The Master and Margarita / Мастер и Маргарита. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“The Sanhedrin requests the release of Bar-rabban.”

The Procurator knew very well the High Priest would reply to him in precisely this way, but his task was to show that such a reply elicited his astonishment.

Pilate did just that with great artistry. The brows on his haughty face rose, and the Procurator looked in surprise straight into the High Priest s eyes.

“I confess, that reply has amazed me,” began the Procurator gently. “I’m afraid there may be a misunderstanding here.”

Pilate explained himself. The Roman authorities were not encroaching in any way on the rights of the local spiritual authorities, the High Priest was well aware of that, but in this instance an obvious mistake was being made. And the Roman authorities did, of course, have an interest in the correction of that mistake.

In truth: the crimes of Bar-rabban and Ha-Nozri were quite incomparable in gravity. If the latter, an obvious madman, was guilty of the utterance of absurd speeches which had stirred up the people in Yershalaim and several other places, the former was much more significantly burdened. Not only had he permitted himself direct calls to revolt[104 - direct call to revolt – прямой призыв к мятежу], but he had also killed a guard during attempts to capture him. Bar-rabban was incomparably more dangerous than Ha-Nozri.

On the strength of all he had set out, the Procurator requested that the High Priest review the decision and leave at liberty the less harmful of the two condemned men – and that, without doubt, was Ha-Nozri. And so?…

Caipha said in a quiet but firm voice that the Sanhedrin had familiarized itself carefully with the case and was reporting for the second time that it intended to free Bar-rabban.

“What? Even after my pleading? The pleading of the man in whose person speaks the power of Rome? High Priest, repeat it a third time.”

“And for the third time I report that we are freeing Bar-rabban,” said Caipha quietly.

It was all over, and there was nothing more to talk about. Ha-Nozri was going away for ever, and there was no one to cure the Procurator’s terrible, vicious pains; there was no remedy for them but death. But this was not the thought that struck Pilate now. It was still that same incomprehensible anguish which had already visited him on the balcony that was permeating his entire being. He immediately tried to explain it, and the explanation was a strange one: the Procurator had the vague feeling there was something he had not finished saying to the condemned man, something he had not finished hearing.

Pilate banished this thought, and it flew away in an instant, just as it had come. It flew away, but the anguish remained unexplained, for it could not possibly be explained by the other brief thought that came in a flash, like lightning, but that was extinguished straight away: "Immortality… immortality has come…” Whose immortality had come? That the Procurator did not understand, but the thought of this mysterious immortality made him turn cold in the full blaze of the sun.

"Very well,” said Pilate, "so be it.”

At this point he looked around, took in at a glance the world that was visible to him, and was amazed at the change that had taken place. The bush laden with roses had vanished, the cypresses that fringed the upper terrace had vanished, as had the pomegranate tree, and the white statue in the verdure, and the verdure itself. In place of it all, some sort of dense crimson mush began floating around, seaweed began to sway about in it and then moved off somewhere, and Pilate himself moved off with it too. Now he was being borne away, smothered and scorched by[105 - to be smothered and scorched by – удушая и обжигая] the most terrible rage – the rage of impotence[106 - the rage of impotence – гнев бессилия].

“I feel stifled[107 - I feel stifled – Тесно мне],” said Pilate, “I feel stifled!”

With a cold, moist hand he ripped the clasp from the neckband of his cloak, and the clasp fell onto the sand.

"It’s close today, there’s a thunderstorm somewhere,” responded Caipha, not taking his eyes from the flushed face of the Procurator and foreseeing all the trials and tribulations yet to come. "Oh, what a terrible month Nisan is this year!”

"No,” said Pilate, "it’s not because it’s close, I’ve started feeling stifled with you, Caipha.” And, narrowing his eyes, Pilate smiled and added: "Take care of yourself, High Priest.”

The High Priest’s dark eyes flashed, and he expressed surprise on his face no worse than the Procurator had done earlier.

"What am I hearing, Procurator?” replied Caipha proudly and calmly. "Are you threatening me after a judgement that has been pronounced and ratified by you yourself? Is this possible? We are accustomed to the Roman Procurator choosing his words before saying anything. Could anyone have heard us, Hegemon?”

Pilate looked at the High Priest with lifeless eyes and, baring his teeth, gave a semblance of a smile[108 - a semblance of a smile – подобие улыбки].

"Come, come, High Priest! Who can possibly hear us now, here? Do you think I’m like the wandering young simpleton who’s being executed today? Am I a boy, Caipha? I know what I’m saying, and where I’m saying it. The garden is cordoned off, the palace is cordoned off, so that a mouse couldn’t get through a single crack! Not just a mouse, either, even that – what’s his name. from the town of Kiriath – couldn’t get through. Incidentally, do you know such a man, High Priest? Yes… if such a man got in here, he’d feel bitterly sorry for himself – you’ll believe me on that score[109 - to on that score – учитывая это], of course? So be aware then, that you, High Priest, will get no peace from now on! Neither you, nor your people,” and Pilate pointed into the distance to the right, to where the Temple was glowing on high. “It’s I that am telling you this – Pontius Pilate, the horseman of the Golden Lance[110 - Pontius Pilate, the horseman of the Golden Lance – Пилат Понтийский, Всадник Золотое Копье]!”[111 - horseman of the Golden Lance: This refers to an equestrian order of the Roman nobility, below only the Senate in its importance. By Pilate’s time, many members of the order filled administrative posts. (Комментарий И. Беспалова)]

“I know, I know!” black-bearded Caipha replied fearlessly, and his eyes flashed. He raised his arm up towards the sky and continued: “The Judaic people know you hate them with a fierce hatred and will cause them many sufferings, but you will not destroy them completely! God will protect them! And all-powerful Caesar will hear – he will hear and will shield us from Pilate the destroyer!”

“Oh no!” exclaimed Pilate, and with every word he was finding things easier and easier: there was no need to pretend any more, there was no need to pick his words. “You’ve complained about me to Caesar too much, and now my hour has come, Caipha! Now word will fly from me – and not to the Governor in Antioch, and not to Rome, but direct to Capreae, to the Emperor himself – word of how in Yershalaim you shelter notorious rebels from death! And it won’t be water from Solomon’s Pond, as I wanted, for your benefit, that I’ll be treating Yershalaim to then! No, not water! Remember how, because of you, I had to remove the shields with the Emperor’s monograms from the walls, relocate the troops – I had to come here myself, see, to take a look at what was going on! Remember my word: you’ll see not just one cohort here in Yershalaim, High Priest, no! – the entire Fulminata legion is going to advance right up to the walls of the city; the Arab cavalry is going to come up, and then you’re going to hear bitter crying and moaning. Then you’ll remember this Bar-rabban that was saved and you’ll regret you sent the philosopher with his message of peace to his death!”

The High Priest’s face was covered in blotches[112 - to be covered in blotches – быть покрытым пятнами]; his eyes were burning. He, like the Procurator, bared his teeth in a smile and replied:

“Do you yourself believe what you’re saying now, Procurator? No, you don’t! It wasn’t peace, not peace that this seducer of the people brought to us here in Yershalaim – and you, horseman, understand that very well. You wanted to release him so he would stir up the people, ridicule the faith and deliver the people up to Roman swords! But I, the High Priest of Judaea, while I yet live, will not yield the faith up to profanation and will protect the people! Do you hear, Pilate?” and here Caipha raised his hand menacingly: “Listen carefully, Procurator!”

Caipha fell silent, and again the Procurator heard what sounded like the roar of the sea, rolling up to the very walls of Herod the Great’s garden.[113 - Herod the Great – Ирод Великий, царь Иудеи] This roar rose up from below to the feet and into the face of the Procurator. And behind his back, there, beyond the wings of the palace, could be heard disquieting trumpet signals, the heavy crunch of hundreds of feet, the clanking of iron – here the Procurator realized that the Roman infantry was already setting out in accordance with his order, hastening to the final parade before the deaths of the terrified rebels and villains.

“Do you hear, Procurator?” the High Priest repeated quietly. “Are you really going to try and tell me that all that” – the High Priest raised both arms, and the dark hood fell from his head – “was provoked by the pitiful villain Bar-rabban?”

The Procurator wiped his damp, cold forehead with the back of his wrist and looked down at the ground; then, screwing his eyes up at the sky, saw that the burning hot sphere was almost directly above his head and that Caipha’s shadow had shrunk away completely by the lion’s tail, and quietly and indifferently he said:

“It’s getting towards midday. We got carried away with our conversation, but in the mean time we do need to carry on.”

Having apologized to the High Priest in refined phrases, he asked him to take a seat on a bench in the shade of a magnolia and wait while he summoned the remaining people required for a final brief conference and gave one more order concerning the execution.

Caipha bowed politely, placing his hand upon his heart, and remained in the garden while Pilate returned to the balcony. There he ordered the waiting secretary to invite into the garden the legate of the legion, the tribune of the cohort, and also the two members of the Sanhedrin and the commander of the Temple guard, who were awaiting a summons on the lower terrace of the garden in a circular pavilion with a fountain. To this Pilate added that he would himself be coming out into the garden straight away too, then he withdrew into the interior of the palace.

While the secretary was convening the conference[114 - to convey the conference – собирать совещание], the Procurator had a meeting in a room obscured from the sun by dark blinds with some sort of man whose face was half covered by a hood, though the rays of the sun could not possibly have troubled him inside the room. This meeting was extremely brief. The Procurator said a few quiet words to the man, after which the latter withdrew, while Pilate went through the colonnade into the garden.

There, in the presence of all those he had wished to see, the Procurator solemnly and drily confirmed that he was ratifying Yeshua Ha-Nozri’s death sentence, and he enquired officially of the members of the Sanhedrin as to which of the prisoners they would like to let live. On receiving the reply that it was Bar-rabban, the Procurator said:

“Very well,” and ordered the secretary to enter it in the minutes straight away, squeezed in his hand the clasp that the secretary had picked up from the sand and said solemnly: “It’s time!”

At this point all those present moved off down the broad marble steps between walls of roses giving off a heavy scent, descending lower and lower towards the palace wall, towards the gates leading out into a large, smoothly paved square, at the end of which could be seen the columns and statues of Yershalaim’s stadium.

As soon as the group had emerged from the garden into the square and gone up onto the extensive stone platform that dominated it, Pilate, looking around through narrowed eyelids, assessed the situation. The space he had just crossed – that is, the space between the palace wall and the platform – was empty, whereas in front of him Pilate could no longer see the square: it had been devoured by the crowd, which would have flooded both onto the platform itself and into the cleared space if a triple row of Sebastian’s soldiers to Pilate’s left hand and soldiers of the Ituraean Auxiliary Cohort to the right had not held it back.

And so Pilate went up onto the platform, squeezing the unnecessary clasp mechanically in his fist and squinting. The Procurator was squinting not because the sun was stinging his eyes, no! For some reason he did not want to see the group of condemned men who, as he knew very well, would be led up after him onto the platform in just a moment.

As soon as the white cloak with the crimson lining rose up on high on the stone cliff at the edge of the human sea, a wave of sound struck the unseeing Pilate’s ears: “Ha-a-a…” It began softly, rising somewhere in the distance near the hippodrome, then became thunderous and, after being sustained for several seconds, began to abate. “They’ve seen me,” thought the Procurator. Before the wave reached its lowest point, it unexpectedly began to develop again, and as it rolled, it rose higher than the first one, and on the second wave, just as the foam rages on a roller at sea, there raged a whistling and the individual moans of women, discernible through the thunder. “They’ve led them onto the platform…” thought Pilate, “and the moans are because a number of women were crushed when the crowd surged forward.”

He waited for a time, aware that no power could make the crowd fall quiet until it had exhaled all that had accumulated within it and fallen silent itself.

And when that moment came, the Procurator threw up his right arm, and the last sounds were expelled from the crowd.

Then Pilate gathered as much of the hot air as he could into his chest and shouted, and his cracked voice carried over thousands of heads:

“In the name of the Emperor Caesar!”

At this point his ears were struck several times by an abrupt iron cry – in the cohorts, tossing up their spears and insignia, the soldiers had cried out fearsomely:

“Hail, Caesar!”

Pilate threw back his head and turned it straight towards the sun. A green fire flared up beneath his eyelids, which made his brain ignite, and above the crowd flew hoarse Aramaic words:

“Four criminals, arrested in Yershalaim for murders, incitement to revolt[115 - incitement to revolt – подстрекательства к мятежу] and assault on the laws and faith[116 - assault on the laws and faith – оскорбление законов и веры], are sentenced to a shameful punishment – hanging on posts! And this punishment will now be carried out on Bald Mountain! The names of the criminals are Dismas, Gestas, Bar-rabban and Ha-Nozri. Here they are before you!”

Pilate pointed to the right, not seeing any of the criminals, but knowing they were there, in the place they were required to be.

The crowd answered with a long hum, as though of surprise or relief. And when it had died away, Pilate continued:

“But only three of them will be executed, for, in accordance with the law and custom, in honour of the Feast of the Passover, one of the condemned men, chosen by the Lesser Sanhedrin and with the ratification of the Roman authorities, is to have his contemptible life restored to him by the magnanimous Emperor Caesar!”