deemed
possible, went into the country and by way of rebuke wrote him the
notorious letter, in which, according to my accusers, she confessed
that my magical practices had made her lose her reason and fall in
love with me. And yet, Maximus, the day before yesterday at your
command I took a copy of the letter in the presence of witnesses and
of Pontianus' secretary. Aemilianus also was there and countersigned
the copy. What is the result? In contradiction to my accusers'
assertion everything is found to tell in my favour.

79. And yet, even if she had spoken somewhat strongly and had called
me a magician, it would be a reasonable explanation that she had, in
defending her conduct to her son, preferred to allege compulsion on my
part rather than her own inclination. Is Phaedra the only woman whom
love has driven to write a lying letter? Is it not rather a device
common to all women that, when they have begun to feel strong desire
for anything of this kind, they should prefer to make themselves out
the victims of compulsion? But even supposing she had genuinely
regarded me as a magician, would the mere fact of Pudentilla's writing
to that effect be a reason for actually regarding me as a magician?
You, with all your arguments and your witnesses and your diffuse
eloquence, have failed to prove me a magician. Could she prove it with
one word? A formal indictment, written and signed before a judge, is a
far more weighty document than what is written in a private letter!
Why do not you prove me a magician by my own deeds instead of having
recourse to the mere words of another? If your principle be followed,
and whatever any one may have written in a letter under the influence
of love or hatred be admitted as proof, many a man will be indicted on
the wildest charges. 'Pudentilla called you a magician in her letter;
therefore you are a magician!' If she had called me a consul, would
that make me one? What if she had called me a painter, a doctor, or
even an innocent man? Would you accept any of these statements, simply
because she had made them? You would accept none of them. Yet it is a
gross injustice to believe a person when he speaks evil of another and
to refuse to believe him when he speaks well. It is a gross injustice
that a letter should have power to destroy and not to save. 'But,'
says my accuser, 'she was out of her wits, she loved you
distractedly.' I will grant it for the moment. But are all persons,
who are the