Young Silvius Antonius Poppius, at the age of twenty, had already tried all the pleasures of life. He was also fond of letting people see that he was tired of them; but in spite of that, one did not notice any diminution in the eagerness with which he sought them. On the contrary, he was quite in despair when a singularly persistent ill-luck began to pursue him, and to interfere with all his pleasures. His Numidian horses fell lame the day before the great chariot race of the year; his illicit love affairs were found out; his cleverest cook died from malaria. This was more than enough to crush a man whose strength had not been hardened by exertion and toil. Young Poppius felt so unhappy that he made up his mind to take his own life. He seemed to think that this was the only way in which he could cheat the God of Misfortune who pursued him and made his life a burden. One can understand that an unhappy creature commits suicide in order to escape the persecution of man; but only a fool like Silvius Antonius could think of adopting such means to flee from the gods. One recalls involuntarily the story of the man who, to escape from the lion, sprang right into its open jaws. Young Silvius was much too effeminate to choose a bloody death. Neither had he any inclination to die from a painful poison. After careful consideration, he resolved to die the gentle death of the waves. But when he went down to the Tiber to drown himself he could not make up his mind to give his body to the dirty, sluggish water of the river. For a long time he stood undecided, staring into the stream. Then he was seized by the magic charm which lies dreamily over a river. He felt that great, holy longing which fills these never-resting wanderers of nature; he would see the sea. 'I will die in the clear blue sea, through which the sun's rays penetrate right to the bottom,' said Silvius Antonius. 'My body shall rest upon a couch of pink coral. The foamy waves which I set in motion when I sink into the deep shall be snow-white and fresh; they shall not be like the sooty froth which lies quivering at the river-side.' He immediately hurried home, had his horses harnessed and drove to Ostia. He knew that one of his father's ships was lying in the harbour ready to sail. Young Poppius drove his horses at a furious pace, and he succeeded in getting on board just as the anchor was being weighed. Of course he did not think it necessary to take any baggage with him. He did not even trouble to ask the skipper for what place the craft was bound. To the sea they were going, in any case--that was enough for him.