The Jetsam by Lara Biyuts (best romantic novels in english .TXT) 📖

body, in what place will you now abide, pale, stark and bare, unable as you used, to play?)

I won’t sum up my conclusions, since this essay is not a scholarly study, it is rather a splash of emotions of one of the devotees of this Divinized Boy, an emotional monologue, and a slightly dramatized account that describes my theory of what happened during the life of Hadrian and Antinous’ love affair, one that reconstructs the real chain of events from beginning to end. What I will offer in conclusion, is one more hypothesis concerning one of the sculptures of Antinous. It is one of the sculptures in the Egyptian style that was carved in Italy for the Villa Adriana. It depicts Antinous wearing the calantica, headdress of a Pharaoh-deity, and a pleated loincloth. This image seems most unsuccessful; having less resemblance to other sculptures of the boy, and is divinely repulsive to me. It looks as though the image was created in an attempt to plunge a believer into awe. Here in this sculpture, Antinous possesses a cold, thin face, this is what repulses me. We have got used to the plumpness of his cheeks and chin. Neither appears in this particular sculpture, because in my view this is a copy of the posthumous mask of solid gold created for Antinous, which has since disappeared, owed to being made of gold. There may have been several masks made, all have disappeared, though one may remain in the unfound grave of Antinous. As for the copy of the mask, we can see it, since it was a form for the face of the statue of Antinous-Osiris. The body of the statue differs dramatically from other depictions of the boy’s body. I do not mean that Antinous-Osiris is taller than the real Antinous was, or that the sculpture is in the Egyptian style. Something odd is in the form of the shoulders of the half naked body. The shoulders are thrown far back, they are straighter than usual, even bonier, and the shoulders differ from those we have got used to seeing in other statues. That’s what I think: if the face of the statue is a mould or a copy of a posthumous mask then why the whole body could not be a copy of a mould? There was not only a posthumous mask of his face but also a mould of his body. In this statue, one of his feet is flat before the other and yet the pose of the body is one lying down. That’s what causes the oddness of the statue with the cold features of a god.

My theory is simple: Antinous didn’t have to die. My reasoning is simple: I believe and try to prove that Antinous had no reason to kill himself. I agree with those who believe that an accident with no witnesses was scarcely possible. What have we then? A murder. Antinous didn’t have to die. There was the apotheosis -- all right -- I have deified him in my heart too, but instead of the apotheosis, I would prefer the boy to have lived for longer. Alive at all costs, alive by right or wrong, and in that event I would learn of him and deify him in my heart, anyway.

 

2005

 

SALVE, STORIA!

(scholia)

 

…For me, the god Thoth-Hermes as a god of written language and magic is a most important deity of Pantheon of Great Gods. The ancients reckoned written language to be a magic. “Grimoire” (a book of spells) is just old French for “grammar”. I agree with them to a certain extent: writing and reading are a kind of magic for me, still a magic, though I began reading when aged six. La magie blanche. Really, when you come to think of it, thanks to written language, we can know what people said, thought and did centuries ago, in the old and distant past, when there were neither cinematograph nor dictaphones.

…My beloved Emperor is Hadrian, and not the Emperor Elagabalus, but after I read the book The Life of Antoninus Heliogabalus by Aelius Lampridius (which I liked in general, though I’d argue with the author of the book) I’ve written the poem with a working title of “Heliogabalus and Others”. The following text is a word for word translation of the poem:

 

The quill paused.

Everyone expected a sequel. Take courage, beloved Emperor!

They shouted, “Let’s kill him again!”

His silhouette deepening --

the candle-end of consciousness decreasing.

“There he is! He who acts.” Cassocks dance in a ring again.

Footmen change portraits. “That’s the very one who helped!”

We mint his silhouettes.

Laurels, triumphs, victory robes. New syllables of insight.

Those who were in raptures

changed the object of adoration -- the former fell into disuse.

The diadem doesn’t fit? We’ll adapt the head!

A moment of grandeur evanescent.

Eternity is humans’ oblivion, and the lowest of the dead know

the awakening in the land of the living.

Everyone expected a sequel, but

the quill paused.

 

…My favorite Roman Emperor in Suetonius’s The Lives of the Twelve Caesars is the Emperor Vitellius. I like the completeness of Vitellius’s image and the wholeness of his nature, and also there was the interesting story of his lover Asiaticus. The story may be a wonderful plot of an entertaining novel. In Suetonius’s book there is one emperor, who I dislike and even hate. It’s Tiberius. The old man was said to kill the children who gave him pleasure. It’s mean.

…Talking of literature again, while reading ancient authors (Plato, Martial, Suetonius, Petronius) I realized the manner of their writing was so close to me, to the frame of my mind, to my apprehension. Or perhaps that was a matter of the good translation of their works? Maybe. Sometimes, I feel like arguing with the ancient authors as though they are my contemporaries. Reading as transcendence. First reading The Life of Heliogabalus by Aelius Lampridius, I thought: a new book should be written. An American writer should write a book of comments to Lampridius’s book, the comments written by the Emperor Elagabalus himself or more truly by his luminous immortal spirit. Imagine: the Emperor Elagabalus’s spirit reads Lampridius's book and he dislikes it; he has had patience for a long while silently, and now he can't stand that any loner and he comes to a decision that he has to write a refutation, a dementi as it were; maybe he is about to do it with the help of a modern day mortal writer, who should do it, taking a dry historical fact and fleshing it out with colour and drama. He comments and we learn what is true, what is exaggerations, and what is outrageous lies in the book, which we know. The reader will have much to think about. For, as I think, here and there Lampridius’s book seems exactly what’s needed in the current politics conjecture of his time, a kind of blackening reputation of the person who could not reply. Note: the “bloodthirsty beast of antiquity”, young Elagabalus seems quite tolerant to ideological opponents of paganism. As Joris-Karl Huysmans (1848–1907) says in his book A Rebours, Tertullian “lived in stormy times, at a period of fearful stress and strain, under Caracalla, under Macrinus, under that amazing personage, the High-Priest of Emessa, Elagabalus; and he had gone on calmly and quietly writing his sermons, composing his dogmatic treatises, preparing his apologies and homilies, while the Roman Empire was tottering to its foundations, while the frantic follies of Asia and the foul vices of Paganism were at their worst; he was preaching with an air of perfect self-possession carnal abstinence, frugality of diet, sobriety of dress at the very moment when, treading on powder of silver and sand of gold, his head crowned with a tiara, his robes studded with precious stones, Elagabalus was at work, among his eunuchs, at women s tasks, calling himself by the title of Empress and every night lying with a new Emperor, selecting him for choice from the ranks of the Court barbers and scullions, or the charioteers from the Circus.” The later followers, sympathizers and Christian brothers of Tertullian hardly ever could show a tolerance like that of the High-Priest of Emessa. No doubt, as a hotheaded crown-bearing boy, the Emperor Elagabalus was could commit some effusive acts -- but there are the ridiculously numerous follies, which Lampridius and others clumsily impute him, which makes shrug shoulders. Personally I can explain in a positive way at least two of the follies, and an American well-educated author can do it hundredfold better than me. There should be much humor, irony, self-irony and even bed scenes in the future narration. A delicious concoction. The luminous immortal spirit of the Emperor Elagabalus along with his modern day author should hold Lampridius and others up to ridicule. The best example (or a paragon?) of a novel as a book of comments is Nabokov’s greatest novel Pale Fire. A new Pale Fire should be written by an American or a British writer. A British writer is better because the British authors’ sarcasm is killing sometimes.

…Epitaph: “He knew how death hunts at distance; dug his own grave with both hands and heart scornful of mortal childishness. May the Sun of such wisdom shine long beneath the Sun.”

 

2007

 

The Winged Man-Lion

 

Seeing the bronze statue of David by Andrea del Verrocchio (1435–1488) and musing. It is claimed that Verrocchio modeled the statue after one handsome pupil in his workshop, namely, young Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). As far as we know, Verrocchio was an artist who strictly followed nature in his works, so in the exterior of David, we can see now a portrait of Leonardo who was going on 18. Leon-ardo. His eye, his smile… Awesome. As a red-haired young man, most likely he had a milky-white skin and perhaps some golden freckles over the bridge of his nose and beneath his lower eyelids. Taking into consideration his enormous inborn curiosity, I would call his face study-wearied. Obviously, he sleeps few hours a day and his life of an apprentice was hard. But he smiles -- smiling the astute smile, looking vigorous and delightful. Perhaps at the years of apprenticeship, he begins to follow contrapposto in his art. As his biographers say, his manner of standing at a moment of repose was like the statue, mentioned above, shows, right according to contrapposto, an Italian term meaning “counterpoise”, used in the visual arts to describe “a human figure standing with most of its weight on one foot so that its shoulders and arms twist, off-axis from the hips and legs.” This graceful pose is simply most comfortable, as we can see or feel if we strike the attitude. The only inexact detail is the sword in the statue’s right hand, for Leonardo was a left-hander. Once, Verrocchio painted a group and he gave Leonardo the task of drawing in one figure. Leonardo painted an angel whose grace and subtle beauty stands out, even today. The story runs that good old Verrocchio wept on first seeing it, wept unselfish tears of joy for the fact that his pupil, the talented student had far surpassed him, and he attempted to paint never again. This is but a legend. Along with the famous early Renaissance Italian artist and sculptor from Florence Donatello (c.1386-1466) Leonardo revived contrapposto, which was followed by Michelangelo, Raphael and other artists of the High Renaissance. Later he invented his “sfumato”. An inventor and artist without peer, Leonardo was a strong man in his lifetime. “He could twist horseshoes between his fingers, bend bars of iron across his knees, disarm every adversary, and in wrestling, running, vaulting, and swimming he had no equals. He was especially fond of horses, and in the joust often rode animals that had never before been ridden, winning prizes from the most daring.” These achievements were possible by means of training from his young age, so the image of the young warrior and hero became Leonardo in his lifetime ever so much. In love with the bronze David by Verrocchio,