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Lines 1-8
The husband of Arria, Caecina Paetus, was ill; the son was also
ill and both very seriously it seemed.
The son died, a very handsome young man and modest and
dear to his parents.
Arria prepared the funeral for this son in this way, she lead the
funeral in such a way so that her should be unaware of it.
Indeed whenever she entered his bedroom, she used to pretend
the son to be living, getting healthier,
and very often her husband asked how the boy was getting on,
she used to respond: he slept well, he ate food freely.
Then, when the tears which has been held back for a long time
conquered her and broke free, she used to go out;
then she used to give herself to grief;
satisfied with dry eyes and a composed face she used to return
to the bedroom, as if she had left her grief outside.
Remarkable indeed is the deed of the same [women],
to draw the sword, to pierce her breast, to take out the dagger,
to offer it to her husband, to add the immortal and almost
divine words:
Paetus, it does not hurt.
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