WHEN condemned to kill himself, Seneca went to the baths. There, like a child, he prepared warm, fragrant water from a well. He submerged himself up to his neck, then, slowly, sliced the veins on both his arms. The water turned red around him, but death did not come.

Seneca then asked Statius Annaeus, a trusted friend and experienced medic, to fetch the poison he had long prepared. He drank the vial, but death did not come.

His body was cold, h