1I have suffered a very heavy loss, if the loss of so great a man should be called merely a loss. 1Corellius Rufus has died, and by his own will, which makes my grief more raw. 1For that is the most grievous kind of death which seems neither natural nor fated. 2For however it may be with those who are ended by disease, there is great consolation in the very inevitability; 2but with those whom a self-sought death carries off, the grief is beyond healing, because they are believed to have been able to live long. 3Corellius, indeed, was driven to this decision by the highest reason, which for wise men stands in place of necessity, although he had very many reasons for living, the best of consciences, the best of reputations, the greatest influence, and besides a daughter, a wife, a grandson, sisters, and among so many dear pledges true friends.
4But he was afflicted by an illness so long and so cruel that these great rewards of living were outweighed by the reasons for dying. 4In his thirty-third year, as I used to hear him say, he was seized by gout in the feet. 4This came to him from his father; 4for diseases too, like other things, are usually handed down by a kind of succession. 5While he was in the vigour of life he overcame and broke it by abstinence and purity of living; 5lately, when it grew worse with old age, he bore up against it by strength of mind, even while he was suffering incredible agonies and the most undeserved torments.
6For now the pain no longer settled in his feet alone as before, but roamed through all his limbs. 6I came to him in Domitian's time as he lay ill at his house outside the city. 7The slaves withdrew from the bedroom (this was his custom whenever a more trusted friend had come in); 7even his wife, although she was most capable of keeping any secret, used to leave. 8He cast his eyes around and said, 'Why do you think I endure these great pains for so long? 8Why, so that I may outlive that brigand by even a single day.' 8Had you given a body to match that spirit, he would have done what he longed for.
8Yet a god granted his prayer, and once he had obtained it, as one now about to die free from care and free, he broke those many but lesser ties that held him to life. 9His illness had increased, which he tried to relieve by moderation; 9when it persisted, he escaped it by resolve. 9Already a second day, a third, a fourth: he was refusing food. 9His wife Hispulla sent me our common friend Gaius Geminius with the saddest news, that Corellius had decided to die and was not to be swayed by the prayers either of his family or of his daughter; 9that I alone was left, by whom he might be called back to life.
10I ran. 10I had come close to the house when Julius Atticus brings me word from the same Hispulla that not even I would now achieve anything: so obstinately had he hardened more and more. 10He had indeed said to the doctor who offered him food, 'I have decided', a word that has left in my mind as much longing as admiration. 11I think what a friend, what a man I have lost. 11He did indeed complete his sixty-seventh year, an age long enough even for the most robust; 11I know. 11He has escaped a lifelong illness; 11I know. 11He died leaving his family alive, with the commonwealth flourishing, which was dearer to him than all; 11and this too I know.
12Yet I grieve for his death as though he were both young and in the best of health, and I grieve (you may think me weak) on my own account. 12For I have lost, I have lost the witness, guide and teacher of my life. 12In short, I shall say what I said to my friend Calvisius when my grief was fresh: 'I fear that I shall live more carelessly.' 13So offer me consolations, not these: 'He was old, he was infirm' (for these I know), but some new ones, great ones, which I have never heard, never read. 13For what I have heard and what I have read come to mind of their own accord, but they are overcome by so great a grief.
13Farewell.