On the False Embassy

of the repopulation of Thespiae and Plataea, and of the recovery of Apollo’s treasure, not from the Phocians, but from the Thebans, who had planned the seizure of the temple. It was himself, he added, who had instructed Philip that those who contrived the project were quite as sacrilegious as the men by whose hands it was executed; and therefore the Thebans had set a price on his head!

He had even heard some Euboeans, who were thoroughly frightened by the friendship that had been cemented between Philip and Athens, utter these very words: Gentlemen of the Embassy, we know all about the terms on which you have concluded peace with Philip, and we are aware that you have given up Amphipolis to him, and that he has agreed to hand over Euboea to you. He had also, he said, settled another matter, but he thought it better not to mention it just yet—some of his colleagues were already so jealous of him. This was a veiled allusion to Oropus.

And so, in all the glory of these disclosures, with everybody regarding him as a grand speaker and a marvellous man, he descended from the tribune in his most majestic manner. Then I rose, and said that the whole story was news to me. I attempted to repeat the statement I had made to the Council; but Aeschines and Philocrates posted themselves one on either side of me—shouting, interrupting, and finally jeering. You were all laughing; you would not listen to me, and you did not want to believe anything except what Aeschines had reported.

And I must say that your feeling was quite natural. For how could anyone, filled with anticipation of those wonderful benefits, be patient of a speaker who told you that you would never get them, and even denounced the conduct of the benefactors? At the moment, I imagine, everything else was thrown into the shade by the hopes and expectations that were suggested to you; contradiction seemed to be mere annoyance and malice; and these great achievements were thought amazingly fine and most beneficial to the commonwealth.

Why have I begun by reviving these memories and quoting those old speeches? My first and chief object, men of Athens, is that, when you hear me relate some performance that seems to you atrocious and incredible, no one may ask in surprise: Then why did you not speak out and give us this information instantly?

but that, by recalling the assurances by which on every occasion these men stopped others from getting your attention, and that magnificent promise of Aeschines, you may realize that you have to thank him for this crowning injury,—that you were precluded from learning the truth promptly and at the proper time, being cheated by hopes and impostures and vain assurances.

That, I say, is my first and main purpose in this narration. What is my second purpose? It is one of no less importance. I want you to remind yourselves of that policy of precaution and distrust of Philip which this man deliberately chose when he was still unbribed, and to compare the confidence and friendship that afterwards sprang up so suddenly;

and then, if the fair reports he laid before you have really proved true, and if all the results have been fortunate, to admit the view that that friendship was formed for truth’s sake and in the best interests of the city; but, if the sequel has given the lie to all his predictions, if it has involved the city in much dishonor and in grievous perils, then be assured that his own sordid greed has prompted this change of front, because he has sold the truth for a bribe.

Having allowed myself to refer to those old speeches, I wish to relate first of all how these men took the business of the Phocians out of your hands. Gentlemen of the jury, I hope that none of you will regard my charges and accusations as too big for the calibre of the defendant, measuring him against the magnitude of the transactions. Reflect rather that, if any man soever, placed by you in the position he filled, and trusted to deal with the occasions that arose, had taken hire, and had sought to deceive and mislead you as Aeschines did, he would have brought about exactly the same disaster as Aeschines.

For though you often employ insignificant men for public business, it does not follow that those affairs are insignificant for which the rest of the world acknowledges our competence. Assuredly not. Again, it was Philip, of course, who really destroyed the Phocians; but these men co-operated. The question on which you are to fix your minds is whether they purposely wasted and threw away any chances that came to the embassy of saving the Phocians. I do not suggest that Aeschines destroyed the Phocians all by himself. How could he?

Give me the resolution which the Council adopted on my report, and the evidence of the member who moved it on that occasion. These documents will satisfy you that I did not hold my peace then, to run away from my actions now,—for I was laying my complaint, and trying to forecast results, at the first opportunity; and also that the Council, not being debarred from hearing the truth from me, did not give these men either a vote of thanks, or an invitation to the public dinner in the Town Hall. We are told that these compliments had never before been withheld from any ambassadors since the foundation of Athens—not even from Timagoras,[*](See Introduction, pp. 241-2.) whom the Assembly condemned to death. These men, however, had to go without them.

Read first the deposition, and then the resolution, to the jury.

(The Deposition and the Resolution are read)

Here is no commendation, no invitation from the Council to the ambassadors to dine in the Town Hall. If Aeschines says that such a thing exists, let him produce and exhibit it, and I will sit down. But no; there is none. Now, if all the envoys acted alike, the Council was right in thanking nobody,—for we had all in very truth behaved scandalously indeed. But if some acted rightly and others wrongly, the well-conducted, it would seem, must submit to a discourtesy provoked by those who had played the rogue.

How then can you find an easy answer to the question, Who was the rogue? Consult your own recollections, and mark who denounced the transactions at the outset. For it is clear that, if the evil-doer could hold his peace, escape immediate detection, and never afterwards allow himself to be called to account, that was good enough for him; whereas the man with a good conscience bethought himself that it would be very hard if by keeping silence he should become a reputed accomplice in scandalous and wicked actions. Well then, it was I who denounced these men from the outset, and none of them denounced me.

Well, the Council adopted this resolution. When the Assembly met, Philip was already at Thermopylae. For that is the beginning of their misdeeds; they had surrendered control to Philip and then,—although the right course for you was, first to hear the facts, next to decide, and finally to carry out your decision,—you heard nothing until he was already on the spot, and it was no easy matter to advise you what to do.

Further, no one read the resolution to the Assembly, and the people never heard it. However, Aeschines rose and delivered that oration which I have already described, about the wonderful advantages he had induced Philip to grant to you, and the price set on his head by the Thebans in consequence; and so, although you were at first alarmed at Philip’s approach, and indignant that the ambassadors had given you no warning, you became as mild as lambs, expecting to get all that you desired, and refused to hear a word from me or anyone else.

Then the letter from Philip was read. It had been composed by Aeschines without our knowledge, and was in fact a downright, explicit written defence of the errors these men had committed. For it alleges that Philip stopped them when they wanted to visit the towns and receive the oaths, and that he detained them in order that they might help him to reconcile the Halians with the Pharsalians; Philip takes on his own shoulders the burden of all their delinquencies:

but of the Phocians and the Thespians, and of all the promises reported to you by Aeschines,—not a word! The job was not managed in this fashion by mere accident. For derelictions of duty, for which they ought to have been brought to justice, and for their failure to do their work according to your instructions, Philip takes all the blame. He tells you it was his fault,—and of course you were never likely to have any opportunity of punishing him!

On the other hand, all the matters in which he was trying to cheat you and overreach you were left for Aeschines to report by word of mouth, so that you might never have it in your power to incriminate Philip or throw any blame on him, as the assertions were not to be found in the letter or in any other direct communication of his. Read to the jury the letter written by Aeschines and dispatched by Philip. You will observe that it agrees exactly with my description. Read.

(The Letter is read)

You hear the letter, men of Athens,—such a nice, courteous letter! But about the Phocians, about the Thebans, about everything that Aeschines reported—not a scrape of the pen! There is nothing in it that is honest, as you shall see at once. For he tells you that he detained them that they might help him to reconcile the Halians. Well, the reconciliation of the Halians consisted in their being cast out of their homes, and their country devastated. As for the prisoners, this man, who wanted to know what he could do to oblige you, declares that the idea of getting them liberated never entered his head.

You know that evidence has already been given before the Assembly,—and that evidence shall now be repeated,—that I had started with a talent in my pocket for their ransom; and therefore, to rob me of a patriotic act, Aeschines persuaded Philip to write these words. Now for the most important point. The man who, in the first letter, which we brought home, wrote these words: I would write more explicitly of the benefits I intend to confer on you, if I were certain that the alliance will be made,—this man, now that the alliance has been made, says that he does not know how he can gratify you. Not know the very thing he promised! Why, he must have known it, unless he was hoodwinking us throughout. To prove, however, that he did so write at that time, please take and read the actual passage from the first letter,—beginning here. Read.

(The Excerpt is read)