CHAPTER VIII

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.