The Death of the Gods

by Dmitry Sergeyevich Merezhkovsky

  III

  In the neighbouring monastery, behind windows and doors closelysealed, solemn prayers of the religious were resounding above thedistant noise of Bacchic chants. To drown them the monks joined theirvoices in shrill lamentation--

  "_Why, Lord, hast Thou abandoned us? Why has Thy anger fallen upon Thysheep?_

  "_Why hast Thou given us up in dishonour to the hand of the heathen?_

  "_Why hast Thou let mankind do outrage unto Thee?_"

  The ancient words of the prophet Daniel took on an unwonted meaning--

  "_The Lord has delivered us to the evil king, the cunningest in allthe earth!..._"

  Late in the night, when the sun had sunk upon the streets, the monkswent back to their cells.

  Brother Parphenas could not even think of sleeping. His face was paleand gentle, and in his great eyes, clear as a maiden's, perplexity wasvisible when he spoke about worldly matters.

  He spoke rarely, indistinctly, and in a fashion so quaint, on topicsso childish, that it was difficult to hear him without smiling.Sometimes he laughed without cause; and austere monks would say tohim--

  "What are you cackling at? Is it to please the Devil?"

  Then he would timidly explain that he was laughing at his ownthoughts, and thus convince everybody that Parphenas was mad.

  One great art he possessed--that of illuminating manuscripts; and thisart of Brother Parphenas brought to the monastery not only money, butrenown in the most distant provinces. Of this he had no suspicion, andif he had been able to understand what reputation means, would ratherhave been dismayed than delighted.

  His artistic occupations, which cost him vast pains (Brother Parphenaspushed perfection of detail to an exquisite finish), were not in hiseyes a labour, but an amusement. He never said, "I'm going to work."But he always asked of the old Father Superior Pamphilus, who lovedhim tenderly, "Father, give me your blessing, I am going to play."

  And when he had mastered some difficult combination of ornament, hewould clap his hands in self-congratulation. Brother Parphenas soenjoyed the solitude and calm of night that he had learned to work bylamp-light. He used to say that the colours took on unexpected shades,and that the yellow light did no harm to drawings in the realm of purefancy.

  In his narrow cell Parphenas lighted the earthen lamp and placed it ona plank, among his little flasks, fine brushes, and colour-boxes ofvermilion, silver, and liquid gold. He crossed himself cautiously,dipped his brush, and began to paint the outspread tails of twopeacocks above a frontispiece. The golden peacocks, on a green field,were drinking at a streamlet of turquoise, with raised beaks andoutstretched necks. Other rolls of parchment lay by him, unfinished.His world was a supernatural and charming world. Bordering the text ofthe page ran an embroidery of fabulous creations; a faeryarchitecture of fantastic trees and animals. Parphenas thought ofnothing while he created these things, but a happy serenitytransformed his face. Hellas, Assyria, Persia, the Indies, Byzantiumidealised, and the troubled vision of future worlds, of all peoples,and of all ages; these mingled in the paradise of the monk, and shone,with a glitter as of jewels, round the initial letters of the holybooks.

  This one represented the Baptism. St. John was pouring water on thehead of Christ, and at his elbow the Pagan god of rivers was amiablytilting a water-jar, while the former proprietor of the bank (that isto say, the Devil) held a towel in readiness to offer the Saviourafter the ceremony.

  Brother Parphenas in his innocence had no fear of the old gods. Theyused to amuse him. He regarded them as long ago converted toChristianity. He never failed to place the god of mountains, in theshape of a naked youth, on the summit of every hill. When he wasdrawing the passage of the Red Sea, a woman holding an oar symbolisedthe Sea, and a naked man, inscribed Bodos, stood for the Abyssengulfing Pharaoh, while on the bank sat a melancholy woman, in atan-coloured tunic, denoting the Desert.

  Here, there, and everywhere, in the curve of a horse's neck, the foldof a robe, the simple pose of a god lying on his elbow, were evidencesof antique grace and simplicity.

  But on this night his "play" interested the artist no more. Histireless fingers were shaky, and the smile had left his lips.

  Listening awhile, he opened a cedar-wood box, took out an awl used inthe binding of books, crossed himself, and shielding the ruddy flameof the lamp with his hand, noiselessly issued from his cell. It washot in the silent corridor. No sound was heard but the buzzing of afly taken in a spider's web.

  Parphenas went down to the church, which was lighted by a single lamp,placed before the old ivory-carved diptych. Two large sapphires in theaureole of Jesus, who was sitting on the Virgin's arm, had beencarried off by the Pagans, and transferred to their original settingin the Temple of Dionysus. These black hollows in the yellow ivorywere to Parphenas wounds in some living body.

  "No, I cannot bear it," he murmured, kissing the hand of the InfantJesus. "I cannot bear it; 'twould be better to die!"

  These sacrilegious marks in the ivory tortured and angered him morethan outrage on a human being.

  In a corner of the church he discovered a rope-ladder, used inlighting chapel-lamps. Carrying this ladder he went forth into anarrow passage leading to the outer gate, in front of which the fatbrother-cellarer, Chorys, was snoring on the straw. Parphenas glidedpast like a shadow. The lock of the door made a grinding noise. Choryssat unblinking, and then rolled round on the straw.

  Parphenas leapt over a low wall and found himself in the desertedstreet, into which the full moon was shining. There was a low roar ofthe sea. The young monk went along the Temple of Dionysus up to apoint in which the wall was plunged in shadow. Thence he threw up therope-ladder, so that it hooked itself to the metal pinnacle whichdecorated the corner. The ladder swung from the claw of a sphinx. Themonk clambered by it to the roof.

  Far off, cocks crew; a dog barked; and then again came silence,measured only by the slow sighings of the sea.

  Parphenas threw the ladder down the inner wall of the temple, anddescended.

  The eyes of the god, two lengthy sapphires, shone with intensevividness in the moonlight, gazing down on the monk. Parphenas,thrilled by the silence, trembled and crossed himself. He clambered onto the altar where Julian had offered the sacrifice, and his heelsfelt the warmth of the half-extinguished embers.

  The monk drew the awl from his pocket. The god's eyes sparkled closeto his face, and the artist felt the careless smile of Dionysus, andthe lovely pose of the body. Even while digging out the sapphires, hisadmiring hand involuntarily spared the body of the marble tempter.

  Finally the deed was done. The blinded Dionysus stared horribly on themonk from his hollow orbits. Terror fairly seized Parphenas. It seemedthat he was watched. He leapt down from the altar, ran to therope-ladder, climbed, threw it down the other side of the wall,without taking time to fix it properly. This cost him a fall duringthe latter part of the descent.

  With crimson face, and clothes ragged and disordered, but griping theprecious sapphires, he slunk furtively across the street, and ran tothe monastery.

  The porter did not wake, and Parphenas furtively entered the chapel.At the sight of the diptych, his mind grew calm again. He tried thesapphire eyes of Dionysus into the holes. They fitted admirably, andsoon were glittering anew in the aureole of the Infant Jesus. Hereturned to his cell, lit the lamp, and went to bed. Huddling himselfup, and hiding his face in his hands, he burst into a fit of muffledlaughter, like a child delighted at some piece of mischief and afraidof discovery. He then straightway fell sound asleep.

  When he awoke, the morning waves of the Propontic were shining throughthe small barred window, and the pigeons cooing and shaking theirwings.

  The laughter of the previous night was still in the heart ofParphenas. He ran to the painting-table and contentedly looked at hisunfinished arabesque of the Earthly Paradise. Adam and Eve were seatedin a meadow, glittering in the sunlight; it was a vellum tapestry ofpurple, blue, and gold. And so the little monk worked on, innocentlyinv
esting the body of Adam with the proud antique beauty of youngDionysus.