Lucius
By Liane S. '03 Germantown Academy
My name is Pompeia Paulina and my life is a long story to tell. But to make a long story shorter, I'll tell you about the most horrific moments in my life. It takes place several years ago here in Rome during Nero's rule. Nero had come to power with little understanding of the empire and had a strong dependence upon two advisors: my husband, Lucius Anneaus Seneca, and his friend, Sextus Africanus Burrus. Nero's rule, when my husband was his chief advisor, was a golden age in Rome. There was peace among the citizens and Rome came to flourish as a very powerful empire. But in time, Nero grew crazy and murdered his mother. Lucius and Burrus opposed each other and each ended up losing power. When Burrus died in 62, Lucius was powerless and he retired after much reasoning with Nero.
Nero, I hate the name. To hear it spoken makes my mind turn its back on the world and shut itself off from everything going on around me. When it happens, I feel nothing but anger for him. His own selfishness caused the loss of the dearest part of my life. I still remember that feeling in my stomach as I opened the door to find the centurion standing there with the sentence for my husband, how sick I was to hear my husband tell it to me. I still remember the feeling of warm tears slipping down my cheek to land in a fold of my tunic. I was heart broken.
"Lucius Anneaus Seneca," the centurion read, " by the Emperor Nero, you are sentenced to death for participation in the conspiracy to replace the Emperor." He spoke loudly enough for the servants outside the atrium who were listening to be able to hear all about it.
But I heard no more after that.
"Please, Pompeia, do not cry for me. Everyone will have to meet death soon." He told me as I wept.
"Oh, but why does it have to be like this? You don't deserve this." I cried as we spoke in the tablinum. He kept telling me that death is really nothing to worry about. I was amazed at the indifference he looked at death with. The fact that he was being sentenced to death by Nero who was only suspicious of his participation in the whole scheme amazed me.
Perhaps I was just so stunned by the sentence that my husband's indifference seemed odd at the time. As a stoic philosopher, Lucius always seemed calm about many disasters. He always sought to keep away from passion, greed, and lust. But this event was going to be different. It was his own death and he was taking his own life.
The days before his death grew long and tortuous. I barely slept. I could think of nothing. Lucius, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy life as if he wasn't going to die. At suppers, he would lie on the couch and eat cheerfully as we were served. Life was like it had been. He continued his writing and tried to help me forget about it.
"Is something wrong?" He would ask me when he saw me silent and unhappy.
"No," I would reply. I knew that he would try every way to convince me that life would not be as hard as I thought it was going to be after he was gone if I told him what I was thinking about. He loved me and he showed it to me in many ways. But I couldn't accept the fact that death seemed to mean almost nothing to him.
The night before the morning for his death was long. My mind was flooded with fears and many questions and uncertanties. I thought about how I would live without my husband. I wondered about what the servants were thinking about in their quarters. In bed, I lay there and gazed upwards into the darkness that surrounded me. It seemed to swallow up every bit of light there was to be. Nero was going to swallow up my husband just like it.
I wondered about what the right thing for me to do would be. I felt that if I really loved my husband, I should show it. A good and virtuous wife would make any sacrifice for her husband. I decided that the proper sacrifice I would make would be that of my own life. It didn't matter where we were as long as we were in the same world.
The day was very young and the sky was barely lit. The guards came for Lucius before I was ready to face his death. The sky was shaded by clouds and it would appear to be an omen to someone unaware of the following events in the day. The guards were reluctant to allow a woman to attend the death of someone but they eventually changed their minds.
My feet were heavy as we walked down the stony path to the house of the death. We were silent, for the guards would think strangely of any conversation. I only stared at their tunics and armor and at Lucius. His head was held high and proud . There was nothing for him to be ashamed of and I certainly agreed. As we passed through the streets, servants shopping for masters turned to see what was going on. It wasn't everyday that they would see guards leading a husband and wife to the emperor. But they didn't know how I felt.
There were men gathered in the atrium of the house when we arrived. Many turned to see us. There was little to remember about the moments afterwards except for the agony.
Then I found myself being held by guards. What had I done? It soon came back to me . Lucius was dying. He had cut his legs and wrists . Blood was flowing freely and rapidly. I had screamed and grabbed the knife, ready to take the blade and slit myself with it.
"Get her back! Guards, grab her!" There was Nero who was scorning my husband as he died. I had no involvement in his scheme and was not permitted to die with my husband. I wept continuously.
He was still sitting in a bath of his own blood which continued to flow from his cuts when he asked for the poison which had been prepared for him. He wanted to leave this sinful world as soon as he could. I was broken. I wasn't allowed to go with him and accompany him. The next minute was dragging. I was waiting for him to just collapse and die than to see him alive, bleeding without showing any pain at all. I had never seen my husband like this. There was absolutely no sign of pain, just apathy. The I felt anxiety was unbearable.
The poison had no effect on him. He asked to be led to the steam baths. There was no one at the baths at that particular time of day making it a suitable place for my husband to finish his suicide. He gave me one last look and immersed his head through the steam into the water. My head burst. Tears flowed without an end. There were no more chances for my husband to survive. His emotional strength had carried him through the first two attempts. But here he allowed himself to die.
My own strength had failed me. I would live the rest of my life with the guilt of not being strong enough to be with my husband. I would have to live the rest of my life without the person I love most as a punishment for being weak. My husband would never be lonely in Hades if I had had strength and courage. I was ready to prepare a poison for myself when I returned to the house.
I thought to myself for hours. What would my husband say to me? He would call me weak for giving up on life just because he wasn't there for me. I was not so weak that I needed him every moment and life without him would not be so difficult for me because I was strong. I learned that giving up life to be with my husband was a sign of weakness.
Lucius Anneas Seneca was a great man who died because of an evil lunatic whom I will never forgive. I would not be here today telling you this story if it hadn't been for the strength he brought me. One should never give up on life.