Collected Works of Eugène Sue

by Eugène Sue

  ‘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 fade
d; 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.

  Jane, more bold than her friend, had made a passage for her through the crowd; seeing a table unoccupied, placed in the shade and behind one of the pillars of the galleries, the wife of the Seigneur Chusa seated herself at it with Aurelia, and demanded a jug of beer from one of the girls of the tavern, whilst Genevieve, standing by the side of her mistress, did not lose sight of the two emissaries of the pharisees, and greedily listened to all that was said round about her.

  ‘The night advances,’ said a young and handsome woman mournfully to one of her companions seated at a table before her, and whose cheeks were like her own, covered with paint, as was customary with courtezans.’

  ‘Jesus of Nazareth will not come here to-night.’

  ‘’Twas scarcely worth while to come here; we could have taken a walk in the neighborhood of the Pool: and there some Roman officer, half drunk, or some doctor of law, hugging the walls, his nose in his cloak, would have given us a supper. You must not complain, Oliba, if we go to our couch supperless: ’twas your wish.’

  ‘That sort of bread seems to me now so bitter, that I do not regret it.’

  ‘Bitter or not, it was bread, and when we are hungry, we must eat.’

  ‘In listening to the words of Jesus,’ replied the other courtezan, mildly, ‘I should have forgotten hunger.’

  ‘Oliba, you will become mad. To feed upon words!’

  ‘The words of Jesus always say: pardon, mercy, love; and hitherto for us there was nothing but words of scorn and contempt!’ And the courtezan remained pensive, her forehead resting upon her hand.

  ‘You are a strange girl, Oliba,’ continued the other, ‘but however, empty as it is, we shall not have even this supper of words; for the Nazarene will not come now: it is too late.’

  ‘On the contrary, I trust the all powerful God may direct him here!’ said a poor woman seated on the ground near the two courtezans, and holding in her arms a sickly child: —

  ‘I am come from Bethlehem on foot to pray our good Jesus to cure my poor little babe; he is unparalleled for the cure of diseases of children, and far from being paid for his advices, he often gives you something wherewith to purchase the balsams he prescribes.’

  ‘By the body of Solomon! I, too, hope that our friend Jesus will come here to-night,’ observed a tall man, with a ferocious face, and a long stiff beard, dressed in a red rag of a turban, and a short robe of camel’s hair, almost in rags, confined at the waist by a cord supporting a large rusty cutlass without a sheath. This man also held in his hand a long stick with an iron knob at the point.

  ‘If our worthy friend of Nazareth does not come to-night, I shall have lost my time for nothing, for I had engaged to escort a traveller who feared going alone from Jerusalem to Bethlehem lest he should meet with unpleasant encounters.’

  ‘Just look at that bandit, with his hang-dog face and his grand cutlass! Does he not look like a very safe escort?’ quietly said to his companion one of the two emissaries, seated not very far from Genevieve.

  ‘What a daring villain!’

  ‘He would have murdered and robbed the too confident traveller in the first bye way!’ said the other emissary.

  ‘As true as my name is Banaias!’ continued the man with the cutlass, ‘I should have lost without regret this little godsend of escorting a traveller if our friend of Nazareth had come, I like the man. I must say! he consoles you not a little for wearing rags, by showing that since they can no more enter into paradise than a camel can pass through the eye of a needle, all the wicked rich will one day be roasted like capons in Beelzebub’s kitchen. This neither fills our belly or our purse, it’s true, but it is a consolation; so I shall pass whole days and nights listening to his overhauling the priests, the doctors of law and the other pharisees! And our friend does well, for we must hear these pharisees. If you are brought before their tribunal for some trifle, they can only say, ‘Quick to gaol or to the lash! thief! villain! firebrand of hell! son of Satan!’ and other paternal remonstrances. By the nose of Ezekiel! do they think thus to ruin men? The cursed fools don’t know, then, that many a horse, restive to the whip, will obey the voice. But our friend of Nazareth knows it well, when he said to us the other day, ‘If your brother has sinned against you, take him back; if he repents, pardon him.’ That’s talking; for, by the ear of Melchisedeck! I am not as tender and benign as the pascal lamb. No, no: I have had time to harden my heart, my head and my skin. — Twenty years ago, my father drove me from his house for a youthful folly. Since then I have lived at loggerheads with the devil. I am just as difficult to bridle as a wild ass. And yet, on the faith of Banaias! by a single word of his gentle voice, our friend of Nazareth could make me go to the end of the world.’

  ‘If Jesus cannot come,’ said another drinker, ‘he will send one of his disciples to inform us, and to preach to us good news in the name of his master.’

  ‘For want of a cake of fine wheaten flour kneaded with honey, we eat barley bread,’ said an old mendicant bent with age.

  ‘The words of the disciples are good: that of the master is better.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ observed another old mendicant; ‘to us who have despaired since our birth, he gives eternal hope.’

  ‘Jesus teaches us that we are not below our masters,’ said a slave of gloomy appearance.

  ‘Now, since we are as good as our masters, by what right do they keep us in slavery?’

  ‘Is it because if there are a hundred masters on one side, we are ten thousand slaves on the other?’ observed a second.

  ‘Patience, patience! a day will come when we shall reckon our masters, and reckon ourselves afterwards; after which will be accomplished the words of Jesus, ‘The first shall be last, and the last shall be first.’ He has said to us artizans, who, by the burden of taxes and the avarice of sellers, are often in want of bread and garments, as also our wives and children, ‘Be not disquieted; God, our father, provides apparel for the lilies of the valley, and food for the young sparrows: a day will come in which you shall want nothing.’ Yes, for Jesus has also said this, ‘Put neither gold, nor silver, nor money in your purse, nor sack for your journey, nor two coats, nor shoes, for he who works deserves to be maintained.’

  ‘Here’s the master! here’s the master!’ said several persons, placed near the door of the tavern; ‘there’s our friend!’

  At these words there was a great movement in the tavern. Aurelia, not less curious than her slave Genevieve, mounted on a stool, the better to see the young man. Their expectation was disappointed; it was not yet him; it was Peter, one of his disciples.

  ‘And Jesus!’ they all demanded of him in one voice: ‘where is he?’

  ‘Will not the Nazarene come then?’

  ‘Shall we not see our friend, the friend of the afflicted!’

  ‘I, Judas and Simon, were accompanying
him,’ replied Peter, ‘when at the door of the town, a poor woman seeing us pass, entreated the master to enter to see her sick daughter. He did so. He has kept Judas and Simon with him, and has sent me to you. Those who have need of him have only to wait here; he will soon come.’

  The words of the disciple calmed the impatience of the crowd, and Banaias, the man with the long cutlass, said to Peter, ‘Whilst talking of the master, talk to us of him: tell us the good news. Does the time approach when the gluttons, whose bellies grow fat in proportion as ours grow lean, will have nothing but the coals and brimstone of hell to fatten upon?’

  ‘Yes, the time approaches!’ said Peter mounting on a bench, ‘yes, the time is coming, as comes the night of storm charged with the thunder and the lightning! Has not the Lord said, by the voice of his prophets, ‘I will send my angel, who shall prepare the way before me?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ cried several voices: ‘yes, the prophets have announced it!’

  ‘Who is this angel?’ said Peter: ‘who is this angel, unless Jesus our master, the Messiah, the only true Messiah.’

  ‘Yes, ’tis he!’

  ‘He is the promised angel! he is the true Messiah!’

  ‘And this angel having prepared the way, what says the Lord through his prophets?’ continued Peter. ‘And I will come near to you to judgment, and I will be a swift witness against the sorcerers, and against false swearers, and against those who oppress the workman in his wages, against those who oppress the widow, the orphan, and the stranger, without having fear of me.’ Has not the Lord again said, ‘There is a race whose teeth are thorns, and who use them as knives to devour those who have nothing on the earth, and who are poor amongst men?’

  ‘If this race has knives for teeth,’ said Banaias, placing his hand on his cutlass, ‘we will bite with ours!’

  ‘Oh, may the day come when those shall be judged who oppress the workman in his wages, and I will denounce to the vengeance of the Lord the banker Jonas!’ said a workman.

  ‘He made me work secretly on the panels of the Chamber of Festivals on the Sabbath days, and he withheld my wages on those days. I determined to complain. He threatened to denounce me to the high priest as a profaner of the holy days, and to have me thrown into prison!’