Simon Gros

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Demosthenes — On the Crown 

First, men of Athens, I pray to all the gods and goddesses that the goodwill I have always maintained toward the city and toward every one of you may, in this trial, be returned to me from you. 

Next—and this matters most for your own piety and reputation—may the gods stand beside you, so that you do not let my opponent instruct you how you should listen to me (for that would be outrageous), but rather let the laws and the oath guide you. For among the other just provisions it is written there that both parties must be heard alike. 

This means not only that no prejudice is to be held beforehand, nor merely that equal goodwill be shown to both sides, but also that—regarding the order of speaking and the manner of defence—each contestant be allowed to proceed exactly as he chooses. 

In many respects, then, I am placed at a disadvantage in this contest with Aeschines, men of Athens, and in two ways above all. 

First, the struggle is not one of equal stakes. For it is not the same for me to put your goodwill toward me to the test while for him the only risk is that his indictment may fail. I—(and at the very outset I shrink from saying anything offensive)—must defend myself at the cost of my whole standing, whereas he prosecutes me out of mere surplus. 

Second, there is something that belongs by nature to all men: they take pleasure in listening to abuse and accusation, but are vexed by those who praise themselves. Accordingly, the part that gives enjoyment has fallen to my opponent, while the part that, one may say, annoys almost everyone, has fallen to me. 

If, from caution, I omit recounting the deeds I have done, I shall appear unable to refute the charges or to display the services for which I claim honour. But if I proceed to speak of the actions I have taken and the statesmanship I have shown, I shall be obliged to speak often about myself. 

I shall therefore try to do this with the utmost restraint; yet whatever the necessity of the matter itself compels me to say, let him bear the blame—he who has brought such a contest upon us. 

I believe, men of Athens, that you would all concede this trial to be a common cause of mine and of Ctesiphon, and one that deserves no less earnest attention from me. For to be robbed of anything is painful and grievous—especially when an enemy is the robber—but most grievous of all is to be stripped of the goodwill and kindness you have shown, since gaining those blessings is life’s greatest prize. 

Because this contest turns on that very point, I ask and entreat you, every one alike, to hear me as I make my rightful defence against the charges, exactly as the laws command. Solon, who from the beginning framed those laws as your friend and democrat, thought it necessary not only that any man should be competent to lodge an indictment, but also that you who judge should sit under oath—not, as it seems to me, because he distrusted you, but because he saw that the accusations and calumnies which gain force from the prosecutor’s right to speak first cannot be eluded by the defendant unless each juror, keeping his reverence for the gods, receives with goodwill the just pleas of the speaker who follows, and, making himself an impartial and common listener to both sides, so renders his decision on the whole matter. 

Since it seems that to-day I must render an account of my whole private life and of my public conduct, I wish once more to summon the gods, and in your presence I pray, first, that as I have ever shown goodwill toward the city and toward every one of you, so I may receive from you the same goodwill in this trial; and secondly, that whatever will best serve the common reputation of Athens and the personal piety of each juror—on this indictment the gods may guide you all to decide. 

If Aeschines had confined his accusation to the matters for which he lodged his prosecution, I should at once have answered in defence of the decree itself. But because he has spent no smaller a speech ranging over other topics and has loaded me with many false charges, I consider it both necessary and fair, men of Athens, to speak first—though briefly—on those points also, so that none of you, led astray by rumours from outside, may listen with prejudice to my pleas in defence of the motion. 

Now as for all the charges he has hurled at me when slandering my private affairs, see how simply and fairly I speak of them. If you know that I have ever lived anywhere else but among you—if I have ever pursued a way of life other than yours—do not put up with a word of this; nor, on the other hand, if I have never neglected public interests, rise up now and cast your vote against me. But if you have chosen someone far superior to me, or even a man only slightly better, and have never deemed any of the mediocre inferior—if you have honored both me and my friends in that way—then trust me in all other matters as well. For it is clear that he treated me just as in many earlier prosecutions: now[…] 

You, Aeschines, are truly malicious and utterly foolish if you, having set aside any discussion of my deeds and my public service, have turned instead to those insults you have uttered. 

No, I will not behave in that manner, for I am not so puffed up. I shall examine the falsehoods and slanders you have spread about me, but as for that later ostentatious procession you staged afterward—if anyone wishes to hear about it, I will recall it in due course.

The charges against me are many and grievous, and for some of them the laws prescribe severe—even capital—punishments. Yet this very trial gives my accuser license to wield arrogance, outrage, insult, and even physical assault, all at once. If the accusations and the reasons he has stated were true, the city could not possibly secure a fair hearing. For no one ought to be deprived of the right to stand before the people and make his case, nor should such a proceeding take place under coercion and envy—by the gods, men of Athens, that would be neither lawful nor just! 

But as for those matters in which he asserts that the city has wronged me—matters so great and grievous that it would be a tragedy if they went unpunished—he should have employed the exact punishments the laws prescribe for those offenses. If he saw me committing them by bringing prosecutions and thus invoking this very procedure before you, or if he saw me drafting illegal decrees and acting against the law, then surely Ctesiphon could not honestly be prosecuting me: if he were meant to refute me, he would not have drafted the indictment himself. 

Moreover, if in any of the other matters for which he now slanders me he saw me doing wrong, there are laws covering every such case—penalties, trials, and verdicts that are harsh and severe for those convicted. By those procedures any citizen can, at the proper time, be fairly judged; and if it became plain that I had committed those offenses and had dealt with me so base a manner, the verdict would have been borne out by his own conduct. 

But now, having strayed from the straight and just path and having shunned any inquiry into those very affairs, after so long he pretends to feign excuses, jests, and insults. He then accuses me, yet pronounces judgment on that other man (Ctesiphon), and puts forward as the motive for this entire trial his enmity toward me—though he has never once confronted me on these charges—rather, he seems to desire that I bear the penalty which belongs to someone else. 

Yet, men of Athens, to anyone who might rightly speak in Ctesiphon’s favor (and they would be just to do so), it seems to me both fitting and natural to say this: whether the hostility be his or ours, it is only right that we judge it among ourselves. In other words, what concerns each other we should lay aside, and let each man seek redress from any other whom he has wronged; for indeed there is no greater injustice than to insist on twisting a private quarrel into a public prosecution. 

But as for those charges leveled against me, if any one were to examine them in light of what I have just said, he would see that none of them are just, nor is there a shred of truth in any. Nevertheless, I will go through them, and most especially those points on which—concerning each separate mission for peace and each embassy—he has denied my involvement, assigning the actual achievements to himself and to Philocrates rather than to me. 

And it is both necessary, men of Athens, and fitting perhaps, that you recall how things stood in those earlier days, so that you may judge each matter against the circumstances as they exist now. 

For when the Phocian War was beginning—not on my account, for I was not yet in public life—this was your attitude: you wished the Phocians to be saved, even though you saw them acting justly; but you had no compunction over whatever misfortune befell the Thebans, rightly indignant with them. For when they were victorious at Delium, the whole Peloponnese was thereby brought under their influence; yet those who hated the Spartans did not have the power to destroy them, nor were the city‐rulers formerly masters of those places by reason of the Thebans. Rather, there prevailed indiscriminate strife and confusion everywhere—strife and turmoil among all these peoples. 

Seeing those things (for it was done in secret), Philip, spending money on traitors in every city, set them at one another’s throats and contrived against all, preparing schemes against each in turn. Then, when the Thebans erred and acted foolishly—though he himself had instigated these very evils—he armed himself against all of them. The Thebans, hitherto bold, now reduced to misfortune, were forced in full view of everyone to seek refuge with you. Philip, saying “Let this not happen, nor let the cities unite,” promised you peace but threatened them with ruin. 

So tell me: did he make common cause with you for any slight advantage to be gained unwillingly? Or among the other Greeks—one must find either malice or ignorance (one might even say both) in such conduct—while you were waging a steady, protracted war on behalf of all, as his deeds plainly showed, he did not assist you at all, neither with funds nor with troops. Rightly indignant, you stood ready to demonstrate your resentment toward Philip. And yet, if peace had been granted to you on account of these things, it was not on my behalf (as he slandered), but because of your own regard. On the other hand, if one examines fairly the wrongs and bribes he himself dealt in during those very wars—when all of us are here today—he will find the true cause. 

But now, having turned aside from the straight and proper path and having refused any scrutiny of those same matters, he has, after all this time, been using excuses, jests, and insults to deflect attention. He accuses me, yet pronounces judgment on Ctesiphon; he declares that his enmity toward me is the real cause of this entire trial—though he has never once confronted me on these charges. It seems rather as though he wants me to bear the penalty due to someone else. 

Yet, men of Athens, anyone who would speak justly on Ctesiphon’s behalf (and they would be quite right to do so) might say this without hesitation: whether the quarrel is his or ours, it is only right that we judge it for ourselves. In other words, what concerns private grievances among individuals—let that pass, and let each man seek redress from the person he has wronged. For nothing is more unjust than to drag a personal feud into a public lawsuit. 

As for all the charges against me, if anyone were to look into them fairly and against the facts, he would see that they are neither just nor truthful. Yet I will examine them, and especially those singular accusations by which, on each mission—the peace‐embassy and the various embassies—he has proved false what I did, claiming instead that Philocrates and he accomplished them. 

It is necessary, men of Athens, and perhaps fitting, that you remember how affairs stood in those days, so that you may judge each issue by comparison to the present circumstances. 

For when the Phocian War was beginning—not because of anything I did (for I was not yet active in politics)—you were so inclined that you wanted the Phocians saved, even though they acted justly; but you showed no restraint when the Thebans suffered, rightly indignant with them. For when they were successful at Delium, the entire Peloponnese fell under their sway; yet those who hated Sparta did not have the power to destroy them, nor were the city‐rulers, by reason of those men, masters of the cities as before. Instead, there was indiscriminate strife and chaos everywhere—strife and turmoil among all. 

Philip, observing these things (which had been done in secret), spent money on traitors in each city, setting them all in conflict and preparing conspiracies against them one by one. Then, when the Thebans stumbled because others counseled them poorly—even though he himself had laid the plans—he had been scheming against all. The Thebans, once confident, now unfortunate, became obvious to everyone as forced to take refuge with you. Philip, saying “Let this not happen, nor let the cities unite,” promised you peace but threatened them with harm. 

So did he ever join with you for some small advantage forced upon you against your will? Or among the other Greeks—one must find in him either malice or ignorance, perhaps both—while you maintained a constant and lengthy campaign for the common good (as his actions clearly showed), he offered you no help whatever, neither money nor troops. Rightly indignant, you were ready to demonstrate your anger toward Philip. If peace was then granted to you, it was not for my sake, as he slanders me, but by your own choice. Yet if one examines fairly the wrongdoings and bribes he himself dispensed in those years—matters now before us—he will find the true cause of all this. 

And all these things I state with exactness and go through them in detail for the sake of truth. For if there seems to be any great wrongdoing in these matters, there is absolutely none concerning me. The first to speak and invoke the question of peace was Aristodemus the actor; the one who received him, formulated the indictment, and enlisted himself alongside him for these purposes was Rhidossus of Aignous—your man, Aeschines—no partner of mine, but I am refuted by their falsehoods. Eubulus and Cephisophon are the vainglorying boasters who claimed credit for any success (for I permit this for the moment), yet I was in no way involved. 

And yet, with such facts standing and truth itself so plainly revealed, he attained the very height of shamelessness in daring to declare that I was responsible for the peace and had obstructed its accomplishment at the common assembly of the Greeks. (What answer could one rightly address to you?) Where were you present, Aeschines, conducting such a grand enterprise and alliance that you should be enraged at my removal from the city? Or had you, in earlier days, taught and carried out these very measures which you now accuse me of doing? 

Indeed, if I had conspired with Philip to prevent the unity of the Greeks, it was not your place to remain silent—rather, you ought to have shouted out, protested, and made that fact clear to everyone. But in truth you never did so, nor did anyone hear such words from your lips—rightly so—for at that time no embassy had been dispatched on behalf of the Greeks; rather, all were long since en route, and this man spoke not one veritable word concerning these affairs. 

Moreover, besides these things, he slanders the city in the gravest matters, lying about what took place. For you, at the same time that you were calling the Greeks to war, were sending envoys to Philip to negotiate peace. Did you send Eurubation as an ambassador? Did you conduct state business or transact any affairs with worthy men? No—you did nothing of the sort. 

“Why then,” you might say, “would you send envoys at all, if you did not intend this peace to succeed? Was there ever a more fitting time?” But no—you were deliberating not on war but on peace. So I am neither a party to the original peace nor responsible for any of the other falsehoods he has told. 

When the city had concluded that peace, think now: each of us chose beforehand what we would do—and from these choices you see who was foremost and fought most strenuously for you, and who sought only the city’s true interest. I myself proposed a decree that the ambassadors sail at once to whichever ports Philip might be found, and that they secure the oaths—all of which they were unwilling to do. 

Men of Athens, I will explain: what gain could there have been for Philip except that the interval between oaths should be as long as possible, but for you that it should be as short as possible? Why? Because you had sworn not merely that day on which you believed peace would come, but had already set aside all preparations for war—whereas Philip, from the very outset, negotiated at any length whatever he wished, calculating that, in truth, all the territory the city held before giving up the oaths would remain firmly his, and no one would break off the peace on that account. 

Observing this, men of Athens, and reflecting on the decree I proposed—that they should sail to Philip’s location and secure the oaths as soon as possible, even among the Thracians, your allies, in those very regions that this man now traduces (Serres, Myrkinos, and Ergiske)—so that the oaths might be established there; otherwise, since he would then have held authority over Thrace at the opportune moment and, having at his disposal neither enough money nor troops, would have been able to act with ease against you elsewhere. 

Now he says that it was not the decree that said this—nor does he really believe it. But if I had been drafting legislation, “to send the ambassadors where it was necessary,” he slanders me with that. But what ought I to have done? To bring in the ambassadors who had arrived for this purpose and have them explain to you? Or should I have refrained from drawing your attention to the original proposal? Yet surely they would have seen for themselves that I did not write that decree. I had to guard the smaller interests of the city; was I to abandon all the rest, as these men had done? Of course not. 

Therefore, gentlemen, now that I have shown clearly that he knew better yet transgressed, speak. 

DECREE 

In the archonship of Mnesiphilus, on the 11th of Hekatombaion (new moon), tribe Pandionis presiding, Demosthenes, son of Demosthenes of Paiania, spoke: 

Since Philip, having sent envoys to negotiate peace and, after deliberation, concluded treaties, it was resolved by the Council and by the Assembly of the Athenians that—so that peace might be secured, by the vote cast in the first assembly—five envoys should be chosen out of all Athenians. Those so chosen were to depart without the slightest delay to wherever they learned Philip to be, to receive from him the oaths and to give him, as swiftly as possible, the agreed articles of the treaty between himself and the Athenian people,—including the allies of both sides. 

Proposers: 
Aeschines, son of Kethoikides of Phlius 
Cleon, son of Kethoikides 

Envoys chosen: 
Eubulus of Anaphlystus 
Cephisophon of Rhamnous 
Democrates 

These things I wrote at that time. Concerning what Philip sought from the city, in brief: those faithful envoys remained in Macedon for three whole months, until Philip arrived from Oresteia—having subdued all the territory there—in such a way that, in ten days (indeed, in three or four), he reached the Hellespont and secured the lands, having taken the oaths before the envoys could meet him. For had he not been prevented by their presence—or had he not complied—he would have broken the peace, and he would have controlled both peace and territory. 

Therefore, in this embassy, first there was Philip’s treachery; second, the bribe offered by those unjust men; and, because of these things, a hostility to the gods of one’s enemies arose, on account of which I then, now, and always declare war upon and contend against these men. But look also at another crime, immediately following, yet greater than this: 

For when Philip, having abandoned the peace, first seized Thrace through those who would not be persuaded by my decree, he again bargained with them that we should not depart from Macedon until he had made thorough preparations for the campaign against the Phocians—so that you, when we announced to you the time and manner of his intended march, might go forth yourselves and sail with the triremes to Pylos as before, cutting off the strait. Yet you would hear these matters reported by us, and he would be inside Pylos, while you would be powerless to act. 

Therefore, men of Athens, now that I have shown clearly that he knew better and yet transgressed, speak. 

Thus was Philip in fear and great distress, and with this purpose already determined. Before you even heard that Pylos was about to fall, you voted that help be sent—so that he might break through the blockade—hiring a herald, no longer associating with the other envoys but privately, on his own, to tell and announce to you these things, of which in fact he lost every advantage. 

And I demand, men of Athens—and implore you—to remember this entire trial: if Aeschines had not brought his indictment and I had spoken about nothing beyond the formal charge, yet because he employed every sort of accusation and slander against me, it became necessary also for me to reply briefly to each of the allegations. 

Who, then, were the men who spoke on his behalf at that time, and what did they all forfeit? “You should not be troubled that Philip has already entered inside Pylos—for you will have everything you desire if you remain tranquilly at home, and within two or three days you will hear that he comes as an enemy one day, and the next day as a friend with the exact opposite intent.” For he asserted that such words bore the marks of personal intimacy, calling your welfare “the same good” for Philip, for the Phocians, and for you all, and that thus you would free the Thebans from their ruthless tyranny and heavy yoke. 

And some heard these propositions gladly, because they harbored hatred toward the Thebans. 

And then, not long after, this came to pass: the miserable Phocians were destroyed and their cities razed, while you—having been persuaded—were quietly tending your fields; only a short time later you were driven from the countryside, and this man (Aeschines) received a golden bribe. Moreover, on top of that he sowed hatred in the city against the Thebans and against the Thessalians, yet showed favor to Philip for what he had done. 

Since these things stand thus, tell me now the text of the letter—or better, the decree—of Callisthenes and of Philip, for from both of them you will be held to account for all these matters. Speak. 

[work in progress…]