Dedalus Book of Russian Decadence
Page 33
The long, hellish tentacles snaked round the goddess’s bare knees. After the tentacles came the rest of the loathsome body, now crawling out of the ravine … Artemis had already despaired of rescue, but suddenly a large white goat appeared at the top of a nearby cliff. The animal’s long fleece gleamed silver in the moonlight. His dark eyes attentively took in the scene. He lowered his head and sprang onto the meadow, from which the monster was already drawing the goddess down into its deep chasm…
The charging goat’s sharp horns struck the abductor’s soft flesh with terrible force.
The monster moaned, let go of its prey and dropped heavily to the bottom of the chasm. Artemis shuddered … and awoke.
The sun was already quite low, illuminating the surrounding cliffs, which were grown over with wild forest. Long shadows spread over the meadow. The dogs were chasing a hare somewhere not too far away. Now and then their insistent, frenzied barking carried from the groves.
Her companions had still not arrived. The dead moose’s dark carcass lay motionless nearby.
The goddess looked around, and an uneasy feeling came over her. She was all by herself at the centre of a small meadow. The surroundings were very much like what she had seen in her dream. And then, as if to crown the resemblance, a big white goat emerged from the forest grove and proceeded directly towards Artemis.
He approached the goddess calmly, and when he was but a few steps away, he knelt and bowed his horned head. The goddess was so touched by his submissiveness that she allowed the beast to lick her hands.
“If the dream comes true,” she thought to herself, “then this goat is to save me from the monster born of Gaia; whoever he is, I’ll not let him leave me.”
Artemis’s magnificent hand lay upon the white, fluffy fleece and sank pleasantly into the warm wool. The goddess put her arms around the beast, who nuzzled her trustingly. Love and devotion shone in his brown, slightly cunning eyes.
The goddess thought she remembered seeing eyes like these somewhere before. “Where could I have seen them?” she thought, as her arms twined round the beast’s neck.
The goat merely lay down alongside her, gently and submissively, as if fearing to disturb the tranquillity of the virgin sister of Apollo.
Artemis’s fright dissolved. Cold night drew on. One by one the stars came out in the sky…
“How nice it is when you have a devoted creature close by, and you can warm yourself in his soft fleece. He’ll protect me from the monsters better than my own dogs, wherever they’ve disappeared to …” thought the daughter of Latona to herself as she drifted off …
Strange dreams visited Artemis before morning. She dreamt she was marrying a shaggy satyr, as the song of hideous forest folk rang out. Instead of her dear companions, she was constantly surrounded by repulsive swamp nymphs. Large frogs, smeared from head to foot in slimy mud, made up the wedding chorus; their loud croaking resounded ominously in Artemis’s ear. Now her betrothed was giving her his shaggy paw, and the goddess, not daring to resist, followed him into the mouth of a dark grotto. There she suffered his caresses, which made her cheeks flame, and her heart alternately pounded and sank.
And this torture lasted a long, long time.
Inquisitive nymphs, little goat-footed satyrs and various forest folk shoved against one another near the entrance, whispering back and forth, clapping their hands, hopping up and down, squeaking and laughing shrilly.
But now someone’s laughter rang out louder and louder, drowning out every other voice, filling the forest with its booming peals; the green hills and ravines answered in a victorious, joyous echo.
Artemis sighed deeply and woke up. In a cold sweat, pale, her hair loosed, she sprang to her feet and looked around.
There was no one next to her.
The goat that had come to her in the night had vanished.
Had she perhaps dreamt him? No, the prints of his sharp hooves were there in the earth.
Nearby the body of the dead moose lay motionless. Already swarms of golden flies hummed over it, basking in the sun’s bright rays.
The dogs, who had returned towards morning, were settled down close by her. The goat had probably taken cover as they approached…
But far, far away in the mountains, peals of someone’s merry laughter rang out.
“Only Pan laughs like that,” the goddess thought, and her dreams from the night before suddenly and unaccountably stirred in her head, bringing a flush to her pale cheeks.
She listened again.
“No, that’s not laughter,” decided the goddess in a moment. “Now it sounds like the echo of hunting horns … It’s my companions.”
And truly, on the narrow path from beyond the neighbouring hill, one by one, nymphs armed with bows appeared. Some led fierce dogs on leashes; others held short, sharp lances in their hands.
Artemis, immobile as a statue, gazed sternly at them…
Meanwhile, surrounded by his devoted nymphs, a satisfied, triumphant Pan was laughing merrily.
“How did you manage it?” his astonished, slightly frowning hamadryads asked.
“Oh, it was quite a feat. I bid the flowers and grasses to whisper dreams full of horrors to her as she slept—horrors from which a white goat would rescue her. Then, just as she awoke, I approached Artemis in the form of that very goat, and I began to nuzzle her. It worked well. She was even unwilling to let me go, and she fell asleep with her arms around my neck. At that point, I could not resist, and I gave her a kiss or two.
“In the morning the returning dogs disturbed me. I had lured them away the evening before with a quick-footed hare, who led them a merry chase before they finally caught him … When they appeared, I made haste to leave.
“But please, don’t tell anyone!”
It is a foolish man who trusts a woman. In no time Hellas and Phrygia, Thrace, Crete and Cyprus all learnt what had happened to Apollo’s sister. The merry nereids spread the news to even the very smallest islands.
Pallas gloated. Hermes laughed loudly. Demeter shook her head sadly, and for three days scowling Phoebus went around looking glum.
From the gods, people learnt about it as well. They told one another in whispers about Pan’s bold cunning, and secretly laughed at how poor Artemis had been deceived…
And that is why every year a curly-horned, white goat is brought to her for sacrifice.
About the Authors
Leonid Andreyev (1871–1919) was a popular writer who was deeply influenced by decadent tendencies at the beginning of the twentieth century. He grew up in poverty, lost his father when he was a child, became an alcoholic and tried to commit suicide three times. He declared that he hoped his work would influence readers to kill themselves and reportedly collected suicide notes they sent to him. In the first years of the century he was associated with the Realist circle around Maxim Gorky. His most famous works are the novella The Red Laugh and the short story “The Abyss,” included here.
Alexander Blok (1880–1921), poet, playwright and critic, is the most famous poet of the so-called “second generation” of Symbolists, those who began to publish after the turn of the twentieth century. He was born into a family of the cultured elite: his father was a professor; his mother, a writer. Influenced by the cult of Sophia promoted by the philosopher Vladimir Solovyov, he began his poetic career with verses to a “beautiful lady,” the mystical “eternal feminine” capable of transfiguring the world. “The Unknown Woman,” included here, is one of his most renowned poems. His other famous poems include “The Twelve” and “The Scythians.”
Valery Briusov (1873–1924), writer, critic and editor of the Symbolist journal The Balance, was the leader of the Symbolist movement. He was, perhaps, the most important representative of the so-called “first generation” of Symbolists, those who began to publish before the turn of the century. He posed as a Satanist, dabbled in the occult and promoted suicide. He contemplated suicide himself on several occasions, including joint suicide with his m
istress Nina Petrovskaya in a moment of ecstasy. He also championed extreme individualism and knowledge gained through non-rational means, including sexual passion and creative intuition. His lifelong interest in Roman history, which he studied at Moscow University, is reflected in his work, as is his profound erudition and his interest in modern French literature. Briusov is best known for his poetry, his novel The Fiery Angel and the short story “The Republic of the Southern Cross,” included here.
Zinaida Gippius (also known as Hippius, 1869–1945), writer and critic, was a first-generation Symbolist. She and her husband Dmitry Merezhkovsky, with whom she had a chaste marriage, advocated an idiosyncratic brand of Christianity they hoped would transfigure the world. To this end they organised the Religious-Philosophical Meetings in St. Petersburg and founded the journal The New Way. She dressed to shock, wearing men’s clothes or eccentric dresses and smoking cigarettes in a cigarette holder. She and her husband entered into a number of Platonic love triangles with both men and women, and while married she exchanged erotic correspondence with two women, as well as with several men. She was rumoured to be a hermaphrodite. Although her writings evince decadent tendencies, she vociferously denounced decadence.
Alexander Kondratiev (1876–1967) is all but unknown to English readers and unjustly forgotten even in Russia. While working as a secretary in the Ministry of Transportation and subsequently in the Office of the State Duma, in the early twentieth century he hosted readings at his St. Petersburg home and frequented Symbolist literary evenings, although he did not consider himself a Symbolist. He did not consider himself a decadent either; nevertheless, his erotic reworkings of classical myths deserve to be read within the context of Russian decadence.
Dmitry Merezhkovsky (1866–1941), writer and religious philosopher, was a first-generation Symbolist like his wife, Zinaida Gippius (see above). Merezhkovsky is best known for his historical novels, including Leonardo da Vinci. His poem “Children of the Night,” included here, is canonical.
Fyodor Sologub (1863–1927), a second-generation Symbolist, is considered by some commentators to be the arch-decadent of Russian literature. He is known chiefly for his poetry and his scandalous novel The Petty Demon. His favourite themes include suicide and sadomasochism, and these were not just literary obsessions for him: he attempted suicide several times and well into adulthood he apparently enjoyed being whipped by his mother and possibly, after her death, his sister. The son of recently liberated serfs, Sologub started out as a provincial schoolteacher, and his mother made him walk to school and teach barefoot to set an example of humility. In 1892 he moved to St. Petersburg, where he worked first as a teacher and later as a school inspector.
Copyright
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Publishing History
First published by Dedalus in 2007
First ebook edition in 2012
Introduction, notes, compilation and poety translations copyright coyright © Kirsten Lodge 2012
Prose translations copyright @Margo Shohl Rosen and Grigory Dashevsky
Texts still in copyright, copyright their author.
The right of Kirsten Lodge to be identified as the editor and of Kirsten Lodge, Margo Shohl Rosen and Grigory Dashevsky to be identified as the translators of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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