On the Crown

That is the salient difference between the statesman and the charlatan, who are indeed in all respects unlike one another. The statesman declares his judgement before the event, and accepts responsibility to his followers, to fortune, to the chances of the hour, to every critic of his policy. The charlatan holds his peace when he ought to speak, and then croaks over any untoward result.

That then, as I said, was the opportunity for any man who cared for Athens or for honest discussion. But I will make a large concession. If even now any man can point to a better way, nay, if any policy whatever, save mine, was even praticable, I plead guilty. If anyone has now discerned any course which might have been taken profitably then, I admit that I ought not to have missed it. But if there is none, if there never was any, if to this very day no one is able to name any, what was a statesman to do? Surely to choose the best policy among those that were visible and feasible.

That is what I did, Aeschines, when the marshal put the question, Who wishes to speak? He did not ask, Who wishes to rake up old grievances? or, Who wishes to be answerable for the future? In those days you sat speechless at every assembly; I came forward and spoke. You had nothing to say then; very well,—show us our duty now. Tell me what plan I ought to have discovered. Tell me what favorable opportunity was lost to the state by my default. Tell me of any alliance, or any negotiation, to which I ought by preference to have introduced the people.

Bygones are bygones, all the world over. No one proposes deliberation about the past; it is the present and the future that call the statesman to his post. And at that time, as we all thought, there were future perils and there were present perils. Look at the policy I chose in the light of those perils; do not carp at results. The issue depends on the will of a higher Power; the mind of the statesman is manifested in his policy.