“This is Barabbas?” said Peter slowly—” He who was released unto the Jews instead of the Lord. He hath repented of his crimes: shall we not persuade him to go with us?”
The others looked upon him curiously, — one, a fair, tall man with a noble head and brilliant yet dreamy eyes, addressed him gently —
“Friend, thou art welcome! Knowest thou that He whom the wicked crucified, hath risen gloriously from the dead? Wherefore we, His disciples, grieve no more, seeing that now we have such hope as faileth not! We are journeying from hence to Bethany and on towards Galilee, even as He, our Master bids us, — He hath promised to meet us on the way.”
Barabbas gazed steadily at the speaker.
“Believest thou, with all thy soul, that He hath risen from the dead?”
“Yea, truly!”
“Prithee, who art thou?”
“My name is John.”
A pause ensued. Barabbas stood silent, his brows knitted, his eyes burning sombrely like clouded fire beneath their thick black lashes.
“Wilt thou go with us?” demanded Peter, “ Perchance thou also, on the way, will meet and see the risen Lord!”
“Nay, I have seen Him!” answered Barabbas, and as he said the words, the listening disciples started and exchanged amazed glances one with the other— “And from your words I gather that ye have not! Truly He lives! — that I will swear! Ye have received this news from Mary Magdalene, — and ye are ready to accept the woman’s version as a miracle, — but I, — I was near her when He did converse with her, — I watched His face, — I heard His voice, — I saw Him glide or melt away! Whither He went I know not, for though I searched the tomb He was not there.”
“We also searched the tomb” — began Peter..
“What! Then ye doubted of His rising from the dead? — even ye?” And Barabbas smiled darkly. Will ye know Him, think ye, if ye meet Him by the way?”
“Know Him?” cried Peter—” Ay! — among a thousand thousand!”
Barabbas looked straight at him, with a melancholy scorn in his black eyes.
“Take heed, Peter! Swear nothing. Thou didst deny Him thrice!”
He waited a moment; then went on in slow deliberate accents. —
“Righteous sirs, I am beholden to ye all for the offer of your comradeship; nevertheless I may not join your company. Methinks my destiny is ordered, elsewhere. I am a man of many sins, and cankered o’er with doubts and fears that would not well consort with your fidelity. Nevertheless I deem the Truth can never hurt a man, being most surely part of God, if God there be, — therefore the truth of my refusal ye shall have from me. Lo then, when your Master was betrayed, ye did most pitilessly all forsake Him, and for that one abhorrent deed my soul rebels against ye! Sooner would I companion Judas in his self-sought grave than follow in your track! — I could not break my bread in peace with one deserter of the sinless ‘Nazarene’!”
He paused, agitated by strange passion, and they were all silent, amazed and inwardly stung at the pitiless veracity and daring of his speech.
“I am Barabbas,” he continued, “And my name may serve, an’ ye choose it, for all that is worst in man. I have been both thief and murderer, — I am a vagabond of no value in the world, and I speak without learning, — but I strive not to hide my crimes, — I make no pretence of being what I am not. Ye perchance are righteous, and think ye may exalt mankind, — I am a sinner, and know that men can seldom be exalted. I make no secret of my disbelief, and I say unto you all plainly, that to my thought the Man of Nazareth hath never died, inasmuch as since that so-called death I have myself this very morn beheld Him living. Wonderful in truth was His aspect, — I do confess it! — marvellous beauty and great light attended Him, — but even thus He always looked, ay, even in the Hall of Pilate when first I saw His face. That He swooned upon the Cross is possible, — that He recovered in the tomb is also possible; yea, I would even credit that with the force pent up in His most noble and heroic frame, He could Himself roll back the sealed stone from the sepulchre; but of ‘miracles’ and things impossible I needs must doubt till they are proved. And if ye would confess it, ye have your doubts also even as mine. Nevertheless had I served the ‘Nazarene’ and dwelt with Him as ye have done, as Man and Friend and Teacher merely, I never would have left Him to His enemies, or denied Him, as this Peter, whom despite his late repentance, I despise!”
He spoke with force and eloquence, and Peter shuddered and paled at his rebuke.
“Thou strange ruffian!” he said tremulously — Canst thou not understand the terrors and the hesitations of a man” —
“I can understand all things,” interrupted Barabbas fiercely, “save cowardice! Lo, if this Master whom ye boast of is a god and hath risen truly from the dead, — let Him but come and speak to me — to me, the wretched, sinful, doubting, fearing Barabbas, — let me know Him as He is, and what matter even if I die of the terror and the splendour of His presence! Doubt would shake my soul no more, — I would endure eternities of pain to prove His godhead! Ye have known Him, so ye say, and yet ye doubted and deserted Him! — lo, ye yourselves have made it seem that ye mistrusted Him, — for if ye did believe that He were God, why did ye all forsake Him?” Great tears gathered in the eyes of the disciple called John.
“Prithee, say no more, Barabbas!” he murmured—” We know our faults; we are but men.”
“True!” said Barabbas mournfully—” We are but men! We should be gods to serve a God; and some there be who swear we can become as gods, knowing both good and evil if so we will it. But methinks we only choose to master half the lesson — Evil; — of Good there is little knowledge and less liking. I pray ye all to pardon me the roughness of my speech, — I am a sad, embittered, broken-hearted man, and all life looks upon me frowningly. And though I may not go with ye — I say ‘ godspeed!’ and — if ye meet your Lord, may your eyes have love enough to know Him when ye see Him! — So — farewell!”
“Stay!” cried Peter—” All thy reproaches shall not go unanswered. Thou knowest on whom should fall the rightful blame, though these my companions here are yet in ignorance. I told thee all, — thou and the stranger whom thou hadst with thee, — wherefore carry thy rebuke where most it is deserved, to that arch-traitress whom thy soul doth cherish with a secret passion, uncontrolled, despite her infamy. Ah, who will ever truly tell the story of the Lord’s betrayal! None! — for a woman-wanton is the dearest joy of man, and the very laws he makes protect her foulness and defend his lust!”
“Coward art thou still, Peter!” retorted Barabbas hotly—” Wouldst thou shelter thine own weakness behind that of woman?— ’tis an unmanly deed! Does it make thy sin or the sin of Judas less that ye were so easily tempted by woman’s voice and persuaded by woman’s eyes? Nay! it doth prove your fickleness the more, — go to! bear thy part in crime without mean subterfuge; ’tis nobler to confess a sin than cover it” — Here he broke off abruptly, startled by a sudden movement among the disciples who were all with one accord looking amazedly down the road in the direction of Gethsemane. He followed their wondering glances, and saw to his utter consternation the white-robed form of a woman flying forth like a phantom from under the sheltering shadows of the olive-trees. The fiery gold of her streaming hair flashing in the sun identified her at once to his grieved sight, — it was the frenzied Judith, — and behind her ran the Magdalen, making signals of anxiety and distress. Swaying to and fro, sometimes stumbling, anon rushing impetuously as though borne by a swift wind, the distracted girl fled along like some furiously hunted animal, till her course was interrupted by the presence of the disciples, and Barabbas, with whom she came suddenly face to face. He, going close up to her, tried to take her gently by the hands, but she flung him off with a violent gesture and stood still, panting for breath and trembling. The very fury of mania possessed her; her face was livid and convulsed, her lips were blue and drawn in against her teeth in a thin unnatural line, and in startling contrast to the pallor of her features,
her great dark eyes blazed with a feverish thirsty glare as of some inward longing unappeased.
“Where is the King?” she cried shrilly, fixing a wild look on Peter—” I have been in His garden — all among the flowers and the palms, — but He is not there! He has come out of the grave, they say, — devils and angels alike whisper it, — nevertheless though I seek Him I cannot find Him. But surely He must be found, — I have need of Him speedily, for I must ask Him to pardon Judas, — Judas frowns at me and will not be consoled!”
Here, interrupting herself, she flung her long hair backward over her shoulders, and smiling faintly, looked from one to the other of the disciples in a sort of vague anticipation and inquiry. Peter’s stern eyes rested upon her austerely and without compassion, — she shrank a little away from him, — and again her glances wandered wildly, till a sudden magnetism appeared to attract them fixedly to the calm, fair face of John. With a sharp cry she threw herself on her knees before him, lifting her clasped hands and still smiling piteously.
“Good sir, be gentle with me! I am full of sin, and I have never been merciful to any man, — yet for my brother’s sake I must find the King! I know He cannot have gone so very far away, for last night I beheld Him in a vision. He slept, all white and cold, upon a bed of stone; the blood-stained thorns were in His golden hair, — the grave-clothes were His robes of state, — but even as He lay thus, a great world came to pay Him homage. A strange world — a vast world — the world of the Dead! — they gathered round His couch and smiled upon Him, — their shadowy forms grew warm and colourful with life, — and as they came they chanted all together— ‘Thus is Death slain that we may live!’ And, hearken, sir, hearken! — Judas was there, — Judas, with gentle eyes and smiling lips, but ah! — he never looked on me! — he never smiled at me! — but I was glad, because the cruel mark had gone from round his throat, and he seemed happy, though I, his sister, stood apart, alone! And presently the white King rose!— ’twas marvellous! — His thorny crown was changed to stars! — His grave-clothes glittered into light and fire! — and like the morning Sun itself He shone upon the world. And all the buried men and women lived again, — yea, all the earth was full of life and joy, — but there was one strange terror in the glory, for I heard a voice proclaim with thunder— ‘From henceforth every soul created is immortal; Life rules the universe for ever, and only thou, Judith Iscariot, art dead!’”
She gave vent to a shuddering moan, and writhing herself to and fro, clung to the mantle of John as though for protection. He did not repulse or try to raise her, but stood silently, gazing down upon her crouching figure in solemn compassion. Mary Magdalene had also approached, and now bent above the unfortunate girl with whispered words of more than a sister’s tenderness, but Judith seemed unconscious of her presence, and still lifted her appealing face to John.
“Think of it, gentle sir!” she murmured sobbingly — Is it not hard, very hard, that I, only I, out of all Creation, should thus be dead? In all the joy and moving of the world, that my heart should be frozen thus and still? — that I should feel no love, no hope, no memory? Yet it is true! — I know the curse has fallen upon me, for I am stricken dull and foolish, — I am even as a stone upon the road for every foot to spurn at. Beauty I had, — but ’twas of no avail to me; love I had, but love was powerless to defend me; and lo, while all the universe rejoices in its life eternal, I, Judith, must remain the one dead soul accursed, — unless — unless, so the whispers in the air tell me, I may haply find the King. For though He looked in anger on me once, ’tis said He hath great tenderness, and patience more than all men, — He will perchance forgive. He is not in His garden, — I have sought Him everywhere, and Judas has not come. Help me, Mend, I do beseech thee! — take me to the presence of the King, — for Judas is angered with me, — Judas must be consoled!”
CHAPTER XLV.
SHE knelt, — her wide-open wild eyes upturned; — and as she finished her incoherent appeal, she lifted the roughly twisted cross she had made, and held it close up before the wondering gaze of the “beloved” disciple.
“Will this not move thee?” she asked, plaintively. John started as from a dream.
“Is not this the sister of dead Judas?” he said softly and in amazement— “What doeth she with such a symbol?”
“Alas, who knows! and who can follow the wanderings of her distempered fancy!” answered Barabbas, struggling with the tears that rose in his throat—” Her brother’s death hath maddened her thus. Prithee have patience! — I would we could persuade her to her father’s house!” And he looked distressfully at the Magdalen, who shook her head sorrowfully.
“I fear me ‘twill be difficult,” — she said— “She hath the strangest fits of passion. She was quite happy in the garden till a little while agone, then suddenly convulsed, she rose and shrieked aloud, and wringing her hands fled swiftly from me. I followed fast, — and she ran forth into the highroad thus demented, nor would she let me touch her.”
They spoke in low tones, and Judith heeded nothing that was said. She remained on her knees, looking at John.
“Where is the King?” she reiterated.
Before John could reply, Peter suddenly advanced.
“If thou dost speak of Him whom thou didst aid the priests to crucify” — he said sternly— “Thou dost ask news of Him in vain. He doth not answer to the call of the wicked, and for the treacherous He hath no sympathy. Shall a murderer ask for his victim? — shall he that hath wilfully wrested life from the innocent expect that life to live again? Cry, Judith, to the heavens, for the King of Heaven is there, — but such as thou art wilt find Him on this earth no more!”
“How canst thou tell, Peter?” interposed John quickly— “Thou art too harsh, — thou shouldst not too presumptuously declare the ways of the Divine. Hast thou no pity? — Our Master had, when we were with Him, and of a truth methinks He would have comforted this broken and afflicted soul!”
“Thy Master had strange servants!” said Barabbas hotly—” And this Peter doth commiserate his own sins only!”
“Hush, oh hush!” prayed the Magdalen fervently—” Dispute not now among yourselves! — see ye not a change in her? Judith! Judith!”
Judith had risen slowly to her feet, and was now standing upright, though feebly, — the hot sunshine fell full on the uncovered splendour of her hair and made it appear to burn like flame, but her face was wan and sad as the face of the dying. She had turned her eyes upon Peter, though with an almost unseeing look.
“Thou hast a harsh note in thy voice” — she said faintly— “Methinks thou didst never love a woman, not even the mother that bore thee. Who art thou? — I know thee not, but sure am I thou wilt do cruel things in the world. With love, one is cruel, — but without it, — ah! — what is it to be without love? — I cannot tell, for I have lost what love I had, and I am dead. Alas, alas! It seems that none of ye know where the King hath now His dwelling, — I must go seek Him further. ’Tis useless to waste time in cursing me, ‘twere kinder to bestow on me some hope.”
Here she staggered slightly, and seemed about to fall, — Mary Magdalene caught her round the waist. “I am not well” — she went on— “There is such a strange weight at my heart, — and an aching heat upon my brows. Thou” — and turning, she put her arms about Mary’s neck and looked her full in the eyes— “thou art my friend, — we were in the King’s garden together, were we not? — two sinful, sorrowful, weak women, — but we did not find Him there. Had He seen us He would have pitied us. And Judas did not come. He promised, — but he did not come.”
“Didst thou not say that he would come at sunset?” murmured Mary soothingly—”’Tis not yet sunset.”
“Not yet sunset!” and Judith sighed, opening her beautiful pained eyes in mournful languor and bewilderment— “Surely it should be near, for the skies are growing very dark, — it will soon be difficult to see one’s way” —— —
She broke off, gasping for breath; the disciples
exchanged grave and alarmed glances, while Barabbas seized by a spasm of fear sprang forward.
“Judith, speak to me!” he cried.
She looked at him, smiling a little, but still clinging to Mary.
“Who is this?” she asked— “He calls me by my name, — then surely he should know me.”
“Judith, Judith! I am Barabbas!” And he stretched out his arms towards her in a passion of despair and yearning agony.
Feebly she extended one hand to him.
“Art thou indeed Barabbas?” she said, with an echo of the old sweetness in her failing voice— “Alas, Barabbas! — Believe me, I am sorry for thee. Thou didst love me!”
He grasped the little hand convulsively and turned away to hide the scalding tears that fell. A great compassion for him was expressed in the earnest faces of the disciples, — even Peter’s rugged features softened, and a troubled shame and remorse for his recent harshness appeared to vex his shifting and uneasy spirit.
Just then a terrible paroxysm of trembling seized Judith’s limbs, — Mary Magdalene could scarcely support her, and appealed to the others, with a frightened glance for aid. Barabbas and three of the disciples went to her assistance, but the insane Judith was possessed of unnatural strength, and twisted and writhed about with so much fury that it seemed as though her whole frame Were being torn and tortured by devils, and they were afraid to seize her by force lest this action should increase her frenzy.
“Lay her down under the trees by the roadside” — said Peter, in gentler tones than he had yet used—”’Tis a feverish convulsion, and in the shade and cool, it will pass quickly.”
But it was impossible to move her a step. She stood, clutching Mary, obstinately forcing herself to remain upright, and fighting against the physical anguish that was gradually overcoming her, — her eyes were fixed and stared straight upward to the cloudless sky. All at once the horrible tremors ceased, — her face flushed suddenly into the radiance of its former dazzling beauty, and with a violent movement, she thrust the Magdalen aside. Like some great queen she lifted her head with an imperial gesture, and her eyes flashed fire.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli Page 320
