Nero sent a Prætorian tribune, named Silvanus—not knowing that he too was one of the conspirators—to require an explanation from Seneca. He found the philosopher at supper with his beloved wife, Pompeia Paulina, and two friends.
Seneca gave a calm explanation. He had merely told Piso that he was in weak health, and desired perfect quiet. ‘Why,’ he said, in reply to the Emperor’s inquiry, ‘should I have preferred the fortunes of a private person to my own safety? I am no flatterer, that I should have made such a speech. No one knows this better than Nero, who has experienced my boldness more often than my servility.’
When Silvanus brought back the answer, he found Nero sitting with Poppæa and Tigellinus—a bad omen for Seneca’s safety.
‘Is he preparing to put himself to death?’ asked the Emperor.
‘No,’ said the tribune. ‘He showed no sign of panic. His look and his words were entirely cheerful.’
‘Go, bid him die,’ was Nero’s brief answer.
Silvanus was, however, unwilling to deliver such a mandate in person to a brother conspirator. He sent it in by a centurion.
On receiving it, Seneca quietly rose from table and said to a slave, ‘Bring me my will. I should like to leave a few legacies to those who love me.’
‘I am sorry,’ said the centurion, ‘that the Emperor’s commands admit of no such delay.’
‘Be it so,’ said Seneca, turning to his friends. ‘Since, then, I have nothing else to leave you, I will leave you my fairest possession, the memory of my life. Be mindful of it, and you will win the fame of honest purpose and loyal friendship. Nay, my friends, do not weep. Where is your firmness? Where is your philosophy? I forbid these tears. Have I not been long preparing myself for this crisis? Was any one of us unaware of Nero’s cruelty? After murdering his mother and his brother, what remained for him but to kill his tutor?’