66 be supporting her husband's fortune. And Thrasea, her son-in-law, seeching her not to throw away her self, and saying to her, What? If I should run the same fortune that Cecinna has done, would you that your daughter, my wife, should do the same: "Would I?" replyed she, "yes, yes, I would, if she had lived as long, and in as good intelligence with thee as I have done with my husband." These answers made them more careful of her, and to have a more watchful eye to her deportments. One day, having said to those that looked to her; "Tis to much purpose that you take all this pains to prevent me; you may indeed make me to die an ill death, but to keep me from dying is not in your power;" she suddenly furiously started from a chair wherein she sate, and with all her force ran her head against the wall, by which blow being laid flat in a swoon, and very much wounded, after they had again with much ado brought her to her self: "I told you," said she, "that if you refused me some easie way of dying, I should find out another how painful soever." The conclusion of so admirable a vertue was thus: her husband Petus not having resolution enough of his own to dispatch himself, as he was by the emperor's cruelty enjoyned, one day amongst others, after having first employed all the reasons and exhortations which she thought most prevalent to perswade him to it, she snatched the poignard he wore from his side, and holding it ready in her hand, for the conclusion of her admonitions, "Do thus, Petus," said she, and in the same instant giving her self a mortal stab in the breast, and then drawing it out of the wound, presented it to him, ending her life with this noble, generous, and immortal saying, "Pæte, non dolet." "Petus, it hurts not;" having strength to pronounce no more but those three never to be forgotten words. Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Pæto, Quem de viceribus traxerat ipsa suis: Si qua fides, vulnus quod feci, non dolet, inquit, Sed quod tu facies, id mihi, Pæte, dolet.-Mart. li. 1. Epig. 14. When the chaste Arria gave the reeking brand The action was much more noble in it self, and of a braver sence than the poet could express it; for she was so far from being deterr'd by the cruelty of their husband's wound and death, and her own, that she had been the promotress, and had given the advice: but having perform'd this high and courageous enterprize for her husband's only convenience, she had even in the last gasp of her life no other concern but for him, and of dispossessing him of the fear of dying with her. 624 THE LAST HOURS OF SENECA, PUT TO DEATH BY NERO. Petus presently struck himself to the heart with the same weapon, asham'd, I believe, to have stood in need of so dear and precious an example. Pompeia Paulina, a young and very noble Roman lady, had married Seneca in his extream old age. Nero, his fine pupil, sent his guards to him to denounce the sentence of death, which was perform'd after this manner. When the Roman emperors of those times had condemn'd any man of quality, they sent to him by their officers to choose what death he would, and to execute it within such or such a time, which was limited according to the mettle of their indignation, to a shorter or a longer respite, that they might therein have better leisure to dispose their affairs, and sometimes depriving them of the means of doing it by the shortness of the time; and if the condemn'd seem'd unwilling to submit to the order, they had people ready at hand to execute it either by cutting the veins of the arms and legs, or by compelling them by force to swallow a draught of poyson. But persons of honour would not stay this necessity, but make use of their own physicians and chirurgeons for this purpose. Seneca, with a calm and steady countenance heard their charge, and presently call'd for paper to write his will, which being by the captain deny'd, he turn'd himself towards his friends, saying to them, "Since I cannot leave you any other acknowledgment of the obligation I have to you, I leave you at least the best thing I have, namely, the image of my life and manners, which I entreat you to keep in memory of me; that so doing you may acquire the glory of sincere and real friends." And therewithal, one while appeasing the sorrow he saw them in with gentle words, and presently raising his voice to reprove them; "What," said he, "are become of all our brave philosophical precepts? What are become of all the provisions we have so many years laid up against the accidents of fortune? Is Nero's cruelty unknown to us? What could we expect from him who had murther'd his mother, and his brother, but that he should put his governour to death who had nourish'd and bred him?" After having spoken these words in general, he turn'd himself towards his wife, and embracing her fast in his arms, as her heart and strength failing her, she was ready to sink down with grief, he beg'd of her, for his sake, to bear this accident with a little more patience, telling her, that now the hour was come wherein he was to shew, not by argument and discourse, but by effect, the fruit he had acquir'd by his studies, and that he really embrac'd his death, not only without grief, but moreover with exceeding joy. "Wherefore, my dearest," said he, "do not dishonour it with thy tears, that it may not seem as if thou lov'st thy self more than my reputation. Moderate thy grief, and comfort thy self in the knowledge thou hast had of me and my actions, leading the remainder of thy life in the same vertuous manner thou hast hitherto done." To which Paulina, having a little recover'd her spirits, and warm'd her magnanimity with the heat of a most generous affection, reply'd, “No, Seneca,” said she, “I am not a woman to suffer you to go alone in such a necessity: I will not have you think that the vertuous examples of your life have not yet taught me how to die, and when can I ever better, or more decently do it, or more to my own desire, than with you! and therefore assure your self I will go along with you." Seneca then taking this noble and generous resolution of his wife exceeding kindly at her hands, and also willing to free himself from the fear of leaving her expos'd to the mercy and cruelty of his enemies after his death: "I have, Paulina," said he, "sufficiently instructed thee in what would serve thee happily to live; but thou more covetest, I see, the honour of dying in truth I will not grudge it thee, the constancy and resolution in our common end are the same, but the beauty and glory of thy part is much greater." Which being said, the chirurgeons at the same time open the veins of both their arms, but being those of Seneca were more shrunk up, as well with age as abstinence, made his blood to flow too slowly, he moreover commanded them to open the veins of his thighs, and lest the torments he endur'd might penetrate his wives heart, and also to free himself from the affliction of seeing her in so sad a condition, after having taken a very affectionate leave of her, he intreated she would suffer them to carry her into her chamber, which they accordingly did; but all the incisions being not yet enough to make him die, he commanded Statius Annæus, his physician, to give him a draught of poyson, which had not much better effect; for by reason of the weakness and coldness of his limbs, it could not arrive at his heart. Wherefore they were forc'd to superadd a very hot bath, and then feeling his end approach, whilst he had breath, he continued excellent discourses upon the subject of his present condition, which the secretaries writ down so long as they could hear his voice, and his last words were long after in high honour and esteem amongst men, and it was a great loss to us that they were not reserv'd down to our times. Then feeling the last pangs of death, with the bloody water of the bath he bath'd his head, saying, “This water I dedicate to Jupiter the deliverer." Nero, being presently advertis'd of all this, fearing lest the death of Paulina, who was one of the best descended ladies of Rome, and against whom he had no particular unkindness, should turn to his reproach, he sent back orders in all haste to bind up her wounds, which her attendants without his knowledge had done before; she being already half dead, and without all manner of sence. Thus, though she liv'd contrary to her own design, it was very honourably, and according to her own vertue, her pale complexion ever after manifesting how much life was run from her veins. These are my three very true stories, which I find as diverting, and as tragick as any of those we make of our own heads wherewith to entertain the common people; and I wonder that they who are ad R R 626 WE MUST ALLOW SOMETHING TO HONEST AFFECTIONS. dicted to such relations do not rather cull out ten thousand very fine stories, which are to be found in very good authors, that would save them the trouble of invention, and be more useful and diverting. And who would make a collection of them, would need to add nothing of his own, but the connexion only, as it were the solder of another metal; and might by this means embody a great many true events of all sorts, disposing and diversifying of them according as the beauty of the work should require, after the same manner almost as Ovid has made up his Metamorphosis of the infinite number of various fables. In these last couple this is moreover worthy of consideration, that Paulina voluntarily offer'd to lose her life for the love of her husband, and that her husband had formerly also forbore dying for the love of her. There is no just counterpoise in this exchange as to us; but according to his stoical humour, I presume he thought he had done as much for her, in prolonging his life upon her account, as if he had died for her. In one of his letters to Lucilius, after he had given him to understand, that being seiz'd with an ague in Rome, he presently took coach to go to a house he had in the country, contrary to his wife's opinion, who would by all means perswade him to stay and that he had told her, that the ague he was seiz'd with, was not a fever of the body, but the place; it follows thus. "She let me go," says he, "with giving me a strict charge of my health. Now I, who know that her life is involv'd in mine, begin to make much of my self, that I may preserve her. And I lose the privilege my age has given me of being more constant and resolute in many things; when I call to mind, that in this old fellow there is a young lady who is interested in his health. And since I cannot persuade her to love me more courageously, she makes me more sollicitously love my self: for we must allow something to honest affections, and sometimes, though occasions importune us to the contrary, we must call back life, even though it be with torment we must hold the soul fast in our teeth, since the rule of living amongst good men is not so long as they please, but as long as they ought he that loves not his wife and his friend so well as to prolong his life for them, but will obstinately die, is too delicate and too effeminate the soul must impose this upon it self, when the utility of our friends does so require: we must sometimes lend our selves to our friends, and when we would die for our selves, must break that resolution for them. 'Tis a testimony of grandeur, of courage, to return to life for the consideration of another, as many excellent persons have done and 'tis a mark of singular good nature to preserve old age (of which the greatest convenience is the indifferency of its duration, and a more stout and disdainful use of life) when a man perceives that this office is pleasing, agreeable, and useful to some person by whom we are very much belov'd. And a man reaps by it a very pleasing reward; for what can be more delightful than to be so dear to his wife, as upon : her account he shall become dearer to himself? Thus has my Paulina loaded me not only with fears, but my own; it has not been sufficient to consider how resolutely I could die, but I have also consider'd how irresolutely she would bear my death. I am enforc'd to live, and sometimes to live is magnanimity." These are his own words, as excellent as they every where use to be. CHAP. XCIII.-OF THE MOST EXCELLENT MEN. IF I should be ask'd my opinion and choice of all the men who have come to my knowledge, I should make answer, that methinks I find three more excellent than all the rest. One of them Homer, not that Aristotle and Varro, for example, were not peradventure, as learned as he; nor that possibly Virgil was not equal to him in his own art; which I leave to be determined by such as know them both, and are best able to judge. I, who, for my part, understand but one of them, can only say this, according to my poor talent, that I do not believe the muses themselves did ever go beyond the Roman. Tale facit carmen docta testudine, quale Cynthius impositis temperat articulus.-Proper. l. 2. Eleg. ult. And yet in this judgment we are not to forget that it is chiefly from Homer that Virgil derives his excellence, that he is his guide and teacher ; and that the Iliad only has supply'd him with body and matter out of which to compose his great and divine Æneis. I do not reckon upon that, but mix several other circumstances that render to me this poet admirable, even as it were above human condition. And in truth, I often wonder, that he who has erected, and by his authority given so many deities reputation in the world, was not deified himself. Being blind and poor, being that before the sciences were reduc'd into rule and certain observations, he was so well acquainted with them, that all those who have since taken upon them to establish governments, to carry on wars, and to write either of philosophy or religion, of what sect soever, or of the arts, having made use of him as of a most perfect instructer in the knowledge of all things, and of his books, as of an unexhausted treasure of all sorts of learning. Qui quid sit pulcrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non, Hor. lib. 1. Epist. 2. |