Читать книгу The Pharaoh and the Priest - Bolesław Prus - Страница 13

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THE prince returned to his villa full of care, and summoned Tutmosis.

“Thou must,” said Rameses, “teach me how to find money.”

“Ha!” laughed the exquisite; “that is a kind of wisdom not taught in the highest school of the priests, but wisdom in which I might be a prophet.”

“In those schools they explain that a man should not borrow money,” said Rameses.

“If I did not fear that blasphemy might stain my lips, I should say that some priests waste their time. They are wretched, though holy! They eat no meat, they are satisfied with one wife, or avoid women altogether, and—they know not what it is to borrow. I am satisfied, Rameses,” continued the exquisite, “that thou wilt know this kind of wisdom through my counsels. To-day thou wilt learn what a source of sensations lack of money is. A man in need of money has no appetite, he springs up in sleep, he looks at women with astonishment, as if to ask, ‘Why were they created?’ Fire flashes in his face in the coolest temple. In the middle of a desert shivers of cold pass through him during the greatest heat. He looks like a madman; he does not hear what people say to him. Very often he walks along with his wig awry and forgets to sprinkle it with perfume. His only comfort is a pitcher of strong wine, and that for a brief moment. Barely has the poor man’s thoughts come back when again he feels as though the earth were opening under him.

“I see,” continued the exquisite, “that at present thou art passing through despair from lack of money. But soon thou wilt know other feelings which will be as if a great sphinx were removed from thy bosom. Then thou wilt yield to the sweet condition of forgetting thy previous trouble and present creditors, and then— Ah, happy Rameses, unusual surprises will await thee! For the term will pass, and thy creditors will begin to visit thee under pretence of paying homage. Thou wilt be like a deer hunted by dogs, or an Egyptian girl who, while raising water from the river, sees the knotty back of a crocodile—”

“All this seems very gladsome,” interrupted Rameses, smiling; “but it brings not one drachma.”

“Never mind,” continued Tutmosis. “I will go this moment to Dagon, the Phœnician banker, and in the evening thou wilt find peace, though he may not have given thee money.”

He hastened out, took his seat in a small litter, and surrounded by servants vanished in the alleys of the park.

Before sunset Dagon, a Phœnician, the most noted banker in Memphis, came to the house of Rameses. He was a man in the full bloom of life, yellow, lean, but well built. He wore a blue tunic and over it a white robe of thin texture. He had immense hair of his own, confined by a gold circlet, and a great black beard, his own also. This rich growth looked imposing in comparison with the wigs and false beards of Egyptian exquisites.

The dwelling of the heir to the throne was swarming with youth of the aristocracy. Some on the ground floor were bathing and anointing themselves, others were playing chess and checkers on the first story, others in company with dancing-girls were drinking under tents on the terrace. Rameses neither drank, played, nor talked with women; he walked along one side of the terrace awaiting the Phœnician impatiently. When he saw him emerge from an alley in a litter on two asses, he went to the first story, where there was an unoccupied chamber.

After awhile Dagon appeared in the door. He knelt on the threshold and exclaimed,—

“I greet thee, new sun of Egypt! Mayst thou live through eternity, and may thy glory reach those distant shores which are visited by the ships of Phœnicia.”

At command of the prince, he rose and said with violent gesticulations,—

“When the worthy Tutmosis descended before my mud hut—my house is a mud hut in comparison with thy palaces, erpatr—such was the gleam from his face that I cried at once to my wife, ‘Tamara, the worthy Tutmosis has come not from himself, but from one as much higher than he as the Lebanon is higher than the sand of the seashore.’ ‘Whence dost thou know, my lord, that the worthy Tutmosis has not come for himself?’ ‘Because he could not come with money, since he has none, and he could not come for money, because I have none.’ At that moment we bowed down both of us to the worthy Tutmosis. But when he told us that it was thou, most worthy lord, who desirest fifteen talents from thy slave, I asked my wife, ‘Tamara, did my heart teach me badly?’ ‘Dagon, thou art so wise that thou shouldst be an adviser to the heir,’ replied my Tamara.”

Rameses was boiling with impatience, but he listened to the banker,—he, Rameses, who stormed in the presence of his own mother and the pharaoh.

“When we, lord, stopped and understood that thou wert desirous of my services, such delight entered my house that I ordered to give the servants ten pitchers of beer, and my wife Tamara commanded me to buy her new earrings. My joy was increased so that when coming hither I did not let my driver beat the asses. And when my unworthy feet touched thy floor, O prince, I took out a gold ring, greater than that which the worthy Herhor gave Eunana, and presented it to thy slave who poured water on my fingers. With permission, worthiness, whence came that silver pitcher from which they poured the water?”

“Azarias, the son of Gaber, sold it to me for two talents.”

“A Jew? Erpatr, dost them deal with Jews? But what will the gods say?”

“Azarias is a merchant, as thou art,” answered Rameses.

When Dagon heard this, he caught his head with both hands, he spat and groaned,—

“O Baal Tammuz! O Baaleth! O Astoreth!—Azarias, the son of Gaber, a Jew, to be such a merchant as I am. Oh, my legs, why did ye bring me hither? Oh, my heart, why dost thou suffer such pain and palpitation? Most worthy prince,” cried the Phœnician, “slay me, cut off my hand if I counterfeit gold, but say not that a Jew can be a merchant. Sooner will Tyre fall to the earth, sooner will sand occupy the site of Sidon than a Jew be a merchant. They will milk their lean goats, or mix clay with straw under blows of Egyptian sticks, but they will never sell merchandise. Tfu! tfu! Vile nation of slaves! Thieves, robbers!”

Anger boiled up in the prince, it is unknown why, but he calmed himself quickly. This seemed strange to Rameses himself, who up to that hour had not thought self-restraint needed in his case in presence of any one.

“And then,” said the heir on a sudden, “wilt thou, worthy Dagon, loan me fifteen talents?”

“O Astoreth! Fifteen talents? That is such a great weight that I should have to sit down to think of it properly.”

“Sit down then.”

“For a talent,” said Dagon, sitting in an armchair comfortably, “a man can have twelve gold chains, or sixty beautiful milch cows, or ten slaves for labor, or one slave to play on the flute or paint, and maybe even to cure. A talent is tremendous property—”

The prince’s eyes flashed,—

“Then thou hast not fifteen talents?”

The terrified Phœnician slipped suddenly from the chair to the floor.

“Who in the city,” cried he, “has not money at thy command, O child of the sun? It is true that I am a wretch whose gold, precious stones, and whole property is not worth one glance of thine, O prince, but if I go around among our merchants and say who sent me, I shall get fifteen talents even from beneath the earth. Erpatr, if thou shouldst stand before a withered fig-tree and say ‘Give money!’ the fig-tree would pay thee a ransom. But do not look at me in that way, O son of Horus, for I feel a pain in the pit of my heart and my mind is growing blunted,” finished the Phœnician, in tones of entreaty.

“Well, sit in the chair, sit in the chair,” said the prince, laughing.

Dagon rose from the floor and disposed himself still more agreeably in the armchair.

“For how long a time does the prince wish fifteen talents?”

“Certainly for a year.”

“Let us say at once three years. Only his holiness might give back fifteen talents in the course of a year, but not the youthful heir, who must receive young pleasant nobles and beautiful women.—Ah, those women!—Is it true, with thy permission, that thou hast taken to thyself Sarah the daughter of Gideon?”

“But what per cent dost thou wish?” interrupted Rameses.

“A trifle, which thy sacred lips need not mention. For fifteen talents the prince will give five talents yearly, and in the course of three years I will take back all myself, so that thou, worthiness, wilt not even know—”

“Thou wilt give me to-day fifteen talents, and during three years take back thirty?”

“Egyptian law permits percentage to equal the loan,” answered Dagon, confusedly.

“But is that not too much?”

“Too much?” cried out Dagon. “Every great lord has a great court, a great property, and pays no per cent save a great one. I should be ashamed to take less from the heir to the throne; if I did the prince himself might command to beat me with sticks and to drive me out of his presence.”

“When wilt thou bring the money?”

“Bring it? O gods, one man would not have strength to bring so much. I will do better: I will make all payments for the prince, so that, worthiness, thou wilt not need to think of such a wretched matter.”

“Then dost thou know my debts?”

“I know them a little,” answered Dagon, carelessly.

“The prince wishes to send six talents to the Eastern army; that will be done by our bankers. Three talents to the worthy Nitager and three to the worthy Patrokles; that will be done here immediately. Sarah and her father I can pay through that mangy Azarias—even better to pay them thus, for they would cheat the prince in reckoning.”

Rameses began to walk through the room impatiently.

“Then am I to give a note for thirty talents?”

“What note? why a note? what good would a note be to me? The prince will rent me for three years lands in the provinces of Takens, Ses, Neha-Chent, Neha-Pechu, in Sebt-Het, in Habu.”

“Rent them?” said the prince. “That does not please me.”

“Whence then am I to get back my money, my thirty talents?”

“Wait! I must ask the inspector of my granaries how much these properties bring me in yearly.”

“Why so much trouble, worthiness? What does the inspector know? He knows nothing; as I am an honest Phœnician, he knows nothing. Each year the harvest is different, and the income different also. I may lose in this business, and the inspector would make no return to me.”

“But seest thou, Dagon, it seems to me that those lands bring far more than ten talents yearly.”

“The prince is unwilling to trust me? Well, at command of the heir I will drop out the land of Ses. The prince is not sure of my heart yet? Well, I will yield Sebt-Het also. But what use for an inspector here? Will he teach the prince wisdom? O Astoreth! I should lose sleep and appetite if such an overseer, subject and slave, dared to correct my gracious lord. Here is needed only a scribe who will write down that my most worthy lord gives me as tenant for three years lands in such and such a province. And sixteen witnesses will be needed to testify that such an honor from the prince has come to me. But why should servants know that their lord borrows money from Dagon?”

The wearied heir shrugged his shoulders.

“To-morrow,” said he, “thou wilt bring the money, and bring a scribe and witnesses. I do not wish to think of it.”

“Oh, what wise words!” cried the Phœnician. “Mayst thou live, worthiest lord, through eternity!”