The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  I

  Hard by the stables, in the Hippodrome of Constantinople, there was aroom which served as a sort of common den for grooms, women-riders,actors, and charioteers. Even in daytime lamps were kept burning inthis stifling resort, where the air smelt strongly of dung-heap andstable. When the curtain at the door was lifted a dazzling flood oflight invaded this den; and in the sunny distance could be seen emptytiers of seats, and the magnificent staircase joining the Imperial boxto the apartments of Constantine's palace. Egyptian obelisks also wereseen in the arena and in the centre, on the yellow sand, a giganticsacrificial altar of marvellous workmanship, wrought of three entwinedserpents of bronze, bearing on their flat heads a Delphian tripod.

  Crackings of whips, shouts of riders, snortings of horses, came fromthe arena, and the muffled sound of wheels on the soft sand went bylike a rushing of wings. No races were going on, but merely thepreparatory exercise for the races which were to take place a few dayslater. In one corner of the stable a naked athlete, rubbed over withoil and covered with dust, a girdle of leather round his hips, wasraising and lowering dumb-bells. Throwing back his shaggy head, hearched his back till the joints cracked, and at every effort his facegrew crimson and the veins of his neck swelled.

  Preceded by slaves, a young Byzantine woman of patrician rankapproached the athlete. She was dressed in a morning robe of delicatehues; and a veil thrown over her head covered her aristocratic andslightly-faded features.

  She was a zealous Christian, widow of a Roman senator; beloved ofmonks for her generous donations to monasteries, and aboundingcharity. At first she concealed her escapades, but soon perceived thatto combine the love of the church with the love of the circus wasquite the fashion.

  Everybody knew that Stratonice detested the coxcombs ofConstantinople, curled and painted, nervous and capricious as she washerself; it was her temperament and fancy to mingle the most costlyperfumes of Arabia with the enervating heat of circus and stable. Hottears of repentance, fervent confessions to tactful confessors, wereof no avail; and this little woman, frail and delicate as some ivorytrinket, cared for nothing but the coarse caresses of a certain famouscircus-rider.

  Stratonice was watching the exercises of the gymnast with a practisedeye, while he, preserving a stupid expression on his beefy face, paidher not the slightest attention. She muttered something to her slave,with simple wonder admiring the powerful back and the terribleHerculean muscles rolling under the red skin of the shoulders, when,bending with deep inhalations, like the wind of a forge, he raised theiron weights above his handsome tawny head.

  The curtain was lifted. The crowd of spectators recoiled, and twoCappadocian mares, a white and a black, pushed into the stables,ridden by a young horsewoman, who, with a guttural cry, adroitly leaptfrom one beast to another, and thence to the ground.

  She was solidly-built, hale and sprightly as her mares, and upon herbare body shone fine drops of sweat.

  Zephirinus, the elegant sub-deacon of the Basilica of the HolyApostles, smilingly hastened towards her. A great lover of the circus,a frequenter of races and racing-stables, this young man would wagerheavy sums for the blue (_veneta_) against the green (_prasina_). Withhis red-heeled morocco boots, his painted eyes, and curled hair,Zephirinus had much more the appearance of a young girl than of aservant of the church. Behind him stood a slave, burdened with packetsof pretty stuffs and boxes, purchases of every kind from famous shops.

  "Krokala, here are the perfumes you asked for the day beforeyesterday."

  The sub-deacon offered the equestrienne a flask sealed with blue wax.

  "I've been hunting in shops all the morning, and have only found it inone. It is pure nard, and arrived yesterday from Apamea!"

  "And what purchases are these?" demanded Krokala.

  "Oh, the silks in fashion!... ornaments--sets of jewels!"

  "All of them for your----?"

  "Yes, all for my most noble sister, the devout matron Bezilla; one_must_ help one's near relatives! She trusts nobody's taste but minefor choosing stuffs. From early morning I am under her orders. My headgoes round, but I don't complain. No!... No!... Bezilla is so good ...such a holy woman!"

  "Unfortunately old," laughed Krokala. "Here, boy, wipe the sweat offthe black mare with fresh fig leaves."

  "Old age also has its virtues," replied the sub-deacon, gently rubbingtogether his white hands; they were loaded with rings.

  Then he whispered in Krokala's ear: "This evening?"

  "I'm not sure ... perhaps. Are you going to bring me something?"

  "You needn't be afraid, Krokala, I won't come empty-handed! There's apiece of stuff ... a quite marvellous pattern."

  He kissed two of his fingers, adding: "Something perfectly dazzling!"

  "Where did you pick it up?"

  "Oh, at Pyrmix's of course, near the baths. For what do you take me?You might make a long _tarantinidion_ out of it. You can't imaginewhat embroidery there is on it! Guess the subject!"

  "I don't know!... Flowers--animals?"

  "In gold and silk--the whole story of Diogenes, the Cynic."

  "Ah, that must be pretty!" cried the girl. "Come, by all means, Ishall expect you."

  Zephirinus glanced at the _clepsydra_, a water-clock placed in a nichein the wall.

  "I am late--quite late! I must go on to a money-lender, a jeweller,then the patriarch, and then to the church. Till then, good-bye."

  "Don't forget," Krokala cried to him, with a mischievous gesture.

  The sub-deacon disappeared, followed by his slave.

  A crowd of grooms, dancing girls, gymnasts, and tamers of wild beastsinvaded the stables. With his face protected by a mask, the gladiator,Mermillion, was heating a bar of iron red-hot; he was taming a lionnewly received from Africa, and which could be heard roaring throughthe stable-wall.

  "You'll be the death of me, granddaughter, and you'll go to hellyourself! Oh, oh, how my back hurts! I'm done for!"

  "Is that you, grandfather Gnyphon? What do you want?" asked Krokala ina vexed voice.

  Gnyphon was a little old man with cunning tearful eyes, which shoneunder eyebrows active as two white mice. He had the violet nose of adrunkard, wore Libyan breeches, patched and botched here and there,and on his head a Phrygian cap.

  "You've come again for money," grumbled Krokala, "and you've beendrinking again."

  "It's a sin to use such language. You'll have to answer for my soul toGod. Just think what you've brought me to. I am living now in theSmokatian quarter; I hire a little cellar from an image-carver, andevery day I have to see him making his horrible idols in marble.There's a nice occupation for a Christian! I scarcely open my eyes inthe morning, when tap, tap, tap,--my landlord's hammering hismarble--bringing white devils into the world; damnable gods that standlaughing at me. How am I to keep out of the wine-shop? O Lord, havemercy on us! I'm simply weltering in Pagan horrors, like a pig in asty, and it'll be reckoned against us ... and who'll be responsible,I'd like to know? Why, you! You're rolling in money, and yet you leavea poor miserable old man----"

  "You lie, Gnyphon! You're not poor; you're a miser; you've got amoney-box under the bed!"

  Gnyphon made a despairing gesture: "Hush--hush!"

  To change the subject he said: "Do you know where I'm going?"

  "To the tavern, of course!"

  "Worse than that. To the Temple of Dionysus! That temple, since thedays of holy Constantine, has been buried under rubbish; butto-morrow, by the august order of the Emperor Julian, it will be allshining again. And I've hired myself out to do the sweeping, althoughI shall lose my soul and be packed off to hell for it. But I'veallowed myself to be tempted because I'm poor and hungry. Mygranddaughter doesn't do anything to support me.... That's what I'vecome to!"

  "You let me be, Gnyphon. Here you are! Now go! And don't come againwhen you're drunk!"

  Krokala flung some pieces of silver to her grandfather, and then,leaping on an Illyrian stallion, stood erect on his croup, touched himwith the whip, and se
t off at a gallop round the Hippodrome. Gnyphonclacked his tongue, and said with pride--

  "To think it was I who brought her up!"

  The firm, bare body of the horsewoman shone in the morning sun, andher floating red hair matched the colour of the stallion.

  "Eh, Zotick," cried Gnyphon to an old slave who was raking horse-dunginto a basket, "come with me to clean the temple of Dionysus! You're amaster in these things! I'll pay you three obols for it."

  "Of course I will," answered Zotick. "Just a moment to trim the lampfor the goddess, and I'm at your service."

  The goddess was Atalanta, patron of grooms, dunghills, and stables.Coarsely carven in wood, and looking little more than a smoky log,Atalanta figured in a damp corner. But Zotick, who had been bredamong horses, used to worship her, often praying with tears in hiseyes, arraying her coarse blockish feet with sweet violets, in thebelief that she healed all his ills, and would preserve him in lifeand in death.

  Gnyphon went out into the open space, the Forum of Constantine, whichwas circular, and adorned with colonnades and triumphal arches. In themidst a gigantic porphyry column rose from a massive pedestal, andbore on its summit, at a height of a hundred and twenty cubits, abronze statue of Apollo by Phidias, which had been carried off from aPhrygian city. The head of the Sun-god had been broken, and, withbarbaric taste, the head of the Christian Emperor, the apostolicConstantine, had been fitted in its stead to the neck of the image.

  His brow was surrounded by gilt rays. In his right hand ApolloConstantine held the sceptre, and in his left the globe. At the footof the colossus was lodged a little Christian chapel, a kind ofpalladium, in which worship was still offered in the time ofConstantine. The Christians defended the practice by the argument thatin the bronze body of Apollo, within the Sun-god's very breast, atalisman was hidden--a piece of the Most Holy Cross brought fromJerusalem. The Emperor Julian closed this chapel.

  Gnyphon and Zotick proceeded along a narrow and lengthy street, whichled straight to the Chalcedonian stairs, not far from the fortress.Many public edifices were being built, and others were rebuilding, forso hastily had they been erected to please Constantius that theyalready were crumbling away. Inquisitive gazers were wandering in thisstreet, stopping at merchants' shops; porters were passing by, slavesfollowing their masters. Overhead, hammers resounded; cranes werecreaking, and saws grinding the white stone. Labourers were heaving atthe end of ropes huge timbers, and blocks of marble glittered againstthe blue. A smell of damp plaster came from the new houses, and a finewhite dust fell on the heads of passers-by. On this side and that,between the dazzling white walls steeped in sunlight, the smiling bluewaves of the Propontic, trimmed with galley-sails like the wings ofsea-gulls, shone at the end of narrow alleys.

  Gnyphon heard, as he went by, a conversation between two workmen whowere weighing mortar into a sack--

  "Why did you become a Christian?" asked one of them.

  "Just think, the Christians have six times as many feast days asHellenists! Nobody harms you.... I advise you to follow my example.One is much freer among Christians."

  Where four roads met, the pressure of a crowd pinned Gnyphon andZotick against the wall. In the middle of the street there was a blockin the traffic; the chariots could neither advance nor draw back;shouts, oaths, blows of the whip, were exchanged. Forty oxen weredragging, on an enormous stone-wheeled cart, a jasper column. Theearth shook under its weight.

  "Whither are you dragging that?" asked Gnyphon.

  "From the Basilica to the Temple of Hera. The Christians had carriedit off for their church. Now it is going back to its proper position."

  Gnyphon glanced at the dirty wall against which he was leaning, onwhich Pagan urchins had drawn the usual impious caricatures of theChristians.

  Gnyphon turned and spat with indignation.

  On one side of the crowded market-place they observed the portrait ofJulian, arrayed in all the symbols of Imperial power. The winged godHermes was coming down from the clouds towards him. The portrait wasfresh and the colours not yet dry.

  Now according to the Roman law every passer-by had to salute anypicture of Augustus.

  The Agoranome, or inspector of the market, stopped a little old womancarrying a large basket of cabbages.

  "I never salute the gods," wept the old woman. "My father and motherwere Christians."

  "You haven't got to salute the god, but the Emperor!"

  "But the Emperor is alongside of the god! So how should I salute him?"

  "No matter! You were told to salute and not to argue!"

  Gnyphon dragged Zotick farther on as quickly as possible.

  "Devilish trick," he grumbled, "either salute the accursed Hermes, orbe accused of insulting the sovereign! No way out!... Oh! oh! oh! theday of Antichrist! In one way or another we're always sinning! When Isee you, Zotick, envy gnaws my very soul. You live with your dunghillgoddess, and have no cares."

  They reached the Temple of Dionysus, hard by a Christian monastery,the windows and doors of which were fast barred as against theapproach of an enemy. The Hellenists accused the monks of havingpillaged the temple.

  When Gnyphon and Zotick went into the temple, carpenters and timbererswere already at work. The planks which had been used to close thequadrilateral to the sky were dragged down, and the sun poured intothe gloomy building.

  "Just look at the cobwebs, look, look!" Between the capitals of thecolumns hung masses of grey webs, which were being hastily cleanedaway by means of rag-mops on immense poles. A bat, disturbed in hislair, flew away from a dark crevice, rushing hither and thither tohide himself from the light, striking himself against all the corners.The rustling of his soft wings could be distinctly heard. Zotick begansorting the rubbish and throwing it into baskets while the old manmumbled, "Ah, these cursed fellows! what foulness they have heapedup!"

  A great bunch of rusty keys was brought up and the treasure-roomopened. The monks had carried off everything of value. Precious stonesencrusted on the sacrificial cups were gone, the gold and purpleadornments on the vestments had been torn off. When the splendidsacrificial robe was displayed a brown cloud of moths escaped from itsfolds. At the bottom of the hollow of a tripod, Gnyphon saw a handfulof ashes, the remains of myrrh burned before the triumph of theChristians by the last priest during the last sacrifice.

  From this heap of sacred rubbish, poor rags, and broken goblets, rosea perfume of death and mildew, a sad and tender odour, as of incenseto gods profaned.

  A gentle melancholy came over Gnyphon's heart. He smiled, rememberingsomething perhaps of his childhood; sweet cakes of barley and thyme,field daisies and jessamine which he used to carry with his mother tothe altar of the village goddess; his childish prayers, not to thedistant God, but to the little gods polished by the frequent touch ofhands, carven in beechwood--the holy Penates. He pitied the vanishedgods, and sighed sadly, but suddenly returned to himself andmuttered--

  "Suggestions of the Devil!"

  The workmen were carrying up a heavy slab of marble, an antiquebas-relief, stolen many years before and discovered in the hovel of acobbler whose kitchen oven it had served to repair. Philomena, the oldwife of a neighbouring clothier, a devout Christian, hated thecobbler's wife, who used to let her ass stray into Philomena'scabbage-yard. War had been maintained between them for years, but theChristian woman was in the end triumphant; for acting on herinformation the workmen had penetrated into the cobbler's house, andin order to carry off the bas-relief and slab had been obliged todemolish the oven.

  This was a terrible blow to the cobbler's wife. Brandishing hershovel, she called down vengeance from all the gods on the impious;pulled her hair out in handfuls, groaning over her scattered pots andpans while her children squealed round her like the young birds of adevastated nest. But the bas-relief was carried off, despite herstruggles, and Philomena set about the work of cleansing it. Thedraper's wife zealously scrubbed the marble which had been blackenedby smoke and made greasy with spilt broth. Little by little th
e severelines of the divine sculpture became visible. The young Dionysus,naked and proud, lay half-reclined, as if fatigued by Bacchicfeasting, letting his hand, which held a cup, fall idly. A leopardesswas licking up the last drops from the goblet, and the god, giver ofjoy to all living things, was gazing with a benign smile at thestrength of the beast subdued by the grape. The bas-relief was hauledinto position. The jeweller, clambering up before the image ofDionysus, inlaid the orbits of the god with two splendid sapphires, toserve as eyes.

  "What's he doing there?" asked Gnyphon.

  "Can't you see? They are eyes."

  "Yes, certainly, but where do the stones come from?"

  "From the monastery."

  "But why have the monks allowed it?"

  "How could they prevent it? The divine Augustus Julian himself orderedit. The god's blue eyes were used as an ornament on the robe of theCrucified that's all.... They talk about charity and justice, and theythemselves are the worst of brigands! See how beautifully the stonesfit into their old setting!..."

  The god fixed his sapphire eyes on Gnyphon. The old man recoiled andcrossed himself, seized with dread.

  "Lord have mercy on us! It's horrible!"

  Remorse filled his soul, and while sweeping he began, as was his wont,to talk to himself--

  "Gnyphon! Gnyphon! what a poor creature you are!... Just like a mangydog one might say.... You're ending your days in a nice way! Why haveyou gone and damned yourself? The fiend has over-tempted you!... Andnow you go into everlasting fire without a chance of salvation. You'vesmirched soul and body, Gnyphon, by serving the abomination of theheathen!... Better had it been for thee hadst thou never been born!"

  "What are you groaning at, old man?" Philomena the draper's wifeenquired.

  "My heart is heavy!... Oh, how heavy!"

  "Are you a Christian?"

  "Christian?--I am a betrayer of Christ!" answered Gnyphon, using hisbroom vigorously.

  "Would you like me to take away your sin so that not a trace ofheathen defilement shall stick to you? You see I'm a Christian too,and yet afraid of nothing. Do you think I'd have undertaken work likethis, if I hadn't known how to purify myself after it?"

  Gnyphon stared at her, incredulous.

  But the draper's wife, having ascertained that nobody could hear them,muttered mysteriously--

  "Yes!... there is a means! I must tell you about it! A pilgrim made mea present of a little bit of Egyptian wood, called persis, which growsat Hermopolis, in the Thebaid. When Jesus and His mother on their asswere going through the gates of the town, the persis tree bowed downbefore them to the earth; and ever since it has been a miraculoushealer. I've got a little splinter of it, and I'll break off a bit foryou. There's such a power in that wood, that if you put a bit into avat of water and leave it there for a night the water becomes holy.You'll just wash yourself from head to foot in it, and the heathenabomination will leave you like magic, and you'll feel yourself lightand pure. Isn't it written in the Bible, 'Thou shalt dip in the waterand shalt become as white as snow'?"

  "Oh, my benefactress!" groaned Gnyphon, "save me! Give me a chip ofthat wonderful wood!"

  "Ah! you may well call it precious!... Just to do a good turn to aneighbour I'll give it you for a drachma."[9]

  "What's that you're saying, mother? Why, I never earned a drachma inmy life! Will you take three obols?"[10]

  [9] Worth about 8_d._

  [10] Six to the drachma.

  "Miser!" cried the draper's wife indignantly. "You stick at adrachma!... Isn't your immortal soul worth so much?"

  "But after all do you think I shall be quite pure?" objected Gnyphon."Perhaps the sin has so soaked into me that nothing can...."

  "I'll solemnly swear to it," insisted the draper's wife. "Try it andyou'll feel the miracle at once!... Your soul will shine like thesun--as pure as a white dove...."