Promotion
Lysicles
I had not realized that the books of Epictetus were not written
by him. In fact, it was his student, Flavius Arrianus, who took
careful note of all that the philosopher uttered, and then set down
for us upon paper his wisdom. How can we not be grateful? I have
spent many hours before his Discourses, moving very slowly,
chewing lengthily upon each idea and struggling to comprehend it
in its entirety before moving on to the next one. To read Epictetus
is a very challenging endeavour – yet ultimately quite rewarding.
I am enjoying his teachings very much, for they are directed at
helping his listeners to achieve contentment and tranquility, regardless
of their station in life. To do so, we are directed to see the world
according to two distinct influences upon our persons: those that
we may control and those we cannot. Of the former, we are urged
to approach them virtuously. Of the latter, we are reminded that
we have the freedom to choose whether or not we shall interpret
such uncontrollable circumstances in a fair light, or in one more
grim. Thus, the path to contentment is revealed: The exercise of
virtue in what we may influence, and the happy acceptance of whatever
it is we cannot. A very solid approach, no?
I felt compelled to ask Florentius if I could store my books at
the lock-up in the stables – a place to which only he has
access. I cited for my request the fact that I did not trust that
the five books in my keeping would be safe – either from damage,
theft, or disrespectful eyes – in the general chaos of the
dormitory. He was very accommodating, and thus my books are secure.
The only negative consequence, however, is that my reading time
now restricted to those occasional respites in my daily work, when
both Florentius and Anaxamenos are assured that I have completed
all of my duties. Holidays, of course, are much different, and I
have passed more than a few of them nested in the fragrant hay from
sun up to down, reading.
What I had not counted on, nor even anticipated (although I certainly
should have) was that, as a result of the involvement of Florentius,
my taste in books was soon after communicated to Hadrian. And so
it came to pass that on a particular day in which Anaxamenos and
I were polishing the tack, we witnessed Hadrian and his train’s
quiet arrival into our small universe, and then the Emperor’s
regular consultation with Florentius. Then, without warning, Hadrian
was escorted on a private tour of the lock-up, and my chest constricted
with the realization that he was about to be shown my books. I lamented
this fact to Anaxamenos, who but smiled at me: “Is it such
a bad thing, my friend, for the Emperor, who knows you to be precocious,
should be curious as to what it is that engages you? I should think
it a very fine complement.”
He was right, of course, and yet still the question accosted me:
Why should Hadrian be so interested in such a pedestrian boy as
myself? I had no rank to speak of; my family name was thoroughly
undistinguished. I was utterly mystified, and not a little perturbed,
by his attentions. At last he emerged from the lock-up and turned
to look at me. I looked away in what I can only describe as embarrassment.
“He is approaching,” said Anaxamenos.
We both bowed low to greet him. He smiled at us and addressed Anaxamenos
first, as was proper. And then he turned to me, calling me by name
before Anaxamenos could make his introduction. He asked me how I
was enjoying my duties in the stables, and I told him they were
very agreeable to me. He asked me then from what place I had acquired
my books. I replied that the one was a gift from Mordanticus; the
others were on loan from Maltinus. Hadrian bade his secretary make
note of both those names, and I worried that I had somehow betrayed
them. But the emperor was smiling, and it appeared to me to be a
smile most unperturbed. Perhaps they were to be rewarded? I did
not know, nor did I think, at that moment, to ask, for his questions
continued. He asked me what I thought of my authors: which of them
I liked most. I replied that it depended upon my mood: I would read
from Martialis when I wished to feel debauched. From Juvenalis when
I wanted to atone. And from Epictetus when I felt a need to exercise.
He laughed heartily then, and responded very warmly.
In the wake of his departure, Anaxamenos smiled widely and clasped
me on the shoulder. “You have greatly impressed him, my friend.”
I smiled at the pride I could hear in his voice, “You are
a good friend, Anaxamenos.” He slapped my rump then: “And
you, boy, are destined for the Emperor’s bed!” At this
I protested, “Surely not!” But Anaxamenos laughed, and
pressed ahead with his argument. “Do you not believe me? Then
why did he ask after Mordanticus? Do you think that just because
he is the Emperor, he is immune from human jealousies?” Yet
this made little sense to me. “If the Emperor is jealous,
he has only to take me and Mordanticus can do nothing! Why then
should he not exercise his immediate right?” Anaxamenos smiled,
“A very good question, Antinous. Perhaps, as he is known to
do, he is assessing your character from afar, ensuring for his own
satisfaction that you are worthy of his considerable embrace.”
And to this I could make no objection, for it was far too sensible.
The next day, there was announced a new position in the stables:
Keeper of the Personal Horse. Florentius explained that it was created
as a result of a direct order from the office of the Emperor. In
its purview was but one narrow task: a single page was to attend
perpetually to the needs of but a single horse – the Emperor’s
own. Owing to the relative laxity of the position’s demands,
the incumbent was expected to make good and productive use of his
spare time, such as (it was innocently suggested) more reading.
Hadrian then made a very strong recommendation to Florentius concerning
its inaugural incumbent. And for his part, Florentius understood
perfectly.
“Is this a promotion?” I asked, rather dumbly. “It
most certainly is!” sang the joyous Anaxamenos. “A title
created just for Antinous!” And then he grabbed my arm and
walked with me to the stall of Epeius, who was Hadrian’s favourite
horse after the death of Borysthenes. “He is all yours,”
said Anaxamenos – to the horse! And then he thrust me forward
into the stall, and he and Florentius laughed as they jokingly locked
me inside.
You can be sure that Anaxamenos spoke long and loudly unto the
boys in his dormitory, and it did not take long for the news to
spread evenly throughout the paedagogium. If there was any doubt
before, there was considerably less of it now: Antinous, according
to the general opinion, was on a course to succeed Corinthus and
become the Emperor’s next favourite. It is not difficult to
imagine the jealousy of Carisius, nor the shame he must have felt
at attempting to undermine me so nearly in advance of this latest
development. To be sure, his stature has been greatly diminished
in many eyes – in perfect proportion to the increase of mine.
In the aftermath of the news, he and Servilius became even more
intensely insular: I have little doubt that they are concocting
some sort of retaliation to oppose my good fortune. And although
my list of allies is growing, I worry about what Carisius shall
do.
Yesterday, Anaxamenos asked after the animosity that was evident
between myself and Carisius. I told him about my sad history upon
the Caelian, and he assured me that I need not fret: “Carisius
is Keeper of the Goblets, in the Department of the Silver and Gold
Plate. It is a solid duty – nothing for which to be embarrassed,
and yet nothing about it to distinguish. His crony, Servilius, has
been stationed at the Department of the Personal Toilet as Regulator
of the Hot and Cold Water for the Bath. This is a much more prestigious
role, for it demands a considerable confidence while in the presence
of the bathing Emperor. Therefore it seems to me your Carisius is
destined to lead a very respectable, albeit unremarkable career
at the palace. You, my friend, are far and away above him in both
present stature and future promise.”
I was moderately comforted by this very true assessment, yet confess
that I am still disquieted by an inexplicable sense of creeping
danger. I do not trust Carisius, nor even Servilius, and doubt that
anything, save their permanent absence from my world, shall put
me truly at ease.
In the meantime, I rejoice in my promotion and in the fact that
I now shall both care for and deliver Hadrian’s horse to him
whenever he desires to ride. It is an exciting and nerve-racking
duty, but one for which I feel quite able to succeed. I look forward
to telling you more as the days unfold.
With much love. A.
|