A certain number of deeds of daring, which would have passed unnoticed, perhaps, if performed by a simple soldier, won me a reputation in Rome and a sort of renown in the army. But most of my so-called acts of prowess were little more than idle bravado; I see now with some shame that, mingled with that almost sacred exaltation of which I was just speaking, there was still my ignoble desire to please at any price, and to draw attention upon myself. It was thus that one autumn day when the Danube was swollen by floods I crossed the river on horseback, wearing the full heavy equipment of the Batavian auxilliaries. For this feat of arms, if it was a feat, my horse deserved credit more than I. But that period of heroic foolhardiness taught me to distinguish between the different aspects of courage. The kind of courage which I should like always to possess would be cool and detached, free from all physical excitement and impassive as the calm of a god. I do not flatter myself that I have ever attained it. The semblance of such courage which I later employed was, in my worst days, only a cynical recklessness toward life; in my best days it was only a sense of duty to which I clung. When confronted with the danger itself, however, that cynicism or that sense of duty quickly gave place to a mad intrepidity, a kind of strange orgasm of a man mated with his destiny. At the age which I then was this drunken courage persisted without cessation. A being afire with life cannot foresee death; in fact, by each of his deeds he denies that death exists. If death does take him, he is probably unaware of the fact; it amounts to no more for him than a shock or a spasm. I smile with some bitterness at the realization that now out of any two thoughts I devote one to my own death, as if so much ceremony were needed to decide this worn body for the inevitable. At that time, on the contrary, a young man who would have lost much in not living a few years more was daily risking his future with complete unconcern.

It would be easy to construe what I have just told as the story of a too scholarly soldier who wishes to be forgiven his love for books. But such simplified perspectives are false. Different persons ruled in me in turn, though no one of them for long; each fallen tyrant was quick to regain power. Thus have I played host succesively to the meticulous officer, fanatic in discipline, but gaily sharing with his men the privations of war; to the melancholy dreamer intent on the gods; the lover ready to risk all for a moment's rapture; the haughty young lieutenant retiring to his tent to study the maps by lamplight, making clear to his friends his disdain for the way the world goes; and fianlly the future statesman. But let us not forget, either, the base opportunist who in fear of displeasing succumbed to drunkenness at the emperor's table; the young fellow pronouncing upon all questions with ridiculous assurance; the frivolous wit, ready to lose a friend for the sake of a bright remark; the soldier escercising with mechanical precision his vile gladiatorial trade. And we should include also that vacant figure, nameless and unplaced in history, though as much myself as all the others, the simple toy of circumstance, no more and no less than a body, lying on a camp bed, distracted by an aroma, aroused by a breath of wind, vaguely attentive to some eternal hum of a bee. But little by little a newcomer was taking hold, a stage director and manager. I was beginning to know the names of my actors, and could arrange plausible entrances for them, or exits; I cut short superfluous lines, and came gradually to avoid the most obvious effects. Last, I learned not to indulge too much in monologue. And gradually, in turn, my actions were forming me.

As someone who is interested in Roman history, Hadrian definitely was an interesting man. Of course everyone is familiar with Hadrian's wall. Lots of neat artifacts have been found along that...

In that case I doubly recommend it. The prose style is reminiscent of Suetonius. I just found this site, which may be of interest to you. There's currently an observation about Memoirs of Hadrian on the front page.

I should also point out that I not only misspelled "finally" and "exercising," but then couldn't even find a clever way to self-mockingly use them together in a this sentence. What a boner.

That's an awesome site, Hugh. I do own some ancient roman coinage. Holding it, and reading the history makes a great connecion.

Oh, and yes, I saw your spelling errors but wasn't going to say anything since you put all that effort into the post. Typos are ok as far as I'm concerned. Just don't loose you're mind over's it.

Did someone say boner?

Hugh, I'm glad you keyboard in these excerpts, it seems to be a very meditative, almost monkish act, like illustrating manuscripts or something.


On the good book tip, I saw some New York Review of Books publishing heads today at the small press bookfair, I told them that both you and I thought they were awesome.

They smiled big.

That's a fantastic book; I read it years and years ago. I used to use a quote from it as my USENET .sig:

Few men enjoy prolonged travel; it disrupts all habit and endlessly jolts each prejudice. But I was striving to have no prejudices and few habits.

I feel like prolonged travel right now. (See bitching thread.)

You might enjoy The Ten Thousand by Michael Curtis Ford, the personalization of Xenophon's Anabasis. Ford is not the writer Yourcenar was but does write compelling, researched fiction from Roman and Greek history.