Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  “Ephra, dost thou remember last week,” said a man’s voice—” when the crowd went out to meet the ‘ Nazarene’ who died to-day? Canst recall the wild tune they sang? ’twas passing sweet and ended thus, ‘ Hosanna!’”

  In a high pure tenor he sent the word pealing through the evening stillness, — his companions caught it up and chorused all together

  “Hosanna! — Hosanna!

  Hosanna in the Highest!

  Blessed is he that cometh,

  That cometh in the name of the Lord!

  Hosanna in the Highest!”

  The stirring triumph and grandeur of the melody seemed to terrify Justitia, for she caught at the heavy curtain that partially draped the window and held it clenched in her hand convulsively as though for support, her whole frame trembling with some inward excitement. Suddenly the singing stopped, broken by laughter, and another voice cried out jestingly, —

  “Beware the priests! An’ we raise such a chant as this we shall all be crucified!”

  They laughed again, and, sauntering on, passed out of sight and hearing.

  Justitia dropped the curtain from her grasp, and shivered as with deadly cold. Pilate watched her anxiously as she came slowly towards him step by step and sat down on a low bench close to his couch, clasping her hands together in her lap and looking straight before her vaguely into empty air.

  “Even so was the music in my dream” — she murmured— “Methought the very dead did rise and sing ‘Hosanna!’”

  Pilate said nothing, — he seemed afraid to disturb the current of her thoughts. Presently raising her eyes to his, she asked, —

  “Dost thou in very truth desire to hear? Or will it weary thee?”

  “Nay, it will comfort me” — he answered, taking one of her listless hands and pressing it to his lips—” If any comfort I can have ‘twill be in sharing whatever sorrow troubles thee. Speak on, and tell me all, — for from the very moment thou didst send to me this morning at the Tribunal, my soul has been perplexed with wondering at this act of thine, — so unlike thee at any time.”

  Justitia sighed.

  “Ay, it was unlike me, — and ever since I have been most unlike myself. Thou knowest ’twas a morning dream, — for night was past, and thou hadst but lately left me to take thy place within the Hall of Judgment. I had arisen from my bed, — but as yet I had not called my women, and partially arrayed, I sat before my mirror, slowly binding up my hair. My eyes were strangely heavy and my thoughts confused, — and suddenly the polished surface of the metal into which I gazed grew black, even as a clear sky darkening with storm. Then came a noise as of many waters thundering in my ears, — and after that I know not what did chance to me. Nevertheless it seemed I was awake, and wandering solitary within some quiet region of eternal shade.” —

  She paused, trembling a little, then went on.

  “A solemn depth of peace it seemed to be, wherein was neither landscape, light nor air. Methought I stood upon a rift of rock gazing far downward, — and there before mine eyes were laid millions on millions of the dead, — dead men and women white as parchment or bleached bone. Side by side in wondrous state they lay, — and over them all brooded a pale shadow as of outspread wings. And as I looked upon them all and marvelled at their endless numbers, a rush of music sounded like great harps swung in the wind, and far away a Voice thundered ‘Hosanna!’ And lo! — the pale shadow of wings above the dead, furled up and vanished, and through some unseen portal came a blazing Cross of Light, and after it, white as a summer cloud and glorious as the sun, followed — the ‘Nazarene’!— ‘Awake, ye dead!’ He cried—’ Awake, for Death is ended! Awake and pass from hence to Life!’ And they awoke! — yea, they awoke in all the plenitude of strength and wondrous beauty, those millions upon millions of long-perished mortals, — they uprose in radiant ranks like flowers breaking into bloom, — adorned with rays of light they stood, great angels every one, and cried aloud— ‘Glory to Thee, O Christ, Thou Messenger of God! Glory to Thee, Thou holy Pardoner of our sins! Thou Giver of Eternal Life! Glory to Thee, Redeemer of the world! we praise and worship Thee for ever f Then was my dreaming spirit seized with shuddering and fear, — I turned away mine eyes unable to endure the dazzling luminance and wonder, — and when I looked again, the scene was changed.”

  Here Justitia broke off, and leaning closer to her husband, caught both his hands in hers, and gazed earnestly into his face.

  “Thinkest thou not,” she whispered—” that this vision was strange? Why should it come to me? — I who ever doubted all gods, and have in my soul accepted death as each man’s final end. ’Tis a thought most unwelcome to me, — that the dead should rise!”

  Pilate met her eyes with a wistful woe and sympathy in his own.

  “Yea, ’tis unwelcome” — he said—” I would not live again had I the choice. For we do things in this our life ‘twere best not to remember, — and having sinned, one’s only rescue is to die, — die utterly and so forget we ever were. Yet perchance there is no forgetfulness, — there may be an eternal part within us,” — he stopped, gazing around him nervously—” Hast thou no more to tell? — this was not all thy dream?”

  “Ah, no!” cried Justitia rising from her seat with an unconscious gesture of desperation—” Would that it were! For what remains is naught but horror, — horror and mystery and pain. ’Tis what I further saw within my vision that made me send my message in such haste to thee, — I thought I might avert misfortune and ward off evil from thy path, my husband, for if dreams have any truth, which I pray they have not, thou art surely threatened with some nameless doom!”

  Pilate looked up at her troubled face and smiled forcedly.

  “Fear not for me, Justitia” — he said — Trust me there is no other doom save death, and that doth hourly threaten every man. I marvel at thy tremors, — thou who art wontedly of so bold a spirit! Rally thy usual courage! — surely I shall not die of hearing of disaster in a dream! Speak on! — what else didst thou behold?”

  “I beheld a mighty ocean” — replied Justitia raising one hand solemnly as she spoke — And this ocean was of human blood and covered all the earth! And methought that every drop within that scarlet sea did have a voice of mingled tears and triumph, that cried aloud ‘Hail, Jesus of Nazareth, Son of the God Eternal!’ Then on the ghastly waves there floated, even as floats a ship, a wondrous temple, gleaming with gold and precious stones, and on the summit of its loftiest pinnacle a jewelled Cross did shine. And in my dream I understood that all the kings and emperors and counsellors of the world had reared this stately fabric to the memory and the worship of the ‘Nazarene’!”

  “To the memory and the worship of the ‘Nazarene’!” repeated Pilate slowly — A temple floating on a sea of blood! — well, — what then?”

  “Then,” went on Justitia, her dark eyes dilating as she grew more and more absorbed in her narration — then I saw the heavens rent asunder, and many wondrous faces, beautiful and wise but sorrowful, looked down. And from the waves of blood arose wild sounds of lamentation and despair, and as I listened I comprehended that the lofty floating temple I beheld was crushing underneath it the struggling souls of men. ‘How long, O Lord! how long!’ they cried, and ‘ Save, Lord, or we perish!’ Then came a great and terrible noise as of martial music mixed with thunder, and lo! a mighty Sword fell straight from Heaven, and smote the temple in the midst so that it parted in twain and drifted on the crimson flood a wreck, — and even as it split, I saw the secret of its wickedness, — an altar splashed with blood and strewn with dead men’s bones and overflowing in every part with bags of gold ill-gotten, — and confronting it in lewdest mockery of worship with lies upon his lips and coin grasped in both his hands there knelt a leering Devil in a Priest’s disguise!”

  She paused, breathing quickly in a kind of suppressed excitement — then continued, —

  “Now, as I watched the sundered halves of the smitten temple, drifting to right and left and circling roun
d about to sink, a wrathful voice exclaimed, ‘Many shall call upon Me saying, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name, and in thy name done many wonderful works f And I will say unto them — Depart from Me, I never knew ye, ye workers of iniquity!’ And even as the voice sounded, the temple sank, and naught was left of it but the topmost Cross, floating alone upon the sea!”

  “Always the Cross!” murmured Pilate perplexedly— “Doth it threaten to become a symbol?”

  “I know not,” answered Justitia with a far-off dreamy expression in her face—” ’twas ever present in my dream. And now to hear the end, — methought I watched the lonely Cross tossed by itself upon the sea, and wondered whether like the temple it had once adorned ’twould also sink. To and fro it floated, shining like a star, and presently I saw that wherever it rested for a space it changed the waves of blood to a light like liquid fire. Then happened a strange marvel; — out of the far distance came a ship, sailing straightly and with speed, ’twas small and light and white as foam, and within it, steering boldly onward, sat a woman alone. And as her vessel spread across the dreadful sea, great monsters of the deep arose and threatened her, — the pallid hands of drowned men clutched at her, — noises there were of earthquake and of thunder, — nevertheless she sailed on fearlessly, and, as she journeyed, smiled and sang. And I beheld her course with wonderment, for she was steering steadily towards the Cross that floated lost upon the waves. Nearer she came, and soon she reached it, and leaning from her vessel’s edge, she caught it in both hands and raised it up towards heaven. ‘Jesus, thou Messenger of God!’ she cried—’ Through thy great Love we claim eternal Glory!’ And with the swiftness of lightning she was answered! — the sea of blood was changed to living flame, — her ship became a cloud of light and she herself an angel clad in wings, and from the Cross she held streamed such a splendour as illumined all the heavens! And with thunder and with music and rejoicing, the gateways of the air, methought, were opened, and with a thousand thousand winged creatures round Him and above Him, and a new world rising like the morning sun behind Him, again, again I saw — the ‘Nazarene’! And with a voice of silver-sweet and overwhelming triumph He proclaimed— ‘Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away.”

  She waited a moment, then went on, —

  “The ‘Nazarene’! — no other than the ‘Nazarene’ it was whom I beheld thus gloriously surrounded! — the very ‘Nazarene’ whom thou, Pontius, wert asked to judge and to condemn! No marvel was it that I sent to thee, — and in my scroll I would have told thee I had dreamt He was a god, but that I feared some other eye than thine might intercept and scan my words. Therefore I wrote ‘have naught to do with that just man,’ — alas! Twas foolish of me! — thou couldst not listen to a woman’s pleading in a matter of the law, and when my slave returned I knew mine errand had been fruitless. Nevertheless I strove to warn thee” —

  “Of what?” asked Pilate hoarsely, — he had covered his eyes with his hand, and spoke with difficulty—” Of naught, save that being just ‘twere a pity He should die. But knowest thou not ’tis ever the just who are condemned? And that thou didst suffer in a dream was better than my case; — what I saw and what I suffered was no dream!”

  He sighed bitterly, heavily, and Justitia, sitting down beside him, leaned her head upon his shoulder.

  “I have not yet told thee all” — she said in a trembling voice,— “The rest concerns thy fate!”

  Pilate removed his hand from his eyes and looked round at her.

  “My fate!” he echoed indifferently—” Whate’er it be, surely I shall have force enough to meet it!”

  She held his hands in both her own and pressed them convulsively.

  “Ay, full well I know thou hast force enough for anything” — she said—” else thou wouldst not be Roman. But to perish even as Iscariot” —

  He started away from her.

  “As Iscariot!” he cried indignantly— “Nay, I am no traitor!”

  She looked at him, her face growing very white and her lips trembling. She was evidently nerving herself to utter something which she feared would be unwelcome.

  “The gods might call thee coward, Pontius!” she said at last faintly, and as though the words were wrested out of her.

  He turned upon her in astonishment and wrath.

  “What didst thou say, Justitia?” he demanded fiercely— “Surely I have not heart thee aright? — thou didst not dare speak such a word to me as ‘ coward’?”

  Her heart beat violently, but she kept her eyes fixed upon him tenderly, and without any visible sign of fear.

  “If thou didst see supernal glory in the ‘ Nazarene’” — she faltered slowly, and then paused, leaving her sentence unfinished.

  Pilate’s head drooped — he shrank and shivered as though some invisible hand had struck him with a heavy blow.

  “Go on,” he said unsteadily— “Albeit I know, — I know now what thou wouldst say.”

  “If thou didst see supernal glory in the ‘ Nazarene,’” she repeated in firmer accents— “if thou didst recognise the God behind the Man, ay, even to swoon thereat, surely thou should have openly proclaimed this truth unto the priests and people.”

  “They would not have believed me” — he answered her in a husky whisper, — They would have deemed me mad, — unfit to rule” —

  “What matter?” said Justitia dauntlessly, “ What are the beliefs of priests or people measured against the utterance of a Truth? If thou hadst spoken” —

  “I tell thee they would have called me crazed” — said Pilate, rising and pacing the room agitatedly, “They would have told me that my vision was deceived, — that my brain wandered. How couldst thou ever persuade a callous crowd of the existence of the supernatural?”

  “How do they persuade themselves?” demanded Justitia — These very Jews do swear by supernatural shows that seem impossible. Do they not say that God Himself taught Moses the Commandments on Mount Sinai? — will they not even accept as truth that their most vengeful Jehovah hath oft condoned murder as a holy sacrifice, as in the story of their own judge Jephthah, who slew his innocent daughter to satisfy the horrible bloodthirstiness of Heaven! Why should the supernatural seem less to be believed in one phase of existence than another?”

  “I know not!” — answered Pilate, still walking to and fro distressfully, “Make me not answerable for the inconsistencies of man! I did my best and utmost with the people, — if I had told them what I saw they would have dragged me from the judgment-seat as one possessed of devils and distraught; and Cæsar would have stripped me of authority.”

  “Thou couldst have suffered all loss with equanimity,” said Justitia thoughtfully— “provided thine own conscience had been clear.”

  He gave her no response, but still paced restlessly up and down.

  Justitia moved to the window and gazed out at the dark, smooth, velvet-looking foliage of the fig-trees at the end of the garden.

  “It was a pale bright light, even like the beaming of this very moon” — she said—” that shone upon me in the closing of my dream. I stood, methought, in one of the strangest, loneliest, wildest corners of the world, — great mountain-peaks towered around me, white and sparkling with a seeming-bitter cold, and at my feet a solemn pool lay black and stirless. And as I looked, I saw thee, Pontius! — I saw thee flitting even as a spectre among the jagged rocks of those most solitary hills, — thou wert old and wan and weary, and hadst the livid paleness of approaching death. I called thee, but thou wouldst not answer, — onward thou didst tread, and earnest so near to me I could have touched thee! but ever thou didst elude my grasp. All suddenly,” — and here she turned, towards her husband, her eyes darkening with her thoughts—” I beheld thee drifting, like a cloud blown by the wind, towards a jutting peak that bent above that dreary pool of waveless Waters — there thou didst pause, and with a cry that pierced my soul, thou didst exclaim ‘Jesus of Nazareth, thou Son of God, have mercy on me!’
Then, — ere I could bid thee turn and wait for me, thou didst plunge forward, — forward and down, — down into the chill and darksome lake which closed even as a grave above thee! — thou wert gone, — gone into death and silence, — and I, shrieking upon thy name, awoke!”

  “And waking thus in terror thou didst send to me?” asked Pilate gently approaching her where she stood, and encircling her with his arm.

  She bent her head in assent.

  “Even then. And later, when my messenger returned from thee, I heard the people shout ‘Not this man, bid Barabbas’ Who is Barabbas?”

  “A thief and murderer” — said Pilate quickly—” But he hath the popular sympathy. Once he was in the honourable employ of Shadeen, the Persian jewel-merchant of this city, — and as a reward for trust reposed in him, he stole some priceless pearls from out a private coffer of his master. Moreover he was one of a band of revolutionary malcontents, and did stab to death the Pharisee, Gabrias, out in the open streets. ’Tis more than eighteen months ago now — thou wert visiting thy friends in Rome, and knewest naught of it. I would have had Barabbas crucified, — nevertheless the people have given him rescue and full liberty. They celebrate their feast by the release of a murderer and the slaughter of the Sinless. ’Tis their chosen way — and I am not to blame!”

  “Iscariot also served in the house of Shadeen,” said Justitia meditatingly.

  “Even so I have heard.”

  “And thou art not troubled, Pontius, by my dream?” she questioned earnestly — Seest thou no omen in its end concerning thee, when I beheld thee perish in the gloom and solitude, self-slain, even as Iscariot?”

  She shuddered a little and forced a faint smile.

  “If I am troubled, Justitia, ’tis because thou art, — and because trouble doth vaguely press upon us all to-day. Trust me the very Jews are not without their fears, seeing that the storm hath rent their Temple veil, and darkened the land with such mysterious suddenness. ’Tis enough to shake the spirits of the boldest, — but now perchance evil is past, and by and by the air will rid itself of all forebodings. Lo, how divinely clear the sky, — how fair the moon!— ’tis a silver night for the slumber of the ‘Nazarene’!”