On the False Embassy

For assuredly, men of Athens, when all of you and the whole nation passed censure upon all the results of the peace, when you refused participation in the doings of the Amphictyonic Council, when your attitude towards Philip is still one of anger and suspicion, marking the whole of his conduct as sacrilegious and shameful, as well as unjust and injurious to yourselves,—it would be discreditable that you, who have entered this court to adjudicate at the scrutiny of those transactions, and have taken the judicial oath on behalf of the commonwealth, that you, I say, when the author of these wrongs has been placed in your power, caught red-handed after perpetrating such crimes, should return a verdict of acquittal.

Is there a man among your fellow-citizens, nay, in all Greece, who will not justly upbraid you if he sees you venting your wrath upon Philip, whose offence admits of much excuse—for he was making peace after war, and buying his ways and means from willing sellers—and acquitting this man, who made infamous traffic of your interests, in defiance of laws that visit such offences with the severest retribution?

Perhaps some such argument as this will be addressed to you,—that, if you condemn the diplomatists who negotiated the peace, it will be the beginning of enmity with Philip. If that is true, I do not think I could bring any more damaging charge against the defendant. If the potentate who spent his money to get the peace has indeed become so powerful and formidable that you are to ignore justice and the oath you have sworn, and consider only how to oblige Philip, what penalty can be too severe for the authors of his aggrandizement?

However, I think I can satisfy you that their punishment will more probably sow the seed of a profitable friendship. Let me tell you, men of Athens, that Philip does not undervalue your city; it was not because he thought you less serviceable that he preferred the Thebans to you. But he was schooled by these men and was informed by them—I once told you this in Assembly, and none of them contradicted me—

that a democracy is the most unstable and capricious thing in the world, like a restless wave of the sea ruffled by the breeze as chance will have it. One man comes, another goes; no one attends to, or even remembers, the common weal. Philip, they said, ought to have friends at Athens, who would manage his business for him as it arose, and carry it through—the person speaking, for example; if that provision were made, he would easily accomplish here whatever he desired.

Now if he had heard that the persons who talked like that to him had been cudgelled to death immediately after their return home, I fancy he would have done what the King of Persia did. You remember what that was: the King had been inveigled by Timagoras, and had made him a present, as the story goes, of forty talents; but when he heard that the man had been put to death at Athens, and had not been competent to warrant his own life, much less to fulfil his undertaking, he realized that he had not paid the price to the man who could deliver the goods. The first result was that he again placed in subjection to you the city of Amphipolis, which he had put on his own list of friends and allies; and the second, that he nevermore gave money to anybody.

Philip would have done the same if he had seen any of these men brought to justice; and he will do the same, if he sees that sight now. But when he sees these men holding up their heads here, making speeches, bringing other people to trial—what is he to do? Is he to make a point of spending a great deal of money, when a little will do? Is he to try to humor all of us, instead of two or three? No; that would be folly. For even his policy of public benevolence to the Thebans was by no means of his own choosing; he was persuaded by their ambassadors,

and I will tell you how. Ambassadors came to him from Thebes at the same time that we were there from you. He offered them money—a very large sum, by their own account. The Theban ambassadors declined the overture, and would not take the bribe. Afterwards, at a sacrificial banquet, when Philip was drinking with them, and showing them much civility, he kept offering them presents, beginning with captives and the like, and ending with gold and silver goblets. All these gifts they rejected, and would on no account give themselves away.

At last Philo, one of the ambassadors, made a speech that deserved to have been spoken by your representatives, men of Athens, instead of by the spokesman of Thebes. He said that he was delighted and gratified to find Philip so courteously and generously inclined towards them; that they were already his friends and guests, without those gifts; would he be good enough to direct his benevolence to the public business on which he was engaged, and do something creditable both to himself and to the Thebans? If so, they could promise him the friendship of all Thebes as well as their own.

Now consider what the Thebans have gained in the end by this policy, and, in the light of actual truth, see what a fine thing it is to refuse to sell your country! The Thebans have gained, in the first place, peace, when they were in trouble, hard pressed by the war, and in danger of defeat; and secondly, the complete overthrow of their enemies, the Phocians, and the utter destruction of their strongholds and cities. Is that all? No, indeed; they have also gained Orchomenus, Coronea, Corsia, Tilphosaeum, and as much of the Phocian territory as they want.

Such is the outcome of the peace for the Theban people; and more they could not desire. And what have the ambassadors gained? Nothing at all—except the satisfaction of having achieved these results for their country. Ah, but that is worth having, men of Athens; a glorious reward, if you set any store by that honor and good repute which Aeschines and his friends bartered for a bribe.

Let us now set side by side the results of the peace to the commonwealth of Athens and to the ambassadors of Athens respectively, and you shall see whether there is any equivalence.

To the commonwealth the result has been the loss of all those possessions and all those allies, and a sworn promise to Philip that if any man shall at any time attempt to recover them, you will thwart him, and treat the man who would restore to you your own as an enemy and an adversary, and the man who robbed you as an ally and a friend.

Such are the terms that Aeschines supported and his accomplice Philocrates proposed. On the first day I had the upper hand and persuaded you to confirm the decision of your allies and to summon Philip’s ambassadors, but Aeschines forced an adjournment to the following day, and then persuaded you to adopt Philocrates’ resolution, which included all these proposals and others still more objectionable.

That is what the peace has brought to the city: you could not easily invent anything more dishonorable. What has it brought to the ambassadors who contrived that dishonor? I say nothing of the wealth that lies before your eyes—houses, timber, grain; but in the country of our ruined allies there are estates and extensive farms bringing in a rental of a talent to Philocrates and half a talent to Aeschines.