One
of the most interesting items in Clark Ashton Smith’s Averoigne cycle of
stories must surely be The Disinterment
of Venus (1934), originally published in Weird Tales. Along with
Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft, Smith was a member of a trio of writers
who achieved lasting renown in that publication. In my view, Lovecraft receives more attention
than he deserves these days, chiefly through the skilled marketing of his
hagiographers. Though lacking the
philosophical and historical depth of Lovecraft, the other two writers are
superior with respect to plot and action, (Howard), and imaginary power,
(Smith). At the risk of making a
blasphemous comparison, Lovecraft, Howard and Smith can be seen as roughly
occupying the same positions as the Father, Son and Holy Ghost in a rather
unholy trinity of weird fiction writers, circa the late 1920s through the
1930s.
One
of the racier offerings in Weird Tales
at the time, The Disinterment of Venus
is effective on several levels. The
story takes the form of a fable—there is no dialogue—but the moral of the tale
is certainly “for adults only.” Not
only can it can be seen as a metaphor for the consequences of sexual repression,
but also of the age old denigration of the feminine. There is certainly historical resonance, too: the monks have uncovered and then seek to
swiftly bury a recrudescence of pagan polytheism and goddess worship. Of course, the story can also simply be enjoyed
as a “haunted statue” tale; it is about an alluringly feminine Golem-ess that lures otherwise upstanding men
to their doom.
That
the story is primarily about repressed sexuality is clear even from the opening
lines, which describe three Benedictine monks “spading lustily” in the
monastery garden. The youngest of the
three, who has just taken his vows, is “…moved with an especial ardor, in which
the vernal stirring of youthful sap may have played its part…” He digs more vigorously, shoving his spade
repeatedly into the soil of the garden, and strikes what he thinks is a
boulder. The other two assist in
clearing the mud and grime from the object, which turns out to be a statue
of—Mother of God!—a naked woman.
In
fact, it is an ancient, life sized figure of Venus, the goddess of love. This archaeological finding throws the
monastic community into chaos. The men
are initially ambivalent about how best to deal with the statue. They are touchingly gentle in their attempts
to clean the statue and set it upright. But
shouldn’t they hammer this pagan idol into bits? The image of Venus becomes a distraction from
the work routine of the monastery, and soon some of the brothers disregard
their vows and run amuck, drinking and whoring in local establishments. Something must be done.
It is
no surprise that the most orthodox and enthusiastic monk, the ill fated Brother
Louis, presumes to attack the statue on his own with a mallet. He winds up beneath the fallen statue,
crushed beneath the stone in the very hole from which it was unearthed. The statue has mysteriously altered her
posture toward one of—as Smith puts it—“an attitude of an amorous enlacement!” Unable to remove Venus from their cloistered
garden, the monks must move their garden to the opposite end of the monastery grounds. This seems a comment on the persistence of the
pagan world view despite the efforts of Christendom to remove all trace of it—literally
to plant a garden over it. It is nearly always
hazardous to dig too deeply in the ancient soil, much less in memory.
The Disinterment of Venus shows the often close connection
between horror fiction and religious thought: transgressing laws and traditions
has the consequence of inflaming temptation, producing unresolved guilt, and
incurring the application of supernatural and often gruesome justice. Violation of conventional morality and social
expectations and the consequence for doing so is a recurring trope in horror
fiction. Often the appearance of an idol
brings this issue to the fore, as in numerous Cthulhu Mythos stories and their
imitations. The figure embodies
sinfulness, temptation, and forbidden knowledge, but is also concretely a
disruption of the routine—Smith uses the monastic setting to exaggerate this
dynamic.
But Smith
goes further than this trite accommodation to prevailing mores—he is also
concerned about the psychological and emotional consequences of too zealous an
attempt to live according to the rules.
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