“What ails thee, man?” cried one of his entertainers presently—” Thou art duller than a dying dog! Where is thy once reckless merriment?”
“Gone!” answered Barabbas harshly, his black eyes growing more sombre and serious as he spoke, “ In the old days I was merry, and I knew not why, — now I am sad, and know not the cause of my sadness. I have suffered long, — I am weary! — and,... and,... methinks it is a crime to slay you Nazarene!”
His words were met with laughter.
“By my soul, Barabbas,” exclaimed one man, clanking his pewter goblet on the table as a sign that he desired it refilled.
“Thou hast come out of prison with the sentiments of a woman! Thou, the wolf, hast crawled forth a lamb! Ha ha ha ha! Who would have thought it? Thou that didst so neatly slip thy knife into the mealy maw of Gabrias, thou, of all men whimperest for another death which concerns thee not, and is, by all the laws, deserved.”
“’Tis not deserved!” muttered Barabbas—” The Man is innocent!”—’
He paused, and rose from his seat involuntarily. His companions stopped drinking and stared at him.
“I tell ye all,” he continued firmly—” there is no sin in that young Prophet. He hath done many good things by your own report, — and, — looking at him a while since I saw” —
He broke off, — there was a strange terror in his eyes and he shuddered.
“What?” cried his friends in chorus—” Surely thou hast a devil, thou also! What sawest thou?”
“Nothing!” and Barabbas turned upon them with a chill smile— “Nothing that ye would have seen or cared to see!”
They all regarded him in open-eyed wonderment. Was this indeed Barabbas? — this meditative, wistful, thinking man? Was this the lawless, wild associate of the roystering band of rebels who, with a little surface knowledge and bombastic prating in the open streets had actually succeeded, not so very long ago, in disturbing the peace of the city of Jerusalem? And while they remained silent, dumfoundered and perplexed, a calm voice, melodious yet ironical, suddenly addressed them, —
“Pardon me, excellent sirs, for breaking in upon cheerful converse, — but I seek to pay homage where homage is due, and I would fain give humble greeting, I also, to him who is elected of the people. Great are the children of Israel, beloved in all ages of the one true God who naturally hath no sort of interest in the fates of other nations! — great is their verdict on every question, and for ever unerring their decision! Great must he be who fortunately wins their favour, — therefore, great is Barabbas, and to him I proffer salutation!”
No language could adequately describe the various inflections of tone in which this little speech was given. Every note in the gamut of delicate satire seemed sounded, — and instinctively all present turned to look at the speaker. And as they looked, many shrank back in evident apprehension, — Barabbas however, being unacquainted with the new-corner, regarded him indifferently as he would any other stranger, though not without a certain touch of curiosity. He saw before him an olive-complexioned man of rather small stature, slight in build yet apparently wiry and vigorous, with a somewhat long oval face, straight black brows, and eyes so glittering and strangely-coloured that they might have been iridescent jewels set in his head rather than organs of vision. They were dark eyes apparently, but there was a curious dull gold tint in the iris like clouded amber, that made them look almost light at times and gave them a singularly unearthly lustre and expression. Their owner was clad in a foreign garb of soft yellowish material girded about him with a broad band of flexible gold, — the upper part of his loose mantle formed a kind of hood or cowl which was partially pulled over his thick black hair, and fastened at his throat with a clasp of opals. He seemed discreetly amused at the disquieting effect his appearance had on most of the men assembled at the inn, but he advanced nevertheless and bowed profoundly to Barabbas, who gave him no other response than a stare.
“Excellent Barabbas!” he continued in the same curiously cold yet perfectly sweet accents, “ Deny me not, I pray thee, the satisfaction of thy friendship! I am but a wanderer and an alien in these provinces of Judæa so specially favoured by a discriminating Jehovah, — a veritable barbarian in my ways, knowing little, though studying much, — but in matters pertaining to thy welfare, thou shalt perchance find me useful, whether thy quest be of war or — love!”
Barabbas started, — one of his friends pulled him aside, whispering, —
“’Tis Melchior. Best humour him! He hath an evil name and holdeth sovereignty over devils!”
“I know him not” — said Barabbas aloud, disdaining the warning nods and winks of the various members of the company present, “ And therefore his greeting profiteth me nothing.”
The stranger smiled.
“I love honesty!” he said suavely, “ And thou, Barabbas, art honest!” A rough ripple of subdued mirth went the round of the men, and Barabbas winced as though the point of a lash had stung his flesh. “True it is that thou knowest me not, equally true it is that thou shalt know me. Melchior is my name as thy ear-whisperer hath stated, but of sovereignty over devils I am innocent, inasmuch as I rule no men!” His eyes lightened and flashed a topaz brilliancy under the heavy blackness of his brows as he continued—” What motley garb is this?” and he felt between finger and thumb the texture of the embroidered mantle which had been flung round Barabbas on his release from prison—” Thou art all but naked beneath this glistering show, — a noble emblem of humanity in very truth! Even thus did I expect to find thee, — robed as a king without, but within, the merest squalid nudity! Follow me and be cleansed of thy prison foulness, — I have my dwelling for the present here in this hostelry, — and in mine upper chamber thou canst prank thyself out in fitting attire to meet the eyes of thy beloved, for as thou art, most surely she will laugh at thee! Hath she not laughed at thee before? Come and be garmented for festival!”
But Barabbas held his ground, though his dark cheek flushed at the stranger’s familiar allusions to his “beloved.” Drawing the rich robe he wore more closely about him, he gave a gesture of haughty refusal.
“I obey no man’s bidding,” he said, “ I have not been so lately set at liberty that I should now become a slave. Think me not churlish that I refuse thy proffered service, — time passes swiftly and behold, in the space of moments I go hence with the multitude, — I fain would see the death of the condemned Nazarene.”
Melchior’s face changed. A dark shadow swept across his features, — an expression of mingled sorrow and solemnity.
“Thou shalt most assuredly behold that death!” he said, “ For will not all the world be there. ’Tis Humanity’s great feast of Slaughter! — the apotheosis of the Jews! A true gala! — a thing to remember! — mark me, a thing to remember, I tell thee! For in ages to come perchance, the story of how this Man of Nazareth was slain to satisfy the blood-thirstiness of the God-elected children of Israel, may serve as a wonder and terror of time!” He paused, — his countenance cleared, and he resumed his former ironical tone, “Yea, thou shalt see the prophet die, — but believe me when I tell thee that she whom thou lovest will also be there, and hast thou the look of a lover? — clad thus foolishly, and uncouth as an escaped bear?” He laughed lightly.
“Yet nevertheless I will not ask thee to do my bidding, most self-reliant and excellent Barabbas! I do but tell thee that in my upper chamber here thou canst be decently garbed if so thou wiliest. And maybe thou shalt hear private news of import. Please thy humour! Follow, not me, but thine own inclination!”
He nodded carelessly to the staring company, and passing through the room with a soft almost cat-like tread, he began to ascend a dark and narrow flight of stone stairs leading to the second floor of the inn. Startled and bewildered by his mysterious words and manner, Barabbas watched the yellow glimmer of his garments vanishing upward by degrees till he had quite disappeared, — then, like a man driven by some irresistible necessity, he muttered an incoherent excus
e to his amazed companions, and in a blind, unreasoning, unconquerable impulse, rushed after him.
CHAPTER X.
“HE is mad!”
“Melchior, or Barabbas, — which?”
“Both!”
These and other similar exclamations broke from most of the men assembled in the common room of the inn. Melchior’s sudden entrance, his conversation with the newly-liberated criminal, and, finally, his departure followed by the headlong exit of Barabbas himself had all taken place within a few minutes, and the incident had left an impression of stupefied wonderment on those who had witnessed it.
“Who is this Melchior? — what is his calling?” demanded one man suspiciously— “What country is he of? — how cometh he here in Jerusalem?”
There was a silence. No one seemed ready with a reply. The keeper of the inn, a middle-aged Jew of servile and propitiatory manners, edged himself gradually within the circle of his customers, and coughing softly to attract attention, said, —
“Methinks, good sirs, ye mistake him greatly in giving him an evil repute merely for the unexplained frequency of his visits to the city. He is assuredly a man of wealth and wisdom, — though as to what land he journeyed from, none can say truly, though of my own poor opinion, I would deem his birthplace in Egypt. Concerning his business here he hath none save the following of his own pleasure, — he comes and goes, — and hath ever left some poor man the richer for his sojourn.”
“Like enough thou speakest well of him, Ben Ezra!” — laughed one of his auditors—” Thou knowest the trick of lining thy pouch with gold! ’Twould be but a fool’s error to wag thy tongue against this alien whom thou shelterest while thou dost charge him double fees for food and lodgement! Go to! Thou canst not judge of him fairly, — good ready money doth quickly purchase good opinion!”
Ben Ezra smiled amicably and began to clear away some of the emptied pewter flagons.
“Doubtless ye are all well-skilled in such matters” — he replied indifferently—” No host maligns a paying customer. Nevertheless, the worthy Melchior comporteth himself with such excellent good discretion that I see no cause wherein ye should take fear of him, — he hath done no man harm.”
“Not that thou knowest of, belike” — said a surly fellow, rising from his seat, and preparing to depart—” But they that are reported harmless, often by spells and incantations, inflict most deadly injuries. Witness you crazed and sinful Prophet of Nazareth! — hath he not the face of an angel? — and yet he hath cursed the Holy Temple, and sworn that not one stone shall remain upon another to show what it hath been! Lo, for such evil boasting his death shall scarce atone! And did not his mere glance this morning send Pilate almost mad, and plunge him in a deadly swoon?”
“Ay, ay! Thou sayest truly!”
And, reminded of the impending triple execution about to take place, the whole company rose up to leave the inn, and began to pay their various reckonings with the landlord. While they were thus engaged, a great roar went up from the waiting multitude outside, — a hoarse discordant sound of savagery and menace. Glancing comprehensively at one another the party of wine-drinkers hastily settled their accounts and made a general rush from the inn, out into the street, where, though they knew it not, the most strangely imposing and wondrous spectacle that was ever seen or would ever be seen in the world awaited them, — the spectacle of a God led forth to die!
The crowd had increased so enormously that the road was completely blocked. Tradesmen with hand carts and pedlars leading pack-mules could not pass, and had to turn back and find their way through the dark and tortuous by-streets of the city to their various destinations. Children lost themselves in the crush, and went about crying, in search of their parents, — a party of travellers newly arrived from Damascus by the caravan route, got wedged with their worn-out horses and mules in the thick of the mob and could not move an inch. As far as the eye could see, the vari-coloured throng heaved restlessly to and fro under the blaze of the brilliant sun, and moving slowly and majestically in the midst of all, came the thorn-crowned “Nazarene.” His hands and arms had been newly and more strongly bound, and were now tied behind Him so that He could not touch anything, or attempt by so much as a gesture to awaken the sympathies of the people. Soldiers encircled Him with a ring of glittering spears, — and following Him closely came four men, of whom one was the executioner, labouring under the cumbrous weight of a huge Cross some ten feet in height, the lower end of which scraped gratingly along in the dust, the thick beam being too heavy to lift up completely. As they caught sight of the cruel instrument of death, the populace set up an ecstatic yell of ferocious applause and satisfaction, and turned their faces all with one accord towards the place of execution, which they understood to be a small hill outside the town, sometimes called Golgotha, and sometimes Calvary. At the moment when the huge human mass thus began to move in one predetermined direction, two additional spectators joined the swarming rabble, — they were Barabbas and Melchior. Barabbas, clad in tunic, vest and mantle of a dense blackish purple, bordered with gold, his rough beard combed and trimmed, and a loose hood of white linen pulled over the thick mass of his wild black hair, looked a very different personage to the half-naked, reckless ruffian who had been set free of the criminal dungeons that very morning. He kept close beside his mysterious new acquaintance, watching him anxiously from time to time as though afraid to lose sight of him. His countenance was grave and composed and not without a certain harsh beauty of expression, — and he walked with an informal grace and ease that was almost dignity. Now and then his eyes wandered over the crowd in front of him to the white figure of the condemned “King of the Jews,” whose shining head, circled with the prickly coronal, rose visibly like a featured Star above all the rest of the surging thousands.
“’Tis a crime to slay the innocent,” — he muttered. “Condone it as they will, it is a crime.”
Melchior gave him a keen critical glance.
“Nothing is a crime if the people swear by it” — he said—” And to slay the innocent hath ever been man’s delight. Doth he not trap the singing-birds and draw his knife across the throat of the fawn? Doth he not tear up the life of a blameless tree and choke the breath of flowers in the grasp of his hand? What wouldst thou, thou meditative black-browed son of Judæa? Physically or morally, the innocent are always slain in this world. No one believes in a pure body — still less do they believe in a pure soul. Pure soul and pure body are there in yonder thorn-crowned Monarch of many lands, — and lo you how we all troop forth to see him die!”
Barabbas was silent, troublously revolving in his own mind the phrase “Monarch of many lands.”
“What is death?” pursued Melchior, “ Why doth it seem so hard a matter. ’Tis the end of all men. Yet whosoever slays the guilty shall be punished, — witness thyself, Barabbas, who didst rid the world of a lying knave. Clad in the skin of hypocrisy was the eminent Gabrias, and thou didst send him into outer darkness with one thrust of thy blade! That was not wisely done, thou fierce-blooded rascal! for he was an evil man, protected by the law, whereas a good and just Man walketh yonder to His death, condemned by the Jews, and the Jews are not punished — yet!”
As he finished speaking there was a loud crashing noise and a shout, and the march of the multitude suddenly stopped. The great Cross had slipped from the grasp of the men supporting it, and its huge weight falling heavily sideways had well-nigh crushed one of the crowd who had ventured too near it. It was a matter of some difficulty to get it up from the ground again, and when the bearers had at last succeeded in partially raising it they paused to take breath, and looked about them for assistance. At that moment a huge, broad-shouldered, black-haired, tawny-skinned fellow was seen to be elbowing his way along in a contrary direction to that in which the mob were pressing, and as he came, many of the people shouted noisy and derisive greetings. His great height made him conspicuous, for he towered above all the heads of the throng except that of the “Nazarene�
�� — and the long almond shape of his eyes, his dark skin, and manner of dress bespoke him of a very different race to the elect of Judæa. As he pushed through the press like a giant thrusting aside pigmies, some of the soldiers recognised him, and shouted his name.
“Simon!”
“Come hither, Simon! Lend thine aid! Hast thou Rufus and Alexander with thee?”
“What news from Cyrene?”
“Thou art here in good time, Simon! For once we shall find use for thee!”
Hearing these and sundry other vociferations, the black-browed Cyrenian paused and looked scornfully about him.
“What is this fool’s feast of howling?” he demanded in an angry tone—” Are you emptying Jerusalem of her thieves and rascals? Then shall the city be left desolate! Whither go ye?” Then, as his fiery eyes roved over the throng and he caught sight of the fair face of the doomed Captive—” What enslaved Prince have ye there?”
Wild yells and execrations drowned his voice, and a considerable portion of the mob closed in and began to hustle him roughly.
“Art thou drunken with new wine that thou dost see a prince in a malefactor? Thieves and rascals dost thou call us, thou dog!”
“Let him bear the Cross of the Nazarene!” shouted one of the roughs, “ He hath often boasted he hath the strength of four men!”
“Ay, ay! Let him carry the Cross. ’Tis fitting toil for a Cyrenian jack-ass such as he!”
And they continued to press round him with much hooting and swearing. The huge Simon was about to strike out with his fists and fight his way free of them all, when suddenly — right across the heads of the multitude — he met the straight, luminous, penetrating look of the Christ. Something shot through his veins like fire, — his strong limbs trembled, — a strange surprise and fear benumbed his mental faculties, — and he mechanically allowed himself to be pushed along to the spot where the bearers of the Cross still rested, taking breath, and wiping the sweat from their brows.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 292
