Panathenaicus

There is, moreover, connected with the above achievement one which, though less significant than those which I have mentioned, is more important and more deserving of mention than those which have been extolled again and again. For he commanded an army which had come together from all the cities of Hellas, a host whose size may be imagined since it contained many of the descendants of the gods and of the direct sons of the gods[*](Cf. Isoc. 10.52.)—men who were not of the same temper as the majority of mankind nor on the same plane of thinking, but full of pride and passion and envy and ambition—,

and yet he held that army together for ten years, not by great bribes nor by outlays of money, by which means all rulers nowadays maintain their power,[*](Mercenary armies were now commonly relied upon even in Athens. See Isoc. 8.44 ff.) but by the supremacy of his genius, by his ability to provide from the enemy subsistence for his soldiers, and most of all by his reputation of being better advised in the interest of others than others in their own interest.

But the final achievement by which he crowned all these is no less worthy of admiration. For he will be found to have done nothing unseemly or unworthy of these exploits which I have already described; on the contrary, although he waged war, ostensibly against a single city, but in reality not only against all the peoples who dwelt in Asia but also against many other races of the barbarians, he did not give up fighting nor depart for home before reducing to slavery the city of him who had offended against Hellas[*](Paris, who carried off Helen, the wife of Menelaus.) and putting an end to the insolence of the barbarians.

I am well aware of the space which I have given to the praises of Agamemnon's virtue; I am well aware also that if any of you should go over these one by one, many as they are, to see what might be rejected, no one would venture to subtract a single word, and yet I know that when they are read one after the other, all will criticize me for having said much more than I should.

For my part, if I inadvertently prolonged this topic I should be ashamed of being so lacking in perception when discoursing on a subject which no one has even ventured to discuss. But in fact I knew much better than those who will dare to take me to task that many will criticize this excess. I considered, however, that it would be less objectionable to be thought by some to disregard due measure in this part of my discourse than to leave out, in speaking of such a man, any of the merits which belong to him and which it behoves me to mention.

I thought also that I should be applauded by the most cultivated of my hearers if I could show that I was more concerned when discoursing on the subject of virtue about doing justice to the theme than about the symmetry of my speech and that too, knowing well that the lack of due proportion in my speech would detract from my own reputation, while just appreciation of their deeds would enhance the fame of those whose praises I sing. Nevertheless I bade farewell to expediency and chose justice instead.

And you will find that I am of this mind not only in what I am now saying but likewise upon all occasions, since it will be seen that I take more pleasure in those of my disciples who are distinguished for the character of their lives and deeds than in those who are reputed to be able speakers. And yet when they speak well, all men will assign the credit to me, even though I contribute nothing to what they say, whereas when they act right no man will fail to commend the doer of the deed even though all the world may know that it was I who advised him what to do.[*](these last two paragraphs show striking use of antithesis and parisosis—devices of rhetoric which at the beginning of this discourse he pretends to have outgrown. See Isoc. 12.2 and note.)

But I do not know whither I am drifting.[*](For this rhetorical doubt cf. Isoc. 15.310.) For, because I think all the time that I must add the point which logically follows what I have said before, I have wandered entirely from my subject. There is, therefore, nothing left for me to do but to crave indulgence to old age for my forgetfulness and prolixity—faults which are wont to be found in men of my years—and go back to the place from which I fell into this garrulous strain.