Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 44
CHAPTER XLIV.
ENFOLDED in the intoxicating elation of earthly bliss, that did not crowd out her peaceful trust and thankfulness and adoration as regards the Christ, the Magdalene walked quickly on. Already the thrills of terrestrial joy, for which her earthly heart was still most fitted, were soothing the graver griefs of separation from the Christ, and she sped fearlessly along the by-path of the Jericho road. It was later than she thought. Olive and cactus, prickly pear and pomegranate trees, all were growing grey and dark; and, as now and then she lifted her eyes and tried to pierce the deepening gloom, great shadows rose in front of her, like screens of night-clouds, against which it seemed she must strike her body, till she came close to them and saw their nothingness swallowed up in farther deeps of shadows; and above, the glow, that had seemed like the eternal eye of God, grew dimmer too, and it was really night.
Presently she became conscious of a strange fear—not of earthly things, but of something about to happen. As a new terror crept into her heart, so a voice seemed to whisper, "Fear not! Fear not!"
Almost she felt a supernatural presence walking by her side. Was it fancy, or was there really in the darkness a faint, golden light, like atoms of heaven-sent glory? Accustomed as she had been to miracles and incomprehensible events, made believable only by the assurance of a great faith and the daily presence of Divinity, little wonder that she strove to still the beatings of her heart, to hear whether voice of angel spoke. Her soul and heart seemed to grow hollow and vaulted and expectant, as if emptying themselves to make room for some great presence to hold the voice of God; and yet she sped on, fearful of she knew not what. Why did the words of the Crucified Saviour haunt her? The words He had murmured through His dying agony to the thief that suffered too: "This day shalt thou be with Me in paradise! "Why in the darkness did she see, as it had stood before her on the darkening mount of Calvary, the beauteous divine face looking upward?
For an instant she doubted whether she had sinned in loving Lazarus. Then all her terrors and her doubts were brought to a sudden ending at the sound of a voice close by.
"Woman!" it said. 'T was a voice she knew, but not a voice divine, nor of a friend, nor yet of man. A woman's voice, deep with set purpose, wrung with hate, and hoarse with loathing. "Woman, I would speak with thee!"
Then all the fearlessness of a noble nature dependent on divine support returned.
"What wouldst thou? Who art thou?" asked the Magdalene.
"I am the daughter of Caiaphas; and thou, thou art the affianced wife of Lazarus. Is not that so?"
" 'T is even so," said the Magdalene, in a sweet, low voice, all the gladness of that bright reality and her true love ringing in her answer.
She was close now to the dark, veiled woman who faced her. The two stood on the pathway, unable to distinguish one another's faces, barely the outline of each other's figures; only their voices and the faint rustle of their clinging garments proving the presence of two human beings in that solitary spot.
"Dost know that I, too, loved Lazarus, whom thou hast filched from me?" asked Rebekah fiercely.
"Alas! I know that thou dost love him, and I grieve for thee, fair maiden," replied the Magdalene. "But thou wouldst not grudge the poor, sinning, penitent Magdalene one little ray of joy in her sad life. I have loved Lazarus dearly for many years; yet it never seemed to me that I, the harlot, should have such joy as to wed Lazarus; and it never could have been, but that the Lord forgave me and washed me from my sins."
"Thou shalt not wed Lazarus," cried out Rebekah, raising her hand as if to strike the Magdalene. "I tell thee thou shalt not, thou shalt not; I will not have it."
"Believe me, maiden, I feel much for your grief; but, if I wed not Lazarus, he will not wed another; why then be jealous of one so lowly as thy servant Mary?"
"I will not have thy pity," cried Rebekah, beyond herself. "Who art thou to dare to pity the High Priest's daughter? Thou sinning harlot, who wert derided of all men and women, till this half-mad Nazarene appeared and made a pastime of the companionship of sinners, because none other would believe on Him."
" 'T is true I was a sinner and a harlot," replied the Magdalene, with downcast eyes and sweet, sad voice. "I was; but there is that in the power of God that can wipe out all sin and set one, with clean feet, afresh along a new path of life, that is all joy, and peace, and faith, and happiness, and love."
"Believest thou this?" asked Rebekah musingly. Then, with renewed wrath and infinite scorn, she added: "Ah, 't is easy for thee to talk of all this inward joy when Lazarus is thy affianced bridegroom, and he loveth thee; but tell me, if I took him from thee, and if he left thee, or if he died, or if he loved another, what wouldst thou say then? Wouldst still have inward joy and peace and trust?"
The night was growing chilly, and a shiver struck the Magdalene's heart at Rebekah's words. She paused a moment to reflect what she would do if the newly opened doors of her heart were shut to again.
If Lazarus should die! It was as if her heart fluttered and fainted within her, and as if from the ebbings of her swooning mind there rose up mystic music on the night air, that only she could hear or understand:
"Yea, I will be with you always, even unto the end of the world."
Then, with strengthened spirit, she raised her head and looked outwards in the gloom, towards where she fancied the eyes of Rebekah were looking for her answer, and she said: "Yea, even if I should lose Lazarus, if he should die, or love another, I would still believe and love the Lord."
While she spoke, Rebekah uttered not a word, and all nature, the creeping things of night, the humming, buzzing things that hang on trees and boughs, all seemed to hush to do obeisance to the soul the Lord had won.
Then, like a beacon from heaven, a faint moon crept out from behind the clouds, so that the two women could just discern each other on the pathway; and the Magdalene looking, saw the face of Rebekah glowing with anger, distorted by a sullen despair and wounded vanity and wrath; and, in her heart, there rose a tender feeling for this woman, who loved and was not loved by Lazarus. And all this time Rebekah's arm was beating with strange, nervous movement beneath her cloak. She found it hard to anger herself with one so meek and gentle as Mary Magdalene; but the fierce, unrelenting, domineering spirit of Caiaphas was strong within her. To be spurned by Lazarus, triumphed over by a harlot, how could so proud a nature brook such ignominy?
"Am I not as beautiful as thou?" she asked, turning, while she did so, without knowing it, her beautiful face upward toward the moon. "Why should Lazarus not love me?"
"Thou art indeed more beautiful than I," replied the Magdalene; "but who can direct love?"
"I tell thee he shall love me," cried Rebekah, growing furious again, like a stormy sea that has been calm during a short lull. "He shall need me, he shall serve me, and, if thou wert not here, I would make him love me. It is thou, thou, who hast beguiled the hearts of thousands of men with thy witchcrafts; thou, who hast united thyself with this prince of darkness that calleth Himself the Christ and is no God at all, who triest by thy foul treacheries to take him from me. I tell thee thou shalt die; or, if thou live and wed Lazarus, then Lazarus shall die a horrible death; and it will be thy pride, thy foul beguilings, that will have caused it."
"I fear thee not," replied the Magdalene, "for the Lord would not permit Lazarus yet to die; or, if He should, He would surely bring him to life another time that he might testify of Him. Thou art mad, most noble maiden, for love of Lazarus. Be calm, be patient, and forget this thing, and turn unto the Lord."
"Ah, thou canst speak like this, who hast thy soul's desire; but I will not have it to be robbed by thee of Lazarus. I tell thee I will not." And she stamped her feet and gazed close into the Magdalene's face.
"I rob thee not, maiden, since he loves thee not," replied the Magdalene; "and this is no place for thee so late. Should any pass, what would they say to see the proud daughter of Caiaphas in the olive groves at night?"
"I care not what they say, so Lazarus loves me not," Rebekah answered waywardly, her voice ending in a sob. "I care not, I know not; only I know that there is no room on earth for thee and me and him; and one must die. Seest thou this?" and she raised a dagger in her hand; in the moon's pale gleam it looked like a flaming needle. "Seest thou this?"
The Magdalene bent her eyes on it, and a great fear crept over her.
"Well, either thou or Lazarus shall die by this. I would rather it were thou; but, if thou weddest Lazarus, then will I kill him."
Helplessly the Magdalene looked around her; but save where, here and there, the moon half-heartedly lit up a tree, the darkness was profound. In her heart she cried to Heaven for help, for her own thoughts were so bewildered that she failed to realise that a great purpose was being accomplished.
Who was she to wed a man so good as Lazarus? Why had she ever thought such sins as hers could end with such mad joy? And Lazarus, what if her love and presence should hamper him along the path he had cut out; what if these two brands, plucked from the fire and united in the fierce flames of earthly passion, should forget—forget their close companionship with the Christ, the Immortal Example, the Stupendous Sacrifice, the gigantic trust He had left behind, the forgiveness, the miracles, the gift of the Holy Spirit, their mission to others? Then a voice that seemed to her as if the Christ still spoke on earth, a voice that, with its music as of low-pitched organs playing by the side of mountain torrents, brought back the remembrance of a holy adoration that pressed out all possibility of lesser or mere earthly love; that voice spoke to her once more the words, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend."
"If it must be Lazarus or I," she murmured faintly—for the flesh is very weak; the weaker, when the spirit is the strongest, as if the devil cried out for his own—"If it must be Lazarus or I, kill me, for Lazarus must testify." And she bared her lovely bosom with proud gesture to the poignard, pressing against it that the pain might be the sooner over, that the sharp steel might sever the cords of life with swifter touch; then she sank on to her knees and, as her head fell back, she cried: "Forgive her, Lord, for she knoweth not. She loveth much; forgive her much as Thou forgavest me. O Lord, receive my soul!"
Then she fell quite back and died, and, as she fell, Rebekah leaned over her and smiled with a hard, triumphant smile, but with the light of madness in her eyes. Then, when the Magdalene moved not, her eyes opened wide with horror, and as the dark red current gushed in a ceaseless torrent to the ground from her white bosom, Rebekah held her hands with horrific terror to her head and watched. At last, once she shrieked; then tore madly through the grove of olive trees towards the home of Caiaphas. And the Magdalene lay dead beneath the dawn-tinted trees, the will of God accomplished. At rest at last.