Vitalis Atones
Lysicles
Surely you remember the story of Trenus, and how he was humiliated
before all. Yet I cannot recall in what detail I told you the tale.
Did I mention that there was a boy involved in the plot, a fellow
named Vitalis who had newly arrived at the school, and, being younger
than most of us, was easily swayed by Carisius to do his bidding?
It was Vitalis that ran up to my unsuspecting self, delivered me
the message that Trenus had found his god, and then fled in a flurry
of hoots and hollers.
You can well imagine my disdain for him, and how happily I had forgotten
his face upon my arrival at the Gelotiana. Yet recently there has
occurred another General Inspection, and a new crop of boys has
suddenly entered the dormitory. Can you guess who it is that has
taken up a mattress beside me?
Despite my initial upset, I soon discovered that something quite
remarkable has occurred in the interim. Vitalis is not such a rodent
as I had thought him. In fact, with his first night upon the Palatine,
he looked at me very earnestly, and with a soft, respectful voice,
sought to make his peace: “O Antinous,” he said, “I
wish to impress upon you my sorrow and my shame at having been party
to the treachery against Trenus.”
I glanced quickly across the room, where Carisius was quietly preparing
his bed for the night. “How is it,” I asked him, “that
you have come to feel such things?” Vitalis also looked across
the room. He lowered his voice even more: “There are several
reasons for my need to atone, not the least of which is that Carisius
has been absent from the elementary school, which has allowed me
to cleanse myself of his influence and acknowledge my wrong.”
I considered that for a time, wondering if this was perhaps some
renewed attack on the part of a disguised Carisius. “What
are some of the other reasons?” I asked him.
“Maltinus,” he replied. “The man has become to
me a tutor, and impressed upon me the magnitude of your worth. He
has given me books to read – many of those which have passed
beneath your own eyes. Thus have I followed in your footsteps, Antinous,
and found myself better able to see with my own eyes the world as
I believe you see it.”
Again I considered, and again I wondered. Everything he said was
flattering, and yet at the same time dubious. What was to stop it
from being a falsehood – conjured to effect some maniacal
plot in the service of Carisius? “Are there any other reasons?”
I asked him.
“Indeed,” he said. “For Maltinus has suggested
to me that you are bound for the Emperor’s bed and shall soon
become Hadrian’s favourite. I realized that I should be a
fool to arrive here your enemy, and thus, three days ago, learning
of the General Inspection, I journeyed with Maltinus to the temple
of Minerva. He stood for me a mortal witness while I made to the
goddess an offering and prayed not only for your forgiveness, but
for your friendship and guidance, your wisdom and your love. And
do you see how she has answered me? With a place beside the bed
of the very one I would appease, that I should not delay even a
moment in righting the wrongs I have done you.”
I was quite moved by this, for there had come from his own mouth
an admission of the power and status I held above him, and his desire
to be supplicated beneath it. “I shall consider what you have
said, Vitalis, and tell you of my thoughts at this time tomorrow.”
He nodded in agreement, and we each to our beds retired.
The reason for my delay was simply to verify his account. On the
morrow I stole from the stables and made a quick dash to the Caelian.
I even decided it was appropriate to interrupt one of his lessons
in order to hear Maltinus corroborate the words of Vitalis. “It
is true, Antinous,” he said to me gravely. “The boy
has re-discovered himself since your departure. He is an avid reader;
a conscientious soul. And he has been deeply troubled by the role
he played in that terrible affair of Trenus. It has been my privilege
to guide him and return him into the light of the best society.”
“Yet why did you not tell me of this?” I asked. “Was
it for me to tell?” he responded. “Does such an admission
of wrong not carry with it more substantive weight when it comes
from the very mouth of the wrongdoer? I did not tell you, my friend,
for to do so would rob Vitalis of his right to assume the fullest
responsibility for his deeds.”
Thus I returned to Palatine feeling awed and inspired by both the
intent and the actions of Vitalis. Here indeed was courage –
courage in far greater quantity than that which I had exhibited
toward Decentius, for Vitalis had lived with the shame in his heart
for well over a year before seeking to have it expunged.
That night, as I entered the dormitory, the patient and long-suffering
fellow was seated on his bed beside mine. He watched me silently
as I sat down to face him. “Marius Vitalis,” I began,
“by your atonement last night you have gained a ready and
open admittance into my heart, and all that is past is forgotten.
Let us celebrate together the promise of our future friendship,
and share in the joy of wisdoms both ancient and modern.”
And with that he smiled broadly, and I felt a great surge of happiness.
“Where are you assigned?” I asked him. “I am Vestiplici,”
he replied simply. I nodded in acknowledgement, making good note
of his lack of embarrassment at being among the lowest ranked of
the pages in the Department of the Wardrobe – a folder of
clothes. His modesty was, I decided, a very good sign.
I told Anaxamenos of my experience and within but days he had welcomed
Vitalis into our company. Incidentally, it is quite obvious to me
that Carisius is not at all happy with this development, for it
is but one more signal of my growing imminence over his own. It
is almost as though he believes that our individual status in the
Gelotiana will, upon our graduation from it, be exchanged for an
assortment of fine goods and luxurious services. And yet, even as
I wrote that previous line, it has occurred to me that in a very
palpable way, this is exactly the case. Shall not the Emperor’s
favourite enjoy such things far more frequently and immediately
than would a page who advances into a very common office within
the civil service? Maybe Carisius is not wholly without reason to
be so ambitious, or so painfully envious of my every incremental
gain toward Hadrian’s bed. Yet that he is so calculating in
his competitive pursuit of it is what makes him increasingly despised
among the more perceptive of the boys here. Perhaps in another era,
with a different Emperor, he would find himself meeting with more
success. But Hadrian, it seems to me, is far more attuned to and
repulsed by all that is inauthentic in the mind of a man, and, in
addition, seems far more loved by the gods, who wish to see him
successful in his reign; surrounded only by those with the best
of intentions.
I hear you, Lysicles, laughing. “Is such a well-intentioned
soul your own?” you would ask me. Yes, my friend, I believe
it is, for I consider myself a very ethically-centred person and
can honestly say that I am not given to an excess of ambition. “Perhaps,”
you would argue, “the reason for my lack of ambition is that
there is no longer any need for it, given that my trajectory seems
so assured.” An excellent point – to which I respond:
Were I to learn tomorrow that Hadrian’s tastes had suddenly
altered, and that he no longer had his eye upon me, I cannot say
I would be too upset. I would very likely join Anaxamenos in the
embrace of a simple life devoid of those dangerous attentions that
are attracted by the beacons of fame or power or both.
And yet, having said all that, I must readily admit that the eye
of Hadrian carries with it some very enjoyable benefits. ‘Twas
three days ago that he departed for the country once again, and
suddenly I have found myself returning to his personal library and
the company of Salonius. To say that Vitalis is envious is obviously
an understatement, and yet his envy is of a decidedly different
character than that of Carisius. To appease it as best I can, I
have promised him a nightly report – a full account of my
literary travels through the parchment and papyri of the Emperor’s
collection.
“But why the Jews?” asked Vitalis after I returned from
my first full day with Salonius. He was completely amazed at my
announcement that I had begun to read the Septuagint. “Because,”
I replied, “how much minutiae must I read of the Roman gods
before I find myself spinning in circles? Have I not, after years
of studying their stories, come to a place where I am comfortable
in my familiar knowledge of them? By heaven, there are other gods
to learn of; other deities to know; other peoples to understand
– and I daresay that I am in the perfect position to do so.
In fact, I should think it downright criminal to have such works
at my disposal and refuse to read them simply on account of their
foreignness.”
Vitalis smiled in deference and said, “You are right, of course.
Will you tell me of it?” I sat down upon his bed and made
my report: “They are a people whose whole of creation is the
product of a single mind – a lone God who may not be named.
Further, they claim as from their own religion the first man and
woman who walked upon the earth – a man and a wife from of
his own rib who with him seeded a vast genealogy traceable unto
the present era.”
Vitalis laughed: “That’s preposterous!” he said,
and I made it clear to him that I did not believe it either: “I
am merely the messenger.” From there, I ventured still deeper
into the Jewish laws and customs which had by their holy men been
codified. For a long time our discussion raged – so much so
that by its end we had accumulated a small audience of curious ears.
“What shall you read when your are done with this?”
asked one of my listeners. I smiled at him and shrugged. “There
is so much,” I replied. “So much to understand and know.
For there is far more available to me than just the texts of the
Jews. There are vast heaps of Parthian writings. And a small number
of Christian works as well.”
“Wherefore should the Emperor have such things in his personal
library?” asked Vitalis. “Would you rather they were
in the state libraries?” I asked. Many of the boys laughed,
for they each understood how dangerous such a thing should be. “Mostly,”
I continued, “they are gifts. Given to him by foreign kings,
astute priests and humble supplicants; fellows that wish for him
to know of and tolerate the many other faiths that sprout within,
across, and even beyond the empire. Salonius has told me that Hadrian
reads them for amusement and curiosity, but I believe there is more
to it than that. I suspect he reads them in order to truly understand
the vast array of people he governs, or opposes, or fears.”
“Fears?” asked a confused listener. “Yet the Emperor
fears nothing!” I turned to him and smiled, replying: “The
emperor is a mortal man, and I assure you he has his fears. That
you have never witnessed them upon his face is but for your lack
of meeting him at the right time, and, moreso, for the triumph of
the sculptors who carve its countenance all across the Roman world.
What king, commissioning himself into marble, shall want it rather
afeared than courageous? Hey? Therefore do not doubt that he possesses
fears. Yet, that he possesses them shall hardly render him incapable
of controlling them. Such a skill, methinks, makes him all the more
worthy of a throne.”
And with that, there was a general murmur of assent, and Vitalis
gazed upon me proudly. “You are wondrously poised, Antinous,
and I admire you greatly.” I thanked him for his compliment
and as a group we retired to our beds. As I lay that night in the
darkness, I reflected on the conversation, and on having noted throughout
the course of it that Carisius had refused to join us despite a
constant and attentive presence on its outermost periphery. What
of that? I wasn’t sure, and still am not. Was it a signal
that he wanted to be included? Or was it for another reason entirely?
Either way, what good is it to speculate? I must be content with
having noted it.
Happily, “content” is exactly what I am feeling tonight.
I have no explanation, but it has settled upon me as like a calm
before the storm. Strange, is it not? On this night, as the other
boys slumber quietly around me, the world seems like it has suddenly
transformed into a very decent place. O, my Lysicles! Would that
I could feel this way forever! A.
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