(35.) Irene is at great cost conveyed to Epidaurus;[552] she visits Æsculapius in his temple, and consults him about all her ailings. She complains first that she is weary and excessively fatigued, and the god replies that the long journey she just made is the cause of this; she says that she is not inclined to eat any supper, and the oracle orders her to eat less dinner; she adds she cannot sleep at night, and he prescribes her to lie a-bed by day; she complains of her corpulency, and asks how it can be prevented; the oracle replies she should get up before noon and now and then use her legs to walk; she declares that wine disagrees with her, the oracle bids her drink water; she suffers from indigestion, and he tells her she must diet herself. “My sight begins to fail me,” says Irene. “Use spectacles,” says Æsculapius. “I grow weak,” continues she; “I am not half so strong nor so healthy as I was.” “You grow old,” says the god. “But how,” asks she, “can I get rid of this disease?” “The shortest way to cure it, Irene, is to die, as your mother and grandmother have done.” “Son of Apollo!” exclaimed Irene, “is this all the advice you give me? Is this the skill praised by all, and for which every one reveres you? What rare and secret things did you tell me, and what remedies have you prescribed for me, which I did not know before?” “Why did you not take these, then,” the god replied, “without coming such a long distance to consult me, and shortening your days by such a tedious journey?”[553] (36.) Death happens but once, yet we feel it every moment of our lives; it is worse to dread it than to suffer it. (37.) Restlessness, fear, and dejection cannot delay death, but, on the contrary, hasten it; I only question whether man, who is mortal, should indulge in much laughing. (38.) Whatever is certain in death is slightly alleviated by what is not so infallible; the time when it shall happen is undefined, but it is more or less connected with the infinite, and what we call eternity. (39.) When we are sighing for the loss of our past blooming youth, which will return no more, let us think that decrepitude will come, when we shall regret the mature age we have reached and do not sufficiently value. (40.) The fear of old age disturbs us, yet we are not certain of becoming old. (41.) We hope to grow old, and yet we dread old age; or, in other words, we are willing to live, and afraid to die. (42.) A man had better yield to nature and fear death, than be engaged in continual conflicts, provide himself with arguments and reflections, and be always combating his own feelings in order not to fear it. (43.) If some persons died, and others did not die, death would indeed be a terrible affliction. (44.) A long disease seems to be a halting-place between life and death, that death itself may be a comfort to those who die and to those who are left behind.