Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 33
CHAPTER XXXIII.
METHINKS at last I hold this Man," said Caiaphas, pacing his audience chamber to calm a strange unrest that filled his soul.
In a corner of the room beside the window, looking out with love-struck eyes, gazed Rebekah, hearing, but scarce heeding, her father's words, for they brought no comfort to her unhinged soul.
"He is before Annas now, the proud Nazarene, and if there be one who can sift a man as wheat"—here Caiaphas made an expressive gesture, turning his hands upwards, as if they were cups in which he sifted flour or grain—" 't is thy grandfather Annas."
"Yet he will find no fault in Him," replied Rebekah absently and perversely. Why she said the words she knew not, except that in her heart a faint loyalty to Lazarus twinkled.
"Why sayest thou this?" asked Caiaphas excitedly; "dost thou believe that He is sent from God?"
"I believe nothing; I know nothing," said Rebekah coldly.
Caiaphas eyed her anxiously. Woman has, at all times, been the one enigma no man can solve.
"Then why speakest thou?"
A sullen silence; then steps across the courtyard below, and muttered voices.
"They come," said Caiaphas; but in his eyes was no look of expectant triumph, and all his features seemed contracted with some inexplicable dread. What if after all He were the Son of God? What if He should strike him dead by some unseen subtle force? Oh, if that daughter of his in the corner would but break the silence, instead of sitting gazing in vacancy at the moon!
So versed was he in hunting for the dark spots of vice in human nature, that the few shining ones of virtue escaped his view; thus he found himself suspecting for an instant that even his own daughter might be plotting to defeat him.
"Jesus of Nazareth."
Wide open were flung the doors, and, between two soldiers, the Nazarene was ushered in. One more drop of anguish to be drunk, one step nearer to the cross! The High Priest was face to face, at last, with the Man he hated, and, at the same time, dreaded. It was a grim satisfaction to see Him bound. Rebekah, cold-eyed, but curious, looked on without a word.
Now the chamber was filling; elders, scribes, Sadducees, a few, very few, Pharisees, all the members of the council, filed in one after another to see the triumph of their High Priest and the degradation of the Christ. Strange men who had been hired to bear false witness, sycophants, liars, usurers, lawyers, a strange medley, jostled each other in the room. Faint and weary, but unflinching still, the Nazarene stood with head erect. But when Caiaphas with loud voice called out, "Ye who do accuse this Man, come forward," none answered to the call, and to the question put forth many times, "What hath this Man done?" no answer came.
Then Caiaphas stamped his feet impatiently, and said: "Do ye mock at me; to bid me condemn this Man, and bring no accusation?"
Two wretched men of the lowest type, men who had bought their lives of Caiaphas, as the price of their corruption, came forward and averred: "This fellow said, 'I am able to destroy the Temple of God, and to rebuild it in three days.'"
But no words came from the lips of the Nazarene; only He raised His liquid eyes to the two men in silent wonderment and reproach; and, abashed, they shrank back into a dark niche in the wall. Then Caiaphas, terrified, awed, baffled, came one step forward. "Answerest Thou nothing?" he said. "What is it which these witness against thee?"
Still silence from the Nazarene and a strange hush throughout the crowded room. Then, overcome with a great terror, fearing lest at any moment the crowd itself should be magnetised into obeisance by this strange meekness, the High Priest cried: "I adjure Thee by the living God, that Thou tell us whether Thou be the Christ, the Son of God."
Adjured by His own self to declare Himself; yielding to an appeal that through all ages will be answered, has been answered by the living God, the living God gave answer: "Thou hast said."
Then, half in fury, half in fear, the High Priest tore the clothes from off him, beginning at the throat, as though he stifled. One, two, three, the ephod lay in ribbons round his body. Never before had the High Priest been seen in such a state of fury, and his frenzy and confusion gave no little pleasure to the assembled crowd of envious priests.
Then, as if to give Caiaphas the one last chance that had been offered Judas—while eternal salvation hovered around the little crowd, and the High Priest quaked with the fear that some might fall in sudden remorse and awakening at the feet of Jesus—He spoke once more: "Hereafter ye shall see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven."
It was as if, in His all-embracing mercy, He had said: "Do not think because ye see Me here in bonds, a lonely, weary man, that it will be always thus. Pause, pause and consider that, one day, you will all see Me again in power, and ye will remember the lowly carpenter who appealed to you in meekness."
But Caiaphas, perturbed beyond endurance, almost to madness, paced the room, tearing his clothes and exclaiming excitedly, in order to veil his perturbation: "He hath spoken blasphemy; what further need have ye of witnesses, behold, now ye have heard His blasphemy."
And so the words that Caiaphas had yearned to hear had been pronounced at last, and one drop more of the bitter cup had been drunk.
But something more than the words of the Nazarene disturbed the equanimity of the High Priest. There was an inexplicable feeling in the air, as though the demons of darkness had been let loose, and the ghosts of supernatural beings came and went; nor could he decide whether it was fancy or sensation. The hours seemed to have halted in their course, and instead of dawn, a cold twilight seemed to have settled on his heart and brain forever. As in a vision, he saw the Son of man descending in the clouds with power. It seemed to him that the voice of the God whom he had pretended to represent on earth, but had mocked and insulted by his actions, called down a curse on him forever. In the twilight he seemed to see his own figure standing in eternal greyness, groping between rocks, seeking, seeking for a light that once had flashed across his eyes and lain for one instant on his soul. A great doubt rose in his heart when he looked round on those upturned faces, exultant in their petty victory, exultant at their High Priest's hesitation. Then over that heart, all riddled with corruption, there stole a sombre pall, like the cloud that settles over the last pale ray of a struggling sun and ends the day; and the decision that ranked him as the foulest murderer on earth was made. But, as moral cowards always do, he needed comrades in his crime.
"What think ye?" he cried at last to the silent crowd; knowing full well their answer, the only answer they durst give, the only answer his soul craved for. And with one voice rose on the stilly night the words "Ish maveth! Ish maveth! [A man of death.] He is guilty of death."
And, all the time, Rebekah looked on mute, and thought of Lazarus.