The problem of his strange story is not so much stated as implied, and far less is there any attempt at a solution. After all his blood-guiltiness, he too, like Marius, passes away in peace, but with him the peacefulness rises to the serenity of a saint or sage. To his friend he exclaims:
My Flaccus, worldly joys and pleasures fade;
Inconstant time, like to the fleeting tide
With endless course man’s hopes doth overbear:
Now nought remains that Sylla fain would have
But lasting fame when body lies in grave.
To his wife, who soon after asks:
How fares my lord? How doth my gentle Sylla?
he replies still more devoutly:
Free from the world, allied unto the heavens;