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

by Marie Corelli

  “Welcome, Simon!” said one of them with a grin— “Thy broad back shall for once do us good service! Where are thy sons?”

  “What need ye of them?” growled Simon roughly, “Surely they have been in Jerusalem these many days.”

  “Rufus hath been wine-bibbing,” piped a lad standing by, “ And Alexander hath been seen oft at the moneychangers’!”

  “And thou art a prating infant,” retorted Simon—” Who gave thee leave to note the actions of grown men? In Cyrene thou wouldst be whipped for opening thy mouth before thy betters.” —

  “Callest thou thyself my betters!” said the boy derisively, “ Thou mud-skinned rascal! Take up the Cross and see thou stumble not!”

  For one second Simon looked as though he were about to strike the lad to the earth, — but he was surrounded by the Jewish mob and the Roman soldiers, and there was the magnetic impression upon him of two splendid sorrowful Eyes that had, in one lightning glance, expressed a silent wish, — a dumb yet irresistible command; — and therefore he stood mute, displaying no resentment. Nor did he make the least attempt to resist when, with jeers and laughter, the soldiers lifted the great Cross and laid its entire, unsupported weight upon his shoulders.

  “How likest thou that, thou giant of the mountain and the sea!” screamed an excitable old woman in the crowd, shaking her wrinkled fist at him, “ Wilt vaunt again of thy city set on a hill, and the vigour thou inhalest from thy tufts of pine? Shall we not hear thy sinews crack, thy ruffian of Cyrene, who doth dare to mock the children of Israel!”

  But Simon replied not. He had settled the Cross steadily in position, and now, clasping its lower beam with both muscular arms, appeared to carry its massive weight with extraordinary and even pleasurable ease. The soldiers gathered round him in amaze, — such herculean vigour was something of a miracle, — and awakened their reluctant admiration. Petronius, the centurion, approached him.

  “Canst thou in very truth bear the Cross?” he asked, — he was a mercifully-minded man, and of himself would neither have incited a mob to cruelty nor soldiers to outrage, “ ’Tis some distance yet to Calvary, — wilt venture thus far?”

  Simon lifted his black leonine head, — his eyes had grown soft and humid, and a faint smile trembled on his bearded lips.

  “I will venture with this burden to the end of the world!” he answered, and there was a deep thrill of tenderness in his voice that made its roughness musical; “To me ’tis light as a reed newly plucked by the river! Waste no words concerning my strength or my body’s ableness, — lead on with yonder crowned Man — I follow!”

  Petronius stared at him in undisguised wonderment, but said no more. And once again the multitude began to move, crushing onward like the troublous waves of a dark sea, all flowing in one direction, and illumined only by the golden beacon-splendour of that Divine Glory in their midst, the god-like visage, the steadfast eyes and radiant head of the “King of the Jews.” And the tramping feet of the hurrying thousands awakened from the stones of the road a sullen continuous echo of thunder, as with shouts and shrieks and oaths and laughter they pressed forward, athirst for blood, — forward, and on to Calvary!

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE sun now rode high in the heavens, and the scorching heat became almost unendurable. The morning’s trial had begun earlier and lasted longer than in ordinary cases, owing to Pilate’s indecision, and after the final pronouncement of the people’s verdict, there had still been delays, so that time had worn on imperceptibly till it was past mid-day. The perfect blue of the sky was of such a deep and polished luminance that it suggested a dome of bright burning metal rather than air, from which the vertical light-rays darted, sharp as needles, plunging their hot points smartingly into the flesh. Jerusalem lay staring up at the brilliant glare, its low white houses looking almost brittle in the blistering flames of noon, — here and there tall palms shot up their slender brown stems and tufts of dusty green against the glassy dazzle of the clear ether, — and, hanging over the roofs of some of the best-built dwellings, the large loose leaves of the fig-trees lolled lazily, spreading wide and displaying on their branches ripe fruit ready to break into crimson pulp at a touch. Full in the blaze of the sunshine the splendid Temple of Solomon on Mount Moriah glistened like a huge jewel, its columns and porticoes defined with microscopical distinctness and clearly visible from every quarter of the city, — while at certain glimmering points of distance the monotonous outlines of buildings and street corners were relieved by the pink flush of cactus-flowers and the grey-green of olive boughs. Over all the scene there brooded a threatening stillness as of pent-up thunder, — and this heavy calm of the upper air presented itself in singular opposition to the tumultuous roaring of the crowd below, whose savage irritability and impatience were sensibly increased by the parching dryness of the atmosphere. Pouring through the streets in a fever of excitement that rose higher with every onward step, the heat and fatigue of their march seemed to swell their fury rather than diminish it, and they bellowed like wild beasts as they scrambled, pushed, and tore along, each man ravenously eager to be among the first to arrive at the place of execution. And by and by, when the soldiers began to halt at various wine-shops on their way to quench the devouring thirst induced by the choking dust and the stifling weather, the multitude were not slow in following their example. Drink was purchased and passed about freely in cups and flagons, and its effect was soon seen. Disorderly groups of men and women began to dance and sing, — some pretended to preach, — others to prophesy, — one of the roughs offered a goblet of wine to Simon of Cyrene, and because he steadily refused it, dashed it violently on the Cross he carried. The red liquid trickled off the wood like blood, and the fellow who had cast it there gave a tipsy yell of laughter.

  “Lo ’tis baptized!” he cried to the applauding mob, — With a better baptism than that of headless John!”

  His dissolute companions roared their appreciation of the jest, and the discordant hubbub grew more and more deafening. With that curious fickleness common to crowds, every one seemed to have forgotten Barabbas, for whose release they had so recently and eagerly clamoured. They were evidently not aware of his presence among them, — probably they did not recognise him, clad as he was in sober and well-ordered apparel. He was in the thick of the press, however, and watched the coarse, half-drunken antics of those around him with a pained and meditative gravity. Occasionally his eyes grew restless and wandered over the heaving mass of people in troubled search, as though looking for something lost and incalculably precious. Melchior, always beside him, observed this and smiled somewhat satirically.

  “She is not there,” — he said— “Thinkest thou she would mingle with this vulgar swarm? Nay, nay! She will come, even as the high-priests will come, by private by-ways, — perchance the excellent Caiaphas himself will bring her.”

  “Caiaphas!” echoed Barabbas doubtfully— “What knoweth she of Caiaphas?”

  “Much!” replied Melchior. “His wife is one of her friends elect. Have I not told thee, thou simple-souled barbarian, to remember that thou hast been lost to the world for eighteen months? To a woman ’tis an ample leisure wherein to work mischief! Nay, be not wrathful!— ’tis my alien way of speech, and I am willing to believe thy maiden a paragon of all the virtues till” —

  “Till what?” demanded Barabbas suspiciously.

  “Till it is proved otherwise!” said Melchior. “And that she is beauteous is beyond all question, — and beauty is all that the soul of a man desireth. Nevertheless, as I told thee awhile agone, ’twas her brother that betrayed the “Nazarene.”

  “I marvel at it!” murmured Barabbas—” Judas was ever of an open candid nature.”

  “Thou didst know him well?” questioned Melchior with one of his keen looks.

  “Not well, but sufficiently” — and Barabbas flushed a shamed red as he spoke—” He was one of my fellow-workers in the house of Shadeen, — the merchant I told thee of” —

 
“The Persian dealer in pearls and gold? — Ah!” and Melchior smiled again, “ And, all to please the sister of this so candid Judas, thou didst steal jewels and wert caught in thy theft! Worthy Barabbas! Methinks that for this Judith of thine, thou didst commit all thy sins!”

  Barabbas lowered his eyes.

  “She craved for gems,” — he said, in the tone of one proffering suitable excuse, “ And I took a necklet of pure pearls. They were suited to her maidenhood, and seemed to me better placed round her soft dove’s throat than in the musty coffer of Shadeen.”

  “Truly a notable reason for robbing thy employer! And thy plea for the right to commit murder was equally simple, — Gabrias the Pharisee slandered the fair one, and thou with a knife-thrust didst silence his evil tongue! So! to speak honestly ’tis this Judith Iscariot is the cause of all thy sufferings and thy imprisonment and yet — thou lovest her!”

  “If thou hast seen her” — murmured Barabbas with a sigh.

  “I have!” returned Melchior tranquilly—” She is willing to be seen! Is she not the unrivalled beauty of the city, and wherefore should she be chary of her charms? They will not last for ever; best flourish them abroad while yet they are fresh and fair. Nevertheless they have made of thee both thief and murderer.”

  Barabbas did not attempt to contradict the truth of this pitiless statement.

  “And if all were known” — pursued Melchior, “ the sedition in which thou wert concerned perchance arose from her persuasion?”

  “No, no!” averred Barabbas quickly— “There were many reasons. We are under tyranny; not so much from Rome as from our own people, who assist to make the laws. The priests and the Pharisees rule us, and many are the abuses of authority. The poor are oppressed, — the wronged are never righted. Now I have read many a Greek and Roman scroll, — and have even striven to study somewhat of the wisdom of the Egyptians, and I have the gifts of memory and ready speech, so that I can, if needful, address a multitude. I fell in with some of the disaffected, and gave them my service in their cause, — I know not how it chanced, — but surely there is a craving for freedom in the breast of every man? — and we, — we are not free.”

  “Patience! ye shall have wondrous liberty ere long!” said Melchior, a dark look flashing from his eyes— “For the time is coming when the children of Israel shall rule the land with rods of iron! The chink of coin shall be the voice of their authority, and yonder thorn-crowned Spirit will have lived on earth in vain for those who love gold more than life. The triumph of the Jews is yet to be! Long have they been the captive and the conquered, — but they shall make captives in their turn, and conquer the mightiest kings. By fraud, by falsehood, by cunning, by worldly-wisdom, by usury, by every poisoned arrow in Satan’s quiver they shall rule! Even thy name, Barabbas, shall serve them as a leading title; ’tis thou shalt be ‘King of the Jews’ as far as this world holds, — for He who goeth before us is King of a wider nation — a nation of immortal spirits over whom gold has no power!”

  Barabbas gazed at him in awe, understanding little of what he meant, but chilled by the stern tone of his voice which seemed to have within it a jarring note of menace and warning.

  “What nation dost thou speak of” — he murmured, “ What world” —

  “What world?” repeated Melchior, “No single world, but a thousand million worlds! There, far above us” — and he pointed to the dazzling sky, “is the azure veil which hides their courses and muffles their music, — but they are existent facts, not dreamer’s fancies, — huge spheres, vast systems sweeping onward in their appointed ways, rich with melody, brimming with life, rounded with light, and yonder Man of despised Nazareth, walking to His death, knows the secrets of them all!”

  Stricken with a sudden terror, Barabbas stopped abruptly and caught the impassioned speaker by the arm.

  “What sayest thou?” he gasped—” Art thou mad? — or hast thou too beheld the Vision? For I have thought strange and fearful things since I looked upon His face and saw — Nay, good Melchior, why should this crime be visited upon Judæa? Let me harangue the people, — perchance it is not too late for rescue!”

  “Rescue!” echoed Melchior— “Rescue a lamb from wolves, — a fawn from tigers, — or more difficult still a Faith from priestcraft! Let be, thou rash son of blinded passion, let be! What is designed must be accomplished.”

  He was silent for a little space, and seemed absorbed in thought. Barabbas walked beside him, silent too, but full of an inexplicable horror and fear. The surging mob howled and screamed around them, — their ears were for the moment deaf to outer things. Presently Melchior looked up and the amber gleam in his eyes glittered strangely as he said, —

  “And Judas, — Judas Iscariot, thou sayest, was of a simple nature?”

  “He seemed so when I knew him” — answered Barabbas with an effort, for his thoughts were in a tangle of distress and perplexity—” He was notable for truth and conscientiousness, — he was much trusted, and kept the books of Shadeen. At times he had wild notions of reform, — he resented tyranny, and loathed the priests. Yea, so much did he loathe them that he never would have entered the synagogue, had it not been to please his father, and more specially Judith, his only sister whom he loved. So much he once told me. One day he left the city in haste and secrecy, — none knew whither he went, — and after that” —

  “After that thou didst steal Shadeen’s pearls for thy love and slay thy love’s slanderer,” — finished his companion serenely, “and thou wert plunged in prison for thy follies; and narrowly hast thou escaped being crucified this day.”

  Barabbas looked up, his black eyes firing with a sudden ardour.

  “I would have died willingly to save you kingly Man!” he said impulsively.

  Melchior regarded him steadily, and his own eyes softened.

  “Breaker of the law, thief and murderer as thou art convicted of being,” he said, “thou hast something noble in thy nature after all! May it count to thy good hereafter! And of Judas I can tell thee somewhat. When he departed secretly from Jerusalem, he journeyed to the borders of the Sea of Galilee, and there did join himself in company with the Prophet of Nazareth and His other disciples. He wandered with Him throughout the land, — I myself saw him near Capernaum, and he was ever foremost in service to his Master. Now, here in Jerusalem last night, he gave Him up to the guard, — and lo, the name of Judas from henceforth will stand for ‘traitor’ to the end of time!”

  Barabbas shuddered, though he could not have told why.

  “Doth Judith know of this?” he asked.

  A fleeting cold smile hovered on Melchior’s lips.

  “Judith knoweth much, — but not all. She hath not seen her brother since yesterday at sundown.”

  “Then hath he fled the city?”

  Melchior looked at him strangely for a moment. Then he answered, —

  “Yea, he hath fled.”

  “And those others who followed the Nazarene,” inquired Barabbas eagerly—” Where are they?”

  “They have fled also” — returned Melchior. “What else should they do? Is it not natural and human to forsake the fallen?”

  “They are cowards all!” exclaimed Barabbas hotly.

  “Nay!” replied Melchior—” They are — men!”

  And noting his companion’s pained expression he added, —

  “Knowest thou not that cowards and men are one and the same thing, most excellent Barabbas? Didst ever philosophise? If not, why didst thou read Greek and Roman scrolls and puzzle thy brain with the subtle wisdom of Egypt? No man was ever persistently heroic, in small matters as well as great, — and famous deeds are ever done on impulse. Study thyself, — note thine own height and breadth — thou hast so much bone and muscle and sinew, ’tis a goodly frame, well knit together, and to all intents and purposes thou art Man. Nevertheless a glance from a woman’s eyes, a smile on a woman’s mouth, a word of persuasion or suggestion from a woman’s tongue, can make thee steal and commit
murder. Wherefore thou, Man, art also Coward. Too proud to rob, too merciful to slay, — this would be courage, and more than is in man. For men are pigmies, — they scuttle away in droves before a storm or the tremor of an earthquake, — they are afraid for their lives. And what are their lives? The lives of motes in a sunbeam, — of gnats in a mist of miasma, — nothing more. And they will never be anything more, till they learn how to make them valuable. And that lesson will never be mastered save by the few.”

  Barabbas sighed.

  “Verily thou dost love to repeat the tale of my sins,” he said—” Maybe thou dost think I cannot hear it too often. And now thou callest me coward! yet I may not be angered with thee, seeing thou art a stranger, and I, despite the law’s release, am still no more than a criminal, wherefore, because thou seemest wise and of singular powers, I forbear with thy reproaches. But ’tis not too late to learn the lesson thou dost speak of, and methinks even I may make my recovered life of value?”

  “Truly thou mayest,” responded Melchior— “For if thou so dost choose, not all the powers of heaven and earth can hinder thee. But ’tis a business none can guide thee in. Life is a talisman, dropped freely into thy bosom, but the fitting use of the magic gift must be discovered by thyself alone.”

  At that moment, the moving crowd came to a sudden abrupt halt. Loud cries and exclamations were heard.

  “He will die ere he is crucified!”

  “Lo! he faints by the way!”

  “If he can walk no more, bind him with ropes and drag him to Calvary!”

  “Bid Simon carry him as well as the Cross!”