The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  XV

  On the base of a dolphin-shaped lamp were ranged the curling irons ofa barber. The lamp-light was growing pale, for rays of morning,falling through silken window-curtains, were gradually filling thesleeping chamber with deep violet hues. The curtains were dyed in therichest hyacinthine purple of Tyre.

  "'Hypostasis,' 'hypostasis'? What is the meaning of the divinehypostasis, or essence, or personality, of the Trinity? No human beingcan form any conception. I myself haven't slept a wink in thinkingover it the whole night. I arrived at no conclusion but an atrociousheadache. Boy, give me towels and soap!"

  So spoke a personage with a tall headdress like a mitre and thepontifical aspect of a high-priest or Asiatic tyrant. He was chiefbarber and wig-maker in attendance on the sacred person ofConstantius. The razor in his skilful hands was flitting, with anincomparable grace and lightness, over the Imperial chin. He wasengaged upon a sacred mystery. In attendance on each side wereinnumerable _cubicularii_, slaves holding vases, essences, oils, andnapkins, and two youths bearing fans. Supervising all these, Eusebius,grand chamberlain of the private apartments, stood by. He was the mostpowerful man in the Empire.

  During the ceremony of barbification, as an emperor's shaving must becalled, the two youths refreshed the illustrious patient by means ofgreat fans, each six-winged like the seraphim, or the _ripides_ withwhich deacons fan away flies from a sacramental chalice, during theintoning of the liturgy. The barber had scarcely finished theEmperor's right cheek and was beginning the left, which had beenanointed with an Arabian essence named "the foam of Aphrodite."Leaning to the ear of Constantius he whispered cautiously:

  "Ah! Well-beloved of God, your universal intelligence alone candetermine what this hypostasis, this mysterious personality of Father,Son, and Holy Ghost may mean. Don't listen to the bishops! Act aspleases yourself, and not as it may please them. But Athanasius, thatpatriarch of Alexandria, must be punished as a blasphemous rebel.Almighty God, the Creator Himself, will instruct your Holiness as towhat, and in what manner, your subjects ought to believe. In my humbleopinion the Arians are perfectly right in asserting that there was atime when the 'Son' did not exist. And so consubstantiality...."

  But at this moment Constantius was staring at himself in the greatpolished silver mirror, and rubbing his hand over the silky new shavenregion on his right cheek. He interrupted--

  "I don't think that's very smooth!--eh! I think you might go over itagain. What were you saying to me about consubstantiality?"

  The barber, who had received a talent of gold from the Court bishopsUrsatius and Valentine to prepare the Emperor for the new professionof faith, was murmuring insinuatingly in the ear of Constantius andwielding his razor with the most persuasive delicacy, when at thismoment the chief of the _silentiarii_, Paul, surnamed Catena,approached the Emperor.

  He was so called because his infamous system of reports enwound anychosen victim in chains well-nigh indissoluble. His effeminate facewas beardless and handsome, and judged by externals he seemed theangel of humility. His dark eyes were full of languor; his walk, anoiselessly graceful feline motion. He wore crosswise over theshoulder a wide dark blue ribbon--sign of special Imperial favour.

  Paul Catena with a subtle and authoritative gesture waved the barberaway, and whispered in the ear of Constantius--

  "A letter from Julian! Intercepted to-night. Deign to read it."

  Constantius greedily snatched the letter from the hands of Paul,opened it, and read. Disappointed, he muttered--

  "Mere trash--trifles; he sends a present of a hundred grapes to asophist and writes the praises of the fruit and of the number 'ahundred.'"

  "Ah! a ruse!" said Catena.

  "Really?" asked Constantius; "what proofs are there?"

  "None."

  "Then he's either exceedingly cunning or indeed----"

  "What does your Eternity mean?"

  "Or, in fact, he is innocent."

  "As your Majesty pleases," stammered Paul.

  "_As I please?_ I desire to be just, simply just. Are you not aware ofthat? I must have proofs...."

  "Wait; we shall find them."

  Another informer came near, a young Persian named Mercurius,court-pantler, little more than a lad. He was feared not less thanPaul Catena and had been pleasantly nicknamed "Chief Diviner ofDreams." If the prophetic dream could be twisted into any meaning evenremotely unfavourable for the person of the Emperor, Mercurius wouldmake careful notes of it and hasten to make a report. Many a victimhad paid with their goods and their prospects for the imprudence ofdreaming what they had no business to dream; and, aware of this,prudent courtiers would declare themselves martyrs to insomnia,enviers of the legendary dwellers in Atlantis, who, according toPlato, are lapt in slumber without visions. The Persian signed to adistance two Ethiopian eunuchs who were knotting the laces of theEmperor's green and gilt shoes. He kissed the feet of the sovereign,and as it were basked a moment in his eyes, like a dog whoaffectionately gazes up for his master's orders.

  "May your Eternity forgive me," whispered little Mercury, "I could notrefrain from running to your presence. Gaudentius has had a bad dream!You appeared to him in a torn chlamys and crowned with blasted ears ofcorn...."

  "What does that mean?"

  "The blasted ears announce famine, and the torn chlamys ... I darenot...."

  "Sickness?"

  "Worse still, I'm afraid, if possible. Gaudentius' wife confessed tome that he had consulted the augurs. God knows what they told him!"

  "Well, well! We will discuss it. Come again this evening."

  "No! I will come this afternoon. Permit me to mention a slight matter,something not so grievous.... There is also the matter of thetable-cloths...."

  "What table-cloths?"

  "Have you forgotten? At a supper in Aquitaine the table was spreadwith two table-covers with purple borders--borders as wide as those onthe Imperial chlamys!"

  "Do you mean to say they were more than two fingers wide? Remember,I've authorised the width of two fingers."

  "Ah, much, much wider I fear! It was a regular Imperial chlamys. Cansuch sacrilege be permitted?"

  Mercury did not succeed however in reciting all his reports:

  "At Delphi a monster has been born--four ears, four eyes, two snouts,all covered with hair. The augurs say it is a bad omen--that the HolyEmpire will be split up...."

  "We shall see! we shall see! Write it all down in due order and submitit to me."

  The Emperor went on with his morning toilet. He consulted his mirroragain, and with a fine camel's-hair brush took up a morsel of rougefrom the casket of filigree silver, shaped like a reliquary andcrowned by a little cross, at his elbow. Constantius was devoutlyreligious; enamelled crosses and the monogram of Christ adorned everytrinket in his private rooms. Exquisite and expensive paint called_purpurissima_, extracted from the scum on the purple mollusc while ina state of ebullition, was specially prepared for him. Constantiusadroitly spread a faint flush of this over his withered brown cheek.From the room called Porphyria, where the regal vestments were kept ina pentagonal wardrobe, eunuchs bore forth the Imperial dalmatic. Itwas stiff, heavy with gold, encrusted with precious stones, and withlions and dragons embroidered on its amethystine purples.

  In the main hall of the palace on that day was to be held the greatArian council. The Emperor slowly took his way thither along a galleryof pierced and fretted marble. Palace guards, or palatines, two-deepformed a long lane, mute as statues and holding lances fourteen cubitslong crossed above the head of their master, as he paced in statebetween them. Constantine's banner of cloth of gold, the _Labarum_,surmounted by the monogram of Christ, shone rustling behind, borne bythe officer of the Imperial largesses (_comes sacrarum largitionum_).Mute body-guards (_silentiarii_) heralded the procession, imposingsilence on everyone they met.

  In the gallery the Emperor encountered the Empress Eusebia Aurelia.She was a mature woman with a pale and weary face, delicate and noblefeatures, a mischievous raillery s
ometimes kindling her keen eyes.Crossing her hands on the _omophorium_ covered with sapphires andheart-shaped rubies, the Empress bowed profoundly and pronounced thehabitual morning salutation:

  "I am come for the joy of beholding you, O spouse well-beloved of theLord! How has your Holiness deigned to sleep?"

  Then, at a sign from her, the attendant maids of honour drew to adistance and she murmured sweetly, in a simpler and sincerer tone--

  "Julian is to be received by you to-day. Receive him kindly! Don'tbelieve these spying reports. He is a poor innocent boy. God willrepay you, sire, if you grant him favour."

  "You ask favour to him as a favour to yourself?"

  The husband and wife exchanged a rapid glance.

  "I know," she said, "you always have confidence in me; let it be sonow. Julian is a faithful slave. Don't refuse me.... Be kind tohim...."

  And she gratified him with one of those smiles which hitherto hadwielded irresistible power over the heart of Constantius.

  In the portico, which was separated from the great hall by hangings(behind which the Emperor used to ensconce himself to hear what wasgoing on at the councils), a monk, wearing a cruciform tonsure and ina hooded robe of coarsest drugget, came near. It was Julian.

  "I salute my benefactor, the triumphant and glorious Emperor AugustusConstantius. May your Holiness pardon me!"

  "We are happy to receive you, my son."

  Julian's cousin magnanimously extended his hand to Julian's lips.Julian kissed the hand dyed with the blood of his father, of hisbrother, of all his relatives. Then he rose erect, pale and withsparkling eyes fixed upon his enemy. He gripped the handle of aponiard hidden under his robe. The grey eyes of the Emperor lightedwith pride and cautious malice, seldom dropping their scrutiny. He wasa head shorter than Julian, large-shouldered, solidly-built, andbandy-legged like an old cavalry soldier. The tight brown skin overhis temples was disagreeably glossy. The thin lips were severelyclosed with the expression of folk that set order and punctualityabove all other virtues--the expression of a pedant and aschoolmaster.

  To Julian he appeared detestable. He felt an animal fury getting thebetter of him, and, unable to utter a word, his eyes fell and hebreathed with difficulty.

  Constantius smiled, imagining the young monk unable to bear thesuperhuman majesty of the Imperial glance. With ostentatiousbenevolence he continued--

  "Fear nothing! Go in peace! Our kindness shall bring no danger uponyou. On the contrary we shall from this day forth heap bounties on ourcousin who is an orphan."

  Julian bowed and proceeded into the hall of council; and the Emperor,hidden behind draperies, lent an ironic and attentive ear to thedebate beginning within.

  He immediately recognised the voice of the principal dignitary of theImperial post, Gaudentius. It was he who had suffered from the baddream.

  "One council treads on the heels of another," Gaudentius wascomplaining; "now it's at Sirmio, now it's at Sardis, now at Antioch,and now here at Constantinople. They discuss and discuss, but nevercome to an understanding. And I would ask you, for pity's sake, toconsider the horses that have to carry these gentlemen about! Out of arelay of ten horses you will hardly find one who is not foundered bythe bishops. Another five councils, and my beasts will only be fit forthe knacker's yard--not a car will have a wheel on it. Yet, in spiteof all, you'll see that the bishops will still be at loggerheads andboggling at the Trinity!"

  "Why then, Gaudentius, don't you send in a formal report on thesubject to the Emperor?"

  "Nobody would believe me. I should be accused of irreligion and lackof respect for the crying needs of the Church."

  In the vast round hall, crowned by a cupola on columns of Phrygianmarble, the heat was already stifling. Slanting sun rays fell inthrough uncurtained windows. The noise of voices was like the buzzingof a swarm of bees. The Imperial golden seat--_sella aurea_--wasprepared on a dais. It rested on lions' paws of carved ivory, crossedlike those of the curule chairs of Roman consuls.

  Close to the throne, the high-priest Paphnutis, with a face empurpledby argument, was declaring--

  "For my part, I shall keep to the opinions my fathers taught me!According to the creed of our holy father Athanasius, patriarch ofAlexandria, we must worship a single God in a Trinity, and the Trinityin a single God; the Father is God; the Son is God; the Holy Ghost isGod, and nevertheless they form together but one God!"

  And as if he was smashing an invisible enemy he brought down hisenormous right fist into his left-hand palm and glared triumphantlyround the assembly.

  "That tradition have I received from my fathers, and that tradition Iwill keep!"

  "Who is it? What's he saying?" asked Ozius, a man of a hundred yearsold, who had been alive in the time of the council of Nicaea. "Where'smy trumpet?" Harrowing perplexity could be read on his face. He wasdeaf, almost blind. The deacon who accompanied him set the ear-trumpetto his ear.

  A certain pale thin monk seized Paphnutis by the surplice--

  "Father Paphnutis," he shouted to drown the general clamour, "what isall this about?... It is a question of a single word; is not that so?"and forthwith he began to narrate terrible scenes he had witnessed inAlexandria and Constantinople. The Arians had opened with woodenpincers the mouths of those unwilling to receive the Sacrament inheretic churches, and forced the host between their lips. Merechildren were subjected to inquisition; the breasts of women werecrushed under leaden weights and branded with live iron. In the Churchof the Holy Apostles so horrible a struggle had taken place betweenArians and Orthodox that the blood, overflowing the cistern whichreceived the drainage of the place, had poured down the steps in frontof the western facade and streamed into the market-square. AtAlexandria the governor Sebastian had caused virgins to be beaten withthorn branches, so that many of them had succumbed and their bodieslay unburied outside the city gates. All this contention was over asingle letter, an _iota_.

  "Father Paphnutis," argued the pale monk, "for an iota! The word'substantial' does not even occur in the holy Scripture. What are wethen torturing each other about? Think, Father; it is horrible!"

  "Then," interrupted the Arch-priest impatiently, "must we bereconciled with those impious dogs who will not hunt out of theirpestilent hearts the doctrine that there was a moment when the Son ofGod did not exist?"

  "'One Shepherd and one Flock,'" the monk returned: "Let us make themsome concessions!"

  But Paphnutis refused to hear anything, vociferating till the veins ofhis neck almost burst--

  "Let the enemies of God be silent! Never will I give in! Anathema onthe Arian heresy! Such have I received the faith from my fathers, andsuch will I keep it!"

  Ozius the centenarian wagged approvingly his white head and longbeard. On the other side of the hall two archdeacons were talkingtogether.

  "You keep very calm, Father Dorophas. Why are you taking no part indiscussion to-day?"

  "My voice is gone, Father Flavius. I am too hoarse with anathematisingthe cursed sectaries."

  In another group the deacon from Antioch, Aetius, a bold and ferventdisciple of Arius, regarded as an atheist for his audacious andscoffing interpretations of the Trinity, was holding forth.

  The career of Aetius had been remarkable for its extraordinaryvariety. At first a slave, he had afterwards become by turns acoppersmith, a sailor, a rhetorician, a pupil and teacher ofAlexandrian philosophy, and finally a deacon.

  "God the Father is in His substantial essence different from His Son,"Aetius was saying with a smile and evident gusto, to the dismay of hishearers. "The Trinity has differentiations, degrees of glory,according to the nature of the personalities comprised in it. The word'God' cannot be used of the Son, because He has never applied it toHimself. The Son has never even comprehended the essence of theFather, because it is impossible for Him who had a beginning toimagine that which has neither beginning nor end."

  "Blaspheme not!" shouted an indignant bishop. "Where is this Satanicboldness going to stop, my brethren?"

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p; "Drag not the simple-minded into perdition by your speeches!" shriekedanother.

  "Prove me wrong by philosophic reasoning, and I will acquiesce. Butshouts and insults are proof of nothing but impotence," replied Aetiuscalmly.

  "It is written in the Scriptures...."

  "What is that to me? God has given intelligence to man that He himselfmight be understood. I believe in logic of argument and not in texts.Reason with me on the basis of the syllogisms and categories ofAristotle...."

  And with a contemptuous smile he threw his surplice around him likethe cynic mantle of Diogenes.

  Some bishops were beginning to speak in favour of a universal creed inwhich mutual concession should be made, when the Arian Narcissus ofNeronia, a profound expert in all statutes, creeds, and canons of thecouncils, intervened in discussion. He was a man little liked,suspected of adultery and usury, but admired by everyone for histheological erudition.

  "That is a flat heresy!" he declared decisively.

  "Why is it a heresy?" demanded several voices.

  "Because the assizes of Paphlagonia have already so laid it down."

  "The assizes of Paphlagonia?" repeated the desperate bishops; "we hadclean forgotten them. What is to be done now?"

  "May God have pity on us miserable sinners!" the good bishop Ozius wasmuttering; "I can no longer understand anything; I can't get out ofthe labyrinth; my head is buzzing, my ears singing with Greek words;I'm walking in a fog and don't know myself what I believe in and whatI disbelieve; what is heresy and what is not.... Jesus help us!... Weare falling into the snares of the Devil."

  At that moment the hubbub and clamour ceased. The bishop Ursatius ofSingidion, one of the Emperor's favourites, mounted the tribune. Hewas holding in his hand a long scroll of parchment. Two _silentiarii_,having mended their fine pens of Egyptian reed, got ready to writedown the conciliar debate. Ursatius read out the message of theEmperor to the bishops--

  "Constantius, the triumphant, glorious, and eternal Augustus, to allbishops assembled in this council...."

  The Emperor demanded the dismissal of Athanasius, the patriarch ofAlexandria, whom he called the most useless of men, the traitor, theaccomplice of the insolent and abominable Magnentius.

  The courtiers, Valentine, Eusebius, Axentius, hastened to sign thescroll. But a murmur arose.

  "It is all a damnable device; a trick of the Arians! We will not letour patriarch suffer...."

  "The Emperor calls himself _eternal_ ... nobody is eternal but God! Itis a mockery of holy things."

  Constantius, lurking behind the curtain, heard this last speechdistinctly. Thrusting the hangings roughly by, he pushed unexpectedlyinto the hall. The lances of the guard surrounded him. His faceexpressed anger. A heavy silence fell upon the throng.

  "What is it, what is it?" the blind Ozius kept whispering in restlessperplexity.

  "Fathers," the Emperor began, bridling his anger, "allow me, theservant of the Most High, to use my zeal under His providence to asuccessful issue. Athanasius is a rebel, the chief violator ofuniversal concord and oecumenical peace."

  Fresh murmurs arose. Constantius was silent and ran a surprised lookover the array of bishops. A voice shouted--

  "Anathema upon the abominable Arian heresy!"

  "The faith against which you revolt," replied the Emperor, "is myfaith. If it is heretical, why has the omnipotent God assigned victoryto us over all our enemies? Constans, Vetranio, Gallus, the abominableMagnentius, why has God Himself placed the power over the world in oursacred hands?"

  The bishops were dumb; then the courtier Valentius, bishop of Mursa,bowing with great servility--

  "God will unveil the truth to your wisdom, sire, well-beloved of theLord! What you believe cannot be heresy. Did not Cyril of Jerusalembehold a rainbow-surmounted cross in the heavens on the day of yourvictory over Magnentius?"

  "It is my will," interrupted Constantius, rising from the throne."Athanasius shall be laid low by the power God has entrusted to me.Pray that all these conflicts and controversies may cease, that themurderous heresy of the Sabaeans, the partisans of Athanasius, may bedestroyed, that the truth may shine into all hearts...."

  Suddenly the Emperor grew pale; the words expired on his lips.

  "What! How is it that he has been allowed to enter?"

  He pointed to a tall old man with a severe and majestic face. It wasthe bishop Hilarion of Pictavia (Poitiers), who had been exiled andruined for his faith, one of the greatest enemies of the ArianEmperor. He had come to the council unsummoned, perhaps seekingmartyrdom. The old man raised his hand to heaven as if calling downmalediction upon the head of the Emperor, and his powerful voicethrilled the silent crowd--

  "Brothers, Christ must be about to descend, for Antichrist has alreadyconquered, and that Antichrist is Constantius! He does not break yourbacks on the wheel, but he flatters your proud bellies. He does notthrow us into dungeons, but entices us into his palaces.... Emperor,hearken! I say to you what I have said to Nero, Decius, Maximian, allpersecutors of the Church. But you are not, like them, the murdererof men, but the murderer of the Divine love itself! Nero, Decius,Maximian, have better served the God of truth than you! In their reignwe conquered the Devil, the blood of the martyrs flowed, cleansing theearth, and their dead bones worked miracles. Whereas you, O King,cruellest of the cruel, slay and yet grant us not the glory ofdeath.... Lord, send us a true despot like Nero, and let the kindlyarm of Thy wrath revive again the Church dishonoured by the kiss ofthis Judas!"

  The Emperor sprang to his feet--

  "Seize him and the rebels!" he ejaculated, half-choked with rage,pointing to Hilarion.

  The guards flung themselves on the bishops.

  The crowd became a wild and indescribable mob illumined by theflashing of swords. Roman soldiers, snatching off the breastplate,stole, and chasuble of Hilarion, dragged the old man away. Manypresent rushed in mad panic to the doors, fell, and were trampledunderfoot by the rest. One of the recording clerks leapt on the sillof a window, but a soldier pinned him there by his long vestments andwould not release him. The table and the inkstands were upset, red inkpoured over the blue jasper floor, and voices shouted at the sight ofthe crimson sea--

  "Blood! blood! blood!"

  Others howled--

  "Death to the enemies of the thrice-pious Augustus!"

  Paphnutis in a thunderous monotone persisted in crying while theguards dragged him away--

  "I recognise the council of Nicaea!... Anathema on the Arian heresy!"

  Others screamed--

  "Be silent, enemies of God! Anathema! the council of Nicaea! theassizes of Sardis! the canons of Paphlagonia!"

  Blind Ozius remained seated motionless, forgotten by all, in hisepiscopal chair, murmuring inaudibly--

  "Jesus Christ, Son of God, have pity upon us! What is the matter, mybrethren, what is it?"

  In vain he stretched feeble hands towards his terrified friends.Nobody saw him, nobody heard him; and tears streamed down his agedcheeks.

  Meanwhile Julian watched all, a contemptuous smile upon his lips, fullof inward triumph.

  On the same day, late in the evening, in a quiet and solitary defiletwo Mesopotamian monks were journeying afoot together. They had beensent by Syrian bishops to the council, had escaped the palatine guardswith great difficulty, and now, their minds at peace, were proceedingtowards Ravenna to embark as quickly as possible upon the ship whichwas to restore them to the desert. Fatigue and sadness were on theirfaces. Ephraim, one of the two, was extremely old; the other, Pimenus,a lad.

  Ephraim said to Pimenus--

  "It is time to regain the desert, brother. Better to hear the howlingof jackal and lion than the cry that dinned our ears in the Imperialpalace. Happy are those who speak not. Happy those who hide themselvesin desert places, beyond arguments of masters of the Church, who haveunderstood the uselessness of words; who debate nothing. Happy is hewho seeks not to understand God's mysteries, but who, merging hisspirit into Thine, sings to Thy face, O
Lord, like a harp;understanding how difficult it is to know, how easy to love Thee!"

  Ephraim was silent, and Pimenus murmured--

  "Amen!"

  The quiet of night enveloped the pair, and courageously, steering bythe stars, the two monks took their way eastwards rejoicing in themajesty of their barren road.