AT THE GATE BEAUTIFUL.

The long hours of the morning had worn themselves away, the sunshine had ceased to glitter on the wonderful carved bra.s.s of the great gate Shushan some three hours since. One without, standing on the marble pavement, might admire the marvels of Corinthian workmanship without an undue dazzling of the vision; so also might the lame man, who lay on his mat a little to one side of the entrance. Yet was he paying scant heed to the grandeur of his surroundings. He lay at the gate of the temple, which was called "Beautiful," not because it was beautiful, but because through it pa.s.sed a stream of worshippers to and from the well-nigh ceaseless services of prayer and praise within. These all carried their money within their hand, since it was not lawful to enter the sacred enclosure having one's gold or silver within a purse nor indeed anywhere about the person save in the hand only. So the lame man profited by the law, inasmuch as many cast a coin into his bosom who might otherwise have been in too much haste for prayer to have fetched out their purses for a beggar.

On this day, however, the hands of the many had remained tightly closed upon their treasure, not only when they went in to bow themselves before the All-Giver, but also when they came out.

The lame man looked at them as they pa.s.sed by him with unseeing eyes.

He wondered what blessing these men with their hard, worldly-wise faces and closed fists had asked of the Almighty; he also wondered if they had received. He himself went but seldom within the gates. He could not approach too near the Holy Place because of his infirmity. G.o.d had declared that such as the lame, the halt and the blind were unholy and displeasing in his sight, so the priests taught. But he had been lame from his birth and was sadly accustomed to this and other miseries of his lot. For forty years his soul had looked from the windows of his prison-house upon the world. In these forty years he had ceased to look for happiness, but he had learned to be silent and to endure, which is perhaps better.

He had heard tales of the man Jesus, who had healed many; once he had begged his bearers to carry him to the healer that he also might be restored, but they had refused.

"Thou art able to earn the bread which thou eatest, and also to recompense us, who fetch thee back and forth from the temple gate; if thou art healed, what canst thou do more? thou art already old. There is no profit in having thee healed, therefore remain as thou art."

So he had remained as he was, and now the man Jesus was dead, crucified, and there was no further chance that he might be healed. He regretted it patiently; one learns to be patient even in one's regrets during forty years. But he often thought of the man who had been crucified.

The priests had done it, he had been told; in secret he hated the priests, and for this thing he hated them the more. Why should they kill the man because he had healed upon the Sabbath day? he thought bitterly; but he said nothing, for there was no one who cared for his thoughts.

Presently he bethought himself to take account of his gains for the day, since the hour of sunset was drawing on apace. "'Tis not enough," he muttered, as he counted the copper coins from his greasy pouch. "I must pay Nicolas and Obed, else they will not fetch me home; I like not to stay here by night, the wind from the valley is chill." Then he lifted his head and saw two men ascending the marble steps. They were not rich, his experienced eye told him that, but it was not from the rich that he expected alms. They were too busy thinking of the ritual which they were going to repeat, or which perchance they had just repeated without a flaw; and the pieces of money within their hand were sure to be gold, or at least silver, neither meet for a beggar. No, it was from women going humbly in to their outer court of worship, or from children, that he received, or from such men as these in the plain garb of Galilean peasants. Therefore the beggar lifted up his voice with some confidence and cried aloud in the words which his mother--when she found that he was a hopeless cripple--had taught him, and which he had repeated many times each day since.

"Sons of Abraham! Chosen of Jehovah! have mercy, I beseech thee, on one lame from his birth! Give unto me from thy heaven-bestowed bounty; so will G.o.d recompense thee fourfold."

The two men stopped and looked at him intently, and the beggar repeated his cry, stretching forth his lean hand imploringly and lifting his ragged robe to show the helpless and shrunken limbs beneath. "They will give," he thought within himself. "It will not be much, but it has been a bad day with me so far, and every little helps."

"Look on us," said the older of the two men imperatively.

The beggar obeyed, marvelling within himself at the singular brightness of the man's eyes. He began to think that perhaps for once he had been mistaken, and that these men, despite their humble apparel, were after all rich and important.

"Silver and gold have I none," said the man, still holding the beggar's expectant gaze with his powerful eye, "but such as I have, give I thee.

In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk."

A thrill of hope pa.s.sed into the beggar's starved soul; his heart beat violently, his eyes grew dim, he again stretched forth his hand, scarcely knowing what he did; it was seized in a strong grasp, and he felt himself raised to his feet--the feet upon which he had never stood in all the forty years of his life. His heart leaped within his bosom with a strange and wonderful joy. Involuntarily his feet leaped also, he could not help it. He clung to his deliverers, weeping out incoherent blessings and prayers. Then, walking and leaping, he entered into the temple with them, and remembering that he was no longer a cripple, and that now he might approach G.o.d freely, he cried aloud in his joy, not standing according to the law, with feet close together, hands upon his breast and head bowed, but walking and leaping and praising jubilantly with a loud voice. He knew that he had received, therefore his full soul overflowed its bounds.

As for the rest of the worshippers, who had prayed according to the law, and in whose souls there surged no such tumultuous happiness--and why indeed should there?--they were greatly disturbed at this unseemly exhibition. They looked askance at the strange ragged figure singing aloud of his wonderful deliverance, and they shook their heads and frowned. "Go forth into the porch," commanded certain who were in authority, "until we shall look into this matter."

And the beggar, nothing loth, obeyed, still clinging to his deliverers and praising more loudly than ever.

"Who art thou?" he cried. "Tell me, for I would know; mayhap ye be angels in the garb of men."

"Nay, we are but disciples of the crucified one, Jesus of Nazareth.

'Tis by faith in his name that we have been able to heal thee, and not by our own power."

And when the beggar heard the name, Jesus, he praised G.o.d yet more loudly.

Now all the people hearing the voice of the beggar ran together in the porch, which is called Solomon's, to see what had happened; and when they saw him that had been lame, walking and leaping as he praised G.o.d, they were filled with wonder. Some ran to the gate Beautiful to make sure that it was he and no other, but they found there only the empty mat on which the beggar had lain, and they returned marvelling more than ever.

"Behold!" they whispered, pointing out Peter one to another, "It was the man yonder who performed the miracle. It must needs be that he is most holy, that he hath kept the law without failure of jot or t.i.ttle, that he can do such marvels."

But when Peter perceived this he said unto the people: "Ye men of Israel, why wonder ye at this, or why look ye so earnestly upon us, as though by our own power or holiness we had made this man to walk? The G.o.d of Abraham, and of Israel, and of Jacob, the G.o.d of our fathers hath glorified his son Jesus, whom ye delivered up and denied in the presence of Pilate when he had determined to release him. Ye rejected the holy and righteous one and asked that a murderer should be granted you; but the giver of life ye killed. Yet hath G.o.d raised him again from the dead, whereof we are witnesses. By faith in his name hath this man been made whole, whom also ye see and have known. Yea, the faith which is by him hath given him this perfect soundness in the presence of you all.

And now, brethren, I know that in ignorance ye did these things, as also your rulers; what G.o.d before announced by the mouth of all his prophets that the Christ should suffer, he thus fulfilled. Repent, therefore, and turn ye, that your sins may be blotted out, so may the times of refreshing come from the presence of the Lord. And he shall send the Christ who hath been before proclaimed unto you, even Jesus; yet he must needs remain in the heavens till the time cometh when all things shall be restored, which time hath G.o.d spoken of by the mouth of his holy prophets since the world began. For Moses said unto the fathers, 'A prophet shall the Lord your G.o.d raise up unto you of your brethren, like unto me. To him shall ye harken in all things whatsoever he shall say unto you. And it shall come to pa.s.s that every soul which will not hear him shall be utterly destroyed from among the people.' Yea, and all the prophets from Samuel and them that follow after, as many as have spoken, have likewise foretold of these days. Ye are the sons of the prophets, and of the Covenant which G.o.d made with our fathers, saying unto Abraham, 'and in thy seed shall all the kindreds of the earth be blessed.' Unto you first, G.o.d, having raised up his son Jesus, sent him, that he might bless you in turning away every one of you from his sins."

And all the people paid heed unto him; and many wept aloud for joy when they heard that they might be forgiven for their part in the crucifixion of Jesus. They had not forgotten that day, nor how they had cried "Away with him--away with him! Crucify him--crucify him!" Nor had they forgotten the terror of darkness at midday and the earthquake, nor the terrible sentence which they had p.r.o.nounced upon themselves: "His blood be upon us and upon our children." Many times had they cried in secret what also they had said on that day, "We are undone--we are undone!"

Therefore believed they with gladness the word which Peter had spoken unto them, and they prayed aloud that G.o.d would forgive them their blood-guiltiness. But as Peter and John would have spoken further unto them, the Priests and officers of the temple and the Sadducees came suddenly upon them.

"What mean ye, blasphemers?" they said, "that within the sacred precincts of the temple ye do preach in the name of an accursed malefactor the resurrection from the dead. These things shall not be."

And they locked them up until the next day, for it was now eventide. As for the beggar that had been healed, they put him in hold also, that they might examine him at their leisure.

CHAPTER XII.

IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBER.

Annas sat quite alone in the council chamber of the Sanhedrim. He had come early in order that he might set in order certain papers, and also that he might with due deliberation determine the course of procedure for the morning's session. But this was not easy; things looked dubious for the success of his enterprise; he was forced to acknowledge as much to himself.

"This miracle now," he thought, stroking his h.o.a.ry beard reflectively, "was a most unfortunate thing--most untimely. The mult.i.tude seem quite carried away by it. Should we adopt violent measures with these pernicious persons it would, I fear, fail to commend itself to the populace."

At this point in his cogitations he was disturbed by the sound of a slow heavy step ascending the stair; the door opened and Caiaphas entered.

Annas looked at him in surprise, noting with cold disapproval his haggard face, his disordered apparel, his shaking hands.

"I am astonished," he said, bringing his critical gaze to a standstill upon the uneasy eyes of his son-in-law, "astonished, indeed I may say that I am not well pleased to see thee here this morning, my son. Thou hast the look of a man who should be within the walls of his sick chamber. The ministrations of my daughter's skilful hand will surely prove more acceptable to thee in thy present state than the deliberations of statecraft. I pray thee let me command for thee a litter."

"Hold!" said Caiaphas, grasping the old man by the arm. "Hear what I have to say to thee first," and he lowered his voice to a husky whisper.

"Thy daughter is no longer my wife."

"What dost thou mean, man? Thou art mad!"

"Nay, I am not mad; would that I were!" said the other faintly.

"I repeat that thou art mad," cried Annas, his eyes blazing with a scornful fire. "What! my daughter repudiated by _thee_?"

"She hath become a follower of the Nazarene," said Caiaphas dully.

"Could she longer be wife of mine?"

"Where is she?"

"She hath gone to them."

Annas was silent for a time. "If what thou sayest be no figment of a disordered brain," he said deliberately, "then I say thou hast done well. No longer wife of thine, she shall be no longer daughter of mine.

She is henceforth one of the followers of him whom we hanged upon the accursed tree. As for them, shall I tell thee what shall shortly come to pa.s.s?"

The younger man made no reply.

"When men would plant grain in a field which hath been a wilderness,"

continued Annas, still in the same icy, deliberate tones, "they root up the tares and utterly destroy them with fire. This shall we do with these mischievous and deadly weeds that be winding their poisonous roots about the only props that remain to our suffering nation, the temple and the home. But let not this thing be spoken of--the matter of the woman, I mean. There is no need to make our name a byword and a hissing; she hath for the present gone to pay a visit; later we shall, perhaps, devise a way to secretly rid ourselves----"

"What!" cried Caiaphas, starting up. "Wouldst thou----?"

"Hist, man, the others are coming!--wilt thou remain? We shall this morning concern ourselves with this very matter."