ORATION ON NOT SURRENDERING GALLIPOLI: ANOTHER DELIBERATIVE ORATION BY THE SAME AUTHOR ON THE NON-SURRENDER OF GALLIPOLI, REQUESTED BY AMURAT
A It would have been appropriate, gentlemen, for us not to have been forced to deliberate on matters from which, whichever way things fall out, shame and danger must necessarily befall the polis, but rather for our discourse to be concerning matters of greater glory and excellence; all the more so since our polis has never at any time in its common affairs endured to display anything devoid of ambition and glory. But since good fortune and the accomplishment of great deeds have already forsaken us, and we have fared so poorly that it has become the task of the rhetoricians among us always to ferret out the lesser of the evils proposed; what remains except to pray to God to ordain something more moderate for us, and for us ourselves, utilizing the present fortune with reflection, to endeavor to save ourselves as long as it is permitted, and not, as if having given up, to betray the virtue and glory of our ancestors entirely, but to appear even now to be looking back to those examples according to our ability? B Therefore, the deliberation and the daily contradiction between us in the assemblies concern the affairs in the Chersonese and Gallipoli, which Amurat requests from us in the name of peace. And the greatest part of the polis, and of those accustomed to offer counsel, say that it must now be given, and that we must not delay, since delay itself entails clear danger for the polis. But I, considering it a matter of extreme misfortune—not that we should take on the affairs of our enemies, but that we should be the ones to abandon our own—would say that I am particularly indignant at this, that I see most of the opposing speakers not even enduring [to listen to others]; C but they are so entirely given over to servitude and to gratifying the Barbarian, such that he is readier to take than they are to offer. For what could anyone say upon looking at their irrational impulse, and [at the fact that] they even openly denounce as enemies and traitors to the common good those who suggest stopping and deliberating better about this? And yet, nevertheless...
it is unreasonable for anyone, having embarked upon the path of counseling for the common good, to abstain from it. A It would be just for you, too, not to be vexed if you perceive that the arguments of some do not coincide with your own. For cities are not accustomed to examine and deliberate about matters that are beyond all controversy, but about obscure matters, and those of such a kind that if someone speaks the opposite, he would not appear foolish. Since, therefore, you have given the opportunity for a public assembly and council even with your present kindness, it would be unreasonable to be indignant if someone also touches upon the contrary opinion; especially while, after the presentation of our arguments, it rests with you either to approve our view and adopt it, or, if the opposing side prevails, to follow what has seemed best to them. B First of all, one must consider this: that this is indeed Gallipoli, which those who claim to be honest and concerned for the city are advising us to surrender to the enemy, a place which we have always considered more precious than any of our possessions, and one that is capable of providing us with the aid of the greatest importance for the war against the Barbarians.
But even in the public assemblies and the councils, when everyone is permitted to speak their mind with frankness, one might hear many people in turns opposing one another about other matters; these things are proposed by some and rejected by others—yet no one is so contentious as to deem any other matter worthy of being preferred to Gallipoli. Rather, this single opinion used to prevail among all: to hold onto the fortress, and to endure labor and expense so that it might always be preserved unscathed for the city. C The reason why everyone thought so about the fortress in this way was experience, and the realization taught by it of how much value it has always contributed to our affairs. For it is due to this that we, and the rest of the Greeks who inhabit Europe, have not been completely overwhelmed, as if by a wave, by those who are currently attacking us and who had taken Asia and were stationed there. D Because, being the most opportune of all the walls in the Hellespont, and lying near the sea and the strait, it provided a station for our triremes to lie at anchor there, so that the Barbarians, having set sail, could not pass unnoticed, and our ships could freely hold back the plundering Barbarians and allow our own [people] to inhabit their cities in safety. Furthermore, since we have not only guarded against evils, but also made a trial and are making a trial of the perils we incurred through its loss, it is clearer than anything that there is nothing which we should yield before that. For when the earthquake happened in the Hellespont and the Propontis which overturned everything and surrendered this place to the Barbarians, the whole Chersonese became enslaved to them, and they added the cities of Thrace to their own dominion, and before a year had passed, they exacted tributes from us and plowed the land in front of the walls. And if anyone says that Gallipoli—and the loss of it—is the cause of the current shame and of the fact that the city is compelled to deliberate about such inglorious and lowly things, I think there is no one who would contradict it. How then is it not absurd, that those things which, when present, bestowed so much benefit,
and when absent, brought the A final dangers, we should yield to the enemies, for whom, upon receiving them, nothing further against the city will be left undared? And this by command, as if it were necessary to obey the barbarians in all things, or to make them masters of our advantages.
It is also necessary to consider this: when first the rumor spread that Callipolis had been shaken and captured by the barbarians, what voices did we utter, and what was the lamentation throughout the whole city? what rumor then prevailed in the city? Was it not that we have perished? Was it not that we were all already held fast by the barbarians within the walls, as in a net? Was not the very ground of the city subject to dangers? Did not he who left the city before the dangers seemed happy at that time? You surely remember how we suspected our own country more than the enemy’s, and all were rushing to Italy, and Gades, and the sea beyond the Pillars, as if only in that way could they be delivered from the yoke of slavery. Shall we, therefore, so simply surrender that which we then mourned as lost, and while it was enslaved, considered no evil impossible for us, now that providence, acting kindly, has brought the matter back to us again? It is as if we were either forgetful of the loss, or as if we knew how to reason when in misfortune, but could not make use of the better fortune. And yet, how is it not an endless evil, if, while we are masters of certain things, we do not perceive the benefit from them, but when they are lost, we are disheartened; and we desire them when they are not present, but when they return we cast them away again? And this, knowing that we shall not destroy the desire, but only increase it when the object is gone. For this is openly not the work of those who unweave the web of Penelope, but of those who destroy themselves, and hold their own vows in hatred.
B But indeed, if we had recovered it by our own expenses and expeditions and labors, after it had fallen under the barbarians, even then it would not have been right to forget what we had spent and what we had labored for, and surrender it to them again. Yet there would have been some reason in having it in our power to take it back again when we wished, to persuade us to neglect it now; even if, as I said, it is foolish to give it up voluntarily and then try to recover it again, and to have business with it every day. But if we were so far away when it was captured that we could not bring it aid—as I think, we can fly!—for you know how, every year, when we gathered the church C concerning these matters, we said that we had need of foot forces not less than those which Xerxes led against the Greeks, and of more ships than those with which the Greeks captured Troy, and of more money than even the property of each of us, if converted into coin, would suffice for; but others came from afar, and sympathizing with us for what we had been deprived of, at their own risk and expense they restored to us again what we had previously lost—why is it necessary again to place ourselves in our former calamities, and to obscure the ambition of those men, to whom we ought to have erected a pillar as a monument to how they benefited us, and they themselves D...
what are they—the marks of madmen, who tear their garments and walk about A shamefully naked; and if anyone clothes them, they strip themselves again, and bite those who out of pity take care of them?
For it is shameful that a man should be known to be unable to suffice for himself, and that, like some children, he should require other guardians to keep his affairs for him; but that, while others are helping, and warding off those who wish to do him injury, and in every way providing that he may fare well and prosper, he should of set purpose cast himself down a precipice, and fulfill the prayers of his enemies—this clearly surpasses even the examples of the insane. B By God, I ask, if they were to come, or even send ambassadors to us, who snatched Gallipoli from the barbarians and handed it over to us, and were to say: "We, O men, though connected to you by no tie—for there was no diplomatic intercourse for us with the Byzantines, nor did we receive any benefit or aid from you such that we were obligated to return the favor—having understood, even from the beginning, not even wanting anything without an interpreter, because we knew only that you were worshippers of Christ together with us, that you were being trampled underfoot by the barbarians: that your land was yielding its fruits and profits to them, that your cities were being razed by them, and that as many of your bodies as had escaped the sword were scattered everywhere in servitude; C and, in addition to these, that your souls were being defiled, some by force, some by persuasion and daily intercourse with them; and that there remained for you so small a region that it did not even suffice for the tributes you must pay the barbarians; and that all your wealth had migrated to them, and that it was your final wish at least to be permitted to be in servitude—having heard the report of these things, and considering your sufferings our own disaster, and not even waiting for an embassy from you to tell us these things, we departed from our homelands, we abandoned parents and friends and other kinsmen, although they begged us to remain D and to enjoy the pleasant things at home with our relatives and not to busy ourselves, nor to inherit the evils of war and the fortune of others. And most of us had wives and children, the former needing husbands, the latter needing fathers. And you know the loves of the home, and how a wife in tears might soften even a heart of adamant, and the weakness of children needing a father's eyes. But yet, none of these things was more important to us than your salvation; but, disregarding all, and crossing the great sea with a great fleet, and exposing ourselves to the hazards of the sea and storms, with no wages agreed upon, nor even expected, except your benefit, we came armed for you, just as for ourselves and our parents; and before disembarking from the ships, having risked much against the barbarians, with great force warding off their counter-attack, not without great peril and labor having driven back the first of them, we came to your defense, a thing at that time of greater value to you than anything else, but now, what you have—not having it even as a partial possession; and, God being propitious, we indeed captured that place, and compelled the enemy to retreat in shameful flight, and finally we received your captives there; and with arms and provisions, and men, and all the necessities
A of defense supplied, we handed over the city to you to use as your own. And as for what was formerly called impossible by everyone—that the liberty of [everyone] could be maintained with Gallipolis lost, and what all considered to be among the impossible things, that it could be recovered—this has now been accomplished beyond all expectation. And you are masters of the strait; and by using the harbors there, you can curb the robberies and the sorties of the barbarians. If they should say these things, and inquire into the cause: "Why, oh excellent ones, when you were looking toward no end in what you were doing, having attained what you formerly desired, do you now begrudge yourselves liberty and choose to serve?" For this is what it means for you to hand the city back into the hands of the barbarians. What shall we say, or what shall we answer, before God? It is absolutely necessary to look down at the ground and agree with shame to what they say, since we will have nothing just to say in our defense. Moreover, it should be thought that this same argument of yours is directed not only against them, but against all the Christians who inhabit Europe. For everyone knows what the deeds of those who sailed here were; and now, if we throw away what was gained through such great dangers, they certainly will not be ignorant of it. Whom, therefore, will you send—men so clever in speaking—to the Italians, Gauls, Germans, Celts, and Spaniards, to those who live on the continents and those who inhabit the islands, and to those B beyond the Pillars of Hercules, who will apologize to everyone for this shame and madness? And this when the accusations allow of no explanation, and they are, in part, grieving for those who are perishing, and in part, inflamed with anger because we have rendered the efforts undertaken by them on our behalf useless. And what curses do you think will be brought against us by the Church, when she sees that we are not only betraying ourselves to the impious by our actions, but are also becoming the authors of this evil for all Christians, a thing which, among all deeds ever committed, no one could call more wicked or more foreign to humanity?
What prayers, or even sacrifices, will she offer up for us, when she sees everyone so willingly choosing the worst? C Nay, how will she not even consider those who attempt such things to be accursed and execrable? For we deem it proper to offer sacrifices and prayers and everything for those who desire good things for themselves and for others, and who beg God to obtain them, not for those who deliberately destroy themselves. But reproaches and curses [are due] from everyone, if someone, while betraying himself, also compels others into the same condition. And whom will she call upon to be our allies, or with what frame of mind will she discuss the matter of providing aid for us; or whom will she persuade to act and to risk danger for our sake, when she sees her own zeal coming to an end in the opposite result? For what the Count labored on our behalf by her persuasion, this you are planning to transfer to the advantage of the barbarians. In general, whom ought we to expect to be our allies, knowing that there is nothing, neither to them nor D to the Christians—the ones becoming causes of this evil—that one could call more inhuman.
A to them than for the fruits of our labor to fall to the enemy again after the war, nor for us to have anything left for which we might give them thanks for the risks taken, which is the only thing that remains as consolation for those who have fought on behalf of others? For those who, when gifted with a benefit, throw away what has been given, are not even willing to return thanks to their benefactors for what they have bestowed. Yet, if we are neither to repel the enemies by our own strength, nor are we to declare openly to those who are able to bring aid that we are doing things which make them flee from us, what then remains, except to surrender to the enemies with both hands bound, and, if they should only allow us to live, to count that as gain?
B Therefore, when you deliberate whether Callipolis must be surrendered, you seem to me to be doing nothing other than asking which is more glorious and more advantageous in all respects: to live in freedom, enjoying our own possessions and holding fast to them, or, having thrown these away, to embrace poverty and the violence and insolence of the Barbarians, valuing the glory of others more highly than our own. Truly, even those who are completely out of their minds could be brought to sobriety by these thoughts. For no one is so wretched that, when it is possible for him to command others, he would choose to obey others; and this, too, to satisfy the most base and hostile men, while having no reward for his servitude, but even adding his own resources to it as well.
But if any venture to contradict these points—since it has been so determined by the order and nature of things, and so judged by all Greeks and Barbarians alike, and since it is implanted in everyone by nature not to surrender one’s own possessions to the enemy; yet they fear, seeing the famine hanging over them, the grain in its prime, and the Barbarians, if we do not yield the city to them, threatening to ravage the land and capture the strongholds outside the city and tear down everything in succession—and for that reason they think it proper to grant what they ask, judging the damage in other matters to be lighter than the destruction of the fatherland: first of all, let those who speak thus know that they are not speaking of things by which we will make our evils lighter, but rather of those by which we will add to them. For I do not think that they or anyone else could say that our failure to surrender our cities to the Barbarians has been the cause of our present evils, and that for this reason surrendering them will take us out of our misfortune; but rather that it was because we were negligent that they were captured, and this is what has brought upon us the present necessities.
C Indeed, it is not through the same means by which things have gone from great to small and become worthless that one should try to restore them to their former splendor. Nay, so far are we from having to surrender what even now remains, that we see all the rest of the world increasing its wealth by acquiring and adding more, not by throwing away what it has. You, however, are doing something similar to someone who, by amputating his own limbs, thinks that the body will be kept vigorous and strong, or who, by handing over his substance to those wishing to plunder it, thinks that by that means he is making an addition to his own holdings. But to think and to act in ways contrary to what is manifest is clearly madness. For I truly think that if God, having sent someone, were to order him to seek gifts from Him, as if he were not unfortunate, even if he were to receive nothing, D
A you would decide that nothing else should be sought in the first place than the lost cities, as if it were permitted solely on that condition both to return to one's former fortune and to take vengeance on those who now seize our belongings and do us injury. So, therefore, would we think that we have deliberated on our own behalf by deliberately giving up those things, of which there is no greater possession, and which we would pray to have if they were present? And how would we not be considered furious and insane men?
B Furthermore, it is not the same thing to be fighting for our own interests and undergoing dangers, and then, having stumbled, to lose these things, or to suffer that loss upon the petition or even the command of the Barbarians. For in the first case, that which is shameful is absent, and the loss belongs only to fortune, of which, since we are but men, it is impossible for us to be masters at all times. But that we ourselves should voluntarily serve those who are most hostile to us—this is truly far removed from both the character of our race and from humanity, and it shows nothing other than an insensibility; which will befall us at the present time, unless we change our counsels.
Furthermore, even if someone were a worthy guarantor of the mind of the Barbarians (he would clearly be God, for such things are not to be granted to any human to know), namely, that if the Barbarians receive what they now demand from us, they will be quiet henceforth, and will set a limit to their injury in the things that have been given, so it would still be shameful, and unworthy of the deeds of our ancestors thus far, and in the highest degree contrary to the things accomplished by them on land and sea, and would utterly destroy the glory C of the city entirely, so that, I say, we should seem even to yield something to the Barbarians, and that in those matters which are a detriment to our own goods: and whoever would dare to advise or persuade us of these things ought to be buried. But yet, if someone were to persuade us that, by granting the things now sought, we shall use the remainder in safety, just as those who expose some member to iron and fire, so that they may live in the remaining body: to whom it would be more bitter than death to be attacked by the reproaches of all: let the good things of the fatherland be silent; let the statues and monuments placed for the bravest men be overturned; let the inscriptions be deleted, by which the virtue of the city is made known to those who will come after; let every struggle undertaken for the sake of glory be consigned to oblivion, D and what would remain to be thought of, to wish to go into dangers for glory? Furthermore, this is the excellence by which city is more excellent than city, and man than man: or are we thus to obey the Barbarians in all things and remain content with those things which they permit us to have? But if it is permitted to hope for nothing less, namely, that the Barbarians, having accepted what they now demand from us, will be quiet, what argument could persuade that it is truly worthwhile and advantageous to arm our enemies with our own weapons, so that, as it appears, we may find them stronger? For since they served for pay, and used thefts and robberies for the means of life, they were led by the desire for our empire, shrinking from no toil or danger to claim it for themselves, and that when they were our , with men and soldiers, and money,
that when they were occupied with the affairs of the Mysians and, earlier, the Triballians, they left us such a breathing space as they had time to spare for them. But if they settle matters there, they will return to us, formidable; they will not ask for Callipolis, nor will they haggle then over grain, nor will they threaten to raid the crops or vineyards; rather, they will demand our liberty, and that we, along with others, acknowledge them as our masters.
What, may I ask, will those people who are so accommodating, and who look only to the present, advise at that time? For if they urge us then to serve the barbarians just as they now advise us to yield our possessions to them, they will show themselves to be good citizens and worthy protectors of the commonwealth. But if they wish to counsel what is reasonable, pleasing to God, and, so to speak, common to all mankind—what is, indeed, our habit and consistent with the early deeds of the city and its glory—namely, that we must hold fast to our freedom and consider slavery the most terrible of all things: then why do they now advise to destroy that which their B own counsel of that future time would require? For it is clear that if they then advise us to wage war, they will devise a way to supply funds, men, allies, territories, ports, and, in a word, everything necessary for the matter. Will they then, as they seek to provide for what is missing, voluntarily cast away what we now have? And will they imagine that by subtracting from our resources they will achieve an increase? For if war must be waged at all, it is better to set about it provided with all necessary means; one should not deliberately diminish those assets with which it is necessary to conduct the war more conveniently, just as with allies. For if someone says that one must face danger without these, and with money—or rather, without poverty—and, in short, with the greatest possible abundance, he is correct. But if he argues that because Callipolis is a small town and the metropolis is a very great city, one should therefore C abandon the smaller for the sake of the greater: first of all, it is foolish to judge matters by magnitude and always to suppose that the larger thing is better and the smaller worse—as if someone were to think the eye to be the worst of the body's members because it is the smallest in bulk, or were to consider those with larger bodies to be superior to those of moderate and just stature. It is therefore not right to look only at the circuit and the number of towers of Callipolis, but to consider the strategic importance of the place, and how it is felt to be an acropolis of the great city. As long as we held it, the Chersonesus and the cities in Thrace obeyed us clearly, but once the barbarians occupied it, those things fell away, and now the arguments are being made to us D concerning our existence.
For such is the influence this small place has on both sides. Therefore, if one must cast aside considerations of its size and calculate its utility, one would find that there is not much difference between handing this over and betraying the fatherland.
B Furthermore, if we do not dare to contradict the barbarians when they ask for it, fearing their power, let someone tell me what is to prevent us from agreeing to a second and third request? For as long as one is unable to persuade them that they will stop their encroachments there, we are forced to agree to what they say, being suspicious of their power. For one who has once been stunned by the strength of the enemy and has become accustomed to obeying will not concede only the lesser things, nor will he contentiously strive for the greater; rather, he will endure everything equally, so long as he fears the power of those giving the orders. So that our current deliberation is not only about Gallipoli, as to whether it must be released, but also about the very soil of the city and absolutely everything else that remains. It is not necessary, therefore, to be so humbled as to concede everything to the barbarians; but rather to consider it sometimes more advantageous to resist, and to believe that these things have been put forward by them for the sake of some stratagem and testing; so that if we resist and defend our possessions, and make it clear that we will not permit ourselves to be driven and carried off, they might seek something else that is profitable for them. But if, failing in spirit, we yield, they will henceforth treat us as those already humbled, who will deny them nothing. And having whittled everything away, in the end, they will come for our daughters, and our children, and our wives, and the most precious things, and the fatherland itself. For they who are shameless in lesser things will not know how to be temperate in the greatest. And if we were to concede these things, as I for one do not see how we could not, given that the same necessity is laid upon us, then it follows from this argument that we must absolutely obey whatever the barbarians command. C But if this is the case, it would be the choice of prudent men, before being given trouble every day, to yield everything to them all at once without a fight, and to spare ourselves the danger of the interim evils; just as I believe it is more preferable to die by a single wound than to have the body consumed little by little.
If, therefore, you know clearly that these things will happen, and yet you accept the future and have decided to do absolutely nothing to oppose it, that would be something else indeed; and it is clear that such thoughts do not appear to be those of animals, and much less those of a human soul. For it is innate in all creatures to preserve their own goods, and to fight back against those applying force as long as they are able. And one may see even the weakest of animals fiercely attacking the most powerful when they attempt to harm them; so that they may either prevent the injustice or at least avenge themselves by dying, as if offering to nature some other sort of duty, the law of which is to keep them safe. D
A But if you think that Callipolis will be the end of the Barbarians' greed, and that once they have taken it, they will allow us to use the rest of our territory in safety, let anyone who dreams such things know that he is wandering far from the truth. For he who promises so much, and threatens so much, in order to become its master, what is it that we should not think he would do in order to acquire the greatest of cities, to which nothing similar can be found, and to adorn his own affairs with such an accession of wealth and glory? How, therefore, would it not be foolish, seeing him contend so eagerly for small things, to think that he will neglect the greatest? Just as if one were to see a man endure a beating for the sake of a single obol, and then fancy that he would willingly despise talents. It is madness and folly to hope for such things. Rather, additions naturally increase desire in men, as they bring them closer to the end, for which they are doing everything.
If, therefore, you care about not exciting the appetites of the Barbarians, you must oppose what they ask for now, so that we do not experience them becoming more troublesome in other matters. Do not ask whether it is just to lose the crop while holding onto this city, but consider everything, and the fact that you would be making others masters of our labors; nor consider the suffering of the vineyards so grievous that there are those who would rather have their limbs cut off than give them up. For my part, I judge the loss in such cases to be grievous and painful, not only for us who are enduring it, but for all whom the times have brought into such necessities. B But it is the part of men not to look only to the present, and to take care only of what is currently distressing; if something worse is stored up for the future, are they either not to foresee this, or, having foreseen it, to entrust it to fortune? Rather, they should choose the present, lighter evil in preference to the very grave danger that will follow after a little while.
For let it be supposed, and let it be granted, that if we surrender Callipolis, we shall gather the harvest; in this way, indeed, we shall spend this one year alone in abundance. And yet someone might perhaps say that, because of the Barbarians' breach of faith, even this is not certain; for although they have often promised many things, they have brought about ends contrary to what they promised. But I assume that they will keep the agreements. At any rate, the whole of eternity will not be the present year; rather, this will come to an end, and the fruits will be consumed; and again the crops will grow green, and our affairs will be in a weak state, and the Barbarians will arrive like a periodic fever; and we shall be in need of food. What, then, shall we give them so that we may be allowed to bring in our crops? Someone will name Selymbria or Perinthus, just as those who always pledge the remainder of their substance. C But neither are our cities infinite, by which we might buy back our yearly harvests or vintages, nor will the Barbarians allow us to live in luxury for free. It remains, then, to reach the head of the matter: they demand the city and liberty—for these are the last things that remain—and we, unable to speak against them, because they stop our mouths with our crops and our harvest, will of necessity be enslaved. D
A For I see no middle course between the insatiable greed of the Barbarians and the situation where we ourselves are unwilling to lose the harvest from our fields. But, in truth, even without this, I am afraid that by desiring our annual crops too much, we will be forced to be consumed by starvation for many years to come. For now, even if we do not harvest, the sea will bring us the crops that others have harvested; and we know that this has often happened, whether because the produce of the land is thwarted by adverse celestial influences, or because it is damaged by these enemies, who are doing what they now threaten to do. For at such times, the sea takes the place of our fields for us, and many of our people are those who plow and sow it, and many are those who bring us from afar what we require; and often the city, not even having gathered the crops of the surrounding region, lived in greater abundance. And, in all, the greater part of the food here depends on the sea; were we to be cut off from this, we would be compelled to endure a continuous famine. B And who does not know that as soon as the Barbarians become lords of Callipolis and of the grain transport, no grain ship, nor any other vessel bringing us the things we need, will come to the city’s harbors? For who would choose to risk himself so that others do not starve? For it is necessary that anyone intending to come to us must pass through many dangers, with the Barbarians constantly encamped there at the straits, both with ships and triremes and other vessels blocking those setting out, and making the passage insecure. So that if at any time the seasons should fail—for it is not possible for the farmers to be fortunate forever—it is necessary that we will encounter an incurable famine, with neither others being able to dock at our ports, nor we being able to sail from them; C and it will come to pass that, wishing to escape the difficulty of the present year, we will fall into inescapable evils, starving throughout our lives; and as nature cannot endure this, it remains that we either die miserably, or lead a life more miserable, having handed over the walls with our own hands.
What then? Shall we go to war, and is this what you command? But I will ask in return: What then? Shall we be enslaved, and are you acting so that this may come to pass? But I would never call you traitors to liberty, nor would I, as long as it is permitted to maintain peace, ever be an advisor to choose war against it. But if events lead us to this, is it not the duty of counselors to weigh and look rationally at what these events portend? Nevertheless, people do not choose peace or war so simply, but rather, in whichever their salvation and the attainment of what they desire is more likely to be secured, this they prefer over the other. D For we go to war for that by which we are saved, and we embrace peace if, through its means, we preserve what we have. But to lead a life of peace from which we lose everything is nothing other than to suffer that which is most shameful under a fair-sounding name. If, therefore, it is possible for those living in quiet to enjoy their own possessions, I myself also agree with those who advise not to inquire anxiously into things. But if the venerable name of peace remains in word only, while the reality is the most grievous war, how could you reasonably be displeased with those who deem it right to go to war, for which
the very necessity of circumstances compels us even against our will? But if someone, pondering the hazards and difficulties of war, hesitates to initiate it, such caution might A perhaps, under a different state of affairs, be called that of a sober mind; but in our present situation, the delay is fraught with every sort of disgrace. For what reproach would not a man deserve to hear, who, being deprived of his freedom along with all other goods, is then not moved, but clings to some phantom that he imagines still exists, and on account of that wants to enter into a compact with those who have stripped him of everything? And who thinks that in a life of slavery he might enjoy some good or even mediocre thing, not considering that this is the lot of slaves: to enjoy nothing good, but to yield everything entirely to their masters, and to have no share in any goods, but at the same time to surrender all things to those masters?
Wherefore, that there may be any hope of recovering what we have lost due to our excessive idleness and sloth, we must undertake the war, and calculate nothing—neither labor, nor danger, nor expense—by which we might return to a better fortune and justly punish those who wish to enslave us and have inflicted so many injuries. But if we hope that the war will bring no good end or result, and that we must inevitably perish in vain, not even that death is to be spurned, which is honorable and worthy of respect, and not lacking in glory; B a death which many brave and noble men have desired, both as individuals and as cities. For what is more solemn, what more honorable, than for men who have maintained the order of justice, and who have preferred the danger for their country and fellow citizens above their own souls, choosing rather to die than to endure anything shameful? For death is set before all as a common limit for all who have shared in birth, and it is not possible to escape it, even if someone were to pursue a life of leisure throughout its whole length. But to meet that death with virtue and glory, this is a prize given by God to but a few. It is the task of men to seize what is granted, and to impose a glorious end upon their life. It is not at all fitting that, for the sake of what will happen by a common and necessary lot, we should neglect what is honorable and virtuous; but if, as chance would have it, both cannot be attained, let us by all means cultivate virtue, than which there is no more useful possession for those who have it. C Nevertheless, even here, we do not hope for nothing auspicious in undertaking this war. First, because the side of justice is with us, and because, whenever hands have been joined with them in open battle, our victory has always been certain, and for long ages the Romans have been accustomed to hold them in subjection. Above all, however, that piety toward the Divine, which especially renders God propitious to men, will bring us great weight and will fight alongside us in the war.
Furthermore, one may see that those empires which have advanced themselves mostly by tyrannical force often suffer within themselves, and bear around many secret flaws which escape notice; if anyone were to put them to the test and provoke them with war, he would find them to be lesser than the opinion of their glory, and to those who... D
take up the challenge, many occasions for their overthrow will appear. And those who have recently A apostatized from their own people and openly waged war against them bear witness to this; if anyone were to urge them on, and with a little money and an alliance, strengthen their impulses and encourage them, perhaps, having become sufficient for the fight, they would not only turn upon them—and as for us, they would do us little or no harm, being occupied with one another. Nay, even from the Triballi B envoys have arrived, requesting that we avenge ourselves jointly upon our common enemies, and seeking intermarriages, and promising money, by which they think they will move us; these we ought to consider firm allies for us, inasmuch as they too have been wronged by the barbarians. But let no one say it is to our advantage that they avenge us, for there are other things, which it is difficult to discuss in detail now; C but the war itself, once set in motion, will clearly show everything. It is not right to let pass such an opportunity that has presented itself; but since the barbarians do not allow us to remain quiet even if we wish it, but it is necessary, if we sit idly, to inherit the lot of slaves, we must use the opportunities, and we must strive with a bold spirit either to free both our fatherland and our kinsmen, or at least, by having done something noble and brave, to leave behind a monument of virtue to those who will come after. But if we think that by handing over Callipolis we shall inhabit our fatherland safely, I fear that, having lost even that in a short time, we shall not even find where we might dwell thereafter. For who would allow those who have betrayed their own families to enter his own fatherland? Who would consider the devisers and authors of such a great impiety fit for any honorable action? D But as many of us as might happen to escape the hands of the barbarians, we shall wander obscure and unknown in foreign provinces; and if we are recognized, the curses and accusations and laughter of all will follow us. Is it appropriate that such men should be seen? That they should participate in an assembly? That they should even breathe? They who possessed such a city, such wealth, such power; who were masters of sea and land, and had the ability to accomplish all things by their own command—that former abundance they have consumed by sloth, sleeping, and wantonness; and at last, by betraying their fatherland, they go about now like some common curse, like certain plagues, and transmit the contagion of the disease to others! And it will not even be permitted to us to contradict them. For the justice of those who rebuke us will take away our freedom of speech entirely; and what hardship is more grievous than to bear such insults! So there is a necessity to flee from cities, and to flee from assemblies; and hiding ourselves in certain dens, to live there, concealing whence we are, and praying for death. Not so, if you will listen to me; but if you have not done so before, at least now, having completely distrusted the barbarians, and having been persuaded that all things among them tend toward this—that, having enslaved us, they themselves might take away our possessions, and impose upon our bodies the necessities of slaves—not only abstain from the current proposals, but, regarding those who dare to counsel us in such things as ill-disposed toward the city, send those who hold Calli...