Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  The multitude heard, and roared applause and laughter. Even the grim soldiers smiled — for, thought they, if the Man of Galilee were a true miracle-worker, He could never have a better opportunity for displaying His powers than now. Caiaphas smiled proudly, — he had struck the right note, and had distracted the attention of the mob from their personal alarms of the storm, to renewed interest in the cruelty that was being enacted. Still standing before the Cross, he studied with placid pitilessness every outline of the perfect Human Shape in which Divine Glory was concealed, — and watched with the scientific interest of a merciless torturer the gradual welling up and slow dropping of blood from the wounded hands and feet, — the pained, patient struggling of the quickened breath, — the pale parted lips, — the wearily-drooping, half-closed eyes. Annas, sleek and sly, with an air of hypocritical forbearance and compassion, approached also, and looked up at the same piteous spectacle. Then, rubbing his hands gently together, he said softly, yet distinctly, —

  “He saved others, — himself he cannot save! If he be the King of Israel, let him now come down from the cross and we will believe him!”

  The dying thief Hanan, now in the last stage of his agony, caught these words, and twisting himself fiercely forward muttered groans and hideous curses. His neck swelled, — his tongue protruded, — and the frightful effort he made to speak distorted his whole repulsive countenance, while his body agitated by muscular twitchings, violently shook the cross on which he was roped and nailed.

  “Thou blasphemer!” he gasped at last, rolling his fierce eyes round and fixing them on the fair thorn-crowned Head that with every moment drooped lower and lower, “ Well it is that thou shouldst die,... yet willingly would I have seen Barabbas nailed where thou art! Nevertheless thou art a false and evil prophet, — if thou he the Christ, save thyself and us!”

  The other crucified malefactor, close upon his end, and panting out his life in broken breaths of anguish, suddenly writhed himself upward against his cross, and forced himself to lift his heavy head.

  “Hanan!” he muttered hoarsely, “Dost thou not fear God?... Seeing thou art in the same condemnation?” He broke off, struggling against the suffocation in his throat, then continued to murmur incoherently, “ And we indeed justly,... for we receive the due reward of our deeds,... but this Man hath done nothing amiss.”

  Again he stopped. All at once a great wonder, rapture and expectation flashed into his livid face and lightened his glazing eyes. He uttered a loud cry, turning himself with all his strength towards the silent Christ.

  “Lord... Lord”... he stammered feebly. “Remember me... when... thou comest... into... thy Kingdom!”

  Slowly, — with aching difficulty, but with unconquerably tender patience, the Divine head was gently raised, — the lustrous suffering eyes bent their everlasting love upon him, — and a low voice, hushed and sad, yet ever musical, responded, —

  “Verily I say unto thee, — This day shall thou be with Me in Paradise!”

  And as the wondrous promise reached his ears, the tortured and repenting sinner smiled, — the anguish passed away from his features leaving them smooth and calm, — and with one faint groan his head fell heavily forward on his chest,... his limbs ceased trembling,... he was dead. Hanan still lingered in the throes of reluctant dissolution, — his awful struggle having become a mere savage revolt of material nature from which the strongest turned away their eyes, shuddering.

  Another reverberating crash of thunder bellowed through the sky; this time the earth rocked in answer, and the people were seized anew with dread. Caiaphas, self-possessed and full of dignity, still held his ground, ready to face and quell any fresh superstitious alarms, inviting by his very attitude as it were, all the world to bear witness to the justice of the law’s condemnation. Pointing upward to the Cross, he cried aloud, —

  “He trusted in God! Let Him deliver him now if He will have him; for he said, I am the Son of God!”

  But the multitude were not so ready to respond as before, — they were troubled by forebodings and fears which they could not explain, — and their eyes were not so much fixed on the crucified “Nazarene” as on the sun behind Him, — the sun which now looked like a strange new planet coloured a blackish red. They were also noting the conduct of a small brown bird, which had settled on the Cross, and was now desperately plucking with its tiny beak at the crown of thorns that circled the bleeding brows of the “King.” A soldier threw a stone at it, — it flew away, but swiftly returned to resume its singular, self-appointed task. Again and again it was driven off, — and again and again it came back fearlessly, fluttering round the shining head of the Christ, and striving, as it seemed, to tear off the thorny coronal. Its feeble but heroic efforts were rewarded by one upward glance from the loving eyes of the Beloved, — and then the innocent feathered creature, mournfully chirping, flew away for the last time, its downy breast torn and stained with blood, but otherwise uninjured.

  This trifling incident gave a singular emotion of pleasure to the crowd. They found something touching and dramatic in it, — and the bird’s wound of love elicited far more sympathy than the speechless and supernal sorrows of the Man Divine. Compassion and interest for birds and animals and creeping things of the wood and field often distinguish the otherwise selfish and cold-hearted; and many a man has been known to love a dog when in human relationships he would willingly slander his friend or slay his brother.

  Again a shaft of lightning flashed through the heavens, followed by a lion-like hungry roar of thunder, and many of the people began to move to and fro troublously, and turn their eyes from the hill city-wards in alarm and anxiety. All at once in the full red glare of the volcanic sun Judith Iscariot ran forward excitedly, her flame-coloured mantle falling away from her tawny gold tresses, her lips parted in a smile, her glowing exquisite face upturned, and the jewels on her attire gleaming with lurid sparks like the changing hues of a serpent’s throat. Lifting up her round white arm, ablaze with gems from wrist to shoulder, she pointed derisively at the dying Christ and laughed, — then making an arch of her two hands above her mouth so that her voice might carry to its farthest, she cried aloud to Him mockingly, —

  “If thou he the Son of God, come down from the Cross!”

  The words rang out with vibrating distinctness, clear as a bell, and Barabbas, though he was at some distance off, heard them, and saw that it was Judith who spoke. Moved to an unspeakable horror and dismay, he rushed towards her, scarcely knowing what he did, but full of the idea that he must stop her cruel, unwomanly gibing, — must drag her away, by sheer force if necessary, from the position she had taken up below the Cross. Her beautiful figure standing there looked strange and devilish, — her red mantle caught blood-like gleams from the red sun, — above her the tortured limbs of the God-Man shone marble white and almost luminous, while His dreamful face, drooped downward, now had upon it a stern shadow like the solemn unspoken pronouncement of an eternal reproach and doom. And the radiant mirthful malice of the woman’s eyes flashed up at that austerely sublime countenance in light scorn and ridicule, as with shriller yet still silver-sounding utterance, she cried again, —

  “Hearest thou me, thou boaster and blasphemer? If thou be the Son of God, come down from the Cross!”

  As the wicked taunt left her lips for the second time, a twisted and broken flash of lightning descended from heaven like the flaming portion of a destroyed planet, and striking straight across the scarlet ball of the sun, seemed literally to set the Cross on fire. Blazing from end to end of its transverse beams in a flare of blue and amber, it poured lurid reflections on all sides, illumining with dreadful distinctness the pallid shape of the Man of Sorrows for one ghastly instant, and then vanished, chased into retreat by such a deafening clatter and clash of thunder as seemed to split a thousand rolling worlds in heaven. At the same moment the earth heaved up, and appeared to stagger like a ship in a wild sea,... and with a sudden downward swoop as of some colossal eagle, d
ense darkness fell, — impenetrable, sooty darkness that in one breath of time blotted out the face of nature and made of the summer-flowering land a blind black chaos.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  SHRIEKS and groans, — confusion and clamour, — wild shouts for help, — wilder cries for light, — and the bewildering, maddening knowledge that numbers of reckless terrified human beings were rushing hither and thither, unseeingly and distractedly, — these were the first results of that abrupt descent of black night in bright day. “Light! Give us light, O God!” wailed a woman’s voice piercing through the dismal dark; and the frantic appeal, “Light! light!” was re-echoed a thousand times by the miserable, desperate, wholly panic-stricken crowd. To and fro wandered straggling swarms of men and women, touching each other, grasping each other, but unable to discern the faintest outline of each other’s forms or features. Some sought to grope their way down the hill, back to the city, — some wrestled furiously with opposing groups of persons in their path, — others, more timorous, stayed where they were, weeping, shrieking, striking their breasts and repeating monotonously, “Light, — light! — O God of our fathers, give us light!”

  But no answer to their supplications came from the sable pall that solemnly loomed above them, for now not even the lightning threw a chance spear across the clouds, though with incessant, unappeased ferocity, the thunder roared, or rolling to a distance muttered and snarled. A soldier of more self-possession and sense than his fellows managed after a little while to strike a light from flint and steel, and as soon as the red spark shone a hundred hands held out to him twigs and branches that they might be set on fire and so create a blazing luminance within the heavy gloom. But scarcely had a branch or two been kindled, when such a shriek went up from those on the edge of the crowd as froze the blood to hear.

  “The faces of the dead!” they cried—” The dead are there, — there in the darkness! Shut them out! Shut them out! They are all dead men!”

  This mad outcry was followed by the screams of women, mingled with hysterical bursts of laughter and weeping, many persons flinging themselves face forward on the ground in veritable agonies of terror, — and the soldier who had struck the light dropped his implements, paralysed and aghast. The kindled branches fell and sputtered out, — and again the unnatural midnight reigned, supreme, impermeable. There was no order left; the soldiery were scattered; the mob were separated into lost and wandering sections; and “Light! light!” was the universal moan. Truly, in that sepulchral blackness, they were “the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” ignorantly and foolishly clamouring for “light!” when the one and only Light of the World was passing through the “Valley of the Shadow,” and all Nature in the great name of God, was bound to go with Him! The atmosphere lost colour, — the clouds thundered, — earth trembled, — the voices of birds and animals were mute, — the trees had ceased to whisper their leafy loves and confidences, — the streams stopped in their silver-sounding flow, — the sun covered its burning face, — the winds paused on their swift wings, — and only Man asserted, with puny groans and tears, his personal cowardice and cruelty in the presence of the Eternal. But at this awful moment the powers of heaven were deaf to his complaining, and his craven cries for help were vain. Our shuddering planet, stricken with vast awe and wonder to its very centre, felt with its suffering Redeemer the pangs of dissolution, and voluntarily veiled itself in the deep shadow of death, — a shadow that was soon to be lifted and gloriously transformed into light and life immortal!

  The heavy moments throbbed away, — moments that seemed long as hours, — and no little gleaming rift broke the settled and deepening blackness over Calvary. Many of the people, giving way to despair, cast themselves down in the dust and wept like querulous children, — others huddled themselves together in seated groups, stunned by fright into silence, — a few howled and swore continuously, — and all the conflicting noises merging together, suggested the wailing of lost beings in spiritual torment. All at once the strong voice of the high-priest Caiaphas, hoarse with fear, struck through the gloom.

  “People of Jerusalem!” he cried—” Kneel and pray! Fall down before the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, and entreat Him that this visitation of storm and earthquake be removed from us! Jehovah hath never deserted His children, nor will He desert them now, though it hath pleased Him to afflict us with the thunders of His wrath! Be not afraid, O ye chosen people of the Lord, but call upon Him with heart and voice to deliver us from this darkness! For we have brought His indignation upon ourselves, inasmuch as we have suffered the false prophet of Galilee to take His Holy Name in vain, and He doth show us by His lightnings the fiery letter of His just displeasure. And whereas these shadows that encompass us are filled perchance with evil spirits who come to claim the soul of the boastful and blasphemous Nazarene, I say unto ye all, cover yourselves and pray to the God of your fathers, O sons and daughters of Jerusalem, that He may no longer be offended, — that He may hear your supplications in the time of trouble, and bring you out of danger into peace!”

  His exhortation, though pronounced in tremulous tones, was heard distinctly, and had the desired effect. With one accord the multitude fell on their knees, and in the thickening shadows that enveloped them began to pray as they were told, — some silently, some aloud. Strange as it was to hear the divers contrasting petitions that now went muttering up to the invisible Unknown; — Latin tongues against Hebrew and Greek, — appeals to Jupiter, Mercury, Diana, and Apollo, mingling with the melancholy chant and murmur of the Jews.

  “Our God, God of our fathers, let our prayer come before Thee! Hide not Thyself from our supplication! We have sinned, — we have turned aside from Thy judgments. And it hath profited us naught! Remember us, O God, and be merciful! Consume us not with Thy just displeasure! Be merciful and mindful of us for blessing! Save us unto life! By Thy promise of salvation and mercy, Spare us and be gracious unto us, O God!”

  And while they stammered out the broken phrases, half in hope, half in fear, the thunder, gathering itself together like an army of war-horses and chariots, for sole reply crashed down upon them in the pitchy darkness with a fulminating ferocity so relentless and awful that the voices of all the people, Jews and aliens alike, died away in one long quavering, helpless human wail. Their prayers sank to affrighted whispers, — and the thunder still pelting in angry thuds through the dense air, was as the voice of God pronouncing vast and unimaginable things.

  Meanwhile, as already described, Barabbas had rushed towards Judith Iscariot just as the darkness fell, — rand when the blinding vapours enveloped him he still kept on his course, striking out both arms as he ran that they might come first in contact with the woman he loved. He had calculated his distance well, — for presently, his outstretched hands, groping heedfully up and down in the sombre murk, touched a head that came to about the level of his knee, — then folds of silk, — then the outline of a figure that was huddled up on the ground quite motionless.

  “Judith! — Judith!” he whispered—” Speak! Is it thou?” —

  No answer came. He stooped and felt the crouching form; here and there he touched jewels, and then he remembered she had worn a dagger at her girdle. Cautiously passing his arms about, he found the toy weapon hanging from the waist of this invisible woman-shape, and realised, with a thrill of comfort, that he was right, — it was Judith he touched, — but she had evidently fainted from, terror. He caught her, clasped her, lifted her up, and supported her against his breast, his heart beating with mingled despair and joy. Chafing her cold hands, he looked desperately into the dense obscurity, wondering whether he could move from the spot without stumbling against one at least of those three terrible crosses which he knew must be very near. For Judith had stood directly beneath that on which the wondrous “Nazarene” was even now slowly dying, and she would scarcely have had time to move more than a few steps away when the black eclipse had drowned all things from sight. He, Barabbas, might at this moment be wi
thin an arm’s length of that strange “King” whose crown was of thorns, — an awful and awe-inspiring idea that filled him with horror. For, to be near that mysterious Man of Nazareth, — to know that he might almost touch His pierced and bleeding feet, — to feel perchance, in the horrid gloom, the sublime and mystic sorrow of His eyes, — to hear the parting struggle of His breath, — this would be too difficult, too harrowing, too overwhelming for the endurance or fortitude of one who knew himself to be the guilty sinner that should have suffered in the place of the Innocent and Holy. Seeking thus to account to his own mind for the tempestuous emotions which beset him, Barabbas moved cautiously backward, not forward, bearing in his recollection the exact spot in which he had seen Judith standing ere the black mists fell; and, clasping her firmly, he retreated inch by inch, till he thought he was far enough removed from that superhuman Symbol which made its unseen Presence alldominant even in the darkness. Then he stopped, touching with gentle fingers the soft scented hair that lay against his breast, while he tried to realise his position. How many a time he would have given his life to have held Judith thus familiarly close to his heart! — but now, — now there was something dreary, weird, and terrible in what, under other circumstances, would have been unspeakable rapture. Impossible, in this black chaos, to see the features or the form of her whom he embraced; only by touch he knew her; and a faint chill ran through him as he supported the yielding supple shape of her in his arms, — her silken robe, her perfumed hair, — the cold contact of the gems about her, — these trifles repelled him strangely, and a sense of something sinful oppressed his soul. Sin and he were old friends, — they had rioted together through many a tangle of headstrong passion, — why should he recoil at Sin’s suggestions now? He could not tell, — but so it was; — and his brain swam with a nameless giddy horror, even while he ventured, trembling, to kiss the unseen lips of the creature he had but lately entirely loved, and now partly loathed.