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| Peter Paul Rubens, “The Death of Seneca,” about 1612–13. Alte Pinakothek, Munich. Public domain. |
Seneca stands upright in a basin of warm water, looking up, calm and almost serene. To his left, a doctor opens a vein in his arm. On the other side, a young man writes down his last words. Behind them, two soldiers make sure the order is carried out.
Here is the twist. Rubens copied the body from an ancient black marble statue he had sketched in Rome, which everyone then believed showed the dying Seneca. And the face came from a bronze bust that Rubens owned, also thought to be Seneca. Today, scholars believe neither one was really him.
The real death, as the Roman historian Tacitus tells it, was far slower and harder. His blood flowed too slowly from his old body, so Seneca opened the veins in his legs too. He asked for poison, which did not work. Finally he was carried into a hot steam bath, where he died.
Through it all, Tacitus says, he kept talking, and he dictated his thoughts to secretaries until the end.
His young wife, Paulina, insisted on dying with him and opened her own veins. Nero, not wanting extra scandal, ordered soldiers to stop her. She lived on for some years, very pale, people said, for the rest of her life.
A century and a half after Rubens, a young French painter tried the same scene. He was Jacques-Louis David, and he painted it in 1773 for the Prix de Rome, France’s great prize for young artists.
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| Jacques-Louis David, “The Death of Seneca,” 1773. Petit Palais, Paris. Public domain. |
He did not win. Look to the right, though, and you will see Paulina, collapsing as she is led away. David would go on to become the greatest painter of the French Revolution.
In other words, Seneca’s death became a lesson in how to face the worst with dignity. Long after the emperors had fallen, painters, preachers and writers kept returning to it.
I first read the Letters in my finance years, on a commuter train in a year when markets were falling and colleagues were losing their jobs. It was startling to find a Roman millionaire telling me that the only thing I truly owned was my time. He was right, and I started spending it differently.
For more on Rubens’s painting, the Alte Pinakothek’s own collection page tells the story of the statue he copied: The Death of Seneca, Alte Pinakothek →
Seneca told his friend that nothing was ours except time. On his last day he had very little of it… and he spent every minute talking.
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