CHAPTER II.
At last he ruined himself. His creditors tore his property to pieces,and in place of it there remained to Cinna weariness, as after greattoil, satiety, and one more unexpected thing, a certain deep disquiet.He had tried wealth; he had tried love, as that age understood it; hehad tried pleasure, military glory, and dangers. He had come to know thelimits of human thought more or less; he had come in contact with poetryand art. Hence he might suppose that from life he had taken what it hadto give. Now he felt as though he had overlooked something--and thatthe most important. But he did not know what it was, and tortured hishead over this problem in vain. More than once had he striven to shakehimself out of these thoughts, and out of this disquiet. He had tried topersuade himself that there was nothing more in life, and could not be;but straightway his disquiet, instead of diminishing, increased quicklyto such a degree that it seemed to him that he was disquieted not onlyfor himself, but for all Rome. He envied the Sceptics and alsoconsidered them fools, for they insisted that one may fill completelythe void with the empty. There existed in him then two men, as it were,one of whom was astonished at the disquiet which he felt, while theother was forced to recognize it as perfectly normal.
Soon after the loss of his property, thanks to great family influence,Cinna was sent to an official post in Alexandria, partly to build up anew fortune in a rich country. His disquiet entered the ship atBrundisium, and sailed across the sea with him. In Alexandria Cinnathought that questions concerning office, new people, another society,new impressions, would relieve him of the intrusive companion. But hewas mistaken.
Two months passed, and just as the grain of Demeter, brought from Italy,grew still more luxuriantly in the rich soil of the Delta, so hisdisquiet from a sturdy twig changed, as it were, into a spreading cedar,and began to cast a still greater shadow on the soul of Cinna.
At first he strove to free himself of this shadow by the same life thathe had led in Rome formerly. Alexandria was a place of pleasure, full ofGrecian women with golden hair and clear complexions, which the Egyptiansun covered with a transparent, amber lustre. In their society he soughtrest.
But when this also proved vain he began to think of suicide. Many of hiscomrades had freed themselves from life's cares in that manner, and forcauses still more foolish than those which Cinna had,--frequently fromweariness alone, from the emptiness of life, or a lack of desire to makefurther use of it. When a slave held a sword adroitly and withsufficient strength, one instant ended all. Cinna caught at this idea;but when he had almost resolved to obey it, a wonderful dream held himback. Behold, it seemed to him that when he was borne across theriver[1] he saw on the other bank his disquiet in the form of a wretchedslave; it bowed to him, saying, "I have come in advance to receivethee." Cinna was terrified for the first time in life; because heunderstood that if he could not think of existence beyond the gravewithout disquiet, then they would both go there.
In this extreme, he resolved to make the acquaintance of sages with whomthe Serapeum was crowded, judging that among them perhaps he might findthe solution of his riddle. They, it is true, were unable to solve anydoubt of his; but to make up they entitled him "of the museum," whichtitle they offered usually to Romans of high birth and position. Thatwas small consolation at first; and the stamp of sage, given a man whocould not explain that which concerned him most highly, might seem toCinna ironical. He supposed, however, that the Serapeum did not revealall its wisdom at once, perhaps; and he did not lose hope altogether.
The most active sage in Alexandria was the noble Timon of Athens, a manof wealth, and a Roman citizen. He had lived a number of years inAlexandria, whither he had come to sound the depths of Egyptian science.It was said of him that there was no parchment or papyrus in the Librarywhich he had not read, and that he possessed all the wisdom of mankind.He was, moreover, mild and forbearing. Cinna distinguished him at onceamong the multitude of pedants and commentators with stiffened brains,and soon formed with him an acquaintance which, after a time, waschanged into close intimacy, and even into friendship. The young Romanadmired the dialectic skill, the eloquence and dignity, with which theold man spoke of lofty themes touching man's destiny, and that of theworld. He was struck especially by this, that that dignity was joined toa certain sadness. Later, when they had grown more intimate, Cinna wasseized frequently by the wish to inquire of the old sage the cause ofthat sadness, and to open his own heart to him. In fact, it came to thatfinally.