{192} That you may realize that these men have been the most worthless and wicked not only of all who have ever gone to Philip in a public capacity, but even of those who have gone as private persons, and indeed of all mankind, I ask you to listen to me while I describe briefly an incident which falls outside the story of this Embassy. When Philip took Olynthus he celebrated Olympian games, and gathered together all the artists to the sacrifice and the festal gathering. {193} And while he was entertaining them at a banquet, and crowning the victors, he asked Satyrus, the well-known comic actor, why he alone requested no favour of him. Did he see any meanness in him, or any dislike towards himself? Satyrus answered (so the story goes) that he happened to stand in no need of the things for which the rest were asking, but that the boon which he would like to ask was a favour which it would be very easy indeed for Philip to bestow; only he was afraid that he might fail to obtain it. {194} Philip bade him name his request, declaring with some spirit that there was nothing that he would not do for him. Satyrus is then said to have stated that Apollophanes of Pydna was formerly his friend and guest-friend,[n] and that when he had perished by a treacherous assassination, his kinsman had, in alarm, conveyed his daughters, then little children, to Olynthus secretly. 'These girls,' said Satyrus, 'have been taken prisoners at the capture of the city; they are with you, and they are now of marriageable age. {195} It is these girls that I beg and entreat you to give to me. But I should like you to hear and understand what sort of present you will be giving me, if you really give it. I shall gain nothing by receiving it: I shall give them in marriage, and a dowry with them, and shall not allow them to suffer anything unworthy of us or of their father.' When those who were present at the feast heard this, there was such applause and cheering and approbation on all hands, that Philip was moved and granted the request, although the Apollophanes who was spoken of was one of the murderers of Alexander, Philip's brother. {196} Now let us examine side by side with this banquet of Satyrus, that in which these men took part in Macedonia. Observe what likeness and resemblance there is between the two! For these men were invited to the house of Xenophron, the son of Phaedimus, who was one of the Thirty,[n] and went. I did not go. But when it came to the time for wine, he brought in an Olynthian woman—good-looking, but well-bred and modest, as the event proved. {197} At first, I believe (according to the account which Iatrocles gave me the next day), they only forced her to drink a little wine quietly and to eat some dessert; but as the feast proceeded and they waxed warm, they bade her recline and even sing a song. And when the poor creature, who was in great distress, neither would nor could do as they bade her, Aeschines and Phrynon declared that it was an insult and quite intolerable, that a captive woman—one of those god-forsaken devils the Olynthians—should give herself airs. 'Call a slave,' they cried, 'and let some one bring a strap.' A servant came with a lash; they had been drinking, I imagine, and were easily annoyed; and as soon as she said something and burst into tears, the servant tore open her dress and gave her a number of cuts across the back. {198} Beside herself with the pain and the sense of her position, the woman leaped up and fell before the knees of Iatrocles, overturning the table as she did so. And had he not rescued her, she would have perished as the victim of a drunken debauch; for the drunkenness of this abominable creature is something horrible.[n] The case of this woman was also mentioned in Arcadia before the Ten Thousand, and Diophantus reported to you what I shall now force him to testify; for the matter was much talked of in Thessaly and everywhere.
{199} Yet with all this on his conscience this unclean creature will dare to look you in the face, and will very soon be speaking to you of the life he has lived, in that magnificent voice of his. It chokes me to hear him! Does not the jury know how at first you used to read over the books to your mother at her initiations,[n] and wallow amid bands of drunken men at their orgies, while still a boy? {200} and how you were afterwards under-clerk to the magistrates, and played the rogue for two or three drachmae?[n] and how at last, in recent days, you thought yourself lucky to get a parasitic living in the training-rooms of others, as a third-rate actor? What then is the life of which you propose to speak? Where have you lived it? For the life which you have really lived has been what I have described. And how much does he take upon himself! He brought another man to trial here for unnatural offences! But I leave this point for the moment. (To the clerk.) First, read me these depositions.
[The depositions are read.]
{201} So many, then, and so gross, gentlemen of the jury, being the crimes against you of which he stands convicted—and what wickedness do they not include? he is corrupt, he is a minion, he is under the curse, a liar, a betrayer of his own people; all the most heinous offences are there—he will not defend himself against a single one of these charges, and will have no defence to offer that is either just or straightforward. But the statement which, I am told, he intends to make, borders on madness; though perhaps a man who has no other plea to offer must contrive anything that he can. {202} For I hear that he is to say that I, forsooth, have been a partner in everything of which I accuse him; that at first I used to approve of his policy and to act with him; and that I have suddenly changed my mind and become his accuser. As a defence of his conduct such assertions are, of course, neither legitimate nor to the point, though they do imply some kind of charge against myself; for, of course, if I have acted thus, I am a worthless person. But the conduct itself is no better for that. Far from it! {203} At the same time, I think it is proper for me to prove to you both the points in question—first, that if he makes such an assertion he will be lying; and secondly, what is the just line of defence. Now a just and straightforward defence must show either that the acts charged against him were not committed, or that having been committed, they are to the advantage of the city. {204} But Aeschines cannot do either of these things. For I presume that it is not possible for him to say that it is to the advantage of the city that the Phocians have been ruined, that Thermopylae is in Philip's hands, that Thebes is powerful, that there are soldiers in Euboea and plotting against Megara, and that the Peace should not have been sworn to,[n] when on the former occasion he announced the very contrary of all these things to you in the guise of advantages, and advantages about to be realized? Nor will he be able to persuade you that these things have not been done, when you yourselves have seen them and know the facts well. {205} It remains for me, therefore, to show you that I have had no share in any of their proceedings. Shall I then dismiss everything else from consideration—all that I have said against them in your presence, all my collisions with them during our absence, all my antagonism to them from first to last—and produce my opponents themselves as witnesses to the fact that my conduct and theirs have been absolutely contrary the one to the other—that they have taken money to your detriment, and that I refused to receive it? Then mark what I say.
{206} Who, would you say, was of all men in Athens the most offensive, most overflowing with effrontery and contemptuousness? I am sure that none of you, even by mistake, would name any other than Philocrates. And who, would you say, possessed the loudest voice and could enunciate whatever he pleased most clearly? Aeschines the defendant, I am sure. Who is it then that these men describe as cowardly and timid before a crowd, while I call him cautious? It is myself; for I have never annoyed you or forced myself upon you against your will. {207} Now at every meeting of the Assembly, as often as a discussion has arisen upon these subjects, you hear me accusing and convicting these men, declaring explicitly that they have taken money and have sold all the interests of the city. And not one of them has ever to this day contradicted the statement, when he heard it, or opened his mouth, or shown himself. {208} What then is the reason, why the most offensive men in the city, the men with the loudest voices, are so cowed before me, the timidest of men, whose voice is no louder than any other? It is because Truth is strong; while to them, on the other hand, the consciousness of having sold public interests is a source of weakness. It is this that steals away the boldness of these men, this that binds down their tongues and stops their mouths—chokes them, and makes them silent. {209} You remember, of course, how at the recent meeting in the Peiraeus, when you would not have him for your representative,[n] he was shouting that he would impeach me and indict me, and crying, 'Oh! Oh!' But such steps are the beginning of long and numerous trials and speeches; whereas the alternative was but to utter perhaps two or three words, which even a slave purchased yesterday could have pronounced—'Men of Athens, this is utterly atrocious. Demosthenes is accusing me here of crimes in which he himself was a partner; he says that I have taken money, when he has taken money, or shared it, himself.' {210} But no such words, no such sound, did he utter, nor did one of you hear him do so; he only uttered threats to a different effect. And why? Because he knew that he had done what he was charged with doing; he was abjectly afraid to use any such expressions; his resolution could not rise to them, but shrank back; for it was in the grip of his conscience; whereas there was nothing to hinder him from uttering irrelevant abuse and slander. {211} But here is the strongest proof of all, and it consists not in words, but in fact. For when I was anxious to do what it was right to do, namely, to make a second report to you, after serving a second time as ambassador, Aeschines came before the Board of Auditors with a number of witnesses, and forbade them to call me before the court, since I had rendered my account already, and was no longer liable to give it. The incident was extremely ridiculous. And what was the meaning of it? He had made his report with reference to the First Embassy, against which no one brought any charge, and did not wish to go before the court again with regard to the Second Embassy, with reference to which he now appears before you, and within which all his crimes fell. {212} But if I came before you twice, it became necessary for him also to appear again; and so he tried to prevent them from summoning me. But this action of his, men of Athens, plainly proves to you two things—first, that he had so condemned himself that none of you can now acquit him without impiety; and secondly, that he will not speak a word of truth about me. Had he anything true to assert, he would have been found asserting it and accusing me then; he would certainly not have tried to prevent my being summoned. {213} To prove the truth of what I say, (to the clerk) call me the witnesses to the facts.
But further, if he makes slanderous statements against me which have nothing to do with the Embassy, there are many good reasons for your refusing to listen to him. For I am not on my trial to-day, and when I have finished my speech I have no further time allotted to me.[n] What can such statements mean, except that he is bankrupt of legitimate arguments? For who that was on his trial and had any defence to make, would prefer to accuse another? {214} And consider also this further point, gentlemen of the jury. If I were on my trial, with the defendant Aeschines for accuser and Philip for judge; and if, being unable to disprove my guilt, I abused Aeschines and tried to sully his character, do you not think that Philip would be indignant at the very fact of a man abusing his benefactors in his own presence? Do not you then prove worse than Philip; but force Aeschines to defend himself against the charges which are the subject of the trial. (To the clerk.) Read the deposition.
[The deposition is read.]
{215} So for my part, because I had nothing on my conscience, I felt it my duty to render an account and submit all the information that the laws required, while the defendant took the opposite view. How then can his conduct and mine have been the same? or how can he possibly assert against me now things of which he has never even accused me before? It is surely impossible. And yet he will assert these things, and, Heaven knows, it is natural enough. For you doubtless know well that ever since the human race began and trials were instituted, no one was ever convicted admitting his crime: they brazen it out, they deny it, they lie, they make up excuses, they take every means to escape paying the penalty. {216} You must not let any of these devices mislead you to-day; your judgement must be given upon the facts, in the light of your own knowledge; you must not attend to words, whether mine or his, still less to the witnesses whom he will have ready to testify anything, since he has Philip to pay his expenses—you will see how glibly they will give evidence for him; nor must you care whether his voice is fine and loud, or whether mine is poor. {217} For it is no trial of orators or of speeches that you have to hold to-day, if you are wise men. You have rather, in the name of a cause shamefully and terribly ruined, to thrust off the present disgrace on to the shoulders of the guilty, after a scrutiny of those results which are known to you all. {218} And these results, which you know and do not require us to tell you of—what are they? If the consequences of the Peace have been all that they promised you; if you admit that you were so filled with an unmanly cowardice, that, though the enemy was not in your land, though you were not blockaded by sea, though your city was menaced by no other danger whatever, though, on the contrary, the price of corn was low and you were in other respects as well off as you are to-day, {219} though you knew beforehand on the information of these men that your allies were about to be ruined and Thebes to become powerful, that Philip was about to occupy the Thracian strongholds and to establish a basis of operations against you in Euboea, and that all that has now happened was about to come to pass, you nevertheless made peace cheerfully;—if that is so, then acquit Aeschines, and do not add perjury to all your disgrace. For in that case he is guilty of no crime against you; it is I that am mad and brainsick to accuse him now. {220} But if what they told you was altogether the reverse of this, if it was a tale of great generosity—of Philip's love for Athens, of his intention to save the Phocians, to check the insolence of the Thebans, and beside all this (if he obtained the Peace) to confer on you benefits that would more than compensate for Amphipolis, and to restore to you Euboea and Oropus; if, I say, they stated and promised all this, and have now totally deceived and cheated you, and have all but robbed you of Attica itself, then condemn him, and do not, in addition to all the outrages—I know not what other word to use—that you have suffered, carry with you to your homes, through upholding their corruption, the curse and the guilt of perjury.
{221} Again, gentlemen of the jury, ask yourselves what reason I could have had for choosing to accuse these men, if they had done no wrong? You will find none. Is it pleasant to have many enemies? Pleasant? It is not even safe. Was there any quarrel between me and Aeschines? None. What then? 'You were afraid for yourself, and in your cowardice thought to save yourself this way:' for that, I have heard, is what he says. What? I was afraid, when, according to your own statement, there was nothing to be afraid of, and no crime had been committed? If he repeats such an assertion, men of Athens, consider[n] what these men themselves, the actual criminals, ought to suffer for their offences, if I, who am absolutely guiltless, was afraid of being ruined owing to them. {222} But what is my motive for accusing you? I am an informer, of course, and want to get money out of you![n] And which was the easier course for me—to get money out of Philip, who offered a large sum—to get as much as any of these men, and to have not only Philip for my friend, but also my opponents (for they would assuredly have been friends, had I been partner with them, since even now they have no inherited quarrel against me, but only the fact that I refused to join in their actions); or to beg them for a share of their gains, and be regarded with hostility both by Philip and by them? Is it likely that when I was ransoming the prisoners at such cost to myself, I should ask to receive a paltry sum from these men, in a disgraceful manner and with their enmity accompanying it? {223} Impossible! My report was true. I abstained from taking money for the sake of justice and truth and my own future. For I thought, as others among you have thought, that my own uprightness would receive its reward, and that I must not barter my ambition to stand well with you for gain of any kind. And I abhor these men, because I saw that they were vile and impious in the conduct of their mission, and because I have been robbed of the objects of my own ambition, owing to their corruption, now that you have come to be vexed with the Embassy as a whole. And it is because I foresee what must happen that I now accuse him, and appear to challenge his report; for I would have it decided here, in a trial before a jury, that my conduct has been the opposite of his. {224} And I am afraid—afraid, I say, for I will speak all my mind to you—that though when the time comes you may drag me in spite of my entire innocence to the same ruin with them, you are now utterly supine. For, men of Athens, you appear to me to be altogether unstrung, waiting to suffer the horrors which others are suffering before your eyes, and taking no precautions, no thought for the city, which for so long has been exposed to destruction in many a dreadful form. {225} Is it not, think you, dreadful and preternatural? For even where I had resolved upon silence, I am driven to speak. You doubtless know Pythocles here, the son of Pythodorus. I had been on very kindly terms with him, and to this day there has been no unpleasantness between us. He avoids me now, when he meets me—ever since he visited Philip—and if he is obliged to encounter me anywhere, he starts away immediately, lest any one should see him talking with me. But with Aeschines he walks all round the marketplace, discussing their plans. {226} Now is it not a terrible and shocking thing, men of Athens, that those who have made it their choice to foster Philip's interests should be able to rely upon so accurate a discrimination on Philip's part, that all that any one of them does here can no more be hid from Philip (so they believe) than if he were standing by their side, and that his friends and foes alike are those that Philip chooses; while those whose life is lived for your good, who are greedy of honour at your hands, and have not betrayed you, should be met by such deafness, such blindness, on your part, that to-day I have to wrestle with these devils incarnate on equal terms, and that before you, who know the whole truth? {227} Would you know or hear the cause of these things? I will tell you, and I beg that none of you be angry with me for speaking the truth. It is, I imagine, that Philip has but one body and one soul, and it is with all his heart that he cherishes those who do him good and detests those who do him evil: whereas each of you, in the first place, has no feeling that the good or the evil which is being done to the city, is being done to himself; {228} other feelings are of more consequence, and often lead you astray—pity, envy, anger, favour towards the suppliant, and an infinite number of other motives: while if a man has actually escaped all these, he will still not escape from those who do not want such a man to exist at all. And so the error due to each of these single causes steals on little by little, till the state is exposed to the whole accumulated mischief.
{229} Do not fall victims to any such error to-day, men of Athens: do not let the defendant go, when he has done you all this wrong. For honestly, if you let him go, what will be said of you? 'Certain men,' it will be said, 'went as ambassadors to Philip yonder—Philocrates, Aeschines, Phrynon, and Demosthenes; and, what happened? One of them not only gained nothing by his mission, but ransomed the prisoners at his private expense; another, with the money for which he sold the interests of his country, went about purchasing harlots and fish. {230} One of them, the abominable Phrynon, sent his son to Philip before he had registered him as an adult; the other did nothing unworthy of himself or his city. One, though serving as choregus and trierarch,[n] felt it his duty voluntarily to incur that further expense [to ransom the prisoners] rather than see any of his fellow citizens suffering misfortune for want of means; the other, so far from rescuing any of those who were already in captivity, joined in bringing a whole district, and more than 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry with them, the forces of the actual allies of his country, into captivity to Philip. What followed? {231} When the Athenians got them into their hands (for they had long known the truth) what did they do? They let go the men who had received bribes and had disgraced themselves, and their city, and their children; they thought that these were wise men, and that all was well[n] with the city; and as for their accuser, they thought him thunderstruck—a man who did not understand his country, and did not know where to fling his money away.' {232} And who, men of Athens, with this example before his eyes, will be willing to offer you his honest service? who will act as ambassador for nothing, if he is not only to gain nothing by it, but is not to be more trustworthy in your eyes than those who have taken money? You are not only trying these men to-day, but you are laying down a law for all future time—a law which will declare whether your ambassadors are to serve the enemy for a price, or to act disinterestedly for your true good and to take no bribe? {233} On all the other points you require no evidence; but to prove that Phrynon sent his son, (to the clerk) call me the witnesses to the facts.