the country, and to decree that the sacrifice to Heracles should take place within the walls, though it was a time of peace. And in view of this it is an amazing idea, that you should dismiss unpunished a man who even prevented the gods from receiving their worship from you after the manner of your fathers. (To the clerk.) Read the decree.

[The decree of Diophantus is read.]

This decree, men of Athens, was one which your conduct nobly deserved. (To the clerk.) Now read the next decree.

[The decree of Callisthenes is read.]

This decree you passed in consequence of the action of these men. It was not with such a prospect in view that you made the Peace and the alliance at the outset, or that you were subsequently induced to insert the words which extended them to your posterity. You expected their action to bring you benefits of incredible value. Aye, and besides this, you know how often, after this, you were bewildered by the report that Philip's forces and mercenaries were threatening Porthmus or Megara. You have not then to reflect contentedly that Philip has not yet set foot in Attica. You have rather to consider whether their action has not given him power to do so when he chooses. It is that danger that you must keep before your eyes, and you must execrate and punish the man who is guilty of putting such power into Philip's hands.

Now I am aware that Aeschines will eschew all defence of the actions with which he is charged, and that, in his desire to lead you as far away as possible from the facts, he will enumerate the great blessings which Peace brings to all mankind, and will set against them the evils that follow in the train of war. His whole speech will be a eulogy of peace, and in that will consist his defence. But such an argument actually incriminates the defendant further. If peace, which brings such blessings to all other men, has been the source of such trouble and confusion to us, what explanation can be found, except that they have taken bribes and have cruelly marred a thing by nature so fair? 'What?' he may say, 'have you not to thank the Peace for three hundred ships, with their fittings, and for funds which remain and will remain yours?' In answer to this, you are bound to suppose that, thanks to the Peace, Philip's resources too have become far more ample—aye, and his command of arms, and of territory, and of revenues, which have accrued to him to such large amounts. We, too, have had some increase of revenue. But as for power and alliances, by the establishment of which all men retain their advantages, either for themselves or their masters, ours have been sold by these men—ruined and enfeebled; while Philip's have become more formidable and extensive by far. Thus it is not fair that while Philip has been enabled by their action to extend both his alliances and his revenue, all that would in any case have been ours, as the result of the Peace, should be set off against what they themselves sold to Philip. The former did not come to us in exchange for the latter. Far from it! For had it not been for them, not only should we have had the former, as we have now, but we should have had the latter as well.

You would doubtless admit, men of Athens, in general terms, that, on the one hand, however many and terrible the disasters that have befallen the city, your anger cannot justly be visited upon Aeschines, if none of them has been caused by him; and that, on the other hand, Aeschines is not entitled to be acquitted on account of any satisfactory results that may have been accomplished through the action of others. You must examine the acts of Aeschines himself, and then show him your favour if he is worthy of it, or your resentment, on the other hand, if his acts prove to be deserving ing of that. How, then, can you solve this problem fairly? You will do so if, instead of allowing him to confound all questions with one another—the criminal conduct of the generals, the war with Philip, the blessings that flow from peace—you consider each point by itself. For instance, were we at war with Philip? We were. Does any one accuse Aeschines on that ground? Does any one wish to bring any charge against him in regard to things that were done in the course of the war? No one whatever. He is therefore acquitted in regard to such matters, and must not say anything about them; for the witnesses and the proofs which a defendant produces must bear upon the matters which are in dispute; he must not deceive you by offering a defence upon points which are not disputed. Take care, then, that you say nothing about the war; for no one charges you with any responsibility for that. Later on we were urged by certain persons to make peace. We consented; we sent ambassadors; and the ambassadors brought commissioners to Athens who were to conclude the Peace. Once more, does any one blame Aeschines for this? Does any one allege that Aeschines introduced the proposal of peace, or that he committed any crime in bringing commissioners here to make it? No one whatever. He must therefore say nothing in regard to the fact that the city made peace; for he is not responsible for that. 'Then what is your assertion, sir?' I may be asked. 'At what point do your charges begin?' They begin, men of Athens, from the time when the question before you was not whether you should make peace or not (for that had already been settled), but what sort of peace you should make—when Aeschines opposed those who took the side of justice, supported for a bribe the hireling mover of the decree, and afterwards, when he had been chosen to receive the oaths, failed to carry out every one of your instructions, destroyed those of your allies who had passed unscathed through the war, and told you falsehoods whose enormity and grossness has never been surpassed, either before or since. At the outset, before Philip was given a hearing in regard to the Peace, Ctesiphon and Aristodemus took the leading part in the work of deception; but when the time had come for action, they surrendered their rôle to Philocrates and Aeschines, who took it up and ruined everything. And then, when he is bound to answer for his actions and to give satisfaction for them—like the unscrupulous God-forsaken clerk that he is—he will defend himself as though it were the Peace for which he was being tried. Not that he wishes to account for more than is charged against him—that would be lunacy. No! He sees rather that in all his own proceedings no good can be found—that his crimes are his whole history; while a defence of the Peace, if it has no other merits, has at least the kindly sound of the name to recommend it. I fear, indeed, men of Athens, I fear that, unconsciously, we are enjoying this Peace like men who borrow at heavy interest. The guarantees of its security—the Phocians and Thermopylae—they have betrayed. But, be that as it may, it was not through Aeschines that we originally made it; for, paradoxical as it may seem, what I am about to say is absolutely true—that if any one is honestly pleased at the Peace, it is the generals, who are universally denounced, that he must thank for it: for had they been conducting the war as you desired them to do, you would not have tolerated even the name of peace. For peace, then, we must thank the generals; but the perilous, the precarious, the untrustworthy nature of the Peace is due to the corruption of these men. Cut him off, then, cut him off, I say, from all arguments in defence of the Peace! Set him to defend his own actions! Aeschines is not being tried on account of the Peace. On the contrary, the Peace stands discredited owing to Aeschines. And here is evidence of the fact:—if the Peace had been made, and if no subsequent deception had been practised upon you, and none of your allies had been ruined, who on earth would have been hurt by the Peace, except in so far as it was inglorious? And for its inglorious character the defendant in fact shares the responsibility, for he spoke in support of Philocrates. At least no irreparable harm would have been done; whereas now, I believe, much has been done, and the guilt rests with the defendant. That these men have been the agents in this shameful and wicked work of ruin and destruction, I think you all know. Yet so far am I, gentlemen of the jury, from putting any unfair construction upon these facts or asking you to do so, that if it has been through stupidity or simplicity, or ignorance in any form whatever, that such results have been so brought about, I acquit Aeschines myself, and I recommend you also to acquit him. At the same time none of these excuses is either constitutional or justifiable. For you neither command nor compel any one to undertake public business; but when any one has satisfied himself of his own capacity and has entered political life, then, like good-hearted, kindly men, you welcome him in a friendly and ungrudging manner, and even elect him to office and place your own interests in his hands. Then, if a man succeeds, he will receive honour and will so far have an advantage over the crowd. But if he fails, is he to plead palliations and excuses? That is not fair. It would not satisfy our ruined allies, or their children, or their wives, or the rest of the victims, to know that it was through my stupidity—not to speak of the stupidity of the defendant—that they had suffered such a fate. Far from it! Nevertheless, I bid you forgive Aeschines for these atrocious and unparalleled crimes if he can prove that it was simplicity of mind, or any form of ignorance whatever, which led him to work such ruin. But if it was the rascality of a man who had taken money and bribes—if he is plainly convicted of this by the very facts themselves—then, if it be possible, put him to death; or if not, make him, while he lives, an example to others.

And now give your thoughts to the proof by which he is convicted on these points, and observe how straightforward it will be.

If the defendant Aeschines was not deliberately deceiving you for a price, he must necessarily, I presume, have had one of two reasons for making the statements in question to you, in regard to the Phocians and Thespiae and Euboea. Either he must have heard Philip promise in express terms that such would be his policy and the steps he would take; or else he must have been so far bewitched and deluded by Philip's generosity in all other matters as to conceive these further hopes of him. There is no possible alternative besides these two. Now in both these cases he, more than any living man, ought to detest Philip. And why? Because, so far as Philip could bring it about, all that is most dreadful and most shameful has fallen upon him. He has deceived you; his reputation is gone [he is rightly ruined]; he is on his trial; aye, and were the course of the proceedings in any way that which his conduct called for, he would long ago have been impeached; {104-109} whereas now, thanks to your innocence and meekness, he presents his report, and that at the time which suits his own wishes. I ask, then, if there is one among you who has ever heard Aeschines raise his voice in denunciation of Philip—one, I say, who has seen Aeschines exposing him or saying a word against him? Not one! All Athens denounces Philip before Aeschines does so. Every one whom you meet does so, though not one of them has been injured by him—I mean, of course, personally. On the assumption that Aeschines had not sold himself, I should have expected to hear him use some such expressions as these—'Men of Athens, deal with me as you will. I trusted Philip; I was deceived; I was wrong; I confess my error. But beware of him, men of Athens. He is faithless—a cheat, a knave. Do you not see how he has treated me? how he has deceived me?' But I hear no such expressions fall from him, nor do you. And why? Because he was not misled; he was not deceived; he made these statements, he betrayed all to Philip, because he had sold his services and received the money for them; and gallantly and loyally has he behaved—as Philip's hireling. But as your ambassador, as your fellow citizen, he is a traitor who deserves to die, not once, but thrice.

This is not the only evidence which proves that all those statements of his were made for money. For, recently, the Thessalians came to you, and with them envoys from Philip, demanding that you should decree the recognition of Philip as one of the Amphictyons. Who then, of all men, should naturally have opposed the demand? The defendant Aeschines. And why? Because Philip had acted in a manner precisely contrary to the announcement which Aeschines had made to you. Aeschines declared that Philip would fortify Thespiae and Plataeae; that he intended, not to destroy the Phocians, but to put down the insolence of Thebes. But in fact Philip has raised the Thebans to an undue height of power, while he has utterly destroyed the Phocians; and instead of fortifying Thespiae and Plataeae, he has brought Orchomenus and Coroneia into the same bondage with them. How could any contradiction be greater than this? Aeschines did not oppose the demand. He neither opened his lips nor uttered a sound in opposition to it. But even this, monstrous as it is, is not yet the worst. For he, and he alone, in all Athens, actually supported the demand. This not even Philocrates dared to do, abominable as he was; it was left for the defendant Aeschines. And when you raised a clamour and would not listen to him, he stepped down from the platform, and, showing off before the envoys who had come from Philip, told them that there were plenty of men who made a clamour, but few who took the field when it was required of them—you remember the incident, no doubt—being himself, of course, a marvellous soldier, God knows!

Again, if we had been unable to prove that any of the ambassadors had received anything—if the fact were not patent to all—we might then have resorted to examination by torture, and other such methods. But if Philocrates not only admitted the fact frequently in your presence at the Assembly, but used actually to make a parade of his guilt—selling wheat, building houses, saying that he was going whether you elected him or not, importing timber, changing Macedonian gold openly at the bank—it is surely impossible for him to deny that he received money, when he himself confesses and displays his guilt. Now, is any human being so senseless or so ill- starred that, in order that Philocrates might receive money, while he himself incurred infamy and disgrace, he would want to fight against those upright citizens in whose ranks he might have stood, and to take the side of Philocrates and face a trial? I am sure that there is no such man; but in all these considerations, if you examine them aright, you will find strong and evident signs of the corruption of the defendant.

Consider next an incident which occurred last in order of time, but which is second to none as an indication that Aeschines had sold himself to Philip. You doubtless know that in the course of the recent impeachment of Philocrates by Hypereides, I came forward and expressed my dissatisfaction with one feature of the impeachment—namely, the idea that Philocrates alone had been responsible for all these monstrous crimes, and that the other nine ambassadors had no share in them. I said that it was not so, for Philocrates by himself would have been nowhere, had he not had some of them to co-operate with him. 'And therefore,' I said, 'in order that I may not personally acquit or accuse any one, and that the guilty may be detected, and those who have had no share in the crime acquitted by the evidence of their own conduct, let any one who wishes to do so rise and come forward into your midst, and let him declare that he has no share in it, and that the actions of Philocrates are displeasing to him. Any one who does this,' I said, 'I acquit.' You remember the incident, I am sure. Well, no one came forward or showed himself. Each of the others has some excuse. One was not liable to examination; another, perhaps, was not present; a third is related to Philocrates. But Aeschines has no such excuse. No! So completely has he sold himself, once for all—so plain is it that his wages are not for past services only, but that, if he escapes now, Philip can equally count upon his help against you in the future—that to avoid letting fall even a word that would be unfavourable to Philip, he does not accept his discharge even when you offer to discharge him, but chooses to suffer infamy, to stand his trial and to endure any treatment in this court, rather than to take a step that would not please Philip. But what is the meaning of this partnership, this careful forethought for Philocrates? For if Philocrates had by his diplomacy accomplished the most honourable results and achieved all that your interest required, and yet admitted (as he did admit) that he had made money by his mission, this very fact was one by which an uncorrupted colleague should have been repelled and set him on his guard, and led to protest to the best of his power. Aeschines has not acted in this way. Is it not all clear, men of Athens? Do not the facts cry aloud and tell you that Aeschines has taken money, that he is a rascal for a price, and that consistently—not through stupidity, or ignorance, or bad luck? 'But where is the witness who testifies to my corruption?' he asks. Why, this is the finest thing of all! The witnesses, Aeschines, are facts; and they are the surest of all witnesses: none can assert or allege against them, that they are influenced by persuasion or by favour to any one: what your treachery and mischief have made them, such, when examined, they must appear. But, besides the facts, you shall at once bear witness against yourself. Come, stand up and answer me! Surely you will not plead that you are so inexperienced as not to know what to say. For when, under the ordinary limitations of time, you prosecute and win cases that have all the novelty of a play —cases, too, that have no witness to support them—you must plainly be a speaker of tremendous genius.

Many and atrocious as are the crimes of the defendant Aeschines, and great as is the wickedness which is implied by them (as I am sure you also feel) there is none which is more atrocious than that of which I am about to speak to you, and none which will afford more palpable proof that he has taken bribes and sold everything. For when once more, for the third time, you sent the ambassadors to Philip on the strength of those high and noble expectations which the defendant's promises had roused, you elected both Aeschines and myself, and most of those whom you had previously sent. For my part I came forward and declined upon oath to serve; and though some raised a clamour and bade me go, I declared that I would not; but the defendant had already been elected. Afterwards, when the Assembly had risen, he and his party met and discussed whom they should leave behind in Athens. For while everything was still in suspense, and the future doubtful, there were all kinds of gatherings and discussions in the market-place. They were afraid, no doubt, that a special meeting of the Assembly might suddenly be called, and that you might then hear the truth from me, and pass some of the resolutions which it was your duty to pass in the interest of the Phocians, and that so Philip's object might slip from his grasp. For had you merely passed a resolution and shown them the faintest ray of hope of any kind, the Phocians would have been saved. It was absolutely impossible for Philip to stay where he was, unless you were misled. There was no corn in the country, for, owing to the war, the land had not been sown; and to import corn was impossible so long as your ships were there and in command of the sea; while the Phocian towns were many in number, and difficult to take except by a prolonged siege. Even assuming that he were taking a town a day, there are two and twenty of them. For all these reasons they left Aeschines in Athens, to guard against any alteration of the course which you had been deluded into taking. Now to decline upon oath to serve, without any cause, was a dangerous and highly suspicious proceeding. 'What?' he would have been asked, 'are you not going on the mission which is to secure all those wonderful good things which you have foretold?' Yet he was bound to remain. How could it be done? He pleads illness. His brother took with him Execestus the physician, came before the Council, swore that Aeschines was too ill to serve, and was himself elected in his place. Five or six days later the ruin of the Phocians had been accomplished, and Aeschines' contract—a mere matter of business—had been fulfilled. Dercylus turned back, and on his arrival here from Chalcis announced to you the destruction of the Phocians, while you were holding an Assembly in the Peiraeus. On hearing the news you were naturally struck with sympathy for them, and with terror for yourselves. You passed resolutions to bring in your children and wives from the country, to repair the garrison-forts, to fortify the Peiraeus, and to celebrate the sacrifice to Heracles within the city walls: and in the midst of all this, in the midst of the confusion and the tumult which had fallen upon the city, this learned and able speaker, so loud of voice, though not elected either by the Council or by the people, set off as ambassador to the man who had wrought the destruction, taking no account of the illness which he had previously made his excuse, upon oath, for not serving, nor of the election of another ambassador in his place, nor of the law which imposes the penalty of death for such offences;  nor yet reflecting how utterly atrocious it was, that after announcing that the Thebans had placed a price on his head, he should choose the moment when the Thebans had (in addition to all Boeotia, which they already possessed) become masters of the territory of the Phocians as well, to go into the very midst of Thebes, and into the very camp of the Thebans. But so beside himself was he, so utterly bent upon his profits and his bribe, that he ruled out and overlooked all such considerations, and took his departure.

Such was the nature of this transaction; and yet his proceedings when he arrived at his destination are far worse. All of you who are present, and all other Athenians as well, thought the treatment of the unhappy Phocians so atrocious and so cruel that you sent to the Pythian games neither the official deputation from the Council, nor the Thesmothetae, but abandoned that ancient representation of yourselves at the festival. But Aeschines went to the triumphal feast with which the Thebans and Philip were celebrating the victory of their cause and their arms. He joined in the festival: he shared in the libations and the prayers which Philip offered over the ruined walls and country and arms of your allies: with Philip he set garlands on his head, and raised the paean, and drank the loving-cup. Nor is it possible for the defendant to give a different version of the facts from that which I have given. As regards his sworn refusal to serve, the facts are in your public records in the Metroon, guarded by your officer; and a decree stands recorded with express reference to the name of Aeschines. And as for his conduct there, his fellow ambassadors, who were present, will bear witness against him. They told me the story; for I was not with them on this Embassy, having entered a sworn refusal to serve.

(To the clerk.) Now read me the resolution [and the record], and call the witnesses.

[The decree is read, and the witnesses called.]

What prayers, then, do you imagine Philip offered to the gods, when he poured his libation, or the Thebans? Did they not ask them to give success in war, and victory, to themselves and their allies, and the contrary to the allies of the Phocians? In these prayers, therefore—in these imprecations upon his own country—Aeschines joined. It is for you to return them upon his own head to- day.

His departure, then, was a contravention of the law which imposes the penalty of death for the offence, and it has been shown that on his arrival he acted in a manner for which he deserves to die again and again, while his former proceedings and the work which he did as ambassador, in their interest, would justly slay him. Ask yourselves what penalty can be found, which will adequately atone for all these crimes? It would surely be shameful, men of Athens, that while all of you, and the whole people, denounce publicly all the consequences of the Peace; while you decline to take part in the business of the Amphictyons; while your attitude towards Philip is one of vexation and mistrust, because the deeds that have been done are impious and atrocious, instead of righteous and advantageous to you; that nevertheless, when you have come into court as the sworn representatives of the State, to sit in judgement upon the report of these proceedings, you should acquit the author of all the evil, when you have taken him red-handed in actions like these. Who is there of all your fellow citizens—nay, who of all the Hellenes—that would not have good cause for complaint against you, when he saw that though you were enraged against Philip, who in making peace after war was merely purchasing the means to his end from those who offered them for sale—a very pardonable transaction—you were yet acquitting Aeschines, who sold your interests in this shameful manner, notwithstanding the extreme penalties which the laws appoint for such conduct?

Now it is possible that an argument may also be used by the other side to some such effect as this—that the condemnation of those whose diplomacy brought about the Peace will mean the beginning of enmity with Philip. If this is true, then, I can imagine, upon consideration, no more serious charge that I could bring against the defendant, than this. If Philip, who spent his money on the Peace which he wished to obtain, has become so formidable, so powerful, that you have already ceased to regard your oaths and the justice of the case, and are seeking how you can gratify Philip, what penalty, that those who are responsible for this could suffer, would be adequate to the offence? I believe, however, that I shall actually show you that it would more probably mean the beginning of a friendship, advantageous to you. For you must be well assured, men of Athens, that Philip does not despise your city; nor was it because he regarded you as less serviceable than the Thebans, that he preferred them to you. No! He had been instructed by these men and had heard from them, what I once told you in the Assembly, without contradiction from any of them, that the People is the most unstable thing in the world, and the most incalculable, inconstant as a wave of the sea, stirred by any chance wind. One comes, another goes; but no one cares for the public interest, or remembers it. Philip needs (he is told) friends upon whom he can rely to execute and manage his business with you—such friends, for instance, as his informant. If this were secured for him, he would easily effect all that he desired in Athens. Now if he heard that those who had used such language to him had immediately upon their return been beaten to death, he would doubtless have behaved as the Persian king did. And how was this? He had been deceived by Timagoras, and had given him, it is said, forty talents; but when he heard that Timagoras had been put to death here, and had not even power to secure his own life, much less to carry out the promises he had made to him, he recognized that he had not paid the price to the man who had the power to effect his object. For first, as you know, he sent a dispatch, acknowledging once more your title to Amphipolis, which he had previously described as in alliance and friendship with himself; and secondly, he thenceforward wholly abstained from giving money to any one. This is exactly what Philip would have done, if he had seen that any of these men had paid the penalty, and what, if he sees it, he will still do. But when he hears that they address you, and enjoy a high reputation with you, and prosecute others, what is he to do? Is he to seek to spend much, when he can spend less? or to desire to court the favour of all, when he need but court two or three? That would be madness. For even those public benefits which Philip conferred upon the Thebans he conferred not from choice— far from it—but because he was induced to do so by their ambassadors; and I will tell you how. Ambassadors came to him from Thebes just at the time when we were there upon our mission from you. Philip wished to give them money, and that (so they said) in very large amounts. The Theban ambassadors would not accept or receive it. After that, while drinking at a sacrificial banquet and displaying his generosity towards them, Philip offered, as he drank to them, presents of many kinds— captives and the like—and finally he offered them goblets of gold and silver. All these they steadily refused, declining to put themselves in his power in any way. At last Philo, one of the ambassadors, made a speech, men of Athens, which was worthy to be made in the name, not of Thebes, but of yourselves. For he said that it gave them pleasure and delight to see the magnanimous and generous attitude of Philip towards them; but for their own personal part, they were already his good friends even without these presents; and they begged him to apply his generosity to the existing political situation of their country, and to do something worthy of himself and Thebes, promising that, if he did so, their whole city, as well as themselves, would become attached to him. And now observe what the Thebans have gained by this, and what consequences have followed; and contemplate in a real instance the advantages of refusing to sell your country's interests. First of all, they obtained peace when they were already distressed and suffering from the war, in which they were the losing side. Next, they secured the utter ruin of their enemies, the Phocians, and the complete destruction of their walls and towns. And was this all? No, indeed! For besides all this they obtained Orchomenus, Coroneia, Corsia, the Tilphossaeum, and as much of the territory of the Phocians as they desired. This then was what the Thebans gained by the Peace; and surely no more could they have asked even in their prayers. And the ambassadors of Thebes gained—what? Nothing but the credit of having brought this good fortune to their country; and a noble reward it was, men of Athens, a proud record on the score of merit and honour— that honour which Aeschines and his party sold for money. Let us now set against one another the consequences of the Peace to the city of Athens and to the Athenian ambassadors respectively; and then observe whether its effects have been similar in the case of the city and of these men personally. The city has surrendered all her possessions and all her allies; she has sworn to Philip that even if another approaches them to preserve them for her, you will prevent him; that you will consider any one who wishes to give them up to you as your enemy and foe, and the man who has robbed you of them as your ally and friend. That is the resolution which Aeschines supported, and which was moved by his accomplice Philocrates; and although on the first day I was successful, and had persuaded you to ratify the decree of the allies and to summon Philip's envoys, the defendant forced an adjournment of the question till the next day, and persuaded you to adopt the resolution of Philocrates, in which these proposals, and many others even more atrocious, are made. These were the consequences of the Peace to Athens. It would not be easy to devise anything more shameful. What were the consequences to the ambassadors who brought these things about? I say nothing of all that you have seen for yourselves—the houses, the timber, the wheat. But they also possess properties and extensive estates in the country of your ruined allies, bringing in incomes of a talent to Philocrates and thirty minae to the defendant. Yet surely, men of Athens, it is an atrocious and a monstrous thing, that the calamities of your allies should have become sources of revenue to your ambassadors, and that the same Peace which to the city that sent them meant the ruin of her allies, the surrender of her possessions, and shame in the place of honour, should have created for the ambassadors who brought these things to pass against their country, revenue, affluence, property, and wealth, in the place of abject poverty. To prove, however, that what I am telling you is true (to the clerk) call me the witnesses from Olynthus.

[The witnesses are called.]

Now I should not wonder if he even dared to make some such statement as this—that the Peace which we were making could not have been made an honourable one, or such as I demanded, because our generals had mismanaged the war. If he argues thus, then remember, in Heaven's name, to ask him whether it was from some other city that he went as ambassador, or from this city itself? If it was from some other, to whose success in war and to whose excellent generals he can point, then it was natural for him to take Philip's money: but if it was from Athens itself, why do we find him taking presents as part of a transaction which involved the surrender of her possessions by the city which sent him? For in any honest transaction the city that sent the ambassadors ought to have shared the same fortune as the ambassadors whom she sent. Consider also this further point, men of Athens. Do you think that the successes of the Phocians against the Thebans in the war, or the successes of Philip against you, were the more considerable? Those of the Phocians against the Thebans, I am quite certain. At least, they held Orchomenus and Coroneia and the Tilphossaeum; they had intercepted the Theban garrison at Neones; they had slain two hundred of them on Hedyleum; a trophy had been raised, their cavalry were victorious, and a whole Iliad of misfortunes had beset the Thebans. You were in no such position as this, and may you never be so in the future! Your most serious disadvantage in your hostilities with Philip was your inability to inflict upon him all the damage that you desired; you were completely secure against suffering any harm yourselves. How is it then that, as the result of one and the same Peace, the Thebans, who were being so badly worsted in the war, have recovered their own possessions and, in addition, have gained those of their enemies; while you, the Athenians, have lost under the Peace even what you retained safely through the war? It is because their ambassadors did not sell their interests, while these men have sold yours. [Ah! he will say, but the allies were exhausted by the war....]. That this is how these things were accomplished, you will realize still more clearly from what I have yet to say.

For when this Peace was concluded—the Peace of Philocrates, which Aeschines supported—and when Philip's envoys had set sail, after receiving the oaths from us—and up to this time nothing that had been done was irreparable, for though the Peace was disgraceful and unworthy of Athens, still we were to get those marvellous good things in return—then I say, I asked and told the ambassadors to sail as quickly as possible to the Hellespont, and not to sacrifice any of our positions there, nor allow Philip to occupy them in the interval. For I knew very well that everything that is sacrificed when peace is in process of being concluded after war, is lost to those who are so neglectful; since no one who had been induced to make peace with regard to the situation as a whole ever yet made up his mind to fight afresh for the sake of possessions which had been left unsecured; such possessions those who first take them keep. And, apart from this, I thought that, if we sailed, the city could not fail to secure one of two useful results. Either, when we were there and had received Philip's oath according to the decree, he would restore the possessions of Athens which he had taken, and keep his hands off the rest; or, if he did not do so, we should immediately report the fact to you here, and so, when you saw his grasping and perfidious disposition in regard to those your remoter and less important interests, you would not in dealing with greater matters close at hand—in other words, with the Phocians and Thermopylae—let anything be lost. If he failed to forestall you in regard to these, and you were not deceived, your interests would be completely secured, and he would give you your rights without hesitation. And I had good reason for such expectations. For if the Phocians were still safe and sound, as they then were, and were in occupation of Thermopylae, Philip would have had no terror to brandish before you, which could make you overlook any of your rights. For he was not likely either to make his way through by land, or to win a victory by sea, and so reach Attica; while if he refused to act as was right, you would instantly close his ports, reduce him to straits for money and other supplies, and place him in a state of siege; and in that case it would be he, and not you, to whom the advantages of peace would be the overmastering consideration. And that I am not inventing this or claiming wisdom after the event—that I knew it at once, and, with your interest in view, foresaw what must happen and told my colleagues—you will realize from the following facts. When there was no longer any meeting of the Assembly available (since you had used up all the appointed days) and still the ambassadors did not depart, but wasted time here, I proposed a decree as a member of the Council, to which the people had given full powers, that the ambassadors should depart directly, and that the admiral Proxenus should convey them to any district in which he should ascertain Philip to be. My proposal was just what I now tell you, couched expressly in those terms. (To the clerk.) Take this decree and read it.

[The decree is read.]

I brought them away, then, from Athens, sorely against their will, as you will clearly understand from their subsequent conduct. When we reached Oreus and joined Proxenus, instead of sailing and following their instructions, they made a circuitous journey by land, and before we reached Macedonia we had spent three and twenty days. All the rest of the time, until Philip's arrival, we were sitting idle at Pella; and this, with the journey, brought the time up to fifty days in all. During this interval, in a time of peace and truce, Philip was taking Doriscus, Thrace, the district towards the Walls, the Sacred Mountain—everything, in fact, and making his own arrangements there; while I spoke out repeatedly and insistently, first in the tone of a man giving his opinion to his colleagues, then as though I were informing the ignorant, till at last I addressed them without any concealment as men who had sold themselves and were the most impious of mankind. And the man who contradicted me openly and opposed everything which I urged and which your decree enjoined, was Aeschines. Whether his conduct pleased all the other ambassadors as well, you will know presently; for as yet I allege nothing about any of them, and make no accusation: no one of them need appear an honest man to-day because I oblige him to do so, but only of his own free will, and because he was no partner in Aeschines' crimes. That the conduct in question was disgraceful, atrocious, venal, you have all seen. Who were the partners in it, the facts will show.

'But of course, during this interval they received the oaths from Philip's allies, or carried out their other duties.' Far from it! For though they had been absent from home three whole months, and received 1,000 drachmae from you for their expenses, they did not receive the oaths from a single city, either on their journey to Macedonia, or on the way back. It was in the inn before the temple of the Dioscuri—any one who has been to Pherae will understand me—when Philip was already on the march towards Athens at the head of an army, that the oaths were taken, in a fashion which was disgraceful, men of Athens, and insulting to you. To Philip, however, it was worth anything that the transaction should have been carried out in this form. These men had failed in their attempt to insert among the terms of the Peace the clause which excluded the people of Halus and Pharsalus; Philocrates had been forced by you to expunge the words, and to write down expressly 'the Athenians and the allies of the Athenians'; and Philip did not wish any of his own allies to have taken such an oath; for then they would not join him in his campaign against those possessions of yours which he now holds, but would plead their oaths in excuse; nor did he wish them to be witnesses of the promises on the strength of which he was obtaining the Peace. He did not wish it to be revealed to the world that the city of Athens had not, after all, been defeated in the war, and that it was Philip who was eager for peace, and was promising to do great things for Athens if he obtained it. It was just to prevent the revelation of these facts that he thought it inadvisable that the ambassadors should go to any of the cities; while for their part, they sought to gratify him in everything, with ostentatious and extravagant obsequiousness. But when all this is proved against them—their waste of time, their sacrifice of your position in Thrace, their complete failure to act in accordance either with your decree or your interests, their lying report to you—how is it possible that before a jury of sane men, anxious to be true to their oath, Aeschines can be acquitted? To prove, however, that what I say is true (to the clerk), first read the decree, under which it was our duty to exact the oaths, then Philip's letter, and then the decree of Philocrates and that of the people.

[The decrees and letter are read.]

And now, to prove that we should have caught Philip in the Hellespont, had any one listened to me, and carried out your instructions as contained in the decrees, (to the clerk) call the witnesses who were there on the spot.

[The witnesses are called.]

(To the clerk.) Next read also the other deposition—Philip's answer to Eucleides, who is present here, when he went to Philip afterwards.

[The deposition is read.]

Now listen to me, while I show that they cannot even deny that it was to serve Philip's interest that they acted as they did. For when we set out on the First Embassy—that which was to discuss the Peace—you dispatched a herald in advance to procure us a safe conduct. Well, on that occasion, as soon as ever they had reached Oreus, they did not wait for the herald, or allow any time to be lost; but though Halus was being besieged, they sailed there direct, and then, leaving the town again, came to Parmenio, who was besieging it, set out through the enemy's camp to Pagasae, and, continuing their journey, only met the herald at Larissa: with such eager haste did they proceed. But at a time when there was peace and they had complete security for their journey and you had instructed them to make haste, it never occurred to them either to quicken their pace or to go by sea. And why? Because on the former occasion Philip's interest demanded that the Peace should be made as soon as possible; whereas now it required that as long an interval as possible should be wasted before the oaths were taken. To prove that this is so, (to the clerk) take and read this further deposition.

[The deposition is read.]

How could men be more clearly convicted of acting to serve Philip's interest throughout, than by the fact that they sat idle, when in your interest they ought to have hurried, on the very same journey over which they hastened onward, without even waiting for the herald, when they ought not to have moved at all?

Now observe how each of us chose to conduct himself while we were there, sitting idle at Pella. For myself, I chose to rescue and seek out the captives, spending my own money and asking Philip to procure their ransom with the sums which he was offering us in the form of presents. How Aeschines passed his whole time you shall hear presently. What then was the meaning of Philip's offering money to us in common? He kept sounding us all—for this too I would have you know. And how? He sent round privately to each of us, and offered us, men of Athens, a very large sum in gold. But when he failed in a particular case (for I need not mention my own name myself, since the proceedings and their results will of themselves show to whom I refer), he thought that we should all be innocent enough to accept what was given to us in common; and then, if we all alike had a share, however small, in the common present, those who had sold themselves privately would be secure. Hence these offers, under the guise of presents to his guest-friends. And when I prevented this, my colleagues further divided among themselves the sum thus offered. But when I asked Philip to spend this sum on the prisoners, he could neither, without discredit, denounce my colleagues, and say, 'But So-and-so has the money, and So-and-so,' nor yet evade the expense. So he gave the promise, but deferred its fulfilment, saying that he would send the prisoners home in time for the Panathenaea. (To the clerk.) Read the evidence of Apollophanes, and then that of the rest of those present.

[The evidence is read.]

Now let me tell you how many of the prisoners I myself ransomed. For while we were sitting waiting there at Pella, before Philip's arrival, some of the captives—all, in fact, who were out on bail—not trusting, I suppose, my ability to persuade Philip to act as I wished, said that they wished to ransom themselves, and to be under no obligation to Philip for their freedom: and they borrowed, one three minae, another five, and another—whatever the amount of the ransom was in each case. But when Philip had promised that he would ransom the rest, I called together those to whom I had advanced the money; I reminded them of the circumstances; and, lest they should seem to have suffered by their impatience, and to have been ransomed at their own cost, poor men as they were, when all their comrades expected to be set free by Philip, I made them a present of their ransom. To prove that I am speaking the truth, (to the clerk) read these depositions.

[The depositions are read.]

These, then, are the sums which I excused them, and gave as a free gift to fellow citizens who had met with misfortune. And so, when Aeschines says presently, in his speech to you, 'Demosthenes, if, as you say, you knew, from the time when I supported Philocrates' proposal, that we were acting altogether dishonestly, why did you go again as our colleague on the subsequent mission to take the oaths, instead of entering a sworn excuse?' remember this, that I had promised those whose freedom I had procured that I would bring them their ransom, and deliver them to the best of my power. It would have been a wicked thing to break my word and abandon my fellow citizens in their misfortune; while, on the other hand, if I had excused myself upon oath from service, it would not have been altogether honourable, nor yet safe, to make a tour there in a private capacity. For let destruction, utter and early, fall upon me, if I would have joined in a mission with these men for a very large sum of money, had it not been for my anxiety to rescue the prisoners. It is a proof of this, that though you twice elected me to serve on the Third Embassy, I twice swore an excuse. And all through the journey in question my policy was entirely opposed to theirs. All, then, that it was within my own power to decide in the course of my mission resulted as I have described; but wherever in virtue of their majority they gained their way, all has been lost. And yet, had there been any who listened to me, all would have been accomplished in a manner congruous with my own actions. For I was not so pitiful a fool as to give away money, when I saw others receiving it, in my ambition to serve you, and yet not to desire what could have been accomplished without expense, and would have brought far greater benefits to the whole city. I desired it intensely, men of Athens; but, of course, they had the advantage over me.

Come now and contemplate the proceedings of Aeschines and those of Philocrates, by the side of my own; for the comparison will bring out their character more vividly. Well, they first pronounced the exclusion from the Peace of the Phocians and the people of Halus, and of Cersobleptes, contrary to your decree and to the statements made to you. Then they attempted to tamper with and alter the decree, which we had come there as ambassadors to execute. Then they entered the Cardians as allies of Philip and voted against sending the dispatch which I had written to you, sending in its stead an utterly unsound dispatch of their own composition. And then the gallant gentleman asserted that I had promised Philip that I would overthrow your constitution, because I censured these proceedings, not only from a sense of their disgracefulness, but also from fear lest through the fault of these men I might have to share their ruin: while all the time he was himself having incessant private interviews with Philip. And, to pass over all besides, Dercylus (not I) watched him through the night at Pherae, along with my slave who is here present; and as the slave came out of Philip's tent he took him and bade him report what he had seen, and remember it himself; and finally, this disgusting and shameless fellow was left behind with Philip for a night and a day, when we went away. And to prove that I am speaking the truth, I will myself give evidence which I have committed to writing, so as to put myself in the position of a responsible witness; and after that I call upon each of the other ambassadors, and I will compel them to choose their alternative—either to give evidence, or to swear that they have no knowledge of the matter. If they take the latter course, I shall convict them of perjury beyond doubt.

[Evidence is read.]

You have seen now by what mischief and trouble I was hampered, throughout our absence from home. For what must you imagine their conduct to have been there, with their paymaster close at hand, when they act as they do before your very eyes, though you have power either to confer honour or, on the other hand, to inflict punishment upon them?

I wish now to reckon up from the beginning the charges which I have made, in order to show you that I have done all that I undertook to do at the beginning of my speech. I have proved that there was no truth in his report—that, on the contrary, he deceived you—by the evidence not of words but of the actual course of events. I have proved that he was the cause of your unwillingness to hear the truth from my mouth, captivated as you were at the time by his promises and undertakings; that he gave you advice which was the exact opposite of that which he ought to have given, opposing the Peace which was suggested by the allies, and advocating the Peace of Philocrates; that he wasted time, in order that you might not be able to march to the aid of the Phocians, even if you wished to do so; and that he has done many atrocious deeds during his absence from home; for he has betrayed and sold everything, he has taken bribes, and has left no form of rascality untried. These are the points which I promised at the outset to prove, and I have proved them. Observe, then, what follows; for what I have now to say to you has already become a simple matter. You have sworn that you will vote according to the laws and the decrees of the people and the Council of Five Hundred. The defendant is proved, in all his conduct as ambassador, to have acted in contravention of the laws, of the decrees, and of justice. He ought, therefore, to be convicted in any court composed of rational men. Even if there were no other crimes at his door, two of his actions are sufficient to slay him; for he betrayed to Philip not only the Phocians but also Thrace. Two places in the whole world of greater value to Athens than Thermopylae on land, and the Hellespont over sea, could not possibly be found; and both these places these men have shamefully sold, and placed in Philip's hands to be used against you. The enormity of this crime alone—the sacrifice of Thrace and the Walls—apart from all the rest, might be proved in countless ways, and it is easy to point out how many men have been executed or fined vast sums of money by you for such offences—Ergophilus, Cephisodotus, Timomachus, Ergocles long ago, Dionysius, and others; all of whom together, I may almost say, have done the city less harm than the defendant. But in those days, men of Athens, you still guarded against danger by calculation and forethought; whereas now you overlook any danger which does not annoy you from day to day, or cause you pain by its immediate presence, and then pass such resolutions here as 'that Philip shall take the oath in favour of Cersobleptes also,' 'that we will not take part in the proceedings of the Amphictyons,' 'that we must amend the Peace.' But none of these resolutions would have been required, had Aeschines then been ready to sail and to do what was required. As it is, by urging us to go by land, he has lost all that we could have saved by sailing; and by lying, all that could have been saved by speaking the truth.

He intends, I am told, to express immediately his indignation that he alone of all the speakers in the Assembly should have to render an account of his words. I will not urge that all speakers would reasonably be called upon to render such an account, if any of their words were spoken for money; I only say this. If Aeschines in his private capacity has spoken wildly on some occasion or committed some blunder, do not be over-strict with him, but let it pass and grant him pardon: but if as your ambassador he has deliberately deceived you for money, then do not let him go, or tolerate the plea that he ought not to be called to account for what he said. Why, for what, if not for his words, is an ambassador to be brought to justice? Ambassadors have no control over ships or places or soldiers or citadels—no one puts such things in their hands—but over words and times. As regards times, if he did not cause the times of the city's opportunities to be lost, he is not guilty; but if he did so, he has committed crime. And as to his words, if the words of his report were true or expedient, let him escape; but if they were at once false, venal, and disastrous, let him be convicted. No greater wrong can a man do you, than is done by lying speeches. For where government is based upon speeches, how can it be carried on in security, if the speeches are not true? and if, in particular, a speaker takes bribes and speaks to further the interests of the enemy, how can you escape real danger? For to rob you of your opportunities is not the same thing as to rob an oligarchy or a tyrant. Far from it. Under such governments, I imagine, everything is done promptly at a word of command. But with you the Council must first hear about everything, and pass its preliminary resolution—and even that not at any time, but only when notice has been given of the reception of heralds and embassies: then you must convoke an Assembly, and that only when the time comes for one, as ordained by law: then those who speak for your true good have to master and overcome those who, through ignorance or wickedness, oppose them. Besides all this, even when a measure is resolved upon, and its advantages are already plain, time must be granted to the impecuniosity of the majority, in which they may procure whatever means they require in order to be able to carry out what has been resolved. And so he who causes times so critical to be lost, in a state constituted as ours is, has not caused you to lose times, but has robbed you absolutely of the realization of your aims.

Now all those who are anxious to deceive you are very ready with such expressions as 'disturbers of the city,' 'men who prevent Philip from conferring benefits on the city.' In reply to these, I will use no argument, but will read you Philip's letters, and will remind you of the occasion on which each piece of deception took place, that you may know that Philip has got beyond this exaggerated title of 'benefactor', of which we are so sickened, in his attempts to take you in by it.

[Philip's letters are read.]

Now although his work as ambassador has been so shameful, so detrimental to you in many—nay, in all points, he goes about asking people what they think of Demosthenes, who prosecutes his own colleagues. I prosecute you indeed, whether I would or no, because throughout our entire absence from home you plotted against me as I have said, and because now I have the choice of only two alternatives: either I must appear to share with you the responsibility for such work as yours, or I must prosecute you. Nay, I deny that I was ever your colleague in the Embassy. I say that your work as ambassador was an atrocious work, while my own was for the true good of those present here. It is Philocrates that has been your colleague, as you have been his, and Phrynon. For your policy was the same as theirs, and you all approved of the same objects. But 'where are the salt, the table, the libations that we shared?' So he asks everywhere in his theatrical style—as though it were not the criminals, but the upright, that were false to such pledges! I am certain that though all the Prytanes offer their common sacrifice on each occasion, and join one with another in their meal and their libation, the good do not on this account copy the bad; but if they detect one of their own number in crime they report the fact to the Council and the people. In the very same way the Council offers its inaugural sacrifice and feasts together, and joins in libations and sacred rites. So do the generals, and, one may practically say, every body of magistrates. Does that mean that they grant an indemnity to any of their number who is guilty of crime? Very far from it. Leon accuses Timagoras, after being his fellow ambassador for four years: Eubulus accuses Tharrex and Smicythus, after sharing the banquet with them: the great Conon, the elder, prosecuted Adeimantus, though they were generals together. Which sinned against the salt and the libation, Aeschines—the traitors and the faithless ambassadors and the hirelings, or their accusers? Plainly those who violated, as you have done, the sanctity, not of private libations, but of libations poured in the name of the whole country.

That you may realize that these men have been the most worthless and wicked not only of all who have ever gone to Philip in a public capacity, but even of those who have gone as private persons, and indeed of all mankind, I ask you to listen to me while I describe briefly an incident which falls outside the story of this Embassy. When Philip took Olynthus he celebrated Olympian games, and gathered together all the artists to the sacrifice and the festal gathering. And while he was entertaining them at a banquet, and crowning the victors, he asked Satyrus, the well-known comic actor, why he alone requested no favour of him. Did he see any meanness in him, or any dislike towards himself? Satyrus answered (so the story goes) that he happened to stand in no need of the things for which the rest were asking, but that the boon which he would like to ask was a favour which it would be very easy indeed for Philip to bestow; only he was afraid that he might fail to obtain it. Philip bade him name his request, declaring with some spirit that there was nothing that he would not do for him. Satyrus is then said to have stated that Apollophanes of Pydna was formerly his friend and guest-friend, and that when he had perished by a treacherous assassination, his kinsman had, in alarm, conveyed his daughters, then little children, to Olynthus secretly. 'These girls,' said Satyrus, 'have been taken prisoners at the capture of the city; they are with you, and they are now of marriageable age. It is these girls that I beg and entreat you to give to me. But I should like you to hear and understand what sort of present you will be giving me, if you really give it. I shall gain nothing by receiving it: I shall give them in marriage, and a dowry with them, and shall not allow them to suffer anything unworthy of us or of their father.' When those who were present at the feast heard this, there was such applause and cheering and approbation on all hands, that Philip was moved and granted the request, although the Apollophanes who was spoken of was one of the murderers of Alexander, Philip's brother. Now let us examine side by side with this banquet of Satyrus, that in which these men took part in Macedonia. Observe what likeness and resemblance there is between the two! For these men were invited to the house of Xenophron, the son of Phaedimus, who was one of the Thirty, and went. I did not go. But when it came to the time for wine, he brought in an Olynthian woman —good-looking, but well-bred and modest, as the event proved. At first, I believe (according to the account which Iatrocles gave me the next day), they only forced her to drink a little wine quietly and to eat some dessert; but as the feast proceeded and they waxed warm, they bade her recline and even sing a song. And when the poor creature, who was in great distress, neither would nor could do as they bade her, Aeschines and Phrynon declared that it was an insult and quite intolerable, that a captive woman—one of those god-forsaken devils the Olynthians—should give herself airs. 'Call a slave,' they cried, 'and let some one bring a strap.' A servant came with a lash; they had been drinking, I imagine, and were easily annoyed; and as soon as she said something and burst into tears, the servant tore open her dress and gave her a number of cuts across the back. Beside herself with the pain and the sense of her position, the woman leaped up and fell before the knees of Iatrocles, overturning the table as she did so. And had he not rescued her, she would have perished as the victim of a drunken debauch; for the drunkenness of this abominable creature is something horrible. The case of this woman was also mentioned in Arcadia before the Ten Thousand, and Diophantus reported to you what I shall now force him to testify; for the matter was much talked of in Thessaly and everywhere.

Yet with all this on his conscience this unclean creature will dare to look you in the face, and will very soon be speaking to you of the life he has lived, in that magnificent voice of his. It chokes me to hear him! Does not the jury know how at first you used to read over the books to your mother at her initiations, and wallow amid bands of drunken men at their orgies, while still a boy? and how you were afterwards under-clerk to the magistrates, and played the rogue for two or three drachmae? and how at last, in recent days, you thought yourself lucky to get a parasitic living in the training-rooms of others, as a third-rate actor? What then is the life of which you propose to speak? Where have you lived it? For the life which you have really lived has been what I have described. And how much does he take upon himself! He brought another man to trial here for unnatural offences! But I leave this point for the moment. (To the clerk.) First, read me these depositions.

[The depositions are read.]

So many, then, and so gross, gentlemen of the jury, being the crimes against you of which he stands convicted—and what wickedness do they not include? he is corrupt, he is a minion, he is under the curse, a liar, a betrayer of his own people; all the most heinous offences are there—he will not defend himself against a single one of these charges, and will have no defence to offer that is either just or straightforward. But the statement which, I am told, he intends to make, borders on madness; though perhaps a man who has no other plea to offer must contrive anything that he can. For I hear that he is to say that I, forsooth, have been a partner in everything of which I accuse him; that at first I used to approve of his policy and to act with him; and that I have suddenly changed my mind and become his accuser. As a defence of his conduct such assertions are, of course, neither legitimate nor to the point, though they do imply some kind of charge against myself; for, of course, if I have acted thus, I am a worthless person. But the conduct itself is no better for that. Far from it! At the same time, I think it is proper for me to prove to you both the points in question—first, that if he makes such an assertion he will be lying; and secondly, what is the just line of defence. Now a just and straightforward defence must show either that the acts charged against him were not committed, or that having been committed, they are to the advantage of the city. But Aeschines cannot do either of these things. For I presume that it is not possible for him to say that it is to the advantage of the city that the Phocians have been ruined, that Thermopylae is in Philip's hands, that Thebes is powerful, that there are soldiers in Euboea and plotting against Megara, and that the Peace should not have been sworn to, when on the former occasion he announced the very contrary of all these things to you in the guise of advantages, and advantages about to be realized? Nor will he be able to persuade you that these things have not been done, when you yourselves have seen them and know the facts well. It remains for me, therefore, to show you that I have had no share in any of their proceedings. Shall I then dismiss everything else from consideration—all that I have said against them in your presence, all my collisions with them during our absence, all my antagonism to them from first to last—and produce my opponents themselves as witnesses to the fact that my conduct and theirs have been absolutely contrary the one to the other—that they have taken money to your detriment, and that I refused to receive it? Then mark what I say.

Who, would you say, was of all men in Athens the most offensive, most overflowing with effrontery and contemptuousness? I am sure that none of you, even by mistake, would name any other than Philocrates. And who, would you say, possessed the loudest voice and could enunciate whatever he pleased most clearly? Aeschines the defendant, I am sure. Who is it then that these men describe as cowardly and timid before a crowd, while I call him cautious? It is myself; for I have never annoyed you or forced myself upon you against your will. Now at every meeting of the Assembly, as often as a discussion has arisen upon these subjects, you hear me accusing and convicting these men, declaring explicitly that they have taken money and have sold all the interests of the city. And not one of them has ever to this day contradicted the statement, when he heard it, or opened his mouth, or shown himself. What then is the reason, why the most offensive men in the city, the men with the loudest voices, are so cowed before me, the timidest of men, whose voice is no louder than any other? It is because Truth is strong; while to them, on the other hand, the consciousness of having sold public interests is a source of weakness. It is this that steals away the boldness of these men, this that binds down their tongues and stops their mouths—chokes them, and makes them silent. You remember, of course, how at the recent meeting in the Peiraeus, when you would not have him for your representative, he was shouting that he would impeach me and indict me, and crying, 'Oh! Oh!' But such steps are the beginning of long and numerous trials and speeches; whereas the alternative was but to utter perhaps two or three words, which even a slave purchased yesterday could have pronounced—'Men of Athens, this is utterly atrocious. Demosthenes is accusing me here of crimes in which he himself was a partner; he says that I have taken money, when he has taken money, or shared it, himself.' But no such words, no such sound, did he utter, nor did one of you hear him do so; he only uttered threats to a different effect. And why? Because he knew that he had done what he was charged with doing; he was abjectly afraid to use any such expressions; his resolution could not rise to them, but shrank back; for it was in the grip of his conscience; whereas there was nothing to hinder him from uttering irrelevant abuse and slander. But here is the strongest proof of all, and it consists not in words, but in fact. For when I was anxious to do what it was right to do, namely, to make a second report to you, after serving a second time as ambassador, Aeschines came before the Board of Auditors with a number of witnesses, and forbade them to call me before the court, since I had rendered my account already, and was no longer liable to give it. The incident was extremely ridiculous. And what was the meaning of it? He had made his report with reference to the First Embassy, against which no one brought any charge, and did not wish to go before the court again with regard to the Second Embassy, with reference to which he now appears before you, and within which all his crimes fell. But if I came before you twice, it became necessary for him also to appear again; and so he tried to prevent them from summoning me. But this action of his, men of Athens, plainly proves to you two things—first, that he had so condemned himself that none of you can now acquit him without impiety; and secondly, that he will not speak a word of truth about me. Had he anything true to assert, he would have been found asserting it and accusing me then; he would certainly not have tried to prevent my being summoned. To prove the truth of what I say, (to the clerk) call me the witnesses to the facts.

But further, if he makes slanderous statements against me which have nothing to do with the Embassy, there are many good reasons for your refusing to listen to him. For I am not on my trial to-day, and when I have finished my speech I have no further time allotted to me. What can such statements mean, except that he is bankrupt of legitimate arguments? For who that was on his trial and had any defence to make, would prefer to accuse another? And consider also this further point, gentlemen of the jury. If I were on my trial, with the defendant Aeschines for accuser and Philip for judge; and if, being unable to disprove my guilt, I abused Aeschines and tried to sully his character, do you not think that Philip would be indignant at the very fact of a man abusing his benefactors in his own presence? Do not you then prove worse than Philip; but force Aeschines to defend himself against the charges which are the subject of the trial. (To the clerk.) Read the deposition.

[The deposition is read.]

So for my part, because I had nothing on my conscience, I felt it my duty to render an account and submit all the information that the laws required, while the defendant took the opposite view. How then can his conduct and mine have been the same? or how can he possibly assert against me now things of which he has never even accused me before? It is surely impossible. And yet he will assert these things, and, Heaven knows, it is natural enough. For you doubtless know well that ever since the human race began and trials were instituted, no one was ever convicted admitting his crime: they brazen it out, they deny it, they lie, they make up excuses, they take every means to escape paying the penalty. You must not let any of these devices mislead you to-day; your judgement must be given upon the facts, in the light of your own knowledge; you must not attend to words, whether mine or his, still less to the witnesses whom he will have ready to testify anything, since he has Philip to pay his expenses —you will see how glibly they will give evidence for him; nor must you care whether his voice is fine and loud, or whether mine is poor. For it is no trial of orators or of speeches that you have to hold to-day, if you are wise men. You have rather, in the name of a cause shamefully and terribly ruined, to thrust off the present disgrace on to the shoulders of the guilty, after a scrutiny of those results which are known to you all. And these results, which you know and do not require us to tell you of—what are they? If the consequences of the Peace have been all that they promised you; if you admit that you were so filled with an unmanly cowardice, that, though the enemy was not in your land, though you were not blockaded by sea, though your city was menaced by no other danger whatever, though, on the contrary, the price of corn was low and you were in other respects as well off as you are to-day, though you knew beforehand on the information of these men that your allies were about to be ruined and Thebes to become powerful, that Philip was about to occupy the Thracian strongholds and to establish a basis of operations against you in Euboea, and that all that has now happened was about to come to pass, you nevertheless made peace cheerfully;—if that is so, then acquit Aeschines, and do not add perjury to all your disgrace. For in that case he is guilty of no crime against you; it is I that am mad and brainsick to accuse him now. But if what they told you was altogether the reverse of this, if it was a tale of great generosity—of Philip's love for Athens, of his intention to save the Phocians, to check the insolence of the Thebans, and beside all this (if he obtained the Peace) to confer on you benefits that would more than compensate for Amphipolis, and to restore to you Euboea and Oropus; if, I say, they stated and promised all this, and have now totally deceived and cheated you, and have all but robbed you of Attica itself, then condemn him, and do not, in addition to all the outrages—I know not what other word to use—that you have suffered, carry with you to your homes, through upholding their corruption, the curse and the guilt of perjury.

Again, gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves what reason I could have had for choosing to accuse these men, if they had done no wrong? You will find none. Is it pleasant to have many enemies? Pleasant? It is not even safe. Was there any quarrel between me and Aeschines? None. What then? 'You were afraid for yourself, and in your cowardice thought to save yourself this way:' for that, I have heard, is what he says. What? I was afraid, when, according to your own statement, there was nothing to be afraid of, and no crime had been committed? If he repeats such an assertion, men of Athens, consider what these men themselves, the actual criminals, ought to suffer for their offences, if I, who am absolutely guiltless, was afraid of being ruined owing to them. But what is my motive for accusing you? I am an informer, of course, and want to get money out of you! And which was the easier course for me—to get money out of Philip, who offered a large sum—to get as much as any of these men, and to have not only Philip for my friend, but also my opponents (for they would assuredly have been friends, had I been partner with them, since even now they have no inherited quarrel against me, but only the fact that I refused to join in their actions); or to beg them for a share of their gains, and be regarded with hostility both by Philip and by them? Is it likely that when I was ransoming the prisoners at such cost to myself, I should ask to receive a paltry sum from these men, in a disgraceful manner and with their enmity accompanying it? Impossible! My report was true. I abstained from taking money for the sake of justice and truth and my own future. For I thought, as others among you have thought, that my own uprightness would receive its reward, and that I must not barter my ambition to stand well with you for gain of any kind. And I abhor these men, because I saw that they were vile and impious in the conduct of their mission, and because I have been robbed of the objects of my own ambition, owing to their corruption, now that you have come to be vexed with the Embassy as a whole. And it is because I foresee what must happen that I now accuse him, and appear to challenge his report; for I would have it decided here, in a trial before a jury, that my conduct has been the opposite of his. And I am afraid—afraid, I say, for I will speak all my mind to you—that though when the time comes you may drag me in spite of my entire innocence to the same ruin with them, you are now utterly supine. For, men of Athens, you appear to me to be altogether unstrung, waiting to suffer the horrors which others are suffering before your eyes, and taking no precautions, no thought for the city, which for so long has been exposed to destruction in many a dreadful form. Is it not, think you, dreadful and preternatural? For even where I had resolved upon silence, I am driven to speak. You doubtless know Pythocles here, the son of Pythodorus. I had been on very kindly terms with him, and to this day there has been no unpleasantness between us. He avoids me now, when he meets me—ever since he visited Philip—and if he is obliged to encounter me anywhere, he starts away immediately, lest any one should see him talking with me. But with Aeschines he walks all round the marketplace, discussing their plans. Now is it not a terrible and shocking thing, men of Athens, that those who have made it their choice to foster Philip's interests should be able to rely upon so accurate a discrimination on Philip's part, that all that any one of them does here can no more be hid from Philip (so they believe) than if he were standing by their side, and that his friends and foes alike are those that Philip chooses; while those whose life is lived for your good, who are greedy of honour at your hands, and have not betrayed you, should be met by such deafness, such blindness, on your part, that to-day I have to wrestle with these devils incarnate on equal terms, and that before you, who know the whole truth? Would you know or hear the cause of these things? I will tell you, and I beg that none of you be angry with me for speaking the truth. It is, I imagine, that Philip has but one body and one soul, and it is with all his heart that he cherishes those who do him good and detests those who do him evil: whereas each of you, in the first place, has no feeling that the good or the evil which is being done to the city, is being done to himself; other feelings are of more consequence, and often lead you astray—pity, envy, anger, favour towards the suppliant, and an infinite number of other motives: while if a man has actually escaped all these, he will still not escape from those who do not want such a man to exist at all. And so the error due to each of these single causes steals on little by little, till the state is exposed to the whole accumulated mischief.

Do not fall victims to any such error to-day, men of Athens: do not let the defendant go, when he has done you all this wrong. For honestly, if you let him go, what will be said of you? 'Certain men,' it will be said, 'went as ambassadors to Philip yonder—Philocrates, Aeschines, Phrynon, and Demosthenes; and, what happened? One of them not only gained nothing by his mission, but ransomed the prisoners at his private expense; another, with the money for which he sold the interests of his country, went about purchasing harlots and fish. One of them, the abominable Phrynon, sent his son to Philip before he had registered him as an adult; the other did nothing unworthy of himself or his city. One, though serving as choregus and trierarch, felt it his duty voluntarily to incur that further expense [to ransom the prisoners] rather than see any of his fellow citizens suffering misfortune for want of means; the other, so far from rescuing any of those who were already in captivity, joined in bringing a whole district, and more than 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry with them, the forces of the actual allies of his country, into captivity to Philip. What followed? When the Athenians got them into their hands (for they had long known the truth) what did they do? They let go the men who had received bribes and had disgraced themselves, and their city, and their children; they thought that these were wise men, and that all was well with the city; and as for their accuser, they thought him thunderstruck—a man who did not understand his country, and did not know where to fling his money away.' And who, men of Athens, with this example before his eyes, will be willing to offer you his honest service? who will act as ambassador for nothing, if he is not only to gain nothing by it, but is not to be more trustworthy in your eyes than those who have taken money? You are not only trying these men to-day, but you are laying down a law for all future time—a law which will declare whether your ambassadors are to serve the enemy for a price, or to act disinterestedly for your true good and to take no bribe? On all the other points you require no evidence; but to prove that Phrynon sent his son, (to the clerk) call me the witnesses to the facts.

Aeschines then did not prosecute Phrynon, for sending his own son to Philip for a disgraceful purpose. But because a man, who in his youth was above the average in appearance, did not foresee the suspicion which his good looks might entail, and afterwards lived a somewhat fast life, he has prosecuted him for unnatural offences.

Now let me speak of the banquet and the decree; for I had almost overlooked what I was especially bound to tell you. In drawing up the resolution of the Council with reference to the First Embassy, and again in addressing the people, at the assemblies in which you were to discuss the question of peace, not a single word or act of a criminal nature on the part of these men having so far come to light, I followed the ordinary custom, and proposed to accord them a vote of thanks, and to invite them to the Town Hall. And I did, of course, entertain Philip's ambassadors as well, and on a very splendid scale, men of Athens. For when I saw that in their own country they prided themselves even on things like these, as showing their prosperity and splendour, I thought that I must begin by outdoing them in this respect, and displaying even greater magnificence. These incidents Aeschines will shortly bring forward to prove that 'Demosthenes himself voted thanks to us, and gave a banquet to the ambassadors', without telling you the precise time when the incidents occurred. For these things belong to a time before any injury had been done to the city, and before it was evident that they had sold themselves. The ambassadors had only just arrived on their first visit; the people had still to hear what they proposed; and there was nothing as yet to show that Aeschines would support Philocrates, or that Philocrates would make such proposals as he did. If, then, Aeschines uses any such argument, remember that the dates of the incidents are earlier than those of his crimes. But since then there has been no friendliness between myself and them, and no common action. (To the clerk.) Read the deposition.

[The deposition is read.]

Now perhaps his brother Philochares will support him, and Aphobetus. There is much that you may fairly urge in reply to both; and I am obliged, men of Athens, to speak to you quite freely and without any reserve. You, Philochares, are a painter of vase-cases and drums; your brothers are under-clerks and quite ordinary men—not that there is any harm in these things, but at the same time they do not qualify a man to be a general. And yet, Aphobetus and Philochares, we thought you worthy to be ambassadors and generals, and to receive the highest honours; so that even if none of you were guilty of any crime, we should owe no gratitude to you; you would rather owe gratitude to us for your preferment. For we passed by many others, more deserving of such honours than you were, and exalted you instead. But if in the enjoyment of these very honours one of you has actually committed crimes, and crimes of such a nature, how much more deserving are you of execration than of acquittal? Much more, I am sure. Perhaps they will force their claims upon you, for they are loud-voiced and shameless, and they have taken to themselves the motto that 'it is pardonable for brother to help brother'. But you must not give way. Remember that if it is right for them to think of Aeschines, it is for you to think of the laws and the whole State, and, above all, of the oath which you yourselves, who sit here, have taken. Yes, and if they have entreated some of you to save the defendant, then ask yourselves whether you are to save him if he is proved innocent of crime, or even if he is proved guilty. If they ask you to do so, should he be innocent, I too say that you must acquit him. But if you are asked to acquit him, whatever he has done, then they have asked you to commit perjury. For though your vote is secret, it will not be hidden from the gods; and the framer of our law [which enjoins secret voting] was absolutely right, when he saw that though none of these men will know which of you has granted his request, the gods will know, and the unseen powers, who has given the unjust vote. And it is better for a man to lay up, for his children and himself, those good hopes which they can bestow, by giving the decision that is just and right, than to win credit from these men for a favour of whose reality they can have no certain knowledge, and to acquit the defendant, when his own testimony condemns him. For what stronger testimony can I produce, Aeschines, to prove how terrible your work as ambassador has been, than your own testimony against yourself? For when you thought it necessary to involve in so great and dreadful a calamity one who wished to reveal some of your actions as ambassador, it is plain that you expected your own punishment to be a terrible one, if your countrymen learned what you had done.

That step, if you are wise, he will prove to have taken to his own detriment; not only because it is an overwhelming proof of the nature of his conduct as ambassador, but also because of those expressions which he used in the course of the prosecution, and which are now at our disposal against himself. For the principles of justice, as defined by you when you were prosecuting Timarchus, must, I presume, be no less valid when used by others against yourself. His words to the jury on that occasion were these. 'Demosthenes intends to defend Timarchus, and to denounce my acts as ambassador. And then, when he has led you off the point by his speech, he will brag of it, and go about saying, "Well? what do you think? Why I led the jury right away from the point, and stole the case triumphantly out of their hands."' Then you at least must not act thus, but must make your defence with reference to the real points of your case, though, when you were prosecuting Timarchus on that occasion, you permitted yourself to make any charges and assertions that you chose.

But there were verses too, which you recited before the jury, in your inability to produce any witness to the charges on which you were prosecuting Timarchus:—

"Rumour, the voice of many folk, not all Doth die, for Rumour too a goddess is."

Well, Aeschines, all those who are present say that you have made money out of your mission; and so it holds true against you, I suppose, that 'Rumour, the voice of many folk, not all doth die'. For observe how easily you can ascertain how much larger a body of accusers appears in your case than in his. Timarchus was not known even to all his neighbors; while there is not a man, Hellene or foreigner, but says that you and your fellow ambassadors made money out of your mission. And so, if the rumour is true, then the rumour which is the voice of many folk is against you; and you have yourself laid down that such a rumour is to be believed, that 'Rumour too a goddess is', and that the poet who composed these lines was a wise man.

Then, you remember, he collected some iambic verses, and recited the whole passage; for instance:—

"Whoso in evil company delights Of him I ne'er enquired, for well I trow, As is his company, such is the man."

And 'when a man goes to the cockpit and walks about with Pittalacus'—he added more to the same effect—'surely,' said he, 'you know what to think of him.' Well, Aeschines, these same verses will now exactly serve my turn against you, and if I quote them to the jury, the quotation will be true and apposite. 'But whoso in the company delights' of Philocrates, and that when he is an ambassador, 'Of him I ne'er enquired, for well I trow' that he has taken money, as did Philocrates who does not deny it.

He attempts to insult others by labelling them hack-writers and sophists. He shall himself be proved liable to these very imputations. The verses he quoted are derived from the Phoenix of Euripides—a play which has never to this day been acted either by Theodorus or Aristodemus, the actors under whom Aeschines always played third-rate parts, though it was performed by Molon, and no doubt by other actors of former times. But the Antigone of Sophocles has often been acted by Theodorus and often by Aristodemus; and in this play there are some admirable and instructive verses, which he must know quite well by heart, since he has often delivered them himself, but which he has omitted to quote. For you know, I am sure, that in every tragedy it is, as it were, the special privilege of third-rate actors to play in the rôle of tyrants and sceptred kings. Consider, then, these excellent lines, placed by the poet in the mouth of our Creon-Aeschines in this play—lines which he neither repeated to himself to guide him as an ambassador, nor yet quoted to the jury. (To the clerk.) Read the passage.


 * Verses from the 'Antigone' of Sophocles.

"To learn aright the soul and heart and mind Of any man—for that, device is none, Till he be proved in government and law,  And so revealed. For he who guides the State,  Yet cleaves not in his counsels to the best,  But from some fear in prison locks his tongue,  Is in mine eyes, as he hath ever been,  Vilest of men. And him, who sets his friend  Before his land, I count of no esteem.  For I—be it known to God's all-viewing eye—  Would ne'er keep silence, seeing the march of doom  Upon this city—doom in safety's stead,  Nor ever take to me as mine own friend  My country's foe.' For this I know, that she,  Our country, is the ship that bears us safe,  And safe aboard her, while she sails erect,  We make good friends."

None of these lines did Aeschines ever repeat to himself during his mission. Instead of preferring his country he thought that to be friend and guest-friend of Philip was much more important and profitable for himself, and bade a long farewell to the wise Sophocles. He saw the 'march of doom' draw near, in the campaign against the Phocians; but he gave no warning, no announcement of what was to come. On the contrary, he helped to conceal it, he helped to carry out the doom, he prevented those who would have given warning— not remembering that 'Our country is the ship that bears us safe, and safe aboard her' his mother with the help of her initiations and purifications and the property of the clients, on whom she lived, reared up these sons of hers to their destined greatness; while his father, who kept an elementary school, as I am told by my elders, near the temple of the Hero-Physician, made a living, such as he could indeed, but still on the same ship. The sons, who had received money as under-clerks and servants in all the magistrates' offices, were finally elected clerks by you, and for two years continued to get their living in the Round Chamber; and Aeschines was just now dispatched as your ambassador—from this same ship. He regarded none of these things. He took no care that the ship should sail erect. Nay, he capsized her; he sank the ship; he did all that he could to bring her into the power of the enemy. What then? Are you not a sophist? Aye, and a villanous one. Are you not a hack? Aye, and one detested of Heaven—for you passed over the scene which you had so often performed and knew well by heart, while you sought out a scene which you had never acted in your life, and produced the passage in the hope of injuring one of your fellow citizens.

And now examine his speech about Solon. He told us that the statue of Solon, with his hand concealed in the drapery of his robe, was erected as an illustration of the self-restraint of the orators of that day. (This was in the course of a scurrilous attack upon the impetuosity of Timarchus.) But the Salaminians tell us that this statue was erected less than fifty years ago, whereas some two hundred and forty years have passed between the time of Solon and the present day; so that not only was the artist, who modelled him in this attitude, not living in Solon's day, but even his grandfather was not. That then is what he told the jury, copying the attitude as he did so. But that which it would have done his country far more good to see—the soul and the mind of Solon—he did not copy. No, he did the very reverse. For when Salamis had revolted from Athens and the death-penalty had been decreed against any one who proposed to attempt its recovery, Solon, by singing, at the risk of his own life, a lay which he had composed, won back the island for his country, and wiped out her disgrace: while Aeschines, when the king and all the Hellenes had decided that Amphipolis was yours, surrendered and sold it, and supported Philocrates, who proposed the resolution for this purpose. It is indeed worth his while (is it not?) to remember Solon! Nor was he content with acting thus in Athens; for when he had gone to Macedonia, he did not even mention the name of the place which it was the object of his mission to secure. This, in fact, he reported to you himself, in words which doubtless you remember: 'I too had something to say about Amphipolis; but in order that Demosthenes might have an opportunity of speaking upon the subject, I left it to him.' Upon which I came forward and denied that Aeschines had left to me anything which he was anxious to say to Philip; he would rather have given any one a share in his lifeblood than in his speech. The truth is, I imagine, that he had taken money; and as Philip had given him the money in order that he might not have to restore Amphipolis, he could not speak in opposition to Philip's case. Now (to the clerk) take this lay of Solon's and read it; and (to the jury) then you will know how Solon used to hate all such men as this.

It is not when you are speaking, Aeschines, but when you are upon an embassy, that you should keep your hand within your robe. But on the Embassy you held out your hand, and held it open; you brought shame to your countrymen: and do you here assume a solemn air and recite in those practised tones the miserable phrases that you have learned by heart, and expect to escape the penalty for all your heinous crimes—even if you do go round with a cap on your head, uttering abuse against me? (To the clerk.) Read the verses.


 * Solon's Lay.

"The Father's voice hath spoken, Whose word is Destiny, And the blest Gods have willed it,  The Gods who shall not die;  That ne'er shall the Destroyer  Prevail against our land;  The Dread Sire's valiant Daughter  Guards us with eye and hand.  Yet her own sons, in folly,  Would lay their country low,  For pelf; and in her leaders  An heart of sin doth grow.  For them—their pride's fell offspring—  There waiteth grievous pain;  For sated still, they know not  Their proud lust to contain.  Not theirs, if mirth be with them,  The decent, peaceful feast;  To sin they yield, and sinning  Rejoice in wealth increased.  No hallowed treasure sparing,  Nor people's common store,  This side and that his neighbour  Each robs with havoc sore.  The holy law of Justice  They guard not. Silent she,  Who knows what is and hath been,  Awaits the time to be.  Then cometh she to judgement,  With certain step, tho' slow;  E'en now she smites the city,  And none may 'scape the blow. To thraldom base she drives us, From slumber rousing strife,—  Fell war of kin, destroying  The young, the beauteous life. The foemen of their country In wicked bands combine,  Fit company; and stricken  The lovely land doth pine. These are the Wrong, the Mischief, That pace the earth at home;  But many a beggared exile  To other lands must roam—  Sold, chained in bonds unseemly;  For so to each man's hall  Comes home the People's Sorrow,  And leaps the high fence-wall. No courtyard door can stay it; It follows to his side,  Flee tho' he may, and crouching  In inmost chamber hide. Such warning unto Athens My spirit bids me sound,  That Lawlessness in cities  Spreads evil all around;  But Lawfulness and Order  Make all things good and right,  Chaining Sin's hands in fetters,  Quenching the proud soul's light,  Smoothing the rough, the sated  Staying, and withering  The flowers, that, fraught with ruin,  From fatal seed upspring. The paths of crooked justice Are turned into straight;  The ways of Pride grow gentle,  The ways of Strife and Hate;  Then baleful Faction ceases,  Then Health prevails alway,  And Wisdom still increases,  Beneath Law's wholesome sway."

You hear, men of Athens, how Solon speaks of men like these, and of the gods, who, he says, preserve the city. It is my belief and my hope that this saying of his, that the gods preserve our city, is true at all times; but I believe that all that has happened in connexion with the present examination is, in a sense, a special proof of the goodwill of some unseen power towards the city. Consider what has happened. A man who as ambassador did a work of great wickedness, and has surrendered countries in which the gods should have been worshipped by yourselves and your allies, has disfranchised one who accepted the challenge to prosecute him. To what end? To the end that he himself might meet with no pity or mercy for his own iniquities. Nay, more; while prosecuting his victim he deliberately set himself to speak evil of me; and again, before the People, he threatened to enter an indictment against me, and said more to the same effect. And to what end? To the end that I, who had the most perfect knowledge of all his acts of villany, and had followed them closely throughout, might have your full indulgence in prosecuting him. Aye, and through postponing his appearance before you continually up to the present moment, he has been insensibly brought to a time when, on account of what is coming upon us, if for no other reason, it is neither possible nor safe for you to allow him (after his corruption) to escape unscathed. For though, men of Athens, you ought always to execrate and to punish those who are traitors and corrupt, to do so at this time would be more than ever seasonable, and would confer a benefit upon all mankind in common. For a disease, men of Athens, an awful disease has fallen upon Hellas—a disease hard to cope with, and requiring abundant good fortune, and abundant carefulness on your own part. For the most notable men in their several cities, the men who claim to lead in public affairs, are betraying their own liberty—unhappy men!—and bringing upon themselves a self-chosen servitude, under the milder names of friendship and companionship with Philip, and other such phrases; while the other citizens, and the sovereign bodies in each city, however composed, whose duty it was to punish these men and slay them out of hand, are so far from taking any such action, that they admire and envy them, and every one would be glad to be in the same case. Yet it is from this very cause—it is through entertaining ambitions like these—that the Thessalians, who up to yesterday or the day before had lost thereby only their paramount position and their dignity as a state, are now already being stripped of their very liberty; for there are Macedonian garrisons in some of their citadels. This same disease it is which has invaded the Peloponnese and brought about the massacres in Elis, infecting the unhappy people of that country with such insanity and frenzy, that in order to be lords over one another and to gratify Philip, they murder their kinsmen and fellow citizens. Not even here has the disease been stayed: it has penetrated Arcadia and turned it upside-down; and now many of the Arcadians, who should be no less proud of liberty than yourselves—for you and they alone are indigenous peoples—are declaring their admiration for Philip, erecting his image in bronze, and crowning him; and, to complete the tale, they have passed a resolution that, if he comes to the Peloponnese, they will receive him within their walls. The Argives have acted in exactly the same way. These events, I say it in all solemnity and earnestness, call for no small precautions: for this plague, men of Athens, that is spreading all around us, has now found its way to Athens itself. While then we are still safe, ward it off, and take away the citizenship of those who first introduced it. Beware lest otherwise you realize the worth of the advice given you this day, only when there is no longer anything that you can do. Do you not perceive, men of Athens, how vivid and plain an example has been afforded you by the unhappy Olynthians? The destruction of those wretched men was due to nothing so much as to conduct like that of which I speak. You can test this clearly if you review their history. For at a time when they possessed only 400 cavalry, and numbered not more than 5,000 men in all, since the Chalcidians were not yet all united under one government, the Spartans came against them with a large force, including both army and fleet (for you doubtless remember that at that period the Spartans were virtually masters both of land and sea); and yet, though this great force came against them, the Olynthians lost neither the city nor any single fortress, but won many battles, killed three of the enemy's commanders, and finally concluded the war on their own terms. But when some of them began to take bribes, and the people as a whole were foolish enough, or rather unfortunate enough, to repose greater confidence in these men than in those who spoke for their own good; when Lasthenes roofed his house with the timber which came from Macedonia, and Euthycrates was keeping a large herd of cattle for which he had paid no one anything; when a third returned with sheep, and a fourth with horses, while the people, to whose detriment all this was being done, so far from showing any anger or any disposition to chastise men who acted so, actually gazed on them with envy, and paid them honour and regarded them as heroes— when, I say, such practices were gaining ground in this way, and corruption had been victorious; then, though they possessed 1,000 cavalry and numbered more than 10,000 men; though all the surrounding peoples were their allies; though you went to their assistance with 10,000 mercenaries and 50 ships, and with 4,000 citizen-soldiers as well, none of these things could save them. Before a year of the war had expired they had lost all the cities in Chalcidice, while Philip could no longer keep pace with the invitations of the traitors, and did not know which place to occupy first. Five hundred horsemen were betrayed by their own commanders and captured by Philip, with their arms—a larger number than were ever before captured by any one. And the men who acted thus were not ashamed to face the sun or the earth—the soil of their native land—on which they stood, or the temples, or the sepulchres of the dead, or the disgrace which was bound to follow upon such deeds afterwards. Such is the madness and distraction which corruption engenders. So it is for you—for you, the People— to be wise, to refuse to suffer such things, and to visit them with public chastisement. For it would be monstrous indeed, if, after the terrible condemnation which you passed upon those who betrayed the Olynthians, it were seen that you allowed the criminals who are in your very midst to go unpunished. (To the clerk.) Read the decree passed with reference to the Olynthians.

[The decree is read.]

This decree, gentlemen of the jury, is one which in the eyes of all, Hellenes and foreigners alike, it was right and honourable in you to have passed in condemnation of traitors and men detested of Heaven. And so, since the taking of the bribe is the step which precedes such actions, and it is the bribe that prompts the traitor's deeds, whenever, men of Athens, you find a man receiving a bribe, you must count him a traitor as well. That one man betrays opportunities, and another affairs of state, and another soldiers, means only, I imagine, that each works mischief in the particular department over which he has control; but there should be no distinction in your execration of all such men. You, men of Athens, are the only people in the world who can draw from your own history examples which bear upon this matter, and who have those ancestors, whom you rightly praise, to imitate in your actions. You may not be able, at the present time, to imitate them in the battles, the campaigns, the perils in which they distinguished themselves, since at the present moment you are at peace; but at least you can imitate their wisdom. For of wisdom there is need everywhere; and a right judgement is no more laborious or troublesome a thing than a wrong one. Each of you need sit here no longer, in order to judge and vote on the question before him aright, and so to make his country's position a better one, and worthy of our ancestors, than he must in order to judge and vote wrongly, and so make it worse and unworthy of our ancestors. What then were their sentiments on this matter? (To the clerk.) Take this, clerk, and read it: (to the jury) for I would have you see that the acts towards which you are so indifferent are acts for which your forefathers voted death to the doers. (To the clerk.) Read.

[An inscription is read.]

You hear the inscription, men of Athens, declaring that Arthmius of Zeleia, son of Pythonax, is a foe and a public enemy to the people of Athens and their allies—both he and all his house. And why? Because he brought the gold from the foreigner to the Hellenes. Apparently, therefore, we may judge from this, that your ancestors sought to ensure that no one, not even a stranger, should work mischief against Hellas for money; whereas you do not even seek to prevent any of your fellow citizens from injuring his own city. 'But,' it may be said, 'the inscription occupies a quite unimportant position.' On the contrary, although all yonder Acropolis is sacred and there is no lack of space upon it, this inscription stands on the right hand of the great bronze statue of Athena, the prize of valour in the war against the barbarians, set up by the State with funds which the Hellenes had presented to her. In those days, therefore, uprightness was so sacred, and such merit was attached to the punishment of actions like these, that the sentences passed upon such crimes were thought to deserve the same position as the prize-statue of the goddess. And now, unless you, in your turn, set a check upon this excess of licence, the result must be ridicule, impunity, and shame. You would do well, I think, men of Athens, to imitate your forefathers, not in this or that point alone, but continuously, and in all that they did. Now I am sure that you have all heard the story of Callias, the son of Hipponicus, to whose diplomacy was due the Peace which is universally celebrated, and which provided that the king should not come down by land within a day's ride of the sea, nor sail with a ship of war between the Chelidonian islands and the Cyanean rocks. He was thought to have taken bribes on his mission; and your forefathers almost put him to death, and actually fined him, at the examination of his report, a sum of 50 talents. True it is, that no more honourable peace can be mentioned than this, of all which the city ever made before or afterwards. But it was not to this that they looked. The nature of the Peace they attributed to their own prowess and the glory of their city: but whether the transaction was disinterested or corrupt, depended upon the character of the ambassador; and they expected the character displayed by one who took part in public affairs to be upright and incorruptible. Your ancestors, then, regarded corruption as so inimical, so unprofitable, to the state, that they would not admit it in connexion with any single transaction or any single man; while you, men of Athens, though you have seen that the Peace which has laid low the walls of your own allies is building the houses of your ambassadors—that the Peace which has robbed the city of her possessions has secured for them more than they had ever before hoped for even in their dreams—you, I say, instead of putting them to death of your own accord, need a prosecutor to assist you; and when all can see their crimes in very deed, you are making their trial a trial of words.

It is not, however, by the citation of ancient history, nor by these examples alone, that one may stimulate you to vengeance: for even within the lifetime of yourselves, who are here and still living, many have paid the penalty. All the rest of these I will pass over; but I will mention one or two of those who were punished with death, on returning from a mission whose results have been far less disastrous to the city than those of the present Embassy. (To the clerk.) Take then this decree and read it.

[The decree is read.]

In this decree, men of Athens, you passed sentence of death upon those ambassadors, one of whom was Epicrates, a good man, as I am told by my elders, and one who had in many ways been of service to his country—one of those who brought the people back from the Peiraeus, and who was generally an upholder of the democracy. Yet none of these services helped him, and rightly. For one who claims to manage affairs of such magnitude has not merely to be half honest; he must not secure your confidence and then take advantage of it to increase his power to do mischief; he must do absolutely no wrong against you of his own will. Now if there is one of the things for which those men were sentenced to death, that these men have not done, you may put me to death without delay. Observe what the charges were. 'Since they conducted their mission,' says the decree, 'contrary to the terms of the resolution'—that is the first of the charges. And have not these men contravened the terms of the resolution? Does not the decree speak of peace 'for the Athenians and the allies of the Athenians?' and did they not exclude the Phocians from the treaty? Does not the decree bid them administer the oath to the magistrates in the several cities? and did they not administer it to men sent to them by Philip? Does not the resolution forbid them 'to meet Philip anywhere alone?' and did they not incessantly do business with him privately? Again I read, 'And some of them have been convicted of making a false report before the Council.' But these men have been convicted of doing so before the People as well. And convicted by whom? for this is the splendid thing. Convicted by the actual facts; for all that has happened, as you know, has been the exact reverse of what they announced. 'And,' the decree goes on, 'of not sending true dispatches.' Nor did these men. 'And of accusing our allies falsely and taking bribes.' Instead of 'accusing falsely', say, 'of having utterly ruined'—surely a far more heinous thing than a false accusation. And as for the charge of taking bribes, if it had been denied, it would still have required proof; but since they admitted it, a summary procedure was surely the proper one. What then will you do, men of Athens? You are the offspring of that generation, and some of you are actually survivors from it; and will you endure it, that Epicrates, the benefactor of the people, one of the men from the Peiraeus, should have been exiled and punished; that Thrasybulus, again, the son of the great Thrasybulus, the People's friend, who brought the people back from Phyle, should recently have been fined ten talents; and that the descendant of Harmodius, and of those who achieved for you the greatest of blessings, and whom, for the benefits which they conferred upon you, you have caused to share in the libations and the bowls outpoured, in every temple where sacrifice is offered, singing of them and honouring them as you honour heroes and gods— that all these, I say, should have undergone the penalty ordained by the laws, and that no feeling of compassion or pity, nor the tears of their children who bore the names of our benefactors, nor aught else, should have availed them anything: and yet, when you have to do with the son of Atrometus the schoolmaster, and Glaucothea, who used to hold those meetings of the initiated, a practice for which another priestess was put to death—when you have in your hands the son of such parents, a man who never did a single service to his country—neither himself, nor his father, nor any of his house—will you let him go? Where is the horse, the trireme, the military service, the chorus, the burden undertaken for the state, the war-contribution, the loyal action, the peril undergone, for which in all their lifetime the city has had to thank him or his? Aye, and even if all these stood to his credit, and those other qualifications, of uprightness and integrity in his mission, were not also to be found in him, it would surely have been right that he should perish. But when neither the one nor the other are to be found, will you not avenge yourselves upon him? Will you not call to mind his own words, when he was prosecuting Timarchus—that there was no help for a city which had no sinews to use against the criminal, nor for a constitution in which compassion and solicitation were more powerful than the laws—that it was your duty not to pity the aged mother of Timarchus, nor his children, nor any one else, but to attend solely to one point, namely, that if you abandoned the cause of the laws and the constitution, you would look in vain for any to have pity on yourselves. Is that unhappy man to have lost his rights as a citizen, because he witnessed the guilt of Aeschines, and will you then suffer Aeschines to escape unscathed? On what ground can you do so? for if Aeschines demanded so heavy a penalty from those whose sins were against their own persons, what must be the magnitude of the penalty which you should require—you, the sworn judges of the case—from those who have sinned so greatly against their country's interests, and of whom Aeschines is convincingly proved to be one? 'But,' we are told, 'that was a trial which will raise the moral standard of our young men.' Yes, and this trial will raise that of our statesmen, upon whose character the supreme interests of the city are staked. For your care ought to extend to them also. But you must realize that his real motive for ruining Timarchus himself was not, Heaven knows, to be found in any anxiety for the virtue of your sons. Indeed, men of Athens, they are virtuous even now; for I trust that the city will never have fallen so low, as to need Aphobetus and Aeschines to reform the morals of the young. No! the reason was that Timarchus had proposed in the Council, that if any one was convicted of conveying arms or fittings for ships of war to Philip, the penalty should be death. And here is a proof. How long had Timarchus been in the habit of addressing you? For a long time. Now throughout all this time Aeschines was in Athens, and never showed any vexation or indignation at the fact of such a man addressing you, until he had been to Macedonia and made himself a hireling. (To the clerk.) Come, take the actual decree which Timarchus proposed, and read it.

[The decree is read.]

So the man who proposed on your behalf the resolution which forbade, on pain of death, the supply of arms to Philip during the war, has been ruined and treated with contumely; while Aeschines, who had surrendered the arms of your very allies to Philip, was his accuser, and charged him—I call Heaven and Earth to witness—with unnatural offences, although two of his own kinsmen stood by his side, the very sight of whom would call forth a cry of protest from you—the disgusting Nicias, who went to Egypt and hired himself to Chabrias, and the accursed Cyrebion, who joins in processions, as a reveller, without a mask. Nay, why mention these things? His own brother Aphobetus was there before his eyes! In very truth all the words that were spoken on that day about unnatural offences were water flowing up stream.

And now, to show you the dishonour into which the villainy and mendacity of the defendant have brought our country, passing by all besides, I will mention a fact known to you all. Formerly, men of Athens, all the other Hellenes used to watch attentively, to see what had been resolved in your Assembly; but now we are already going about and inquiring what others have decided—trying to overhear what the Arcadians are doing, or the Amphictyons, or where Philip will be next, and whether he is alive or dead. We do this, do we not? But for me the terrible question is not whether Philip is alive, but whether in this city the habit of execrating and punishing criminals is dead. Philip has no terrors for me, if your own spirit is sound; but the prospect that you may grant security to those who wish to receive their wages from him—that they may be supported by some of those whom you have trusted, and that those who have all along denied that they were acting in Philip's interests may now mount the platform in their defence—that is the prospect which terrifies me. Tell me, Eubulus, why it was, that at the recent trial of your cousin Hegesilaus, and of Thrasybulus, the uncle of Niceratus, when the primary question was before the jury, you would not even respond when they called upon you; and that when you rose to speak on the assessment of the penalty, you uttered not a word in their defence, but only asked the jury to be indulgent to you? Do you refuse to ascend the platform in defence of kinsmen and relations, and will you then do so in defence of Aeschines, who, when Aristophon was prosecuting Philonicus, and in accusing him was denouncing your own acts, joined with him in accusing you, and was found in the ranks of your enemies? You frightened your countrymen here by saying that they must either march down to the Peiraeus at once, and pay the war-tax, and convert the festival-fund into a war-fund, or else pass the decree advocated by Aeschines and proposed by the shameless Philocrates— a decree, of which the result was that the Peace became a disgraceful instead of a fair one, and that these men have ruined everything by their crimes: and have you, after all this, become reconciled to him? You uttered imprecations upon Philip, in the presence of the people, and swore by the life of your children that you would be glad if perdition seized him; and will you now come to the aid of Aeschines? How can perdition seize Philip, when you are trying to save those who take bribes from him? Why is it that you prosecuted Moerocles for misappropriating 20 drachmae out of the sums paid by each of the lessees of the mines, and indicted Ctesiphon for the theft of sacred moneys, because he paid 7 minae into the bank three days too late; and yet, when men have taken money and confess it, and are convicted, by being caught in the very act, of having done so in order to bring about the ruin of our allies, you do not prosecute them, but even command their acquittal? But the appalling character of these crimes and the great watchfulness and caution that they call for, and the triviality of the offences for which you prosecuted those other men, may further be seen in this way. Were there any men in Elis who stole public funds? It is very likely indeed. Well, had any of them anything to do with the overthrow of the democracy there? Not one of them. Again, while Olynthus was standing, were there others of the same character there? I am sure that there were. Was it then through them that Olynthus was destroyed? No. Again, do you not suppose that in Megara there was someone who was a thief and who embezzled public funds? There must have been. Well, has any such person been shown to be responsible for the recent crisis there? Not one. But of what sort are the men who commit crimes of such a character and magnitude? They are those who count themselves worthy to be styled friends and guest-friends of Philip, who would fain be generals, who claim to be leaders, who must needs be exalted above the people. Was not Perillus put on his trial lately before the Three Hundred at Megara, because he went to Philip's court; and did not Ptoeodorus, the first man in Megara in wealth, family, and distinction, come forward and beg him off, and send him back again to Philip? and was not the consequence that the one came back at the head of the mercenaries, while the other was churning the butter at home? For there is nothing, nothing, I say, in the world, which you must be so careful not to do, as not to allow any one to become more powerful than the People. I would have no man acquitted or doomed, to please any individual. Only let us be sure that the man whose actions acquit or condemn him will receive from you the verdict he deserves. That is the true democratic principle. And further, it is true that many men have come to possess great influence with you at particular times—Callistratus, and again Aristophon, Diophantus, and others before them. But where did each of these exercise his primacy? In the Assembly of the People. But in the law-courts no man has ever, to this day, carried more influence than the laws and the juror's oath. Do not then allow the defendant to have such influence to-day. To prove to you that there is good reason for you not to trust, but to beware of such influence, I will read you an oracle of the gods, who always protect the city far better than do its foremost citizens. (To the clerk.) Read the oracles.

[The oracles are read.]

You hear, men of Athens, the warnings of the gods. If these responses were given by them when you were at war, they mean that you must beware of your generals, since in war it is the generals who are leaders; but if they were uttered after you had made peace, they must refer to those who are at the head of your government; for these are the leaders whom you obey, and it is by these that you are in danger of being led astray. 'And hold the state together' [says the oracle] 'until all are of one mind, and afford no joy to their foes.' Which event then, men of Athens, do you think would afford joy to Philip—the acquittal of one who has brought about all this evil, or his punishment? His acquittal, I am sure. But the oracle, you see, says that we should so act as not to afford joy to our foes; and therefore, by the mouth of Zeus, of Dione, and of all the gods, is this exhortation given to us all, that with one mind we chastise those who have done any service to our enemies. Without are those who are plotting against us, within are their confederates. The part of the plotters is to offer the bribe; that of their confederates is to receive it, and to save from condemnation those who have received it.

And further, it needs no more than human reason to arrive at the conclusion that nothing can be more hateful and dangerous than to allow your first citizen to be intimate with those whose objects are not those of the People. Consider by what means Philip has become master of the entire situation, and by what means he has accomplished the greatest of his successes. It has been by purchasing the opportunities for action from those who offered them for sale —by corrupting and exciting the aspirations of the leaders of their several cities. These have been the means. Now both of these methods it is in your power, if you wish it, to render futile to-day, if you will refuse to listen to prominent persons who speak in defence of such practices, and will thus prove that they have no power over you—for now they assert that they have you under their control—while at the same time you punish the man who has sold himself, and let all the world see what you have done. For you would have reason enough, men of Athens, for being angry with any man who had acted so, and had betrayed your allies and your friends and your opportunities (for with these are bound up the whole prosperity or adversity of every people), but with no one more than with Aeschines, or with greater justice. After taking up a position as one of those who mistrusted Philip—after being the first and the only man to perceive that Philip was the common enemy of all the Hellenes—he deserted, he betrayed you; he suddenly became Philip's supporter. Surely he deserves to die many times over! Nay, he himself will not be able to deny that these things are so. For who was it that brought Ischander forward before you originally, stating that he had come from the friends of Athens in Arcadia? Who was it that cried out that Philip was organizing Hellas and the Peloponnese against you, while you were asleep? Who was it that delivered those long and noble orations to the people, that read to you the decrees of Miltiades and Themistocles, and the oath of the young soldiers in the temple of Aglaurus? Was it not the defendant? Who was it that persuaded you to send embassies almost as far as the Red Sea, on the ground that Philip was plotting against Hellas, and that it was for you to foresee this and not to sacrifice the interests of the Hellenes? Was it not Eubulus who proposed the decree, while the ambassador to the Peloponnese was the defendant Aeschines? What expressions he used in his address to the people, after he arrived there, is best known to himself: but I know you all remember what he reported to you. Many a time in the course of his speech he called Philip 'barbarian' and 'devil'; and he reported the delight of the Arcadians at the thought that Athens was now waking up and attending to public affairs. One thing he told us, which caused him, he said, more distress than anything else. As he was leaving, he met Atrestidas, who was travelling home from Philip's court, and with him were walking some thirty women and children. Wondering at this, he asked one of the travellers who the man was, and what this crowd was along with him; and on hearing that it was Atrestidas, who was on his way home, and that these with him were captives from Olynthus whom Philip had given him as a present, he was struck with the atrocity of the thing and burst into tears, and lamented the unhappy condition of Hellas, that she should allow such tragedies to pass unnoticed. At the same time he counselled you to send representatives to Arcadia to denounce Philip's agents, saying that his friends told him that if Athens took notice of the matter and sent envoys, Philip's agents would be punished. Such, men of Athens, was the tenor of his speeches then; and very noble they were, and worthy of this city. But when he had been to Macedonia, and had seen the enemy of himself and of the Hellenes, were his speeches couched any more in the same or a similar tone? Far from it! He told you that you must neither remember your forefathers nor mention your trophies, nor go to the aid of any one. He was amazed, he said, at those who urged you to confer with the rest of the Hellenes in regard to the Peace with Philip, as though there was any need to convince some one else about a matter which was purely your own affair. And as for Philip, 'Why, good gracious!' said he, 'Philip is the most thorough Hellene in the world, a most able speaker, and most friendly towards Athens: only there are certain persons in Athens so unreasonable and so churlish, that they are not ashamed to slander him and call him "barbarian".' Now is it possible that the man who had formerly spoken as Aeschines did, should now have dared to speak in such a way, if he had not been corrupted? What? Is there a man who after conceiving such detestation for Atrestidas, owing to those children and women from Olynthus, could have endured to act in conjunction with Philocrates, who brought freeborn Olynthian women here to gratify his lust, and is so notorious for his abominable living, that it is unnecessary for me now to use any offensive or unpleasant expression about him; for if I say that Philocrates brought women here, the rest will be understood by all of you and of the bystanders, and you will, I am sure, pity the poor unhappy creatures—though Aeschines felt no pity for them, and shed no tears for Hellas at the sight of them, or at the thought of the outrages they were suffering among their own allies at the hands of our ambassadors. No! he will shed tears on his own behalf—he whose proceedings as ambassador have had such results—and perhaps he will bring forward his children, and mount them upon the platform. But, gentlemen of the jury, when you see the children of Aeschines, remember that the children of many of your allies and friends are now vagabonds, wandering in beggary, owing to the cruel treatment they have suffered in consequence of his conduct, and that these deserve your compassion far more than those whose father is a criminal and a traitor. Remember that your own children have been robbed even of their hopes by these men, who inserted among the terms of the Peace the clause which extended it to posterity. And when you see the tears of Aeschines, remember that you have now before you a man who urged you to send representatives to Arcadia to denounce the agents of Philip. Now to-day you need send no embassy to the Peloponnese; you need take no long journey; you need incur no travelling expenses. Each of you need only come as far as this platform, to deposit the vote which piety and justice demand of him, on behalf of your country; and to condemn the man who—I call Earth and Heaven to witness!—after originally delivering the speeches which I described, speaking of Marathon and of Salamis, and of your battles and your trophies, suddenly—so soon as he had set foot in Macedonia—changed his tone completely, and told you that you must not remember your forefathers, nor recount your trophies, nor go to the aid of any one, nor take common counsel with the Hellenes—who all but told you that you must pull down your walls. Never throughout all time, up to this day, have speeches more shameful than these been delivered before you. What Hellene, what foreigner, is so dense, or so uninstructed, or so fierce in his hatred of our city, that if one were to put to him this question, and say, 'Tell me now; of all Hellas, as it now is—all this inhabited country—is there any part which would have been called by this name, or inhabited by the Hellenes who now possess it, unless those who fought at Marathon and Salamis, our forefathers, had displayed that high prowess on their behalf?' Why, I am certain that not one would answer 'Yes': they would say that all these regions must have been conquered by the barbarians. If then no single man, not even one of our enemies, would have deprived them of these their panegyrics and praises, does Aeschines forbid you to remember them—you their descendants—in order that he himself may receive money? In all other blessings, moreover, the dead have no share; but the praises which follow their noble deeds are the peculiar possession of those who have died thus; for then even envy opposes them no longer. Of these praises Aeschines would deprive them; and justly, therefore, would he now be deprived of his privileges as as a citizen, and justly, in the name of your forefathers, would you exact from him this penalty. Such words you used, nevertheless, in the wickedness of your heart, to despoil and traduce the deeds of our forefathers, and by your word you ruined all our interests in very deed. And then, as the outcome of this, you are a landed gentleman, and have become a personage of consequence! For this, too, you must notice. Before he had wrought every kind of mischief against the city he acknowledged that he had been a clerk; he was grateful to you for having elected him, and behaved himself modestly. But since he has wrought countless evils, he has drawn up his eyebrows, and if any one speaks of 'Aeschines the late clerk', he is his enemy at once, and declares that he has been insulted: he walks through the market- place with his cloak trailing down to his ankles, keeping step with Pythocles, and puffing out his cheeks—already one of Philip's friends and guest-friends, if you please—one of those who would be rid of the democracy, and who regard the established constitution as so much tempestuous madness—he who was once the humble servant of the Round Chamber.

I wish now to recapitulate to you summarily the ways in which Philip got the better of you in policy, when he had taken these heaven-detested men to aid him. It is well worth while to review and contemplate the course of his deception as a whole. It began with his anxiety for peace; for his country was being plundered, and his ports were closed, so that he could enjoy none of the advantages which they afforded; and so he sent the messengers who uttered those generous sentiments on his behalf—Neoptolemus, Aristodemus, and Ctesiphon. But so soon as we went to him as your ambassadors, he immediately hired the defendant to second and co-operate with the abominable Philocrates, and so get the better of those who wished to act uprightly; and he composed such a letter to you as he thought would be most likely to help him to obtain peace. But even so, he had no better chance than before of effecting anything of importance against you, unless he could destroy the Phocians. And this was no easy matter. For he had now been reduced, as if by chance, to a position in which he must either find it impossible to effect any of his designs, or else must perforce lie and forswear himself, and make all men, whether Hellenes or foreigners, witnesses of his own baseness. For if, on the one hand, he received the Phocians as allies, and administered the oath to them together with yourselves, it at once became necessary for him to break his oaths to the Thessalians and Thebans; for he had sworn to aid the latter in the reduction of Boeotia, and the former in the recovery of their place in the Amphictyonic Council; but if, on the other hand, he refused to receive them (as in fact he did reject them), he thought that you would not let him cross the Pass, but would rally to Thermopylae—and so you would have done, had you not been misled; and if this happened, he calculated that he would be unable to march across. Nor had he to learn this from others; he had already the testimony of his own experience. For on the occasion of his first defeat of the Phocians, when he destroyed their mercenaries and their leader and general, Onomarchus, although not a single human being, Hellene or foreigner, came to the aid of the Phocians, except yourselves, so far was he from crossing the Pass and thereafter carrying out any of his designs, that he could not even approach near it. He realized, I imagine, quite clearly, that at a time when the feelings of the Thessalians were turning against him, and the Pheraeans (to take the first instance) refused to accompany him—when the Thebans were being worsted and had lost a battle, and a trophy had been erected to celebrate their defeat—it was impossible for him to cross the Pass, if you rallied to its defence; and that if he made the attempt he would regret it, unless some cunning could be called in to aid him. How then, he asked, can I avoid open falsehood, and yet accomplish all that I wish without appearing perjured? How can it be done? It can be done, if I can get some of the Athenians to deceive the Athenians. In that case the discredit no longer falls to my share. And so Philip's own envoys first informed you that Philip declined to receive the Phocians as allies; and then these men took up the tale, and addressed you to the effect that it was inconvenient to Philip to receive the Phocians as your allies openly, on account of the Thebans and the Thessalians; but if he gets command of the situation, they said, and is granted the Peace, he will do just what we should now request him to promise to do. So they obtained the Peace from you, by holding out these seductive hopes, without including the Phocians. But they had still to prevent the expedition to Thermopylae, for the purpose of which, despite the Peace, your fifty ships were still lying ready at anchor, in order that, if Philip marched, you might prevent him. How then could it be done? what cunning could be used in regard to this expedition in its turn? They must deprive you of the necessary time, by bringing the crisis upon you suddenly, so that, even if you wished to set out, you might be unable to do so. So this, it appears, was what these men undertook to do; while for my part, as you have often been told, I was unable to depart in advance of them, and was prevented from sailing even when I had hired a boat for the purpose. But it was further necessary that the Phocians should come to believe in Philip and give themselves up to him voluntarily, in order that there might be no delay in carrying out the plan, and that no hostile decree whatever might issue from you. 'And therefore,' said he, 'the Athenian ambassadors shall announce that the Phocians are to be preserved from destruction, so that even if any one persists in distrusting me, he will believe them, and put himself in my hands. We will summon the Athenians themselves, so that they may imagine that all that they want is secured, and may pass no hostile decree: but the ambassadors shall make such reports about us, and give such promises, as will prevent them from moving under any circumstances.' It was in this way, and by such trickery as this, that all was ruined, through the action of these doomed wretches. For immediately afterwards, as you know, instead of seeing Thespiae and Plataeae repeopled, you heard that Orchomenus and Coroneia had been enslaved; instead of Thebes being humbled and stripped of her insolence and pride, the walls of your own allies were being razed, and it was the Thebans who were razing them—the Thebans who, according to Aeschines' story, were as good as broken up into villages. Instead of Euboea being handed over to you in exchange for Amphipolis, Philip is making new bases of operations against you in Euboea itself, and is plotting incessantly against Geraestus and Megara. Instead of the restoration of Oropus to you, we are making an expedition under arms to defend Drymus and the country about Panactum —a step which we never took so long as the Phocians remained unharmed. Instead of the restoration of the ancestral worship in the temple, and the exaction of the debt due to the god, the true Amphictyons are fugitives, who have been banished and their land laid desolate; and Macedonians, foreigners, men who never were Amphictyons in the past, are now forcing their way to recognition; while any one who mentions the sacred treasures is thrown from the rocks, and our city has been deprived of her right to precedence in consulting the oracle. Indeed, the story of all that has happened to the city sounds like a riddle. Philip has spoken no falsehood, and has accomplished all that he wished: you hoped for the fulfilment of your fondest prayers, and have seen the very opposite come to pass; you suppose yourselves to be at peace, and have suffered more terribly than if you had been at war; while these men have received money for all this, and up to this very day have not paid the penalty. For that the situation has been made what it is solely by bribery, and that these men have received their price for it all, has, I feel sure, long been plain to you in many ways; and I am afraid that, quite against my will, I may long have been wearying you by attempting to prove with elaborate exactness what you already know for yourselves. Yet this one point I ask you still to listen to. Is there, gentlemen of the jury, one of the ambassadors whom Philip sent, whose statue in bronze you would erect in the market-place? Nay, one to whom you would give maintenance in the Town Hall, or any other of those complimentary grants with which you honour your benefactors? I think not. And why? For you are of no ungrateful or unfair or mean disposition. You would reply, that it is because all that they did was done in the interest of Philip, and nothing in your own; and the reply would be true and just. Do you imagine then that, when such are your sentiments, Philip's are not also such? Do you imagine that he gives all these magnificent presents because your ambassadors conducted their mission honourably and uprightly with a view to your interest? Impossible. Think of Hegesippus, and the manner in which he and the ambassadors who accompanied him were received by Philip. To go no further, he banished Xenocleides, the well- known poet, by public proclamation, because he received the ambassadors, his own fellow citizens. For so it is that he behaves to men who honestly say what they think on your behalf: while to those who have sold themselves he behaves as he has to these men. Do we then need witnesses? do we need stronger proofs than these to establish my conclusions? Will any one be able to steal these conclusions from your minds?

Now I was told a most extraordinary thing just now by some one who accosted me in front of the Court, namely, that the defendant is prepared to accuse Chares, and that by such methods and such arguments as that, he hopes to deceive you. I will not lay undue stress on the fact that Chares, subjected to every form of trial, was found to have acted on your behalf, so far as was in his power, with faithfulness and loyalty, while his frequent shortcomings were due to those who, for money, were cruelly injuring your cause. But I will go much further. Let it be granted that all that the defendant will say of Chares is true. Even so it is utterly absurd that Aeschines should accuse him. For I do not lay the blame on Aeschines for anything that was done in the course of the war—it is the generals who have to account for all such proceedings—nor do I hold him responsible for the city's having made peace. So far I acquit him of everything. What then do I allege, and at what point does my accusation begin? I accuse him of having supported Philocrates, at the time when the city was making peace, instead of supporting those who proposed what was for your real good. I accuse him of taking bribes, and subsequently, on the Second Embassy, of wasting time, and of not carrying out any of your instructions. I accuse him of cheating the city, and ruining everything, by the suggestion of hopes that Philip would do all that we desired; and then I accuse him of speaking afterwards in defence of one of whom all warned him to beware, on account of the great crimes of which he had been guilty. These are my charges, and these are what you must bear in mind. For a Peace that was honest and fair, and men that had sold nothing and had told no falsehoods afterwards, I would even have commended, and would have bidden you crown them. But the injuries which some general may have done you have nothing to do with the present examination. Where is the general who has caused the loss of Halus? or of the Phocians? or of Doriscus? or of Cersobleptes? or of the Sacred Mountain? or of Thermopylae? Who has secured Philip a road to Attica that leads entirely through the country of allies and friends? who has given Coroneia and Orchomenus and Euboea to others? who has all but given Megara to the enemy, only recently? who has made the Thebans powerful? Not one of all these heavy losses was the work of the generals; nor does Philip hold any of these places because you were persuaded to concede it to him by the treaty of peace. The losses are due to these men and to their corruption. If then he evades these points, and tries to mislead you by speaking of every other possible subject, this is how you must receive his attempt. 'We are not sitting in judgement upon any general,' you must say, 'nor are you on your trial for the things of which you speak. Do not tell us whether some one else may not also be responsible for the ruin of the Phocians: prove to us that no responsibility attaches to yourself. Why do you tell us now of the alleged iniquities of Demosthenes, instead of accusing him when his report was under examination? For such an omission alone you deserve to perish. Do not speak of the beauty of peace, nor of its advantages. No one holds you responsible for the city's having made peace. But show that it was not a shameful and discreditable peace; that we have not since been deceived in many ways; that all was not lost. It is for all these things that the responsibility has been proved to be yours. And why, even to this hour, do you praise the man who has done us all this evil?' If you keep a watch upon him thus, he will have nothing to say; and then he will lift up his voice here, in spite of all his vocal exercises, to no purpose.

And yet perhaps it is necessary for me to speak about his voice also. For of this too, I am told, he is extremely proud, and expects to carry you away by his declamation. But seeing that you used to drive him away and hiss him out of the theatre and almost stone him, when he was performing the tragic story of Thyestes or of the Trojan War, so that at last he gave up his third-rate playing, you would be acting in the most extraordinary way if, now that he has wrought countless ills, not on the stage, but in the most important affairs in the public life of the state, you listened to him for his fine voice. By no means must you do this, or give way to any foolish sentiment. Rather reflect, that if you were testing the qualifications of a herald, you would then indeed look for a fine voice; but when you are testing those of an ambassador, or a man who claims the administration of any public business, you must look for an upright man—a man who bears himself proudly indeed, as your representative, but seeks no more than equality with yourselves—as I myself refused to pay respect to Philip, but did pay respect to the captives, whom I saved, and never for a moment drew back; whereas Aeschines rolled at Philip's feet, and chanted his paeans, while he looks down upon you. And further, whenever you notice that cleverness or a good voice or any other natural advantage has been given to an honest and public-spirited man, you ought all to congratulate him and help him to cultivate his gift; for the gift is an advantage in which you all share, as well as he. But when the gift is found in a corrupt and villainous man, who can never resist the chance of gain, then you should exclude him from your presence, and give a harsh and hostile reception to his words: for villainy, which wins from you the reputation of ability, is the enemy of the State. You see what great troubles have fallen upon the city, through those qualities which have brought renown to Aeschines. But whereas all other faculties are more or less independent, the gift of eloquence, when it meets with hostility from you who listen, is a broken thing. Listen, then, to the defendant as you would listen to a corrupt villain, who will not speak a single word of truth.

Observe also that the conviction of the defendant is in every way expedient, not only on all other grounds, but even when you consider our relations with Philip himself. For if ever Philip finds himself compelled to give the city any of her rights, he will change his methods. As it is, he has chosen to deceive the people as a whole, and to show his favours to a few persons; whereas, if he learns that these men have perished, he will prefer for the future to act in the interest of yourselves collectively, in whose hands all power rests. If, however, he intends to persist in his present domineering and outrageous insolence, you will, by getting rid of these men, have rid the city of those who would do anything in the world for him. For when they have acted as they have done, with the expectation of having to pay the penalty in their minds, what do you think they will do, if you relax your severity towards them? Where is the Euthycrates, or the Lasthenes, or the traitor of any description, whom they will not outdo? And who among all the rest will not be a worse citizen, when he sees that, for those who have sold themselves, the friendship of Philip serves, in consequence, for revenue, for reputation, and for capital; while to those who have conducted themselves uprightly, and have spent their own money as well, the consequences are trouble, hatred, and ill will from a certain party. Let it not be so. It is not for your good—whether you regard your reputation or your duty towards Heaven or your safety or any other object, that you should acquit the defendant; but rather that you should avenge yourselves upon him, and make him an example in the eyes of all your fellow citizens and of the whole Hellenic world.