Facing the scene on Calvary there rose before him the scene on Sinai,
the close and the opening of the great chronicle of the nation that was
dispersed by its own crime, enclosing the whole purpose of its existence
in the space between those two hills.
A terrific spectacle! Moses alone on the smoking height, while
lightnings rend the clouds and the mountain trembles at the sound of the
invisible trumpet. Below, the awe-stricken people fly; and Moses,
unmoved amid the roar of thunder and the repeated fires of lightning,
listens to Him who Is, and who dictates the terms of His protection of
Israel; and then Moses, with shining face, descends from the Mount,
which, according to St. John Damascene, is the type of the Virgin's
Womb, as the smoke that rises from it is that of the desires and flames
of the Holy Spirit.
Suddenly this picture vanished; the Patriarch remained, and by his side
appeared the first High Priest of the worship of Jehovah, whom the
sculptors had omitted to represent on the exterior of the porch, but
whose image the glass-workers have portrayed in a window of the same
front; Aaron, the great Pontiff, anointed by Moses.
And this ceremony, during which Moses conferred the order of priesthood
on the person and the descendants of his elder brother, arose before
Durtal's fancy as a terrific scene. The details he had formerly read of
this ordination, the ceremonies lasting seven days, recurred to his
mind. After ablution and the anointing with oil, the holocaust of
victims began. Flesh sputtered on the walls, mingling the black stench
of burnt fat with the blue vapour of incense; the Patriarch anointed the
right ear and thumb and foot of Aaron and his sons with blood; then,
taking up the flesh of the sacrifice, he placed them in the hands of the
new-made priests, who rocked first on one foot and then on the other,
thus waving the offerings above the altar.
Then all bowed their heads under a shower of oil mingled with blood with
which the Consecrator inundated them. They looked like slaughterers from
the shambles and lamp trimmers, all sprinkled as they were with clots of
red mire, on which glistened yellow eyes.
And then, as in the swift change of magic-lantern slides, this savage
scene, this worn-out symbol of a splendid and subtle liturgy, stammered
out in a hoarse voice, disappeared, giving way to the solemn array of
Levites and priests marching in procession under the guidance of Aaron,
resplendent in his turban with the crown of gold above it, in his purple
robe, on its hem the open pomegranates of scarlet and blue, with
tinkling bells of gold; and he wore the linen ephod, girt with a girdle,
blue and purple and scarlet, and kept in its place by shoulder-pieces
fastened with onyx stones, his breastplate in a blaze, flashing sparks
that lighted up as he moved in the twelve gems of the breastplate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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