Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “Barabbas! Barabbas!” and the vexed weak voice grew suddenly loud with an access of spite and fury—” An’ thou wilt not respond to good tidings thou shalt listen to evil! Hear me! — hear thy friend Hanan, who knows the wicked ways of women better than thou! Why didst thou kill the Pharisee, thou fool? ’Twas wasted pains, — for his boast was a true one, and thy Judith is a” —

  The opprobrious term he meant to use was never uttered, for with a sudden spring, fierce and swift as that of an enraged lion leaping from its lair, the hitherto inert Barabbas was upon him, clutching at the two hands he had thrust through the grating to support himself, and squeezing and bending them against the bars with a terrific ferocity that threatened to snap the wrists asunder.

  Accursed Hanan! Dog! Breathe but her name again and I will saw thy robber hands off on this blunt iron and leave thee but the bleeding stumps wherewith to steal!”

  Face to face in the faintly moonlit gloom, and all but invisible to one another, they writhed and wrestled a little space with strange impotence and equally strange fury, the chains on their fettered arms clashing against the bars between, till with a savage scream of pain, Hanan tore his maimed fingers and lacerated wrists from the pitiless grasp that crushed them, and fell helplessly downward into the darkness of his own den, while Barabbas flung himself away and back on his bed of straw, breathing hard and heavily, and shuddering through every fibre of his frame.

  “If it were true,” he whispered between his set teeth—” if it were true, — if she were false, — if the fair flesh and blood were but a mask for vileness, — God! — she would be worse than I, — a greater sinner than I have ever been!”

  He buried his head in the hollow of his arm and lay quite still, striving to think out the problem of his own wild nature, his own blind and unbridled passions. It was a riddle too dark and difficult to solve easily, and gradually his mind wandered, and his thoughts began to lose themselves in a dizzy unconsciousness that was almost pleasure after so much pain. His clenched hands relaxed, his breathing became easier, and presently, heaving a deep sigh of exhaustion, he stretched himself out on the straw like a tired hound and slept.

  The night marched on majestically. The moon and her sister planets paced through their glorious circles of harmonious light and law; and from all parts of the earth, prayers in every form and every creed went up to heaven for pity, pardon, and blessing on sinful humanity that had neither pity, pardon, nor blessing for itself, — till, with a magic suddenness the dense purple skies changed to a pearly grey, — the moon sank pallidly out of sight, — the stars were extinguished one by one like lamps when a feast is ended, and morning began to suggest its approach in the freshening air. But Barabbas still slept. In his sleep he had unconsciously turned his face upward to what glimmering light there was, and a placid smile smoothed the fierce ruggedness of his features. Slumbering thus, it was possible to imagine what this unkempt and savage-looking creature might have been in boyhood; there was something of grace in his attitude despite his fettered limbs, — there were lines of tenderness about his mouth, the curve of which could be just seen through his rough beard; and there was a certain grave beauty about the broad brow and closed eyelids. Awake, he fully appeared to be what he was, a rebellious and impenitent criminal, — but in that perfect tranquillity of deep repose he might have passed for a brave man wronged.

  With the first faint light of the dawn, a sudden unwonted stir and noise began in the outer courts of the prison. Barabbas, overpowered by slumber as he was, heard it in a semi-conscious way, without realising what it might mean. But presently, as it grew louder, he opened his eyes reluctantly, and raising himself on one arm, listened. Soon he caught in the distance the sound of clashing weapons and the steady tramp of men, and while he yet wondered, vaguely and sleepily, at the unusual commotion, the clashing and jangling and marching grew nearer and nearer, till it came to an abrupt halt outside his very cell. The key turned in the lock, the huge bolts were thrust back, the door flew open, and such a blaze of light flared in that he put up his hands to shield his eyes as if from a blow. Blinking like a scared owl, he roused himself and struggled into a sitting posture, staring stupidly at what he saw, — a group of glittering soldiery headed by an officer who, holding a smoking torch aloft, peered into the drear blackness of the dungeon with a searching air of command.

  “Come forth, Barabbas!”

  Barabbas gazed and gazed, dreamily and without apparent comprehension.

  Just then a shrill voice yelled, —

  “I, also! I, Hanan, am innocent! Bring me also before the Tribunal! Give me justice! Barabbas slew the Pharisee, not I! The mercy of the Feast for Hanan! Surely ye will not take Barabbas hence and leave me here?”

  No heed was paid to these clamourings, and the officer merely repeated his command.

  “Come forth, Barabbas!”

  Growing more broadly awake, Barabbas stumbled up on his feet and made an effort to obey, but his heavy chains prevented his advance. Perceiving this, the officer gave order to his men, and in a few minutes the impeding fetters were struck off, and the prisoner was immediately surrounded by the guard.

  “Barabbas! Barabbas!” shrieked Hanan within.

  Barabbas paused, looking vaguely at the soldiers who pressed him in their midst. Then he turned his eyes upon their commander.

  “If I go to my death,” he said faintly, “I pray thee give yonder man food. He hath starved and thirsted all day and night, — and he was once my friend.”

  The officer surveyed him somewhat curiously.

  “Is that thy last request, Barabbas?” he inquired. “It is Passover, and we will grant thee anything in reason!”

  He laughed, and his men joined in the laughter. But Barabbas only stared straight ahead, his eyes looking like those of a hunted animal brought to bay.

  “Do thus much for charity,” he muttered feebly; “I have also starved and thirsted, but Hanan is weaker than I.”

  Again the officer glanced at him, but this time deigned no answer. Wheeling abruptly round he uttered the word of command, placed himself at the head of his men, and the whole troop, with Barabbas in their centre closely guarded, strode onward and upward out of the dark dungeon precincts to the higher floors of the building. And as they tramped through the stone passages, they extinguished the torches they carried, for the night was passed and the morning had come.

  CHAPTER III.

  MARCHING into the courtyard of the prison, the party halted there, while the heavy gates were being unfastened to allow an exit. Outside was the street, — the city, — freedom! — and Barabbas, still staring ahead, uttered a hoarse cry and put his manacled hands to his throat as though he were choking.

  “What ails thee?” demanded one of the men nearest him, giving him a dig in the ribs with the hilt of his weapon, “ Stand up, fool! Never tell me that a breath of air can knock thee down like a felled bullock!”

  For Barabbas reeled and would have fallen prone on the ground insensible, had not the soldiers caught at his swaying figure and dragged him up, roughly enough, and with much coarse swearing. But his face had the pallor of death, and through his ragged beard his lips could be seen, livid and drawn apart over his clenched teeth like the lips of a corpse, — his breathing was scarcely perceptible.

  The commander of the troop advanced and examined him.

  “The man is starved,” he said briefly, “ Give him wine.” —

  This order was promptly obeyed, and wine was held to the mouth of the swooning captive, but his teeth were fast set and he remained unconscious. Drop by drop, however, the liquid was ungently forced down his throat, and after a couple of minutes, his chest heaved with the long laboured sighs of returning vitality, and his eyes flashed widely open.

  “Air, — air!” he gasped, “The free air, — the light” —

  He thrust out his chained hands gropingly, and then, with a sudden rush of strength induced by the warmth of the wine, he began to laugh wildly.
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  “Freedom!” he exclaimed, “Freedom! To live or die, what matter! Free! Free!”

  “Hold thy peace, thou dog!” said the commanding officer sharply—” Who told thee thou wert free? Look at thy fettered wrists and be wise! Watch him closely, men! March!”

  The prison-gates fell back on their groaning hinges and the measured tramp, tramp of the little troop awakened echoes of metallic music as they defiled across the stony street and passed down a steep flight of steps leading to a subterranean passage which directly communicated with the tribunal of justice or Hall of Judgment, This passage was a long vaulted way, winding in and out through devious twists and turnings, and was faintly lit up by oil lamps placed in sconces at regular distances, the flickering luminance thus given only making the native darkness of the place more palpable. Gloom and imprisonment were as strongly suggested here as in the dungeons left behind, — and Barabbas, his heart sickening anew with vain dread, shrank and shivered, stumbling giddily once or twice as he strove to keep pace with the steady march of his escort. Hope died within him; the flashing idea of liberty that had stirred him to such a sudden rapture of anticipation, now fled like a dream. He was being taken to his death; of that he felt sure.

  What mercy could he expect at the hands of the judge by whom he knew he must be tried and condemned? For was not Pontius Pilate governor of Judæa? and had not he, Barabbas, slain, in a moment of unthinking fury, one of Pilate’s friends? That accursed Pharisee! His sleek manner, — his self-righteous smile, — his white hand with the glittering blazon of a priceless jewel on the forefinger, and all the trifling details of costume and deportment that went to make up the insolent and aggressive personality of the man, — these things Barabbas remembered with a thrill of loathing. He could almost see him as he saw him then, before with one fierce stab he had struck him to the earth, dead, and bleeding horribly in the brilliant moonlight, his wide open eyes glaring to the last in dumb and dreadful hate upon his murderer. And a life must always be given for a life; Barabbas admitted the stern justice of this law. It was only what he knew to be the ordained manner of death for such criminals as he, that caused his nerves to wince with fear and agony. If, like the Pharisee, he could be struck out of existence in a moment, why, that were naught, — but to be stretched on beams of wood there to blister for long hours in the pitiless sun, — to feel every sinew strained to cracking, and every drop of blood turning first to fire and then to ice, — this was enough to make the strongest man shudder; and Barabbas, weakened by long fasting and want of air, trembled so violently at times that he could scarcely drag his limbs along. His head swam and his eyes smarted; there were dull noises in his ears caused partly by the surging blood in his brain, and partly by the echo of a sound which with every onward step grew more distinct, — a clamour of angry voices and shouting in the midst of which he fancied he heard his own name, “Barabbas! Barabbas!”

  Startled, he looked inquiringly into the faces of the soldiers that surrounded him, but their impassive bronze-like features betrayed no intelligence. Vainly he strove to listen more attentively, — the clanking weapons of his guard and the measured thud of their feet on the stone pavement prevented him from catching the real purport of those distant outcries. Yet surely, — surely there was another shout ——

  “Barabbas! Barabbas!”

  A sickening horror suddenly seized him, — a swift and awful comprehension of his true position. The mob, relentless in all ages, were evidently clamouring for his death, and were even now preparing to make sport of his torments. Nothing more glorious to a brutal populace than the physical agony of a helpless fellow-creature, — nothing more laughter-moving than to watch the despair, the pain, and the writhing last struggle of a miserable human wretch condemned to perish by a needlessly slow and barbarous torture. Thinking of this, great drops of sweat bathed his brow, and as he staggered feebly on, he prayed dumbly for some sudden end, — prayed that his hot and throbbing blood might rush in merciful full force to a vital centre of his brain that so he might fall into oblivion swiftly like a stone falling into the sea. Anything — anything, rather than face the jeers and the mockery of a pitiless multitude trooping forth as to a feast to see him die!

  Closer and closer came the hubbub and roar, interspersed with long pauses of comparative stillness, and it was during one of these pauses that his enforced journey came to an end. Turning sharply round the last corner of the underground passage, the soldiers tramped out into the daylight, and ascended several wide marble steps, afterwards crossing an open circular court, empty and cool in the silver-grey hues of early dawn. Finally passing under a columnar arch, they entered a vast Hall, which was apparently divided into two square spaces, — one almost clear, save for a few prominent figures that stood forth in statuesque outlines against a background of dark purple hangings fringed with gold, — the other densely crowded with people who were only kept from rushing into the judicial precincts by a line of Roman soldiery headed by their centurion.

  On the appearance of Barabbas with his armed escort, heads were turned round and hurried whispers were exchanged among the crowd, but not one look of actual interest or compassion was bestowed upon him. The people’s mind was centred on a far weightier matter. Such a trial was pending as had never yet been heard within the walls of a human tribunal, and such a captive was being questioned as never before gave answer to mortal man. With a sudden sense of relief, Barabbas, stupefied though he was, began dimly to realise that perhaps after all his terrors had been groundless; there was no sign here, at least, not at present, of his death being wanted to make an extra holiday for the mob, and, infected by the prevailing spirit of intense curiosity and attention, he craned his neck forward eagerly in order to obtain a view of what was going on. As he did so, the people directly in front of him shrank away in evident aversion, but he paid little heed to this mutely expressed repugnance, as their unanimous recoil made a convenient opening through which he could plainly see the judgment dais and all its imposing surroundings. There were seated several members of the Sanhedrim, several of whom he knew by sight, among them the high-priest Caiaphas, and his colleague Annas, — a few scribes occupied lower benches and were busily engaged in writing, — and among these dignified and exalted personages, he perceived, to his astonishment, a little, lean, wrinkled, crouching money-changer, a man well-known and cursed throughout all Jerusalem for his high rates of usury and cruelty to the poor. How came so mean a villain there? thought Barabbas wonderingly; but he could not stop to puzzle out the problem, for the chief person his eyes involuntarily sought for and rested upon was the Roman judge, — that very judge of whose stern sad face he had dreamed in the darkness of his dungeon, — Pilate the calm, severe, yet at times compassionate arbiter of life and death according to the codes of justice administered in Judaea. Surely to-day he suffered, or was weary! — for did ever legal “tyrant” before look so sick at heart? In the grey morning light his features seemed to have an almost death-like rigidity and pallor — his hand played absently with the jewelled signet depending from his breast, — and beneath the falling folds of his robe of office, one sandalled foot beat impatiently upon the floor. Barabbas stared at him in dull fascination and fear, — he did not look a cruel so much as a melancholy man, — and yet there was something in his classic profile, and in the firm lines of his thin closely compressed lips that augured little softness of character. What was likely to be his verdict on an assassin who had slain one of his friends? And while Barabbas vaguely pondered this, an irrepressible cry rose up all at once from the multitude around him, like the noise of breaking waters roaring in thunderous repetitions through the vaulted Hall, —

  “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

  The wild shout was furious and startling, and with its thrilling clamour, the lethargic torpor that had held Barabbas more or less spell-bound was suddenly dispersed. With a swift shock he came to himself like one roughly shaken from sleep.

  “Crucify him!”

 
Crucify — whom? Whose life was thus passionately demanded? Not his? No, not his, most surely, for the people scarcely heeded him. Their looks were all turned another way. Then if he were not the offender, who was?

  Pushing himself yet more to the front, he followed the angry glances of the mob and saw, standing patiently below the judgment-seat, one Figure, — saw, and seeing, held his breath for very wonderment. For that Figure seemed to absorb into itself all the stateliness, all the whiteness, all the majesty of the lofty and spacious Tribunal, together with all the light that fell glimmeringly through the shining windows, — light that now began to form itself into the promised rays of the rising sun. Such radiance, such power, such glorious union of perfect beauty and strength in one human form Barabbas had never seen or imagined before, and he gazed and gazed till his soul almost lost itself in the mere sense of sight. Like one in a trance he heard himself whisper

  “Who is yonder Man?”

  No one answered. It may be no one heard. And he repeated the query softly over and over again in his own mind, keeping his eyes fixed on the tall and god-like Being whose sublime aspect seemed to imply an absolute mastery over men and things, but who nevertheless waited there silently in apparent submission to the law, with a slight dreamy smile on the beautiful curved lips, and a patient expression in the down-dropt eyelids, as of one who mutely expected the public declaration of what he had himself privately decreed. Still as a statue of sunlit marble He stood, erect and calm, His white garments flowing backward from His shoulders in even picturesque folds, thus displaying His bare rounded arms, crossed now on His breast in a restful attitude of resignation, yet in their very inertness suggesting such mighty muscular force as would have befitted a Hercules. Power, grandeur, authority, and invincible supremacy were all silently expressed in His marvellous and incomparable Presence, — and while Barabbas still stared, fascinated, awed, and troubled in mind, though he knew not why, the shouts of the populace broke forth again with hoarser reiteration and more impatient ferocity, —