Pro A. Caecina

And in this case, if I had to plead the cause of Aulus Caecina alone, I should profess myself a sufficiently capable defender of it, because I had behaved with the greatest good faith and diligence; and when these qualities are found in an advocate, there is no reason, especially in a plain and simple matter, for requiring any extraordinary ability. But as I have now to speak of those rights which concern all men,—which were established by our ancestors, and have been preserved to this time; while, if they were taken away, not only would some part of our rights be diminished, but also that violence, which is the greatest enemy to law, would seem to be strengthened by that decision,—I see that the cause is one requiring the greatest abilities, not in order to demonstrate what is before men's eyes, but to prevent (if any mistake is made by you in so important a matter) every one from thinking that I have been wanting to the cause, rather than that you have to your religious obligations.

Although I am persuaded, O judges, that you have not now doubted about the same cause twice, on account of the obscure and uncertain state of the law, so much as because this trial appears to affect that man's personal character; and on that account you have delayed condemning him, and have also given him time to recollect himself. And since that custom has now become a usual one, and since good men,— men like yourselves.—do the same when sitting as judges, it is, perhaps, less blamable. But still it appears a thing to be complained of, because all judicial proceedings have been devised either for the sake of putting an end to disputes, or of punishing crimes, of which the first is the least important object, because it is less severe on individuals, and because it is often terminated by some friendly mediator. The other is most formidable, because it relates to more important matters, and requires not the honorary assistance of some friend, but the severity and vigour of a judge.

That which was the more important, and on account of which judicial proceedings were most especially instituted, has been long abolished by evil customs. For the more disgraceful a thing is, the more severely and the more promptly ought it to be punished; and yet those things which involve danger to a man's character are the slowest to be punished. How, then, can it be right that the same cause which prompted the institution of legal proceedings, should also cause the delay that exists in coming to a decision? If any one, when he has given security,—when he has bound himself by one word, does not do what he has rendered himself liable to do, then he is condemned by the natural course of justice without any appeal to the severity of the judge. If a man, as a guardian, or as a partner, or as a person in a place of trust, or as any one's agent, has cheated any one, the greater his offence is, the slower is his punishment.

“Yes, for the sentence is a sentence of infamy.” “Yes, if it arises from an infamous action.” See, then, how iniquitously it happens, that because an action is infamous, therefore a discreditable reputation should attach to it, but that a scandalous action is not to be punished, because, if it were, it would involve a loss of reputation. It is just as if any judex or recuperator were to say to me, “Why, you might have tried it in an inferior court,—you might have obtained your rights by an easier and more convenient process; therefore, either change your form of action, or else do not press me to give my decision.” And yet he would appear more timid than a bold judge ought to appear, or more covetous than it is right for a wise judge to be, if he were either to prescribe to me how I should follow up my own rights, or if he were to be afraid himself to give his decision in a matter which was brought before him. In truth, if the praetor, who allows the trials to proceed, never prescribes to a claimant what form of action he wishes him to adopt, consider how scandalous a thing it must be, when the matter is so far settled, for a judge to ask what might have been done, or what can be done now, and not what has been done.