Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli, page 322
part #22 of Delphi Series Series
“None who call Her their mother,” — replied Joseph — Children indeed I have, but these were born to me in early manhood by my first wedded wife long dead. Mary I knew not save as one removed from earth, — a heavenly Virgin whose white purity and singular destiny I was commanded to defend.”
“But didst thou not espouse her?”
“Even as I was bidden” — answered Joseph simply—” And worshipped her as Angel and as Queen!”
“Ah, now thou also dost confuse me with vain words” — exclaimed Barabbas half angrily— “Why dost thou name her thus royally? Many of the people say she was a stray maiden out of Egypt.”
A dreamy, rapt look came into Joseph’s deep-set eyes. “If she was of any earthly land she was of Egypt,” he said musingly—” And to Egypt I was bidden to take her for protection when Herod the tyrant threatened the life of her young Child. When first I met her, ’twas in spring, — a quiet evening in the month of May, — she walked alone across the fields, like a phantom of the moon with a strange light in her hair, and a stranger glory in her eyes! — methought that I had met an angel out of heaven, and down among the flowers at her feet I knelt adoringly!” He paused in a sort of ecstasy — then resumed calmly—”’Twas at her will and wish that I espoused her in the sight of man; once, to speak truth, I hesitated, fearing evil, — but then again the bidding came and I obeyed it.” —
“Why speakest thou of bidding or forbidding?” cried Barabbas, perplexed and baffled—” What meanest thou? Was not this Jesus born of Mary? — and didst thou not espouse her, woman or angel or queen, — no matter whence she came or at what hour, was she not thine?”
“No!” answered Joseph with sudden and passionate vehemence—” Dare not to utter such a blasphemy! She was never mine, — never, by look or word or touch or breath! The angels were her friends, — they sang to her from the furthest stars on the night of her Child’s birth, — I was her faithful servant only!”
“Thou ravest!” and Barabbas, strung up to a nervous pitch of excitement, could scarcely restrain his deepening sense of incredulity and anger—” Thou art as mad as all the rest of those concerned in this strange business! But I have come to thee for truth, and truth I will wrest from thee despite evasion! Thou poor, frail man! — dost thou not fear death? — and wilt thou on the very edge of thy near tomb, play with delusion and pronounce a lie? Thou knowest the birth of Mary’s Child; if He was not thy Son, whose Son was He?”
A sudden shadow swept the floor, — the sun had sunk; there was a momentary dread silence that made itself almost felt. The chill grey of the evening crept stealthily over the outside landscape, and in the semi-gloom of the hut, the two men stood facing each other, speechless and trembling. —
“Whose Son” — repeated Barabbas in a faint, awed whisper— “was He?”
A vague terror and bewilderment clouded Joseph’s features. Raising his hands with an eloquent gesture of solemn earnestness, he looked full at the daring questioner.
“In the name of the great God that made us,” he said tremulously—” I swear I never knew! I never knew! — I only... dreamed!”
As he spoke, a flashing light poured itself swiftly aslant in a golden blaze athwart the deepening dusk; — affrighted at the sudden; brilliancy, he turned quickly round towards the open doorway,... then with a wild cry...
“Lo there! — there!” he gasped — Behold Him where He stands! Ask Him, — not me! Question Him concerning that to which no mortal man hath answer!”
And falling to the ground he covered his face, — while Barabbas staggered back amazed, blinded, breathless, and smitten with terror; — before him, in silent, royal, radiant beauty stood — the Nazarene”!
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE same lustrous Face that had shone in pale splendour on the Cross, — the same deep Eyes that had looked their dying pardon on the world — the same, the very same! — the one recognisable Beloved through all ages—” the same yesterday, to-day and for ever.” And yet how transfigured was that Human Semblance! how permeated through and through with the glory of the Divine! Light streamed above and below the Kingly Form that seemed clad in cloud and fire, — rays of celestial gold flashed round the god-like brows; all the majesty of morning, noon, and night, and all the mystic secrets of creation were centred in the lightning glances that with power shed forth love, — love unutterable and vast, — love beyond any mortal comprehension, — love flung out inimitably as sunshine, as widely as the sweet ungrudging air! Fearing greatly, but still doubting the testimony of his own sight and sense, Barabbas knelt and gazed appealingly at the supernal Vision, asking himself the while whether it were a phantom of his mind, or the reflex of a marvellous Reality. Seeking to be convinced, he forced himself to note the trivial things of every day around him, — the carpenter’s bench, the branch of lilies lying across it, the implements of wood-carving, — all these evidences of practical toil and daily life he realised in every detail. There too a little apart from him knelt the aged Joseph, his face covered in his mantle, — a figure real and tangible and earthly; and out through the open doorway, beyond the Angel-stature of the Shining One, stretched the cool length of the meadow opposite and the further cornfields dimly seen in the darkening eve. It was no dream then! — the world was the world still and not a chaos of spectral fancies; this great “King” standing patiently upon the humble threshold of His childhood’s habitation was no phantom but a glorious living Truth! — and as Barabbas gradually became conscious of this, he prayed inwardly that he might die at so supreme a moment of transcendent ecstasy. And presently he felt a yearning impulse to draw nearer to the Divine Presence, — and at the first thrill of this desire in his soul, the Vision seemed to smile a welcome. Nearer and nearer still he crept, with beating heart and struggling breath, — he a poor mortal sinner dared to approach immortal Purity, — till at last he could almost feel the quivering of the lambent light that glittered in a golden aureole round the risen Form of the world’s Redeemer.
“Master, is it Thou!” he whispered—” Thou, in very truth! why hast Thou come to me when I have doubted Thee? Punish me, I beseech Thee, with the judgment due unto my sin and disbelief; — I am unfit for life or death; — here at Thy feet I fain would perish utterly!”
Deep silence answered him, — such tender silence as soothes the weary into rest. Trembling, he ventured to lift his eyes, — the wondrous love and glory of the Countenance he looked upon filled him with rapture, — his long-imprisoned suffering soul awoke at last to the full consciousness of an immortal destiny.
“I believe! I believe in Thee, O Thou Divine!” he cried— “Let me follow Thee wheresoe’er Thou goest! Let me not lose Thee, the one Truth in a false world! —
Take me with Thee, the servant of Thy will, beyond the things of earth and time, — no matter where — all must be well if Thou dost guide!” —
As he thus made his passionate supplication, the luminous Figure moved slowly backward, — turned; — and passed floatingly in a path of light across the meadows, — Barabbas hastily rose to his feet and followed fast. Seeing nothing, knowing nothing, remembering nothing save that crowned Wonder of the Ages that glided on before him, he brushed his way through fragrant flowers, and seemed to walk on air. A great joy possessed him, — such joy as once he would have deemed impossible to win, — the soft breeze blowing against his face felt like a caress from heaven, — he was dimly aware that a few stars were hanging like drops of dew in the dusky ether, — but the exaltation of his spirit was such that earth and all its manifold beauty weighed but as one drop in the wave of ecstasy that absorbed his every sense. All at once on the shadowy bend of a little hill, the radiant Vision paused,... then like a cloud dissolving into air, suddenly vanished!
Barabbas halted abruptly and looked about him. He was already some miles away from Nazareth, and there was darkness before him where there had been light. But happiness stayed within his soul and he was not in any way anxious or disheartened. The great “King” had disappeared, but what then! — His departure was but temporary, — He lived and He would come again. Exulting in the joy of faith, Barabbas raised his eyes to the quiet heaven, and wondered whether there were truly such a thing as misery? — could man be wretched with a God for his friend, and the certainty of life immortal?
Who would sit down and grieve for loss of love, for death or ill fortune in the world, when all evil was destined to be changed to good in the end? And the once sorrowful and embittered Barabbas was content, — his doubts were set at rest for ever.
“’Twas a God they slew!” he said—”’Tis a God that is arisen from the grave! And to that God, the Christ and Saviour of mankind, I render up my soul!”
He uttered the words aloud, in the full belief that they were heard. And though no answer came in mortal speech, there was bestowed upon him the sweetest sense of rest and peace and gladness his life had ever known. Cheerily and in perfect confidence he moved onward in the path where he had found himself set according to the following of the “Master;” it led straight over the hills and back to Jerusalem. As he went, he resolved his plans. He would return to his strange acquaintance Melchior, who had always bidden him to believe in the Divinity of the “Nazarene,” and who had placed no obstacles whatever in the way of his endeavouring to find out truth for himself, and to him first he would narrate his adventure at Nazareth. Then he would declare his faith, not only to Melchior but to every one who asked him concerning it, — he would show no hesitation or shame in the full confession of his happy change. What the result would be he did not consider, — the inward spiritual strength he felt made him totally indifferent to earthly consequences. The cruelty, the rancour, and malice of men were powerless to touch him henceforth; for the bitterest suffering, the most agonising martyrdom would seem easy of endurance to one who had truly seen the Christ, knowing that it was Christ indeed!
Of Joseph to whom he had paid so abrupt a visit he thought no more. Could he have known what had chanced, the shadow of a vague regret might in part have clouded his own personal joy. Some people of Nazareth going early to their labour in the cornfields noticed that the familiar and reverend figure of the old man was not seen at work as usual; and they straightway went to inquire the cause. They found him resting easily on the ground, his white head leaning against the carpenter’s bench on which a branch of lilies lay slowly withering, — his eyes were closed in apparent deep and placid slumber. Two of his sons came in and strove to rouse him; and not till they had lifted him up and carried him out to the open air where they laid him down on the grass among the nodding field flowers, with face upturned to the sun, did they discover that he had quietly passed away into the living splendour of eternal things, where age is turned to youth, and the darkest “dreams” make their meanings clear!
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE broad lustre of a full moon spread itself like powdered silver over the walls and turrets of Jerusalem on the night Barabbas returned thither from his journey to Nazareth. He arrived late and the gates of the city were locked, but he succeeded in rousing a sleepy watchman who came out of the guardroom in answer to his summons and was about to unbar a side portal and let him through, when suddenly pausing in his intent, he rubbed his drowsy eyes and stared astonished.
“Why, art thou not Barabbas?” he exclaimed.
“Yea, truly am I! What then? Hast business with me?”
But the watchman gave him no direct reply. Dropping the bolt he had just withdrawn back into its place he shouted aloud —
“Ho there! Waken, ye lazy rascals, and come forth. Here is the man ye seek, Barabbas!”
There followed a hoarse shout, a hasty trampling of feet and the clash of armour, and almost before the bewildered Barabbas could realise what had happened, he was surrounded by soldiers, seized and taken prisoner. Perplexed but not dismayed, he made no effort to escape. He glanced from one to the other of his captors, — they were Romans and all strangers to him.
“What jest is this?” he demanded— “Why do ye suddenly maltreat me thus? Surely ye know the people’s vote hath set me free, — for what cause am I again a captive?”
“Hold thy peace, ruffian!” said one of the men angrily—”’Tis not for criminals to question law!”
“Full well I know I am a criminal,” — responded Barabbas patiently— “Nevertheless by law my crimes were lately pardoned. Of what new fault am I accused?”
“Of a base attempt to murder the high-priest Caiaphas!” — answered an officer who seemed to he the leader of the band— “He hath nearly died of a deadly wound inflicted by a secret assassin, and he doth swear thou art the man! Moreover thou art also judged guilty of connivance with the followers of the ‘Nazarene’ in plot to steal His body from the tomb officially sealed. Thou wert seen in converse with a woman of ill fame named Magdalen, — thou wert also in the company of Simon Peter, — and again, certain comrades-at-arms of ours met thee on the morning when the corpse of the ‘Nazarene’ was missing, on the highroad to the sepulchre. These be proofs enough against thee, remembering thy former reputation! — and for these things thou shalt surely die!”
Barabbas heard all this with a curious passiveness.
“Caiaphas doth accuse me thus?” he asked.
“Caiaphas hath denounced thee unto Pilate, and most furiously demands thy punishment” — was the reply— “Question thy fate no more, but come thou with us quietly, and fight not uselessly against thy destiny.”
Barabbas smiled. The plans of Caiaphas were singularly transparent reading! To shield the dead Judith Iscariot and himself from suspicion and slander, he had cunningly devised this false accusation against an already known criminal, — moreover he was hereby able to indulge his own private spite and vengeance against Barabbas for ever having been one of Judith’s many lovers. The additional charge made, — that of stealing the body of the Crucified from the tomb, — was to throw dust in the people’s eyes, and silence, if possible, all rumours respecting the miracle of the Resurrection. The whole situation was perfectly clear, — but the victim of the high-priest’s crafty scheme was in no wise disconcerted by evil circumstance. Addressing the officer who had condescended to give him an explanation of the cause of his sudden arrest, he said gently ——
“Friend, be assured that whatsoe’er my destiny I am prepared to meet it!” — and he held out his wrists that they might be more easily manacled— “I am innocent this time of the deeds whereof I am accused, — howbeit, innocence doth count as nothing in the working of the world’s laws, — wherefore I say, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, I am willing and ready to die!”
“Rash fool!” cried a soldier, striking him—” Dare not to speak thus if thou dost value life! That utterance of thine alone is blasphemy! — rank blasphemy enough to slay thee!”
“And as I shall be slain, the manner of my speech doth little matter” — responded Barabbas tranquilly— “Methinks a man should speak the truth that is within him, no matter whether death or life be imminent. Come, come! lead on! Quarrel not; this is no time for quarrelling. Ye are but the hirelings of the law, and cannot help but do the deeds that are commanded; let us be Mends, good Romans! — I bear you no ill-will.
See! — I struggle not at all; ye are well within your right — ye must obey authority, albeit that authority be of earth and brief withal. I also must obey authority, — but the commands that I receive are changeless, and whosoever disobeys them is accurst!”
His eyes flashed a sombre glory as he spoke, — as the fetters were fastened on his wrists, he smiled again.
“He is mad!” said the soldiers, vaguely awed and exchanging wondering glances— “They say he loved Judith Iscariot; perchance her death hath turned his brain.”
Barabbas heard them whispering thus among themselves, but gave no outward sign of attention. Judith Iscariot! Yes, he had loved her and he loved her still, — being dead, she was far dearer to him than if she had lived on. For she was now no longer Judith Iscariot, — she was a new creature, removed, indefinable and mystic, — a spirit released, — to good or evil, who could say? — but at any rate safe from the clamour of the world and the deeper taint of sin. Full of his own meditations, he maintained an absolute silence while the soldiers marched him quickly through the streets of the slumbering city, to the gloomy prison, where the formidable gates that had so lately opened to release him, once more enclosed him, and shut out, as he felt for ever, all hope of earthly freedom.
“What! Art thou back again, Barabbas?” growled the gaoler, flashing his lantern into the prisoner’s eyes as he spoke— “Well, well! — what folly will do for a man. ’Tis but a fortnight surely since thou wert set at liberty, with all the people cheering thee, — yet thou hast such an ungrained bad nature thou canst not keep thee out of mischief. They crucified thy yelping dog of a comrade, Hanan, — now it is likely they will crucify thee. What sayest thou to that for a finish to a rogue’s career?”
Barabbas was mute. Sudden tears swam in his eyes, — he was thinking of a Supreme Figure, and a Divine Face, that on the Cross had made death glorious.
“Mum as a post, sullen as a bear!” continued the gaoler gruffly—” Such as thou art are the worst characters. There is no hope for the surly and impenitent! Come hither and take possession of thy former cell — not a soul hath been in it, save perchance a starving rat, since thou wert there. Get thee in and make thy peace with Heaven!”
He opened the door of the very same wretched den in which Barabbas had already passed eighteen months of rebellious pain and misery, — and made as though he would thrust his captive in. Barabbas paused on the threshold, and looked him frankly in the face.
“Nay, be not rough with me!” he said gently—” There is no need for anger. This time I am innocent of all the faults whereof I am wrongfully accused. Nevertheless I was most wrongfully released, ’twas the people’s caprice and no true justice; wherefore I am ready now to atone. And surely as thou sayest, I will strive to make my peace with Heaven!”
