It was not him that placed the crown upon my head. His will did not thrust me onto the throne. His whim did not make me become your wife. 
       All these things, Theodosius, are the result of my merit, your kindness, or your blindness. If it was kindness, my father taught me long ago that only a kind deed deserved to be repeated. He believed that meritorious actions were only so if they were associated with consistency. If you believe it was blindness, do not take away what belongs to me, for being the same as I was at that time, you are bound to keep the same opinion that you had of me. But if you assert that I am an error of judgement and that you have not found in me the merit you thought to find, I will not dispute this, strip me of everything you have given me, but do not take away the innocence I have received from heaven. 
       When I arrived at your court, my reputation was spotless. Few people spoke of me, but all spoke well of me. Today, all people speak of me according to their desire, without my knowing what they say. But I care not, for it is before you that I want to justify myself. Know that those who do good because they are good, and not to appear better, care little for the injustice the world does to their reputation. They find their satisfaction in themselves, not seeking it from others. Thus, the wise can sometimes be innocent and very happy, whereas the capricious who judge only by appearances believe them guilty and unhappy. But Theodosius, given the affection you had for me and that which I have for you, I want to justify myself before your eyes. 
       My father often told me: “My daughter, remember not to seek to acquire the esteem of others, but to seek to obtain your own esteem. Be judge and party, strive to satisfy yourself, examine your feelings, delve into the depths of your heart to know if wisdom reigns there. But do not venerate yourself, rather lean towards rigour than indulgence towards yourself. And when after a thorough search of your intentions, you will have reached the point where you are satisfied with your judgement, disregard the glory of the world, scoff at defamation and be happier to have your own esteem than if you had that of the greatest princes of the earth.” Therefore, according to this reasoning, I cannot be serene so long as the better part of myself does not believe me innocent. Allow me then to revisit the circumstances of my accusation so that that part of my heart that resides in you, once you are convinced of my innocence, may allow me to leave in peace to the solitude that I seek. When I came to Constantinople to take refuge from my brothers who denied me Christianity, the wise Pulcheria did not reject my request. She listened to me and allowed me to lose my case favorably while granting me goods she should not have granted me. At that time, I would have been content with a poor hut and three feet of earth to protect me from necessity. But today, it is about the honor of the Athenian, but also that of Eudoxia, your wife. 
       
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