Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 38
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
LIKE Pilate, Caiaphas also paced his room, but with what different thoughts! Terror, too, was his, but the terror only of some horrible death, some awful retribution that would fall on him, though its form was hidden from him. This morning he had triumphed, he had wrung the heart of Pilate, but his triumph had not been unalloyed. He knew that both Herod and Pilate despised him for the act, and till he had heard that the Nazarene had breathed His last he had felt a lurking dread of what he knew not. Then how would the people take it? He had seen oft in history that from a national success had sprung a national hatred. The poor, the maimed, the blind, would they form an alliance and make Lazarus their head? Two rulers had disappeared from the council of the Synagogue Nicodemus and Lazarus; two powerful, wealthy men. And they had sent no word to him. What did their silence mean? For crafty people dread ever silence. They are afraid of secret machinations, of the sudden outbursts of revolutions, of unlooked-for actions, the outcome of cabals. Every one is in league to intrigue against them, because a life without intrigue appears to them impossible. Every one hates them, for they know that in themselves is nothing lovable.
What strange foreboding of horror was this that haunted him? What meant this great unrest? Once more he saw the twilight scene, the rocks, the faint blue light 'twixt morn and night. No loving arms were round him, no sweet voices soothed the lonely horror of his cogitations. Daughter and kindred and wife, all were subordinated to that all-absorbing self that had neither ears nor eyes except for the thing desired, the furthering of ambitious schemes, the fulfilment of self-seeking dreams.
The hours went on, but none brought the joyful news that this Nazarene was crucified. What stirring wonders there might yet be betwixt Jerusalem and Golgotha! Spies brought him word that Pilate still kept within his house, apparently much disturbed. A messenger had been sent after the procession that followed the cross. Two soldiers had been despatched to Golgotha. Wherefore? What did it mean? What hidden plot was gendering in the heart of the proud Governor? He was capable of acting in defiance alike of king and law. What if he had acquiesced in the crucifixion of the Nazarene only to release Him afterwards? What if the Nazarene should come to life again, like Lazarus?
The night wore on, and the harrowing meditations of the High Priest ceased only in the morning, when Annas came, and with him other priests, to discuss the question of the disposal of the thirty pieces of silver scattered by Judas in the Temple court, but since collected. No time should be lost in dealing with this sum.
As if by mutual consent, no one broached the subject that lay next their hearts, the condemning of the Nazarene. Glad of any change that might divert the current of his thoughts, Caiaphas suggested an adjournment to the Temple, there to debate the point with other Jews; but in this he did but cheat himself, for all he yearned for was forgetfulness.
The animated conversation going on amongst the rabbis and the money-changers who hung about the Temple, and their fevered gestures, were ascribed—and rightly too—by Caiaphas and his companions to the stirring events of the previous day; and the obsequiousness of the greetings he received assured him that the crucifixion of the Nazarene had re-established the dominion he had feared to lose.
Presently the name of Judas arrested his attention, and he stopped near a little group of gesticulating Jews.
"We are here," he said, addressing one he knew, "to discuss the question of this money."
"Hast heard the news, rabboni?" replied the man.
"Aye, what news? These are strange times in the which news doth follow news so fast that one knoweth not which precedeth," answered Caiaphas, not wishing to show his curiosity, yet trembling with excitement.
"Iscariot is dead; he was found hanging in the potter's field this morning; and no one knoweth whether he did slay himself, or was slain by the disciples of that Nazarene who, God be praised, can harm us now no more."
"Dead, Iscariot dead?" Caiaphas held out his arm and, with feigned indifference, leaned against one of the great pillars of the Temple for support.
Dead, Iscariot dead! He had scarce grasped the fact when—lo! what was this sudden darkness? Was Caiaphas struck suddenly with blindness, or where were they who had stood around but now? The chief priests, the scribes, the cages of the doves, the little tables, the altarwhere were they all? Was this the end of all? Was this Nazarene truly God?
And, panic-stricken, he smote upon his breast and bowed before the God whose Son he had condemned to death. Then the earth beneath him trembled, and the Temple rocked, and he looked to see it crumble stone from stone. The deepest blackness lasted but a moment, and when the darksome pall had somewhat lifted, and the shivering, crouching Caiaphas dared to raise his eyes, he saw that the veil of the Temple had been torn to pieces. The red, the blue, the purple linen hung in shreds, like a flag that had borne the brunt of battle. The cherubim, too, had been cleft in twain between the wings; and the altar, with its golden candlesticks and shewbread and burnt offerings, was exposed to the public gaze, for thousands were crowding in terror at the darkness, regardless of the High Priest's presence.
And thus ran the thoughts of Caiaphas: He was dead, the Nazarene, so said the people; but would His death free him from his shadowy dread, and restore his peace of mind, his power? Or was more to come? Added horror—would He return in glory as He had said?
With teeth chattering with terror, Caiaphas tried to persuade himself that he had been the victim of some trickery, some illusion. But the shreds of the Temple veil still hung there, mute witnesses of what had been, and the crouching, panic-stricken multitude were living ones; moreover, they must have seen his horror and alarm.
The position was indeed an awful one; but there was no escaping it: he must face it, and endure the penalty; for, if the Nazarene were indeed the Son of God, and if He should return, Caiaphas would find no mercy.
Then, one after another, people came with stories of graves open and risen saints, and heart-rending tales of the last hours of Christ—tales in which terror had lent strength to their imagination. All was confusion and horror and doubt and consternation.
But Caiaphas hurried off the scribes and elders to his house, lest in their alarm they should commit themselves. The rending of the veil was no easy matter to explain away; nor was the darkness (earthquakes, forsooth, were plenteous enough).
"We must speak no word of this in the Sanhedrim, nor amongst the people," enjoined Caiaphas. "Then they will forget, as all else is forgotten. As for those tales of opened graves, I believe them not. Perchance the earthquake did so shake the tombs that, to the terror-stricken people, the clouds of mouldering dust borne upwards by the wind did in the darkness look like shrouded mortals rising to heaven. So must we tell the people, for if the idea of the resurrection do but get abroad 't will be worse even than the preaching of the Nazarene."
"God forbid!" aspired the elders piously. "Already we have suffered enough through this one Man; and this blinded people must be allowed no more to think and reason, and meet to preach and pray, for the indolent do love to idle and to gossip, and are readily misled."
Then, lowering his voice, added another: "Methinks that Lazarus, too, must needs be put to death; else will he follow in the traditions and false doctrines of this Nazarene. Thus peace will be restored in Israel once more."
I know not whether Lazarus be worth the tumult that would ensue. He blasphemeth not, nor calleth himself the Son of God," replied the High Priest unctuously. "It is for blasphemy alone we crucified this Nazarene; for, in all else, He was a righteous man; and 't is ever a hard task to condemn a man, except for blasphemy."
So spoke the High Priest, Caiaphas. He had cheated the Jews, he had sought to cheat his God, but he could not cheat the scribes and rulers, who, with words of farewell and affected homage, then dispersed.