WHAT HAPPENED IN THE ROYAL SYNAGOGUE
The heat of noontide had passed, and Crispus, under the guidance of
Rufus, was spending his time in viewing the city. It might be thought
that the Temple would be the first place visited by him, but this Rufus
reserved for the night, when, by virtue of his office as commandant of
Antonia, he would be able to exhibit that edifice--or as much of it as
was permissible for a Gentile to see--by the tender light of the moon,
and freed from the crowds that frequented its courts during the day.
“And what place is that?” asked Crispus, pointing to a quadrangular
edifice of white stone, over whose portal was written in Hebrew
characters the word “_Shalom_,” or “Peace.”
“The Royal Synagogue, so called,” answered Rufus, necessity here
compelling him to break a certain injunction he had laid upon himself,
“so called as having been raised by the Princess Berenice at her own
private expense. Among the Jews, if you would gain a character for
piety, build a synagogue.”
“Is the worship going on?”
The proximity of a sun-dial enabled Rufus to give an answer. “It is a
little before the ninth hour, which constitutes the _Arabith_, or time
of evening prayer. Worship will begin shortly. You see the pious are
already hurrying thither.”
“I have never yet seen a synagogue service,” said Crispus, “and would
fain see one.”
“I deplore your taste, but for friendship’s sake I’ll accompany you.
’Tis the fashion of the Jews, as you see, to run to their synagogue,
by way of showing their eagerness for divine worship. But we, who are
dignified Romans, can take it more leisurely.”
Discoursing thus, Rufus drew near the Royal Synagogue.
“A small edifice, this, but neat,” he continued. “Now if you want to
see something really splendid in a synagogic shape, go to Alexandria
and view the Diapleuston, with its seventy golden chairs for the
seventy members of the Sanhedrim; and as for size, so vast is it that
the signal for the ‘Amen’ has to be given by the waving of a flag. ’Tis
a striking scene!”
As they stood upon the threshold, Rufus addressed the decurion that was
in attendance upon him. “It is forbidden to wear arms in the synagogue;
therefore, Quintus, take charge of my good sword, and tarry here till I
come again. Doff we our sandals, Crispus, for ’tis the custom to enter
barefoot.”
Access was gained to the interior of the synagogue by a vestibule. Here
stood the doorkeeper. He recognized in Rufus the commandant of Antonia,
and at the latter’s desire conducted the two visitors to a place at the
rear, where, screened by a pillar, they could see without being seen.
The interior of the synagogue was very similar to that of a basilica,
being oblong in shape and divided by pillars into aisles.
The worshipers were ranged, the men on the one side and the women on
the other, a partition about four feet high running between them--a
striking contrast to the modern synagogic usage of placing the women in
side galleries, screened with lattice-work.
At the farther end of the building was a platform or daïs, on which
stood the ark, or coffer, containing the rolls of the sacred books.
Before it rose a golden candlestick, with seven branches.
“A copy of the one in the temple,” observed Rufus.
In front of the platform was a line of seats, whose occupants, mostly
aged rabbis, sat facing the congregation. These were the places of
honor, the “chief seats” so much coveted by every Jew; and here, by
special privilege, as being the foundress of the synagogue, sat the
Princess Berenice.
“Who is that sitting on the right of the princess?” asked Crispus.
For reply Rufus drew forth a golden coin, and pointed to its obverse,
which bore the legend, “Agrippa, the Great King.”
Crispus, knowing that Agrippa’s realm of Chalcis was of less extent
than many a Roman estate, asked:
“In what is he great?”
“In his own esteem, and in the knowledge of his own law, being expert
‘in all customs and questions which are among the Jews.’ We shall
perhaps have the pleasure of hearing him read from the Law and the
Prophets, since he is fond of so doing.”
“And what is that short marble pillar at one side of the daïs?”
“That is the Red Column. Offenders against synagogic discipline are
tied to it and scourged.”
Rufus had scarcely said this when the people rose to their feet, the
customary attitude for prayer.
The shelîach, or “angel,” who presided over this part of the worship
was Simeon, the son of Gamaliel, and he began with an announcement that
caused no little surprise among the members of the congregation.
There was to be made, beginning with that very day, an addition to
the current liturgy of the synagogue, an addition necessitated by the
conduct of those impious sectaries, the Nazarenes.
“Who are the Nazarenes?” whispered Crispus.
“The Christians,” replied Rufus.
It was well known--so ran the tenor of Simeon’s remarks--that in spite
of their changed faith, these apostates, being in no way recognizable,
since they preserved the outward semblance of orthodox Jews, were
in the habit of resorting to the synagogues, and of joining in the
worship, thus defiling the holy people by their presence. As such mixed
worship could not be acceptable to God, the true Jew must take steps
to preserve himself from such defilement. Therefore for the future the
initiatory prayer would be of a character such as no Nazarene could
join in without at the same time abjuring his faith, since it contained
curses directed against Jesus, the son of Panther.[8] That prayer he
would now proceed to recite, and let each member of the congregation
mark well his neighbor, and take due note of him who should refuse to
ratify it with the customary “Amen.”
“Who is Jesus, the son of Panther?” asked Crispus.
“The same as he whom we call Christus. His disciples say that he was
born of a pure virgin--a manifest impossibility. The Jews, with more
reason, assert that his mother committed adultery with a soldier named
Panther.”
Now, as Crispus was passing his eyes over the congregation at this
juncture, he happened to see what had hitherto escaped his notice.
Vashti was standing among the worshipers. She was pale, very pale;
the expression of her face, the very attitude of her figure, were
suggestive of mental distress.
For a moment Crispus was puzzled to account for her agitation; then the
truth like a flash of light darted into his mind. Vashti had a secret,
and one that could no longer be kept hidden by her unless she chose to
play the traitress to her conscience, and that, he felt certain, she
would not do.
“Cursed be Jesus, the Son of Panther!”
A shiver passed over Vashti; she compressed her lips tightly, while
from every other Jewish mouth there flew an “Amen!” uttered with a
vehemence that spoke of a fierce and vindictive hatred.
Ere Simeon could come to his next sentence, a man by the partition--it
was Sadas, Berenice’s freedman--who had been intently watching Vashti,
suddenly raised his arm to attract attention, and cried in a voice that
penetrated to every corner of the congregation:
“Holy rabbi, here is one who refuses to say ‘Amen’ to that anathema.”
Amid the breathless silence that followed, all eyes turned, first upon
the speaker, then upon the person pointed out by his accusatory finger.
The congregation doubted. This maiden, so regular in her attendance at
the synagogue, daughter of the rabbi Hyrcanus, and ward of the orthodox
Josephus, an apostate? It could not be.
“Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus,” said Simeon gravely, “do you refuse to
join in the common voice of the synagogue?”
Vashti was silent.
“Cursed be Jesus, the son of Panther! Do you not say ‘Amen’ to this
anathema?”
At this, which to her mind was blasphemy, the girl’s spirit took fire.
“I do not. It is our duty not to curse, but to bless.”
“Are you wiser than our fathers and the prophets who were wont to curse
the enemies of the faith?”
“They belonged to a covenant that is past. Besides, even they did not
curse the dead.”
“Then curse we the living!” cried Simeon angrily. “Cursed be the whole
tribe of Christians! Do you say ‘Amen’ to that?”
“In doing so I should be cursing myself.”
From the age of twelve, her time of joining the synagogue, Vashti, by
reason of the sweetness of her disposition and of her liberality in
alms-giving, had won the favor of the whole congregation. But now, all
in a moment, that favor was withdrawn. Jewish bigotry asserted itself.
The knowledge that she had become a Christian converted friends into
enemies. She found herself surrounded by dark and scowling faces.
“Judgment!” cried Sadas, the man who had accused her; and a hundred
voices took up the cry, “Judgment!”
In the Hebrew word for synagogue--Beth-din, or House of Judgment--is
expressed one of its peculiarities; besides being a place of worship,
the synagogue was also--and this with the sanction of the Romans
themselves--a judicial court for the trial of such offenders as were
accused of violating the precepts of Judaism.
“Let the damsel be brought hither,” said Simeon in cold judicial tones.
The many hands put forth to push her forward were needless; of her own
free will she walked from her place to the front of the congregation.
Her girlish figure standing all alone before the crowd of wrathful
spectators failed to elicit their sympathy; the gray-haired elders,
who were her judges, had likewise hearts of marble; neither youth
nor beauty had power to influence them in the matter of a person
apostatizing to the hateful creed of the Nazarenes.
“Damsel,” said Simeon, “we require no witnesses of thy guilt. Out of
thine own mouth thou standest condemned as being a Christian. Yet are
we minded to give thee time for reflection. Thou mayest, if thou wilt,
withdraw thy statement.”
“I cannot withdraw the statement, for it is true. I am a Christian.”
Fierce cries broke forth from the assembly: “Traitress! Apostate!
Nazarene!”
“How long hast thou been a Christian?”
“’Tis a matter of a few weeks only.”
“You have received the baptism prescribed by this heresy?”
Vashti signified assent.
“Who was he that baptized thee?”
“I may not name him.”
“Doth our city contain many of this faith?”
“Very many.”
“Name some,” commanded Simeon. This he said, not believing that she
would do so, but knowing that her refusal would add to the wrath of the
assembly.
“Even among the heathen to betray one’s friends is counted base. How
much more, then, among Christians?”
“By revealing their names you will be doing much towards redeeming
yourself from the punishment that otherwise will most surely come upon
you.”
“Not even to redeem myself from death will I betray my friends.”
“Come, girl, be not obstinate. Who were they that persuaded you to
adopt Christianity?”
“The Law and the Prophets chiefly.”
“You blaspheme.”
“Nay, give me leave to speak, and I will show you that our so-called
new faith is but the fulfillment and completion of the old.”
“This damsel resembles her master Paul,” sneered Agrippa. “With a
little talking she thinks to make us Christians.”
Simeon, seeking to prejudice her still more in the opinion of the
narrow-minded Jews, to whom all Gentile learning was an abomination,
continued:
“You have given much time to the study of the Greek writings?”
“As did your father Gamaliel,” was the quiet reply. “If it were a
virtue in him, why seek to make it a fault in me?”
“Hear, O Israel,” said Simeon, addressing the assembly, “in my father’s
school were a thousand students, of whom five hundred studied the
wisdom that is in the Law; and to-day they are all living, and held in
honor. And there were five hundred who studied the Grecian vanities,
and to-day there is not one of them alive.”[9] He paused for a moment,
and then put the customary question:
“Can anyone here present show just cause why punishment should not be
inflicted upon Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus?”
Vashti looked round upon the assembly, but in the words of the Psalmist
she had become a stranger to her brethren, an alien among her mother’s
children. There was none that would speak a good word for her.
“There are two persons here,” said Vashti, “who can testify, if they
would, that my change of creed is not deserving of punishment.”
“Who are these witnesses?”
“King Agrippa for one.”
That monarch, upon hearing himself appealed to, regarded Vashti with a
languid and scornful gaze.
“Thou callest upon _me_ to testify in thy favor?”
“O king, after Paul of Tarsus had set forth his tenets before your
tribunal, did you not say, ‘This man doeth nothing worthy of death or
of bonds’? My faith is but the same with his. Since you pronounced
_him_ innocent, how can you declare _me_ guilty?”
These words put the king in a very awkward dilemma. Deny them he could
not; to confirm them would be equivalent to a declaration of her
innocence. He shrugged his shoulders, and, like the coward that he was,
took refuge in silence.
“And who is the other witness?” asked Simeon, after a very awkward
pause.
“Yourself,” replied Vashti. “Will _you_ not plead for me, you whose
grandsire Simeon held the infant Jesus in his arms, calling him ‘The
glory of the people of Israel’?--you, whose sire Gamaliel, speaking of
the apostles of Christ, said, ‘Refrain from these men, and let them
alone’?”
Simeon’s face darkened, and he turned away. Every word spoken by Vashti
did but increase the wrath of her judges, who wanted, not argument,
but submission and recantation.
No more questions were asked. The council, drawing together, conferred
in whispers around the chairs of Agrippa and Berenice.
Having agreed in their verdict, the judges returned to their seats--all
save one, a noble and gentle-looking elder, who said with a ring of
indignation in his voice:
“I protest!”
But his protest availed nothing. Unable to save Vashti or to bear the
sight of her punishment, he walked from the synagogue amid the somewhat
angry murmurs of the assembly.
“Who is he?” asked Crispus.
“Johanan ben Zacchai, wisest and best of the rabbis. Though he himself
is an orthodox Pharisee, his father Zacchai, or--to Grecize the
name--Zacchæus, a wealthy publican of Jericho, is said to have been a
secret Christian. Hence his sympathy for poor Vashti. Are you going to
intervene on her behalf?”
“Anon. Let us first see what her punishment is to be.”
Simeon now rose to pronounce judgment.
“Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus, your punishment is a twofold one; you
will receive forty lashes save one, and you will be shorn of your
tresses.”
The vindictive character of the sentence set Crispus’ blood on fire.
“To be shorn of her tresses?” he murmured. “Such a suggestion as that
could proceed only from a woman’s mind. Princess Berenice, your hand is
in this.”
Vashti, on hearing her doom, swayed, and would have fallen to the
ground but for the officers who supported her on each side. She had
expected some such penalty as the payment of a fine, or excommunication
from the synagogue. But the loss of her hair--the glory of a woman! And
_scourging_! The mere physical pain of this last was as nothing in her
eyes compared with the horror of being stripped to the waist in the
sight of all the congregation.
A mist swam before her eyes; her face, pale before, now became deathly
white; she tried to speak, but her tongue failed her.
Looking for all the world like one insane, she turned her swimming gaze
upon the assembly, but saw no pity in their set faces. What punishment
could be too severe for a Nazarene? Nay, verily, let her be thankful
that her doom was not stoning, as it assuredly would have been but for
the humiliating fact that the death penalty required the sanction of
the hateful governor, Florus.
And now appeared the executioner carrying the dreadful whip, a wooden
shaft with three long ox-hide thongs, thirteen strokes from which made
the conventional thirty-nine stripes. The Law allowed forty, but the
Jews, affecting to be merciful, diminished that number by one.
“Pull off her garment, and bind her to the Red Column.”
At these dreadful words Vashti, rendered strong by agony, broke from
her guards, and moving swiftly forward fell on her knees before
Berenice.
“Princess, you are a woman. Have pity on me. If I must be scourged let
me--let me retain my vesture.”
The two officers who had followed Vashti fell back at a sign from
Berenice. Bending forward from her seat, she said in a whisper:
“_My hour of triumph now. It was yours at Cæsarea._”
At her chilling tone Vashti shrank back. Her eyes became big with
horror as the truth suddenly flashed upon her that the whole synagogue
proceeding was a plot, formed by the jealousy of Berenice, who feared
that Vashti was seeking to win the love of Crispus. Suspecting her
to be a Christian, she had induced Simeon to compose the new prayer,
purposing by this means to wreak her vengeance upon the girl whose
beauty had been preferred to her own.
This sudden revelation of the character of the princess, the subtlety
of her plot, the wickedness of masking it under the guise of religion,
came upon Vashti with a shock so great as almost to drive the scourging
from her mind. For the moment her only thought was, how could the
princess be so wicked?
“Officers, the lash!” said Berenice, spurning the suppliant girl with
her foot.
“Hold, let the maiden be!” cried a voice coming from the rear of the
synagogue.
There was a great start on the part of Berenice, who knew not till then
that Crispus was in the synagogue.
Vashti started, but it was with joy. Gone in a moment was her sense
of fear. She turned her eyes from the two men who held her to the
stately figure of the Roman stalking up the floor of the synagogue,
determination written upon his countenance. Her trusting and beautiful
smile set Berenice’s heart thrilling with pangs of jealousy impossible
to describe. Her plot for the humiliation of Vashti seemed likely to
end in creating another link of sympathy between the two whom she would
fain keep apart.
Amid a death-like silence Crispus, followed by the faithful Rufus, made
his way to the front. There was in his cold eye a gleam that caused the
two officers to let go Vashti, who, released from their hold, would
have fallen but for the supporting arm of Crispus.
He turned to face the angry assembly, who were beginning to murmur at
seeing the hateful “apostate” snatched from their hands by an authority
equally hateful. A stranger in Jerusalem, Crispus was unknown both
to the congregation and to Agrippa, which last took him to be some
meddlesome officer from Antonia, bent on exercising an authority to
which he had no claim.
He started to his feet with an angry air.
“Who is this that seeks to interfere with the course of Jewish justice?
Know you not that I am Agrippa, the great king? Who art thou?”
“My friend,” said Rufus quietly, “is Crispus Cestius, son of the Syrian
Legate, a maker of kings, and--an unmaker.”
This answer completely confounded Agrippa. He recognized the wisdom of
becoming immediately humble. The authority of the Proprætor of Syria,
the Ruler of the East, soared far above that of Judæan procurators
and Herodian kings. A hint from him to the Roman Senate that Agrippa
was unworthy of his post would be quite sufficient to deprive him of
his crown. Smoothing his brows, and assuming a smile that in no way
harmonized with his inward feelings, he said:
“And what would the noble Crispus have of us?”
“The release of this maiden.”
The politic Agrippa, on the point of granting the request, was stayed
by his more strong-minded sister, who was not disposed to let the
captive go without at least a protest.
“By whose authority do you make this demand?”
“By that of the Legate of Syria.”
“Will you let us see in the Legate’s own handwriting the order for the
release of Vashti, daughter of Hyrcanus?” said Berenice, sarcastically.
“He acts by me, his secretary and deputy.”
“How know we that he will confirm your act?”
“Should he refuse to do so I will restore the maiden to your hands,”
said Crispus, who knew that he was quite safe in giving this pledge.
Taking courage by his sister’s example, Agrippa now ventured upon a
mild protest.
“But, noble Crispus, you are infringing Jewish rights. The Legate hath
no jurisdiction over the internal affairs of our synagogues.”
Crispus gave a disdainful smile.
“The authority of Cestius Gallus is supreme over every matter, small
or great, within the province of Syria; he has power to reverse any
judicial sentence, whether of basilica or synagogue, that he deems
unjust, as he will certainly deem this to be when it comes to his
hearing. Do you question his authority, O king?”
Berenice answered for her brother.
“It is not to be doubted,” said she, “that a fond father will ratify
the action of a foolish son. Pronounce the damsel free, Agrippa. Cæsar
at Rome may burn Christians alive, but we of Judæa must not even whip
them. The great Crispus forbids it.” And gathering her robe around her
she swept out with a proud and scornful air.
The two Romans--no man daring to stay them--proceeded to remove the
trembling Vashti from the synagogue, and, attended by the decurion
Quintus, they conducted her to the gate of her house in the street of
Millo.
“So, Vashti, you are a Christian?” said Crispus. “I think I understand
now the allusion in the poet Bianor, ‘By the Fish we are saved.’”
She smiled, pleased to think that he had remembered her words.
“Under the name of ‘The Fish,’” said she, “we symbolize our Divine
Master, who leads us through the waters of baptism.”
As she spoke--they were standing at the time within the gateway of
her dwelling--their ears were caught by the tread of numerous feet
accompanied by fierce cries, and looking whence these sounds proceeded
they saw, coming at a quick pace and with faces expressive of the
wildest excitement, a mob of Jews, some carrying steel weapons and
others wooden clubs.
In a moment the three Romans sprang within the stone passage, dragging
Vashti with them, and closed and barred the gate.
They soon discovered, however, that they were not the objects of
attack; it was doubtful whether they had even been seen. Like the rush
of a whirlwind the crowd swept past the gateway, rending the air with
their cries.
Similar sounds, proceeding from the adjacent streets, showed that these
also were being traversed by excited throngs.
“Down with Florus!” shouted some.
“That’s a saying with which I can very well sympathize,” said Rufus.
“Death to the Romans!” cried others.
“Ha! that’s a different matter. That touches you and me,” he continued,
addressing Crispus.
“The temple of the Lord! The temple of the Lord! Sacrilege! Sacrilege!”
Successive waves of people rolled along the street, voluble women
among them, dragging their slow-moving children by the hand. Their
fragmentary talk soon enabled the listening Romans to gather the cause
of all this excitement.
Florus had sent to Agrippa demanding seventeen talents from the Corban,
saying that he wanted them for Cæsar.
The Jewish mind was fired to wrath not so much by the amount
itself--which was rather a small one for a man of Florus’ rapacity,
the sum being about £6,000 in modern English currency--but by the fact
that the demand was made upon the Corban or Temple treasury. The gold
deposited there was regarded as sacred to Jehovah, to be used only in
His service; the diverting of even a single shekel of it to any other
purpose was, in the eyes of the frenzied Jew, one of the greatest of
crimes. It would be a crime if committed by the high priest himself;
but when the demand came from a heathen, unclean, uncircumcized,
rapacious, whose object, as all well knew, was not to transmit the
money to Cæsar but to spend it upon his own sensual pleasures, it
was no wonder that the contemplated profanation should fire the blood
of every Jew, and send him running with all haste to prevent the
sacrilegious deed.
“It is as I have said,” whispered Rufus to Crispus. “Florus is
purposely trying to create a revolt.”
“Vain is it for Rome to boast of her justice,” sighed Crispus, “when
she sends forth governors such as Florus.”
“If there be an uproar in the temple,” continued Rufus, “it is my duty
to quell it.”
As soon as the street of Millo had become comparatively quiet the three
Romans stole forth, taking a wide circuit so as to arrive upon the
north side of Antonia, the side farthest from the temple.
On their way they encountered a company of youthful and richly-dressed
Jews, who, basket on arm, in imitation of beggars, were soliciting alms
by way of casting ridicule upon the procurator.
“Give an obolus for Florus, he is so poor!” they whined in a mocking
voice.
“Woe to them if Florus gets to hear of it!” muttered Rufus.
On arriving at the Turris Antonia he found that his centurions had
taken all precautions for the safety of the fortress. Upon the roof of
the cloisters facing the bridge that connected the fortress with the
temple, the Italian Cohort was drawn up in all the glittering panoply
of war, their silence and discipline presenting a striking contrast to
the tumult and disorder that was raging not many yards distant.
The temple-courts were filled with a crowd so numerous that it seemed
as if the whole city must have assembled there. To the mind of Crispus
with his Roman love of order there was something peculiarly repulsive
in the spectacle before him. It was an Oriental mob, and like all
Oriental mobs when inflamed with rage, its units behaved like frenzied
demons. They spat towards the Romans; they tossed their garments; they
shook their fists; they yelled out curses; they cast dust into the air.
The wilder spirits among them took to flinging stones, the rattle of
which, falling upon the brazen armor of the soldiery, was audible above
the tumult of voices; of all which the superbly disciplined Roman
troops took no more heed than a man takes of gnats on a summer eve.
Rufus, advancing to the head of the stairs that descended to the
temple-court, lifted his hand. The sign was perceived and understood,
but it was some time ere the crowd quieted down to a listening mood.
Standing upon the very place where, eight years previously, Saint Paul
had addressed a raging mob, and speaking in the same language--the
Syro-Chaldaic--Rufus sought to pacify the fears of the multitude.
Florus, it seemed, had demanded seventeen talents to be taken from the
Corban. He--Rufus--was not prepared to say that the Jews were wrong in
resenting this demand; as the servant of Florus it was not his business
to criticise the actions of his master, but the Jews were certainly
wrong in their way of showing their disapproval. The lawful method
was to dispatch an embassy to Florus to state why they considered the
demand unreasonable. Let them do so without delay. If they were now
assembling under the belief that he--Rufus--was going to invade their
sanctuary for the purpose of seizing the seventeen talents they were in
error; he had not received any such order from Florus, and till such
order came he would be endangering his own head if he should venture
to forestall the will of the procurator. They could, therefore, depart
quietly to their homes in the full assurance that their treasures would
remain untouched for that day, at least, and probably for several days
to come. As to what might ultimately happen, well, it was not wise to
anticipate evil.
Rufus had scarcely made an end of speaking when on the still air rose
the chiming of the silver trumpets, blown by the priests as a signal
that the hour had come for the closing of the temple.
The crowd murmured, hesitated, but finally departed in peaceful
fashion, and the great temple-courts were left to silence.