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

by Marie Corelli

  A light as of some inward fire irradiated the deep lustrous eyes of the “ Nazarene a dreamy, meditative smile parted His lips. Looking so, and smiling thus, His glorious aspect made the silence eloquent, and Pilate’s authoritative demand “What hast thou done?” seemed answered without speech. And the voiceless response might have been rendered into words like these, —

  “What have I done? I have made Life sweet, and robbed Death of bitterness; there is honour for men and tenderness for women; there is hope for all, Heaven for all, God for all! — and the lesson of Love, — Love divine and human as personified in Me, sanctifies the Earth for ever through My Name!”

  But these great facts remained unuttered, for as yet they were beyond dull mortal comprehension, and, with the faint dreamy smile still giving a poetic languor of deep thought to every line of His countenance, the Accused answered slowly, every word He spoke vibrating melodiously through the stillness, —

  “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world then would my servants fight that I should not be delivered to the Jews. But — now is my kingdom not from hence!”

  And, drawing His majestic figure up to its full height, He raised His head and looked up towards the loftiest window of the Hall, now glittering diamond-like in the saffron-tinted rays of the swiftly ascending sun. His attitude was so unspeakably grand and suggestive of power, that Pilate again recoiled, with that sickening sense of helpless terror clutching, at his heart anew. He stole a furtive and anxious glance at the chief priests and elders, who were leaning forward on their benches listening attentively, — they all appeared unmoved and coldly indifferent. Caiaphas smiled satirically and exchanged a side-whisper with Annas, but otherwise no one volunteered to speak. Sorely against his will, Pilate continued his examination. Feigning an unconcern he was far from feeling, he asked his next question half carelessly, half kindly, —

  “Art thou a King, then?”

  With a sublime gesture, the Accused flashed one burning glance upon all who waited breathlessly for His reply, — then looked straightly and steadily, full into Pilate’s eyes.

  “Thou sagest!”

  And, as He uttered the words, the sun, climbing to the topmost arch of the opposite window, beamed through it in a round blaze of glory, and flooded the judgment-hall with ripples of gold and crimson, circling the Divine brows with a glittering rainbow radiance as though the very heavens had set their crown and signet upon the splendour of a Truth revealed!

  CHAPTER V.

  THERE was a moment’s pause.

  Pilate sat dumb and irresolute, — but among the assembled members of the Sanhedrim there ran various broken murmurs of indignation and impatience. “What need we of further witness?”

  “He is convicted out of his own mouth!”— “He hath spoken treason!”— “Let him die the death!” The sunlight, showering its prolific gold on the white garments of the Prisoner, flashed into prismatic glimmerings now and again, as though it had encountered some other light with which it joyously played and harmonised. And Pilate’s sight grew misty and strained, — his temples throbbed and ached. He was tired, confused, pained, and perplexed; the extraordinary beauty of the Figure confronting him was too singularly unique to be otherwise than powerfully impressive, and he knew as thoroughly as ever mortal judge knew anything, that to condemn this Man to a hideous and unmerited death would be to commit a crime the consequences of which he could not quite foresee, but which he instinctively dreaded. He was perfectly aware of the active part the high-priests Caiaphas and Annas had played in the work of hunting down the “Nazarene” and bringing Him before the Tribunal, and he also realised the manner in which they had laid their plans. A certain wild and lawless young man named Iscariot, the only son of his father, had banded himself with the disciples of this Jesus of Nazareth, and the elder Iscariot, a wealthy usurer, was a close friend and confidant of Caiaphas. It was therefore not difficult to perceive how the father, prompted by the high-priest, and himself displeased at his son’s sudden fanaticism for a stranger, had brought all the weight of religious and parental authority to bear in persuading the young man to give up his so-called “Master” to justice. There were other far more deeply hidden motives than these of which Pilate was ignorant, but what little he knew, or thought he knew, was sufficient to make him distrust the unsupported witness of the priests and elders alone. Pondering the matter within himself a while, he presently turned to the council and demanded, —

  “Where is Iscariot?”

  Anxious looks were exchanged, but no reply was offered.

  “Ye tell me it was he who brought the guard to where this Nazarene lay hidden,” proceeded Pilate slowly—” An’ he hath taken so chief a part in the capture, he should be here. I would fain know what he hath to say concerning the doings of the man whom first he chose to follow and then forsake. Let him be brought before me.”

  Annas leaned forward with an air of apologetic servility.

  “The young man hath fled from the city out of fear,” said he; “he hath been seized with some fool’s panic, for lo, he came to us at late midnight, madly bemoaning his sins and bringing back the silver which we had given him as guerdon for his service and obedience to the law. Some evil fever surely worked within his blood, for while we yet gently reasoned with him in hope to calm his frenzy, all suddenly he dashed the money down before us in the Temple and departed in haste, we know not whither.”

  “Strange!” muttered Pilate abstractedly. The absence of Iscariot from the present scene of trial vexed him sorely. He had a strong desire to ask the man who had betrayed his Master the cause of his sudden disaffection, and now that this was impossible, he felt more jaded and worn-out than before. His head swam, — and in the confused trouble of his mind, a great darkness seemed to grow up out of the air and envelop him swiftly and resistlessly. And in that darkness he fancied he saw a ring of fire which swung round and round like a rolling wheel, becoming narrower with every rotation and binding him in closely as with a burning zone. The horrible sensation increased, stifling his breath and blinding his eyes till he felt he must leap from his chair and cry aloud in order to save himself from suffocation, — when, — all at once, his nameless inward suffering ceased, — a cool breath seemed to be wafted across his brow, and looking up, he saw that the deep and loving gaze of the Accused was fastened upon him with an infinity of tenderness and pity that opened to him, as it were, a new and exquisite and wondrous sense of life and limitless desire. For that one moment all his perplexities were swept away, and his course seemed clear. Turning to the chief priests and elders he said in firm emphatic tones, —

  “I find no fault in this man!”

  His words were received with a general movement of indignation, and Caiaphas, losing all his wonted dignity, rose up in wrath exclaiming loudly, —

  “No fault? No fault? Art thou mad, Pilate? He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Jewry, beginning from Galilee to this place” —

  “And look you,” interposed Annas, craning his thin neck and ill-favoured visage forward, “ He consorteth with none but outcasts, publicans and sinners, and against all the virtuous he pronounceth openly the damnation of hell. Here sitteth the Rabbi Micha who hath heard him make outcry in the public streets, and hath taken note of certain sayings wherewith he seeketh to mislead the people. For he is one that perverteth truth while feigning most boldly to proclaim it. Speak, Micha, — for it seemeth that the worthy governor needeth more witness than ours against this rogue and blasphemer.”

  Micha, an elderly Jew, with a keen, dark, withered face and hard, cold eyes, rose at once and drew a set of tablets from his breast.

  “These words,” said he in a dry even tone, “are veritably set down here as I received them with mine own ears while standing in the Temple itself. For this misguided and fanatical young man hesitated not to preach his unscrupulous theories in the established place of holy doctrine. Judge ye for yourselves whether such language be not violent,”
— and bringing his memoranda close to his eyes, he read slowly, —

  “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heaven against men, and ye neither go in yourselves, nor suffer them that are entering to go in.

  “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye devour widows’ houses, for pretence making long prayer, therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation.

  “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves!

  “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.

  “Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell!”

  Here pausing, Micha looked up.

  “Of a truth,” he remarked in the same monotone, “ for one whom the country folk strive to screen by the spreading of false rumours concerning his gentle and harmless character, such words as these are mere raving devilry, and full of bitterness, spite, and malice prepense, set forth as wilful onslaughts upon those who do maintain virtue, law, and order. Little gentleness will ye find in them, but much misguided vanity and spleen.”

  A slight dawning smile lifted the rigid corners of Pilate’s stern mouth. In his heart he secretly admired the magnificent physical and moral courage of a man who could boldly enter the Temple itself and thus plainly and publicly denounce hypocrisy in the very place where it was most practised.

  “I tell thee, good Micha, and thou, Caiaphas, and Annas also,” he said decisively, “I find no fault in him at all, touching those things whereof ye accuse him. No, nor yet Herod, — for ye went to him last night, and lo, nothing worthy of death is found in him” —

  “Stay, noble Pilate! — listen to me!” interrupted a querulous, cracked voice, and the little ape-like figure of the old usurer whom Barabbas had, to his surprise, perceived occupying a prominent place on one of the judgment-benches, rose up in tremulous excitement—” Listen, I pray thee! — for art not thou set here to administer justice to the wronged and oppressed in Judæa? Look you, most excellent sir! this malefactor, this accursed devil, this vile traitor and deceiver” — here the wrinkled old wretch gasped and sputtered for breath in the sheer extremity of rage, “this pretended prophet came insolently into the Temple two days agone and saw me there at my accustomed place, — thou knowest, noble Pilate, I am an honest poor man! — and lo, like a furious madman he seized me, — ay, and he hath a clutch like iron! — and taking up a whip of knotted cords scourged me, great Pilate! — scourged me, me!” and his voice rose to a shrill yell of fury—” out of the holy place! And his mouth was full of blasphemy and cursing, for he said, ‘ My house is called the house of prayer, but ye have made it a den of thieves!’ Mark that, worthy Pilate! he did claim the very Temple as his own, even as he hath claimed to be King of the Jews, and hath sought to reign over all Judæa. Crucify him, noble governor! — crucify him in the name of God! And scourge him! — scourge him till the proud and sinful blood flows in torrents from his veins! — scourge him, for he hath scourged one of the children of Levi, — yea, he hath scourged me, even me!” Here he stopped, half choked with malice and fury, while Pilate regarded him, coldly smiling.

  “Verily, Zacharias, thou teilest me of one good service this man hath rendered the state,” he said deliberately—” Long hast thou merited a whipping, and that thou hast at last received it will help to satisfy some few of thy money clients in Jerusalem!” An involuntary murmur of approving laughter broke from some of the members of the council, but was quickly suppressed as the high-priest frowned darkly upon the offenders. Zacharias shrank back, scowling and muttering, while Pilate calmly continued— “More than ever am I persuaded that there is no evil in this youthful preacher to the poor, and no fault at all worthy of death, wherefore as ye have a custom at this Feast requiring the liberation of a prisoner, I will release him unto you and let him go.”

  “The multitude will rend thee, Pilate, for an act so impolitic!” exclaimed Caiaphas hotly—” What! — shall an innocent man like this aged Zacharias, who hath no fault save the common fault of his trade, be publicly scourged, and thou the governor of Judæa find no remedy? Thou art no friend to Cæsar if thou let this man go. Moreover they demand the release of Barabbas, who hath been imprisoned for more than a year, and whose sin of rebellion was one of impulse, not of malignant intention. He hath been brought hither, by my order, and waits below the barrier, guarded, but prepared for freedom.”

  “Then he is ill prepared!” declared Pilate sharply—” For by all the gods of Rome he shall be crucified! Freedom for Barabbas? Have ye no memory? Did he not raise an insurrection against Roman law, and harangue the people in the open streets far more wildly and arrogantly than this harmless Nazarene hath done? And did he not slay all unprovokedly one of your own tribe, Gabrias the Pharisee, a man of excellent learning and renown? Go to! Envy doth prompt ye to demand the nobler life and give liberty to the vile, — and ye have sorely misguided the mob in this matter. But now will I myself address them, and release unto them him whom they call ‘King of the Jews.’”

  And, rising from his chair, he prepared to descend from the Tribunal. Caiaphas made a hasty step forward as though to prevent his movements, but Pilate waved him aside disdainfully, and he stood rooted to the spot, the picture of baffled rage and dismay, his thin white hands nervously clenched, and the great jewel on his breast heaving up and down with the passionate quickness of his breathing. Annas sat still in his place, utterly taken aback by the governor’s decision, and stared fixedly in front of him as though he found it difficult to believe the evidence of his senses. Zacharias the money-lender alone gave violent vent to his feelings by throwing up his hands wildly in the air and anon beating his breast, the while he loudly bewailed himself, —

  “Ai! aï! There is no justice left in Jerusalem! Woe, woe, unto the children of Abraham who are ground down beneath the iron heel of Rome! Woe unto us who are made the spoil of the heathen tyrant and oppressor!” And as he thus raved and rocked his lean body to and fro, the Divine Prisoner suddenly turned and regarded him steadily. A rapid change came over his wicked features, — he ceased yelling, — and drawing himself together in a wrinkled heap till he looked like some distorted demon, he began to mutter curses in a thick whisper that was more awful than any audible speech. The “Nazarene” watched him for a moment, a noble wrath clouding the fairness of His brows, — but the shadow of righteous indignation passed even more swiftly than it had come, leaving His face serene and smiling and patient as before. Only the bright pure Eyes were more steadily uplifted to the sunlight, as though they sought to drink in glory for sustenance. Meanwhile, an old, white-bearded man, a prominent and much-respected member of the Sanhedrim, interposed, and pulling the mouthing Zacharias back to his place with a stern injunction to be silent, he himself ventured to address Pilate in calm, conciliatory accents.

  “Believe me, worthy Pilate, thou art not altogether wise in this matter. Why, for the sake of one man wilt thou give cause of offence to both the priests and people? A rebellious rogue and murderer such as Barabbas hath proved himself to be, is far less dangerous to the community than yonder young Teacher of new doctrines, who out of very arrogance arising perchance from the consciousness of a certain superior physical force and outward beauty, doth maintain himself thus boldly, striving to terrorise thee and avert true justice. Lo, there are many such as he among the wandering Egyptian aliens, who, by reason of an imposing presence, and a certain vague sublimity of speech, do persuade the less crafty to believe in their supernatural powers. Look you, even Barabbas himself hath assumed this same imperial attitude when haranguing the mob and inciting the idle and disaffected to rioting and disorder, for he hath been a student of many books and speaketh with the tongue of eloquence. Nevertheless none of th
e rebellious have presumed so far as this misguided Nazarene, who, forsaking his trade, and collecting about him the veritable scum of Judæa (with the exception of Iscariot who is well connected, and whose fanaticism for this man hath sorely grieved his father) doth pretend to open Heaven only to the poor and vile. He hath declared it easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God! Wherefore, by such exaggerated parable he doth imply that even imperial Cæsar shall not escape damnation. Should such teachings prevail there will be an end of all restraint in Judæa, and thine Emperor will most surely blame thee for thy lack of discipline. Take heed, good Pilate! — mercy is nobly becoming in thee, but with mercy, forget not judgment!”

  Pilate listened to this little homily with manifest reluctance and impatience, and his level brows drew together in a worried frown. After a pause he said irritably, “Take ye him then and judge him according to your law!”

  Caiaphas turned upon him indignantly. “ It is not lawful for us to put any man to death,” he answered haughtily— “Thou art the governor, and to thee we are compelled to look for justice.”

  At that moment there was a slight stir and movement in the waiting crowd beyond the barrier, and people were seen to be making way for the entrance of a new-corner. This was a slim, dark-eyed youth of a graceful form and delicate beauty, — he was gorgeously attired in a silken garment of pale blue, bound about him with a scarlet girdle and richly embroidered in gold and silver. He advanced in haste, yet timidly, and, as he crossed the judgment-hall, cast an anxious and awe-stricken look at the stately figure of the “Nazarene.” Pilate watched his approach with a good deal of surprise and impatience, — he recognised his wife’s favourite page, and wondered what had brought him hither at such a time and in so unaccustomed a place. Arriving at the judgment dais the youth dropped on one knee and proffered a folded scroll. Snatching it in haste, Pilate opened it and uttered a smothered exclamation. It was from his wife, one of the most beautiful of Roman women, known in the city for her haughty and fearless disposition, and for her openly pronounced contempt for the manners and customs of the Jews. And what she had written now ran simply thus, —