“Ye men of Athens, I come not here to plead for life, though it be spent in exile; to entreat for a breath, though it be drawn in the damps of a dungeon; but to refute a vile slander; to show that he who invents and propagates a falsehood, like Sisyphus, rolls a stone to return and crush him. Cratinus accuses me of having embezzled the money raised for the defence of Greece, and of having expended it in adorning the city of Athens, as a proud and vain woman decketh herself with jewels.
“Have I not defended Greece, while Sparta and the allies were reposing in comfort by their own firesides? He avers that I was often at the house of Phidias to admire his statues, but insinuates that I had a softer motive. Suppose I had; rather let him show in what I have betrayed my country, when I have oppressed the poor, polluted myself with bribes, or turned back in the hour of battle. He accuses me of sacrificing the lives of brave men to my vaulting ambition, and even affects to shed tears over those who fell, in the flower of their youth, at Samos.
“Sacrificing! Were they machines to move at my bidding? bullocks to be dragged up and offered at the altar of Mars? Were they Persian mercenaries, to be driven with whips to the conflict? or were they patriots defending their firesides, and I their elder brother? They were the descendants of those who fell at Marathon,—men whose youthful locks had been worn off by the helmet, and whose fingers grew to the sword-hilt.
“The parents of those brave men did not, with reddening cheeks, behold them lying on some feverish couch, like a sick girl, crying for cooling drinks; but they died with their wounds in front, the broken sword in their hand, and the shout of victory ringing in their ears. Oh, yes! one hour of glorious conflict—when the blood leaps and the muscles rally for the mastery, when the hero’s soul wings its way through gaping wounds to Elysium—is worth a whole eternity of sitting in senates and dull debates, and private bickerings, and tame, common life.
“One day, as we were making forced marches across the isthmus in pursuit of the Lacedæmonians, a woman, following the camp as a sutler, with a child at her breast, fell and expired from fatigue. A soldier raised a spear to despatch the infant. Moved with compassion, I struck down his weapon; for I thought of my own little ones at home, whose kisses were scarcely yet cold on my lips, and even in the confusion of pursuit, I provided him with a nurse.
“On my return, he accompanied me, grew up with my children, fed at my table, slept in my tent, and fought behind my shield. As a reward for life, education, and a thousand anxious cares incurred, he has now, by false accusation, summoned me to the tribunal of my country, to plead for that life which has ever been held cheap in her service. What shall be done with such a wretch? I hear you exclaim: ’Send for the executioner! burn him to ashes! fling him from the Acropolis!’
“Cratinus, thou art that wretch; and yet methinks thou hast not altogether the noble bearing of the patriot who rejoices that he has been able to bring to justice the betrayer of his country; but thou hast rather the look of some timid shepherd, who, in chasing the stag, and pursuing the goat, has, all unwittingly, stumbled upon the lair of the lion, and, too terrified to flee, stands shivering before the glaring eyeball of the tawny brute.
“Thou small thing, I will not hurt thee; for, in the proud consciousness of right, I could even pity thee. And, when again thou liest among the slain at Megara, thy helmet cleft, the lance of the enemy at thy throat, and thou with not strength enough to parry it, then call for Pericles, and he will again come to thy rescue. Farewell, thou grateful child! thou faithful friend! thou manly enemy!”