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

by Marie Corelli

  Caiaphas looked down a trifle uneasily, then up again.

  “Yea, I did mark it,” — he said softly— “And that I heard and knew thy voice is no matter for surprise, seeing that it was a strain of music amid much discord. And freely do I sympathise with thy sorrow concerning Judas, — thy brother was ever thy dear and favourite companion, and this Galilean miracle-monger hath brought him naught save ruin. He hath fled the city they say. Knowest thou whither?”

  A vague anxiety shadowed the beautiful face he watched so narrowly.

  “Nay, not I,” she answered, and her accents trembled— “Last night he came to me, ’twas after he had led the guards to the garden of Gethsemane where they captured the Nazarene, — and like a madman, he called down curses upon himself and me. He was distraught, — I knew him not, — he raged and swore. I strove to calm him, — he thrust me from him, — I called him by every endearing name, but he was as one deaf to affection or to reason; — I bade him think of our dead mother, how she loved him, — he shrieked at me as though I had plunged a dagger in his heart. Our father besought him with tears to remember all the claims of family and duty, but still he raved and beat his breast, crying aloud ‘I have sinned! I have sinned! The weight of heaven and earth crushes my soul — the innocent blood is red upon my hands! I have sinned! I have sinned!’ Then with a sudden violence he flung us from him, and rushed furiously from our dwelling out into the night. I followed him fast, hoping to stay him ere he could have left our garden, — but his was a crazed speed, — I found him not. The moon was shining and the air was still, — but he had gone, — and since then I have not seen him.”

  Two tears quivered on her silky lashes and fell among the jewels at her breast. A gathering trouble darkened the high-priest’s countenance.

  “’Tis strange,” he muttered—”’Tis very strange! He hath fulfilled a duty to the laws of his people, and now, when all is done, he should rejoice and not lament. Nevertheless, be sure his humour is but temporarily distracted, though I recognise the actual cause thou hast for sisterly misgiving. Yet take thou comfort in believing all is well, — and let thy thirst of vengeance now be satisfied, for see they do begin to nail the malefactor down.”

  He spoke thus, partly to divert Judith’s thoughts from anxiety on her brother’s account, and partly because just then he saw Petronius the centurion give the fatal signal. Petronius had in truth purposely delayed this act till the last possible moment, and now, when he was finally compelled to lift his gauntleted hand in sign that the terrible work of torture should commence, he caught, for the further inward distress and remorse of his mind, a sudden look from the patient, upturned, Divine eyes. Such eyes! — shining like twin stars beneath the grand supernal brows round which the rose-thorns pressed their piercing circlet, — eyes alit with some supreme inscrutable secret spell that had the power to shake the spirit of the strongest man. Petronius could not bear those eyes, — their lustrous purity and courage were too much for his composure, — and trembling from head to foot with an almost womanish nervousness he turned abruptly away. The murmuring noise of the vast expectant multitude died off gradually like the retreating surge of a distant sea, — a profound silence reigned, — and the hot movelessness of the air grew more and more weightily intensified. The executioners having received their commands, and overcoming their momentary hesitation, gathered in a rough half-nude group around the Cross whereon lay unresistingly the Wonder of the Ages, and knelt to their hideous task, their muscular brown arms, grimy with dust and stained already with splashes of blood from the crucifying of the two thieves, contrasting strangely with the dazzling whiteness of the Figure before them. They paused a moment, holding the huge long-pointed nails aloft,... would this Man of Nazareth struggle? — would it be needful to rope His limbs to the wooden beams as they had done to the other two condemned? With the fierce scrutiny of those accustomed to signs of rebellion in the tortured, they studied their passive Captive,... not a quiver stirred the firmly composed limbs,... not a shade of anxiety or emotion troubled the fair face,.... while the eyes, rolled up to the blinding splendour of the sky, were gravely thoughtful and full of peace. No bonds were needed here; — the Galilean was of marvellously heroic mould, — and every hardened torturer around Him, silently in his heart of hearts, recognised and respected the fact. Without further parley they commenced their work,... and the startled earth, affrighted, groaned aloud in cavernous echoes as the cruel hammers heavily rose and fell, clanging out the tocsin of a God’s death and a world’s redemption. And at the self-same moment, up to the far star-girdled Throne of the Eternal, sped the tender low-breathed supplication of the dying Well-Beloved, —

  “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!”

  CHAPTER XVI.

  A DREADFUL hush of horror reigned. The stirless heat of the atmosphere felt as heavy to the senses as an overhanging solid mass of burning iron. The forces of Nature seemed paralysed, as though some sudden shock had been dealt at the core of life, or as though the rolling world had paused, palpitating for breath in its pacing round the sun. Not a sound broke the oppressive stillness save the dull reverberation of the hammers at their deadly business, — for the vast human multitude stood dumb, sullenly watching the working of their will, yet moved by a vague remorse and an equally vague terror. Not one among them would have dared to suggest at this late hour any mercy for the Victim; they, the people, had desired this thing, and their desire was being accomplished. All being carried out as they wished, they could not well complain, nor could they recall their own decision. But there was something unnatural and ghastly in the scene, — a chill sense of nameless desolation began to creep upon the air, — and while each man and woman present strained both body and sight to see the fine fair limbs of the “Galilean” pierced through and fastened to the torture-tree, they were all conscious of fear; fear of what or of whom, none could have truly told, — nevertheless fear dominated and daunted the spirits of every one. And it was this unconfessed inexplicable alarm that kept them silent, — so that not even a whispered “Alas!” escaped from any pitying voice when the beauteously arched, delicate feet of the Divine Sufferer were roughly seized, crossed over and held in position by one executioner, while another placed the nail in the nerve centres of the tender flesh. A third callous ruffian dealt the measured blows which drove in the thick, sharp iron prong with a slow force calculated to double and treble the exquisite agony of lingering martyrdom, — and swiftly the hurt veins rebelled against their wrong in bursting jets of innocent blood. The crimson stain welled up and made a piteous rose on the torn skin’s whiteness, but He who was thus wounded, stirred not at all, nor uttered a cry. His human flesh mutely complained of human injustice in those reproachful red life-drops; but the indomitable Spirit that dwelt within that flesh made light of merely mortal torment, and was already seizing Death in the grasp of victory. And the feet that had borne their Owner into dreary, forsaken ways where the poor and the outcast dwell in sorrow, — that had lightly paused among the “lilies of the field” while such sweet words were spoken as made these simple flowers talismans of grace for ever, — that had moved softly and tenderly through the fields of corn and gardens of olive, and villages and towns alike, carrying consolation to the sad, hope to the lost, strength to the weak, — now throbbed and ached and bled in anguish for man’s ingratitude, man’s forgetfulness, man’s abhorrence of the truth and suicidal doubt of God. How easy it is to hate!... how difficult to love, as Love demands!... Many assembled there on Calvary that never-to-be-forgotten day, had listened to the fearless and holy teaching of Him whose torment they now coldly watched, when in the fields, on the hills or by the reverent sea, He had taught them the startling new lesson that “God is a Spirit; and they that worship Him must worship Him in Spirit and in Truth.” No savage “Jehovah-Jireh,” craving for murder and thirsting for vengeance was the supreme Creator, but a Father, — a loving Father, of whom this youthful Prophet with the heaven-lit eyes had sai
d—” Fear not, little flock! — it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom!” He — this Man upon the Cross — had on one memorable morning, gathered about Him a crowd of the fallen and sick and poor and disconsolate, and with a tender smile as radiant as the summer sunshine, had said—” Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest!”... And they had come, — those heart-broken and agonised of the earth, — they had knelt and wept at His feet, — they had kissed His garments and the ground on which He trod, — they had placed their little children in His arms, and had told Him all their sorrows. And He had laid His hands upon them in blessing, — those fair white hands of mystic power and healing which dispensed naught but good, — but which now, palms outward, were fastened to the death-rack,... a symbolic token of the world’s reward to all its noblest souls!... The blood oozed slowly and reluctantly from those hands, but, as was usual in the dolours of crucifixion, gathered itself painfully in the outstretched arms, — swelling the veins and knotting the muscles, — though as yet the terrible ordeal had not reached its height, for the Cross had still to be lifted. For that tremendous uplifting the whole universe waited, — for |that, the very heavens were at pause and the angels stricken dumb!

  The executioners having finished the first part of their task, now beckoned the centurion to step forward and see for himself that the nails in the Victim’s body were secure, so that he might be able to certify to the authorities that the law had been adequately fulfilled. With a sickening heart, Petronius obeyed the signal. But his sight was dazzled, — his brain reeled, — there was a choking dryness in his throat, and he could not speak a word. Yet this time the Man of Sorrows never looked at him, — the Divine orbs of light and genius were turned to heaven alone, as though absorbing the fiery glory of the sun. And, — was it fancy, or some delusion of his own sense of vision that suddenly gave him the impression of an approaching darkness in the sky? — as if indeed the sun were losing lustre? He rubbed his eyes and gazed dubiously about, — surely a mysterious shadow as of outspread wings rested on the landscape! Were the people, — were the soldiers conscious of this? Apparently not. Their attention was concentrated on the work of death, — and there was a general eager forward movement of the crowd to see the Cross set up. As Petronius, dazed and bewildered, stepped back, the executioners, six in all, men of sinewy and powerful build, bent themselves energetically to the completion of their work,... in vain! Their united forces could not raise the world’s Eternal Symbol one inch from the ground. They struggled and dragged at it, the sweat pouring from their brows, — but its priceless freight of Godhead, Majesty and Love resisted all their efforts.

  “I said he was a Hercules,” growled the chief man, wringing the perspiration from his rough beard, “ The Cross itself is of uncommon size, and he upon it hath the mould of heroes. What, Simon! Simon of Cyrene! Art thou there?”

  The crowd moved and murmured and made way, — and Simon, thus apostrophised, came slowly to the front.

  “What need ye more of me?” he demanded sullenly, “ Think ye I will aid in murder?”

  “Thou Libyan ass!” retorted the executioner—” Who talks of murder? This is the law’s work, not ours. Lend us thy brawny arms a minute’s space, — thou art made in a giant’s shape, and shouldst have a giant’s force withal. An’ thou wilt not” — he added in a lower tone—” we must use greater roughness.”

  Simon hesitated, — then, as if inwardly compelled, advanced submissively to the foot of the Cross. His eyes were cast down, and he bit his lips to hide their nervous trembling.

  “Lift ye all together the upper beams” — he said softly to the executioners, hushing his voice like one who speaks in rapture or in reverence— “I will support the end.” They stared amazedly, — he was voluntarily choosing the greater weight which would inevitably be his to bear directly the Cross was raised. But they offered no opposition. Stronger than any lion he was known to be, — let him test his strength now, for here was his opportunity! So they thought as they went in the direction he indicated, — three men to the right and three to the left. The excitement of the people was now intense, — so passionately absorbed indeed had it become that none seemed to be aware of a singular circumstance that with each moment grew more pronounced and evident, — this was the solemn spreading of a semi-darkness which, like advancing twilight, began gradually to blot out all the brilliant blue of the afternoon skies. It came on stealthily and almost imperceptibly, — but the crowd saw nothing as yet,... nothing but the huge bronzed figure of Simon stooping to lift the Crucified. Tenderly, and with a strange air of humiliation, the rough-featured, black-browed Cyrenian laid hands upon the Cross once more, — the Cross he had so lightly borne to Calvary, — and grasping it firmly, drew it up, up by slow and sure degrees, till the pierced and bleeding feet of the Christ came close against his straining breast,... inch by inch, with panting breath and an ardent force that was more like love than cruelty, he lifted it higher and higher from the ground, the executioners holding and guiding the transverse beams upward till these were beyond their reach, — and Simon alone, with wildly beating heart and muscles stretched nigh to breaking, supported for one lightning instant the world’s Redeemer in his arms! He staggered and groaned, — the blood rushed to his face and the veins in his forehead swelled,... but he held his ground for that one terrible moment,... then,... a dozen men rushed excitedly to his assistance, and with their aid the great Cross, with the greatest Love transfixed upon it, was thrust into the deep socket dug for its reception on the summit of the hill. It fell in with a thudding reverberation as though its end had struck the very centre of the earth, — and trembling to and fro for a few seconds, like a tree shaken by a storm-wind, was soon perfectly still, fixed steadily upright between the two already crucified thieves, who, though dying fast, were not yet dead. Salvation’s Symbol stood declared! — and Simon of Cyrene, having done all he was needed to do, returned slowly with faltering steps and swimming brain, conscious only of one thing, — that the blood of the Victim had stained his breast, and that the stain seemed to burn his flesh like fire. He folded his garment over it to hide it, as though it were a magic talisman which must for safety’s sake be well concealed; it gave him pain as much as if he had himself been wounded,... and yet... it was a pang that thrilled and warmed his soul! He saw nothing, — the earth appeared to eddy round him like a wave, — but he stumbled on blindly, heedless of whither he went and forcing his way through the crowd that gaped at him in wonderment, the while he muttered from time to time under his breath the words of the inscription above the head of the Divine Martyr,

  “JESUS OF NAZARETH, KING OF THE JEWS!”

  And now, the Cross being openly set up, and the slow devourings of death having commenced upon the sinless Sacrifice, a long wild shout of savage exultation arose from the multitude, — a shout that rang in harsh, hoarse echoes over the hill, through the low-lying gardens beyond, and away as it seemed to the summit of Mount Moriah, where over Solomon’s glistening Temple a cloud as of dust or smoke hung like a warning of storm and fire. And the barbaric human clamour as it mutteringly died away was suddenly taken up and all unexpectedly answered by a grander uproar, — a deep, threatening boom of far-off thunder. In circling tones and semi-tones of wrath it volleyed through the skies, — and, startled by the sound, the people, roused for the first time from their morbid engrossment in the work of cruel torture and blood-shedding, looked up and saw that the heavens were growing dark and that the sun was nearly covered by an inky black cloud, from which its rim peered feebly like a glimmering half-moon. Against the background of that obscured sun and sable cloud the Cross stood clear, the outstretched Figure on it, looking, in that livid murkiness, whiter than a shape of snow, — and the multitude, silenced anew by some strange terror, watched and listened, — chained in their thousands to the one spot by mingled fear and fascination. Afraid to move they knew not why, and waiting for they knew not what, they gazed all with
one accord at the huge Cross and its emblazoned Glory suspended between them and the pallidly vanishing sun, — and murmured to one another vaguely between-whiles of storm and rain, — there would be a heavy shower they said, — good for the land and cooling to the air. But they spoke at random, — their thoughts were not with their words, and their minds were ill at ease. For the omnipresent spirit of fear, like a chill wind, breathed upon their nerves, lifting the very hair of their flesh and causing their limbs to tremble. And ever the skies darkened, and ever, with scarce a moment’s pause, the gathering thunders rolled.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  DEEPER and deeper drooped the dull grey gloom, like a curtain falling slowly and impenetrably over all things. The strange stillness of the multitude,... the heavy breathlessness of the air,... and the appalling effect of the three crosses with the tortured figures on them, standing out against the lurid storm-light, were sufficient to inspire a sense of awe and dread in the mind, of the most hardened and callous beholder. The booming thunder swinging to and fro in the clouds resembled the sepulchral sound of an iron-tongued funeral bell, half muffled, half clamant,... and presently the landscape took upon itself a spectral look, as of being a dream scene unsubstantially formed of flitting vapour. The circling line of the Roman soldiery appeared to lessen to the merest thread of gleaming steel, — the serried ranks of the populace merged into a confused, apparently intangible blur, — and in the singular flitting and wavering of light and shade, it happened that at last only the one central Cross became pre-eminently visible. Outlined with impressive distinctness, it suddenly seemed to assume gigantic proportions, stretching interminably as it were to east and west, up to heaven and down to earth, while behind the head of the Divine Crucified, a golden pearl of the veiled sun shone like the suggestion of a new world bursting into being. One instant this weird glamour lasted,... and then a blue blaze of lightning cut up the sky into shreds and bars, followed instantaneously by a terrific -clap of thunder. Men grew pale,... women screamed,... even the soldiers lost their wonted composure and looked at each other in doubting and superstitious dread. For they had their gods, these rough untutored men, — they believed in the angers of Jupiter, — and if the fierce god’s chariot-wheels were rattling through the far empyrean thus furiously, surely his wrath would soon exceed all bounds! And could it be because the “Nazarene” was crucified? Their darkening countenances full of apprehension expressed their thoughts, and the highpriest Caiaphas, quick to detect the least hint of a change in the popular sentiment, became uneasy. This storm, commencing at the very moment of the crucifixion, might so impress and terrify the ignorant rabble, that they might imagine the death of the Galilean Prophet was being visited on them by the powers of heaven, — and possibly might insist on having Him taken down from the Cross after all. He imparted his politic fears to Judith Iscariot in a whisper, — she too had grown pale at the loud threat of the gathering storm, and was not without a nervous sense of alarm, — but she was prouder than most of her sex, and scorned to outwardly show any misgiving whatever she inwardly felt. And while Caiaphas yet murmured discreetly in her ear, a sudden glow as of fire was flung upon Calvary, — the sable mask of cloud slid from the sun, — and wide rays of light tinged with a singular redness like that of an out-breaking volcano, blazed forth brilliantly over the hill. Cheered by the splendour, the people threw off, in part, their vague terrors, — their faces brightened, — and Caiaphas profiting by his opportunity, stepped out in full view of the crowd, and advanced majestically towards the Cross from which the “ King of the Jews” looked down upon him. Lifting his hand to shade his eyes from the crimson glare which haloed with a burning ring the outstretched patient Figure, he exclaimed in clear loud accents— “Thou that destroyest the temple and buildest it in three days, save thyself and come down from the cross!”