Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  And she again held up the Cross before him. At the suddenly renewed sight of it such a fury seized him that for the moment he lost all control over himself.

  “Darest thou thus taunt me!” he cried—” Thou art not Judith Iscariot, but some devil in her aspect! Crazed fool or fiend, thou shalt no longer provoke me!”

  And closing with her he endeavoured to violently wrench the offending Symbol from her hands, the while she fought for its retention with the breathless rage and tenacity of some savage creature, till in the struggle the Cross bent and snapped in twain. At this she gave a cry of despair, and snatching her dagger from her girdle sprang upon her priestly lover and stabbed him with a furious thrust that sent him reeling. Staggering backward, he fell senseless on the ground, the blood gushing freely from his wound, and she, stooping over him, stared at her own work in a dazed, wild wonder. Then, dropping both the dagger and the fragments of the Cross upon his bleeding body, she rushed away in frantic fear, and fled, like a phantom of the moon and shadow, out into the brooding silence of the night.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  MEANTIME, around the holy sepulchre the guard kept vigilant watch. Behind it and on either side, armed men paced evenly to and fro, — in front of it the fierce and martial Galbus stood at the doorway of his tent, leaning upon his tall lance and surveying the scenery around him. There was a singular soft freshness in the air, — a bland and soothing perfume, as though the breathings of a thousand flowers were floating over the land on the drifting wings of a lazy southern wind. The moon, airily rolling through the clear ether like a golden bubble, cast long mellow beams upon the piled-up glistening rocks of the sacred tomb and the burnt brown turf that sparsely covered the little hills, — the stars, dimmed in lustre by this greater radiance, seemed wandering through a labyrinth of light mist and rainbow-tinted haloes. A great calm prevailed; the small pennon on the top of Galbus’s tent hung limp without the faintest flutter; a bush of myrtle close by had such a stillness in its leaves that it looked like an artificial semblance of itself, deftly carved and coloured by some ingenious human craftsman. Not a sound could be heard, save the muffled tread of the soldiers’ sandalled feet, and Galbus, somewhat oppressed by the silence as well as by the heat of the atmosphere, began to grumble to himself sotto-voce for want of anything better to do.

  “How they will laugh in Rome at this folly!” he said—” Did any one ever dream the like! I, Galbus, a man who hath seen war, — one who hath counted his ten corpses to a round of fighting, set here to watch that a corpse escape not! By the gods! The suspicious imagining of these Jew priests doth pass all patience; they deem that the poor, wild, half-starved-looking followers of the crucified ‘Nazarene’ will steal His body, forgetting that it would need at least half-a-dozen men of stout sinew to move so much as yonder stone that closeth up the grave, and even then ’twould be displaced with difficulty. Well, well! The night will soon be gone and this crazy business finished; ‘twill be as I say, matter for laughter in Rome when I tell them how I and fourteen picked men out of my hundred were forced to guard a poor dead body lest it should rise again.”

  Lifting his helmet to cool his brows, he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Were I to sleep now,” he soliloquised — you crafty Caiaphas, discovering it, would manage so as to lose me my post. Was ever such a petulant priest! and subtle therewithal, even as Volpian, he who doth serve Diana’s altar in Rome, and out of purest zeal doth ravish many a fair virgin! They’re all alike, these so-called ‘holy’ men, — no son of mine shall ever be a priest, I warrant! This was the crime of the dead ‘Nazarene’ from all that I can gather, — He sought to do away with priestcraft, — a mighty task, Jove knoweth! And now I call to mind you aged soul who prayed here in the morning for his ‘little maid’ — the feeble fool! he met me in the town yonder, a-shaking like a wind-blown reed for joy— ‘Good sir!’ cried he,’ the little maid is saved!’ And then he swore, with tears, that the fever left her at the very hour he made petition to you sealed-up tomb! Heaven help him for a crazed frail creature — the superstitions of these country folk are strange and sometimes devilish, — nevertheless I hear on all sides that this young Prophet out of Nazareth was a good man, and pitiful. By my soul!” and he yawned again—”’Tis a night for peaceful slumber, yet I may not drowse, lest while I close my eyes, unheard-of powers disturb the air” —

  “Galbus! Galbus! Hist! Galbus!”

  “What now?” he answered sharply, as the soldier who had thus called him hurriedly approached—” Why leavest thou thy post?”

  “Fidius is there,” — said the young man apologetically, as he paused to salute his superior officer—” I called thee so that thou shouldst listen.”

  “Listen? To what?” demanded Galbus impatiently—” There is no sound but thy gruff voice and mine. Thou art a dreamer, Maximus, — thy mother told me so.” Maximus, a tall stalwart Roman of handsome face and figure, smiled deprecatingly, but at the same time held up his hand to enjoin attention.

  “Nay, I dream not, Galbus; I pray thee hearken!— ’tis some unknown bird that sings!”

  The grim centurion stared at him, half in indignation, half in surprise.

  “Bird!” he echoed—” There are few birds in Palestine, I warrant thee! — and what there are must be as dry-throated as the locusts in the corn.”

  “Hush!” whispered Maximus—” It begins again!” And before Galbus could utter another word, a silvery ripple of music floated towards him, — a flow of gurgling notes, full and pure and honey-sweet, — notes such as no nightingale in moonlit woods ever sang even in the most ardent time of nesting tenderness. The amazement on the centurion’s face deepened into rapture, — grasping his lance firmly with both hands he leaned against it silently listening, and lost in wonder. The hidden bird sang on; and it seemed as if some wondrous meaning was enclosed within its song, for the fascination of striving to follow the thread of its rich rhythm intensified with every sweet tone that sounded on the still air. All at once it ceased, — but its broken melody was taken up by a companion singer who had evidently found a resting-place within the bush of myrtle that grew close by the sacred tomb. This second bird warbled even more rapturously than the first, — and while the clear torrent of tune poured forth passion to the silence another soldier hastily advanced, eagerly exclaiming, —

  “Galbus! Hearest thou this music?”

  Galbus started,... there was a strange moisture in his eyes, — he had been lost in thought, and the face of his little daughter who had died when barely three years of age had flitted or appeared to flit for a moment between him and the glittering moon. The sight of a second man wandering away from his post served as a timely check to his emotions, and he struck the butt-end of his lance into the ground with a well-affected air of anger.

  “By the gods! Canst thou not hear a bird sing, without running hither like a prattling babe to tell me of it? Back to thy place, and quickly! Knowest thou not that we are bound to keep guard to-night with more than usual circumspection? — and shall we all be scattered like sheep at the twittering of birds? Maximus, be ashamed!

  Thou hast set a bad example; get hence, thou too, — and pay closer heed to thy duty, — who knows whether there may not be sorcery in this singing!”

  A flush of vexation mounted to the brows of the young Maximus at the implied reproach, but he said nothing, and immediately retired. His post was not more than three or four yards from where Galbus stood, and feeling somewhat weary, he sat down inside one of the tents to rest. There, leaning his head on his hand, he still listened to the sweet chirping voices that now sounded louder and clearer than ever. The other soldier also went back to his place, crestfallen, but obedient, and Galbus was left to himself, to gaze at the sailing moon, and drink in the magical tenderness of the chorus that floated round and round the quiet sepulchre of the Crucified in ever-widening circles of delicious harmony. And presently, — all the men on guard, rather than disturb such music by the clank of
their armour or the tread of their sandals, sat within their tents, all silent, — all enthralled into languid peace by a mystic and imperceptibly deepening spell.

  “’Tis wondrous, — I will not deny it,” — murmured Galbus after a while, seating himself also just within the door of his own small pavilion and composing himself to fresh attention—” First it was one bird, and now it seems as if there were twenty. Never did I hear such singing in Palestine! They may be birds of passage, — yet from whence would they come, and whither would they speed? And wherefore should they choose such a resting-place as these arid hills? — or such an hour for tuning up their songs as now?”

  He sat absorbed, his mind soothed and satisfied by the delicate pipings of the invisible little throats that seemed as if they must burst with the fulness and delight of song.

  And, further off, there was another listener to the marvellous music, — one whose presence there that night was totally unsuspected by the guard. This was Barabbas. He lay unseen in the hollow of the hill behind the sepulchre, and heard the melting melody in rapt wonder. He knew the country round Jerusalem well, — he had known it from boyhood; but he had never heard sweet singing-birds till now. He could not understand it; it was to him much more than what was called a miracle. The air was so very still, — the little trees were so motionless, — the very blades of stunted grass so stiffly upright, that the rippling notes seemed produced by some power unearthly. It might have been the liquid sounding of fairy flutes in the air, or dainty arpeggi struck from golden strings, only that the voices were most truly birdlike, full of nightingale-warbles and luscious trills. And by and by the same sense of peace and happiness stole on the tired soul of Barabbas as had come to the warworn centurion on guard, gradually he grew lost in a sort of blissful dream, scarcely knowing what he thought or what he felt. When he had told Melchior of his intent to keep secret vigil near the tomb of the “Nazarene,” that incomprehensible personage had looked grave, but had not forbidden him, only saying gently, —

  “Take heed, lest when the Master cometh, He find you sleeping!”

  This was a strange saying! — nevertheless here he was; determined not to sleep, but to remain broadly, fully awake, so that he might be able to testify in plain language as to what happened, — if indeed anything should happen. Yet he was conscious of a drowsiness in the air, — of a lulling rhythm in the dulcet singing of the unseen feathered choir, that was inexpressibly soothing, — and he found difficulty in resisting the tempting languor that by slow and insensible degrees began to take possession of him. He tried to think of various practical things, — of the terror which had evidently seized the disciples of the dead “Nazarene,” causing them to hide themselves in the lowest quarters of the city, and entirely give up any attempt to visit the guarded tomb of their perished Master, — of the extreme precautions of Caiaphas, — of the continued indisposition of Pilate, — of the suicide of Judas Iscariot, — then, — of the strayed Judith,... and here his mind recoiled upon itself as it were, with inward trembling. The thought of her was singularly depressing and unwelcome to him just at this moment, — he could not have told why, but so it was. It would be well for her if she were dead, he told himself sorrowfully, — better for her, a thousand times, — better even for him. He would be glad to die, he thought, — that curious sense of detachment from earth and utter indifference to existence had come to him as it comes at certain epochs to us all, — when death, with its darkness and deep silence, seems a sweeter, kinder, and more valuable boon than life.

  He flung himself back full length in the turfy hollow and lay staring up at the stars and the moon. How those birds sang! How sweetly the fragrant wind breathed through the dried and faintly rustling grass! He stretched his arms out on either side of him with a sigh of lazy comfort, — and presently took a singular pleasure in observing that he had unconsciously assumed the attitude of one preparing to be crucified. He began to wonder idly how it would feel if huge nails were driven forcibly through his open palms, as had been done to his former comrade Hanan, and to Him they called the “Nazarene.” Involuntarily closing his fingers on a tuft of grass he suddenly felt that he had grasped something foreign to the soil, and looking to see what he held, he found he had pulled up a small bell-shaped blossom, pure white and delicately scented. He examined it attentively; he had never beheld its like before. But there was such a listless heaviness upon him that he had no desire to lift himself up and search for more such flowers, — had he done so he would have witnessed a fairy-like and strange spectacle. For, from base to summit of the hills around, the brown turf was rapidly being covered up out of sight by masses of snowy bloom, breaking upwards like white foam, — thousands and thousands of blossoms started from the trembling earth, — that earth which panted with the knowledge of a Divine Redemption, and yearned to pay its glorious Master homage. And the hidden birds sang on, — sweetly, passionately, triumphantly; and round the holy sepulchre the soldiers nodded on the benches within their tents, half sleeping, wholly dreaming, of love, of home, of kindred, of dear and precious memories such as never were expressed or written. Only the young Maximus forced himself to keep wide awake; the reproach of Galbus had stung his military pride, and he resolved to be more than doubly vigilant in his watch. So, though he longed to fling himself down upon the turf and rest a while, he resisted the oppression that lay heavy upon him, and rising, walked slowly to and fro, glancing now and then dubiously and half compassionately at his drowsing comrades. He was not inclined to rouse them, — he meant to win some special praise for keener vigilance than they. His tall figure cast a gigantic shadow in the moonlight, as he paced leisurely up and down, and he watched this special exaggeration of himself in a curiously philosophic mood. What kind of a world would it have been, he thought, if the shadow of man had never fallen upon it? Dreamily pondering this wholly unanswerable question, he was all at once startled out of his reverie by a great light that fell in one keen, dazzling flash straight from the heavens, sweeping the shadow of himself into naught, and playing about him in running, intertwisting rings of flame! Amazed, he looked up, and saw in the east a vivid rose-red radiance that widened out swiftly even as he gazed upon it, — while across the ruddy tint there appeared bright perpendicular bars of gold like a vision of the gates of Eden. Shaking off the strange stupor that numbed his senses and held him for a moment inert, he sprang quickly to the side of Galbus who, seated in his tent and leaning against his spear, was all but fast asleep.

  “Galbus! Galbus!”

  Galbus at once leaped fiercely erect with a defiant look as though threatening with death any one who should presume to say that he had slumbered.

  Maximus, trembling, seized him by the arm, and half in terror, half in expectancy, pointed eastward.

  “Galbus, the watch is ended! Lo, — the Dawn!”

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  GALBUS stared wildly with dazzled eyes.

  “The dawn?... the dawn, sayest thou?” he muttered thickly—” Nay, nay!... never did dawn break thus strangely!” And his bronzed features grew pale. “’Tis fire!... or lightning!... Maximus, — Maximus, — my sight fails me,... yonder glory hath a marvel in it!... ’tis blinding to the sight!... ye gods, — look!... look there!”

  Dropping his lance, he stretched out both arms towards the sky, losing breath and utterance in the excess of his amazement and fear; Maximus, speechless too, clung to him, gazing with equal dread and wonder at the terrific splendour that cast its glory round them and illumined all the visible earth. For now, out of the burning centre of that eastward blaze of crimson, there rose up a double, fan-shaped, diamond-shining whiteness as of huge unfolding misty wings, — towering aloft, these aerial pinions extended towards the south, while from the north another exactly similar and equally dazzling Appearance made itself visible against a gleaming background of smooth gold. Then, — all at once, with a sudden sharp tremor the earth shook; and there came the impetuous rush and whirl of a mighty wind that bent the trees lik
e blades of grass and seemed to scatter the very stars in heaven like a swarm of frightened fireflies, and with the surging sound that mysterious Winged Whiteness began to sweep forward at the swift and flashing pace of lightning!

  “Galbus, Galbus!” gasped Maximus, falling down and covering his face in a paroxysm of fear—” Kneel — kneel! — for we must die! The gods descend! Behold them where they come!”

  With straining eyeballs and panting breath, Galbus gave one upward frenzied stare,... his swooning senses could but just dimly realise that surely the powers of Heaven were upon him, and that death, sudden and relentless, must be his inevitable fate. How could mortal strength uphold mortal man at such a sight!... how could human vision bear the fearful dazzlement and marvel of what he, for one dizzy second, gazed upon!... Two majestic Shapes, — the transfigured and ethereal semblances of a glorified humanity, flashing with a brightness celestial, a splendour invincible, grew up, as it were, in stately stature out of the molten-golden east, and seemingly impelled by wind and fire, floated meteorlike through space, and together silently descended at the closed tomb of the “Nazarene.” One of these supernal Beings appeared robed in white fire — his lustrous countenance, gleaming as with lightning, shone from between pale glistening locks of gold on which a halo rested, like a crown. As this glorious Messenger touched earth, the ground rocked, and the divided air recoiled upon itself with a roll and a roar of thunder. Prone on the turf Galbus fell senseless and dead for the time being,... and in that one thrilling moment no living man beheld the splendid declaration of the Divine, save one, — Barabbas. He, when the great light flashed around him, when the whirlwind and the thunder swept surgingly across the hills, had crawled forth from his hiding-place and now, crouching on the grass in a dumb agony of trembling, stared at the supernatural sight unforbidden for a brief space, too dazzled to realise all its meaning and majesty, and believing that he must be wrapt in some wild and glittering dream,... when, even as he looked, a sharp brilliance, like the cutting sting of a lash, struck him across the eyes, — and he, too, swayed blindly back and plunged into the darkness of a swoon that was like death.