The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  XII

  At about five miles from Antioch, up the course of the river Orontes,stood the celebrated wood of Daphne, consecrated to Apollo. Therein atemple had been built, where every year the praises of the Sun-godwere celebrated.

  Julian, without saying anything of his intention quitted Antioch atthe break of day. He wished to ascertain for himself whether theinhabitants remembered the ancient sacred feast. All along the road hemused of the solemnity, hoping to see lads and virgins going up thesteps of the temple, clad in white as a symbol of purity and youth,the crowd of the faithful, the choirs, and the smoke of incense.

  The road was difficult; from the rocky Berean hills a gusty burningwind came down. The atmosphere was laden with the bitter smell ofburnt wood, and thick with a bluish fog which spread itself over thedeep gorge of Mount Kazia. Harassing dust filled eyes and throat, andcrackled between the teeth of the traveller. The very sun through thesmoky vapour seemed red and sickly. But hardly had the Emperorpenetrated into the wood of Daphne than fragrant coolness surroundedhim. It was difficult to believe that such a corner of Paradise couldbe found at a few paces from the scorching road. The wood wastwenty-four stadia in circumference, and perpetual twilight reigned inits almost impenetrable alleys of gigantic laurels, planted centuriesbefore. The Emperor was surprised at the solitariness of the wood--noworshippers, no victims, no incense, nor any preparation for thesolemn feast-day. Thinking that the people must be assembled near thetemple, he pushed on farther. At every step the wood became morelonely. It was as untroubled by any sound as an abandoned cemetery.Birds were few, the shadow of the laurel-grove being too thick, and nosong of theirs was heard. A grasshopper began his shrill cry in thegrass, and quickly ceased, as if startled at his own voice. Insectsalone were humming faintly in a slender ray of sunlight, but venturednot to quit its beam for the neighbouring gloom. Sometimes Julianpushed his path along wider alleys, bordered with titanic walls ofweird cypress, casting shade dark as a moonless night. Here and theresubterranean waters made the moss spongy. Streams ran everywhere,chill as melted snow, but silently, with no tinkling ripples, as ifmuted by the melancholy of that enchanted wood. In one nook, a rift inthe rock, clear drops were falling slowly, glittering, one by one. Butmoss stifled the sound of their fall, and they sank away like thetears of an unspoken love.

  There were broad glens of wild narcissus, many lilies, and evenbutterflies. But these were dark-winged and not gay-coloured, for thesun-rays filtered through the thick laurel became almost lunar-pale,and pensive as if fallen through the smoke of a funeral torch. It wasas though Phoebus had grown faint and inconsolable after the finalloss of Daphne. And she, remaining, overcast and shadowy under themost burning kisses of the god, here kept impenetrable coolness andbloom under her branches for ever.

  Everywhere in that wood reigned the abandonment, the tendermelancholy of the god who loved in vain.

  Already in sight, and dazzling through the cypresses, shone thecolumns and pediments of the temple raised in the time of SeleucusNicator. But not a worshipper yet had Julian encountered. At last hesaw a child of twelve years old, on a path overgrown with wildhyacinth. His dark eyes shone strangely brilliant in his finely cutpale face. Golden hair fell in curls on his slender neck, and hisblue-veined temples were transparent as the petals of a flower grownin the shade.

  "Do you know, child, where are the sacrificers and the people?" Julianasked.

  The child made no answer, as if he had not understood the question.

  "Listen, little one, can you not lead me to the priest of Apollo?"

  He shook his head, smiling.

  "Why will you not answer me?"

  Then the boy put a finger to his lips and then to both his ears, andshook his head gravely this time.

  Julian thought--

  "This must be a deaf-mute."

  The child looked shyly askance at the Emperor, who grew almost fearfulin the silent twilight of the deserted wood in the company of the elf,who stared at him fixedly and haughtily as a little god.

  Suddenly, he pointed out to Julian an old man, clothed in a patchedand tattered tunic; Julian immediately recognised a temple priest. Theweak and broken old man stumbled along in drunken fashion, laughingand mumbling to himself as he went. He was red-nosed and completelybald except for a fringe of downy grey hair. His watery andshort-sighted eyes had an expression of childlike benevolence. He wascarrying a large basket.

  "The priest of Apollo?" asked Julian.

  "I am he. I am called Gorgius. What do you want, good man?"

  "Can you direct me to the high-priest of this temple and the peopleworshipping here?"

  Gorgius made no answer at first, but put his panier on the ground.Then he rubbed his bald pate and, standing with arms akimbo, held hishead on one side winking mischievously with his left eye.

  "And why am _I_ not the high-priest of Apollo?" he asked, "and whatworshippers do you mean, my son?... May the Olympians protect you."

  He smelt strongly of wine. Julian thought his behaviour indecent andprepared to administer a rebuke--

  "You seem to be drunk, old man."

  Gorgius, in no wise perturbed, continued to rub the back of his neck.

  "Drunk? I don't think so. But I may have tossed off five cups or so,for the sake of the celebrations; and as to that, I drink more throughsorrow than merriment. Yes, my son, may the Olympians have you intheir keeping!... Who are you? By your dress perhaps a wanderingphilosopher, or a professor from the schools of Antioch?"

  The Emperor smiled and nodded his head in acquiescence. He wished tomake the priest talk freely.

  "You have hit it. I am a teacher."

  "Christian?"

  "No, Hellenist."

  "Ah, that's good. There are many others of your way of thinking whohang about this neighbourhood."

  "You have not yet answered me as to where the people are: whether manyvictims have been sent from Antioch; whether the choirs are ready."

  "Victims? Small thanks for victims," said the old man, laughing andstumbling so violently that he nearly tumbled down. "Many's the longyear, my brother, since we saw that kind of thing!... Since the timeof Constantine...." Gorgius snapped his fingers despairingly andwhistled. "It is all over--done for!... Phut!... Men have forgottenthe gods. Not only have we no victims, but we don't even get a handfulof wheat to cook a cake; not a grain of incense, not a drop of oil forthe lamps.... There's nothing for it but to go to bed and die!... Yes,my son! may the Olympians protect you!... The monks have takeneverything!... and they fight each other; they're rolling in fat....Our tale is told.... Ah! bad times these. And you say 'Don't drink!'But it's hard not to drink when one suffers. If I didn't drink a bit Ishould have hanged myself long ago."

  "And no one has come from Antioch for this great feast day?" askedJulian.

  "None but you, my son. I am the priest, you are the people! We willtogether offer the victim to the god."

  "You have just told me that you received no victims!"

  Gorgius rubbed the back of his neck, grinning--

  "We received none from others, but there is my own offering. Weveeaten little for three days, Hepherion and I, to save the necessarymoney. Look!"

  He raised the lid of the basket. A tethered goose slid out its head,cackling and trying to escape.

  "Ha, ha, ha! is not that a victim?" asked the old man proudly."Although it isn't a fat young goose it is nevertheless a sacred bird!Apollo ought to be glad of it just now. The gods consider geese adelicacy."

  "Have you long dwelt in this temple?" questioned Julian.

  "For forty years and perhaps longer...."

  "Is this your son?" asked Julian, pointing to Hepherion, who wasstaring at him as if he were trying to follow the conversation.

  "No. I have neither relatives nor friends. Hepherion helps me at thehours for sacrifice."

  "Who are his father and mother?"

  "I do not know the father and I strongly suspect that no one knows whohe is. But his mother was the great
sibyl Diotima, who long lived inthis temple. She would never speak nor raise her veil before men. Shewas chaste as a vestal. When she brought this child into the world wewere all astonished, and at a loss what to think ... but a learnedcentenarian, a magian told us...."

  Gorgius, with a mysterious air, put his hand before his mouth andmuttered in Julian's ear as if he feared the child could catch hiswords--

  "The hierophant told us that he was no son of man, but a god come downby night to the sibyl while she was asleep within the temple! See howbeautiful he is!"

  "A deaf-mute son of a god?" murmured the Emperor, surprised.

  "In times like ours if the son of the god and of the sibyl were not adeaf-mute he would die of grief," answered Gorgius. "See how thin andpale he is already!"

  "Who knows," said Julian, with a sad smile, "but that you are right,old man. In our days it is well for a prophet to be a deaf-mute."

  Suddenly the child approached Julian and looking at him fixedly,seized his hand and kissed it. A thrill ran through Julian.

  "My son," said the old man, gravely, "may the Olympians shield you;you must be a good man. That child never kisses the evil nor theimpious, and he flees from the monks as from the plague. I think hesees and understands more than either of us but can utter nothing.I've often surprised him sitting before the statue of Apollo forhours, gazing at him with joy as if he were talking with the god."

  The face of Hepherion grew dark and he went away.

  Gorgius smote his head and said--

  "I am wasting time in gossip. The sun is up; the sacrifice must beperformed. Come!"

  "Wait," said the Emperor. "I wished to ask you something more. Haveyou ever heard that the Emperor Julian desired to restore to honourthe worship of the old gods?"

  "Yes, but ... what can _he_ do, poor man? He will not succeed. I tellyou--all's over!"

  "Have you faith in the gods?" asked Julian. "Can the Olympians quit usso for ever?"

  The old man sighed, and hanging his head--

  "My son, you're young; although there are white hairs shining in yourdark locks, and furrows on your brow already. But in the days when myhair was black and young girls used to look at me with favour, Iremember sailing in a ship, near Thessalonica, and seeing MountOlympus. Its base and its girdle melted into blue, and its snowysummit seemed hanging in the air, dominating sky and sea, golden andinaccessible. I mused 'Behold the dwelling of the gods!' and I wasfull of emotion. But on this same ship there was a scoffing old manwho called himself an Epicurean. He pointed out Mount Olympus, andsaid to me: 'My friend, travellers have long ago climbed Olympus, andthey saw that it was an ordinary mountain, like other mountains, onwhich there was nothing but snow, ice and stones!' And those wordssank so deep into my heart that I shall remember them all my life."

  The Emperor smiled--

  "Old man, your faith is childish. Suppose there were no Olympus--whyshould not the gods exist above, in the kingdom of the eternal Ideas,in the realm of the soul's light?"

  Gorgius hung his head lower yet--

  "Yes, yes, yes!... but ... nevertheless all is over. Olympus isdeserted."

  Julian gazed at him, surprised.

  "You see," continued Gorgius, "the earth breeds nowadays only hard menor weak men. The gods can only laugh at them, or grow wrath with them.They are not worth destroying. They will perish of themselves bysickness, debauchery, or decline. The gods are grown weary and theyhave departed!"

  "And do you think, Gorgius, that the human race must disappear?"

  The priest shook his bald head--

  "Ah, ah, ah! The earth is in pain. The rivers flow more slowly; theflowers in spring have not their old fragrance. An ancient fishermanlately told me that one can see Etna no longer as we used to do. Theair has become thicker and darker, the sun is waxing weak; the end ofthe world is near...."

  "Tell me, Gorgius, can you remember better times?"

  The old man brightened up, and his eyes shone.

  "When I first came here in the first years of the reign ofConstantine," he said joyfully, "grand festivals were celebrated everyyear in honour of Apollo. What numbers of lads and virgins used tocome to this holy wood! How the moon used to shine! How exquisite thesmell of the cypresses! How the nightingales used to sing! And whentheir chant ceased, the air would tremble with nocturnal kisses andsighings of love, as with the beatings of invisible wings."

  Gorgius was silent and plunged in thought.

  At that moment the sound of church-singing came from behind the trees.

  "What is that?" asked Julian.

  "The monks," answered the priest. "Monks praying over a deadGalilean."

  "What, a Galilean in the wood sacred to Apollo?'"

  "Yes; they call him the martyr Babylas. Ten years ago the brother ofthe Emperor Julian, Caesar Gallus, transferred the bones of thisBabylas from Antioch into this wood, and had a superb sarcophagus madefor him. From that day the oracle ceased. The temple was sullied andthe god departed."

  "What sacrilege!" exclaimed the Emperor indignantly.

  "That year the virgin sibyl Diotima gave birth to a deaf-mute child, abad omen. Only one sacred spring was left us and did not dry up, thespring called Tears of the Sun ... over there, where the child is nowsitting...."

  Julian turned round. The boy was sitting in front of the mossy rock,motionless, and in his open palm receiving the falling drops. Julianalmost imagined he saw two transparent wings trembling behind thedivinely beautiful child. So sad, so pale, so enchanting his look,that the Emperor mused--

  "He must be Eros, the little god of love, dying in our century ofGalilean moroseness, and in his hand receiving the last drops, thelast tears of love, tears of the god over Daphne, over the vanishedbeauty of Daphne!"

  The deaf-mute remained motionless, and a great black velvety butterflyalighted on his head. He neither saw it, nor stirred. Like a malignshadow the butterfly opened and shut its wings, while the Tears of theSun dropped, one by one, into the hand of Hepherion. Louder and louderin the distance rose funereal psalms.

  Suddenly from behind the cypresses came the sound of voicesdisputing--

  "Augustus is there."

  "Why should he go alone to Daphne?"

  "Why not? to-day is the great festival of Apollo. See, there he is ...Julian, we have sought you since the morning!"

  They were Greek sophists, men of science and rhetoricians, habitualcompanions of the Emperor, and with them the Neo-Platonist Priscus ofEpirus, the bilious sceptic Julius Mauricus, the wise SallustiusSecundus, and the celebrated orator Libanius.

  Julian vouchsafed them not the least attention.

  "What's the matter?" murmured Julius to Priscus.

  "He must be displeased that there has been no preparation for thefeast! We have not sent a single offering...."

  Julian addressed the former Christian rhetorician, now the high-priestof Astarte, Hekobolis--

  "Go into the neighbouring chapel, and inform the Galileans prayingthere of my will. Let them come here."

  Hekobolis went.

  Gorgius, still holding his basket, stood petrified, with eyes andmouth wide open. He rubbed his bald head. Had he not drunk too much?It must all be a dream! But when he remembered all he had said aboutJulian and the god to the pretended professor, a cold sweat broke outon his forehead, his legs trembled, and he fell on his knees--

  "Pardon, Caesar! Forget my words!"

  One of the philosophers wished to thrust away the old man; but Julianstopped him--

  "Do not insult the sacrificial priest. Rise, Gorgius, there is myhand; fear nothing. So long as I live, none shall do harm to you or toyour little lad. You and I both came for the festival, both love theold gods. We will be friends and rejoice together at this feast of theSun!"

  The psalms had meantime ceased. Frightened monks appeared coming upthe alley of cypresses, deacons and superiors still in the sacerdotaldress and led by Hekobolis. The arch-priest, a fat man with a shiningred face, walked swaying from side to side, much out
of breath andwiping his brow. He saluted Augustus profoundly, reaching one fingerto the ground, and said in a pleasant bass voice--

  "May the humane Augustus pardon his unworthy servants!"

  He bowed lower yet, and two novices skilfully assisted him to riseagain. One of them had forgotten to put away the censer, from whichthe incense was escaping in thin fillets of smoke.

  At the sight of the monks Hepherion fled. Julian said--

  "Galileans, I order you to rid the sacred wood of Apollo of the relicsof your co-religionist. We do not desire to use force against you, butif our will is not carried out, I must myself see that Helios isdelivered from such sacrilege. I shall send here my soldiers, who willdisinter the bones, burn them, and scatter the ashes to the winds."

  The arch-priest coughed, and finally said in a humble tone--

  "Most merciful Caesar, that is hard on us, for these relics have longrested here, in a place blessed by the will of Caesar Gallus. But as itis a matter beyond our jurisdiction, we are forced to refer it to thebishop."

  A murmur ran through the crowd; an urchin hidden in a laurel bushshouted--

  "The butcher comes With a big, big knife!"

  But he received such a buffet that he fled, howling.

  The arch-priest, feeling that decency obliged him to defend therelics, coughed again and began--

  "If it pleases your High Wisdom to give this order on account of theidol..." he quickly corrected himself.

  "Of the Hellenic god, Helios...."

  The Emperor's eyes sparkled with rage.

  "The 'idol,'" he interrupted, "'idol' is your word. For what imbecilesdo you take us, if you think that we worship the matter thatrepresents our gods, metal, stone, or wood. All your preachers preachthis, but it is a lie. We worship not these things, but the soul, theliving soul of beauty in these models of the purest human beauty. Itis not we, the idolaters, but you--you, who devour each other likewild beasts for the sake of an iota; you, who kiss the rotten bones ofcriminals punished for breaking the Roman laws; you, who call thefratricide Constantius an 'Eternal Holiness!' To deify the splendidsculptures of Phidias, which breathe Olympian beauty and goodness, isthat less reasonable than to bow before two crossed beams of wood, ashameful instrument of torture? Must one blush for you, pity you, orhate you? It is the pitch of mad degradation for our country, to seesons of the Hellenes, who read Plato and Homer, rushing to an outcasttribe, a tribe almost blotted out by Vespasian and Titus, in order todeify a dead man!... And you still dare to accuse us of idolatry!"

  The arch-priest imperturbably stroked his long beard, and looking atJulian askance, wiped the perspiration from his glistening forehead.

  Then the Emperor said to Priscus the philosopher--

  "My friend, accomplish the Delian mysteries with which you arefamiliar. We must purify the Temple of Apollo. He will return to hisdwelling, and once we have taken away the stone which seals thespring, the oracle will speak again."

  The arch-priest terminated the interview with a deep bow and the sameobsequious manner, in which an invincible tenacity could be felt--

  "Let your will be done, Caesar. We are the children, you are thefather; but there is no power above the power of God."

  "Oh, you hypocrites, I know your obedience and your humility! Yourhumility is the serpent's fang! Why not struggle against me at leastlike men?"

  Julian turned round to depart, when a little old man and woman issuedfrom the crowd and prostrated themselves at his feet. They were poorlybut cleanly dressed, and bore a surprising resemblance to each other,reminding him of Philemon and Baucis.

  "Protect us, just Caesar," whispered the old man. "We have a littlehouse near Antioch at the foot of the Stavrinus. We've lived theretwenty years, and now the town-senators, the decurions, are come...."The old man clasped his hands despairingly, and the old woman,imitating him, did the same.

  "The decurions come and say, 'This house does not belong toyou!'--'What--the Lord be with you--we've been here twentyyears!'--'Yes; but you had no right. The land belongs to the temple ofthe god AEsculapius, and your house is built with the temple-stones. Itmust return to AEsculapius.' What does this mean?... Have mercy,all-powerful Augustus!"

  The two old people, with their clear and childlike faces, werekneeling before him, and weeping, kissed his feet.

  Julian perceived an amber cross on the woman's neck.

  "Are you Christians?" he asked, his brow growing sombre.

  "Yes."

  "I should like to grant your prayer ... but how is it to be done? Theland belongs to the god.... Nevertheless, your property shall be paidfor."

  "No, no," cried out the old people, "we're rooted there by all ourhabits. We don't ask for money. But there everything is ours; we knowevery blade of grass...."

  "There everything is ours," repeated the old woman like an echo. "Thevine, the chickens, the cow, the olives, the pigs--everything is ours.And there's the step too, on which in the evening we have warmed ourold bones in the sun, side by side, for these twenty years."

  The Emperor, without listening, turned toward the startled crowd--

  "Latterly the Galileans have overwhelmed me with demands for thereturn of lands belonging to the churches, and the Valentinians accusethe Arians of having robbed them of their properties. To cut shortdispute I have given half of those lands to the Gallic warriors andthe other half to the Imperial Treasury; and I am decided to actsimilarly in future. By what right, you ask? But is it not more easyfor a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man toenter the kingdom of heaven? You glorify poverty, Galileans? Whymurmur against me? In taking property which you yourselves have takenfrom your brother-heretics, or from Olympian temples, I am onlyrestoring you to wholesome poverty and the narrow way into theheavenly kingdom."

  An evil smile curled his lips.

  "We're injured unjustly," groaned the two old people.

  "Well, suffer the injustice!" answered Julian. "You should rejoice inpersecution. What are these sufferings to eternal bliss?"

  The old man, unprepared for this deduction, stammered in dismay, as aforlorn hope--

  "We are your faithful slaves, Augustus. My son serves on the militarystaff, in a distant fortress of the Roman frontier, and his superiorofficers think well of him...."

  "Is he also a Christian?" interrupted Julian.

  "Yes," sighed the old man, and was immediately dismayed at the avowal.

  "You have done well to warn me. As proved enemies of the RomanAugustus, Christians must not henceforth occupy high Imperial office,above all in the army. I am more of your Master's opinion than you areyourselves. How should disciples of Jesus do justice according to theRoman law, when He has said, '_Judge not, and ye shall not bejudged_'? How should Christians rightly defend the Empire by thesword, when they were taught by Him '_He who shall take up the swordshall perish by the sword_'; and again, '_Resist not evil_'?Therefore, for the safety of your souls, we shall withdraw Christiansfrom the law and from the army of Rome; that helpless, and disarmed,and free from frivolous earthliness, they may reach the kingdom ofheaven!"

  Smiling inwardly, and so robbing his hatred of still greaterbitterness, the Emperor strode rapidly toward the Temple of Apollo.

  The old people stretched their arms after him, sobbing--

  "Caesar, we did it unwittingly! Take our house, our land, all that wehave, but have pity on our son!"

  The philosophers wished to enter the temple, but the Emperor wavedthem back--

  "I came to the festival alone. I alone will offer the sacrifice!"

  "Let us go in," he added, addressing Gorgius.

  "Close the doors, and let none of the unconsecrated enter...."

  And the doors were shut in the faces of his philosopher friends.

  "'Unconsecrated?' How do you like that?" asked Garguillus moodily.

  Libanius stood sulking in silence.

  Mauricus, with a mysterious air, dragged his friends into a corner ofthe portico, and touching his fore
head with a finger murmured--

  "Do you understand?"

  All were dumbfounded.

  "Is it possible?"

  Mauricus began to reckon--

  "First, pallor, feverish appearance, disordered hair, irregular step,incoherent speeches; second, excessive harshness and nervousness;third, this stupid war against the Persians!... By Pallas, it clearlymeans madness!"

  The friends drew closer, and began to tell each other all sorts ofanecdotes. Sallustius, who held aloof, contemplated the group with abitter smile.

  Within the temple Julian found Hepherion, who brightened on seeinghim, and several times during the rite gazed into the Emperor's face,as if the two had some secret in common. Shining in the sunlight, thecolossal statue of Apollo stood in the midst of the temple, its bodyivory and its garments golden, like those of the Zeus by Phidias atOlympia. The god, stooping slightly, was pouring the nectar of his cupto the Earth-Mother, praying her to restore him Daphne.

  A slight cloud passed above the temple. Shadows ran over thetime-yellowed ivory. It seemed to Julian that the god benignly stoopedstill lower, to receive the offering of the last adorers--the weakpriest, the apostate Emperor, and the deaf-mute son of the sibyl.

  "This is my reward," thought Julian. "I wish for no other glory, norguerdon, O Apollo! I thank thee for the curses of the crowd; and forthy grace, in making me live and die alone, like thyself! There, wherethe populace prays, there is no god! Thou art here, in this sanctuaryprofaned. O god, scorned by mankind, now art thou far more beautifulthan of old when they adored thee! On the day marked for me by theFates, let me be joined again to thee, O Radiant One! Let me die inthee, Sun, as the fire of the last offering dies in thy rays!"

  So prayed the Emperor, tears streaming down his cheeks, and one by onethe drops of the victim's blood fell like tears on the half-consumedembers.