John T. Smieska III

When I was in my 21st year, in the Consulship of Secundus, I came from my native Philadelphia, which lies under Mount Tmolos in Lydia, to this blessed city; and after much consideration I decided to join the Memoriales of the Court and to don the girdle with them.

To avoid wasting the intervening time I resolved to attend the classes of philosopher Agapius, of whom Christodorus the poet speaks, “Agapius, the last but foremost of them all.” Under him it was my fortune to study the first part of the Aristotelian doctrine and to attend some lectures on Platonic philosophy.

But fortune advanced Zoticus, a fellow-citizen of mine who took some extreme delight in me, to the office of Praetorian Prefecture under the mildest of monarchs, the Emporer Anastasius.

Zoticus enrolled me among the clerks of his office, in which it so happened that my brow did mingle with a hundred equitable nephews of Ammianius, each whose father occupied a distinguished position…and each, at the suggestion of the all together excellent and reasonable Ammanius, who all his life was devoted to learning and philosophy, attempted to secure for himself a wife to bring them one hundred pounds of gold as her dowry and moreover to excel all women who at any time have won a reputation for sobriety.

To the end it remained a career open to educated talent, irrespective of ancestry, but the ties of local association, cousinship and intermarriage must have been strong and helpful.

Among the nephews, a brash administrator carefully graded the Edict of Theodosius and derived, to celebrate the Decennalia, that the service of the monarchy was itself sacrosanct; promotion in it should become above criticism. It was not fitting to discuss princely judgment, for it was equal to sacrilege to doubt if any man was worthy whom the prince had chosen. If anyone therefore thrusted themselves into a position to which they were not entitled, they should defend themselves not by pleas of ignorance; but should be tried for sacrilege as one who has neglected the divine precepts of the Emperor.

The Adoration of the Sacred Purple by the few, led naturally to the Adoration of the Sacred Image by the many. As the Principate became a Sacred Monarchy, official art became sacred art, and the Imperial portrait a cult object. The enthroned emperor was the prototype of an enthroned God just as an enthroned empress was the prototype of the enthroned Mother of God.

Wives were chosen for their resemblance to Sassanian queens, actual women would hide in catacombs to preserve their virginities, while suitors would flock around portraits of the ladies portrayed with spears and mounted on rearing stallions while a supernatural power crowned them with a victory whose hue was determined by the status of the family rank.

Were it not for the favor of Zoticus I would only hail from the ancestors depicted in the backgrounds of Mausoleum cupolas, servants, carpenters, and manuscript illuminators. Such programmes are carried through nonchalantly, there was something fumbling about this period.

I embarked to become Praefectus Orientis, a witness to the east, I passed through lands of Amorians and Macedonians, I became a merchant selling carved elephant tusks, hunting horns, and textiles. I reached the noble Severen houses of Persia, I was wealthy enough to provide my own dowry, I wore a golden tiarra fashioned in the style of the Crown of Monomachos, the spires of the diadem were enamel dancing girls. I had a train of three hundred camels and a carriage of multi-colored marble. My servants showed delight in personal prowess and good horsemanship, as evidence of my tastes.

But the emphasis, even here, upon the significance of noble birth was inconceivable; my station was only a trick, a hypothesis of fortune sent as a living icon to place fear in the hearts of Bedoins who might dare to rise above their stations. I was punished, as an example.

My silks were traded for linens, and I was forced to work as a butcher and a heathen. I sold monkey brains and wool. I charmed cobras in the streets.

Greetings from Costa Rica!

Dear future self:

I have grown used to the flashy congestions of her cities; the twists in her landscape have lost the display of a second nature. I have seen Indian funeral tables made of stone and carved ornately, with dragons and birds swallowing the sun. I went from a gallery of television sets to a large gorey statue made to represent a villiage of women who uprose against, pursued, and slew their unlucky captors. I have longed for my love so hard that she seems to have existed under a different night sky. I have heard the ocean breezes as they swept through the palm fronds. I have awoken to the aroma of endless cups of coffee, as rich and mysterious as the land on which it was grown. I have gone swimming in the sea, and made some peace with the rain. I have had time to write.

Take care, and find some again.