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

by Marie Corelli

  She looked at him with wondering, dilating eyes.

  “Speakest thou in sober reason, Pontius?” she said—” Wilt thou insist upon thy fancy that He is not dead, and that He cannot die? Thinkest thou He only sleeps?”

  Pilate drew her closer to him.

  “Hush, — hush!” he said in a low trembling tone— “Whatever I may think I must say nothing. Let us hold our peace, — let us live as the world would have us live, in the proud assumption that there is nothing in the universe more powerful or more wonderful than ourselves! So shall we fit ourselves for the material side of nature, — and if there be, in truth, another side, a spiritual, we can shut our eyes and swear we know naught of it. So shall we be deemed wise, — and sane! — and we shall give offence to no one — save to God, — if a God perchance there be!”

  His voice grew faint — his eyes had a vacant stare, — he was looking out and upward to the brilliant sky. Suddenly he brought his gaze down from the heavens to earth and fixed it on the open road beyond his garden where a small dark group of slowly moving figures just then appeared.

  “Who goes yonder?” he said inquiringly— “Seest thou, Justitia, they take the private path towards the house of Iscariot? Surely they carry some heavy burden?”

  Justitia leaned forward to look, then drew back with a faint cry.

  “Come away, — come away!” she whispered, shivering and drawing her flowing robes closer about her—” Do not wait here — do not watch them, — they are bearing home the dead!”

  “The dead!” echoed Pilate—” Then ’tis the body of Judas!”

  Justitia laid her hand entreatingly against his lips.

  “Hush — hush! If it be, as indeed I feel it is, do not speak of it — do not look!” — And with agitated impatience she drew the curtain across the window and shut out the solemn beauty of the night—” I am chilled with horror, Pontius, — I can bear no more! I would not see dead Judas in my dreams! Let us go hence and rest and try to sleep, and, if we can, forget!”

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  THAT same night, before a richly-chased mirror of purely polished silver, and gazing at her own fair face reflected in it by the brilliant lustre of the moon, Judith Iscariot sat, lost in a pleasant reverie. She was alone, — she had dismissed her attendant women, — the picture of her perfect loveliness rendered lovelier by the softness of the lunar beams charmed her, and she would not have so much as a small hand-lamp kindled lest its wavering flicker should destroy the magical effect of her beauty mirrored thus and set about with glory by the argent light of heaven. Leaning back in a low carved chair she clasped her round arms idly behind her head and contemplated herself critically with a smile. She had cast aside the bright flame-tinted mantle she had worn all day, and was now arrayed in white, — a straight plain robe of thin and silky texture that clung about her figure closely, betraying every exquisite curve and graceful line, — her fiery golden hair unbound to its full length fell to the very floor in glistening showers, and from underneath the thick bright ripples of it clustering on her brow, her dark jewel-like eyes flashed with a mingling of joy and scorn.

  “What cowards, after all, are men!” she murmured half aloud, “ Even the strongest! You base Barabbas was nigh to weeping for the death of the accursed ‘Nazarene,’ — methinks ’twas terror for himself rather than pity for the dying. And Caiaphas! — who would have thought he would be paralysed with fear when they told him of the rending of the Temple veil!”

  She laughed softly, — and her lips, laughing back at her from the silver surface into which she gazed, had so bewitching a sweetness in their smile that she leaned forward to observe them more intently.

  “Verily ’tis no marvel that they dote upon me one and all” — she said, studying her delicate features and dazzling complexion with complacent vanity, “ Even smiling so, I draw the subtle Caiaphas my way, — he passeth for a wise priest, yet if I do but set my eyes upon him thus” — and she half closed them and peered langorously through their sweeping lashes—” he pales and trembles, — or thus” — and she flashed them fully open in all their fatal brilliancy—” he loses breath for very love, and gapes upon me, flushed and foolish like one stricken with the burning of the sun. And Barabbas, — I must rid me of Barabbas, though there is something fierce about him that I love, albeit he showed, but little love for me to-day, shaken and palsied as he was by cowardice.”

  She took up a comb and began to pass it slowly through the shining splendour of her hair. Gradually her face became more meditative and a slight frown contracted her brows.

  “Nevertheless there was a horror in that storm!” — she continued in whispered accents—” And even now my heart misgives me strangely, — I would that Judas were at home.”

  She rose up, slim and stately, and stood before her mirror, the golden weight of half her tresses in one hand. Round about her the moonlight fell in a glistening halo, touching here and there a jewel on her arm or bosom to a sudden glimmer of white fire.

  “Caiaphas should have told the people what I bade him” — she murmured, that the tempest was awakened by the evil sorceries of the ‘Nazarene.’ He was possessed of devils, and they did cause the pitchy darkness and the tremor of the earth that rent the rocks asunder. Twas even so, — and Caiaphas should have spoken thus, — but he, too, for the moment, lost judgment through his fears.”

  Pausing, she twisted her hair mechanically round and round her fingers.

  “What was the magic of the Man of Nazareth?” she queried, as though making the inquiry of her own reflection that gazed earnestly back at her from the silver oval surface she confronted — I could see none save beauty. Beauty He had undoubtedly, — but not such beauty as a woman loves. ’Twas too austere and perfect, — too grave and passionless, — albeit He had strange light within His eyes that for a passing second moved me, even me, to terror! And then the thunder came, — and then the darkness” —

  She shivered slightly, then laughed, and glanced up at the moon that shone, round and full, in at her open casement.

  “’Twas a malignant spell He cast,” she said — But now ’tis ended, — and all alarms have ceased. And truly it is well for us that He is dead, for such fanatics are dangerous. And now is Judas undeceived, — he knows this prophet whom he called his Master is no god after all, but simply man, — and he will repent him of his wanderings and return to us again. When his first rage is past, he will come back ashamed and sorrowful, and seeking pardon for his fury of last night. — and we will welcome him with joy and feasting and forgiveness, and once more we shall be happy. Yea, surely Caiaphas did advise me well, and in the death of the blasphemous ‘Nazarene’ Judas is saved from further harm.”

  She threw back her hair over her shoulders and smiled. Then opening a massive brass-bound casket near her, she drew forth a handful of various jewels, and looked at them carelessly one by one, selecting at last a starshaped ornament of magnificent rubies.

  “’Tis a fair gift” — she murmured, holding it up in the moonlight and watching it flash a dull red in the silver rays—” I know not that I have ever seen a fairer! Twas wise of Caiaphas not to bestow this on his sickly spouse, ’twould ill become the pallid skin of the daughter of Annas.”

  She studied the gems carefully, — then diving anew into the casket brought out a chain of exquisite pearls, each pearl as large as the ripe seed of Indian maize.

  “How well they go together thus!” she said, setting them with the ruby star against the whiteness of her bare arm— “They should be worn in company, — the high-priest’s rubies and the stolen pearls of Barabbas!” Her lips parted in a little mocking smile, and for a moment or two she held the gems in her hand, absorbed in thought. Then, slowly fastening the pearls round her throat, she put back the ruby pendant into the jewel-coffer, and again peered at herself in the silver mirror, and as she silently absorbed the glowing radiance of her own matchless beauty, she raised her arms with a gesture of irrepressible triumph.


  “For such as I am the world is made!” she exclaimed—” For such as I am, emperors and kings madden themselves and die! For such as I am proud heroes abase themselves as slaves. No woman lives who can he fairer than I, — and what shall I do with my fairness when I am weary of sporting with lovers and fools? — I will wed some mighty conqueror and be the queen and mistress of many nations!”

  In her superb vanity, she lifted her head higher as though she felt the imagined crown already on her brow, and stepped slowly backward from the mirror, still steadfastly regarding her own image, when all at once the sound of a hurried footfall in the corridor startled her. She turned in a listening attitude, her hair falling about her, and the pearls gleaming on her throat, — the hasty footstep came nearer, — then paused.

  “Madam! Madam!” cried a voice outside.

  Moved by some swift instinct of alarm, she sprang forward and flung the door of her chamber wide open, thus confronting one of her father’s servants, who stared at her wildly, making dumb signs of despair.

  “What is it?” she gasped, — her lips had grown suddenly stiff and dry and she could barely articulate, — her heart beat violently, and the pearls about her neck seemed strangling her.

  The man opened his mouth to answer, then stopped, — Judith clutched him by the arm.

  “Speak!” — she whispered—” What evil news hast thou?”

  “Madam,” faltered the servant trembling—” I dare not utter it, — prithee come — thy father sends — have patience... take comfort” —

  He turned from her, hiding his face.

  “Tis Judas!” she exclaimed—” He is wounded? — Ill? He hath returned?”

  “Ay, madam, he hath returned!” replied the messenger hoarsely, and then, as if fearing to trust himself to the utterance of another word, he hastened away, mutely entreating her to follow.

  She paused a moment, — a ghastly pallor stole away all the light and brilliancy of her features, and she pressed one hand upon her bosom to control its rising fear.

  He hath returned!” she murmured vaguely—” Judas is at home! My father sends for me? — then all is well, — surely ’tis well, — it cannot be otherwise than well.”

  Giving one glance backward into her moonlit room where the silver mirror shone like a glistening shield, she began to move with hesitating step through the corridor, — then, all at once seized by an irresistible panic, she gathered up her trailing white robes in her hand and ran precipitately towards the great vestibule of the house, which her father had had built in the fashion of an Egyptian court, and where he was accustomed to sit in the cool of the evening with his intimates and friends. It was surrounded with square columns and was open to the night, and as Judith came rushing along, her gold hair flying about her like flame and her dark eyes wild with uncertain terror and expectancy, she was confronted by the tall figure of a man who, with extended arms, strove to intercept himself between her and some passive object that lay covered with a cloth on the ground a few steps beyond. She gazed at him amazedly, — it was Barabbas.

  “Judith!” he faltered— “Judith, — wait! — Have patience” —

  But she pushed him aside and ran towards her father, whom she perceived leaning against one of the carven columns, his face hidden upon his arm.

  “Father!” she cried.

  He raised his head and looked at her, — his austere fine features were convulsed by a speechless agony of grief, and with one trembling hand he pointed silently to the stirless covered shape that reposed at a little distance from him. Her eyes followed his gesture, and staggering forward feebly step by step, she pushed back her hair from her brows and stared fixedly at the outline of the thing that was so solemnly inert. Then the full comprehension of what she saw seemed to burst in upon her brain, and falling upon her knees she clutched desperately at the rough cloth which concealed that which she craved, yet feared to see.

  “Judas!” she cried — Judas!”

  Her voice broke in a sharp shriek, and she suddenly withdrew her hands and looked at them in horror, shuddering, as though they had come in contact with some nameless abomination. Lifting her eyes she became dimly conscious that others were around her, — that her father had approached, — that Barabbas was gazing at her, — and with a bewildered vacant smile she pointed to the hidden dead.

  “Why have ye brought him home thus wrapped from light and air?” she demanded in quick jarring accents — It may be that he sleeps, — or hath swooned. Uncover his face!”

  No one moved to obey her. The veiled corpse lying black and stirless in the full light of the moon had something solemnly forbidding in its aspect. And for one or two minutes a profound and awful stillness reigned, unbroken save by the slow chime of a bell striking the midnight hour.

  Suddenly Judith’s voice began again, murmuring in rapid whispers.

  “Judas, — Judas!” she said, “waken! ’Tis folly to lie there and fill me with such terrors, — thou art not dead, — it is not possible, — thou couldst not die thus suddenly. Only last night thou earnest here full of a foolish rage against me, and in thy thoughtless frenzy thou didst curse me, — lo, now thou must unsay that curse, — thou canst not leave me unforgiven and unblessed. What have I ever done of harm to thee? I did but bid thee prove the treachery of the ‘Nazarene.’ And thou hast proved it; wherefore shouldst thou grieve to find deception at an end? Rise up, rise up! — if thou art ill ’tis I will tend thee, — waken! — why shouldst thou rest sullen thus and angry still? Surely ’tis I who should be angry at thy churlishness, for well I know thou hearest my voice, though out of some sick humour, as it seems, thou wilt not answer me!”

  And once more her hands hovered hesitatingly in the air, till apparently nerving herself to a supreme effort, she took trembling hold of the upper part of the pall-like drapery that hid the corpse from view. Lifting it fearfully, she turned it back, slowly, slowly, — then stared in horrid wonderment, — was that her brother’s face she looked upon? — that fair, strange, pallid marble mask with those protruding desperate eyes? Such fixed impenetrable eyes’. — they gave her wondering stare for stare, — and as she stooped down close, and closer yet, her warm red lips went nigh to touch those livid purple ones which were drawn back tightly just above the teeth in the ghastly semblance of a smile. She stroked the damp and ice-cold brow, — she thrust her fingers in the wild hair, — it was most truly Judas or some dreadful likeness of him that lay there in waxen effigy, — a white and frozen figure of dead youth and beauty, — and yet she could not realise the awful truth of what she saw. Suddenly her wandering and distrustful gaze fell on his throat, — a rope was round it, twisted in such a knot that where it pressed the flesh the skin was broken, and the bruised blood, oozing through, had dried and made a clotted crimson mark as though some jagged knife had hacked it. Beholding this, she leapt erect, and, tossing her arms distractedly above her head, gave vent to a piercing scream that drove sharp discord through the air, and brought the servants of the household running in with torches in the wildest confusion and alarm. Her father caught her in his arms, endeavouring to hold and pacify her, — in vain! — he might as well have striven to repress a whirlwind. She was transformed into a living breathing fury, and writhed and twisted in his grasp, a convulsed figure of heart-rending despair.

  “Look you, they have murdered him!” she shrieked—” They have murdered Judas! — he hath been violently slain by the followers of the ‘ Nazarene’! O cruel deed! — There shall be vengeance for it, — vengeance deep and bitter, — for Judas had no fault at all save that of honesty. Caiaphas! Caiaphas! Where is Caiaphas? Bid him come hither and behold this work! — bid him pursue and crucify the murderers! — let us go seek the Roman governor, — justice I say! — I will have justice” — Here her shrill voice suddenly sank, and flinging herself desperately across her brother’s body, she tried with shaking fingers to loosen the terrible death-noose of the strangling cord.

  “Undo this knot” — she cried sobb
ingly— “O God! will none of ye remove this pressure that doth stop his breath? Maybe he lives yet! — his eyes have sense and memory in them, — untie this twisted torture, — prithee help me, friends, — father, help me” —

  Even as she spoke, with her fingers plucking at the cord, an awful change passed over her face, and snatching her hands away she looked at them aghast, — they were wet with blood. A strange light kindled in her eyes, — a wan smile hovered on her lips. She held up her stained fingers.

  “Lo, he bleeds!” she said—” The life within him rises to my touch, — he is not dead!”

  “He bleeds as dead men oft are wont to bleed at the touch of their murderers!” — said a harsh voice suddenly, “ Thou, Judith, hast brought thy brother to his death, — wherefore his very blood accuses thee!”

  And the rugged figure of Peter advancing, stood out clear in the moonbeams that fell showering on the open court.

  Iscariot, tall and stately, confronted him in wrath and astonishment.

  “Man, how darest thou at such a time thus rave upon my daughter” — he began, then stopped, checked in his speech by the austere dignity of the disciple’s attitude and his regal half-menacing gesture.

  “Back, Jew!” he said—” Thou who art not born again of water or of spirit, but art ever of the tainted blood of Israel unregenerate, contest no words with me! Remorse hath made me strong! I am that Peter who denied his Master, and out of sin repented of I snatch authority! Dispute me not, — I speak not unto thee, but unto her; — she who doth clamour for swift justice on the murderers of her brother there. Even so do I cry out for justice! — even so do I demand vengeance! — vengeance upon her who drove him to his doom. For Judas was my friend, — and by his own hand was he slain, — but in that desperate deed no soul took part save she who now bemoans the end that hath been wrought through the tempting of her serpent subtilty!”