Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 31
CHAPTER XXXI.
IT could not be supposed that souls such as those of Caiaphas and Annas, souls that Satan's poison had turned dark and foul forever, could achieve so great a triumph as the capture of the Nazarene, without tasting to the full the sweets of conquest. To taunt, to scoff, to jeer at those who are down, was ever the Jewish character; for, as no minds have greater genius than have those belonging to that race, so no hearts can conceive greater bitterness and craft, and wound so cruelly. To Annas first, then to Caiaphas, lastly, before the Sanhedrim, the Saviour would have to go. A threefold agony must surely win a threefold glory. Caiaphas had reasons of his own for not having Him brought straight to him.
"Whither take ye Him?" asked one after another of the multitude.
"To Annas first, and then to Caiaphas," replied the soldier, in a voice that forbade further questioning.
To Annas, whose link with the Pharisees lay shivered to bits; Annas, who disregarded Sanhedrim and chief priests alike, but who, through machinations and low intrigue, had gained possession of all the secrets of the Jewish world; who, in his old age, cared neither for deposition from nor accession to power, while he held those vital secrets, like swords, over the heads of half the rulers of Judaea. He had promised to counsel Caiaphas how to proceed with this Nazarene. By base jobbery he had succeeded in turning even political events to his account. By playing upon their greed he had pressed into his service all those who could be bribed and otherwise corrupted, and they were not a few. But, to possess this power, a man must needs have money. Accordingly he levied tithes in secret on all Judæa.
Usurers, money-changers, sellers of doves, all these privily sent their contributions, that went to swell the bursting hoards of this ex-High Priest. And it was this Nazarene who had inveighed against these men—"Woe unto you, usurers!—"who had upset the tables of the money-changers, and opened the cages of them that sold doves to let them soar upwards to heaven. Needs must that Annas should see this Man, to find out how much He knew; for if He were to come before Pilate and to divulge these things, the reign of Annas and of his viperous brood would surely come quickly to an end.
The great gates were swung back, while soldiers, holding their lances in front of them, with both hands thrust back the crowd that strove to force itself into the very courts of the High Priest's house. But Peter, only, of the disciples, succeeded in pressing in.
"This is no time," cried the servants of Annas, "to enter this house; in the morning ye shall see the prisoner at the trial before the Sanhedrim."
"This is no hour for trial," cried the populace.
"The trial will be to-morrow; no man is condemned unheard," rejoined the soldiers, obeying orders in speaking thus, and fearing a disturbance. "No man is condemned in Jerusalem unheard," they repeated; "and for mercy's sake we brought Him first to Annas, for perchance he will set Him free."
"Annas, Annas, 't is indeed the merciful," cried the crowd derisively, making a play on the meaning of his name. Then closing doors pressed out the lingering bystanders, shut out the night and the free, fresh air, and every living witness of the Nazarene's arrest, for Peter had joined the servants in the offices of the palace. Alone Jesus appeared before Annas, but for the guard that attended Him.
Perhaps the old man hovering on the confines of life and death, with keener memory of prophecy, with greater crimes upon his head than had any other ruler, face to face at last with the majestic presence he had barely seen as it had wandered through the streets of Jerusalem and up and down the mountains, proclaiming upon earth its mission, felt a slight quivering, a fleeting terror lest events stupendous should befall. The sublime countenance of the Nazarene, that like a sunbeam had shone on earth for thirty years, the lateness of the hour, the silence inside his palace, the dull roar of the voices of the populace without—all these had their effect on the old man, who, like all the Jews, was not without his superstitions and belief in the supernatural. He had long desired to interrogate this Man, who, for three years had convulsed Jerusalem with His miracles and teachings; who, till now, had kept persecutions and condemnation and captivity at bay; and not by wiles, or power, or interest, but by the intensity of His earnestness, by the manifestation of His surpassing love.
Like bolts of fire launched from the midday sun, the glances flashed from the eyes of Jesus on the little, shrivelled Jew, perished and bent more from his own iniquities than from age. A charred soul stunted and consumed by its own inward fires. What a blissful opportunity was this to spue forth, toad-like, all his venom upon this diamond purity that by its very existence condemned!
"Are they all without?" he asked the guard.
"All save one," replied the man; "and he is kept in vigilance below, for he did smite the right ear from Malchus. "
"One of Thy disciples did this thing?" asked Annas of the Nazarene, glad of an excuse for the malice that was in his heart.
But Jesus made no answer; yet the patient gaze He turned on the rough soldier appealed to him with all the force of a command to tell Annas the truth of what had happened.
"Yet," he interposed, "this Man did heal the ear, like as the other, by His touch, while we stood and laid our hands upon Him."
But the merciful words fell on merciless ears. The old man made as if he had not heard, and, turning to the Christ, who stood there weary with the night's events and agony, he said to Him: "Who art Thou?"
But still Jesus answered not a word.
Taking no note of this silence, Annas went on:
"And who are they that follow Thee hither and thither, yet in Thine hour of need desert Thee?"
A spasm of grief overshadowed the face for one instant, then passed away.
The priest asked again: "What are these doctrines that Thou teachest; these tales of miracles, this comradeship with poor and sinner? Where hast Thou learned them? Whence art Thou?"
But still the Nazarene said nothing, gazing upwards, as though in prayer, for strength to drink the cup. Of what avail to answer with words of truth creatures whose only cleverness lay in planning and detecting lies? The occasion was too sacred, the minutes for prayer too precious, the attempt to argue would but provoke words of greater sin.
"Wilt Thou not speak to me?" cried Annas, presently, infuriated. "Wilt Thou defy me by Thy silence, or art Thou afraid?"
And one of the soldiers shook Him roughly and said: "Speak, answer the priest or 't will be the worse for Thee."
Then, lifting His great, angelic eyes, pure as a holy child's, deep with the wisdom and the truth of ages, the Nazarene prepared to raise that voice which would ring for evermore in the old man's ears. With scorn it rang out now, with pity it would return to him on his death-bed; and in the far, dark distances of hell that voice would ring, in accompaniment to his despair, the words, "Too late, too late!"
"Wilt Thou not speak? Then, after all, Thou art a coward," snarled Annas, some faint glimmering in his narrow mind teaching him the words to use that most would wound the Man whom all Judæa knew feared nothing.
But no answering, wrathful cry responded to this taunt. Slowly the Nazarene raised His eyes and let them fall upon the little, cringing priest.
"I spake only to the world; I even taught in the Synagogue and in the Temple whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing. Why askest thou Me? Ask them which heard Me what I have said unto them; behold they know what I said."
Each word lashed the ignominious heart of Annas as with whip-cords. Yes, it was late in the day to ask this young rabbi, after three years of ministry, what were His doctrines. Was it not for those very doctrines that He stood there? His words unearthed, as with a pickaxe, and laid bare the scheming, lying, malicious stirring of the old priest's heart. He shivered, as he might shiver were his body lying exposed and naked beneath the winter's moon.
A blow, a stinging blow, fell on the pale, meek face. Surely it could not be that a man could strike the Lord and live! The cup was filling quickly, salt and vinegar taking the place of wine. Strength, oh, strength to drink it; but never a cry or a word.
"Answerest Thou the High Priest so? Thou Galilean, Thou son of—" His words were checked, he knew not how or why, but it seemed as though his tongue lay paralysed.
Once more the gentle voice was raised: "If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou Me?"
It was long past midnight, and Caiaphas was waiting; but Annas was loath to let the Christ depart without having wrung from Him any self-convicting words. This in itself was a defeat to one who knew so well the phases of success.
" 'T is useless to sit all night with a dumb, obstinate madman," exclaimed Annas. "Lead Him to Caiaphas and tell him from me that he need fear no more that the lying preaching of this Man shall deceive the nations, for that His tongue doth now refuse its office."
So once more the weary figure was moved away, still bound; and all through the night Annas sat on, wondering strangely; and no man durst come near him to ask him what he thought. And when Jesus passed out into the courtyard to be led to Caiaphas, the people who had remained outside pressed against the gate, and seeing armed men and lanterns and the quiet figure they all knew so well, they cried out with a great cry that reached the ears of Annas in his chamber: "Shall He die? Shall He die?"