by Edgar Saltus
CHAPTER VII.
VII.
On the floor of a little room Mary lay, her face to the ground. In herears was the hideousness of a threat that had fastened on her abruptlylike a cheetah in the dark. From below came the sound of banqueting.Beyond was the Bitter Sea, the stars dancing in its ripples; and there inthe shadow of the evergreens was the hut in which that Sephorah lived towhom long ago Martha had forbidden her to speak. Through the lattice camethe scent of olive-trees, and with it the irresistible breath of spring.
In its caress the threat which had made her its own presently was lifted,and mingling with other things fused into them. The kaleidoscope of timeand events which visits those that drown possessed her, and for a secondMary relived a year.
There had been the sudden flight from Magdala, the first days with theMaster, the gorges of the Jordan, the journey to the coast, the glitteringgreen scales of that hydra the sea. Then the loiterings on the banks ofthe sacred Leontes, the journey back to Galilee, the momentary halt atMagdala, the sail past Bethsaida, Capharnahum, Chorazin, the fording ofthe river, the trip to Caesarea Philippi, the snow and gold of Hermon, thevisit to Gennesareth, the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and the return toBethany.
Her recollections intercrossed, scenes that were trivial ousted othersthat were grave; the purple limpets of Sidon, the shrine of Ashtaroth, theinvective at Bethsaida, the transfiguration on the mountain height, thecure of lepers, and the presence that coerced. Yet through them allcertain things remained immutable, and of these, primarily her contactwith the Christ.
To her, Jesus was not the Son of man alone, he was the light of thisworld, the usher of the next. When he spoke, there came to her a sense offrightened joy so acute that the hypostatical union which left even thedisciples perplexed was by her realized and understood. She had the faithof a little child. And on the hills and through the intervales over whichthey journeyed, in the glare of the eager sun or beneath the wattledboughs, the emanations of the Divine filled her with transports socontagious that they affected even Thomas, who was skeptical by birth; andwhen, after the descent from Hermon, two or three of the disciples musedtogether over the spectacle which they had seen, the rhyme of her lipsparted ineffably. She too had seen him aureoled with the sun, dazzling asthe snow-fields on the heights. To her it was ever in that aspect heappeared, with a radiance so intense even that there had been moments inwhich she had veiled her eyes as from a light that only eagles couldsupport. To her, marvels were as natural as the escape of night. AtBeth-Sean she had heard him speak to dumb beasts, and never doubted butthat they answered him. At Dan she had seen a short-eared hare rush to himfor refuge, and follow him afterwards as a dog might do. At Kinnereth hehad called to a lark that from a tree-top was pouring its heart out to themorning, and the lark had fluttered down and nestled in his hand. AtGadara he had tamed wild doves, and a swarm of bees had stopped andglistened in his hair. At Caesarea, when he began to speak, the thrushesthat had been singing ceased; and when the parables were delivered, begananew, louder, more jubilant than before, and continued to sing until heblessed them, when they mounted in one long ascending line straight to thezenith above. At his approach the little gold-bellied fish of the Leonteshad leaped from the stream. In the suburbs of Sidon the jackals had fawnedat his feet. The underbrush had parted to let him pass, and where hepassed white roses came and the tenderness of anemones. At times he seemedto her immaterial as a shadow in a dream, at others appalling as thedesert; and once when, in prayer, she entered with him into the intimacyof the infinite, she caught the shiver of an invisible harp whose notesseemed to fall from the night. And as she journeyed, her love expandedwith the horizon. She loved with a love no woman's heart has transcended.In its prodigality and ascending gammes there was place for nothing savethe Ideal.
The little band meanwhile lived as strangers on earth. Out of her abundantmeans their simple wants were supplied. She was less a burden than asustenance; her faith bridged many a doubtful hour; and when, as oftenoccurred, they disputed among themselves concerning their future rank andprecedence, Mary dreamed of a paradise more pure.
One evening, near the rushes of Lake Phiala, where the Jordan leaps anewto the light, a Greek merchant who had refused them shelter at Seleuciaambled that way on an ass, and would have stopped, perhaps, but one of theband scoffed him, and he rode on, and disappeared in the haze of thehills.
Unobserved, the Master had seen and heard; presently he called them towhere he stood.
"Do not think," he admonished--"do not think that because you imitate thePharisees you are perfecting your lives. They fast, they pray, they weep,and they mortify the flesh; but to them one thing is impossible, charityto the failings of others. Whoso then shall come to you, be he friend orfoe, penitent or thief, receive him kindly. Aid the helpless, console theunfortunate, forgive your enemy, and forget yourselves--that is charity.Without it the kingdom of heaven is lost to you. There, there is neitherGreek nor Jew, male nor female; nor can it come to you until the garmentof shame is trampled under foot, until two are as one, and the body whichis without is as the soul within."
Thereat, with a gesture of exquisite indulgence, he turned and left themto the stars.
Mary had heard, and in the palingenesis disclosed she saw space wrapped ina luminous atmosphere, such as she fancied lay behind the sun. There,instead of the thrones and diadems of the elect, was an immutable realm inwhich there was neither death nor life, clear ether merely, charged withbeatitudes. And so, when the disciples disputed among themselves, Marydreamed of diaphanous hours and immaculate days that knew no night, and inthis wise lived until from the terrace of Jerusalem's Temple the Masterbade her return to Bethany and wait him there.
Obedience to that command was bitter to her. She did not murmur, however."Rabboni," she cried, "let me but do your will on earth, and afterwardssave me or destroy me as your pleasure is."
With that she had gone to her sister's house, and to the bewildered Marthapoured out her heart anew. There could be no question of forgiveness now,of penitence even; her sins, such as they were, had been remitted by oneto whom pardon was an attribute. And this doubtless Martha understood, forshe took her in her arms unreproachfully and mingled her tears with hers.
Where all is marvel the marvellous disappears. To the accounts which Marygave of her journeys with the little band that followed the Master, Marthalistened with an attention which nothing could distract. With her shesailed on the lovely lake; with her she visited cities smothering in thescent of cassia and of sugar-cane; with her she passed through glens wherepanthers prowled, and bandits crueller than they. With her eyes she sawthe listening multitudes, with her ears she heard again the words ofdivine forgiveness; and, the lulab and the citron in her hands, sheassisted at the Feast of the Tabernacles, and watched the vain attempt tocharm the recalcitrant Temple and captivate the inimical town.
For in Jerusalem, in place of the reassuring confidence of peasants, wasthe irritable incredulity of priests; instead of meadows, courts. Besides,was not this prophet from Galilee, and what good had ever come from there?Then, too, he was not an authorized teacher. He belonged to no school. Thefollowers of Hillel, the disciples of Shammai, did not recognize him. Hewas merely a fractious Nazarene trained in the shop of a carpenter; onewho, by repeating that it was easier for a camel to pass through aneedle's eye than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, flatteredbasely the mob of mendicants that surrounded him. The rabble admired, butthe clergy stood aloof. When he was not ignored he was disdained. Save thepleb, no one listened.
Presently he spoke louder. Into the grave music of the Syro-Chaldaictongue he put the mutterings of thunder. Where he had preached, heupbraided; in place of exquisite parables came sonorous threats. Heblessed but rarely, sometimes he cursed. That mosaic, the Law, he treatedlike a cobweb; and to the arrogant clergy a rumor filtered that thisvagabond, who had not where to lay his head, declared his ability todestroy t
he Temple, and to rebuild it, in three days, anew.
A rumor such as that was incredible. Inquiries were made. The rumor wassubstantiated. It was learned that he healed the sick, cured the blind;that he was in league, perhaps, with the Pharisees.
The Sanhedrim took counsel. They were Sadducees every one. The Phariseeswere their hereditary foes. Both were militant, directing men and thingsas best they could. The Sadducees held strictly to the letter of the Law;the Pharisees held to the Law, and to tradition as well. But the Sadduceeswere in power, the Pharisees were not. The former endeavored in every wayto maintain their authority over the people; and against that authority,against the aristocracy, the priesthood, and the accomplices of foreigndominion, the Pharisees ceaselessly excited the mob. In their inability tooverthrow the pontificate, they undermined it. With microscopic attentionthey examined and criticised every act of the clergy; and, with a view ofshowing the incompetence of the priests, they affected rigid theories inregard to ritualistic points. Every detail of the ceremonial office waswatched by them with eyes that were never pleased. They asserted that therolls of the Law from which the priests read the Pentateuch were made ofimpure matter, and, having handled them, the priests had become impure aswell. The manner in which the incense was made and offered, the minutiaegoverning the sacrifices, the legality of hierarchal decisions--on each andevery possible subject they exerted themselves to show the unworthiness ofthe officiants, insinuating even that the names of the fathers of many ofthe priests were not inscribed at Zipporim in the archives of Jeshana. Asa consequence, many of those whose rights the Pharisees affected to upholdsaw in the hierarchy little more than a body of men unworthy to approachthe altar, a group of Herodians who in religion lacked every requisite forthe service of God, and who in public and in private were bankrupts inpatriotism, morality, and shame.
The possibility, therefore, that this fractious demagogue had found favorwith the Pharisees was grave. He was becoming a force. He threatened manya prerogative. Moreover, Jerusalem had had enough of agitators. Peoplewere drawn by their promises into the solitudes, and there incited torevolt. Rome did not look upon these things leniently. If they continued,Tiberius was quite capable of putting Judaea in a yoke which it would notbe easy to carry. Clearly the Nazarene was seditious, and as such to beabolished. The difficulty was to abolish him and yet conciliate the mob.
It was then that the Sanhedrim took counsel. As a result, and with thehope of entrapping him into some blasphemous utterance on which a chargewould lie, they sent meek-eyed Scribes to question him concerning theauthority that he claimed. He routed the meek-eyed Scribes. Then, fancyingthat he might be seduced into some expression which could be construed astreason, they sent young and earnest men to learn from him their duty toRome. The young and earnest men returned crestfallen and abashed.
The elders, nonplussed, debated. A levite suspected that the casuistry andmarvellous cures of the Nazarene must be due to a knowledge of theincommunicable name, Shemhammephorash, seared on stone in the thunders ofSinai, and which to utter was to summon life or beckon death. Another hadheard that while in Galilee he was believed to be in league withBaal-Zebub, Lord of Flies.
To this gossip no attention was paid. Annas, merely--the old high-priest,father-in-law of Caiaphas, who officiated in his stead--laughed to himself.There was no such stone, there was no such god. Another idea had beenwelcomed. A festival was in progress; there was gayety in theneighborhood, drinking too; and as over a million of pilgrims were herdedtogether, now and then an offence occurred. The previous night, forinstance, a woman had been arrested for illicit commerce.
Annas tapped on his chin. He had the pompous air of a chameleon, the samelong, thin lips, the large, protruding eyes.
"Take her before the Galilean," he said. "He claims to be a rabbi; he mustknow the Law. If he acquit her, it is heresy, and for that a charge willlie. Does he condemn her he is at our mercy, for he will have alienatedthe mob."
A smile of perfect understanding passed like a vagrant breeze across thefaces of the elders, and the levites were ordered to lead the prisoner tothe Christ.
They found him in the Woman's Court. From a lateral chamber a priest,unfit for other than menial services because of a carbuncle on his lip,dropped the wood he was sorting for the altar and gazed curiously at theadvancing throng, in which the prisoner was.
She must have been very fair, but now her features were distorted withanguish, veiled with shame. The blue robe she wore was torn, and a sleeverent to the shoulder disclosed a bare white arm. She was a wife, a mothertoo. Her name was Ahulah; her husband was a shoemaker. At the GannathGate, where her home was, were two little children. She worshipped them,and her husband she adored. Some hallucination, a tremor of the flesh, theflush of wine, and there, circled by a leering crowd, she crouched, herlife disgraced, irrecoverable for evermore.
The charge was made, the usual question propounded. The Master had glancedat her but once. He seemed to be looking afar, beyond the Temple and itsterraces, beyond the horizon itself. But the accusers were impatient. Hebent forward and with a finger wrote on the ground. The letters wereillegible, perhaps, yet the symbol of obliteration was in that dust whichthe morrow would disperse. Again he wrote, but the charge was repeated,louder, more impatiently than before.
Jesus straightened himself. With the weary indulgence of one to whomhearts are as books, he looked about him, then to the dome above.
"Whoever is without sin among you," he declared, "may cast the firststone."
When he looked again the crowd had slunk away. Only Ahulah remained, herhead bowed on her bare white arm. From the lateral chamber the prieststill peered, the carbuncle glistening on his lip.
"Did none condemn you?" the Master asked.
And as she sobbed merely, he added: "Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sinno more."
To the elders this was very discomforting. They had failed to unmask himas a traitor to God, to Rome even, or yet as a demagogue defying the Law.They did not care to question again. He had worsted them three times. Norcould they without due cause arrest him, for there were the Pharisees.Besides, a religious trial was full of risk, and the cooeperation of theprocurator not readily to be relied on. It was that cooeperation theyneeded most, for with it such feeling as might be aroused would fall onRome and not on them. As for Pilate, he could put a sword in front of whathe said.
In their enforced inaction they got behind that wall of prejudice wherethey and their kin feel most secure, and there waited, prepared at thefirst opportunity to invoke the laws of their ancestors, laws socumbersome and complex that the Romans, accustomed to the clearestpandects, had laughed and left them, erasing only the right to kill.
At last chance smiled. Into Jerusalem a rumor filtered that the Nazarenethey hated so had raised the dead, that the suburbs hailed him as theMessiah, and that he proclaimed himself the Son of God. At once theSanhedrim reassembled. A political deliverer they might have welcomed, butin a Messiah they had little faith. The very fact of his Messiahshipconstituted him a claimant to the Jewish throne, and as such a pretenderwith whom Pilate could deal. Moreover--and here was the point--to claimdivinity was to attack the unity of God. Of impious blasphemy there was nohigher form.
It were better, Annas suggested, that a man should die than that a nationshould perish--a truism, surely, not to be gainsaid.
That night it was decided that Jesus and Judaism could not live together;a price was placed upon his head, and to the blare of four hundredtrumpets excommunication was pronounced.
Of all of these incidents save the last Mary had been necessarily aware.In company with Johanna, the wife of Herod's steward, Mary, wife ofClopas, and Salome, mother of Zebedee's children, she had heard himreiterate the burning words of Jeremiah, and seen him purge the Temple ofits traffickers; she had heard, too, the esoteric proclamation, "BeforeAbraham was, I am;" and she had seen him lash the Sadducees withinvective. She had been present when a letter was brought from AbgarUchomo, King of Edessa,
to Jesus, "the good Redeemer," in which thepotentate prayed the prophet to come and heal him of a sickness which hehad, offering him a refuge from the Jews, and quaintly setting forth thewriter's belief that Jesus was God or else His Son. She had been present,also, when the charge was made against Ahulah, and had comforted thatunfortunate in womanly ways. "Surely," she had said, "if the Master whodoes not love you can forgive, how much more readily must your husband whodoes!" Whereupon Ahulah had become her slave, tending her thereafter withalmost bestial devotion.
These episodes, one after another, she related to Martha; to Eleazer, herbrother; to Simon, Martha's husband; to anyone that chanced that way. Forit was then that the Master had bade her go to Bethany. For a little spacehe too had forsaken Jerusalem. Now and then with some of his followers hewould venture in the neighborhood, yet only to be off again through thescorched hollows of the Ghor before the sun was up.
These things it was that paraded before her as she lay on the floor of thelittle room, felled by the hideousness of a threat that had sprung uponher, abruptly, like a cheetah in the dark. To Martha and to the others onone subject alone had she been silent, and now at the moment it dominatedall else.
From the day on which she joined the little band to whom the future was togive half of this world and all of the next, Judas had been ever at herear. As a door that opens and shuts at the will of a hand, his presenceand absence had barred the vistas or left them clear. At first he hadaffected her as a scarabaeus affects the rose. She knew of him, and thatwas all. When he spoke, she thought of other things. And as the blindremain unawakened by the day, he never saw that where the wanton had beenthe saint had come. To him she was a book of ivory bound in gold, whosecontents he longed to possess; she was a book, but one from which wholechapters had been torn, the preface destroyed; and when his increasinginsistence forced itself upon her, demanding, obviously, countenance orrebuke, she walked serenely on her way, disdaining either, occupied withhigher things. It was of the Master only that she appeared to think. Whenhe spoke, it was to her as though God really lived on earth; her eyeslighted ineffably, and visibly all else was instantly forgot. At that timeher life was a dream into whose charmed precincts a bat had flown.
These things, gradually, Judas must have understood. In Mary's eyes he mayhave caught the intimation that to her now only the ideal was real; or theidea may have visited him that in the infinite of her faith he disappearedand ceased to be. In any event he must have taken counsel with himself,for one day he approached her with a newer theme.
"I have knocked on the tombs; they are dumb."
Mary, with that grace with which a woman gathers a flower when thinking ofhim whom she loves, bent a little and turned away.
"Have you heard of the Buddha?" he asked. "Babylon is peopled with hisdisciples. One of them met Jesus in the desert, and taught him his belief.It is that he preaches now, only the Buddha did not know of a heaven, forthere is none."
And he added, after a pause: "I tell you I have knocked on the tombs;there is no answer there."
With that, as a panther falls asleep, his claw blood-red, Judas nodded andleft her to her thoughts.
"In Eternity there is room for everything," she said, when he came to heragain.
"Eternity is an abyss which the tomb uses for a sewer," he answered. "Itsflood is corruption. The day only exists, but in it is that freedom whichwaves possess. Mary, if you would but taste it with me! Oh, to mix withyou as light with day, as stream with sea, I would suck the flame thatflickers on the walls of sepulchres."
She shuddered, and he saw it.
"You have taught me to love," he hissed; "do not teach me now to hate."
Mary mastered her revolt. "Judas, the day will come when you will cease tospeak as you do."
"You believe, then, still?"
"Yes, surely; and so do you."
"The day will come," he muttered, "when you will cease to believe."
"And you too," she answered. "For then you will _know_."
The dialogue with its variations continued, at intervals, for months.There were times, weeks even, when he avoided all speech with her. Then,abruptly, when she expected it least, he would return more volcanic thanbefore. These attacks she accustomed herself to regard as necessary,perhaps, to the training of patience, of charity too, and so bore withthem, until at last Jerusalem was reached. Meanwhile she held to her trustas to a fringe of the mantle of Christ. To her the past was a grammar, itsname--To-morrow. And in the service of the Master, in the future which hehad evoked, she journeyed and dreamed.
But in Jerusalem Judas grew acrider. He had fits of unnecessary laughter,and spells of the deepest melancholy. He quarrelled with anyone who wouldlet him, and then for the irritation he had displayed he would make amendsthat were wholly slavish. His companions distrusted him. He had been seentalking amicably with the corrupt levites, the police of the Temple, andonce he had been detected in a wine-shop of low repute. The Master,apparently, noticed nothing of this; nor did Mary, whose thoughts were onother things.
At Bethany one evening Judas came to her. The sun, sinking through clouds,placed in the west the tableau of a duel to the death between a titan anda god. There was the glitter of gigantic swords, and the red of immortalblood.
"Mary," he began, and as he spoke there was a new note in his voice--"Mary,I have watched and waited, and to those that watch how many lamps burnout! One after another those that I tended went. There was a flicker, alittle smoke, and they had gone. I tried to relight them, but perhaps theoil was spent; perhaps, too, I was like the blind that hold a torch. Myway has not been clear. The faith I had, and which, I do not know, butwhich, it may be, would have been strengthened, evaporated when you came.The rays of the sun I had revered became as the threads of shadows,interconnecting life and death. In them I could see but you. In the jaw ofnight, in the teeth of day, always I have seen you. Mary, love is a netwhich woman throws. In casting yours--there! unintentionally, I know--youcaught my soul. It is yours now wholly until time shall cease to be. Willyou take it, Mary, or will you put it aside, a thing forever dead?"
Mary made no answer. It may be she had not heard. In the west both titanand god had disappeared. Above, in a field of stars, the moon hung, ascythe of gold. The air was still, the hush of locusts accentuating thesilence and bidding it be at rest. In a house near by there were lightsshining. A woman looked out and called into the night.
Then, as though moved by some jealousy of the impalpable, Judas leanedforward and peered into her face.
"It is the Master who keeps you from me, is it not?"
"It is my belief," she answered, simply.
"It was he that gave it to you. Mary, do you know that there is a priceupon his head? Do you know that if I cannot slake my love, at least I cangorge my hate? Do you know that, Mary? Do you know it? Now choose betweenyour belief and me; if you prefer the former, the Sanhedrim will have himto-morrow. There, your sister is calling; go--and choose."
It was with the hideousness of this threat in her ears that Mary escapedto the little room where her childhood had been passed and flung herselfon the floor. From beyond came the sound of banqueting. Martha wasentertaining the Lord, his disciples as well; and Mary knew that her aidwas needed. But the threat pinioned and held her down. To accede wasdeath, not of the body alone, but of the soul as well. There was no clearpool in which she might cleanse the stain; there could be no forgiveness,no obliteration, nothing in fact save the loss never to be recovered oflife in the diaphanous hours and immaculate days of which she had dreamedso long.
For a little space she tried to comfort herself. Perhaps Judas was not inearnest; perhaps even he had lied. And if he had not, was there not timein plenty? The desert was neighborly. She could follow the Master there,and minister to him till the sky opened and the kingdom was prepared. Andthe threat, coupled with that perspective, charmed, and for the moment hadfor her that enticement which the quarrels and kisses of children equallypossess. She would warn him secretly, she
decided, for surely as yet hedid not know; she would warn him, and before the sun was up he could bebeyond the Sanhedrim's reach, and she preparing to follow. For a momentshe lost herself in anticipation; then, the threat loosening its hold, shestood up, her face very white in the starlight, her eyes brave and alert.Already her plan was formed; and, taking a vase that she had brought withher from Magdala, she hurried to the room below.
The Master; the disciples; Eleazer, her brother; Simon, her sister'shusband, were all at meat. Martha was serving, and as Mary entered Judasstood up. She moved to where the Master was, and on him poured thecontents of the vase. Thomas sniffed delightedly, for now the room wasfull of fragrance. The Master turned to her and smiled; the homageevidently was grateful. Mary bent nearer. Thomas and Bartholomew joined inloud praises of the aroma of the nard, and under cover of their voices shewhispered, "Rabboni, the Sanhedrim has placed a price on----"
The whisper was drowned and interrupted. Judas had shoved her away. "Towhat end is this waste?" he asked; and as Mary looked in his face she sawby the expression in it that her purpose had been divined and her warningoverheard.
"It is absurd," he continued, with affected anger. "Ointment such as thathas a value. It might better have been saved for the poor."
Thomas chimed in approvingly; placed in that light it was indeed anextravagance, unnecessary too, and he looked about to his comrades forsupport. Eleazer and Peter seemed inclined to view the matter differently.A discussion would have arisen, but the Master checked it gently, as washis wont.
"The poor are always with you, but me you cannot always have."
As he spoke he turned to Judas with that indulgence which was to be aheritage.
Could he _know_? Judas wondered. Had he heard what Mary said? And, theMaster's speech continuing, he glanced at her and left the room.
The moon had mowed the stars, but the sky was visibly blue. Behind theshoulder of Olivet he divined the silence of Jerusalem, the welcome of theSadducees, the joy of hate assuaged. There was but one thing now thatmight deter; and as his thoughts groped through that possibility, Marystood at his side.
"Judas----"
He wheeled, and, catching her by the wrists, stared into her eyes.
"Is it yes?"
A shudder seized her. There was dread in it, anguish too, and both weremortal. He had not lied, she saw, and the threat was real.
"Is it yes?" he repeated.
There may be moments that prolong, but there are others in which time nolonger is; and as Mary shrank in the blight of Judas' stare, both feltthat the culmination of life was reached.
"No!"
The monosyllable dropped from her lips like a stone, yet even as it fellthe banner of Maccabaeus unfurled and flaunted in her face; the voice ofEsther murmured, and a vision of Judith saving a nation visited her, and,continuing, made spots on the night.
Judas had flung her from him. She reeled; the violence roused her. Who wasshe to consider herself when the security of the Master was at stake? Howshould it matter though she died, if he were safe?
"It is my soul you ask," she cried. "Take it. If I had a thousand souls, Iwould give each one for Him."
But she cried to the unanswering night. Where the road curved about theshoulder of the Mount of Olives, for one second she saw a white robeglisten. Agonized, she called again, but there was no one now to hear.
A little later, when the followers of the Lord issued from the house, Marylay before the door, her eyes closed, her head in the dust. They touchedher. She had fainted.
