_The Fall of Onias_
[Sidenote: After the Conflict]
While the people were in a state of the wildest triumph, the joy of
their leaders was tempered by many formidable reflections. The power of
the enemy was still unshaken; the surprise of a single garrison, tho a
distinguished evidence of what might be done by native valor, was trivial
on the scale of a war that must be conducted against the mistress of
the civilized world. The policy of Rome was known; she never gave up a
conquest while it could be retained by the most lavish and persevering
expenditure of her strength. Her treasury would be stripped of every
talent, and Italy left without a soldier, before she would surrender the
most fruitless spot, an acre of sand or a point of rock in Judea.
I went forth, but not among the leaders nor among the people; I turned
away equally from the council and the triumph. A deeper feeling urged
me to wander round those courts where my spirit had so often turned in
my exile. The battle had reached even there, and the pollution of blood
was on the consecrated ground. The Roman soldiers, in their advance, had
driven the people to take refuge in the cloisters of the Temple, and the
dead lying thickly among the columns showed how fierce even that brief
and partial struggle had been. With a torch in my hand, I trod through
those heaps of what once was man to have one parting look at the scene
where I had passed so many blameless hours. I stood before the porch of
my own cloister, almost listening for the sound of the familiar voices
within. The long interval of time was compressed into an instant.
[Sidenote: The Return Home of Salathiel]
I awoke from this reverie with something like scorn at the idleness
of human fancy, and struck open the door. There was no answer; but
the bolts, loosened by time, gave way, and I was again the master of
my mansion. It had been uninhabited since my flight; why, I could not
conceive. But as I passed from room to room I found them all as if they
had been left but the hour before. The embroidery, which Miriam wrought
with a skill distinguished even among the daughters of the Temple, was
still fixed in its frame before the silken couch; there lay the harp that
relieved her hours of graceful toil; the tissued sandals were waiting for
the delicate feet; the veil, the vermilion mantle that designated her
rank, the tabor, the armlets and necklaces of precious stones, still hung
upon the tripods, untouched by the spoiler. There was but one evidence
of time among them—but that bore its bitter moral. It was the dust that
hung heavy upon the curtains of precious needlework and chilled the
richness of the Tyrian purple—decay, that teacher without a tongue, the
lonely emblem of what the bustle of mankind must come to at last; the
dull memorial of the proud, the beautiful, the brave! All was the silence
of the tomb! With the torch in my hand, throwing its red reflection on
the walls and remembrances round me, I sat, like the mummy of an Egyptian
king in the sepulcher—in the midst of the things that I had loved, yet
forever divorced from them by an irresistible law!
I impatiently broke forth into the open air. The stars were waning; a
gray streak of dawn was whitening the summit of the Mount of Olives. As
I passed by Herod’s palace and lifted my eyes in wonder at the unusual
sight of a group of Jews keeping watch, where but the day before the
Roman governor lorded it and none but the Roman soldier durst stand, I
saw Jubal hurrying out and making signs to me through the crowd, from
the esplanade above. I was instantly recognized, and all made way for
my ascent up those gorgeous and almost countless steps of porphyry that
formed one of the wonders of Jerusalem.
“We have been in alarm about you,” said he hastily; “but come to the
council; we have wasted half the night in perplexing ourselves. Some are
timid, and call out for submission on any terms; some are rash, and would
plunge us unprepared into the Roman camps. There are obviously many who
without regard for the hope of freedom or the holiness of our cause, look
upon the crisis only as a means of personal aggrandizement. And lastly,
we are not without our traitors, who confound all opinions and who are
making work for Roman gold and iron. Your voice will decide. Speak at
once, and speak our mind; your kinsmen will support it with their lives.”
[Sidenote: A Vast Assemblage]
The council was held in the amphitheater of the palace. The heads of
families and principal men of the people had crowded into it until the
council, instead of the privacy of a few chieftains, assumed the look
of a great popular assembly. Tens of thousands had forced themselves
into the seats; every bosom responding to every accent of the orator, a
mighty instrument vibrating through all its strings to the master’s hand.
Accustomed as I was, by the festivals of our nation, to the sight of
great bodies of men swayed by a common impulse, I stopped in astonishment
at the entrance of the colossal circle. Three-fourths of it was almost
totally dark, giving a shadowy intimation of human beings by the light
of a few scattered torches, or the feeble dawn that rounded the extreme
height with a ring of pale and moon-like rays. But in the center of the
arena a fire blazed, and showed the leaders of the deliberation seated in
the splendid chairs once assigned to the Roman governors and legionary
tribunes. Eleazar filled the temporary throne.
[Illustration: “The archer dropped dead, with the arrow still on his bow.”
[_see page 60._
Copyright, 1901, by Funk & Wagnalls Company, N. Y. and London.]
[Sidenote: The Shadow of Rome]
The chief man of the land of Ephraim was haranguing the assembly as I
entered. “Go to war with Rome!”[14] pronounced he; “you might as well go
to war with the ocean, for her power is as wide; you might as well fight
the storm, for her vengeance is as rapid; you might as well call up the
armies of Judea against the pestilence, for her sword is as sweeping, as
sudden, and as sure. Who but madmen would go to war without allies? and
where are yours to be looked for? Rome is the mistress of all nations.
Would you make a war of fortresses? Rome has in her possession all your
walled towns. Every tower from Dan to Beersheba has a Roman banner on its
battlements. Would you meet her in the plain? Where are your horsemen?
The Roman cavalry would be upon you before you could draw your swords,
and would trample you into the sand. Would you make the campaign in the
mountains? The Roman generals would disdain to waste a drop of blood upon
you; they would only have to block up the passes and leave famine to do
the rest. Harvest is not come, and if it were, you dare not descend to
the plains to gather it. You are told to rely upon the strength of the
country. Have the fiery sands of the desert, or the marshes of Germany,
or the snows of Scythia, or the stormy waters of Britain defended
_them_? Does Egypt, within your sight, give you no example? A land of
inexhaustible fertility, crowded with seven millions of men passionately
devoted to their country, opulent, brave, and sustained by the countless
millions of Africa, with a country defended on both flanks by the
wilderness, in the rear inaccessible to the Roman, exposing the narrowest
and most defensible front of any nation on earth; yet Egypt, in spite of
the Libyan valor and the Greek genius, is garrisoned at this hour by a
single Roman legion! The Roman bird grasping the thunder in its talons,
and touching with one wing the sunrise and with the other the sunset,
throws its shadow over the world. Shall we call it to stoop upon us? Must
we spread for it the new banquet of the blood of Israel?”
[Sidenote: The Influence of Onias]
How different is the power of speech upon men sitting in the common,
peaceful circumstances of public assemblage, from its tyranny over
minds anxious about their own fates! All that I had ever seen of public
excitement was stone and ice to the burning interest that hung upon every
word of the orator. The name of Onias was famous in Judea, but I now saw
him for the first time. His had been a life of ambition, compassed often
by desperate means, and wo be to the man who stood between him and his
object. By the dagger and by subserviency to the Roman procurators he
had risen to the highest rank below the throne. In the distractions of a
time which broke off the regular succession of the sons of Aaron, Onias
had even been High Priest; but Eleazar, heading the popular indignation,
had expelled him from the Temple after one month of troubled supremacy. I
could read his history in the haughty figure and daring yet wily visage
that stood in bold relief before the central flame. But to the assemblage
his declamation had infinite power; they listened as to the words of life
and death; they had come, not to delight their ears with showy periods,
but to hear what they must do to escape that inexorable fury which might
within a few days or hours be let loose upon every individual head. All
was alternately the deepest silence and the most tumultuous agitation.
At his strong appeals they writhed their athletic forms, they gnashed
their teeth, they tore their hair; some crouched to the ground with their
faces buried in their hands, as if shutting out the coming horrors; some
started upright, brandishing their rude weapons and tossing their naked
limbs in gestures of defiance; some sat bending down and throwing back
their long locks, that not a syllable might escape; others knelt, with
their quivering hands clasped and their pallid countenances turned up in
agony of prayer. Many had been wounded, and their foreheads and limbs,
hastily bound up, were still stained with gore. Turbans and robes, rent
and discolored with dust and burning, were on every side, and the whole
immense multitude bore the look of men who had but just struggled out of
some great calamity to find themselves on the verge of one still more
irremediable.
The orator found that his impression was made, and he hastened to the
close. For this he reserved the sting. “If it be the desire of those
who seek the downfall of Judah that we should go to war, let it be the
first wisdom of those who seek its safety to disappoint, to defy, and to
denounce them.” The words were followed by a visible movement among the
hearers. “Let an embassy be instantly sent to the proconsul,” said he,
“lamenting the excesses of the night and offering hostages for peace.”
The silence grew breathless; the orator, wrapped in his robe, and bending
his head, like a tiger crouching, waited for the work of the passions;
then suddenly starting up and fixing his stormy gaze full on Eleazar,
thundered out: “And at the head of those hostages, let the incendiary who
caused this night’s havoc be sent, and sent in chains!”
[Sidenote: Salathiel Turns the Tide]
The words were received with fierce applause by the assemblage, and
crowds rushed into the arena to enforce them by the seizure of Eleazar.
I glanced at him; his life hung by a hair, but not a feature of his
noble countenance was disturbed. I sprang upon the pavement at the foot
of the throne; every moment was precious; the multitude were raging
with the fury of wild beasts. My voice was at length heard; the name of
Salathiel had become powerful, and the tumult partially subsided. My
words were few, but they came from the heart. I asked them, was it to be
thought of that they should deliver up men of their own nation, of their
purest blood, the last scions of the noblest families of Israel, into
the hands of the idolater! And for what crime? For an act which every
true Israelite would glory to have done: for rescuing the altar of the
living God from pollution. I bade them beware of dipping their hands in
righteous blood, for the gratification of a revenge that had for twenty
years poisoned the breast of a hoary traitor to his priesthood and his
country. There was a dead silence. I continued:
“We are threatened with the irresistible power of Rome. Are we to forget
that Rome is at this moment torn with internal miseries, her provinces in
revolt, her senate decimated, her citizens turned into a mass of jailers
and prisoners, and, darkest sign of degradation, that Nero is upon her
throne?” The multitude began to be moved.
“Whom,” said I, “have we conquered this night? A Roman garrison. Where
have we conquered them? In the midst of their walls and machines. By
whom was the conquest achieved? By the unarmed, undisciplined, unguided
men of Israel. The shepherd and the tiller of the ground, with but the
staff and sling, smote the cuirassed Roman, as the son of Jesse smote the
Philistine!”
The native bravery of the people lived again, and they shouted, in the
language of the Temple: “Glory to the King of Israel! Glory to the God of
David!”
[Sidenote: The Declaration of War]
Onias saw the tide turning, and started from his seat to address the
assembly; but he was overpowered with outcries of anger. Furious at the
loss of his fame and his revenge, he rushed through the arena toward
the spot where I stood. Jubal, ever gallant and watchful, bounded to my
side, and seizing the traitor’s hand in the act of unsheathing a dagger,
wrested the weapon from him, and was ready to plunge it in his heart at
a sign from me. Eleazar’s sonorous voice was then first heard. “Let no
violence be done upon that slave of his passions. No Jewish blood must
stain our holy cause. Return, Onias, to your tribe, and give the rest of
your days to repentance.” Jubal cast the baffled homicide from his grasp
far into the crowd.
The universal echo now was “war!” “Ruin to the idolater. War for the
Temple.” “War,” I exclaimed, “is wisdom, honor, security. Let us bow our
necks again, and we shall be rewarded by the ax. The Romans never forgive
until the brave man who resists is either a slave or a corpse; the work
of this night has put us beyond pardon, and our only hope is in arms,
the appeal to that sovereign justice before which nothing is strong but
virtue, truth, and patriotism. War is inevitable.”
My words, few as they were, rekindled the chilled ardor of the national
heart. They were followed by shouts for instant battle. “War against
the world! liberty to Israel!” Some voices began a hymn; the habits of
the people prepared them for this powerful mode of expressing their
sympathies. The whole assembly spontaneously stood up and joined in the
hymn. The magnificent invocation of David, “Let God arise, and let his
enemies be scattered,” ascended in solemn harmonies on the wings of the
morning. It was heard over the awaking city, and answered; the chant of
glory spread to the encampments on the surrounding hills, and in every
pause we heard the responses rolling on the air in rich thunder.