On the False Embassy

If all the promised results of the peace have come true, if you confess yourselves so effeminate and so cowardly that, with no enemy within your borders, no blockade of your ports, no imperilment of your capital, with corn-prices low and every other condition as favorable as it is today,

and with foreknowledge on the assurance of your ambassadors that your allies would be ruined, that the Thebans would gain strength, that Philip would occupy the northern positions, that a basis of attack would be established against you in Euboea, and that everything that has in fact resulted would befall you, you thereupon cheerfully made the peace, by all means acquit Aeschines, and do not crown your other dishonors with the sin of perjury. He has done you no wrong, and I am a madman and a fool to accuse him.

But if the truth is otherwise, if they spoke handsomely of Philip and told you that he was the friend of Athens, that he would deliver the Phocians, that he would curb the arrogance of the Thebans, that he would bestow on you many boons of more value than Amphipolis, and would restore Euboea and Oropus, if only he got his peace,—if, I say, by such assertions and such promises they have deceived and deluded you, and wellnigh stripped you of all Attica, find him guilty, and do not reinforce the outrages, for I can find no better word,—that you have endured, by returning to your homes laden with the curse and the guilt of perjury, for the sake of the bribes that they have pocketed.

You should further ask yourselves, gentlemen of the jury, why, if they were not guilty, I should have gone out of my way to accuse them. You will find no reason. Is it agreeable to have many enemies? It is hardly safe. Perhaps I had an old standing feud with Aeschines? That is not so. Well, but you were frightened on your own account, and were coward enough to seek this as a way of escape; for that, I hear, is one of his suggestions. But, by your own account, Aeschines, there is no crime, and therefore no jeopardy. If he repeats the insinuation, do you, gentlemen, consider this: in a case where I, who did no wrong whatever, was yet afraid lest these men’s conduct should ruin me, what punishment ought they to suffer who were themselves the guilty parties?

However, that was not my reason. Then why am I accusing you? Perhaps as a common informer, to get money out of you? Which course was more profitable for me, to take money from Philip, who offered me a great deal,—as much as he gave them,—and so to make friends both with him and with them,—for indeed I might have had their friendship if I had been their accomplice, and even now there is no vendetta between us, only that I had no part in their malpractices, or to levy blackmail on their takings, and so incur Philip’s enmity and theirs; to spend all my money on the ransom of captives, and then expect to get a trifle back dishonorably and at the cost of their hostility?

The thing is impossible! No; I made honest reports; I kept my hands clean of corruption for the sake of truth and justice and of my future career, believing, as others have believed, that my honesty would be rewarded by your favor, and that my public spirit must never be bartered away for any emolument. I abhor these men because throughout the embassy I found them vicious and ungodly, and because by their corruption I have been robbed of the due reward of my patriotism, through your natural dissatisfaction with the whole business. I now denounce them, and I have attended this scrutiny, because I have a care for the future, and desire a decision recorded in this case and by this court that my conduct has been exactly opposed to theirs.

And yet I am afraid,—for all my thoughts shall be laid open to you,—I am afraid that hereafter you may destroy me with them in despite of my innocence, while today you are supine. For indeed, men of Athens, you seem to me to have become altogether slack, idly waiting for the advent of disaster. You see the distresses of others, but take no precaution for yourselves; you have no thought for the steady and alarming deterioration of your commonwealth.

Do you not think this an extremely dangerous symptom? (For though I had decided to say nothing, I am tempted to speak out) Of course you know Pythocles, son of Pythodorus. I was on the most civil terms with him, and there has been no unpleasantness between us to this day. But now, since his visit to Philip, he turns aside whenever he meets me, and if he cannot avoid an encounter, he rushes off as soon as he can for fear he should be seen talking to me, while he will perambulate the whole market-place discussing plans with Aeschines.

It is shocking and scandalous, men of Athens, that Philip has such an acute perception of the fidelity or treachery of the men who have made subservience to him their policy, that they all expect that nothing they do even in Athens will escape the master’s eye, as though he stood at their very elbow, and that they must needs choose their private friends and enemies in obedience to his wishes; while those whose lives are devoted to your service, and who covet and have never betrayed the honor that you can bestow, encounter in you such dullness of hearing, such darkness of vision, that here am I today contending on equal terms with these pernicious persons, even in a court well acquainted with the whole history.

Would you like to know the reason? I will tell you, and I trust that you will not take offence at my candor. Philip, I take it, having one body and one soul loves those who help him and hates those who harm him with his whole heart, whereas no one of you regards the benefactor of the commonwealth as his benefactor, or the enemy of the commonwealth as his enemy.

Each man has other motives, of more importance to him, and thereby you are often led astray,—compassion, jealousy, resentment, good nature, and a thousand more. For even though a man escape every other danger, he can never wholly escape those who do not want such a person as he is to exist. But, little by little, by accumulation of these errors the foundation is sapped, and the integrity of public life collapses.

Do not, men of Athens, give way to these motives today. Do not acquit the man who has done you such grievous wrong. Think of the story that will be told, if you do acquit him. Once upon a time certain ambassadors went from Athens to see Philip, and their names were Philocrates, Aeschines, Phryno, and Demosthenes. One of them not only made no gain from his mission, but delivered captives at his own expense; but another went about buying harlots and fish with the money for which he had sold his country.

One of them, named Phryno, a bold, bad man, sent his son to Philip before he had put him on the list of citizens; but another did not do anything that was unworthy of his country or himself. Though he was still paying for a chorus and a man-of-war,[*](i.e. performing the public services (λῃτουργίαι) of the choragia and the trierarchia.) he thought it only right to spend more money of his own free will, to ransom captives, and to allow none of his countrymen to suffer distress through poverty. But another, instead of delivering any of the Athenians who were already in captivity, helped to bring a whole district, and ten thousand of the infantry and about a thousand of the cavalry of the allies into captivity to Philip.

The sequel was that the Athenians caught these bad men, for they knew all about it, and—what do you think? They released the men who had taken bribes and had disgraced themselves, the city, and their own children, because they thought that they were very sensible men, and that the city was going on nicely; but they thought that the man who accused them had gone out of his mind, and that he did not understand Athens, and that he did not know even how to fling his money away.

With this example before his eyes, who, men of Athens, will ever wish to prove himself an honest man, or to go on embassy for nothing, if he is neither to make money nor to be held more worthy of your confidence than those who have made money? Today you are not merely adjudging this case: you are legislating for all future time, whether every ambassador is basely to serve your enemies for hire, or without fee or bribe to give his best service to you.

On these matters you need no further witness; but to prove that Phryno did send his son to Philip, please call the witnesses.

Now Aeschines never prosecuted Phryno for sending his own son to Philip with a dishonorable intention. But if a man[*](Timarchus.) in the bloom of his youth was more comely than others, and if, disregarding the suspicion that his personal charm might provoke, he has lived rather recklessly in later years, Aeschines must needs proceed against that man for immorality.

Now let me say a word about my entertainment and my decree. I had nearly forgotten those all-important topics! When I was drafting the provisional resolution of the Council respecting the earlier embassy, and again in addressing the people at the Assemblies that were held to discuss the terms of peace, I followed the usual custom, and included a vote of thanks and an invitation to the public mess-table; for at that time no wrongful word or act of theirs had been disclosed.

It is also true that I entertained Philip’s ambassadors, and did the thing very handsomely; for, having observed in their own country that they take pride in such hospitality as evidence of wealth and splendor, I thought it my duty to outdo them with a more striking display of munificence. On the strength of these incidents, Aeschines will tell you: Demosthenes thanked us, and entertained the ambassadors himself—without marking the distinction of time.