I should have been very glad, O judges, if Publius Sulla had been able formerly to retain the
 honour of the dignity to which he was appointed, and had been allowed, after the misfortune
 which befell him, to derive some reward from his moderation in adversity. But since his
 unfriendly fortune has brought it about that he has been damaged, even at a time of his greatest
 honour, by the unpopularity ensuing not only from the common envy which pursues ambitious men,
 but also by the singular hatred in which Autronius is held, and that even in this sad and
 deplorable wreck of his former fortunes, he has still some enemies whose hostility he is unable
 to appease by the punishment which has fallen upon him; although I am very greatly concerned at
 his distresses, yet in his other misfortunes I can easily endure that an opportunity should be
 offered to me of causing virtuous men to recognise my lenity and merciful disposition, which was
 formerly known to every one, but which has of late been interrupted as it were; and of forcing
 wicked and profligate citizens, being again defeated and vanquished, to confess that, when the
 republic was in danger, I was energetic and fearless; now that it is said, I am lenient and
 merciful.

And since Lucius Torquatus, O judges, my own most
 intimate friend, O judges, has thought that if he violated our friendship and intimacy somewhat
 in his speech for the prosecution, he could by that means detract a little from the authority of
 my defence, I will unite with my endeavours to ward off danger from my client a defence of my
 own conduct in the discharge of my duty. Not that I would employ that sort of speech at present,
 O judges, if my own interest alone were concerned, for on many occasions and in many places I
 have had, and I often shall have, opportunities of speaking of my own credit. But as he, O
 judges, has thought that the more he could take away from my authority, the more also he would
 be diminishing my client's means of protection; I also think, that if I can induce you to
 approve of the principles of my conduct and my wisdom in this discharge of my duty and in
 undertaking this defence, I shall also induce you to look favourably on the cause of Publius
 Sulla.

And in the first place, O Torquatus, I ask you this why
 you should separate me from the other illustrious and chief men of this city, in regard to this
 duty, and to the right of defending clients? For what is the reason why the act of Quintus
 Hortensius a most illustrious man and a most accomplished citizen, is not blamed by you, and
 mine is blamed? For if a design of firing the city, and of extinguishing this empire, and of
 destroying this city, was entertained by Publius Sulla ought not such projects to raise greater
 indignation and greater hatred against their authors in me than in Quintus Hortensius? Ought not
 my opinion to be more severe in such a matter, as to whom I should think fit to assist in these
 causes, whom to oppose, whom to defend, and whom to abandon? No doubt, says he, for it was you
 who investigated, you who laid open the whole conspiracy.

And when he says this, he does not perceive that the man who laid it open took care that all
 men should see that which had previously been hidden. Wherefore that conspiracy, if it was laid
 open by me, is now as evident in all its particulars to Hortensius as it is to me. And when you
 see that he, a man of such rank, and authority, and virtue, and wisdom, has not
 hesitated to defend this innocent Publius Sulla, I ask why the access to the cause which was
 open to Hortensius, ought to be closed against me? I ask this also,—if you think that I, who
 defend him, am to he blamed, what do you think of those excellent men and most illustrious
 citizens, by whose zeal and dignified presence you perceive that this trial is attended, by whom
 the cause of my client is honoured, by whom his innocence is upheld? For that is not the only
 method of defending a man's cause which consists in speaking for him. All who countenance him
 with their presence, who show anxiety in his behalf, who desire his safety, all, as far as their
 opportunities allow or their authority extends, are defending him.

Ought I to be unwilling to appear on these benches on which I see these lights
 and ornaments of the republic, when it is only by my own numerous and great labours and dangers
 that I have mounted into their rank, and into this lofty position and dignity which I now enjoy?
 And that you may understand, O Torquatus, whom you are accusing, if you are offended that I, who
 have defended no one on inquiries of this sort do not abandon Publius Sulla, remember also the
 other men, whom you see countenancing this man by their presence. You will see that their
 opinion and mine has been one and the same about this man's case, and about that of the others.
 Who of us stood by Varguntius? No one. Not even this Quintus Hortensius, the very man who had
 formerly been his only defender when prosecuted for corruption. For he did not think himself
 connected by any bond of duty with that man, when he, by the commission of such enormous
 wickedness, had broken asunder the ties of all duties whatever. Who of us countenanced Servius
 Sulla? who ? who of us thought Marcus Laeca or Caius Cornelius fit to be
 defended? who of all the men whom you see here gave the countenance of his presence to any one
 of those criminals?

No one. Why was that? Because in other
 causes good men think that they ought not to refuse to defend even guilty men, if they are their
 own intimate personal friends; but in this prosecution, there would not only be the fault of
 acting lightly, but there would be even some infection of wickedness which would taint one who
 defended that man whom he suspected of being involved in the guilt of planning the parricide of
 his country.

What was the case of Autronius? did not his
 companions, did not his own colleagues, did not his former friends, of whom he had at one time
 an ample number, did not all these men, who are the chief men in the republic, abandon him? Yes,
 and many of them even damaged him with their evidence. They made up their minds that it was an
 offence of such enormity, that they not only were bound to abstain from doing anything to
 conceal it, but that it was their duty to reveal it, and throw all the light that they were able
 upon it. 
 What reason is there then for your wondering, if you see me countenancing this cause in
 company with those men, whom you know that I also joined in discountenancing the other causes by
 absenting myself from them. Unless you wish me to be considered a man of eminent ferocity before
 all other men, a man savage, inhuman, and endowed with an extraordinary cruelty and barbarity of
 disposition.

If this be the character which, on account of all
 my exploits, you wish now to fix upon my whole life, O Torquatus, you are greatly mistaken.
 Nature made me merciful, my country made me severe; but neither my country nor nature has ever
 required me to be cruel. Lastly, that same vehement and fierce character which at that time the
 occasion and the republic imposed upon me, my own inclination and nature itself has now relieved
 me of; for my country required severity for a short time, my nature requires clemency and lenity
 during my whole life.

There is, therefore, no pretence for
 your separating me from so numerous a company of most honourable men. Duty is a plain thing, and
 the cause of all men is one and the same. You will have no reason to marvel hereafter, whenever
 you see me on the same side as you observe these men. For there is no side in the republic in
 which I have a peculiar and exclusive property. The time for acting did belong more peculiarly
 to me than to the others but the cause of indignation, and fear, and danger was common to us
 all. Nor, indeed, could I have been at that time as I was the chief man in providing for the
 safety of the state if others had been unwilling to be my companions. Wherefore it is inevitable
 that that which, when I was consul, belonged to me especially above all other men, should, now
 that I am a private individual, belong to me in common with the rest. Nor do I say this for the
 sake of sharing my unpopularity with others, but rather with the object of allowing them to
 partake of my praises. I will give a share of my burden to no one; but a share of
 my glory to all good men.

“You gave evidence against
 Autronius,” says he, “and you are defending Sulla.” All this, O judges, has this object to prove
 that if I am an inconstant and fickle-minded man, my evidence ought not to be credited, and my
 defence ought not to carry any authority with it. But if there is found in me a proper
 consideration for the republic, a scrupulous regard to my duty, and a constant desire to retain
 the good-will of virtuous men, then there is nothing which an accuser ought less to say than
 that Sulla is defended by me, but that Autronius was injured by my evidence against him. For I
 think that I not only carry with me zeal in defending causes, but also that my deliberate
 opinion has some weight; which, however, I will use with moderation, O judges, and I would not
 have used it at all if he had not compelled me.

Two conspiracies are spoken of by you, O Torquatus; one, which is said to have been formed in
 the consulship of Lepidus and Volcatius, when your own father was consul elect; the other, that
 which broke out in my consulship. In each of these you say that Sulla was implicated. You know
 that I was not acquainted with the counsels of your father, a most brave man, and a most
 excellent consul. You know, as there was the greatest intimacy between you and me, that I knew
 nothing of what happened, or of what was said in those times; I imagine, because I had not yet
 become a thoroughly public character, because I had not yet arrived at the goal of honour which
 I proposed to myself; and because my ambition and my forensic labours separated me from all
 political deliberations.

Who, then, was present at your
 counsels? All these men whom you see here, giving Sulla the countenance of their presence; and
 among the first was Quintus Hortensius—who, by reason of his honour and worth, and his admirable
 disposition towards the republic, and because of his exceeding intimacy with and excessive
 attachment to your father, was greatly moved by the thoughts of the common danger, and most
 especially by the personal peril of your father. Therefore, he was defended from the charge of
 being implicated in that conspiracy by that man who was present at and acquainted with all your
 deliberations, who was a partner in all your thoughts and in all your fears; and, elegant and
 argumentative as his speech in repelling this accusation was, it carried with it as much
 authority as it displayed of ability. Of that conspiracy, therefore, which is said to have been
 formed against you, to have been reported to you, and to have been revealed by you, I was unable
 to say anything as a witness. For I not only found out nothing, but scarcely did any report or
 suspicion of that matter reach my ears.

They who were your
 counselors, who became acquainted with these things in your company,—they who were supposed to
 be themselves menaced with that danger, who gave no countenance to Autronius, who gave most
 important evidence against him,—are now defending Publius Sulla, are countenancing him by their
 presence here; now that he is in danger they declare that they were not deterred by the
 accusation of conspiracy from countenancing the others, but by the guilt of the men. But for the
 time of my consulship, and with respect to the charge of the greatest conspiracy, Sulla shall be
 defended by me. And this partition of the cause between Hortensius and me has not been made by
 chance, or at random, O judges, but as we saw that we were employed as defenders of a man
 against those accusations in which we might have been witnesses, each of us thought that it
 would be best for him to undertake that part of the case, concerning which he himself had been
 able to acquire some knowledge, and to form some opinions with certainty.

And since you have listened attentively to Hortensius, while speaking on the charge respecting
 the former conspiracy, now, I beg you, listen to this first statement of mine respecting the
 conspiracy which was formed in my consulship. 
 When I was consul I heard many reports, I made many inquiries, I learnt a great many
 circumstances concerning the extreme peril of the republic. No messenger, no information, no
 letters, no suspicion ever reached me at any time in the least affecting Sulla. Perhaps this
 assertion ought to have great weight when coming from a man who as consul had investigated the
 plots laid against the republic with prudence, had revealed them with sincerity had chastised
 them with magnanimity and who says that he himself never heard a word against Publius Sulla and
 never entertained a suspicion of him. But I do not as yet employ this assertion for the purpose
 of defending him I rather use it with a view to clear myself in order that Torquatus may cease
 to wonder that I, who would not appear by the side of Autronius, am now defending Sulla.

For what was the cause of Autronius? and what is the cause
 of Sulla? The former tried to disturb and get rid of a prosecution for bribery by
 raising in the first instance a sedition among gladiators and runaway slaves, and after that as
 we all saw, by stoning people, and collecting a violent mob. Sulla, if his own modesty and worth
 could not avail him, sought no other assistance. The former, when he had been convicted, behaved
 in such a manner, not only in his secret designs and conversation, but in every look and in his
 whole countenance, as to appear an enemy to the most honourable orders in the state, hostile to
 every virtuous man, and a foe to his country. The latter considered himself so bowed down, so
 broken down by that misfortune, that he thought that none of his former dignity was left to him,
 except what he could retain by his present moderation.

And in
 this conspiracy, what union was ever so close as that between Autronius and Catiline, between
 Autronius and Lentulus? What combination was there ever between any men for the most virtuous
 purposes, so intimate as his connection with them for deeds of wickedness, lust and
 audacity?—what crime is there which Lentulus did not plot with Autronius?—what atrocity did
 Catiline ever commit without his assistance? while, in the meantime, Sulla not only abstained
 from seeking the concealment of night and solitude in their company, but he had never the very
 slightest intercourse with them, either in conversation or in casual meetings.

The Allobroges, those who gave us the truest information on the most important
 matters, accused Autronius, and so did the letters of many men, and many private witnesses. All
 that time no one ever accused Sulla; no one ever mentioned his name. Lastly, after Catiline had
 been driven out or allowed to depart out of the city, Autronius sent him arms, trumpets, bugles,
 scythes, standards, legions. He who was left in the city, but
 expected out of it though checked by the punishment of Lentulus, gave way at times to feelings
 of fear, but never to any right feelings or good sense. Sulla, on the other hand, was so quiet,
 that all that time he was at Naples, where it is not supposed that there were any men who were
 implicated in or suspected of this crime; and the place itself is one not so well calculated to
 excite the feelings of men in distress, as to console them.

On account, therefore, of this great dissimilarity between the men and the cases, I also
 behaved in a different manner to them both. For Autronius came to me, and he was constantly
 coming to me, with many tears, as a suppliant, to beg me to defend him, and he used to remind me
 that he had been my school-fellow in my childhood, my friend in my youth, and my colleague in
 the quaestorship. He used to enumerate many services which I had done him, and some also which
 he had done me. By all which circumstances, O judges, I was so much swayed and influenced, that
 I banished from my recollection all the plots which he had laid against me myself; that I forgot
 that Caius Cornelius had been lately sent by him for the purpose of killing me in my own house,
 in the sight of my wife and children. And if he had formed these designs against me alone, such
 is my softness and lenity of disposition, that I should never have been able to resist his tears
 and entreaties;

but when the thoughts of my country, of your
 dangers, of this city, of all those shrines and temples which we see around us, of the infant
 children, and matrons, and virgins of the city occurred to me, and when those hostile and fatal
 torches destined for the entire conflagration of the whole city, when the arms which had been
 collected, when the slaughter and blood of the citizens, when the ashes of my country began to
 present themselves to my eyes, and to excite my feelings by the recollection, then I resisted
 him, then I resisted not only that enemy of his country, that parricide himself, but I withstood
 also his relations the Marcelli, father and son, one of whom was regarded by me with the respect
 due to a parent, and the other with the affection which one feels towards a son. And I thought
 that I could not, without being guilty of the very greatest wickedness, defend in their
 companion the same crimes which I had chastised in the case of others, when I knew him to be
 guilty.

And, on the same principle, I could not endure to see
 Publius Sulla coming to me as a suppliant, or these same Marcelli in tears at his danger nor
 could I resist the entreaties of Marcus Messala, whom you see in court, a most intimate friend
 of my own. For neither was his cause disagreeable to my natural disposition nor had the man or
 the facts anything in them at variance with my feelings of clemency his name had never been
 mentioned, there was no trace whatever of him in the conspiracy; no information had touched him,
 no suspicion had been breathed of him. I undertook his cause, O Torquatus; I undertook it, and I
 did so willingly, in order that, while good men had always, as I hope, thought me
 virtuous and firm, not even bad men might he able to call me cruel.

This Torquatus then, O judges, says that he cannot endure my kingly power. What is the meaning
 of my kingly power, O Torquatus? I suppose you mean the power I exerted in my consulship; in
 which I did not command at all, but on the contrary, I obeyed the conscript fathers, and all
 good men. In my discharge of that office, O judges, kingly power was not established by me, but
 put down. Will you say that then, when I had such absolute power and authority over all the
 military and civil affairs of the state, I was not a king, but that now, when I am only a
 private individual, I have the power of a king? Under what title? “Why, because,” says he,
 “those against whom you gave evidence were convicted, and the man whom you defend hopes that he
 shall be acquitted.” Here I make you this reply, as to what concerns my evidence: that if I gave
 false evidence, you also gave evidence against the same man; if my testimony was true, then I
 say, that persuading the judges to believe a true statement, which one has made on oath, is a
 very different thing from being a king. And of the hopes of my client, I only say, that Publius
 Sulla does not expect from me any exertion of my influence or interest, or, in short, anything
 except to defend him with good faith.

“But unless you,” says
 he, “had undertaken his cause, he would never have resisted me, but would have fled without
 saying a word in his defence.” Even if I were to grant to you that Quintus Hortensius, being a
 man of such wisdom as he is, and that all these men of high character, rely not on their own
 judgment but on mine; if I were to grant to you, what no one can believe, that these men would
 not have countenanced Publius Sulla if I had not done so too; still, which is the king, he whom
 men, though perfectly innocent, cannot resist, or he who does not abandon men in misfortune? But
 here too, though you had not the least occasion for it, you took a fancy to be witty, when you
 called me Tarquin, and Numa, and the third foreign king of Rome. I won't say any more about the
 word king; but I should like to know why you called me a foreigner. For, if I am such, then it
 is not so marvellous that I should be a king,—because, as you say yourself, foreigners have
 before now been kings at Rome,—as that a foreigner should be a consul at Rome. “This is what I mean,” says he, “that you come from a municipal town.”

I confess that I do, and I add, that I come from that municipal town from
 which salvation to this city and empire has more than once proceeded. But I should like
 exceedingly to know from you, how it is that those men who come from the municipal towns appear
 to you to be foreigners. For no one ever made that objection to that great man, Marcus Cato the
 elder, though he had many enemies, or to Titus Coruncanius, or to Marcus Curius, or even to that
 great hero of our own times, Caius Marius, through many men envied him. In truth, I am
 exceedingly delighted that I am a man of such a character that, when you were anxious to find
 fault with me, you could still find nothing to reproach me with which did not apply also to the
 greater part of the citizens. 
 But still, on account of your great friendship and intimacy, I think it well to remind you of
 this more than once—all men cannot be patricians. If you would know the truth, they do not all
 even wish to be so; nor do those of your own age think that you ought on that account to have
 precedence over them.

And if we seem to you to be foreigners,
 we whose name and honours have now become familiar topics of conversation and panegyric
 throughout the city and among all men, how greatly must those competitors of yours seem to be
 foreigners, who now, having been picked out of all Italy, are contending with you for honour and
 for every dignity! And yet take care that you do not call one of these a foreigner, lest you
 should be overwhelmed by the votes of the foreigners. For if they once bring their activity and
 perseverance into action, believe me they will shake those arrogant expressions out of you, and
 they will frequently wake you from sleep, and will not endure to be surpassed by you in honours,
 unless they are also excelled by you in virtue.

And if, O
 judges, it is fit for me and you to be considered foreigners by the rest of the patricians,
 still nothing ought to be said about this blot by Torquatus. For he himself is on his mother's
 side, a citizen of a municipal town; a man of a most honourable and noble family, but still he
 comes from Asculum. Either let him, then, show that the Picentians alone are not foreigners, or
 else let him congratulate himself that I do not put my family before his. So do not for the
 future call me a foreigner, lest you meet with a sterner refutation; and do not call me a king,
 lest you be laughed at. Unless, indeed, it appears to be the conduct of a king to
 live in such a manner as not to be slave not only to any man, but not even to any passion; to
 despise all capricious desires; to covet neither gold nor silver, nor anything else; to form
 one's opinions in the senate with freedom; to consider the real interests of the people, rather
 than their inclinations; to yield to no one, to oppose many men. If you think that this is the
 conduct of a king, then I confess that I am a king. If my power, if my sway, it lastly, any
 arrogant or haughty expression of mine moves your indignation, then you should rather allege
 that, than stoop to raise odium against me by a name, and to employ mere abuse and insult.

If, after having done so many services to the republic, I were to ask for myself no other
 reward from the senate and people of Rome beyond honourable ease, who is there who would not
 grant it to me? If I were to ask, that they would keep all honours, and commands, and provinces,
 and triumphs, and all the other insignia of eminent renown to themselves, and that they would
 allow me to enjoy the sight of the city which I had saved, and a tranquil and quiet mind?—What,
 however, if I do not ask this? what, if my former industry, my anxiety, my assistance, my
 labour, my vigilance is still at the service of my friends, and ready at the call of every one?
 If my friends never seek in vain for my zeal on their behalf in the forum, nor the republic in
 the senate house; if neither the holiday earned by my previous achievements, nor the
 excuse—which my past honours or my present age might supply me with, is employed to save me from
 trouble; if my good-will—my industry, my house, my attention, and my ears are always open to all
 men; if I have not even any time left to recollect and think over those things which I have done
 for the safety of the whole body of citizens; shall this still be called kingly power, when no
 one can possibly be found who would act as my substitute in it?

All suspicion of aiming at kingly power is very far removed from me. If you ask who they are
 who have endeavoured to assume kingly power in Rome, without unfolding the records of the public
 annals, you may find them among the images in your own house. I suppose it is my achievements
 which have unduly elated me, and have inspired me with I know not how much pride. Concerning
 which deeds of mine, illustrious and immortal as they are, O judges, I can say thus much—that I,
 who have saved this city, and the lives of all the citizens, from the most extreme
 dangers, shall have gained quite reward enough, if no danger arises to myself out of the great
 service which I have done to all men.

In truth, I recollect in what state it is that I have done such great exploits, and in what
 city I am living. The forum is full of those men whom I, O judges, have taken off from your
 necks, but have not removed from my own. Unless you think that they were only a few men, who
 were able to attempt or to hope that they might be able to destroy so vast an empire. I was able
 to take away their firebrands, to wrest their torches from their hands, as I did; but their
 wicked and impious inclinations I could neither cure nor eradicate. Therefore I am not ignorant
 in what danger I am living among such a multitude of wicked men, since I see that I have
 undertaken single-handed an eternal war against all wicked men.

But if perchance, you envy that means of protection which I have, and if it seems to you to be
 of a kingly sort,—namely, the fact that all good men of all ranks and classes consider their
 safety as bound up with mine,—comfort yourself with the reflection that the dispositions of all
 wicked men are especially hostile to and furious against me alone; and they hate me, not only
 because I repressed their profligate attempts and impious madness, but still more because they
 think, that, as long as I am alive, they can attempt nothing more of the same sort.

But why do I wonder if any wicked thing is said of me by wicked men,
 where Lucius Torquatus himself, after having in the first place laid such a foundation of virtue
 as he did in his youth, after having proposed to himself the hope of the most honourable dignity
 in the state, and, in the second place, being the son of Lucius Torquatus, a most intrepid
 consul a most virtuous senator, and at all times a most admirable citizen, is sometimes run away
 with by impetuosity of language? For when he had spoken in a low voice of the wickedness of
 Publius Lentulus, and of the audacity of all the conspirators, so that only you, who approve of
 those things, could hear what he said, he spoke with a loud querulous voice of the execution of
 Publius Lentulus and of the prison;

in which there was, first
 of all, this absurdity, that when he wished to gain your approval of the inconsiderate things
 which he had said, but did not wish those men, who were standing around the
 tribunal, to hear them, he did not perceive that, while he was speaking so loudly, those men
 whose favour he was seeking to gain could not hear him, without your hearing him too, who did
 not approve of what he was saying; and, in the second place, it is a great defect in an orator
 not to see what each cause requires. For nothing is so inconsistent as for a man who is accusing
 another of conspiracy, to appear to lament the punishment and death of conspirators; which is
 not, indeed, strange to any one, when it is done by that tribune of the people who appears to be
 the only man left to bewail those conspirators; for it is difficult to be silent when you are
 really grieved. But, if you do anything of that sort, I do greatly marvel at you, not only
 because you are such a young man as you are, but because you do it in the very cause in which
 you wish to appear as a punisher of conspiracy.

However, what
 I find fault with most of all, is this: that you, with your abilities and your prudence, do not
 maintain the true interest of the republic, but believe, on the contrary, that those actions are
 not approved of by the Roman people, which, when I was consul, were done by all virtuous men,
 for the preservation of the common safety of all. 
 Do you believe that any one of those men who are here present, into whose favour you were
 seeking to insinuate yourself against their will, was either so wicked as to wish all these
 things to be destroyed, or so miserable as to wish to perish himself; and to have nothing which
 he wished to preserve? Is there any one who blames the most illustrious man of your family and
 name, who deprived his own son of
 life in order to strengthen his power over the rest of his army; and do you blame the republic,
 for destroying domestic enemies in order to avoid being herself destroyed by them?

Take notice then, O Torquatus, to what extent I shirk the avowal of the
 actions of my consulship. I speak, and I always will speak, with my loudest voice, in order that
 all men may be able to hear me: be present all of you with your minds, ye who are present with
 your bodies, ye in whose numerous attendance I take great pleasure; give me your attention and
 all your ears, and listen to me while I speak of what he believes to be unpopular topics. I, as
 consul, when an army of abandoned citizens, got together by clandestine wickedness, had prepared
 a most cruel and miserable destruction for my country; when Catiline had been appointed to
 manage the fall and ruin of the republic in the camp, and when Lentulus was the leader among
 these very temples and houses around us; I, I say, by my labours, at the risk of my own life, by
 my prudence, without any tumult, without making any extraordinary levies, without arms, without
 an army, having arrested and executed five men delivered the city from conflagration, the
 citizens from massacre Italy from devastation, the republic from destruction. I at the price of
 the punishment of five frantic and ruined men ransomed the lives of all the citizens, the
 constitution of the whole world, this city the home of all of us, the citadel of foreign kings
 and foreign nations the light of all people the abode of empire.

Did you think that I would not say this in a court of justice when I was not
 on my oath, which I had said before now in a most numerous assembly when speaking on oath? 
 
 And I will say this further, O Torquatus, to prevent any wicked man from conceiving any sudden
 attachment to, or any sudden hopes of you; and, in order that every one may hear it, I will say
 it as loudly as I can:—Of all those things which I undertook and did during my consulship in
 defence of the common safety, that Lucius Torquatus, being my constant comrade in my consulship,
 and having been so also in my praetorship, was my defender; and assistant, and partner in my
 actions; being also the chief; and the leader, and the standard-bearer of the Roman youth; and
 his father, a man most devoted to his country, a man of the greatest courage, of the most
 consummate political wisdom, and of singular firmness, though he was sick still was constantly
 present at all my actions he never left my side: he by his zeal and wisdom and
 authority was of the very greatest assistance to me, overcoming the infirmity of his body by the
 vigour of his mind.

Do you not see now, how I deliver you
 from the danger of any sudden popularity among the wicked, and reconcile you to all good men?
 who love you, and cherish you, and who always will cherish you; nor, if perchance you for a
 while abandon me, will they on that account allow you to abandon them and the republic and your
 own dignity. 
 But now I return to the cause; and I call you, O judges, to hear witness to this;—that this
 necessity of speaking of myself was imposed on me by him. For if Torquatus had been content with
 accusing Sulla, I too at the present time should have done nothing beyond defending him who had
 been accused; but when he, in his whole speech, inveighed against me, and when, in the very
 beginning, as I said, he sought to deprive my defence of all authority, even if my indignation
 had not compelled me to speak, still the necessity of doing justice to my cause would have
 demanded this speech from me.

You say that Sulla was named by the Allobroges.—Who denies it? but read the information, and
 see how he was named. They said that Lucius Cassius had said that, among other men, Autronius
 was favourable to their designs. I ask, did Cassius say that Sulla was? Never. They say that
 they themselves inquired of Cassius what Sulla's opinions were. Observe the diligence of the
 Gauls. They, knowing nothing of the life or character of the man, but only having heard that he
 and Autronius had met with one common disaster, asked whether his inclinations were the same?
 what then? Even if Cassius had made answer that Sulla was of the same opinion, and was
 favourable to their views, still it would not seem to me that that reply ought to be made matter
 of accusation against him. How so? Because, as it was his object to instigate the barbarians to
 war, it was no business of his to weaken their expectations, or to acquit those men of whom they
 did entertain some suspicions.

But yet he did not reply, that
 Sulla was favourable to their designs. And, in truth, it would have been an absurdity, after he
 had named every one else of his own accord, to make no mention of Sulla till he was reminded of
 him and asked about him. Unless you think this probable, that Lucius Cassius had quite forgotten
 the name of Publius Sulla. Even if the high rank of the man, and his unfortunate condition, and
 the relics of his ancient dignity had not made him notorious, still the mention of Autronius
 must have recalled Sulla to his recollection. In truth, it is my opinion that when Cassius was
 enumerating the authority of the chief men of the conspiracy for the purpose of exciting the
 minds of the Allobroges as he knew that the foreign nations are especially moved by an
 illustrious name he could not have named Autronius before Sulla, if he had been able to name
 Sulla at all.

But no one can be induced to believe this,—that
 the Gauls, the moment that Autronius was named, should have thought, on account of the
 similarity of their misfortunes, that it was worth their while to make inquiries about Sulla,
 but that Cassius, if he really was implicated in this wickedness, should never have once
 recollected Sulla, even after he had named Autronius. However, what was the reply which Cassius
 made about Sulla? He said that he was not sure. “He does not acquit him,” says Torquatus. I have
 said before, that, even if he had accused him, when he was interrogated in this manner, his
 reply ought not to have been made matter of accusation against Sulla.

But I think that, in judicial proceedings and examinations, the thing to be
 inquired is, not whether any one is exculpated, but whether any one is inculpated. And in truth,
 when Cassius says that he does not know, is he seeking to exculpate Sulla, or proving clearly
 enough that he really does not know? He is unwilling to compromise him with the Gauls. Why so?
 That they may not mention him in their information? what? If he had supposed that there was any
 danger of their ever giving any information at all, would he have made that confession
 respecting himself? He did not know it. I suppose, O judges, Sulla was the only person about
 whom Cassius was kept in the dark. For he certainly was well informed about every one else; and
 it was thoroughly proved that a great deal of the conspiracy was hatched at his house. As he did
 not like to deny that Sulla made one of the conspirators, his object being to give the Gauls as
 much hope as possible, and as he did not venture to assert what was absolutely false, he said
 that he did not know. But this is quite evident, that as he, who knew the truth about every one,
 said that he did not know about Sulla, the same weight is due to this denial of his as if he had
 said that be did know that he had nothing to do with the conspiracy. For when it
 is perfectly certain that a man is acquainted with all the conspirators, his ignorance of any
 one ought to be considered an acquittal of him. But I am not asking now whether Cassius acquits
 Sulla; this is quite sufficient for me, that there is not one word to implicate Sulla in the
 whole information of the Allobroges.

Torquatus being cut off from this article of his accusation, again turns against me, and
 accuses me. He says that I have made an entry in the public registers of a different statement
 from that which was really made. O ye immortal gods! (for I will give you what belongs to you;
 nor can I attribute so much to my own ability, as to think that I was able, in that most
 turbulent tempest which was afflicting the republic, to manage, of my own power, so many and
 such important affairs,—affairs arising so unexpectedly, and of such various characters,) it was
 you, in truth, who then inflamed my mind with the desire of saving my country; it was you who
 turned me from all other thoughts to the one idea of preserving the republic; it was you who,
 amid all that darkness of error and ignorance, held a bright light before my mind!

I saw this, O judges, that unless, while the recollection of the senate
 on the subject was still fresh, I bore evidence to the authority and to the particulars of this
 information by public records, hereafter some one, not Torquatus, nor any one like Torquatus,
 (for in that indeed I have been much deceived,) but some one who had lost his patrimony, some
 enemy of tranquillity, some foe to all good men, would say that the information given had been
 different; in order the more easily, when some gale of odium had been stirred up against all
 virtuous men, to be able, amid the misfortunes of the republic, to discover some harbour for his
 own broken vessel. Therefore, having introduced the informers into the Senate, I appointed
 senators to take down every statement made by the informers, every question that was asked, and
 every answer that was given.

And what men they were! Not only
 men of the greatest virtue and good faith, of which sort of men there are plenty in the senate,
 but men, also, who I knew from their memory, from their knowledge, from their habit and rapidity
 of writing, could most easily follow everything that was said. I selected Caius Cosconius, who
 was praetor at the time; Marcus Messala, who was at the time standing for the praetorship;
 Publius Nigidius, and Appius Claudius. I believe that there is no one who thinks that these men
 were deficient either in the good faith or in the ability requisite to enable them to give an
 accurate report. 
 What followed? What did I do next? As I knew that the information was by these means entered
 among the public documents, but yet that those records would be kept in the custody of private
 individuals, according to the customs of our ancestors, I did not conceal it; I did not keep it
 at my own house; but I caused it at once to be copied out by several clerks, and to be
 distributed everywhere, and published and made known to the Roman people. I distributed it all
 over Italy, I sent copies of it into every province; I wish no one to be ignorant of that
 information, by means of which safety was procured for all.

And I took this precaution, though at so disturbed a time, and when all opportunities of acting
 were so sudden and so brief at the suggestion of some divine providence, as I said before, and
 not of my own accord, or of my own wisdom; taking care, in the first instance, that no one
 should be able to recollect of the danger to the republic, or to any individual, only as much as
 he pleased; and in the second place, that no one should be able at any time to find fault with
 that information, or to accuse us of having given credit to it rashly; and lastly, that no one
 should ever put any questions to me, or seek to learn anything from my private journals, lest I
 might be accused of either forgetting or remembering too much, and lest any negligence of mine
 should be thought discreditable, or lest any eagerness on my part might seem cruel.

But still, O Torquatus, I ask you, as your enemy was mentioned in the information, and as a
 full senate and the memory of all men as to so recent an affair was a witness of that fact; as
 my clerks would have communicated the information to you, my intimate friend and companion, if
 you had wished for it, even before they had taken a copy of it; when you saw that there were any
 incorrectnesses in it, why were you silent, why did you permit them? Why did you not make a
 complaint to me or to some friend of mine? or why did you not at least, since you are so well
 inclined to inveigh against your friends, expostulate passionately and earnestly with me? Do
 you, when your voice was never once heard at the time, when, though the information was read,
 and copied out, and published, you kept silence then,—do you, I say, now on a
 sudden dare to bring forward a statement of such importance? and to place yourself in such a
 position that before you can convict me of having tampered with the information, you must
 confess that you are convicted yourself of the grossest negligence, on your own information bid
 against yourself?

Was the safety of any one of such consequence to me as to induce me to forget my own? or to
 make me contaminate the truth, which I had laid open, by any lie? Or do you suppose that I would
 assist any one by whom I thought that a cruel plot had been laid against the republic, and most
 especially against me the consul? But if I had been forgetful of my own severity and of my own
 virtue, was I so mad, as, when letters are things which have been devised for the sake of
 posterity, in order to be a protection against forgetfulness, to think that the fresh
 recollection of the whole senate could be beaten down by my journal?

I have been bearing with you, O Torquatus, for a long time. I have been
 bearing with you; and sometimes I, of my own accord, call back and check my inclination, when it
 has been provoked to chastise your speech. I make some allowance for your violent temper; I have
 some indulgence for your youth, I yield somewhat to our own friendship, I have some regard to
 your father. But unless you put some restraint upon yourself you will compel me to forget our
 friendship, in order to pay due regard to my own dignity. No one ever attempted to attach the
 slightest suspicion to me, that I did not defeat him; but I wish you to believe me in
 this;—those whom I think that I can defeat most easily, are not those whom I take the greatest
 pleasure in answering.

Do you, since you are not at all
 ignorant of my ordinary way of speaking, forbear to abuse my lenity. Do not think that the
 stings of my eloquence are taken away, because they are sheathed. Do not think that that power
 has been entirely lost, because I show some consideration for; and indulgence towards you. In
 the first place, the excuses which I make to myself for your injurious conduct, your violent
 temper; your age, and our friendship, have much weight with me; and, in the next place, I do not
 yet consider you a person of sufficient power to make it worth my while to contend and argue
 with you. But if you were more capable through age and experience, I should pursue the conduct
 which is habitual to me when I have been provoked; at present I will deal with you in such away
 that I shall seem to have received an injury rather than to have requited one.

Nor, indeed, can I make out why you are angry with me. If it is because I am defending a man
 whom you accusing, why should not I also be angry with you, who are accusing a man whom I am
 defending? “I,” say you, “am accusing my enemy.” And I am defending my friend. “But you ought
 not to defend any one who is being tried for conspiracy.” On the contrary, no one ought to be
 more prompt to defend a man of whom he has never suspected any ill, than he who has had many
 reasons for forming opinions about other men. “Why did you give evidence against others?”
 Because I was compelled. “Why were they convicted?” Because my evidence was believed. “It is
 behaving like a king to speak against whomsoever you please and to defend whomsoever you
 please.” Say, rather, that it is slavery not to be able to speak against any one you choose and
 to defend any one you choose. And if you begin to consider whether it was more necessary for me
 to do this or for you to do that, you will perceive that you could with more credit fix a limit
 to your enmities than I could to my humanity.

But when the greatest honours of your family were at stake, that is to say, the consulship of
 your father that wise man your father was not angry with his most intimate friends for defending
 and praising Sulla. He was aware that this was a principle handed down to us from our ancestors
 that we were not to be hindered by our friendship for any one from warding off dangers from
 others. And yet that contest was far from resembling this trial. Then, if Publius Sulla could he
 put down, the consulship would be procured for your father as it was procured, it was a contest
 of honour you were crying out, that you were seeking to recover what had been taken from you, in
 order that, having been defeated in the Campus Martius, you might succeed in the forum. Then
 those who were contending against you for Sulla's safety your greatest friends, with whom you
 were not angry. On, that account, deprived you of the consulship, resisted your acquisition of
 honour; and yet they did so without any rupture of your mutual friendship, without violating any
 duty according to ancient precedent and the established principles of every good man.

But now what promotion of yours am I opposing? or what dignity of yours am I throwing
 obstacles in the way of? what is there which you can at present seek from this proceeding?
 Honour has been conferred on your father; the insignia of honour have descended to you. You,
 adorned with his spoils, come to tear the body of him whom you have slain; I am defending and
 protecting him who is lying prostrate and stripped of his arms. And on this you find fault with
 me, and are angry because I defend him. But I not only am not angry with you, but I do not even
 find fault with your proceeding. For I imagine that you have laid down a rule for yourself as to
 what you thought that you ought to do, and that you have appointed a very capable judge of your
 duty.

“Oh, but the son of Caius Cornelius accuses him, and
 that ought to have the same weight as if his father had given information against him.” O wise
 Cornelius,—the father; I mean—who left all the reward which is usually given for information,
 but has got all the discredit which a confession can involve, through the accusation brought by
 his son! However; what is it that Cornelius gives information of by the mouth of that boy? If it
 is a part of the business which is unknown to me, but which has been communicated to Hortensius,
 let Hortensius reply. If as you say, his statement concerns that crew of Autronius and Catiline,
 when they intended to commit a massacre in the Campus Martius, at the consular comitia , which were held by me; we saw Autronius that day in the
 Campus. And why do I say we saw? I myself saw him (for you at that time, O judges, had no
 anxiety, no suspicions; I, protected by a firm guard of friends at that time, checked the forces
 and the endeavours of Catiline and Autronius).

Is there,
 then, any one who says that Sulla at that time had any idea of coming into the Campus? And yet,
 if at that time he had united himself with Catiline in that society of wickedness, why did he
 leave him? why was not he with Autronius? why, when their cases were similar, are not similar
 proofs of criminality found? But since Cornelius himself even now hesitates about giving
 information against him, he, as you say, contents himself with filling up the outline of his
 son's information what then does he say about that night, when, according to the orders of
 Catiline, he came into the Scythemakers' street, to the house of Marcus Lecca, that night which followed the sixth of
 November; in my consulship? that night which of all the moments of the conspiracy was the most
 terrible and the most miserable. Then the day in which Catiline should leave the city, then the
 terms on which the rest should remain behind, then the arrangement and division of the whole
 city, with regard to the conflagration and the massacre, was settled. Then your father, O
 Cornelius, as he afterwards confessed, begged for himself that especial employment of going the
 first in the morning to salute me as consul, in order that, laving been admitted, according to
 my usual custom and to the privilege which his friendship with me gave him, he might slay me in
 my bed.

At this time, when the conspiracy was at its height; when Catiline was starting for the army,
 and Lentulus was being left in the city; when Cassius was being appointed to superintend the
 burning of the city, and Cethegus the massacre; when Autronius had the part allotted to him of
 occupying Italy; when, in short, everything was being arranged, and settled, and prepared;
 where, O Cornelius, was Sulla? Was he at Rome? No, he was very far away. Was he in those
 districts to which Catiline was betaking himself? He was still further from them. Was he in the
 Camertine, Picenian, or Gallic district? lands which the disease, as it were, of that frenzy had
 infected most particularly. Nothing is further from the truth; for he was, as I have said
 already, at Naples. He was in that part of Italy which above all others was free from all
 suspicion of being implicated in that business.

What then
 does he state in his information, or what does he allege—I mean Cornelius, or you who bring
 these messages from him? He says that gladiators were bought, under pretence of some games to be
 exhibited by Faustus, for the purposes of slaughter and tumult.—Just so;—the gladiators are
 mentioned whom we know that he was bound to provide according to his father's will. “But he
 seized on a whole household of gladiators; and if he had left that alone, some other troop might
 have discharged the duty to which Faustus was bound.” I wish this troop could satisfy not only
 the envy of parties unfavourable to him, but even the expectations of reasonable men. “He was in
 a desperate hurry, when the time for the exhibition was still far off.” As if in reality, the
 time for the exhibition was not drawing very near. This household of slaves was
 got without Faustus having any idea of such a step; for he neither knew of it nor wished it.

But there are letters of Faustus's extant, in which he begs
 and prays Publius Sulla to buy gladiators, and to buy this very troop: and not only were such
 letters sent to Publius Sulla, but they were sent also to Lucius Caesar, to Quintus Pompeius,
 and to Gains Memmius, by whose advice the whole business was managed. But Cornelius was appointed to manage the troop. If in the respect of the purchase of
 this household of gladiators no suspicion attaches to the circumstances, it certainly can make
 no difference that he was appointed to manage them afterwards. But still, he in reality only
 discharged the servile duty of providing them with arms; but he never did superintend the men
 themselves; that duty was always discharged by Balbus, a freedman of Faustus.

But Sittius was sent by him into further Spain; in order to excite sedition in that province.
 In the first place, O judges, Sittius departed, in the consulship of Lucius Julius and Caius
 Figulus, some time before this mad business of Catiline's, and before there was any suspicion of
 this conspiracy. In the second place, he did not go there for the first time, but he had already
 been there several years before, for the same purpose that he went now. And he went not only
 with an object but with a necessary object having some important accounts to settle with the
 king of Mauritania. But then, after he was gone, as Sulla managed his affairs as his agent he
 sold many of the most beautiful farms of Publius Sittius, and by this means paid his debts; so
 that the motive which drove the rest to this wickedness, the desire, namely, of retaining their
 possessions, did not exist in the case of Sittius, who had diminished his landed property to pay
 his debts.

But now, how incredible, how absurd is the idea
 that a man who wished to make a massacre at Rome, and to burn down this city, should let his
 most intimate friend depart, should send him away into the most distant countries! Did he so in
 order the more easily to effect what he was endeavoring to do at Rome, if there were seditions
 in Spain?—“But these things were done independently, and had no connection with one another.” Is
 it possible, then, that he should have thought it desirable, when engaged in such important
 affairs, in such novel and dangerous, and seditious designs, to send away a man thoroughly
 attached to himself, his most intimate friend, one connected with himself by reciprocal good
 offices and by constant intercourse? It is not probable that he should send a way, when in
 difficulty, and in the midst of troubles of his own raising, the man whom he had always kept
 with him in times of prosperity and tranquillity.

But is Sittius himself (for I must not desert the cause of my old friend and host) a man of
 such a character, or of such a family and such a school as to allow us to believe that he wished
 to make war on the republic? Can we believe that he, whose father when all our other neighbours
 and borderers revolted from us behaved with singular duty and loyalty to our republic, should
 think it possible himself to undertake a nefarious war against his country? A man whose debts we
 see were contracted not out of luxury but from a desire to increase his property which led him
 to involve himself in business and who, though he owed debts at Rome, had very large debts owing
 to him in the provinces and in the confederate kingdoms and when he was applying for them he
 would not allow his agents to be put in any difficulty by his absence but preferred having all
 his property sold and being stripped himself of a most beautiful patrimony, to allowing any
 delay to take place in satisfying his creditors.

And of men of that sort I never, O judges, had
 any fear when I was in the middle of that tempest which afflicted the republic. The sort of men
 who were formidable and terrible were those who clung to their property with such affection that
 you would say it was easier to tear their limbs from them than their lands but Sittius never
 thought that there was such a relationship between him and his estates, and therefore he cleared
 himself, not only from all suspicion of such wickedness as theirs, but even from being talked
 about not by arms, but at the expense of his patrimony.

But now, as to what he adds, that the inhabitants of Pompeii were excited by Sulla to join
 that conspiracy and that abominable wickedness, what sort of statement that I am quite unable to
 understand. Do the people of Pompeii appear to have joined the conspiracy? Who has ever said so?
 or when was there the slightest suspicion of this fact? “He separated then,” says he, “from the
 settlers, in order that when he had excited dissensions and divisions within, he might be able
 to have the town and nation of Pompeii in his power.” In the first place, every circumstance of
 the dissension between the natives of Pompeii and the settlers was referred to the patrons of
 the town, being a matter of long standing, and having been going on many years. In the second
 place, the matter was investigated by the patrons in such a way, that Sulla did not in any
 particular disagree with the opinions of the others. And lastly, the settlers themselves
 understand that the natives of Pompeii were not more denuded by Sulla than they themselves were.

And this, O judges, you may ascertain from the number of
 settlers, most honourable men, here present; who are here now, and are anxious and above all
 things desirous that the man, the patron, the defender, the guardian of that colony, (if they
 have not been able to see him in the safe enjoyment of every sort of good fortune and every
 honour,) may at all events, in the present misfortune by which he is attacked, be defended and
 preserved by your means. The natives of Pompeii are here also with equal eagerness, who are
 accused as well as he is by the prosecutors; men whose differences with the settlers about walks
 and about votes have not gone to such lengths as to make them differ also about their common
 safety.

And even this virtue of Publius Sulla appears to me
 to be one which ought not to be passed over in silence;—that though that colony was originally
 settled by him, and though the fortune of the Roman people has separated the interests of the
 settlers from the fortunes of the native citizens of Pompeii, he is still so popular among, and
 so much beloved by both parties, that he seems not so much to have dispossessed the one party of
 their lands as to have settled both of them in that country. 
 “But the gladiators, and all those preparations for violence, were got together because of the
 motion of Caecilius.” And then he inveighed bitterly against Caecilius, a most virtuous and most
 accomplished man, of whose virtue and constancy, O judges, I will only say thus much,—that he
 behaved in such a manner with respect to that motion which he brought forward, not for the
 purpose of doing away with, but only of relieving his brother's misfortune, that though he
 wished to consult his brother's welfare, he was unwilling to oppose the interests of the
 republic; he proposed his law the impulse of brotherly affection, and he abandoned it because he
 was dissuaded from it by his brother's authority.

And Sulla
 is accused by Lucius Caecilius, in that business in which both of them deserve praise. In the
 first place Caecilius, for having proposed a law in which he appeared to wish to rescind an
 unjust decision; and Sulla, who reproved him, and chose to abide by the decision. For the
 constitution of the republic derives its principal consistency from formal legal decisions. Nor
 do I think that any one ought to yield so much to his love for his brother as to think only of
 the welfare of his own relations, and to neglect the common safety of all. He did not touch the
 decision already given, but he took away the punishment for bribery which had been lately
 established by recent laws. And, therefore, by this motion he was seeking, not to rescind a
 decision, but to correct a defect in the law. When a man is complaining of a penalty, it is not
 the decision with which he is finding fault but the law. For the conviction is the act of
 judges, and that is let stand; the penalty is the act of the law, and that may be lightened.

Do not therefore, alienate from your cause the inclinations
 of those orders of men which preside over the courts of justice with the greatest authority and
 dignity. No one, has attempted to annul the decision which has been given; nothing of that sort
 has been proposed. What Caecilius always thought while grieved at the calamity which had
 befallen his brother, was, that the power of the judges ought to be preserved unimpaired, but
 that the severity of the law required to be mitigated. 
 But why need I say more on this topic? I might speak perhaps, and I would speak willingly and
 gladly, if affection and fraternal love had impelled Lucius Caecilius a little beyond the limits
 which regular and strict duty requires of a man; I would appeal to your feelings, I would invoke
 the affection which every one feels for his own relations; I would solicit pardon for the error
 of Lucius Caecilius, from your own inmost thoughts and from the common humanity of all men.

The law was proposed only a few days; it was never begun to
 be put in train to be carried; it was laid on the table in the senate. On the first of January,
 when we had summoned the senate to meet in the Capitol, nothing took precedence of it; and
 Quintus Metellus the praetor said, that what he was saying was by the command of Sulla; that
 Sulla did not wish such a motion to be brought forward respecting his case. From
 that time forward Caecilius applied himself to many measures for the advantage of the republic;
 he declared that he by his intercession would stop the agrarian law, which was in every part of
 it denounced and defeated by me. He resisted infamous attempts at corruption; he never threw any
 obstacles in the way of the authority of the senate. He behaved himself in his tribuneship in
 such a manner, that, laying aside all regard for his own domestic concerns, he thought of
 nothing for the future but the welfare of the republic.

And
 even in regard to this very motion, who was there of us who had any fears of Sulla or Caecilius
 attempting to carry any point by violence? Did not all the alarm that existed at that time, all
 the fear and expectation of sedition, arise from the villainy of Autronius? It was his
 expressions and his threats which were bruited abroad; it was the sight of him, the multitudes
 that thronged to him, the crowd that escorted him, and the bands of his abandoned followers,
 that caused all the fear of sedition which agitated us. Therefore, Publius Sulla, as this most
 odious man was then his comrade and partner, not only in honour but also in misfortune, was
 compelled to lose his own good fortune, and to remain under a cloud without any remedy or
 alleviation.

At this point you are constantly reading passages from my letter, which I sent to Cnaeus
 Pompeius about my own achievements, and about the general state of the republic; and out of it
 you seek to extract some charge against Publius Sulla. And because I wrote that an attempt of
 incredible madness, conceived two years before, had broken out in my consulship, you say that I,
 by this expression, have proved that Sulla was in the former conspiracy. I suppose I think that
 Cnaeus Piso, and Catiline, and Vargunteius were not able to do any wicked or audacious act by
 themselves, without the aid of Publius Sulla!

But even if any
 one had had a doubt on that subject before, would he have thought (as you accuse him of having
 done) of descending, after the murder of your father, who was then consul, into the Campus on
 the first of January with the lictors? This suspicion, in fact you removed yourself, when you
 said that he had prepared an armed band and cherished violent designs against your father, in
 order to make Catiline consul. And if I grant you this, then you must grant to me that Sulla,
 when he was voting for Catiline, had no thoughts of recovering by violence his own consulship,
 which he had lost by a judicial decision. For his character is not one, O judges, which is at
 all liable to the imputation of such enormous, of such atrocious crimes.

For I will now proceed, after I have refuted all the charges against him, by an arrangement
 contrary to that which is usually adopted, to speak of the general course of life and habits of
 my client. In truth, at the beginning I was eager to encounter the greatness of the accusation,
 to satisfy the expectations of men, and to say something also of myself, since I too had been
 accused. But now I mast call you back to that point to which the cause itself, even if I said
 nothing, would compel you to direct all your attention. 
 In every case, O judges, which is of more serious importance than usual, we must judge a good
 deal as to what every one has wished, or intended, or done, not from the counts of the
 indictment but from the habits of the person who is accused. For no one of us can have his
 character modeled in a moment, nor can any one's course of life be altered, or his natural
 disposition changed on a sudden.

Survey for a moment in your
 mind's eye, O judges, (to say nothing of other instances,) these very men who were implicated in
 this wickedness. Catiline conspired against the republic. Whose ears were ever unwilling to
 believe in this attempt on the part of a man who had spent his whole life, from his boyhood
 upwards, not only in intemperance and debauchery, but who had devoted all his energies and all
 his zeal to every sort of enormity, and lust, and bloodshed? Who marveled that that man died
 fighting against his country, whom all men had always thought born for civil war? Who is there
 that recollects the way in which Lentulus was a partner it of informers or the insanity of his
 caprices or his perverse and impious superstition, who can wonder that he cherished either
 wicked designs, or insane hopes? Who even thinks of Caius Cethegus and his expedition into Spain
 and the wound inflicted on Quintus Metellus Pius without seeing that a prison was built on
 purpose to be the scene of his punishment?

I say nothing of
 the rest that there may be some end to my instances. I only ask you silently to recollect all
 those men who are proved to have been in this conspiracy. You will see that every one of those
 men was convicted by his own manner of life, before be was condemned by our suspicion. And as
 for Autronius himself, (since his name is the most nearly connected with the danger in which my
 client is, and with the accusation which is brought against him,) did not the manner in which he
 had spent all his early life convict him? He had always been audacious, violent profligate. We
 know that in defending himself in charges of adultery, he was accustomed to use not only the
 most infamous language, but even his fists and his feet. We know that he had been accustomed to
 drive men from their estates, to murder his neighbors, to plunder the temples of the allies, to
 disturb the courts of justice by violence and arms; in prosperity to despise every body, in
 adversity to fight against all good men; never to regard the interests of the republic, and not
 to yield even to fortune herself. Even if he were not convicted by the most irresistible
 evidence, still his own habits and his past life would convict him.

Come now, compare with those men the life of Publius Sulla, well known as it is to you and to
 all the Roman people; and place it, O judges, as it were before your eyes. Has there ever been
 any act or exploit of his which has seemed to any one, I will not say audacious, but even rather
 inconsiderate? Do I say any act? Has any word ever fallen from his lips by which any one could
 be offended? Yes, even in that terrible and disorderly victory of Lucius Sulla, who was found
 more gentle or more merciful than Publius Sulla? How many men's wives did he not save by begging
 them of Lucius Sulla! How many men are there of the highest rank and of the greatest
 accomplishments, both of our order and of the equestrian body, for whose safety he laid himself
 under obligations to Lucius Sulla! whom I might name, for they have no objection; indeed they
 are here to countenance him now, with the most grateful feelings towards him. But because that
 service is a greater one than one citizen ought to be able to do to another, I entreat of you to
 impute to the times the fact of his having such power, but to give him himself the credit due to
 his having exerted it in such a manner.

Why need I speak of
 the other virtues of his life? of his dignity? of his liberality? of his moderation in his own
 private affairs? of his splendour on public occasions? For, though in these points he has been
 crippled by fortune, yet the good foundations laid by nature are visible. What a house was his!
 what crowds frequented it daily! How great was the dignity of his behaviour to his friends! How
 great was their attachment to him! What a multitude of friends had he of every order of the
 people! These things which had been built up by long time and much labour, one single hour
 deprived him of; Publius Sulla, O judges, received a terrible and a mortal wound; but still it
 was an injury of such a sort as his way of life and his natural disposition might seem liable to
 be exposed to. He was judged to have too great a desire for honour and dignity. If no one else
 was supposed to have such desires in standing for the consulship, then he was judged to be more
 covetous than the rest. But if this desire for the consulship has existed in some other men
 also, then, perhaps, fortune was a little more unfavourable to him than to others.

But, after this misfortune, who ever saw Publius Sulla otherwise than
 grieving, dejected, and out of spirits? Who ever suspected that he was avoiding the sight of men
 and the light of day, out of hatred, and not rather out of shame? For though he had many
 temptations to frequent this city and the forum, by reason of the great attachment of his
 friends to him, the only consolation which remained to him in his misfortunes, still he kept out
 of your sight; and though he might have remained here as far as the law went he almost condemned
 himself to banishment. 
 In such modest conduct as this, O judges, and in such a life as this, will you believe that
 there was any room left for such enormous wickedness? Look at the man himself; behold his
 countenance. Compare the accusation with his course of life. Compare his life, which has been
 laid open before you from his birth up to this day, with this accusation.

I say nothing of the republic, to which Sulla has always been most devoted.
 Did he wish these friends of his, being such men as they are, so attached to him, by whom his
 prosperity had been formerly adorned, by whom his adversity is now comforted and relieved, to
 perish miserably, in order that he himself might be at liberty to pass a most miserable and
 infamous existence in company with Lentulus, and Catiline, and Cethegus, with no other prospect
 for the future but a disgraceful death? That suspicion is not consistent,—it is, I say, utterly
 at variance with such habits, with such modesty, with such a life as his, with the man himself.
 That sprang up, a perfectly unexampled sort of barbarity; it was an incredible and amazing
 insanity. The foulness of that unheard of wickedness broke out on a sudden, taking
 its rise from the countless vices of profligate men accumulated ever since their youth.

Think not, O judges, that that violence and that attempt was the work of human beings; for no
 nation ever was so barbarous or so savage, as to have (I will not say so many, but even) one
 implacable enemy to his country. They were some savage and ferocious beasts, born of monsters,
 and clothed in human form. Look again and again, O judges; for there is nothing too violent to
 be said in such a cause as this. Look deeply and thoroughly into the minds of Catiline,
 Autronius, Cethegus, Lentulus, and the rest. What lusts you will find in these men, what crimes,
 what baseness, what audacity, what incredible insanity, what marks of wickedness, what traces of
 parricide, what heaps of enormous guilt! Out of the great diseases of the republic, diseases of
 long standing, which had been given over as hopeless, suddenly that violence broke out in such a
 way, that when it was put down and got rid of, the state might again be able to become
 convalescent and to be cured; for there is no one who thinks that if those pests remained in the
 republic, the Constitution could continue to exist any longer. Therefore they were some Furies
 who urged them on, not to complete their wickedness, but to atone to the republic for their
 guilt by their punishment.

Will you then, O judges, now turn back Publius Sulla into this band of rascals, out of that
 band of honourable men who are living and have lived as his associates? Will you transfer him
 from this body of citizens, and from the familiar dignity in which he lives with them, to the
 party of impious men, to that crew and company of parricides? What then will become of that most
 impregnable defence of modesty? in what respect will the purity of our past lives be of any use
 to us? For what time is the reward of the character which a man has gained to be reserved, if it
 is to desert him at his utmost need, and when he is engaged in a contest in which all his
 fortunes are at stake—if it is not to stand by him and help him at such a crisis as this?

Our prosecutor threatens us with the examinations and
 torture of our slaves; and though we do not suspect that any danger can arise to us from them,
 yet pain reigns in those tortures; much depends on the nature of every one's mind, and the
 fortitude of a person's body. The inquisitor manages everything; caprice regulates much, hope
 corrupts them, fear disables them, so that, in the straits in which they are placed, there is
 but little room left for truth. 
 Is the life of Publius Sulla, then, to be put to the torture? is it to be examined to see what
 lust is concealed beneath it? whether any crime is lurking under it, or any cruelty, or any
 audacity? There will be no mistake in our cause, O judges, no obscurity, if the voice of his
 whole life, which ought to be of the very greatest weight, is listened to by you.

In this cause we fear no witness; we feel sure that no one knows, or
 has ever seen, or has ever heard anything against us. But still, if the consideration of the
 fortune of Publius Sulla has no effect on you, O judges, let a regard for your own fortune weigh
 with you. For this is of the greatest importance to you who have lived in the greatest elegance
 and safety, that the causes of honourable men should not be judged of according to the caprice,
 or enmity, or worthlessness of the witnesses; but that in important investigations and sudden
 dangers, the life of every man should be the most credible witness. And do not you, O judges,
 abandon and expose it, stripped of its arms, and defenceless, to envy and suspicion. Fortify the
 common citadel of all good men, block up the ways of escape resorted to by the wicked. Let that
 witness be of the greatest weight in procuring either safety or punishment for a man, which is
 the only one that, from its own intrinsic nature, can with ease be thoroughly examined, and
 which cannot be suddenly altered and remodelled.

What? Shall this authority, (for I must continually speak of that though I will speak of it
 with timidity and moderation,)—shall, I say, this authority of mine, when I have kept aloof from
 the cause of every one else accused of this conspiracy, and have defended Sulla alone, be of no
 service to my client? This is perhaps a bold thing to say, O judges; a bold thing, if we are
 asking for anything; a bold thing, if, when every one else is silent about us, we will not be
 silent ourselves. But if we are attacked, if we are accused, if we are sought to be rendered
 unpopular, then surely, O judges, you will allow us to retain our liberty, even if we cannot
 quite retain all our dignity.

All the men of consular rank
 are accused at one swoop; so that the name of the most honourable office in the state appears
 now to carry with it more unpopularity than dignity. “They stood by Catiline,” 
 says he, “and praised him.” At that time there was no conspiracy known of or discovered. They
 were defending a friend. They were giving their suppliant the countenance of their presence.
 They did not think the moment of his most imminent danger a fit time to reproach him with the
 infamy of his life. Moreover, even your own father, O Torquatus, when consul, was the advocate
 of Catiline when he was prosecuted on a charge of extortion: he knew he was a bad man, but he
 was a suppliant; perhaps he was an audacious man, but he had once been his friend. And, as he
 stood by him after information of that first conspiracy had been laid before him, he showed that
 he had heard something about him, but that he had not believed it. “But he did not countenance him by his presence at the other trial, when the
 rest did.” If he himself had afterwards learnt something, of which he had been ignorant when
 consul, still we must pardon those men who had heard nothing since that time. But if the first
 accusation had weight, it ought not to have had more weight when it was old than when it was
 fresh. But if your parent, even when he was not without suspicion of danger to himself, was
 still induced by pity to do honour to the defence of a most worthless man by his curule chair,
 by his own private dignity, and by that of his office as consul, then what reason is there for
 reproaching the men of consular rank who gave Catiline the countenance of their presence?

“But
 the same men did not countenance those who were tried for their accession to this conspiracy
 before Sulla.” Certainly not; they resolved that no aid, no assistance, no support ought to be
 given by them to men implicated in such wickedness. And that I may speak for a moment of their
 constancy and attachment to the republic, whose silent virtue and loyalty bears witness in
 behalf of every one of them, and needs no ornaments of language from any one,—can any one say
 that any time there were men of consular rank more virtuous, more fearless, or more firm, than
 those who lived in these critical and perilous times, in which the republic was nearly
 overwhelmed? Who of them did not, with the greatest openness, and bravery, and earnestness, give
 his whole thoughts to the common safety? Nor need I confine what I say to the men of consular
 rank. For this credit is due to all those accomplished men who have been praetors, and indeed to
 the whole senate in common; so that it is plain that never, in the memory of man, was there more
 virtue in that order, greater attachment to the republic, or more consummate wisdom, But because
 the men of consular rank were especially mentioned, I thought I ought to say thus much in their
 behalf; and that that would be enough, as the recollection of all men would join me in bearing
 witness, that there was not one man of that rank who did not labour with all his virtue, and
 energy, and influence, to preserve the republic.

But what comes next? Do I, who never praised Catiline, who never as consul countenanced
 Catiline when he was on his trial, who have given evidence respecting the conspiracy against
 others,—do I seem to you so far removed from sanity, so forgetful of my own consistency, so
 forgetful of all the exploits which I have performed, as, though as consul I waged war against
 the conspirators, now to wish to preserve their leader, and to bring my mind now to defend the
 cause and the life of that same man whose weapon I lately blunted, and whose flames I have but
 just extinguished? If, O judges, the republic itself, which has been preserved by my labours and
 dangers, did not by its dignity recall me to wisdom and consistency, still it is an instinct
 implanted by nature, to hate for ever the man whom you have once feared, with whom you have
 contended for life and fortune, and from whose plots you have escaped. But when my chief honours
 and the great glory of all my exploits are at stake; when, as often as any one is convicted of
 any participation in this wickedness, the recollection of the safety of the city having been
 secured by me is renewed, shall I be so mad as to allow those things which I did in behalf of
 the common safety to appear now to have been done by me more by chance and by good fortune than
 by virtue and wisdom?

“What, then, do you mean? Do you,” some
 one will say, perhaps, “claim that a man shall be judged innocent, just because you have
 defended him?” But I, O judges, not only claim nothing for myself to which any one can object,
 but I even give up and abandon pretensions which are granted and allowed me by every one. I am
 not living in such a republic—I have not exposed my life to all sorts of dangers for the sake of
 my country at such a time,—they whom I have defeated are not so utterly extinct,—nor are those
 whom I have preserved so grateful, that I should think it safe to attempt to assume more than
 all my enemies and enviers may endure.

It would 
 appear an offensive thing for him who investigated the conspiracy, who laid it open, who crushed
 it, whom the senate thanked in unprecedented language, to whom the senate decreed a
 supplication, which they had never decreed to any one before for civil services, to say in a
 court of justice, “I would not have defended him if he had been a conspirator.” I do not say
 that, because it might be offensive; I say this, which in these trials relating to the
 conspiracy I may claim a right to say, speaking not with authority but with modesty, “I who
 investigated and chastised that conspiracy would certainly not defend Sulla, if I thought that
 he had been a conspirator.” I, O judges, say this, which I said at the beginning, that when I
 was making a thorough inquiry into those great dangers which were threatening everybody, when I
 was hearing many thing; not believing everything, but guarding against everything, not one word
 was said to me by any one who gave information, nor did any one hint any suspicion, nor was
 there the slightest mention in any one's letters, of Publius Sulla.

Wherefore I call you, O gods of my country and of my household, to witness,—you who preside
 over this city and this empire,—you who have preserved this empire, and these our liberties, and
 the Roman people,—you who by your divine assistance protected these houses and temples when I
 was consul,—that I with a free and honest heart am defending the cause of Publius Sulla; that no
 crime has been concealed by me knowingly, that no wickedness undertaken against the general
 safety has been kept back or defended by me. I, when consul, found out nothing about this man, I
 suspected nothing, I heard of nothing.

Therefore I, the same
 person who have seemed to be vehement against some men, inexorable towards the rest of the
 conspirators, (I paid my country what I owed seemed to be vehement against some men, inexorable
 towards I heard of nothing. Therefore I, the same person who have seemed to be vehement against
 some men, inexorable towards the rest of the conspirators, (I paid my country what I owed her;
 what I am now doing is due to my own invariable habits and natural disposition,) am as merciful,
 O judges, as you yourselves. I am as gentle as the most soft-hearted among you. As far as I was
 vehement in union with you, I did nothing except what I was compelled to do: I came to the
 assistance of the republic when in great danger; I raised my sinking country; influenced by pity
 for the whole body of citizens, we were then as severe as was necessary. The safety of all men
 would have been lost for ever in one night, if that severity had not been exercised; but as I
 was led on to the punishment of wicked men by my attachment to the republic, so now I am led to
 secure the safety of the innocent by my own inclination.

I see, O judges, that in this Publius Sulla there is nothing worthy of hatred, and many
 circumstances deserving our pity. For he does not now, O judges, flee to you as a suppliant for
 the sake of warding off calamity from himself, but to prevent his whole family and name from
 being branded with the stigma of nefarious baseness. For as for himself, even if he be acquitted
 by your decision, what honours has he, what comfort has he for the rest of his life, in which he
 can find delight or enjoyment? His house, I suppose, will be adorned; the images of his
 ancestors will be displayed; he himself will resume his ornaments and his usual dress. All these
 things, O judges, are lost to him; all the insignia and ornaments of his family, and his name,
 and his honour, were lost by the calamity of that one decision. But he is anxious not to be
 called the destroyer, the betrayer, the enemy of his country; he is fearful of leaving such
 disgrace to a family of such renown; he is anxious that this unhappy child may not be called the
 son of a conspirator, a criminal and a traitor. He fears for this boy, who is much dearer to him
 than his own life, anxious, though he cannot leave him the undiminished inheritance of his
 honours, at all events not to leave him the undying recollection of his infamy.

This little child entreats you, O judges, to allow him occasionally to
 congratulate his father, if not with his fortunes unimpaired, at least to congratulate him in
 his affliction. The roads to the courts of justice and to the forum are better known to that
 unhappy boy, than the roads to his playground or to his school. I am contending now, O judges,
 not for the life of Publius Sulla, but for his burial. His life was taken from him at the former
 trial; we are now striving to prevent his body from being cast out. For what has he left which
 need detain him in this life? or what is there to make any one think such an existence life at
 all? 
 Lately, Publius Sulla was a man of such consideration in the state, that no one thought
 himself superior to him either in honour, or in influence, or in good fortune. Now, stripped of
 all his dignity, he does not seek to recover what has been taken away from him; but he does
 entreat you, O judge; not to take from him the little which fortune has left him
 in his disasters,—namely, the permission to bewail his calamities in company with his parent,
 with his children, with his brother; and with his friends.

It
 would be becoming for even you yourself, O Torquatus, to be by this time satisfied with the
 miseries of my client. Although you had taken nothing from Sulla except the consulship, yet you
 ought to be content with that for it was a contest for honour, and not enmity, which originally
 induced you to take up this cause. But now that, together with his honour, everything else has
 been taken from him,—now that he is desolate, crushed by this miserable and grievous fortune,
 what is there which you can wish for more? Do you wish to deprive him of the enjoyment of the
 light of day, full as it is to him of tears and grief, in which he now lives amid the greatest
 grief and torment? He would gladly give it up, if you would release him from the foul imputation
 of this most odious crime. Do you seek to banish him as an enemy, when, if you were really
 hard-hearted, you would derive greater enjoyment from seeing his miseries than from hearing of
 them?

Oh, wretched and unhappy was that day on which Publius
 Sulla was declared consul by all the centuries! O how false were the hopes! how fleeting the
 good fortune! how blind the desire! how unreasonable the congratulations! How soon was all that
 scene changed from joy and pleasure to mourning and tears, when he, who but a short time before
 had been consul elect, had on a sudden no trace left of his previous dignity. For what evil was
 there which seemed then to be wanting to him when he was thus stripped of honour, and fame, and
 fortune? or what room could there be left for any new calamity? The same fortune continues to
 pursue him which followed him from the first; she finds a new source of grief for him; she will
 not allow an unfortunate man to perish when he has been afflicted in only one way, and by only
 one disaster.

But now, O judges, I am hindered by my own grief of mind from saying any more about the misery
 of my client. That consideration belongs to you, O judges, I rest the whole cause on your mercy
 and your humanity. You, after a rejection of several judges, of which we had no suspicion, have
 sat as judges suddenly appointed to hear our cause, having been chosen by our accusers from
 their hopes of your severity, but having been also given to us by fortune as the protectors of
 our innocence. As I have been anxious as to what the Roman people thought of me, because I had
 been severe towards wicked men, and so have undertaken the first defence of an innocent man that
 was offered to me, so do you also mitigate that severity of the courts of justice which has been
 exerted now for some months against the most audacious of men, by your lenity and mercy.

The cause itself ought to obtain this from you; and besides,
 it is due to your virtue and courage to show that you are not the men to whom it is most
 advisable for an accuser to apply after having rejected other judges. And in leaving the matter
 to your decision, O judges, I exhort you, with all the earnestness that my affection for you
 warrants me in using, so to act that we, by our common zeal, (since we are united in the service
 of the republic,) and you, by your humanity and mercy, may repel from us both the false charge
 of cruelty.