Another of Rutilianus’s questions was, Whose soul he had succeeded to, and the answer:

 First thou wast Peleus’ son, and next Menander; 
 Then thine own self; next, a sunbeam shalt be; 
 And nine score annual rounds thy life shall measure. 

 

At seventy, he died of melancholy, not waiting for the God to pay in full.

 That was an autophone too. Another time Rutilianus consulted the oracle on the choice of a wife. The answer was express:
 Wed Alexander’s daughter and Selene’s. 
He had long ago spread the report that the daughter he had had was by Selene: she had once seen him asleep, and fallen in love, as is her way with handsome sleepers. The sensible Rutilianus lost no time, but sent for the maiden at once, celebrated the nuptials, a sexagenarian bridegroom, and lived with her, propitiating his divine mother-in-law with whole hecatombs, and reckoning himself now one of the heavenly company.