Pro A. Cluentio

I have observed, O judges, that the whole speech of the accuser is divided into two parts, one of which appeared to me to rely upon, and to put its main trust in, the inveterate unpopularity of the trial before Junius; [*](Junius had been the judge in the trial of Oppianicus. See c. xxvii.) the other, just for the sake of usage, to touch very lightly and diffidently On the method pursued in cases of accusations of poisoning; concerning which matter this form of trial is appointed by law. And, therefore, I have determined to preserve the same division of the subject in my defence, speaking separately to the question of unpopularity and to that of the accusation, in order that every one may understand that I neither wish to evade any point by being silent with respect to it, nor to make anything obscure by speaking of it.

But when I consider how much pains I must take with each branch of the question, one division—that, namely, which is the proper subject of your inquiry, the question of the fact of the poisoning—appears to me a very short one, and one which is not likely to give occasion to any great dispute. But with the other division, which, properly, is almost entirely unconnected with the case, and which is better adapted to assemblies in a state of seditious excitement, than to tranquil and orderly courts of justice, I shall, I can easily see, have a great deal of difficulty in dealing, and a great deal of trouble.

But in all this embarrassment, O judges, this thing still consoles me,—that you have been accustomed to hear accusations under the idea that you will afterwards hear their refutation from the advocate; that you are bound not to give the defendant more advantages towards ensuring his acquittal, than his counsel can procure for him by clearing him of the charges brought against him, and by proving his innocence in his speech. But as regards the odium into which they seek to bring him, you ought to deliberate together, considering not what is said by us, but what ought to be said. For while we are dealing with the accusations, it is only the safety of Aulus Cluentius that is at stake; but by the odium sought to be excited against him, the common safety of all men is imperilled. Accordingly, we will treat one division of the case as men who are giving you information, and the other division, as men who are addressing entreaties to you. In the first division we must beg of you to give us your diligent attention; in the second, we must implore the protection of your good faith. There is no one who can withstand the popular feeling when excited against him without the assistance of you and of men like you.

As far as I myself am concerned. I hardly know which way to turn. Shall I deny that there is any ground for the disgraceful accusation, —that the judges were corrupted at the previous trial? Shall I deny that that matter has been agitated at assemblies of the people? that it has been brought before the courts of justice? that it has been mentioned in the senate? Can I eradicate that belief from men's minds? a belief so deeply implanted in them—so long established. It is out of the power of my abilities to do so. It is a matter requiring your aid, O judges; it becomes you to come to the assistance of the innocence of this man attacked by such a ruinous calumny, as you would in the case of a destructive fire or of a general conflagration.

Indeed, as in some places truth appears to have but little foundation to rest upon, and but little vigour, so in this place unpopularity arising on false grounds ought to be powerless. Let it have sway in assemblies, but let it be overthrown in courts of justice; let it influence the opinions and conversation of ignorant men, but let it be rejected by the dispositions of the wise; let it make sudden and violent attacks, but when time for examination is given, and when the facts are ascertained, let it die away. Lastly, let that definition of impartial tribunals which has been handed down to us from our ancestors be still retained; that in them crimes are punished without any regard being had to the popularity or unpopularity of the accused party; and unpopularity is got rid of without any crime being supposed to have been ever attached to it.

And, therefore, O judges, I beg this of you before I begin to speak of the cause itself; in the first place, as is most reasonable, that you will bring no prejudice into court with you. In truth, we shall lose not only the authority, but even the name of judges, unless we judge from the facts which appear in the actual trials, and if we bring into court with us minds already made up on the subject at home. In the second place, I beg of you, if you have already adopted any opinion in your minds, that if reason shall eradicate it,—if my speech shall shake it,—if, in short, truth shall wrest it from you, you will not resist, but will dismiss it from your minds, if not willingly, at all events, impartially. I beg you, also, when I am speaking to each particular point, and effacing any impression my adversary may have made, not silently to let your thoughts dwell on the contrary statement to mine, but to wait to the end, and allow me to maintain the order of my arguments which I propose to myself; and when I have summed up, then to consider in your minds whether I have passed over anything.

I, O judges, am thoroughly aware that I am under taking a cause which has now for eight years together been constantly discussed in a spirit opposed to the interests of my client, and which has been almost convicted and condemned by the silent opinion of men; but if any god will only incline your good-will to listen to me patiently, I will show you that there is nothing which a man has so much reason to dread as envy,—that when he has incurred envy, there is nothing so much to be desired by an innocent man as an impartial tribunal, because in this alone can any end and termination be found at last to undeserved disgrace. Wherefore, I am in very great hope, if I am able fully to unravel all the circumstances of this case, and to effect all that I wish by my speech, that this place, and this bench of judges before whom I am pleading, which the other side has expected to be most terrible and formidable to Aulus Cluentius, will be to him a harbour at last, and a refuge for the hitherto miserable and tempest-tossed bark of his fortunes.

Although there are many things which seem to me necessary to be mentioned respecting the common dangers to which all men are exposed by unpopularity, before I speak about the cause itself; still, that I may not keep your expectations too long in suspense by my speech, I will come to the charge itself, only begging you, O judges, as I am aware I must frequently do in the course of this trial, to listen to me, as if this cause were now being this day pleaded for the first time,—as, in fact, it is; and not as if it had already been often discussed and proved. For on this day opportunity is given us for the first time of effacing that old accusation; up to this time mistake and odium have had the principal influence in the whole cause. Wherefore, while I reply with brevity and clearness to the accusation of many years standing, I entreat you, O judges, to listen to me, as I know that you are predetermined to do, with kindness and attention.

Aulus Cluentius is said to have corrupted a tribunal with money, in order to procure the condemnation of his innocent enemy, Statius Albius. I will prove, O judges, in the first place, (since that is the principal wickedness charged against him, and the chief pretext for casting odium upon him, that an innocent man was condemned through the influence of in your minds whether I have money,) that no one was ever brought before a court on heavier charges, or with more unimpeachable witnesses against him to prove them. In the second place, that a previous examination into the matter had been made by the very same judges who afterwards condemned him, with such a result that he could not possibly have been acquitted, not only by them, but by any other imaginable tribunal. When I have demonstrated this, then I will prove that point which I am aware is particularly indispensable, that that tribunal was indeed tampered with, not by Cluentius, but by the party hostile to Cluentius; and I will enable you to see clearly in the whole of that cause what the facts really were—what mistake gave rise to—and what had its origin in the unpopularity undeservedly stirred up against Cluentius.

The first point is this, from which it may be clearly seen that Cluentius had the greatest reason to confide in the justice of his cause, because he came down to accuse Albius relying on the most certain facts and unimpeachable witnesses. While on this topic, it is necessary for me, O judges, briefly to explain the accusations of which Albius was convicted. I demand of you, O Oppianicus, to believe that I speak unwillingly of the affair in which your father was implicated, because I am compelled by considerations of good faith, and of my duty as counsel for the defence. And, if I am unable at the present moment to satisfy you of this, yet I shall have many other opportunities of satisfying you at some future time; but unless I do justice to Cluentius now, I shall have no subsequent opportunity of doing justice to him. At the same time who is there who can possibly hesitate to speak against a man who has been condemned and is dead, on behalf of one unconvicted and living, when in the case of him who is being so spoken against conviction has taken away all danger of further disgrace, and death all fear of any further pain? and when, on the other hand, no disaster can happen to that man on behalf of whom one is speaking, without causing him the most acute feeling and pain of mind, and without branding his future life with the greatest disgrace and ignominy?

And that you may understand that Cluentius was not induced to prosecute Oppianicus by a disposition fond of bringing accusations, or by any fondness for display or covetousness of glory, but by nefarious injuries, by daily plots against him, by hazard of his life, which has been every day set before his eyes, I must go back a little further to the very beginning of the business; and I entreat you, O judges, not to be weary or indignant at my doing so—for when you know the beginning, you will much more easily understand the end. Aulus Cluentius Habitus, this man's father, O judges, was a man by far the most distinguished for valour, for reputation and for nobleness of birth, not only of the municipality of Larinum, of which he was a native, but also of all that district and neighbourhood. When he died, in the consulship of Sulla and Pompeius, [*](a. u. c. 666. Twenty-two years before this time.) he left this son, a boy fifteen years old, and a daughter grown up and of marriageable age, who a short time after her father's death married Aulus Aurius Melinus, her own cousin, a youth of the fairest possible reputation, as was then supposed, among his countrymen, for honour and nobleness.

This marriage subsisted with all respectability and all concord; when on a sudden there arose the nefarious lust of an abandoned woman, united not only with infamy but even with impiety. For Sassia, the mother of this Habitus, (for she shall be called his mother by me, just for the name's sake, although she behaves towards him with the hatred and cruelty of an enemy,)—she shall, I say, be called his mother; nor will I even so speak of her wickedness and barbarity as to forget the name to which nature entitles her; (for the more lovable and amiable the name of mother is, the more will you think the extraordinary wickedness of that mother, who for these many years has been wishing her son dead, and who wishes it now more than ever, worthy of all possible hatred.) She, then, the mother of Habitus, being charmed in a most impious matter with love for that young man, Melinus, her own son-in-law, at first restrained her desires as she could, but she did not do that long. Presently, she began to get so furious in her insane passion, she began to be so hurried away by her lust, that neither modesty, nor chastity, nor piety, nor the disgrace to her family, nor the opinion of men, nor the indignation of her son, nor the grief of her daughter, could recall her from her desires.

She seduced the mind of the young man, not yet matured by wisdom and reason, with all those temptations with which that early age can be charmed and allured. Her daughter, who was tormented not only with the common indignation which all women feel at injuries of that sort from their husbands, but who also was unable to endure the infamous prostitution of her mother, of which she did not think that she could even complain to any one without committing a sin herself, wished the rest of the world to remain in ignorance of this her terrible misfortune, and wasted away in grief and tears in the arms and on the bosom of Cluentius, her most affectionate brother.

However, there is a sudden divorce, which appeared likely to be a consolation for all her misfortunes. Cluentia departs from Melinus; not unwilling to be released from the infliction of such injuries, yet not willing to lose her husband. But then that admirable and illustrious mother of hers began openly to exult with joy, to triumph in her delight, victorious over her daughter, not over her lust. Therefore she did not choose her reputation to be attacked any longer by uncertain suspicions; she orders that genial bed, which two years before she had decked for her daughter on her marriage, to be decked and prepared for herself in the very same house, having driven and forced her daughter out of it. The mother-in-law marries the son-in-law, no one looking favourably on the deed, no one approving it, all foreboding a dismal end to it.

Oh, the incredible wickedness of the woman, and, with the exception of this one single instance, unheard of since the world began! Oh, the unbridled and unrestrained lust! Oh, the extraordinary audacity of her conduct! To think that she did not fear (even if she disregarded the anger of the gods and the scorn of men) that nuptial night and those bridal torches! that she did not dread the threshold of that chamber! nor the bed of her daughter! nor those very walls, the witnesses of the former wedding! She broke down and overthrew everything in her passion and her madness; lust got the better of shame, audacity subdued fear, mad passion conquered reason.

Her son was indignant at this common disgrace of his family, of his blood, and of his name. His misery was increased by the daily complaints and incessant weeping of his sister; still he resolved that he ought to do nothing more himself with reference to his grievous injuries and the terrible wickedness of his mother, beyond ceasing to consider her as his mother; lest, if he did continue to behave to her as if she were his mother, he might be thought not only to see, but in his heart to approve of, those things which he could not behold without the greatest anguish of mind.

You have heard what was the origin of the bad feeling between him and his mother; when you know the rest, you will perceive that I feared this with reference to our care; for, I am not ignorant that, whatever sort of woman a mother may be, still in a trial in which her son is concerned, it is scarcely fitting that any mention should be made of the infamy of his mother. I should not, O judges, be fit to con duct any cause, if, when I was employed in warding off danger from a friend, I were to fail to see this which is implanted and deeply rooted in the common feelings of all men, and in their very nature. I am quite aware, that it is right for men not only to be silent about the injuries which they suffer from their parents, but even to bear them with equanimity; but I think that those things which can be borne ought to be borne, that those things which can be buried in silence ought to be buried in silence.

Aulus Cluentius has seen no calamity in his whole life, has encountered no peril of death, has feared no evil, which has not been contrived against, and brought to bear upon him, from beginning to end, by his mother. But all these things he would say nothing of at the present moment, and would allow them to be buried, if possible, in oblivion, and if not, at all events in silence as far as he is concerned, but she does these things in such a manner that he is totally unable to be silent about them; for this very trial, this danger in which he now is, this accusation which is brought against him, all the multitude of witnesses which is to appear, has all been provided originally by his mother; is marshalled by his mother at this present time; and is furthered with all her wealth and all her influence. She herself has lately hastened from Larinum to Rome for the sake of destroying this her son. The woman' is at hand, bold, wealthy and cruel. She has provided accusers; she has trained witnesses; she rejoices in the mourning garments and miserable appearance of Cluentius; she longs for his destruction; she would be willing to shed her own blood to the last drop, if she can only see his blood shed first. Unless you have all these circumstances proved to you in the course of this trial, I give you leave to think that she is unjustly brought before the court by me now; but if all these things are made as plain as they are abominable, then you ought to pardon Cluentius for allowing these things to be said by me; and you ought not to pardon me if I were silent under such circumstances

Now I will just briefly relate to you on what charges Oppianicus was convicted; that you may be able to see clearly both the constancy of Aulus Cluentius and the cause of this accusation. And first of all I will show you what was the cause of the prosecution of Oppianicus; so that you may see that, Aulus Cluentius only instituted it because he was compelled by force and absolute necessity.

When he had evidently taken poison, which Oppianicus, the husband of his mother, had prepared for him; and as this fact was proved, not by conjecture, but by eyesight,—by his being caught in the fact; and as there could be no possible doubt in the case, he prosecuted Oppianicus. With what constancy, with what diligence he did so, I will state hereafter; at present I wish you to be aware that he had no other reason for accusing him, except that this was the only method by which he could escape the danger manifestly intended to his life, and the daily plots laid against his existence. And that you may understand that Oppianicus was accused of charges from which a prosecutor had nothing to fear, and a defendant nothing to hope, I will relate to you a few of the items of accusation which were brought forward at that trial; and when you have heard them, none of you will wonder that he should have distrusted his case, and betaken himself to Stalenus and to bribery?