Just at first, this alibi made the public laugh. Nobody took it seriously. It seemed to everyone that Clodius was joking and wished to make fun of the Court, or that he was trying a desperate coup. But here, too, they were wrong. Clodius intended that his point be taken quite seriously, and had prepared his defence much more cleverly than his adversaries, emboldened by the certainty of victory, supposed. People were not slow to realise this, as the trial went on and on, without producing that proof of Clodius’s guilt which everybody thought so easy and certain, and without destroying his daring alibi. The first step was to put Clodius’s slaves to the torture,—a step which was allowed in a case in which “incest” was imputed. This procedure was, however, barren of results. Clodius had sent the five slaves of whose evidence he was particularly afraid, partly to his brother in Greece, and partly to a distant property of his in the Alps. Then came Cæsar, who had been cited as a witness, and by whose evidence also the enemies of Clodius set great store. Had he not divorced his wife immediately after the scandal? This divorce clearly indicated that Cæsar considered his wife guilty; a state of mind which gave ground for hope that he would revenge himself by charging Clodius. Cæsar, however, had too great an interest in pleasing Crassus, whose desire to give the Democratic party the satisfaction of procuring the acquittal of Clodius was growing keener and keener. So Cæsar deposed under examination that he knew nothing and could say nothing, as, in conformity with religious precepts, he was out of the house that evening. Great was the irritation and disappointment of the prosecutors, one of whom thereupon, in order to put Cæsar in a difficulty, asked Cæsar for what reason, if he knew nothing and could say nothing, he had divorced his wife immediately after the scandal had broken out. Cæsar then, assuming a solemn air, pronounced the famous phrase: “Because Cæsar’s wife must be above suspicion,” a phrase which historians have proceeded to quote as a proof of his precocious monarchical ambitions and of his masterful temperament. On the contrary, the phrase was merely a _boutade_, devised to elude an embarrassing question in a political trial, which none of those who heard it took too seriously, and in saying which Cæsar himself knew quite well that nobody would take him at his word. In fact, the public smiled at the idea of the elegant and debt-laden demagogue, who was known to all for his somewhat free opinions and customs, having become all at once so jealous of the spotless reputation of his house.