# Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 35

CHAPTER XXXV.
A DARK veil of grief hung over the home of Bethany. Ever since the night before, when Lazarus had returned from the Garden of Gethsemane, they had sat almost paralysed with grief and dread.
The Lord captured, the Master taken! This indeed seemed the beginning of the end; and the attempted capture of Lazarus made them fear that peace had for ever left their dwelling. The life of Jesus on earth would find its lowly echo in that of Lazarus. At any moment he might be seized, as their Lord had been, captured, taunted, condemned. There would be no safety for the future in that home; and yet they regretted nothing. They had put their shoulder to the wheel and never more would they look back, but the vista that stretched before them was dark and drear; trial, fear, trouble, death. At the end a cross, but behind the cross what glory!
Over and over again Lazarus told them of those bitter moments in Gethsemane, and their tears fell at the recital of the agony of their Lord.
Over and over again Martha murmured, with all a woman's tenderness: "To be sleeping, to be sleeping, while the Lord prayed and wept! Oh that we could be with Him!"
​Then, before dawn, Lazarus had gone to learn the result of the Saviour's interview with Caiaphas, and where He was.
"Thy face doth tell me, thy face doth tell me," cried Mary, stretching out her hands in deep distress when Lazarus returned. "He is condemned! He is condemned!"
"Condemned by Caiaphas," assented Lazarus; "but to-day He is to be taken before Pilate, and the Romans condemn men not so readily."
"Yet He must surely die," said Mary; "and now, for His dear sake, I would that all were over and He once more with the Father."
"Yea, indeed," said Lazarus, a deep depression in his voice. "God grant it may be soon, for I do hear horrors of this night in the prison, how they did taunt and sneer and strike and oh!—I cannot speak of it." He shuddered, while the two women moaned in sympathy at the sufferings of their Lord.
Then rapidly the three made their plans, which required much thought, for their presence at Jerusalem might excite the populace and effect more harm than good; might result even in the death of Lazarus. Yet they would not stay away. So it was settled that the two sisters should go to the house of the Magdalene, while Lazarus remained in the outskirts of the city, ready to be sent for should they need him, though he knew well that he could do but little, either to give solace to his Lord or to protect his sisters. The last act of the tragedy, that had begun with the creation of the world, was about to be performed. Divine power would not, human could not, bid the actors stay their actions. Each horrible ​detail of ignominy and suffering, of trial and of condemnation, had been foretold. Naught else would avail if man was to be saved. As man looks round on man, he wonders where the need to save is shown, or what is worth in man to save.
In the house of the Magdalene they found the virgin mother, who had come from Nazareth for one last look at her God-begotten Son. One by one, believing women added themselves to the little knot of mourners.
Every now and then a disciple, or some friend, came in with gleanings of news that brought sometimes anguish, sometimes comfort, to their souls. At one moment it was a fresh incident of that night's suffering, at another that Pilate would not condemn.
"What sayeth the multitude?" asked the Magdalene of Nicodemus, who came for one brief instant.
"The multitude? What doth the Jewish multitude ever to them who are down-trodden? It treadeth down the more. Every Jew is born thus," replied Nicodemus angrily. "They do cry, 'Crucify Him! Crucify Him!' and they will that Barabbas be released."
"Barabbas for the Lord?" murmured the Magdalene. "It seemeth past man's understanding!"
Towards midday Lazarus came with the news of what had passed before Pontius Pilate. So changed and weary was his face, that Martha and Mary bade him be seated, and refreshed him by bathing his temples in vinegar before they would let him speak; albeit their hearts were bursting with anxiety and eagerness to hear.
​"It is all over; they have condemned Him to be crucified," wailed Lazarus; and great, strong man though he was, his voice broke and tears rose to his eyes. "I can scarce tell ye," he added, crying like a woman. "They scourged Him, scourged our Lord; Pontius Pilate with his own hands scourged Him, and Caiaphas did laugh, they say, with joy; but of that I know not; for I could not stay and not cry out; and, maybe, for every cry of mine they had scourged Him yet again." At his words the Saviour's mother, with a slight groan and a cry, fell fainting to the ground. "I wot not she was here," said Lazarus. "It seemeth to me that my heart and brain have given way. Hearken unto them."
And in the distance, like the bellowing of furious bulls, or the thunder of a torrent that has broken loose and sweeps everything before it, came the dull roar of men with souls so dead as to be lost to all conception of the majesty, the mercy, or the truth of God.
"Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" rose the cry; and strident laughter, and the gibing voices of men, and the shrill shrieks of women combined to form the delirious clamour that rose beneath the midday sun.
Then Mary Magdalene, no longer able to contain herself, threw herself into the arms of Mary, and cried out bitterly: "And all this for my sins, my sins!" Then, with hearts bursting with such grief as those who live in these later days can scarce conceive—a grief peculiar to those few to whom it was given to know and love the Saviour when on earth—they discussed what should they do.
​"We cannot, cannot let Him die." the Magdalene sobbed.
"We cannot leave Him to die alone," said Lazarus. And, all the while, they saw not that the Virgin, in silent grief—for her senses had returned—was searching for a covering for her head and was about to sally forth alone. Her Son, her God to die alone? Never! not if ten thousand swords should oppose her progress to the cross. The loving heart that had effaced itself for thirty years, to let the course of God's will run on untrammelled, would not rebel against the Lord's decree; but no law, either of Jew or Roman, could deny a mother the exquisite agony of seeing her son die.
Since He had been a little child, He had never wanted her, but the link, however mysterious, had been there; the link between the human mother and the divine Son. As an infant, although God, He had stretched out His arms to her, and hers had been ever ready; they would be ready now, outstretched to Him, that He might know that human tenderness was there, side by side with divine submission. Perchance, He might have a message; or to those tortured limbs she might bring some slight relief; at least, when dead, that beauteous head should find no harder resting-place than the Virgin's knee.
"She goeth to Him; we must go too," said Mary. And, silently, they followed the mother of the Lord, whose grief was greater even than theirs; and, while they walked, the Magdalene spoke in low, sweet tones to Lazarus: "Scourged by the hands of Pontius Pilate! But 't was said he sought to save the Lord."
​"Methinks that 't was to save the Lord that he did scourge Him," answered Lazarus. "It seemeth to me that he thought they must needs be satisfied with that, and then would let Him go, for he said, 'I will chastise Him and let Him go.' But 't was the wily Caiaphas and that hell-hound Annas that would not be satisfied, and urged on the people. Oh, had it not been our Lord who stood there, 't would have been a brave sight to see; for all the rulers and their wives and daughters stood round the Judgment Hall to see Him; and to see Pilate and Caiaphas was like watching two cats fighting over one mouse. Like crossed swords were their words, and Caiaphas gnashed his teeth, as if already in hell, at the words of Pilate; for Pilate knoweth full well that there is no fault in Him, and that, from very fear, the High Priest did this thing. Such a populace was there, and men in glittering armour, and priests and elders in costly garments; and, when Pontius Pilate came unto the steps of the Tribunal, he looked as pale as our dear Lord, and his glance did strike across to Caiaphas, and he called out aloud, 'Will ye that I release unto you the King of the Jews?' Oh, one thought that Caiaphas would die of very wrath at the words of Pilate; for ofttimes Pilate hath taunted him that he feared the Jews would make our Master king. But that ignorant people did only cry, 'Release unto us Barabbas, release unto us Barabbas!' Yet Pontius Pilate spake again to the clamouring crowd—'Behold the Man whom ye would crucify!' And all did turn their gaze upon that face, and His eyes did seem to look far off, and His lips were shut; yet I thought I ​heard Him murmur, 'Abba, Father!' Then there was silence, and methought, 'Surely one after another will creep away, for none can look upon that face and still condemn Him'; and methinks, forsooth, they would have let Him go, albeit I know that He needs must die. But Caiaphas, when he did see that all the multitude did waver, did send his false accusers to stand before the Governor; and one said, 'We found this fellow perverting the nation and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that He Himself is Christ and King.' But, when Pilate heard this, which he well knew was false, he said again to the chief priests and to the people, 'People of Israel and all nations, I find no fault in this Man.' Then Caiaphas grew yet more fierce, and, fearing lest our Master should escape him, he sent another false accuser to say, 'He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place. For He is born a Galilean.' And this he said because he knew that, by the law, a Galilean must needs go before Herod, and Herod hateth Pontius Pilate. At this, Pontius Pilate said with a loud voice, 'I wash my hands of this Galilean; take ye Him before Herod.' Then they led Him away, and methought He would have fainted in the crowd that pressed so sore, so weary did He look."
"My Lord, my Lord," the Magdalene murmured.
But Lazarus went on: "And Pilate with a loud voice cried out, 'I am glad that Herod is in Jerusalem at this time, for I see no fault in Him. I cannot condemn Him by the Roman law.' And they do say that for many years hath Herod wished ​to see the Master. And while Pilate's messenger did go to Herod, the multitude did shout continually, 'He hath blasphemed! Crucify Him! Crucify Him!' Aye, 't was like beasts waiting to lick warm blood. Then, all of a sudden, a silence fell on all; then rose a murmur, and a soldier sent by Herod entered, and soon came forth again walking before the Christ and crying out, 'Make way, make way for the King of the Jews!' And as all looked to see what this might mean, behold the Master, arrayed in gorgeous robes and with a crown of thorns upon His head, came forth, and the eyes of all were blinded with His glory; and Caiaphas did bend his head forward to his breast, and looked upward with his eyes, as is his wont; and into his face there came such fear that methought surely Caiaphas hath been defeated and they have in truth proclaimed Him King; but 't was a sorry jest of Herod to Pontius Pilate. Yet Pilate smiled not when his eyes fell on the Christ, but murmured, 'No man saw I ever so like a king.' 'But the people feared to lose Barabbas, and cried out, 'Crucify Him!' and, the while, Pontius Pilate read the missive from the Tetrarch. Then Pilate stood once more on the steps of the Tribunal, and cried out, 'Chief priests, rulers, and people of Israel, ye have brought this Man unto me as one that perturbeth the people, and, behold, I having examined Him before you, have found no fault in Him, touching those things whereof ye do accuse Him; no, nor yet hath Herod, for I sent Him unto him; and lo, nothing worthy of death is done unto Him nor spoken of by Herod. I will therefore chastise Him and release Him.' But, with one ​voice, they cried out like thunder: 'Away with this Man, and release unto us Barabbas!' And again and again Pilate spoke and said, 'Why, what evil hath He done? I have found no cause of death in Him; and I will let Him go.' But they cried more and more, 'Crucify Him! Crucify Him!' At last, when Pilate saw that there would be an uproar with the people, and that some even drew their staves and swords, he cried wearily, 'Take ye Him and crucify Him. Do with Him as ye will, but I find no fault in Him.' And as they led Him away, Pilate followed with his eyes until the Master had left the room; then he sank down in his chair and covered his face with his hands and would speak to no man; and Caiaphas did turn to him with such a look of joy and hate and triumph as never saw I mingled in one face before."
By this time they had joined the vociferating crowd, which, satisfied with its success and weary with the excitement of the day, had not had time to notice the added group to the already swelling multitude.
At sight of the weary face of the Nazarene they could have cried out with anguish. Never was such grief and ignominy beheld before. Thank God, there never will be again! Travel-stained, weary, footsore, bruised and lacerated with the cruel scourge, almost fainting with the weight of the heavy cross in the broiling midday sun, with no covering on His head but the crown of thorns which had torn His brow in bleeding gashes, but which He could not even raise from its position with His bound hands, the world's Saviour staggered on, through taunts ​and gibes and mocking words of false obeisance: "Hail, King of the Jews!" or, "Why dost not unbind Thine hands, Thou Maker of Miracles?"
Suddenly there was a few moments' halt, while they seized on a Cyrenian going by, to load him with the cross. Then the women Jesus loved drew nearer, hoping, if only by some look, to tell Him how their anguished hearts did throb in sympathy with His. He turned and gazed on them, His eyes enfolding first and foremost the mother He loved so well, and whose whole heart was His.
"Daughters of Jerusalem," said the loving voice, that had been for so long mute, whose sweet but searching tones would sound so rarely now on earth, "weep not for Me, but weep for yourselves, and for your children."
But 't was for Him they wept, for their powerlessness to help Him, and for their sins, that were the cause of all His agony. And the virgin mother wept so grievously that it seemed as if her heart must burst and her eyes shed blood for the greatness of her grief.
Then all those who loved the Nazarene and believed in Him recalled the prophet's words: "Her soul shall be pierced with a two-edged sword"; and again, "I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting."
Suddenly a horse, with a Roman soldier on its back, came galloping at full speed through the crowd, scattering to right and left screaming men, women, and children, even knocking some down in his haste.
"Even now will Pilate save Him," the people ​murmured. The horse was flecked with foam, and the man's brow dripped with sweat. The clinking chains of the heavy Roman bridle gleamed in the sun, yet shone not brighter than the sleek flanks of the horse or the crest of the soldier's helmet. But it was no respite for the condemned God he brought.
He cried out: "Lazarus, Lazarus, find Lazarus. The Governor hath need of him."
No sign of terror blanched the face of Lazarus, when, in reverent imitation of his Master, he stepped forward, saying boldly: "I am he."
"His hour hath come," said Martha, her stern brow growing even whiter than before, her strong mouth hardening with dull resignation.
The mute agony in the eyes of the women wrung his heart. So soon! Before the crowd had slaked their thirst with the blood of one, to demand another's! The blow had fallen; both in one day would hang upon the cross. The last act of the drama had begun; better almost that it should be so than this constant scraping of the heart-strings.
Gravely, even solemnly, his sisters kissed him. The Magdalene, distracted as she was with grief, could only stretch out her hands and cry: "Lazarus, my love, my life." And when, with a breaking heart, Lazarus turned to obey the Governor's command, he saw her borne away by helpful arms, her golden hair that was almost trailing in the dust, glowing like a halo of glory round her head.
And, while he walked by the side of the soldier's horse, the multitude, weary already of witnessing the agony of the Nazarene, cried out: "He too will be crucified this day!"
No cheerful cry to end a day of mourning.
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