CHAPTER XXIII.

LAST WEEK OF JESUS.

Jesus set out in fact, in the train of his disciples, to see again, and for the last time, the unbelieving city. The hopes of his followers were more and more exalted. All believed that in his going up to Jerusalem, the kingdom of God was about to be manifested there. The impiety of men was at its height, and this was regarded as a great sign that the consummation was near. The belief in this was such that they already disputed for precedence 214in the kingdom. This was, it is said, the moment chosen by Salome to demand on behalf of her sons the two seats on the right and left of the Son of man. The master, for his part, was beset by grave thoughts. Sometimes he allowed a gloomy resentment against his enemies to appear; he related the parable of a nobleman, who went to take possession of a kingdom in a far country; but hardly had he set out when his fellow-citizens wished to rid themselves of him. The king returned, and commanded that those who had conspired against him should be brought before him, and he had them all put to death. At other times he peremptorily destroyed the illusions of the disciples. As they walked along the stony roads to the north of Jerusalem, Jesus pensively preceded the group of his companions. All regarded him in silence, experiencing a sentiment of fear, and not daring to interrogate him. He had already spoken to them on various occasions of his future sufferings, and they had listened reluctantly. Jesus at length spoke out, and, no longer concealing from them his presentiments, discoursed on his approaching end. There was great sadness in the whole band. The disciples were expecting soon to see the sign appear in the clouds. The inaugural cry of the kingdom of God, “Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord,” resounded already in joyous accents through the company of Jesus. The sanguinary prospect troubled them. At each step of the fatal road, the kingdom of God became nearer or more remote in the mirage of their dreams. For himself, he was confirmed in the idea that he was about to die, but that his death would save the world. The misunderstanding between him and his disciples became more intense at each moment.

The custom was to go Jerusalem several days before the Passover, in order to prepare for the feast. Jesus was the last to arrive, and at one 215time his enemies believed they were frustrated in the hope that they had formed of seizing him. The sixth day before the feast (Saturday, 8th of Nisan, the 28th of March) he at length reached Bethany. He entered, according to his custom, the house of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary, or of Simon the leper, thence they gave him a grand reception. There was a dinner at Simon the leper's, at which many persons assembled, attracted by the desire of seeing him, and also, it is said, of seeing Lazarus. Simon the leper, who was seated at the table, passed already, perhaps, in the eyes of many, as the person who had been resurrected, and attracted much attention. Martha, as was her wont, served. It seems that they sought, by an increased show of respect, to overcome the coolness of the public, and to assert strongly the high dignity of the guest whom they received. Mary, in order to give to the feast a greater appearance of festivity, entered during the dinner, carrying a vase of perfume, which she poured upon the feet of Jesus. She afterwards broke the vase, following an ancient custom of breaking the vessel that had been used in the entertainment of a stranger of distinction. Finally, pushing the evidences of her cult to a point hitherto unheard of, she prostrated herself, and wiped with her long hair the feet of the master. The house was filled with the odour of the perfume, to the great delight of every one except the avaricious Judas of Kerioth. If we consider the economical habits of the community, this was certainly prodigality. The greedy treasurer reckoned up immediately how much the perfume might have been sold for, and what it would have realised for the poor-box. This not very affectionate feeling, which seemed to place something above him, dissatisfied Jesus. He loved honours, for honours furthered his aim and established his title of Son of 216David. So, when they spoke to him of the poor, he replied somewhat sharply, “Ye have the poor always with you; but me ye have not always.” And, rising to the occasion, he promised immortality to the woman who in this critical moment gave him a token of love.

The next day (Sunday, 9th of Nizan) Jesus descended from Bethany to Jerusalem. When, at a bend of the road, upon the summit of the Mount of Olives, he saw the city spread out before him, it is said he wept over it, and addressed to it a last appeal. At the base of the mountain, a few steps from the gate, on entering the adjoining portion of the eastern wall of the city, which was called Bethphage, on account, no doubt, of the fig-trees with which it was planted, Jesus had once more a moment of human satisfaction. His arrival was noised abroad. The Galileans who had came to the feast were highly elated, and prepared a little triumph for him. An ass was brought to him, followed, according to custom, by its colt. The Galileans spread their finest garments upon the back of this humble animal as saddle-cloths, and seated him thereon. Others, however, spread their garments upon the road, and strewed it with green branches. The multitude which preceded and followed him, carrying palms, cried, “Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!” Some persons even gave him the title of king of Israel. “Master, rebuke thy disciples,” said the Pharisees to him. “If these should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out,” replied Jesus, and he entered into the city. The Jerusalemites, who hardly knew him, asked who he was. “It is Jesus, the prophet of Nazareth, in Galilee,” was the reply. Jerusalem was a city of about 50,000 souls. A trifling event, like the entrance of a stranger, however little celebrated, 217or the arrival of a band of provincials, or a movement of people to the avenues of the city, could not fail, under ordinary circumstances, to be quickly noised about. But at the time of the feast the confusion was extreme. Jerusalem on these occasions was taken possession of by strangers. Again, it was amongst the latter that the excitement appears to have been most lively. Some Greek-speaking proselytes, who had come to the feast, were piqued with curiosity, and wished to see Jesus. They addressed themselves to his disciples; but we do not know much of the result of the interview. Jesus, according to his custom, went to pass the night at his beloved village of Bethany. The three following days (Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday) he descended regularly to Jerusalem; after the setting of the sun he reascended either to Bethany or to the farms on the western side of the Mount of Olives, where he had many friends.

A deep melancholy appears during these last days to have filled his soul, which was generally so gay and so serene. All the narratives agree in attributing to him before his arrest that he had a short experience of doubt and trouble; a kind of anticipated agony. According to some, he cried out suddenly, “Now is my soul troubled. O Father, save me from this hour.” It was believed that a voice from heaven was heard at this moment: others said that an angel came to console him. According to one widely-spread version this occurred to him in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus, it was said, went about a stone's throw from his sleeping disciples, taking with him only Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, then fell on his face and prayed. His soul was sad almost to death; a terrible anguish pressed upon him; but resignation to the divine will sustained him. This scene, 218owing to the instinctive art which regulated the compilation of the synoptics, and often led them in the arrangement of the narrative to study adaptability and effect, has been given as occurring on the last night of the life of Jesus, and at the precise moment of his arrest. If such a version be the true one, we should scarcely understand why John, who had been the intimate witness of so touching an episode, should not mention it to his disciples, and that the compiler of the fourth Gospel should not allude to it in the very circumstantial narrative which he has furnished of the evening of the Thursday. That which is certain is that, during his last days, the enormous weight of the mission he had undertaken pressed cruelly upon Jesus. Human nature asserted itself for a time. Perhaps he began to hesitate about his work. Terror and doubt seized upon him, and threw him into a state of exhaustion worse than death. The man who sacrifices his repose, and the legitimate rewards of life, to a great idea, always experiences a moment of sad revulsion when the image of death presents itself to him for the first time, and seeks to persuade him that everything is vanity. Perhaps some of those touching reminiscences which the strongest souls retain, and which at times pierce like a sword, seized upon him at this moment. Did he recall the clear fountains of Galilee, where he might have refreshed himself; the vine and the fig-tree under which he sat down, and the young maidens who, perhaps, might have consented to love him? Did he curse the hard destiny which had denied him the joys conceded to all others? Did he regret his too lofty nature, and (a victim of his greatness) did he grieve that he had not remained a simple artizan of Nazareth? We do not know, for all these internal troubles were evidently to his disciples a sealed letter. They understood 219nothing of them, supplying by simple conjectures that which, in the great soul of their Master, was obscure to them. It is certain, at least, that his divine nature soon regained its supremacy. He might still have avoided death; but he would not. Love for his work prevailed. He elected to drink the cup even to the dregs. Henceforth in fact we find Jesus entirely himself, wholly unclouded. The subtleties of the polemic, the credulity of the thaumaturgist and of the exorcist, are forgotten. There remains only the incomparable hero of the Passion, the founder of the rights of free conscience, and the perfect model which all suffering souls will contemplate in order to fortify and console themselves.

The triumph of Bethphage, that audacious act of the provincials in celebrating at the very gates of Jerusalem the advent of their Messiah-King, completed the exasperation of the Pharisees and the aristocracy of the temple. A new council was held on the Wednesday (12th of Nisan) at the house of Joseph Kaïapha. The immediate arrest of Jesus was resolved upon. A great idea of order and of conservative policy presided over all their plans. The question was how to avoid a scene. As the feast of the Passover, which commenced that year on the Friday evening, was a time of bustle and excitement, it was resolved to anticipate it. Jesus was popular; they feared an outbreak. Although it was customary to relieve the solemnities in which the whole nation joined by the execution of individual rebels to the priestly authorities—a species of religious murder designed to inculcate on the people a religious terror—it was, however, arranged that such executions should not fall upon the holy days. The arrest was therefore fixed for the next day, Thursday. It was resolved, further, not to seize him in the temple, where he came every day, but to observe his habits, in order 220to capture him in some retired place. The agents of the priests sounded his disciples, hoping to obtain some information by playing upon their weakness or their simplicity. They found what they sought in Judas of Kerioth. This wretched creature, from motives impossible to explain, betrayed his Master, gave all the particulars necessary, and even undertook himself (although such an excess of baseness is hardly credible) to conduct the force which was to make the arrest. The recollection of horror which the folly or the wickedness of this man has left in the Christian tradition must have been the cause of some exaggeration on this point. Judas up to this time had been a disciple like the others; he had even the title of apostle; he had driven out demons. Legend, which always employs highly coloured language, will not admit in the supper-room more than eleven saints and one reprobate. Reality does not proceed by such absolute categories. Avarice, which the synoptics give as the motive of the crime in question, does not suffice to explain it. It would be singular if a man who kept the purse, and who knew what he would lose by the death of his chief, were to exchange the profits of his occupation for a very small sum of money. Had the self-love of Judas been wounded by the rebuff he received at the dinner at Bethany? Even that would not suffice to explain his conduct. The fourth evangelist would like to make him out a thief, an unbeliever from the beginning, for which, however, there is no justification. We would prefer to attribute it to some feeling of jealousy, or to some intestine dissension. The peculiar hatred which is manifested towards Judas in the gospel attributed to John confirms this hypothesis. Less pure in heart than the others, Judas had imbibed, without knowing it, the narrow-mindedness of his office. By a caprice very common in active life he had 221come to regard the interests of the purse as superior even to those of the work for which it was destined. The administrator had overcome the apostle. The murmurings which escaped him at Bethany seem to suggest that sometimes he considered that the Master cost his spiritual family too much. No doubt this mean economy had been the occasion of many other collisions in the little society.

Without denying that Judas of Kerioth may have contributed to the arrest of his Master, we yet believe that the curses with which he is loaded are somewhat unjust. There was, perhaps, in what he did more awkwardness than perversity. The moral conscience of the man of the people is quick and correct, but unstable and inconsequent. It cannot resist the impulse of the moment. The secret societies of the republican party were characterised by much earnestness and sincerity, and yet their denouncers were very numerous. A trifling spite sufficed to convert a partisan into a traitor. But, if the foolish desire for a few pieces of silver turned the head of poor Judas, he does not seem to have lost the moral sentiment completely, since, on seeing the consequences of his fault, he repented, and, it is said, killed himself.

Each minute, at this crisis, was solemn, and counted more than whole ages in the history of humanity. We have reached Thursday, 13th of Nisan (2nd April). The evening of the next day was the beginning of the festival of the Passover, begun by the feast at which the Paschal lamb was eaten. The feast continued for seven days, during which unleavened bread was eaten. The first and the last of these seven days were of a peculiarly solemn character. The disciples were already occupied with preparations for the feast. As for Jesus, we are led to believe that he was cognisant of the treachery of Judas, and that he was suspicious 222of the fate that awaited him. In the evening he took with his disciples his last repast. It was not the ritual feast of the Passover, as was afterwards supposed, owing to an error of a day in reckoning; but for the primitive church this supper of the Thursday was the true Passover, the seal of the new covenant. Each disciple connected with it his most cherished recollections, and a multitude of touching traits of the Master which each one preserved were associated with this repast, which became the cornerstone of Christian piety, and the starting-point of the most important institutions.

Doubtless the tender love which filled the heart of Jesus for the little church which surrounded him overflowed at this moment. His serene and strong soul became gay under the weight of the gloomy preoccupations that beset him. He had a word for each of his friends; John and Peter especially were the objects of tender marks of attachment. John reclined on the divan, by the side of Jesus, with his head resting upon the breast of the Master. Towards the end of the repast, the secret which weighed upon the heart of Jesus nearly escaped him: he said, “Verily I say unto you that one of you shall betray me.” This was for these simple men a moment of anguish; they looked at each other, and each questioned himself. Judas was present; perhaps Jesus, who had had for some time reasons to distrust him, sought by this remark to draw from his looks or from his embarrassed manner the avowal of his fault. But the unfaithful disciple did not lose countenance; he even dared, it is said, to ask with the others, “Master, is it I ?”

Meanwhile, the good and upright soul of Peter was in torture. He made a sign to John to endeavour to ascertain of whom the Master was speaking. John, who could converse with Jesus without 223being heard, asked him the meaning of this enigma. Jesus, having only suspicions, did not wish to give any name: he only told John to observe him to whom he was going to offer the unleavened bread. At the same time he soaked a mouthful and offered it to Judas. John and Peter alone were cognisant of the fact. Jesus addressed to Judas some words containing a bitter reproach, which were not understood by those present. They thought that Jesus was simply giving him orders for the morrow's feast, and he left the room.

At the time this repast struck no one; and apart from the apprehensions which the Master confided to his disciples, who only half understood them, nothing extraordinary took place. But after the death of Jesus they attached to this evening a singularly solemn meaning, and the imagination of believers spread over it a colouring of sweet mysticism. The last hours of a dear friend are those we best remember. By an inevitable illusion, we attribute to the conversations we have then had with him a sense that death only gives to them; we concentrate into a few hours the memories of many years. The majority of the disciples did not after the supper of which we have just spoken see their Master again. It was the farewell banquet. In this repast, as well as in many others, Jesus practised his mysterious rite of the breaking of bread. As it was believed from the earliest years of the Church that the repast in question took place on the day of the Passover, and was the Paschal feast, the idea naturally arose that the Eucharistic institution was established at this supreme moment. Starting from the hypothesis that Jesus knew in advance the precise moment of his death, the disciples were led to suppose that he reserved for his last hours a number of important acts. As, moreover, one of the 224fundamental ideas of the first Christians was that the death of Jesus had been a sacrifice, replacing all those of the ancient Law, the “Last Supper,” which was supposed to have taken place, once for all, on the eve of the Passion, became the chief sacrifice, the act which constituted the new alliance, the sign of the blood shed for the salvation of all. The bread and wine, placed in juxtaposition with death itself, were thus the image of the new testament that Jesus had sealed with his sufferings, the commemoration of the sacrifice of Christ until his advent.

Very early this mystery was incorporated into a small sacramental narrative, which we possess under four forms, very similar to one another. The fourth Evangelist, preoccupied with the Eucharistic ideas, and who narrates the Last Supper with so much prolixity, connecting it with so many circumstances and discourses, does not mention this narrative. This is a proof that he did not regard the Eucharist as a peculiarity of the Lord's Supper. To the fourth Evangelist the rite of the Last Supper was the washing of feet. It is probable that in certain primitive Christian families this latter rite obtained an importance which it has since lost. No doubt Jesus, on some occasions, had practised it to give his disciples an example of brotherly humility. It was connected with the eve of his death, in consequence of the tendency to group around the Last Supper all the great moral and ritual recommendations of Jesus.

A high sentiment of love, of concord, of charity, and of mutual deference, animated, moreover, the remembrances which were believed to surround the last hours of Jesus. It is always the unity of his Church, constituted by him or by his Spirit, which is the essence of the symbols and of the discourses which Christian tradition referred to this sacred 225moment. “A new commandment I give unto you,” said he, “ that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you. These things I command you, that ye love one another.” At this last sacred moment several rivalries and struggles for precedence again took place. Jesus remarked that if he, the Master, had been in the midst of his disciples as their servant, how much more ought they to submit themselves to one another. According to some, in drinking the wine, he said, “I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it anew with you in my Father's kingdom.” According to others, he promised them soon a celestial feast, at which they would be seated on thrones at his side.

It seems that, towards the close of the evening, the presentiments of Jesus took hold of the disciples. All felt that a very serious danger threatened the Master, and that they were verging on a crisis. At one time Jesus thought of precautions, and spoke of swords. There were two in the company. “It is enough,” said he. He did not, however, follow out this idea; he saw clearly that timid provincials could not stand up before the armed force of the great powers of Jerusalem. Cephas, full of zeal and self-confidence, swore that he would go with him to prison and to death. Jesus, with his usual astuteness, expressed doubts concerning him. According to a tradition, which probably originated with Peter himself, Jesus gave him till cock-crowing. Like Peter, they all swore that they would not yield.