The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  II

  At Constantinople Julian organised Bacchic processions. Seated in achariot drawn by white mules, he held in his right hand a goldenthyrsus, surmounted by cedar-fruit, and in the other a cup garlandedwith ivy. The rays of the sun flooded the crystal wine-cup withvermilion. On each side of the chariot paced tame leopards, sent fromthe island of Serendib. In front, Bacchantes sang to the beat oftimbrels, waving bright torches; and through the clouds of smoke lads,wearing the horns of Fauns, spilt wine into goblets. As they pushedlaughing along, the red wine often splashed the bare shoulder of someBacchante, and dashed the sunshine with rosy spray. An obese old man,a certain rascally money-lender--who, by the way, was head of theImperial Treasury,--mounted on an ass, played the part of Silenus toperfection. The Bacchantes danced along, waving their hands towardsthe Emperor--

  O Bacchus, ever girt with gleaming cloud!

  Thousands of voices intoned the chant from the _Antigone_ ofSophocles--

  But now be glad of Victory! She meets our gladness with an answering smile; And Thebes, the many-charioted, hears far-resounding praise. Now then have done with wars,--forget your strifes! Visit all temples of the gods with night-long dance and song; And thou, O Theban Bacchus, lead our mirth! Lead thou, and shake the earth!

  Suddenly Julian heard a burst of laughter, the shrill scream of awoman, and the quavering voice of an old man--

  "Ah, my pretty chicken!"

  It was the Bacchic priest, a good-humoured septuagenarian, who hadpinched the bare elbow of a comely Bacchante. Julian's face darkened,and he summoned the old dotard, who ran up, still dancing--

  "My friend," whispered Julian in his ear, "observe the dignity whichbefits your age and rank!"

  "I am a simple and unlearned man. And I may venture to tell yourMajesty that while philosophy is beyond me, I venerate the gods. Askanyone you please on that head--I have always been faithful to them.Only ... when I see a pretty girl ... my blood gets up! I am an oldsatyr...." Seeing the displeased face of the Emperor he stopped,assumed a more solemn air, and relapsed into still denser stupidity.

  "Who is that young girl?" asked Julian.

  "She who is carrying the sacred vessels on her head?"

  "Yes."

  "A courtesan of Chalcedon...."

  "What!... You have authorised a courtesan to touch the holy vessels ofthe gods with her foul hands!"

  "But, divine Augustus, you yourself ordained this procession. Who wasthere to choose from? All the noble women are Galileans. And then ...none of them would have consented to have exhibited themselveshalf-naked...."

  "Then they are all...."

  "No, no! Some of them are dancing-girls, tragic actresses, horsewomenfrom the Hippodrome. See how gay they are and free from false shame!Believe me, the people like that! That's what they want. And there'sa patrician woman!..."

  The last-named was a Christian, an old maid looking out for husbands.On her head rose a helmet-shaped wig, a galerum made of blond hairpowdered with gold--thickly covered with gems as an Indian idol;impudently painted, she drew her tiger-skin across her withered bosom,and smiled affectedly.

  Julian looked down on the people with a sudden impulse of distaste.

  Rope-dancers, drunken legionaries, venal women, circus-riders,gymnasts, actors, swarmed and wantoned all round him.

  The procession arrived at a place where four streets met. One of theBacchantes ran to a tavern, whence came an unpleasant smell of rancidfrying fish, and bought some greasy cakes for three obols. These sheate, greedily licking her lips; and finished by wiping her hands onthe purple silk of her robes, which had been granted for theprocession by the Imperial Treasury.

  The chorus of Sophocles soon became wearisome. Husky voices took up astreet-song. The whole proceeding appeared to Julian to have beendesecrated. A drunken man was picked up; and some thieves, playing thepart of Fauns, were arrested. They defended themselves, and a fightensued. The only personages in the whole company whose demeanourremained dignified and beautiful were the panthers.

  At last they drew near the temple. Julian came down from his chariot.

  "Can I really present myself before the altar of Dionysus surroundedby this human refuse?"

  A chill of disgust ran through his body. He saw the brutal faceswasted with debauchery, corpse-like through their paint; the painfulnudity of bodies deformed by fasting and anaemia. He breathed theatmosphere of low wine-shops, houses of ill-fame. The breath of thecrowd, tainted with rotten fish and sour wine, smote him through thearomatic smoke. Scrolls of papyrus were stretched out to him fromevery side:

  "I was promised a place in your stables.... I have been paid nothingfor renouncing Christ...."

  "Don't desert us, Divine Augustus! Protect us! We denied for your sakethe faith of our fathers!... If you give us up what will become ofus?"

  These were the voices drowned by the chorus of the feast.

  Julian went into the temple, and contemplated the marvellous statue ofDionysus. His eyes, weary with human deformity, reposed on the purelines of that divine body. He became oblivious of the crowd as if hewere alone--the only man amidst a herd of animals.

  The Emperor proceeded to the sacrifice. The people watched withamazement the Roman Caesar, as Pontifex Maximus, in his zeal forreligion doing the work of a slave--splitting wood, bringing twigs,drawing water, and cleansing the altar.

  A rope-dancer said to his neighbour--

  "Look how he keeps at it! He really loves his gods!"

  "By this right hand," remarked the other, "few people care for fatherand mother as he cares for his gods!"

  "You see," laughed a third, "how he puffs out his cheeks to kindle thefire again!... Blow, blow!... It won't catch!... Your uncleConstantine put _that_ fire out."

  The flames jetted up, illumining the Emperor's face.

  Dipping the holy water brush into a shallow cup, a silver patine usedto cover the chalice, he besprinkled the sacrificial water over theheads of the crowd. Some grimaced, others started, at feeling the colddrops on their faces.

  When all the ceremonies were over, Julian remembered that he hadprepared a philosophical discourse for the people.

  "Men," said he, "the god Dionysus is the beginning of your souls'liberty. Dionysus breaks every chain that binds you; he mocks thestrong, sets free the slave...."

  But he perceived such a dull stupidity upon every face, such anexpression of tedium and weariness, that the words died on his lips. Amortal disgust for humanity arose in his heart. He made a sign to thelance-bearers to come round him.

  Grumbling and disappointed, the crowd dispersed.

  "I'm going straight to church to get absolution. Do you think I shallbe forgiven?" said one of the Fauns, snatching off his own false beardand horns with an angry gesture.

  "It wasn't worth losing one's soul for that, eh?" observed with wratha lady of doubtful reputation.

  "Nobody wants your soul, or would give three obols for it!"

  "The cursed devils!" yelled a drunkard. "They didn't give us enoughwine to get the taste of it!"

  In the sacristy of the temple the Emperor washed face and hands, tookoff the splendid Dionysian dress, and put on again the simple whitetunic of the Pythagoreans. The sun was declining, and he waited thefall of dusk to retrace his way to the palace unperceived.

  Julian went into the sacred wood of Dionysus, where the silence wasbroken only by the humming of bees and the tinkle of a brook. A soundof steps made him turn round. It was his old friend, one of Maximus'favourite pupils, the young Alexandrian doctor, Oribazius.

  They walked on the narrow path side by side. The sun was shiningthrough large golden leaves of the vine.

  "Look!" said Julian smiling. "Here great Pan is still alive!"

  Then in a lower tone he added, hanging his head--

  "Oribazius!... You saw it?"

  "Yes," responded the student. "But perhaps the fault lay with you,Julian.... What did you hope for?"

  The Emperor made no ans
wer.

  They came near a little ruined temple that ivy had invaded andoverrun. Fragments lay about in the deep grass. A single column onlyremained standing; and on its lovely capital, clear-cut as the petalsof a lily, shone the last rays of sunset.

  The friends sat down on the flags together and inhaled the air, sweetwith mint and thyme and wormwood. Julian put the leaves aside andpointing to an antique broken bas-relief--

  "Oribazius! That is what I hoped for!"

  The bas-relief represented a religious procession of the ancientAthenians.

  "That is what I desired ... beauty like theirs! Why from day to day domen become more and more deformed and misfeatured? Where are theimmortal old men, the austere heroes, the proud lads, the pure womenin their white and floating robes? Where is that strength, thatgaiety of heart? Galileans! Galileans! what have you done with thesethings?"

  He gazed at the bas-relief with eyes full of infinite sadness andinfinite love.

  "Julian," asked Oribazius, gently, "do you believe in Maximus?"

  "Yes."

  "Wholly?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I've always thought, Julian, that you suffer from the same malady asyour enemies, the Christians!"

  "What malady?"

  "Faith in miracles."

  Julian shook his head.

  "If there be neither miracles nor gods my whole life is a madness!...No, we won't speak of that. And do not be too hard upon me on accountof my love for ancient ceremonies. I scarcely can explain it to you.The old simple things stir tears in me; and I love the evening morethan the morning, autumn better than spring. I love all that isfleeting!... even the perfume of flowers that have faded.... Whatwould you have, my friend? The gods shaped me so!... That pleasantmelancholy, that golden faery twilight, are necessary to me. In thedepth of antiquity there is to me something ineffably gracious andfair such as I find in no other region--the shining of sunset onmarble mellowed by time. Do not rob me of the mad love of what is nomore. Everything that has been, is fairer than the thing that is!Remembrance has more power over my soul than hope...."

  Julian was silent, and with a smile on his lips looked into thedistance, his head leaning back against the column.

  "You speak as a poet," answered Oribazius. "But the dreams of a poetare perilous when the fate of a world is in his hands. Ought not hewho reigns over men to be something more than a poet?"

  "Whose life is higher?"

  "That of the creator of a _new_ life?..."

  "New! new!" exclaimed Julian. "To be plain with you, your noveltysometimes strikes terror into me! It seems to me to be cold and hardas death. I tell you, my heart is in antiquity. The Galileans, likeyou, are always seeking novelty and stamping the old idols underfoot!... Trust me, new life lies only in what is old; immortal is itand proud, however it be thus insulted!"

  He drew himself up to his full height, pale and haughty, his eyesbrilliant--

  "They think that Hellas is dead!... And from every quarter of thecompass black monks come swooping down, like ravens, on its marblebody, and pick at it, joyously shrieking, 'Hellas is dead!' But theyforget that Hellas cannot die, that Hellas is in our hearts! Hellas isthe divine beauty of man upon earth. She but slumbers, and when sheshall awake, woe to the crows of Galilee!"

  "Julian," murmured Oribazius, "I fear for you.... You wish toaccomplish the impossible.... Crows do not feed on the living, and thedead do not rise again.... Ah, Caesar! what if the miracle does notsucceed?"

  "I have no fear. My defeat shall be my victory!" exclaimed theEmperor, with so radiant a happiness on his young face that Oribaziuswas thrilled, as if the miracle was now to be achieved. "Glory to therejected! Glory to the conquered! But before my destruction," headded with a proud smile, "we will fight a good fight!... I would thatmy enemies were worthy of my hate, and not of my contempt!... In truthI love my enemies. They teach me to feel and measure my own force!They bring into my heart the gaiety of Dionysus. Or it shall be theold Titan, snapping his chains, and kindling anew the Promethean fire!Titan against Galilean!... Rejoice, tribes and peoples of the earth! Iam the messenger of life who shall set you free! I _am_ theAnti-Christ!"