Exhortation Against the Turks

EXHORTATION OF THE MOST REVEREND CARDINAL BESSARION OF NICAEA TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS AND RENOWNED PRINCES OF ITALY AGAINST THE TURKS

I. BESSARION, Bishop of Sabina, Cardinal of Nicaea, to the illustrious and renowned princes of Italy.

When, on the Nones of August, illustrious princes, that most unhappy news of the recent fall of Euboea was first brought to us, I was so anxious and troubled in spirit—more than can be told—that I seemed scarcely to have the means to breathe. It happened by chance that on that very day, while I was in such a state of affliction, I received letters from Naples, where the excellent man, the Abbot Bessarion, now serves as prefect in the monastery of Saint Severinus, of the congregation of Blessed Justina. In these letters, he wrote to me that the royal majesty was fired with a remarkable zeal of spirit for the defense of the Christian faith and for the destruction of our most savage enemy. I replied to them immediately, and I advised that he should show my letters to the royal Highness. Furthermore, I published two orations, given the magnitude of such a matter and the dangers threatening the Christian commonwealth: one demonstrated that these dangers and fortunes befall everyone; the other exhorted you, the princes of Italy, to concord and to resolve upon war against the enemy. I thought this to be consistent with my duty. But since listeners are more easily persuaded when greater authority and credibility are attributed to the speaker, I translated from the Greek language into Latin the oration which Demosthenes, that most noble philosopher and supreme orator, delivered in a case of this kind, precisely so that all might understand that I am counseling neither useless things nor things alien to the opinions of the most distinguished men. I have deemed it necessary to send all these to you, so that you might either read them yourselves when your public business—which is surely vast and serious—permits, or pass them on to others to be read and reported. For these things are common to all of you princes, who, just as you happily govern this most noble province, so ought you to govern it more happily in the future—as we hope, and as you must strive to do.

II. BESSARION the Cardinal to BESSARION the monk and abbot, greetings.

When I was recently lamenting the calamities of Christian men and the most bitter fall of Chalcis in Euboea, letters were returned to me from you, in which, having read what you wrote regarding the royal majesty's spirit and no small zeal for defending the See of Christ, my mind was lifted and I breathed again, and I began to hope vehemently that he might provide in deed what you affirm he has promised in words. But, unhappy as we are ^A, I fear that, deserted by the immortal God on account of our sins, we may suffer things even more cruel and grave; in the end, by delaying, by waiting one for another, and by shifting the blame onto others, we may slide into ultimate ruin. O wretched Christians! O blind Italians! We must hasten, Bessarion, so that, God willing, we may either migrate from this age into that eternal one, or fly to some other region. We are certainly not awaiting the Turk to invade Italy. It is onto this that he looks, believe me; it is this he pursues, for this he is preparing himself, with this effort and zeal he is contending. And I shall say it—I shall say it plainly, alas!—he is attaining what he desires, unless [Italy], roused from the deadly sleep in which she is gradually being extinguished, unless, united and with one consent, she bravely and with all her might resists such fury, unless, putting aside pretenses—those causes she is accustomed to boast of so that they might appear just—and the empty gloss of words, she attacks the enemies of the Cross with deeds, with labor, and with arms. Once, Byzantium was in peril. No part of Italy sent aid; all considered it a matter that did not concern them; they falsely believed the danger did not pertain to them. But later they felt how many misfortunes they experienced, how many fortunes, riches, and empires of Christians were reduced to the dominion of the Turks; the Trapezuntines, the Sinopians, the Mitylenians, the Peloponnesians, the Carians, the Cilicians, the Mysians, the Pannonians of the South, the Epirotes, the Illyrians for the most part, and finally the Euboeans. Why so? Because they were unwilling to help Byzantium with the expense of fifty thousand gold pieces in time and to repel the common enemy from her. Hence, indeed, all these things went to ruin, and, as if the doors of a sheepfold were broken, the wolf made an attack upon the sheep; he moves within their sides, he insults, he rages with slaughter, and then each of the things we have lost—which ^B could be bought back not imprudently for a hundred times a thousand thousands—is indeed greater than fifty thousand by an infinite number. What of the Greeks ^C of the male sex, over the age of twelve, whom he killed because they refused to surrender?

^A What about the Mysians, the Illyrians, the Pannonians? They say, "What of us? Let it go well for us, let others perish." Come here, good man, if indeed your liberty can be preserved in this way. But you do not understand that with your own strength—for the strength of all Christians is yours—with your own strength, I say, exhausted, you will become the more feeble and inferior the more your enemy, with whom you must eventually contend, becomes superior and more powerful. For you will seem to have gained enough from the enemy if he grants you what Polyphemus granted Ulysses in the fables: that you be consumed last. You will have to yield even against your will, and you will have to submit to slavery, which is not only shameful in itself, but also disgraceful in the conditions of the master. Chalcis in Euboea, a city once most flourishing, from which the colony was led to Cumae in Campania, and from which came the people who inhabited Naples, was besieged, taken by force, destroyed, and consumed by fire and iron. The most vast fleet of the Turks wanders throughout the Hellespont; the naval army of the Venetians has been routed and has fled; it quits the scene, it lies in hiding. The Turks vent their most arrogant fury of victory upon all those islands; they overturn every order, age, and sex for plunder; they devastate the fields, they depopulate. "What is that to us? Let it be the concern of the Venetians. They were served rightly. It would be useful if they were troubled by greater hardships: we would live more quietly and securely." As much as is taken from their empire, so much is added to our leisure; if anyone groans at these evils, he is a Venetian, he favors the Venetian cause, he is not to be heard, he is to be despised. O shameful ignorance of men, O folly, O incurable hatred, O foolish and unheard-of enmities that rage in the vitals of their authors, even though they seem to have been undertaken against others! Come, Bessarion, let us flee together. You are closest to the danger, and I am next. For shortly the naval army of the Turks will be present at Brundisium, present at Naples, present at Rome. By now, with the Venetians giving way, he dominates the sea just as he does the land. With these people giving such counsel, many thousands of soldiers, in which they abound, will cross over into Apulia; from them, daily incursions will be made into the Neapolitan territory and into the Roman. Let us yield, I say, to such a whirlwind, lest it overwhelm us here as well; they are indeed hostile to my name, and to you on my account, although I have never caused them any injury nor provoked them, not indeed because I did not want to, but because I could not. I have spoken much, both elsewhere and in the senate. I have never ceased to advise, to warn, to predict, to beg. The will was not lacking, which is most hostile to them; they will keenly avenge this. Come, let us give place to wrath.

"Bessarion is raving, he is insane, an old man, cold, cowardly." Indeed, my Bessarion, Bessarion is not insane. You are my witness that when we were at Bologna, and you were still called Pascalis, and that most unhappy news of the fall of the city of Byzantium had been brought, I predicted all those things which happened afterwards, not indeed for the reason that I perceived through excellent prudence or some fury of divination what others could not see; but because all those things ^B which were free from private studies and affections were plain and ready to hand. Then, I was hissed at by the rabble, I was condemned by the customs of honest men. They judged me mad, given over to dreams. The laughter at my expense was not small, as you know, but was stirred up. But nevertheless, alas! everything happened just as I predicted. Let those who hear these things beware, lest the same happen in the future. Bessarion is not timid in undergoing dangers: he is timid in foreseeing them. Still, this unarmed, old monk could yet show and provide a greater spirit than those people believe him to have, if only the Christian princes were willing to do what they can, what they ought. He himself would go against the enemy with soldiers, with armed cohorts, with champions of the cross, so equipped as the strength and forces of the hostile legions demand. What! do we stir these things in our minds while all are sleeping for this, dissenting among themselves, each one wishing and plotting the ruin of the other? From where will Bessarion and another, both old men, of uncertain health, broken in strength, ward off such a great attack of the most powerful Turk, who pants for Christian blood? It is absurd, foolish, useless. Come, let us move elsewhere. Let us leave this care to the princes of Italy. For they have also left us, and have long given ear, crying out as if from a watchtower, predicting, setting before their eyes the dangers. Let us nevertheless, even now, pray to our immortal God and Savior that He may forgive our crimes; and may He protect the faith, of which He was both the bearer and the author, and which He promised would never perish until the end of time, in such great evils which hang over us and, moreover, press upon us. Let us not cease to urge and beseech our princes to contribute all their counsels, labor, industry, thought, their whole spirit and genius for the safety of the sacred, of the ceremonies, of the entire ecclesiastical principate. Let us call upon the most flourishing king of Sicily, let us ask that, for the protection of the borders of his empire, he be wanting in neither care nor resources. His affair will be with a neighbor and most powerful enemy. Let the Tuscans, the Ligurians, the Insubrians, the Venetians consider their own affairs: let them think how they might be safe from hostile cruelty. There is no friendship between sheep and wolves. There is no law of friendship between profane men and Christians. The inhuman, barbarian enemy is not appeased by gifts or bribes. The perfidious one is held by no religion of a treaty, the most cruel one is moved by no mercy. He desires to dominate, to preside, to command; he wishes to destroy everything with blood and flame. He strives to subjugate everyone to himself. Who will delay him from such a course of victory? He will traverse the entire kingdom of Sicily. He will arrive as far as Rome. Who will be an impediment? The Hyperborean peoples and the most remote nations? But they have as little sense of these things as they think it foreign to their duty to offer themselves in danger for the sake of another’s safety. The Gauls, the Britons, the Germans, outside nations? But they are far from the danger: they do not think that Italy is in the midst of danger, that it is agitated by a great disturbance of affairs, or that it is slumbering, when it has been wakened by almost infinite triumphs and by the hope of the enemies.

^A They know that it is adorned by [the works of] others. O Italians, to whom the enemy threatens and displays slaughter, iron, slavery, and exile! But they are unwilling, they neglect, they cannot be brought to believe that they are so close to danger; they trust too much in their own strength, so that it is clearly to be feared that they may be forced to encamp and feed their army in their own lands rather than in those of the enemy. Come now, Bessarion; let us seek solitude and desert places. We have perceived enough of the state of civil affairs. Little of life remains for us, both for me, who am older, and for you, who are more infirm. If our advice, or our voice, or our body, or the Christian republic were of any use in some regard, I would indeed think that we must remain, that we must still labor. But I, having tried as much as I could for so many years, have gained nothing by my profession, nothing by this dignity. You, although you may profit the men of your order, will nevertheless profit more with me in contemplating matters, where, if the Christians persist in that sloth, we may live for God alone and for ourselves. Let Him feed us, He who satiates the birds of the air and the beasts of the field with His mercy. Nor do I think it would be a heavy or difficult thing for the divine liberality to sustain two little men with His own resources for the extremely brief time that remains to us.

III. The Oration of Bessarion, Bishop, of Sabina, Cardinal of Nicaea, to the most illustrious and renowned princes of Italy concerning the imminent dangers.

Many things, truly, most illustrious and renowned princes of Italy, are to be said and done by us regarding the matter on which we are consulted. If we should wish to pursue all these things at present, neither could we keep to a measure in speaking, nor could you be free from annoyance in listening. Having therefore reserved the rest for another time, we shall discuss only one small part, and that indeed a most necessary one, which, if it can be sufficiently explained by us so that it may cling to your minds, and you are able to reach the truth with your thought, the way to future matters will be easy, so that nothing further may seem difficult. We think we shall easily achieve this, if we shall be able to show by probable proofs and arguments that these greatest dangers which we see looming, and the most grave and bitter calamities, are not those of one or another, nor of three [people], but of the whole Christian ^B republic, and especially common to Italy. For although such a calamity looms sooner for some and later for others, in the end, it will be the ruin of all, and such is the vastness of the spirit of this enemy of ours (would that we were false prophets!) that it will bring a miserable and ignominious end to all at long last, unless it is resisted bravely, with great spirit, and with all our strength. In which matter, if I shall be able to persuade all to my opinion, so that they feel as I do and as is true, I shall think that I have truly done a great thing, and that I have--as he says--not performed half the work, but finished the whole. For who is of such a weak and feeble mind, so neglectful of himself and forgetful of his own safety, who, if he saw the temples of the immortal God, homes, seats, altars, hearths, the tombs of his ancestors, laws, liberty, children, and homeland in danger of being overturned, would not be roused against the enemy, and would not offer not only all the wealth he has or is to have, but his very life into danger, and would rather choose to fall with dignity than to serve with ignominy? Therefore, we must strive with perpetual prayer, not that we may persuade you, most wise princes, to whom these things are better known than to ^C us, but that we may set the danger before the eyes of those who, while they think they are very far from danger, cannot foresee the future. It is helpful, therefore, first of all to commemorate briefly something about the origin and lineage and strength of the Turks, clearly so that all may understand. This ^D House of Osman, the smallest part of the Turks, from how small and humble a beginning, and in how short a time, has it come by its own cleverness, diligence, and vigilance to such a height, that it now is a source of stupor and dread not only to the remaining nations, but to Italy herself, the most noble and powerful of provinces, and one accustomed to command. The nation of the Turks, when it had for some time held Persia, Media, Babylon, Arabia, Syria, and some other parts of Upper Asia, at length, driven out from there both by the inhabitants who were winning their liberty and by other Hyperborean peoples, flowed together to the lower parts of Asia; and there, after many and various wars waged with the Greek empire with indecisive outcomes, it eventually emerged on top, so that it reduced Pamphylia, Cilicia, Lycia, Paphlagonia, and all those remaining places under its rule. But with peace secured abroad, sedition arose at home. For they began to fight amongst themselves with the sword for the empire. There were seven nobler families among them, to which the sum of the factions and of all affairs was referred. These, exhausted by the long duration of the wars, decided to divide and allot among themselves the provinces we have mentioned by lot rather than by arms. Thus, what was a very small and slight empire was divided into seven parts. The family of the Ottomans, from which the eighth prince of the Turks now reigns in our time, obtained Cilicia and the neighboring places. This was the Turkish state, this its beginning, and from there the origin of such great terror. Then, after an interval of time, the Turk who now reigns, the sixth in the order of the kingdom to receive the scepter from him, not trusting in his own strength, nor in wealth, nor in the number of soldiers, nor in the magnitude of his empire, but summoned by civil discord among the Greeks, crossed into Europe--it is now nearly the hundred and thirtieth year--not so much harmful and pestilential to those against whom he had been invited, as to those who had invited him. For, creeping little by little, and acquiring an empire for himself and not for his friends, he so increased his strength that those who wished to eject him later could not do so, thinking they had achieved enough if, after a treaty was struck, they could obtain the right to live under equal laws with him. But the outcome was otherwise than they had opined. For that barbarian and needy race, as soon as it began to taste the sweetness of the fruits and the gentleness...

of wealth, set no limit to its greed. Thus, from a small and weak beginning, their forces have grown over the space of one hundred and thirty years to such a degree that, now that no small part of Europe has been occupied, neither the deepest river of the Danube nor the rugged mountains of Illyria can delay their onslaught; but, having crossed the river and overcome the difficulties of the terrain, they ravage everything from there throughout all of Pannonia, and from here they penetrate as far as the middle of Germany, the Istrian region, and the Forum Julii, laying waste and fouling all things, and devastating those flowering provinces with sword and fire. In this matter, I consider it first of all to be noted by us that, although they have done all these things in the time span we have mentioned, they have committed more in these last forty years than they did in the ninety years prior to them. For nature is so constituted that beginnings are indeed greater in virtue and strength, but are surpassed in magnitude and abundance. Likewise, in these forty years, they have accomplished far more in these last seventeen than in the twenty-three preceding ones. Ever panting for the blood of Christians, this monstrous beast has, since the destruction of Byzantium, carried out more on his own than his father and grandfather did throughout their entire lives, while in the meantime—as we have often explained—ten kingdoms have been occupied, so that it is clear to all that, the more his forces are augmented, the less effort it will cost him to overcome whomever he chooses to attack. For, as we also see in disciplines, arts, and every kind of action, it happens that the progress in the final year is greater than in all previous ones. Hence that common saying also arises: that it is difficult for a man to become rich, but most easy to multiply wealth once one is rich. So it is also in military affairs: that it is very difficult to win, but afterwards to range about through victories involves no labor at all. Wherefore each one can easily persuade himself what this wicked enemy—than whom nothing worse, nothing more cruel, can be named—is going to do in this next five-year period, with such power already acquired in seventeen years, and added to his previous strength. His forces are great and incomparable, his greed is inexhaustible, his lust for dominion immense, his knowledge of military science vast, his age in its prime, and his body accustomed to labors. Can anyone, therefore, doubt that when he has the will, the ability, and the knowledge, he hurls himself against us with his whole soul and mind, day and night? Or are we to wait at home, idle and disarmed, only to believe it when we see him before our eyes, exhaling his poison? It is surely not fitting, nor is it right for the power of the Italians, to say: "I had not thought so." Prudence, liberty, and sovereignty are the heritage of the Italian blood. Shall a most noble spirit degenerate from its ancestors, and shall it endure to serve a most foul race, when God willed that it should rule over others? The Turk thinks he can do nothing more worthy of himself, nothing more glorious for his name, than to lead an army into Italy and add to his empire a province accustomed to rule. He calls to mind his parent, whom he first saw cross into ^A Greece, we have said, whom they worship with divine honors, although he was the ruler of a few towns, and celebrate with eternal fame and everlasting glory. They call him holy and blessed, they proclaim him to be in the heavenly courts, although this leader waged war against Christians and, having subjugated some few, dedicated them to the impious Mahometan sect. With this in mind, what are we to think they will do to us if they subjugate the Italians as well—a thought that even makes the mind shudder? Shall we be able to doubt that he is greedy for glory, when this is inherent in all men, especially in princes, and he knows that no wider field for immortality lies open to him? For it seems certainly superfluous to deliberate about the advantage. For since this reasoning is divided in two ways—on the one hand, how things won can be preserved, and on the other, by what means they can be increased—by what logic will he be better able to preserve what he possesses than by increasing his principate and spreading the borders of his empire? Physicians are accustomed, in curing bodies, to apply those remedies that they have previously found useful for the same kinds of diseases; the Emperor of the Turks does this same thing, and, thinking this is a most salutary medicine of a kind for preserving what he has acquired, he always uses it, clings to it, and frequents it. He does not think it safe to change this in order to try another. He desires (as is right) and strives with every effort to preserve his empire. He understands that there is no safer way to this end than by augmenting his forces through the ruin of others. And if he could not achieve this, there would be no reason for us to fear, no apprehension about our affairs: but, woe is me! I cannot lie on this point even if I were willing. Nothing has ever been easier for anyone. Added to this is an immense amount of money, a staggering multitude of soldiers, so that as many as two hundred thousand men follow his army. He possesses a fleet, the size of which you heard—not without astonishment—a few days ago during the assault on Chalcis, such that all of Italy combined could hardly assemble it. Before this day, he was only strong in his land army. The sovereignty of the sea had still remained ours. Now, however (oh, how bitter it is even to think of such a disaster!), the sea too has been taken away from the Christians and added to them. It is permitted for him now to wander freely wherever he likes, ^B he holds the Ambracian Gulf, that most noble port, Apollonia, places indeed bordering on Italy; these, once a way for the Romans into Greece, are now, if that same path leads him into Italy, a very short strait, a most brief navigation. Furthermore, the land route is open and clear as far as the Forum Julii. He can surround Italy by sea and land. What is there that should not urge and drive him to finish those things which he has so long proposed in his mind, or what could deter and turn him from them? You have heard many who understood him to be often desiring Italy, hoping for Italy, and crying out for Italy and Rome; if he both desires it and hopes that he can achieve it. There is certainly nothing that can hold him back from this purpose, especially

those Italians who are persuaded that they will never conspire of one accord, nor ever take up arms against him. By these contentions he confirms his own hope, and whatever he desires he easily promises himself. I shall relate a fable, however well known it may be to the common people, which he is said to have used recently when one of his own men tried to dissuade him from war against the Christians. For when that man said it was to be feared that the Christians, provoked by war, might eventually come together into one, and wage war against him with common counsel and resources; ^A but he, laughing, said: "It is fitting to remember that fable. When wolves one day happened to perceive that a great multitude of dogs was approaching them, and a huge terror had seized them on that account, one of them, who was older than the rest, headed for a nearby mountain and climbed its peak so that he could watch the approach of the dogs. But when he had seen that they were indeed many, but of diverse colors, he returned to his own, glad and rejoicing, and said, 'Be of good cheer. For there is such a diversity of colors, habits, and purposes among our enemies that they cannot all agree and conspire together for any one thing; but if they come singly, we shall be able to devour them without difficulty.' This is the tyrant’s hope, this is his thought, this is his plan, unless he be frustrated in his hope. He will be frustrated, however, if you so desire. You will never be able to make that ferocious spirit more gentle. For he has in arms a soldier hired with fixed and perpetual wages, who, whether he rests at home or wages wars abroad, receives the same military stipend from the treasury, at no expense to his prince, and for that reason is bound by an oath to come to his emperor every year and promise his labor and service. Besides, by long practice he has clearly perceived and discovered that such a great accession of glory, fortune, and empire has come to him for no other reason than that he has exercised his own men in the perpetual labors of wars and has routed his enemies: from which policy he will never depart, unless he foolishly omit what he understands to be useful, glorious, and necessary for himself. How, good Jesus, can we hope or suspect that he will not plot servitude, slaughter, and the destruction of our faith? Does he not understand that it is so arranged by nature that nothing remains in the same state, but all things are moved by a constant, varied, and new motion? ^D If he possesses a vast empire, and it must be moved by the law of all things, will it not diminish, unless it be increased? You must not think the Turk is merely studious and desirous of increasing his empire; he is certainly concerned with preserving it. But he cannot preserve it unless he increases it; for that which does not progress is destined to regress, that which does not rise is destined to fall, and that which is not made greater is destined to collapse. Confirmed in this opinion, he increases every day his army, which is already most ample. He invades others' lands, lest he lose his own. Or do you think that he would have undertaken such huge expenses, so many dangers and wounds of soldiers, and so many most grave expeditions at most inopportune times for the sake of the small empire of the Mysians, for the sake of the Triballi, ^B from the most rugged mountains, or for the sake of the poverty of Illyria, regarding which you think he has undertaken them? But for Italy’s riches, for the fertility of its fields, for the sweetness of its fruits, for this very light in which he desires to live, would he not do greater things? He thinks to set up a citadel here, to place garrisons here to subjugate the rest of the world; and he thinks in such a way that he hopes to achieve it easily through the dissension of his enemies. He conceives in his mind the same things that Pyrrhus was meditating. For he, having routed the Roman army, plainly promised himself the empire of the whole world, whom Cineas the Thessalian, a supreme orator and a most wise man, when he tried to lead him away from the plan of invading Italy, said: "The Romans are said to be excellent in war, and they rule over a great number of brave men and soldiers. But if the gods have granted us to overcome them, what then shall we do, Pyrrhus? What will remain for us?" "There will be no walls besides," he said, "nor Greek, nor Latin, which, once the Romans are defeated, will be able to withstand our attack. We shall immediately occupy the whole of Italy: the size of which, as well as its virtue, you are not unaware of." "But with Italy once occupied, what shall we do then, O King?" he said. "Next," he said, "Sicily, a happy island and most crowded with a multitude of people, will surrender itself to us. And that can be captured easily, for it is fluctuating with seditions, civil wars, and a great tumult of affairs." Then Cineas: "Will the end of your wars be Sicily for you, O King?" "May the gods forbid it, Cineas," he said. ^C "For it will be most easy to attack Libya and the neighboring provinces, and to overcome Carthage, which Agathocles, having set out with a small fleet, was not far from capturing." "Once these are conquered, no enemy will dare to harass us further in war; but all will come into submission." "It is so," said Cineas. "For it is certain that you will have Macedonia and all of Greece in your power; but with all these parts, what at last shall we do?" But he, laughing, said: "We shall enjoy leisure, banquets, pleasures, and literary conversations." "But what prevents us," he said, "from using that leisure and those discussions now, also, for pleasures?" "What do we seek with such great labors, troubles, and dangers, which we can accomplish when we wish?" With these words, Cineas offended the king rather than deterred him from his conceived hope and plan. I have recounted these things to you so that you might know that there have not been wanting those who were kindled by the same greed by which the Turk is inflamed. But Pyrrhus could not be deterred from Italy by the authority and words of Cineas, whom he held dearer than anyone else, nor by a scarcity of soldiers, nor by the outstanding fame of the Roman name; and the Turk will not dare, who is far wealthier than Pyrrhus in the strength of his soldiers and the magnitude of his domains; who is not ignorant that Italy is dissipated by forces and rivalries; who is accustomed to mock the deeds of Pyrrhus, setting his own virtue equal to Alexander's? For he proposed to himself to imitate Alexander, the king of the Macedonians, for the sake of accomplishing deeds and for the vying of glory—that very Alexander who, when he had heard Anaxagoras arguing that there are more worlds, is said to have groaned and shed tears, because he was unable to bring even one of them entirely into his dominion—

^A usurping [for himself], and thinks himself, by more than a tenth part, superior to Alexander: for he [claims] that whereas Alexander bore arms around the circle of the earth with only thirty thousand men and seventy talents, he himself is so much better prepared, wealthier, and more affluent in all things! Such reflections, such pursuits of emulation, usually beget great things and reach their intended ends, especially if the opportunity is not lacking. But this surely is not lacking to the Turk, who considers himself even wealthier than the one whom he mimics. Thus Theseus, led by the example of Hercules, thus Themistocles by that of Miltiades, performed the greatest deeds. There is indeed some fatal quality in the imitation of Alexander, with which Julius Caesar, having been inflamed after his most renowned exploits, turned his arms to civil bloodshed even against his homeland. But if he acts by the example of him who subjugated Libya, Asia, and almost the whole world; if he tracks his footsteps; if he trusts that he will not only equal but, by as much as he possesses greater forces than thirty thousand men and grander wealth than seventy talents, will so much more surpass his fame in extending the boundaries of empire—what, then, do we think he is looking toward and attempting? What does that desire for peace with the most illustrious and pious King of Sicily demand for itself? Why were envoys sent? For he who hates the Christian name and pursues and despises it with every kind of cruelty, desires a treaty with the Christian King not through any fear of Christians, nor by any grace, but so that, having oppressed those whom he understands cannot be overthrown all at once in the same assault, he may at last obtain what he desires. But that unhappy man is deceived by his own hope and opinion, since in recent days the noble King, with a response worthy of a Christian king, dismissed the envoy in such a way that he appears not only to have rejected a partnership pernicious to all good men, but even to have declared war against the enemy for the sake of the Christian religion. And lest whatever he is meditating be in any part obscure, consider for a moment what that kindness means, which an immense barbarian, born to cruelty, uses toward the merchants of our name within his own borders. It truly portends something else, and it is a total prodigy that a savage monster should become, toward our people, ^D most gentle, and that friendship should be feigned by a most cruel enemy, and piety by a most truculent one. What is wrung from an unwilling heart does not last long. He serves the times until he arrives at his desired end. And do we still not know what he is doing? Especially when he acts in such a way that he clearly does not wish us to be in doubt. He will not contain so great an army at home; he will not suffer the spirits of his soldiers to be effeminate, whom he himself must keep in arms. For he has not a few Asian peoples hostile and looming for his ruin; he understands openly that they will make an attack upon him if he either lays down his arms or allows the fame of his army to be brought into contempt and mockery: which, that he may render most adorned with praises, ^A that he may make it formidable to Asian foes, where else does he intend to transport it? Where does he see a more plentiful harvest to nourish his own designs? Where can he attempt something more worthy of admiration? His swords will not slip; his weapons will not flow from his hands. For he strives to keep his allies in duty and faith, and these same ones with whom he lives daily. He is extremely hated by all his own; his allies hate him; his familiars do not love him; in a small moment, all would be driven to his own destruction and death. And since he has it discovered and known, he has resolved to undertake, conduct, and finish foreign wars, lest he experience domestic and civil dissension. And he has used the plan of Scipio, judging it more useful to fight abroad than to be conquered at home. Are you still in doubt whether he is going to lead an army outside his borders? Do you not perceive, ^B do you not clearly see? Do we not know enough of his most impure nature, his most shameful life, his wicked habit? What a torch, good God! what a crime, what pride! There is nothing that he does not swallow up in his mind, nothing that he does not absorb in his thought. And we do not think he is bearing down upon our calamity, he upon whose fortunes he has fastened his most faithful allies, his most ancient religion, his forces, his engines, his crosses, by hope, expense, and labor? Do not, I pray, object to me what some, possessed of no experience of affairs, unlearned in the memory of antiquity, are wont to boast: that foreign nations have never held Italy, and have often attempted it unsuccessfully. For when I reflect on ancient memory, when I deduce the series of historical events down to our own times, I plainly discover that foreign peoples brought arms into Italy and brought in immense calamities before they ever received them from Italy. For, to omit the Gauls, whom, whether at the time when the battle was fought at Clusium, as our Plutarch relates, or two hundred years before, as Livy the Roman pleases, led an army into Italy; a small band of Goths, bursting forth from Thrace and Pannonia with a collected army, came into Italy, and having devastated the fields of Italy and burned the cities, took these very walls, filling everything with fire, steel, and slaughter. They, instructed with a small band, exulting in a certain stupidity, were able to attain what the Turk with his greatest forces, with certain and ^D persistent counsel, does not dare to undertake and attempt? They traveled through the most difficult of all paths: but will the Turk hesitate to transport his legions by a maritime and expedited course? They rushed into Italy, which is called the other world: has the Turk so tested the forces of Italy that he should despise them, and will he not dare [to attack]? What if it pleases to pursue ancient matters, should I commemorate the mournful arrival of Pyrrhus? What of Alexander of Epirus? What of Archidamus, the son of Agesilaus? What of the tombs of Hannibal? I repeat names too great, too old. What calamities brought about by Attila, Totila, and the Saracens should I refresh with my speech? But Pyrrhus, I believe, could do what the Turk cannot. He, with so many leaders safe, with so many armies—which he later consumed in the second Punic War—contended almost to the very walls of the City with his victorious army; but the Turk, who has Epirus, Macedonia, and—

so much of Greece, has conquered so many empires, destroyed so many principalities and rivalries, will he not fear Italy? Will he not attack? Will he not...? Alas, wretched me! I know not by what course of my speech I am led, which grief does not permit to express. But lest I seem to dwell only on ancient things, in which there were squared battalions, sworn soldiers, such virtue of commanders, such patience and discipline of legions, let my speech return to our more recent times; what of the disorganized horde of the Huns and Vandals? The eternal monuments of their injuries are scorched, they are scorched into the walls themselves. But if, after the City was founded in the Christian name, examples move you, in the times of the Supreme Pontiff Leo, Attila (of whom I spoke a little earlier), after the whole of Cisalpine Gaul was subdued, moved his army to destroy the City. The eloquence of the Pontiff retarded his barbaric and savage fury. But if, after Hannibal and those ancient victories, if after the name of Christ was spread far and wide, the refuse of foreign men has flowed into the governance of Italy, why at length do we not fear such a great storm in this time? ^B It is surely about to bring such great waves of calamities, if it should erupt, that it could not reach anyone without overflowing onto the heads of the rest. For as we see in a storm, that billows, when they have dashed their fury against the cliff to which they were directed, are carried back with such force that they overwhelm the ship they have occupied no differently than when they were whole; so I judge that for all of us the inundation of the Barbarians is to be feared. For the enemy does not wish to contend about one city or another; he has decided to determine for himself the sum total of our affairs. He who desires to rule, and can endure neither a superior, nor suffer an equal, nor loves the name of a prince. And to omit that further point, that it is a serious thing to hope for anything from someone else, that it is wretched to have one's safety hanging on another’s whim, and most shameful and mournful to await private pardon from the common enemy of all—what peace can there be for you with him whose bitterness proceeds against our people beyond death; who can be satisfied by no punishment; from whom, if torments and tortures were absent in the death of our people, you would accept death as a benefit? O cruelty unusual, unheard-of, wild, barbaric! Can there be peace with him? If we wish to enjoy peace, war must be waged: if we omit war, we shall never enjoy peace. Wherefore, since our enemy has grown from such a small beginning to such a height of power, since he knows, wishes, and is able to attack Italy, since you have heard that this has happened many times, so that it pertains to the danger of all, ^D drive back and repel the enemy's attack, so that you may preserve safety for us, liberty for Italy, and salvation for all.

IV

By the same, to the same, on settling discords and resolving upon war against the Turk.

Sufficient, I think, has been discussed in yesterday's oration concerning the dangers imminent to the whole of Italy, which, as they are both open and most serious, it remains—^A—I see—that with every effort and common counsel and help we should repel them, and turn them back upon the heads of our enemies, while it is permitted, while it is still intact. But truly, since this cannot be done rightly unless all discords, rivalries, hatreds, and finally all suspicions are removed from the middle, that they may attack the enemy with free consent, effort must be given first of all that, having struck a common league of Italy, we all feel the same, wish the same, and desire the same. But if I should wish to dwell in explaining what it is that seems to pertain most closely to our situation, how many advantages, how much utility, and finally how much happiness concord and the conspiracy of minds toward the same end brings to cities and provinces alike, I know that many will listen to me as if I were narrating nothing new, but things already plainly known and common knowledge, since no one is ignorant of how much strength concord has in matters either of preparing or of defending. I might not undeservedly answer these: Why then do you await my speech? Why do you not embrace it of your own accord? You understand that it is so useful and necessary that, unless it is present, nothing fair, nothing honest, nothing holy can be done. By concord small things grow, by discord the greatest fall apart. Whatever is best in heaven and among mortals, all that proceeds from and depends on concord. It is necessary not only for provinces, cities, gatherings, and the home, but most of all for the private man. ^C For what is more shameful than a man who does not agree with himself, and is driven by various and conflicting counsels and contrary actions? Who does not despise him? Who does not deride him? We judge a man of light, inconstant, or of no order to be such. Whatever he attempts and achieves is replete with calamity, ignominy, and ruin. For while he is at variance with himself, he has nothing compatible with his own advantages or dignity. But in domestic matters, what duty can there be, if wife, children, and servants are in conflict with mutual hatreds? The father of the family, worn out by domestic dissensions, puts no effort into increasing his household affairs. He is consumed by tears, while through discord he easily foresees that the whole house is about to fall; wretched at home, ridiculous abroad. Hence, naturally, that is why in the poet, Ulysses the most wise, having been affected by the greatest benefits of Nausicaa, the daughter of King Alcinous, held that nothing could be wished for more happily than a husband and children in concord, which he says is the sweetest thing, and than which he says nothing more burdensome to enemies, or more pleasant to friends, could happen. But what is more miserable, what more unworthy of human society, than when states or provinces are consumed by domestic seditions and civil wars? For those whom nature produced as kin, brothers, and parents, discord makes into enemies and strangers, where both to win is mournful and to fall is wicked and nefarious. Domestic war is graver than external, because external sometimes brings some utility, and is often undertaken so that we may live in peace: but civil war has never been of benefit to anyone. We often deliberate about external war whether it should be waged;

however, civil war never even enters into consultation. ^A For just as counsel is taken not about necessary things, but about doubtful ones, so also it is not taken about those things which have been explored in both directions. In a state of sedition—which whoever loves, seems to hold neither private hearths nor the public rights of liberty dear—it is clearly held by us all that tyranny is hated by all good men and is especially pernicious to states. Yet tyrants have sometimes increased cities in wealth and power, and have grown into a great empire. This is easily recognized and transparent even in our enemy, who, although he is the cruelest of all tyrants, nevertheless makes more powerful whatever cities or provinces he attaches to his empire. But by civil sedition, who could ever demonstrate to me which walls are stronger, or rather, which are not utterly razed? Therefore, if tyranny is to be fled by a free man and a most brave citizen, should one then think of discord? And will he who thinks tyranny must be repelled even at the risk of his life, voluntarily pursue civil war, which is bitterer and more mournful? We are accustomed, both with private prayers and with public supplications, to beseech God, the Best and Greatest, for peace and concord; and what we know will be pernicious to us, what we pray against, what we strive by the help of our God to avert, shall we pursue this eagerly and deliberately? What, then, is this but to do the work of our enemies, and to accomplish what they strive to achieve most of all with their profane prayers? For to them, the first of all prayers—known indeed to many, but perhaps least to us—is that among Christians there should flourish hatred, sedition, and civil wars, while there is peace, consensus of minds, and quiet among them. Do we wish to satisfy their lust? But this is to consult for the enemy’s utility and to prepare his advantage at our own inconvenience. The precepts (if I am not mistaken), as I have often seen and read, which were prescribed to us for governing cities and successfully concluding wars, ordain otherwise and teach that, having explored the counsels of your enemies, you should bring about the opposite if you wish to retain the state in the republic or to achieve victory in war. Or must it be permitted that he who threatens us with grief, terror, torments, and slaughter should rejoice and exult at our fault? Nestor, that Homeric figure, who wished to reconcile Agamemnon to Achilles, must be summoned to this place, using these most wise words:

*Alas, ye gods! A terrible grief is hastening upon Greek cities, which Priam and the grandsons of Priam will pay for when they hear of you rushing with such great motion out of anger, you two who surpass the beloved Achaians in counsel and in arms. But be persuaded by me, for both of you are younger.*

I will not say, as he did, "since I am older than you and have seen more," but because I have suffered more, and have received more calamities from the enemy, who has snatched from me friends, parents, and country—which are the most pleasant things in man’s life—through the greatest pains and tortures. ^B Even though your own prudence and wisdom may embrace these in your mind, yet one who has suffered what others merely hear of realizes it with deeper pain. Things we perceive by ear or see with our eyes do not cling to the mind as deeply as those things which have inflicted wounds, deaths, and torments upon oneself or one’s own through the extreme cruelty of enemies. Believe one who is experienced, believe one who has suffered. Nothing else extinguished wretched Greece but discord; nothing else destroyed that part of the world but civil wars, not only in our memory, but in ancient times as well. For Philip, son of Amyntas, father of Alexander the Great, overturned Greece through the mutual hatreds of the Athenians, Lacedaemonians, Thebans, and others. As long as they waged wars with common aid and counsel, they repelled the enemy, drove them from their camps, and overcame them! But when they began not to trust one another and to invade their own neighbors, the enemy was summoned to both sides—no less pernicious to those by whom he was called than to those against whom he was provoked. In the Peloponnesian War, when they were bound by the same spirit of unity, they received no harm from the enemy either by land, where the forces of the Lacedaemonians were most ample, or by sea; nay, they even inflicted the greatest slaughters upon the enemy, and inflicted them in such a way that, as was never heard of before, more than four hundred Lacedaemonian soldiers—whose ancestral custom and precept it was either to conquer in war or to save themselves from the hands of the enemy by death—were led captive in triumph to Athens. But when they began to find the enemy at home and to wear themselves out with civil wars, their fleet, most firm and ample, was reduced to Lacedaemonian rule, their port was lost, and the walls of the city were razed to the ground. ^C But what, when Xerxes, the most powerful king of the Persians, invaded Greece with five hundred thousand men, equipped with twelve hundred ships? What preserved them, rendered them victors, and adorned them with everlasting fame and praise, if not concord, peace, and the same mind against the enemy? For if they had not repelled the enemy with common strength and army, what at last would have prevented them from all being consumed by war to the last man? You see the same danger looming for us, the same destruction; you must avert the enemy’s onset in the same way, since you can do so by no other means. The same medicine is appropriately suited for the same disease, which is indeed sufficiently valid. For if the Greeks, although far inferior to the forces of Xerxes, yet conquered the enemy with concord as their leader, what at length will you be able to do, with divine grace favoring you, being of one mind and with common forces, you who are not fewer in number of men and by far more excellent in virtue than the enemies? O if that day could dawn for me when, with all hatreds abolished and buried, you advance against the enemy with equal consensus! No doubt regarding victory is left to me besides that: we have already conquered. ^D I ask you, excellent princes, to conceive this in your minds for a little while: just as sedition arising in a ship is most pernicious, so it is in a state; and as it is grave in a state, so it is in a province much more…

silent. For the more people there are, the more widely the disease spreads, and the more difficult is the cure. And just as an army is held together by order and the obedience of the soldiers, which, if they are absent, all things perish unto destruction; so in a province, mutual consensus and benevolence are necessary, especially among those who are more powerful: when this is taken away, they are undone by their own strength before they are by external forces. Discord lies in wait, it weakens strengths, and consumes empires with a certain secret disease; and for this reason, he said, discord was the poison given to empires, that they might not be immortal. Indeed, just as phthisis slowly consumes, nor ceases until it has overturned the prostrated body, so it is. We must not strive to attack, in perpetual war, those who are necessary and educated under the same sky. For those who wisely consult their own safety, while they always endeavor to conquer enemies, they sometimes spare their own, and prefer sometimes to be surpassed than to surpass. For not every victory is useful, nor does it proceed from God. A Cadmean victory is to be avoided, and, as that tragic writer says, *You shall lord it over friends, if you conquer no more than you desired*; you shall rule over your friends, I say, rather than be conquered by your friends. And Demosthenes says: *Then, a glorious victory, when either sons willingly yield to parents, or citizens to citizens.* Or do you truly judge it pernicious in the sieges of cities if the guards hold differing opinions among themselves? Yet among citizens, or in provinces, do you think sedition will be useful? When people go in different directions, when they contend with a variety of opinions, when each one values his own sentiment more than the common safety. Hesiod hands down two kinds of contention: one is the best, when someone, influenced by the imitation of another, does what is right; the other is the seminary of enmities, discord, and wars, which he calls wicked and unhappy, of which Homer says:

*Small at the beginning; but quickly reaching the earth* *With her feet, she hides her head among the clouds.*

The former is to be followed, the latter entirely shunned: the one is most useful, the other most pernicious. It does not become us, surely, with the talent, erudition, and wisdom with which God has adorned us, to forsake the better and follow the worse. It must be cast away, and removed from our midst; peace and concord must be publicly entered into. But if we must contend, there is for you at last a most beautiful and glorious contest proposed: which of you may first conquer himself; which of you may first arrive at concord; which of you may contribute more and more excellent deeds to the common safety. This is a contention full of praise; this is what God has given to men. What is it that holds all things together? Harmony. What is it that adorns all things? Concinnity. This heaven which we see, the spheres of the stars, the spaces of the heavens, the elements and origins of all things, consist in nothing else but concord. If the laws of divine providence did not guard them, they would not subsist, but would collapse and fall to ruin. But do you think that human affairs, which are fleeting and perishable, and are driven about by perpetual motion, can hold together unless regulated by measure, weight, and ^A concord? ^B By no means: for even with these remedies applied, it cannot be brought about that they are not broken and perish. Just as more serious diseases are those which infest and vex the inner part of the body, so sedition is more bitter than open war. For in the one, we are our own enemies; in the other, we guard ourselves. Never has the slaughter of one's own people profited anyone, and for those who perish, a heavier danger is prepared for him. For as soon as he neglects their safety, he betrays his own to the enemies; and the same happens to them that usually happens to a man whose limb, while a gangrene consumes it, he neglects, hoping that the rest of the body will be safe and sound; and at length, gradually, the whole is consumed: then at last he clearly understands that this would not have happened, had he cured the disease at the beginning. Why, I beseech you, has nature given us twin hands? Why twin eyes? Why two feet? Surely so that they may consist in mutual aid. Hand washes hand; the foot supports the foot; the left are lifted by the right, and the right are lifted by the left: from there comes the principle of movement, hence we take up burdens. These twin limbs accomplish more; for when one is occupied, the common service is performed by the other. Why do we not follow nature, the best leader and teacher? As he says. For what one cannot perceive, it will come into the mind of the other, and by mutual aid they will attain the proposed end. *How good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity*; as the Prophet says, who was most skilled in many things and the varied outcome of events, who, stirred by divine fury, provokes men to ^C concord. Lest that seem a command given rashly, he added: *The Lord commanded the blessing and life even unto eternity.* Furthermore, his son, endowed with prudence, so that he might deter us from discord, says: *When one builds, and another tears down, what else do they do, but labor in vain?* Cyrus, the most powerful king of the Persians, when he was departing from life, having summoned his sons, and divided the empire among them, in a longer speech in Xenophon, exhorted them all to mutual fidelity, to charity, to concord, and clearly demonstrated that scattered and dissenting they would neither be of service to the republic, nor be able to be a protection to themselves. But he, a man most wise through long experience of affairs, through greatest dangers, and through an immense variety of fortune, thought this to be so true and easily perceived, ^D that, not content with the clearest arguments, he even attempted to place it before their eyes by a certain example. Therefore, he ordered a bundle of rods, as they say, to be brought, and commanded individuals to break it with one effort, if they could. When no one was able to perform this, he then gave them to be broken singly; and when individually they finished them with no labor: "Do you truly see," he said, "that the same will happen to you, that held together by mutual peace no one can defeat you, while divided by hatreds anyone who wishes can overcome you?" Therefore, he who exhorts you to concord, O best princes of Italy, exhorts you for your own safety, for glory, and for triumphs to be carried off from the enemy. For what does your utility demand? Concord.

Concord, therefore, and peace you must embrace, take up, and cultivate, so that by it, in mutual consensus, we may be stronger, and, with the war against the enemy prepared, we may repel the assault hanging over our necks, take vengeance on the foulest enemy, stained as he is with our blood, and amplify the dignity of Italy. For there has never been any war more just or more necessary, or one that has promised an easier and more manifest victory. For what is more equitable, what more pious, than to take vengeance for the blood of our people, shed through infinite tears and torments? What form of ignominy, injury, cruelty, or death have these nefarious men not visited upon our name? They have polluted the most holy temples through supreme impiety; they have persecuted the statues of the saints, of the Blessed Virgin, and of our God himself with contempt, mockery, and every kind of insult. Why should I recall holy virgins violated? Or young children snatched from the embrace of their parents? Or the Christian name stained with every disgrace? ^B I am impeded both by the greatness of the matter and by grief from pursuing these things. For who could follow, even in speaking, or hear without many tears, of the most faithful partners of the Christian name trampled under the hooves of horses, while the most wicked enemy commanded and looked on; or of those disemboweled or lifted onto the cross, such that they received death as a favor? The most savage Turk once produced all examples of cruelty against the Byzantines, and so that the memory of this might be refreshed, what was the tumult of Chalcis in Euboea recently, when, with gates and walls breached and the assault of the engines of war thrown down, the citadel taken by force, they threw all into confusion with the course of armed men, with iron and flame; from which those groans reached almost to our own ears? He slaughtered everyone of military age most bitterly. The corpses of our people, when the walls were being attacked (but I will not say it; for it is incredible; nay, I will say it, since it is exactly so); the corpses, I say, of our people were placed into vessels and launched inside the city against our men by war engines. O cruelty unheard of before this day, O lost ferocity, O most truculent species of savageness! What is as common to the living as breath? Yet our captives live in such a way that they cannot draw breath from the air. What is as common to the dead as earth? Yet our people die in such a way that their bones are scattered through the air. What is as common to a corpse as rest? Yet the bodies of our people are tossed about so that they do not even rest when breathless. The Romans destroyed Corinth, a most beautiful city, because their legates had been addressed somewhat sharply. And shall we not be stirred, when our allies have been most cruelly slain, and our region—whence the records of morals and a right life are sought by such remote nations—has been scorned and devastated? Fabius Maximus sold his land so that he might redeem captives, and shall we neglect the bodies of so many allies we long for? Theodosius, because the Thessalonians, indignant at the imposition of a new tax, had dragged the statues of Placidia through the city, ordered the frequenting crowd in the theater to be slaughtered. Shall we, ^A with our faith under attack, with Christian men slain, not grieve at our own majesty violated? Shall we not prepare for war? Shall we not take punishment from the enemy? Never, surely, has the reason of either public injury to one's own people or private safety persuaded us with greater equity to move our arms against an enemy.

I have said enough about the nature of the war, how just it is; I shall now say how necessary it is. For he will not leave behind a free method of quiet, having plotted a huge war on land and sea. For if he allowed such a thing, there would surely be no one who would prefer war to peace. But he has drawn up his forces, he has the firmest legions prepared against our own heads; he provokes, he urges, he challenges us to combat. Either war must be waged, or the most bitter slavery must be endured. ^B He has left no place for deliberation: there is proposed to us a hope of our fortunes and our safety, that by our own strengths, with God the Best and Greatest assisting, we may preserve our liberty; for which a good man and citizen must labor no less than for the protection of his slaves and the safety of his domestic affairs. But there is no one who, even if his servant is provoked or his flock plundered, does not take it grievously, does not strive with arms to avenge the injury, and does not demand his own back. And shall we consider of no account our wives, our children, and the account of our country? Why do we wait for the fury of the Turks, unarmed? Arms are repelled by arms. War must be waged, so that we may live in peace. If we omit war, we have no peace at all. But if the Turk, while we are quiet, has grown in greatest wealth; if we, languishing in idleness, have fallen into the gravest damages, who at last will dare to hope that we will manage matters successfully in idleness and shade? We must recover our senses, and since by that arrangement we have fallen into such great dangers, we must return to safety and security by the opposite path. Idleness must be cast aside; the war must be undertaken. For, as the blessed Paul says, "He is not crowned unless he has competed legitimately," and Aristotle says, "They are not crowned who watch, but those who descend into the contest, for they surely perform something worthy of praise." ^C Salvation is not to be expected at home, but must be defended in the sun and dust. There is no one among you who, when he has from nature the gift that he should protect himself, his body, and his life, would wish to wait for those things which are about to be harmful. The enemy has an army looming over our liberty. Do you wish to repel the assault? By war you will be able to attain that, so that we may repel force with force. For even if I grant that the outcomes of war are uncertain, and that Mars is common to all, yet one must contend for liberty, for when life is in peril; one must fight for God himself, for whose vastness to fall while holding on is to migrate into an everlasting age and an immortal life. For life does not consist in breath, but in piety, which is held together mostly by the conservation of one's country, its temples, and the divine status. But what, indeed, if we have a sure method of victory? For already the time and your ears demand that I say something concerning the facility of waging war and the most ample triumph which is proposed to us. In which place I plainly profess that I [will speak] concerning the forces and strength of the enemies...

thence I begin. That hostile army, that infinite multitude of men, is not of such strength as even some think, nor is it impossible that it be very easily overcome by us. A great part of it consists of a tumultuous soldiery and a collected rabble. They are bound by no religion of an oath, they are hired for no pay. Most light in body, most impatient of labor: they pursue plunder, not an army, and if they have lacked it for a little while, they return homeward most swiftly. They perform no service in war, they observe no order: they are robbers, assassins, utterly devoid of military discipline, and who know better how to be conquered than to conquer. We have truly ascertained that there are only seventy thousand men who receive wages from the public treasury. But hear me, I beseech you, for a little while with an unbiased mind. Of that number of seventy thousand men, besides fifteen or twenty thousand at most—who, guarding the side of their emperor, receive daily pay—all the remainder are sustained in war by the tributes of the allied provinces; which tributes are indeed so meager, and are supplied so thinly, that they hardly receive pay for four months in the whole year. ^B You see from the facts that he sustains no expedition longer than four months, but dismisses them all, since the provinces do not provide more money. Through this scarcity of resources we have often seen the Byzantines, when they were being dismissed, to have sold their horses, weapons, and garments in order to be able to reach home. This is the strength of the hostile army, this its magnitude, this that ^C marvelous cavalry and infantry. But if a Christian army, by ravaging his borders, should compel him to keep the army in arms for the whole year, either he will be driven to fight with a small band, having been deserted by his own, where he could be very easily overcome, or it will be necessary for him to feed the whole army with those very moneys which are gathered into his private treasury: which, indeed, he will not be able to sustain for long. For neither, as some rashly boast, is his money immense. Since from those who have been involved in the conduct of his affairs, it is clearly known that no more than three hundred thousand gold pieces from the whole sum of revenues are brought to him: whence he liberally sustains those twenty thousand infantry, and satisfies the costs of his own bodily guard and domestic expenses, which are very great. If anything beyond this remains, he turns it all entirely to arms, machines, and engines of war, so that the means to melt down treasure or to hire soldiers is not afforded him. But that he should have subjugated so many empires with so effeminate a multitude and such small forces is more to be lamented than wondered at. For he had no enemy: it was very easy to conquer those who did not resist. Give the signal for war: you will at once easily perceive their cowardice. For as they pursue those who flee most vehemently, so they flee when they themselves are pursued. ^D They do not dare to pit camp against camp; and, to repeat what I said, victory is in your hands, provided you are willing. For no facility of waging war is lacking to you. There is present the valor of commanders, [and] the number and power of the soldiers. You have money, princes of Italy, which you ought to contribute to the public cause no less at this time than each of you possesses his own safety, laws, and dear fatherland. Each one, holding a diligent consideration of his own affairs, ought to pay as much as he can. I hear that the Byzantines are accused by some, because, sparing their private money in the common salvation, they betrayed all their own to the enemy: in which they are surely worthy of most grave blame, and are deservedly condemned. We must beware that we do not commit this same thing ourselves; lest we most imprudently follow what we have known and sensed to be disgraceful and useless in others. With an army prepared by us, what is there that does not portend and promise victory and all things joyful? God Almighty will be present, for whose piety, glory, and faith we shall fight, whose injuries we shall avenge. He is angry with the enemy, favorable to us; who not only accepts our work and labor in this matter, but demands it, seeks it back, and orders that what is owed to Him be rendered. "Do not fear," He says, "from the face of them, because I am with you to rescue you. Do not fear from their face; for I will not make you fear their countenance. They will fight against you, and will not prevail, because I am with you," says the Lord, "to deliver you." And to Joshua: "Behold I have given into your hands Jericho, and its king, and all the strong men." If God is for us, as the Apostle says, who is against us? He himself will cause that one should pursue a thousand, and two should be able to put ten thousand to flight. But we can lead a much more numerous army into war than the enemy has. What if he even has more men? Will the course of victory be delayed? As if, indeed, most armies of infinite multitude have not often been routed, put to flight, and destroyed by a very small band. The army of Xerxes, under the leadership of Mardonius, was torn apart and slaughtered by eighty thousand Greeks, though it had three hundred thousand men. Marius destroyed two hundred thousand Cimbri with eighty thousand men. Again, with Catulus, he killed one hundred and four thousand. In Thessaly, Pompey, with forty thousand infantry and sixty thousand cavalry, with the auxiliaries of the whole Orient and all the nobility, was put to flight by Caesar, who had thirty thousand infantry and one thousand cavalry, and was stripped of his camp. Why should I recall the infinite forces of Tigranes overcome by Lucullus with a small army? These seem too old, and perhaps more akin to fables than to history. What of our own memory? Have not our enemies been often conquered, put to flight, and slain by the valor of a few? I omit the signal victory over them by Ladislaus, king of Pannonia, who, as was once said by us, with fourteen thousand men (for those who report more do not exceed eighteen thousand) in open warfare...

^A joined battle with the enemy, routed the army, and put it to flight far and wide, the commander being wounded; and had he not pursued the victory too greedily, and exposed himself to death, the Christian world would certainly have kept all of Europe. I omit this. My speech hastens to our more recent matters. What shall I say of the distinguished triumph of that Christian multitude which, with no leader, armed only with the sign of the cross, put to flight with great slaughter the entire Turkish army, which had been posted in the well-fortified town of Amderalba and was running about within the walls with drawn swords, the very commander himself being gravely wounded and all the baggage falling into their power? And lest this should seem to have happened but once, when the impious and wicked enemy had occupied all of Lower Pannonia and had filled everything with arms, ^B the illustrious commander, of regal and lofty spirit, the king of Upper Pannonia, with a very small band, having taken the fortified town of Javicia—well-defended both by nature and by art—routed the greatest forces of the Turks and added a part of the province to his own empire.

You see clearly, princes of Italy, with what kind of enemy we have to deal. With what kind, you ask? One who possesses a disorganized and cowardly multitude, and who does not indeed surpass us in the number of men, but is defeated by us in virtue; and of whom small bands of ours have frequently triumphed. But this is not at all to be wondered at. For those who fight to ward off death and servitude fight far more bravely and steadfastly than those who seek plunder and spoils. For the former lose little if they do not gain the victory; but to the latter, everything is lost if they conduct the affair listlessly. "Let them fight," says the Lacedaemonian, "as if they were about to die, and they shall not die." Therefore, since concord is so necessary for us, most excellent princes, both at other times and especially at this present time, and for safeguarding private fortunes and for defending our common safety, let us embrace concord with all zeal and consensus. Let us undertake a war that is most just, most glorious, and useful for retaining the ornaments of peace and for avenging the injuries done to God the Best and Greatest, and for championing piety. Let us grace Italy with a most ample victory and with the spoils of our enemies, which are close at hand, so that we may free ourselves and all that is ours from fear and peril forever.

V.

The persuasion of the same to the same based on the authority of Demosthenes.

Would that these things argued by us for the common safety of all might be received with the same zeal by you, most illustrious princes of Italy, with which they have been spoken by us, and might cleave to your minds and persuade you, so that there should be no more need for exhortations or for arguments, but that you might be stirred to our defense and the repelling of the enemy by the deed itself and by action. Which I have thought might be more easily brought to pass if I were to add some strength to my counsels, and were to confirm them clearly with the authority of some excellent man, ^C and were to bring into our midst one who is most ample in authority, who would clearly testify that he once felt the same in a cause such as ours, and warned his own citizens of those things which have been frequently argued by us, both in the senate before the Supreme Pontiff and now committed to writing. And it came to my mind that Demosthenes, a most excellent philosopher and an orator crowned with every praise for so many centuries, so that there has existed no one whom you could compare to him, had fallen into the same times, had perorated the same cause, and, in short, had nothing that did not fit our circumstances, except for the names of the men of his own time. Therefore, since I judged his authority to be weightier, and his speech more apt for persuasion than my own words, I decided that he himself should speak the opinion. Olynthus was a most opulent city of Thrace. Philip, the father of Alexander the Great, king of the Macedonians, when he had decided to make an attack upon all of Greece, determined that it pertained to that end to first bring Olynthus under his power. He moves his arms against it; he ravages the countryside. The Olynthians send envoys to implore aid from the Athenians. Demosthenes urges that help must be given, lest Philip, of infinite and vast spirit for occupying Greece, having taken Olynthus, crush the Athenians and the rest of Greece. For Philip was then threatening Greece just as the Turk now threatens Italy. Let Philip, therefore, sustain the persona of the Turk, the Italians that of the Athenians, and we that of Demosthenes. You will now easily understand that the whole speech fits our cause.

The speech of Demosthenes for bringing aid to the Olynthians against Philip, king of the Macedonians.

I believe, Athenians, that you would surely prefer a great sum of money if it were made clear what would be useful to the republic; concerning which you are now deliberating. Since this is the case, it is your duty to be willing to listen attentively to those who intend to express their opinion. For not only if someone brings into our midst something useful that has been thought out will you accept it once you have heard it; but also, which I think happens by your good fortune, many things worth saying will come to mind for some people on the spur of the moment, so that from all these we may be given the option of choosing what will be of use to you. Indeed, the present occasion of time, having almost spoken aloud, says that those things must be helped, if indeed their safety is a concern to us. We, however, I know not by what means, seem to be affected toward these things. But the things which I judge must be done are these: auxiliaries must be decreed and equipped immediately, as quickly as possible, so that you may bring help from here, lest you suffer the same as those of old did; envoys must be sent who may announce these things and participate in affairs as they are managed. For this is most to be feared, that since Philip is crafty and clever at conducting business—now giving way when the situation demands it, now threatening (he might surely be deemed worthy of trust), now attacking you and your absence with slanders—he might overturn and shatter some of the whole matter. But what, in the affairs of Philip

^A that which we have long since suffered, and that the alliance which has recently come to us, capable of repairing all the past, provided we are willing to make use of it, must clearly be attributed to the benevolence of the immortal gods, I would certainly affirm. But I consider this to be just as it usually happens in the possession of money. For if anyone keeps the wealth he has acquired unimpaired, he has great cause for gratitude to fortune. The same is true in other matters. Those who have not used their opportunity rightly do not even remember the benefits they have received through the favor of the gods. For generally, all previous actions are weighed according to the final outcome of events. Wherefore, in the remaining matters, we must take great care that by correcting them we may erase the stain of past failures. But if we also lose these men, Athenians, and Philip should occupy Olynthus besides, let someone show me ^B what would further prevent him from striving wherever his lust of mind may carry him. Does any one of you notice and perceive the way in which Philip, from a very slight beginning, suddenly grew great? He first took Amphipolis, then Pydna, then Potidaea, then again Methone, and finally invaded Thessaly; thereafter Pherae, Pagasae, Magnesia. And when he had settled all things as he pleased, he betook himself into Thrace. There, having ejected some kings and restored others, he labored under an adverse state of health. When he had recovered a little from this, he did not give himself up to sloth, but immediately attacked the Olynthians. I do not speak now of his expeditions against the Illyrians, Paeonians, Arybbas, and whatever other province you might wish to name. But, someone might ask, why do you remind us of these things? So that you may know, Athenians, what harm it brings to always allow some matter to pass by one by one. And that you might clearly observe the keenest zeal of Philip in his conduct of affairs, and the constant care with which he equally leads his life, because of which, being in no way content with those things done by himself, it will not be possible for him to remain in peace. ^C But if he has decided that something greater must always be attempted, while you, on the other hand, have decided to undertake no matter courageously, what kind of outcome of affairs can we finally expect? By the faith of the gods! Who among you is of such slow wit and so thoughtless that, if we neglect this, he does not know that the war will be turned hither? And if that should happen, I indeed greatly fear that, just as those who have borrowed money at interest, who having lived in abundance of wealth for a short time through large loans, have finally lost all their goods down to the foundations; so we, given over to sloth and seeking everything according to pleasure, may at length, even against our will, be forced to undergo many and heavy burdens, and be put in danger concerning those things which are in our own land. But, you may perhaps say, it is both easy and within anyone's reach to find fault, but to teach what must be done in the present business is the part of a senator. ^D I, however, although I have found that you, whenever something happens contrary to your opinion and hope, are accustomed to become angry not at the authors of the evil, but at those who have expressed their opinion last, nevertheless I do not think that, for the sake of private security, I should pass over in silence those things which I think will be of use to you. I say, therefore, that you ought to assist affairs in two ways: partly by defending the towns and territory of the Olynthians

and sending soldiers who may accomplish this; and partly by ravaging the territories of Philip with both a land army and a naval fleet. For if you neglect either one or the other, I fear that the whole expedition may have been undertaken by us in vain and rashly. For whether you ravage his territory, and he meanwhile endures it and takes Olynthus by force, he will, having returned home a victor, easily avenge his injuries; or whether you only send subsidies to Olynthus, he, perceiving that his own borders are free from danger, will push the matter more keenly, and through length of time will bring the besieged into his power. Therefore, both firm and bipartite assistance must be sent. This, I move, ought to be done in bringing aid. ^B

Regarding the matter of finding money: we must have military funds; we have funds, Athenians, and indeed as many as no other mortal has. It is lawful, however, for you to take them as you please. If you grant these to the soldiers, truly you lack nothing else; but if not, you lack everything else; nay, rather, they all must be found from the very bottom. What, you will ask, do you propose that this military money should belong to the senate? By no means, by Hercules! I do indeed think that soldiers must be equipped, and that the money which is to be provided for them is military; and that it is necessary to render service and receive money in return. You, however, I know not how, receive it during leisure time for festivals. Wherefore I see that it remains for you all to contribute money to the public treasury: if there is need of much, contribute much; if of little, little. Indeed, there is need of money: there is need, I say, of money, without which nothing useful can be accomplished. Others also suggest other ways of obtaining money; from which choose that which you judge to be to your advantage, and at the same time, while it is convenient, set about the affair. But it is right to consider and to calculate in what state the affairs of Philip are at this time. For they are not in a condition that is quite as excellent as they might appear, or as anyone might estimate who had not examined them with sufficient diligence, nor in the same. state that they would be if they were in the best of conditions. Philip would never have moved his arms if he had thought that he would have to join hand-to-hand combat. But as he hoped at the beginning, so he has continued to hope for all sorts of prosperous outcomes. But he has been deceived in that opinion. Since that has happened first contrary to anticipation, it greatly perturbs him and brings no small anxiety to his mind. Added to this are the affairs of the Thessalians, who, as they have always been by nature faithless to everyone—especially as they were prone to be—so they are even now. For they are said to have decreed to demand Pagasae back from him, and they have forbidden him to fortify Magnesia with walls. Indeed, I have heard from some that they will no longer permit him to collect the revenues of the port or the market; since, forsooth, from these the republic of the Thessalians ought to be administered, and it is not proper that anything should accrue to Philip. If he is deprived of these funds, he will certainly be led into a very great difficulty in maintaining an army. Finally, the Paeonians and Illyrians, and all other men of this kind, are to be deemed to prefer to live by their own laws and in liberty rather than to serve, inasmuch as they have never been accustomed to obey another. And he, indeed, as they say, is extremely arrogant, which ^A again does not seem a thing to be wondered at at all; for to act luckily beyond one's merit provides those who are demented with a cause for acting insanely. Wherefore, it is usually judged to be more difficult for those who have acquired wealth to protect it than it was at the beginning to seek it. It is your part, therefore, Athenians, to take these difficulties of his times as your opportunity, and immediately to undertake the matter, both by sending legates where they should be sent, and by going out into the military service, and by exhorting all others. That, I pray, ponder in your minds for a little while. If Philip were to seize such an opportunity against us, and war were to be waged near your borders, with what alacrity do you think he would make an attack here? But are we not ashamed; and will you not venture, when there is the capacity, to inflict those same things that you would suffer if he were able to do so? And let it not escape your notice, Athenians, that you have to decide today whether you are to wage war there, or he is to wage war here. For if the affairs of the Olynthians remain intact, you will wage war there, and you will inflict damage upon his territory, and at the same time you will safely gather the fruits of your own fields. But if Philip occupies that region, who, pray, will restrain him from arriving here? The Thebans? But—at what I may say, perhaps too harshly—they will even themselves most readily rush in. The Phocians? To wit, those who cannot defend themselves at home unless you or someone else brings aid. But, you will say, perhaps he will not want to. It would indeed be most absurd if he, who does not cease to boast of things—however much he may be accused of madness—did not want to accomplish those very things when finally he is able to. Furthermore, how great an interest it is whether the war is waged here or there, I certainly do not think there is need of words. For if it were necessary that you stay in camp for only thirty days, and to take whatever is necessary for the use of the army from your own field, with no enemy, I say, roaming about in the field, I think that the owners of the fields would incur more detriment from that than all those things which would have been consumed for the equipment of the previous war. But if some war should arrive here, how great, I pray, do you think your property will be damaged? There will be added insult and disgrace to the matter, which no wise man would have considered to be lighter than any damage. Therefore, these things all considered, all ought to help and to turn the whole weight of the war to that place: the wealthier that, by contributing a little from the much which they rightly possess, they may enjoy the rest more freely and securely; the young, on the other hand, in order that, having been trained in military discipline in the field of Philip, they may become formidable guardians for the preservation of their own family property in good health; finally, the orators, that they may be able to render the accounts of the things done by them more easily. For as your condition of affairs shall be, such are you going to be as judges towards them. I pray that the favor of all these things may turn out well and happily for you.

This is, o illustrious princes of Italy, the counsel of that greatest and wisest man Demosthenes, not foreign to our own; this is his opinion, which is most similar to ours; this he seems to predict and propose, not only to the Athenians against Philip of Macedon, but to all the peoples of Italy, but to all Christians against the tyrant of the Turks, the most cruel enemy of our religion. To the condition of the present time, which speaks, this is accommodated.