Читать книгу The Silver Cross; Or, The Carpenter of Nazareth - Эжен Сю - Страница 3

The tavern of the Wild Ass was the usual resort of the conductors of camels, of the men who let out donkeys, of porters, pedlars, vendors of water melons, pomegranates, of fresh dates, when in season, and later of preserved olives and dry dates. In this tavern were also to be found men of no profession, prostitutes of the lowest class, beggars, vagabonds, and those worthy fellows whose armed protection was purchased by travellers when they repaired from one town to another, in order to be defended against the highwayman by this escort often very much suspected. There might also be seen those Roman slaves brought by their masters into the country of the Hebrews.

This tavern had a bad reputation; disputes and quarrels were frequent there, and at the approach of night none were seen to venture in the neighborhood of the Lamb's-gate, not far from which this den was situated, but men of suspicious figure or women of a low class; then, night having completely set in, from this dreaded place issued cries, bursts of laughter, bacchanalian songs; frequently painful groans succeeded to the disputes; from time to time some men of the Jerusalem militia entered the tavern under pretence of establishing peace and quietness, and left it, either more drunk and disorderly than the drinkers, or driven out with sticks and stones.

On the day following that on which the supper at Pontius Pilate's had taken place, towards the evening about dusk, two young men, plainly dressed in white tunics and turbans of blue cloth, were walking through a narrow winding street, at the end of which was perceived the door of the dreaded tavern; they conversed as they advanced, and frequently turned their heads towards one of the extremities of the street, as if they expected the appearance of some one.

'Genevieve,' said one to his companion stopping (these two pretended young men were Aurelia and her slave, disguised under masculine garments), 'Genevieve, my new friend Jane is late in coming, this alarms me; and besides, if I must confess it, I am afraid of committing some folly.'

'In that case, my dear mistress, let us return home.'

'I have a great mind to; but then shall I ever meet with such an opportunity again?'

'It is true that the absence of the Seigneur Gremion, your husband, who departed this morning with the Seigneur Chusa, steward of Herod the prince, leaves you completely free, and that perhaps for some time you may not enjoy quite so much liberty.'

'Confess, Genevieve, that you are still more curious than I am to see this extraordinary man, this young Nazarene?'

'Were it so, my dear mistress, there would be nothing astonishing in my desire; I am a slave, and the Nazarene says that there ought to be no longer slaves.'

'I render your slavery very hard, then, Genevieve?'

'No, oh! no! But sincerely, do you know many mistresses who resemble you?'

'It is not for me to reply to that, flatterer' —

'It is for me to say so. If by chance we meet with one good mistress like you, there are a hundred who, for a word, or the slightest negligence, mutilate their slaves with the lash, or torture them with a cruel joy. Is this true?'

'I do not deny it.'

'You render my servitude as mild as possible, my dear mistress; but still I do not belong to myself. I have been obliged to separate from my poor Fergan, my husband, who wept so on quitting me. What assures me that on your return I shall find him at Marseilles, that he has not been sold and carried I know not where? What assures me that the Seigneur Gremion will not sell me, or separate me from you?'

'I have promised you that you shall not quit me.'

'But if your husband wishes to sell me, you could not prevent him.'

'Alas! no.'

'And a hundred years ago, the fathers and mothers of us Gauls were free; however Fergan's ancestors were the most valiant chiefs of their tribe!'

'Oh!' said Aurelia, smiling, 'the daughters of a Cæsar would not be more proud of having an emperor as a father than you are, of what you call the father of your husband.'

'Pride is not permitted to slaves,' replied Genevieve mournfully; 'all that I regret, is our liberty. What have we done, then, to lose it? Ah! if the prayers of this young man of Nazareth are answered! if there are to be no more slaves!'

'No more slaves? Why, Genevieve, you are mad; is it possible! No more slaves? That their life be rendered as sweet as possible, be it so; but no more slaves would be the end of the world. – Look you, Genevieve, it is these exaggerations that do so much harm to this young Nazarene.'

'He is not believed by the rich and powerful. – Yesterday, at the supper with Pontius Pilate, standing behind you, I did not lose a word. What bitterness against this young man!'

'What would you, Genevieve?' replied Aurelia smiling; '‘tis a little his own fault.'

'You, too, accuse him?'

'No, but still he attacks the bankers, the doctors of law, the physicians, the priests, all those hypocrites in fact, who, Jane tells me, belong to pharisaical opinions. It requires no more to ruin him forever.'

'It is courageous at least, to speak these truths to wicked men, and this young man of Nazareth is as good as he is courageous, according to Jane, your friend. She is rich, and held in consideration; she is not a slave like me; he does not preach in her favor therefore, and yet see how she admires him!'

'This admiration of a sweet and charming woman testifies, it is true, in favor of this young man; for Jane, with her noble heart, would be incapable of admiring the wicked. What an amiable friend chance has given me in her! I know nothing more tender than her look, or more penetrating than her voice. She says that when this Nazarene speaks to those who are suffering, to the poor and to the little children, his face becomes divine. I don't know, but what is certain is, that the face of Jane becomes celestial when she speaks of him.'

'Is it not she who is approaching on this side, my dear mistress?'

'I hear a gentle step in the shade.'

'It must be her.'

In fact, Jane, also dressed as a young man, had soon joined Aurelia and her slave. 'You have been waiting for me some time, perhaps, Aurelia?' said the young woman; 'but I could not secretly leave my house before this hour.'

'Jane, I do not feel myself quite easy; I am perhaps still more timid than curious. Only think, women of our condition in this horrible tavern, where, as they say, the dregs of the populace assemble.'

'Be not afraid; these people are more turbulent and frightful to look at than really wicked. I have already been among them twice under this disguise with one of my relations to hear the young master. The tavern is but feebly lighted; round the court runs a dark gallery where we shall not be seen. – We will order a jug of beer, and they will not trouble themselves about us; they are only occupied with the young man of Nazareth, or in his absence, with his disciples, who come to preach good news. Come, Aurelia, it is late, come.'

'Listen! listen!' said the young woman to Jane, turning her ear toward the tavern with some uneasiness; 'hear you those cries? They are disputing in that horrible place!'

'That proves that the young master is not yet arrived,' replied Jane; 'for in his presence every voice is silent, and the most violent become as gentle as lambs.'

'And besides, Jane, just look at that group of men and women of evil mien, collected before the door by the light of that lantern. Pray, let us wait till they have passed on or entered the tavern.'

'Come, there is nothing to fear, I tell you.'

'No, I entreat you, Jane: another moment. – Really, I admire your bravery!'

'Oh! ‘tis because Jesus of Nazareth inspires courage as he inspires gentleness towards the guilty, tenderness for him who suffers. And then, if you knew how natural his language is! what touching and ingenuous parables he finds to bring his ideas within reach of simple men, of the poor in mind as he calls them, and whom he loves so! Thus, all, even the little children, for whom he has so great a liking, understand his words and lose not a syllable. Undoubtedly, before him, other Messiahs have prophesied the deliverance of our country oppressed by the stranger, have explained our holy scriptures, and have by the magical means of medicine treated diseases thought incurable; but none of these Messiahs have hitherto shown that patient sweetness with which the young master teaches the humble and the young, all in fact; for with him there are no infidels, no heathens; every good and simple heart for the very reason that it is good is worthy of the kingdom of heaven. Don't you know his parable of the heathen? Nothing is more simple and more touching.'

'No, Jane, I do not know it.'

'‘Tis the last I heard him preach. It is called the Good Samaritan.'

'What is a Samaritan?'

'The Samaritans are an idolatrous people, beyond the farthest mountains of Judea; the high priests regard these people as excluded from the kingdom of God. Here is the parable:

'A man who was going to Jerusalem fell into the hands of robbers; they pillaged him, covered him with wounds, and went on their way leaving him half dead.

'It so happened afterwards that a Priest went the same road, who having perceived the wounded man, passed on.

'A Levite, who approached the same place, having noticed the wounded man, also passed on.

'But a Samaritan, who was travelling, came to the spot where the man was, and seeing him, he was moved with compassion, approached him, poured oil and wine upon his wounds, bandaged them, and having placed him on his horse, he led him to an hostelry and took care of him.

'The next morning the Samaritan drew two penny pieces from his pocket, gave them to the host, and said to him: 'Pay attention to this man; all that you expend beyond this, I will repay you.'

'Now,' inquired Jesus of his disciples, 'which of these three men, think you, was the neighbor of him who had fallen into the hands of the robbers?'

'It is he,' they replied to Jesus, 'who was merciful to the wounded man.'

'Go in peace, then, and do likewise,' replied Jesus, with a heavenly smile.

Genevieve the slave, on hearing this recital, could not restrain her tears, for Jane had accented with ineffable sweetness the last words of Jesus: 'Go, then, in peace, and do likewise.'

'You are right, Jane,' said Aurelia, musing; 'a child would comprehend the meaning of these words, and I feel myself moved.'

'And yet, this parable,' continued Jane, 'is one of those which have the most irritated the high priests and the doctors of law against the young man of Nazareth.'

'And why?'

'Because in this narrative he shows a Samaritan, a heathen, more humane than the Levite, than the Priest, since this idolator, seeing a brother in the wounded man, succored him, and thus renders himself more worthy of heaven than the two holy men of hard hearts. This, you see, is just what the enemies of Jesus call blasphemies, sacrileges!'

'Jane, let us go to the tavern. I have no longer any fear of entering this place. People for whom such narratives are invented, and who listen to them with avidity, cannot be wicked.'

'You see, my dear Aurelia, the words of the Nazarene already act upon you; they give you confidence and courage. Come, come.'

The young woman took the arm of her friend; both, followed by the slave Genevieve, turned their steps towards the tavern of the 'Wild Ass,' where they soon arrived.

This tavern, a square built house, like most in the East, was composed of an interior court surrounded with stout pillars, supporting a terrace and forming four galleries, beneath which the drinkers could retire in case of rain; but the night being mild and serene, the majority of the customers were at tables in the court, lighted by a large iron lamp in the middle of the court. This unique luminary, but feebly lighting the galleries, in which were also some drinkers, they remained completely obscured.

It was to one of these gloomy retreats that Jane, Aurelia and the slave Genevieve, directed their steps; they saw in passing through the crowd, then somewhat noisy, many persons in rags or poorly clad, women of immoral life, miserably attired, had as a turban, a scrap of white sackcloth; some others, on the contrary, wore robes and turbans of precious stuff, but faded; bracelets, ear-rings and necklaces in copper, ornamented with false stones; their cheeks were covered with a brilliant paint; their haggard and sorrowful countenance, and a stamp of bitterness, which revealed itself even in their noisy and intemperate joy, told quite enough of the miseries, the anguish, and the shame of their sad life as courtezans.

Amongst the men, some appeared dispirited by poverty, others had a bold and audacious air; several wore rusty weapons at their girdle, or leant upon their long sticks terminated by a ball of iron; elsewhere might be recognized by their iron collar and shaven head, the domestic slaves belonging to Roman officers; further on, the infirm, in rags, were seated on the ground in crutches.

Mothers held in their arms their infant children, pale and thin, whom they hugged with a regard tenderly anxious, no doubt also awaiting the arrival of the young Nazarene, so skilled in the healing art.

Genevieve, from some words exchanged between two men well dressed, but of harsh and disagreeable features, guessed that they were the secret emissaries whom the high priests and doctors of the law made use of to note the words of the Nazarene, and draw him into a snare of an imprudent confidence.